The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (3 page)

“Yes, of course,” he said, changing his
tone. “If I am not interrupting your personal life, could I ask
a couple of questions?”

Vinny ignored the attitude, and said, “Lucky
for you, I am presently free. I did a search on the governor’s
party and on Governor Black in general. The governor is pretty well
connected. He got elected primarily on the promise to bring corporate
business back into the California economy. I’m still looking
for any direct connections to Clarice or her husband. As for the
party, it is a very private affair, not the PR ball type of event,
set to be held on a private estate in the hills above Los Angeles.”

“Whose estate?”

“Don’t even know that yet. The host
running the party is Veronica Jansen, but she doesn’t own the
place. Just a hired gun. There is no rental contract on file
anywhere. The property was once owned by a dead actor named Bob Hope,
but it is currently held by a corporation registered in the Caymans.
Looks to be a shell company. I’m still tracing the money that
bought the place, but it’s buried. Even the invitations to the
party were printed as blanks and all hand inscribed by a trusted
aide. So far, no records of who’s attending, but I’m
still looking. There is a tight lid on this one, Raj.”

“The tighter the lid, the bigger the secrets.”

“Then there must be ginormous secrets
connected to this party. You best be careful.” Vinny had a
habit of picking up on every new slang word or phrase that came along
in the computer culture.

Although the hipster lingo offended Raja’s
Oxford sensibilities, it was a small price to pay for Vinny’s
skills. “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ve got
the best hacker in this hemisphere looking over my shoulder.”

That was no exaggeration. After a short criminal
career hacking into banks, Vinny had “volunteered” to
work for the NSA in exchange for immunity from prosecution. When she
saw firsthand how intrusive the government had become, Vinny’s
NSA career ended abruptly after the names of a number of criminal
operatives who were on the government payroll, among other sensitive
information, were accidentally dumped onto the Internet. Although
there were questions about her patriotism and the usual threats,
there was never any question about Vinny’s mad skills with a
computer. The NSA feared what else might get exposed, and quietly
released Vinny from their service.

“Best in this hemisphere, you say? I should be
offended,” said Vinny.

“You are the one who told me Wu Tsing in Hong
Kong was the best.”

“True dat. He is. Okay, you are forgiven.
You’ll find some new hardware in your bag that we will need to
break out for the party. There are micro-cameras that will snap on
your lapels inconspicuously. You can use a hand controller in your
pocket to take pictures. The cameras are wide angle and
self-focusing. Pretty much aim and shoot—just stand still when
you do.”

“I thought you would simply tap into the
security cameras,” said Raja.

“Word is they will be offline for the party. I
doubt I’ll be able to activate them remotely. They
are
keeping this hush hush. What’s up with that?”

“There are always high profile events for the
supposed big donors that get all the fanfare and media. This party is
for unique supporters who aren’t on the donor rolls.
Individuals who don’t want media attention or in some cases,
people who can’t afford to have anyone looking too closely at
where their money is coming from or what it is used for. They are
known simply as ‘friends.’”

“Friends with secrets. Sounds like we are
fishing in the right pond,” said Vinny.

Later Raja called Clarice. The one thing he wasn’t
going to be able to do inconspicuously was get into the party without
an invitation. He would need some help.

“Clarice, it’s Raja.”

“Yes, have you solved the case?”

“I appreciate the confidence, Clarice, but no,
not yet. And, I’m sorry to say, I’m going to need more of
your help. I’m reluctant to ask. It involves the governor.”

“Ask away. I’ve never been intimidated
by politicians or businessmen, though both tried after my first
husband died. No reason to start now. What do you need?”

“I need you to take me to the governor’s
party on Friday night.”

“So you do think he’s involved?”

“At this point, I have no reason to think so.
But it is a good place to start.”

“I want to help. Count me in.”

“Great. I’ve got some preparations to
make first. I will meet you there at eight sharp. Can I count on you
to get there on your own?”

“I’ll get there all right. I’ve
got my Bentley. But, I can’t promise to behave. I am grieving,
you know.”

“We’ll deal with that at the party.
Eight sharp.”

“Eight it is.”

