The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (11 page)

“That’s great news,” said Vinny.
She did a little celebratory dance.

“All told, looks like we have over a dozen
Triad members and a lot more who worked directly under them,”
said Sampson. “I’m confident someone will roll up on the
bosses for the right deal.”

“Speaking of that, Lieutenant, I would like to
ask a favor,” said Raja.

“Favor? Are you kidding? You own me today.
Name it.”

“I want to be in on the interrogations of the
restaurant staff. One of them knows how to find our key suspect.”

“You got it.”

Later at the station, Raja and Vinny watched the
interrogations. Most looked scared and sparked none of Raja’s
interest. When the restaurant manager sat down, Raja asked to talk to
Lieutenant Sampson. Sampson stepped out into the observation hallway.

“He’s the one,” said Raja.

“The restaurant manager? He’s all
yours,” said Sampson. “I’ve already got two of the
Triads rolling on the local dragonhead—that’s the Triad
boss. You want to squeeze information out of this guy, go ahead. I’ll
back your play.”

Raja and Sampson went into the interrogation room.
Raja sat down at the table across from the manager, while Sampson
stood behind him.

“We are looking for information on this guy,
Judge Griggsby,” said Raja. He placed a picture of the judge on
the table in front of the manager.

The manager looked at the picture, but said nothing.

Sampson moved close to the manager, and spoke
softly. “We already have enough to close down the local Triad
for conspiracy to kidnap, racketeering and murder. Here’s how
this goes. You help us find the judge and you walk out of here a free
man who refused to cooperate. You don’t and we send you back to
Hong Kong
after
leaking that you were the one who turned on
the Triad. I heard they burn traitors alive—after torturing
them until they beg to die.” He paused to let the idea sink in.
“So, what’s it going to be?”

It was no contest. The manager sang for his freedom,
giving up everything he knew about the judge as well as a couple
other recognizable names. Raja made notes, until he heard the manager
mention the Raintree Motel.

“You mean the Avalon Motel, don’t you?”

“No. The judge liked the Raintree Motel. He
said they have a nicer breakfast bar.”

“Isn’t that special,” said Raja,
still disgusted by the whole man-boy scene. He hadn’t counted
on a second motel. Apparently the underage sex trade was big
business. Once he got all the information the manager had on the
judge, he excused himself from the interrogation room. Vinny had
already confirmed the motel’s location. If no one had alerted
the judge to the raids, it was possible he was still in town.

Lieutenant Sampson came out a minute later to thank
Raja for his help. “You’ve done a lot for us. Hope you
got what you needed for your case.”

“So do I,” said Raja.

“How long will you be in San Francisco?”
asked Sampson.

“Looks like another day, at least. We have a
lead to follow up.”

“If you do stay, come on down to Murphy’s
on Kearny Street later tonight. We’ll be celebrating this bust
until closing, or later. And your money won’t spend there, I
can promise you.”

“Appreciate the offer. We have one more place
to stop first. Rain check?”

“Done. Good luck on your case.” Sampson
looked Raja in the eye and shook his hand, deciding right there to
change his maxim that all private investigators were worse than
useless.

Chapter Fourteen: Judgment Day

The Raintree Motel was only a mile from the police
station. Vinny navigated while Raja drove. He rolled the red Ferrari
quietly into the parking lot.

The clerk at the front desk took one look at the
picture of the judge and said, “Room 115, halfway down.”

They reached 115 and looked through the faded yellow
curtains. There was someone inside lying on the bed.

“Open up,” said Raja loudly, while
knocking.

No response.

“Come on, Judge. I know you are in there. Open
up.”

Still nothing.

This time, after trying the door, Raja sent Vinny
for the night clerk. Raja rubbed his head. Not good.

Vinny returned with the clerk, who unlocked the door
and stepped back.

Raja went in first. The judge was sprawled out on
the bed face down in his boxers and knee-high black socks.

Vinny followed Raja inside.

The motel clerk stayed outside and peeked around
them. “Is he dead?” he asked.

