The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (6 page)

“What about Dr. Becker?”

“You tell me,” said Raja. “What do
we know?”

“She did a basic blood tox, and COD autopsy.
All standard when there is no hint of foul play. Death by aneurysm,
likely precipitated by exposure and dehydration. All fairly routine.”

“What about the cremation?” asked Raja.

“You think she arranged it?”

“Someone did. Let’s ask her.” They
drove to the coroner’s office to meet Dr. Becker. The office
was in a large white-brick building that looked more like a warehouse
than a government office building. Inside was a different story. It
was spotless, with lots of expensive-looking medical equipment.

Sharon Becker was prepared for the inevitable
investigation she knew was coming. She had already heard from the
mayor’s office and the DA. Now Raja Williams, a skilled private
investigator she, in fact, knew and respected, was digging into the
matter. Despite having nothing to hide, she could not shake the
feeling everyone was looking up her skirt. A sharp knock grabbed her
attention. She steeled herself, and opened her office door.

“Raja, I’m glad to see you again,”
said the doctor, sounding less strained than she felt.

“Hello, Sharon, good to see you, too. You know
my partner, Vinny. I guess you know why we’re here.”

“The Randall Hope death and cremation. I’ve
gone over the whole thing in my mind a hundred times. It should not
have happened.”

“Yet it did,” said Raja. “What
happened?”

“After I finished my autopsy and signed off on
the death certificate, I sent the report to Tommy—Detective
Rafferty—and went to lunch at two, as usual. While I was out of
the office someone called from the funeral home, and they faxed over
an authorization to pick up the body. My assistant saw the death
certificate paperwork completed and released the body. At dinnertime,
I got a hysterical call from Mrs. Hope asking who had authorized the
release. When I said I thought she did, she swore like a sailor and
hung up. Later I found an earlier message from her asking for me to
reexamine the body. I don’t know how I missed that message. The
whole thing was weird.”

“Mrs. Hope thinks her husband was murdered,”
said Raja.

“I got that much from her message.”

“I think so, too, Sharon.”

“Then I’m sorry to say it’s a
little late for me to reexamine the body.”

“What about the ashes?”

“Anything I could find in the ash of the
remains would have shown up in the tests I did. They were all
negative. Anything else would be impossible to detect now, especially
taking into account probable contamination. However, I will test the
ash, if you like. But don’t get your hopes up.” She
paused to think. “On the other hand, what’s left of the
test samples should still be at the lab.” Dr. Becker made a
call. “I’m looking for the tox samples you tested on R.
Hope ... Who? ... Are you sure?” She slammed down the phone.
“The lab tech says someone called from here and asked for the
samples to be rushed back over. I never called and I never got them.”

“Is your assistant here?” asked Raja.

“Joey? Sure. He’s probably in the morgue
now.” She pressed the intercom. “Joey, come up to my
office ... Yes, now.”

“What’s your assistant’s full
name?”

“Joey Long. He’s a graduate student.”

Raja looked at Vinny.

“On it, boss.” Vinny loved to call him
the boss. Raja, not so much. Vinny’s fingers were already
flying on her iPad.

“How long has Joey worked here?” asked
Raja.

“Six months,” said the doctor. “You
don’t think—”

“I don’t think. We’ll know soon
enough.”

There was a tentative knock at the door. A
nervous-looking young man came into the office. Raja deferred to Dr.
Becker.

“Joey, we want to figure out how the Hope body
got mishandled. Did you call the lab to get the samples rushed back
here?”

“No. You didn’t want me to, did you?”

“Do you have the samples?”

“No, they never came back.” Joey pulled
out a log. “I always log them right here, like you told me.
See, nothing from the lab since before Tuesday,” he said
defensively.

Raja saw no sign he was hiding anything.

Vinny was working her computer magic while they
talked. She stopped typing and stared intensely at Raja like a
pointer spotting a pheasant.

“Yes, Vinny?” he asked.

“The security footage from the day in question
outside this building shows a man taking a package from a courier
just outside the entrance.”

“Any facial ID?”

“He conveniently avoided facing the cameras.”