Raja arrived at the estate by seven, giving him a
chance to check the place out. It was a large isolated hilltop
property. An expansive three-story mansion covered the top, providing
magnificent views all around. On one side were more hills and the
mountains beyond. The other side looked down on the city.

A silver Bentley pulled up in front just before
eight. Clarice Hope climbed out, dressed in a one-of-a-kind blue
evening dress that tastefully accented her curvaceous figure. Raja
greeted her at the entrance. “How are we doing?” he
asked.

“I don’t know how
we
are doing,
but I plan on getting drunk. Let’s do this.” Clarice took
his arm.

Raja knew how tough this would be on Clarice. She
hid it well, but he could tell she was hurting. He put his hand on
top of hers and they entered the party.

Just inside the door, a tough-looking man in a tux
that tried but failed to hide his muscles took Clarice’s
invitation. He wore a Bluetooth headset on his ear. After looking the
two of them over, he nodded his approval. Raja was in.

The interior was spacious, with twenty-foot ceilings
and an area the size of a full basketball court where the party was
centered. In the middle of that room was a ten-foot ice sculpture
likeness of the governor of California, Robert Black. Archways all
around opened onto more large rooms, which opened onto outdoor
patios. The place was a palace.

“Clarice, why don’t you go powder your
nose while I do a little recon. I’ll meet you by the governor’s
monument in fifteen minutes,” said Raja, pointing to the ice
sculpture.

“I’m taking shots of all the patrons,”
said Raja, into his micro earbud headset. Both his lapels had the
wide angle cameras that Vinny had rigged up.

“I need clear images, so remember to stand
still.”

“I am a professional, I’ll have you
know.”

“And let’s skip the booty shots. As
lovely as they are, I need faces for ID.”

“Okay, okay, Vinny. I better mingle.”

An attractive forty-something woman was smiling and
heading toward Raja. “I don’t remember seeing you at any
of the governor’s parties before,” said the well-dressed
woman covered with expensive jewelry. “And I would have noticed
you.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I would have
noticed you, as well,” said Raja, but with an entirely
different meaning in mind. He remembered it was a party and adjusted
his charm setting. “I’m sorry to say I’m here with
someone else.”

“Loyal, too. How rare. You must call me,”
she said, slipping her business card into his hand before walking
off.

Raja looked at the card. The name Miranda Cummings
was scripted on the front in gold and it had only a phone number on
the back. Raja thought she probably had them printed in bulk. “There
you go,” he said. “I got her card. No picture needed.”

“Just try to keep on task,” said Vinny
into Raja’s ear.

“Can’t a fellow have fun doing his job?”

“Not if I’m going to get the pictures I
need to identify everyone. Fuzzy pictures take ten times longer for
my face recognition software.”

“I can’t believe you couldn’t just
hack the guest list.”

“Are you kidding—the actual names of the
governor’s real key campaign donors? That list is guarded like
Fort Knox. Never put online—at least I haven’t found
it—and you know I would. I bet you won’t see any
photographers there tonight either.”

“No doubt. Quiet now, I’ve got company.”

Two young ladies approached Raja. After a short
exchange Raja saw the widow Clarice heading back his way.

“There’s my date now,” he said
urgently. The two twenty-something girls who had just offered to take
Raja home with them walked away disappointed.

“You are a popular fellow tonight,” said
Clarice. “I can certainly see why. You look sharp in that tux,”
said the widow, fingering his lapel, flirting and bringing her
augmented breasts close to Raja.

“Oh, brother,” said the voice in his ear
with disdain.

“Is the woman your husband was seeing here at
the party?” asked Raja. That cooled Clarice momentarily and she
scanned the room.

She stopped and stared in one direction for a long
moment. “Over there. Ramona Griggsby.” The words sounded
more like something rotten than a person’s name. “Her
husband is a federal judge.” Across the room a tall brunette,
no more than thirty, with a curvaceous yet athletic build was holding
the arm of a man who was twice her age and six inches shorter. It was
the judge, no doubt. Raja snapped a couple photos.

“We should talk to her,” said the widow,
tugging on Raja’s arm. “I have a few choice words for
her.”

“Easy, Clarice.
We
aren’t going
to do anything. And especially not here. I told you, I only brought
you along so I could get into this shindig.” Raja took her
hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Look. I understand your
hostility, but you need to let me do my job.”