“Looks that way.” Raja moved closer to
check the judge’s pulse. Nothing. A hypodermic needle, spoon
and piece of crinkled tin foil lay conspicuously on the nightstand
next to the bed.

A taste told Raja it was heroin. Raja checked the
judge’s arms and found no tracks. The judge had none of the
telltale signs of a junkie. His jacket and pants hung neatly on a
hook behind the door.

“I better call the police,” said the
clerk. He disappeared down the walkway in the direction of the
office.

Waiting for the police to arrive was the right thing
to do, but that meant cozying up to another homicide detective, too
many questions and a lot of wasted time. If it was a professional
hit, as Raja suspected, there would be no clues to be found anyway.
Without hesitation, Raja dug into the pockets and found a set of car
keys.

Raja stepped outside the room and beeped the keys to
a black BMW in the parking lot.

“Wait for me,” said Vinny. “Dead
bodies creep me out.”

A search of the car brought nothing of interest. It
was a rental from the airport. Another dead end. Raja found and
removed one unidentified key from the key chain, replaced the car
keys in the judge’s jacket and closed the motel room door
behind him. As they drove away, two black and white patrol cars
passed them and pulled into the motel parking lot.

The Triad wasn’t the only one with a scorched
earth policy. Dead bodies were becoming an epidemic on this case.

C
hapter Fifteen:
See No Evil

At her Santa Barbara ranch, Clarice Hope faced the
distasteful job of making arrangements for a funeral service for her
dead husband. Once her anger had cooled, the reality of her loss hit
home. Needing support, she drove into downtown Santa Barbara to talk
to the woman who ran a popular travel agency there. Clarice had
booked many trips through that agency over the years, and in the
process, she and Sandra Perkins had become fast friends.

“Clarice, come in, come in,” said a
well-groomed middle-aged woman who looked the part of an upscale
professional. “I’m wrapping up a booking, and then we can
go for coffee. Or something stronger, if you prefer. I’ll just
be a minute.”

“Take your time, Sandy. I’m in no
hurry.” Clarice didn’t bother to hide the gloom in her
voice.

“Oh, hell. I can do this later.” Sandy
closed her laptop and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.
No calls,” she said to her receptionist as she walked Clarice
out of the office.

“Coffee or Cognac?” Sandy knew what
Clarice liked to drink.

“Coffee sounds good,” said Clarice. The
two strolled arm in arm toward the Starbucks that was half a block
down on the opposite corner of the street. As they crossed to the
coffee shop, neither woman noticed the blond-haired man on the other
side of the street standing by a sidewalk magazine rack and
pretending to read. He watched intently until the women went inside
and then walked toward the Starbucks.

Once inside, the two women chatted trivial social
talk about Santa Barbara until Sandy finally asked pointedly, “How
are you holding up?”

Clarice stared at her coffee cup. “I know I
used to kid about my relationship with Randy, but I really loved that
man.”

Sandy gently took her hand. “I know you did,
sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

The floodgates opened and Clarice had the cry she
had needed since first learning of her husband’s death.

Once the tears slowed down, Sandy said, “Coffee
isn’t going to cut it. Let’s go.” The two walked
down State Street to O’Malley’s, a small old-fashioned
corner tavern. Neither noticed the blond-haired man who followed
behind, maintaining a cushion of separation between them. When the
women stopped briefly to window shop, he crouched down to tie his
shoe. His jacket flared open momentarily revealing the holstered
weapon underneath. When the two women finally meandered into the
tavern, the man picked a discreet spot outside and waited.

Clarice and Sandy drank and reminisced until Clarice
had come out of her funk. When the two women left the bar at eight
o’clock and strolled slowly up State Street, the blond man was
gone. Clarice and Sandy stopped and hugged in front of the door to
the travel agency office.

“Thanks, Sandy.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. You sure
you’re okay to drive?”

“I feel a lot better now than when I came.
I’ll be fine.”