“So someone intercepted the samples,”
said Raja.

“I will confirm with the courier service, but
it looks that way,” said Vinny.

“How did you get the security footage?”
asked the doctor.

“That’s my girl,” said Raja.

Vinny continued. “I also have two calls from
the same phone to this office and the funeral home during the
critical time period. The number traces to a local cell phone. I also
have a fix on the owner. It’s a building on Franklin Avenue.
The lease on file says Jennifer Gowan.”

“Wow. I am impressed,” said the doctor.

“Do either of you know a Jennifer Gowan?”
asked Raja. Neither reacted, so he didn’t wait for an answer.
“Okay, I’ll have the Randy Hope ashes sent over here
later. Please do the tests, if you would.”

“You can count on it,” said the doctor.
Her assistant Joey nodded vigorously.

On the way out Vinny said, “You like her,
don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Dr. Becker.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can tell.”

“She’s an excellent pathologist.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I respect her mind.”

Vinny punched his arm.

“Okay. She’s hot,” admitted Raja.

“Ah-hah. I knew it. She likes you, too, I can
tell. You should ask her out.”

“That’s enough, Vinny.”

“I’m just saying.”

Once they got outside, Raja tossed Vinny the keys to
the Ferrari. “You drive. Drop me off at Jennifer Gowan’s
place in Hollywood. Then I want you to drive to Long Beach and go
over Randy Hope’s boat again.”

“You think the police missed something?”

“I’m counting on it. So far, we have
suspicious activity and what looks like a coverup, but we still have
no evidence confirming a murder. We need this case officially opened
again. It’s never a good idea to pull on the tail of a large
animal unless you are ready to climb on for the ride.”

Chapter Eight: Loose Ends

Vinny pulled up at the Franklin Avenue address where
she had traced the phone. A large building sat on a grassy rise above
the street. It was a six-unit apartment building that had been
converted from the 1920’s mansion of a Hollywood celebrity, who
Raja didn’t know, not that it mattered. Ancient history. Raja
hopped over the side of the convertible and watched as Vinny drove
away. He turned and walked up the concrete steps and across the long
path to the front door. Ringing the buzzer next to the name Gowan got
no response. Raja had tried another two buzzers when a young man came
out and cheerfully asked, “Who are you looking for?”

“Jennifer Gowan.”

“She lives in 2C, but I don’t think
she’s home. I’m next door to her, and haven’t heard
anything since day before yesterday.”

“Do you mind?” Raja said, grabbing the
door before it closed. “I’d like to double check.”
A dull throb had begun in the back of Raja’s head.

“No problem. Go ahead. Second floor, last door
on the left.” The building was well maintained and the large
entry hall had white marble floors and an eighteen-foot ceiling. The
interior was little changed from the original design. A curved tiger
oak staircase led to the second floor. Raja followed a narrow hall
toward the rear of the building and stopped in front of 2C. No one
answered his knock. The solid wood door and frame looked too sturdy
to kick in. He tried the doorknob. It turned. He pushed the door
open, calling out for Jennifer. The rotten smell told him he was
going to find something, and he wished it wouldn’t be the girl.

So much for wishes. Jennifer Gowan was lying face
down on the living room couch in a black sports bra and sweat pants.
A small white bottle lay overturned on the table next to her. The
label read Oxycontin 80 mg. Two of those could kill the uninitiated.
The traces of green powder on the table indicated someone had crushed
the painkiller tablets. It made for a better rush. At first blush, it
appeared to be an overdose. Raja had his doubts. He took time to look
through the apartment. The bed was made. Whatever happened, it wasn’t
in the bedroom. There were two wine bottles on the kitchen counter,
one empty, the other half gone. Raja noted the lack of used glasses
anywhere. There was the smell of wine in the sink.

Raja called the only number he had—Detective
Rafferty.

“Rafferty,” said the monotone voice.

“It’s Raja Williams.”

“I don’t suppose you found a more
interesting case and decided to leave me alone.”

“Doesn’t look that way. I’m in an
apartment up on Franklin. There’s a dead girl here—name’s
Jennifer Gowan. She’s connected to Randall Hope.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “You
sure she’s dead?”