Tears welled in Clarice’s eyes. It was clear
that, despite the age difference and her husband’s
indiscretions, she had loved him and suffered greatly his loss.

“Do you like scotch?” Raja asked, mostly
as a distraction.

“Cognac suits me better.”

“Waiter. A glass of your best cognac, please.
And a scotch—single malt—neat.”

While they waited for their drinks, one of the
governor’s aides came over to officially extend condolences to
Clarice.

“Mrs. Hope, I am Stanley Bryce, senior aide to
Governor Black. The governor was so sorry to hear about your
husband’s unfortunate accident. We didn’t know if you
would be up to coming tonight.”

Clarice wanted to scream at the man, but Raja
squeezed her arm firmly. Instead, she nodded mutely.

“The governor would like to give you his
condolences himself as soon as he gets freed up. You know how these
parties go. Lots of hands to shake.” Bryce gestured as if to
take Clarice’s hand but she pulled back instinctively.

“I’ll see that she stays at the party
long enough to see the governor,” interjected Raja.

Bryce looked right at Raja with a veiled flash of
hostility, but said nothing. “Again, you have my condolences,
Mrs. Hope,” he said, dripping sympathy. “I’ll make
sure the governor finds you.”

Once Bryce was out of earshot Raja spoke. “You
did well, Clarice. I know that was tough. What an ass.” Raja
already did not like Bryce but he said it mostly for Clarice. He
needed her to keep it together. “Why don’t you go out on
the balcony and get some air. You have helped me enough already.”

Clarice raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but took his
suggestion nonetheless. Happy to put some distance between herself
and the people she thought responsible for her husband’s death,
she headed outside.

“Vinny?” asked Raja, as soon as she
left.

“Right here, boss. Stanley Bryce. I’m
already on it.”

Raja could hear the rapid-fire clicks as Vinny’s
fingers danced on the computer keyboard.

“Bryce is a career political operative who has
worked on several campaigns. He latched onto the governor when he
first ran for congress in California and has been with him ever
since. He does PR, mostly black PR against any of the governor’s
enemies, and he’s good at it. If the governor is involved in
something shady, Bryce knows where and when and how much.”

“Could he—,” started Raja.

“Kill? I don’t know,” finished
Vinny. Raja loved the way Vinny tracked with him. Their connection
made investigations so much easier.

“All right, let’s check his
communication lines and see what shakes out.”

“Okay. How’s your date?”

“Clarice? She is having a rough time, but
she’s a trooper. I don’t think she is involved in her
husband’s death.”

“I concur,” said Vinny. “I checked
her out going back two years, and found no sign of a covert money
trail going to or from Clarice. But, boy, that woman can spend
money.”

“That is what it’s for.”

“Easy for you to say. You have money.”

“Having money is an attitude, not a number.”

“So says the millionaire. You can’t win
this argument, Raj,” said Vinny, “so you better get back
to work and get me more pictures. And try not to get too distracted
by your groupies.”

Raja scanned the room and sure enough, a group of
young women on the far side were eyeballing him. One of them waved
when he looked in their direction. He ignored her, snapped a picture
and turned the other way. A pair of middle-aged women who were
watching him looked even more dangerous than the young ones. Raja
headed to the bar. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t
hack the security system?” asked Raja.

“That’s right,” said Vinny.

“Then how did you know?”

“Raj, you are in a room full of rich old suits
and the ladies, young and old, pursuing them. Could it be any other
way?”

Raja laughed at the picture Vinny painted. It wasn’t
far off. Raja Williams considered himself a Caribbean Creole. It was
a vague, broad category, and like many from the Caribbean islands,
his racial
ethnicity
had been lost in the
crossroads of culture that the West Indies had been for many
centuries. His ancestors had fought successfully to throw off the
shackles of the colonial Spanish caste system that had discriminated
against many groups. Although he could trace his ancestry to native
Taino Amerindians, French, Spanish and West African sources, what
percentage of each he had no clue. Raja was almond-skinned with
steel-blue eyes, high cheekbones, moderately fine features and
heavily-waved chestnut hair. It was an exotic look that was catnip
for the ladies.