Sandy went into her office and Clarice walked down
the narrow red brick alley next to the travel agency toward the rear
parking lot. It was dusk, and the sun had dropped behind the
buildings, casting dark shadows in the alleyway. The blond-haired man
appeared suddenly on the other side of State Street and loped across
like an animal tracking its prey. When he was even with the alley
entrance, he reached inside his jacket.

Clarice was thirty feet ahead in the alley, unaware
of her pursuer. Suddenly a side door slammed open onto the alley just
behind Clarice. Sandy stepped out holding a red leather handbag.
“Clarice. You left your clutch in my office.” She caught
a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked back toward State
Street, but no one was there.

Chapter Sixteen: Back to La-La Land

The trip from San Francisco back to LA was a quiet
one for Raja and Vinny. They set out in the morning after the rush
hour crush, working their way onto Highway One. Once on the open
road, the coast presented a beautiful vista. Vinny never noticed,
keeping herself occupied by running algorithms to search for more
information on the various interested parties they had so far
encountered. Spider programs trolled the internet and collected
massive bits of data. Sort programs culled out junk data, while
others analyzed what remained for relevance to the case they were on.
If any major hacking was required, Vinny did that hands-on live. A
girl has to have her fun.

Raja, on the other hand, was doing a bit of
uncharacteristic sulking. Deaths never sat well with him, especially
if he had personally taken on the task of solving a case. Like the
surgeon who analytically knows he cannot save all of his patients,
the death of one still hits home. It doesn’t matter how many
times he tells himself it’s just part of the job. A death is a
death, and a loss is a loss.

For Raja, it was always personal. He had a
connection that spanned out across the planet. It wasn’t some
vague airy-fairy kind of one-with-the-universe idea either. What he
felt was intimate, and as real as a hearty handshake with a friend.

So far the body count was unacceptable. Four dead,
and they were no closer to a resolution. There had to be something he
had overlooked. Something that would get him to the truth on this
case. He thought back to the beginning. The whole thing had started
with Randall and Clarice Hope.

“Have we got anything else on Randall Hope?”
he asked Vinny.

“I’ve researched everything from his
college days forward. Other than a DUI and a disorderly conduct at a
frat party, the guy is clean. He hit the jackpot when he married
Clarice, and then nothing until he takes up with Ramona Griggsby. You
know the rest. Shortly afterward, he ends up dead.”

Raja wasn’t satisfied.

Vinny pulled up her file on Randall Hope and began
to read out loud. This was one of their rituals on a case.

Raja listened intently while he drove.

Vinny went through the circumstances of Randy’s
death, the autopsy results and the interviews with Ramona Griggsby,
but nothing jumped out at him.

“There has to be something missing.”

“I’ve input everything I found and
everything you told me from your conversations,” insisted
Vinny.

Raja knew that was true. Vinny had awesome powers of
duplication. He had never seen her miss anything. It must have been
something he had missed himself. Something that he overlooked.

“I am not questioning your competence, Vinny.
I am just frustrated.”

They drove silently the rest of the way, arriving
back in Southern California by late afternoon. When the Ferrari
pulled into the garage in Studio City, the long shadows were
beginning to blend into dusk. Once inside the loft, Vinny went to
work.

Raja watched her for an hour, then said, “How
does your charting look? Any sort of probabilities coming up that I
can use?”

Vinny had a diagram positioning all the players
based on the weighted quantity of relevant data connecting them to
the case they were trying to solve. Randall Hope still sat alone in
the center.

“Four dead bodies gives me too many
variables,” she said. “I need less, which won’t
happen, or more.”

“Let’s not go there, if you please,”
said Raja rubbing his head. The last thing he wanted was more dead
bodies.

“I do have more unevaluated data on the judge,
and a lot of loose ends.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, so far he has a connection to Randall
Hope through his wife, although you ruled out any personal motive for
wanting Randy dead. He also knew the governor. Then there was his
thing for boys, which made him vulnerable as a federal judge. I have
a pile of cases he has ruled on, but it’s total Niah.”

“Niah?”

“N-I-A-H—Needle in a haystack. Without a
better focus, I don’t know what to look for. The judge has
reviewed forty-two cases, not one of which is connected to Hope.”