“No doubt.”

“Did you call anyone else?”

“You are the first.”

“Don’t I feel special. Okay. What’s
the address?”

“12043 Franklin Avenue, Apartment 2C,”
said Raja, reading a piece of mail.

“Don’t touch anything. I’ll be
there in thirty minutes.”

Meanwhile, Vinny drove to Long Beach to look for
evidence on the boat. She found it still docked at the Alamitos Bay
Yacht Club waiting to be claimed. Clarice Hope had not had the
stomach to retrieve it yet. Vinny climbed on board and began a
methodical search, top to bottom. She found nothing useful until she
noticed a shiny metallic object wedged into a drain channel on the
lower deck. She pried up what turned out to be a cap for one of those
stainless steel Starbucks drink containers. The bottle was nowhere to
be found.

After securing the cap in a plastic bag, Vinny
called Raja. He was still in the girl’s apartment waiting for
Detective Rafferty.

“Vinny. I hope you did better than I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found the girl. But, someone else found
her, too. She’s dead. Looks like an overdose.”

“Convenient.”

“That’s my word for the day. I’m
waiting for the detectives. So?”

“I found a cap.”

“A baseball cap?”

“No, silly. The screw cap to one of those
metal thermos bottles.”

“I don’t remember any mention of a
bottle in the police report.”

“That’s just it—no bottle on
board, no bottle on the evidence list.”

“How did they miss the cap?”

“It was wedged tight in a runoff, and looked
like it could have been part of the boat. I studied detailed pictures
of the boat online before I spotted it. Got it bagged and tagged, as
they say.”

“You are awesome as usual,” said Raja.

Vinny smiled.

“Take it straight to Dr. Becker for tests.
Rafferty will be here soon. I’ll get a ride with him and meet
you later at the police station. Nice work.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you get me everything you can
find on Jennifer Gowan?”

“Sure.” Vinny’s smile broadened.
She loved to help.

Raja continued to search the dead girl’s room.
Besides a rich taste in clothes, there was nothing specific that
jumped out. She lived alone, and from the look of the place, probably
didn’t spend much time at home. Then he noticed something under
her right hand on the rug. It was an unused pack of matches embossed
with the letters HCC on a shield. Raja recognized the logo. The
Hillcrest Country Club was one of the most exclusive clubs in LA.
This girl was not the country club type, unless she was working
there. Raja heard someone coming down the hall and stepped away from
the dead girl, slipping the matches into his pocket.

“Raja?”

“In here.”

Detective Rafferty shuffled through the doorway into
the apartment, followed by two uniformed officers. “Clear the
place,” ordered Rafferty. “No offense,” he said to
Raja.

“Standard procedure. None taken.”

The two officers fanned out to check all the rooms.

“Definitely dead,” noted Rafferty.
“Looks like three or four days. You say there is a connection
to Randall Hope?”

“Yes, there is. Vinny found something on the
boat that I’m hoping will confirm Randall Hope’s death
was a murder.”

“And you claim to be my friend.”

“You may end up thanking me.”

“That I’d like to see.”

“After talking to the coroner I traced two
calls from Jennifer Gowan’s phone to the coroner’s office
and the lab. And I’ll bet the authorization faxed in to release
the body came from that machine as well.” Raja pointed to a
portable fax machine sitting on the desk in the corner.

Rafferty walked over and picked up a cell phone from
the desk. “This phone?”

“Yes.”

“Looks like a drugstore burner. Why would she
keep a burner phone that we could trace right to her?”

“I think someone hired her to make the calls,
and then told her to keep the phone so they could reach her. Maybe
for a final payment for her services. Instead, they used it to track
her and then kill her. Nice and neat. Someone is trying to cut off
any investigation before it starts.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t
you think?”

“It would be, Tommy, except, and I may have
forgotten to mention this before, someone cut the brakes on my car
right after I hit town.”

“No shit?”

“None at all. I almost bought it Friday night
up on Mulholland Drive.”

“What were you doing up there?”