James Conway - In Cold Blonde

“Wearing red?” Syd asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes she was.”

“You get a name?”

Cortez flipped some notebook pages. “Susan Rafferty. That’s all the assistant got. No address, no phone number.”

“Have you run her?” Hanrahan asked.

“Not yet. Without an address or phone number I didn’t see how much good it would do, but hell, you never know. Hey, Billy,” Cortez yelled out. “Run the name Susan Rafferty, will you, tell me what you find.”

“I’m guessing it’s a phony,” Syd said.

“Did the assistant know what the blonde and Stone talked about?”

Cortez checked his notes. “No. They talked for about fifteen minutes and she left. He worked for an hour longer then left for the day. She had no idea what his plans were for the rest of the evening. To be honest guys, Stone was a criminal defense attorney so we’ve been focusing on any old clients who might’ve had a grudge. The blonde wasn’t even on our radar.”

“Not surprising,” Ryan said. “I would have done the same thing.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Cortez said. “What’s with the mutilation and carving questions?”

Ryan glanced at Hanrahan for permission to tell them, Hanrahan nodded his assent. “Our victim’s penis was cut off and stuffed in his mouth,” Ryan said.

“No way!”

“And the number 2 was carved in his chest.”

“The number 2…” Cortez digested this, made a connection. “Son of a bitch, that may explain the dollar bill.”

“Dollar bill?” Syd asked.

“Yeah, Stone had three hundred and sixty-six dollars in his wallet, but he also had a one dollar bill in his hand.”

“ One dollar bill,” Syd said. “It’s her, I’m sure of it. Zachary Stone was first, Colin Wood was second.”

“But why mutilate Wood and not Stone?” Cortez asked.

“If this is revenge for a rape, Stone was just the lawyer,” Syd said. “He probably never touched her. But Wood was another story.”

“And since she’s numbering her victims,” Ryan said, “we’re thinking there will be more. We spoke to an Orange County attorney, Chris Reade, who’d heard that Stone represented Colin Wood in a case when Wood was in high school. There were rumors that money was paid to a date rape victim. Any way to get information on a case Stone handled ten or eleven years ago?”

“It’s tricky, you know that. I’ll give it a shot but its privileged information.”

A uniformed cop appeared in the conference room doorway, signaled for Hanrahan. The Lieutenant joined him as Syd said, “There’s one guy who knows who knows for sure, Colin Wood’s father.”

“We’ve been trying to call him without luck,” Ryan said. “Detective Cortez, maybe you can put a Be On the Lookout for him.”

“Consider it done. And we’ll pay a visit to his home and office. I’ll find him, don’t worry. Wait, hold on,” Cortez took a printout from Billy. “Okay, we’ve got six Susan Raffertys in Southern California.” He scanned the list, frowned. “Two in their forties, three in their sixties and one is eighty-eight.”

“Told you,” Syd said. “It’s a phony. Smart lady.”

“And dangerous,” Hanrahan said. Ryan and Syd looked at him. “They just found a body at the Bel Air Regent Hotel with a missing body part.”

“On my way,” Ramirez said and hung up.

“Good luck,” Cortez said and hung up.

But they were talking to no one. Ryan and Syd were already out the door.

“I bet Mr. Magee is very happy.”

“He’s thrilled, believe me,” Anne said. She was on the phone with Lucinda McCarthy, a vice president of the California Lottery. They loved giving out big jackpots almost as much the winner loved getting the money. Big, highly publicized payouts always led to a spike in sales.

Anne was in her office at Rogers, Middleton and Roberts, staring out at a crystal clear Los Angeles morning.

Lucinda, a cheerful bundle of energy, sat in front of her computer in the Van Nuys district office. “I saw Detective Magee on television; he’s quite good looking isn’t he?”

“Adorable.”

“Is he nice?”

“Very.”

“Is he married?”

“Divorced, I think,” Anne said.

“Some dumb woman’s going to regret that,” Lucinda said, laughing.

“Tell me about it,” Anne said.

Lucinda hit a couple of keys, finished inputting the Lotto ticket serial number Anne had provided. “Oh, my, Mr. Magee likes to cut things close, doesn’t he? This ticket expires tomorrow.”

“Actually,” Anne said. “He just found it, forgot he even bought it.”

“It happens all the time,” Lucinda said. “We’ve had almost a hundred million dollars in unclaimed jackpots in the last twenty years. Now would Mr. Magee like to receive his check privately or would he prefer a press conference?”

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a choice.” Contrary to what Anne told Ryan, neither she nor her firm had ever represented a Lotto winner. But she figured her credibility would be enhanced if she’d actually represented lottery winners so she’d gone online to get the statistics and case studies she’d described to Ryan.

“We only hold a press conference if the winner wants one. We like to respect everyone’s privacy. Many winners wish to remain anonymous. But if someone wants a press conference then we rent a small ballroom in a local hotel, invite the media, the owner of the outlet that sold the ticket, and of course, the lucky winner.”

“Well,” Anne said. “Anonymity is out of the question at this point, the press has already learned that Mr. Magee won. His name is actually Detective Ryan Magee, he’s an LAPD Homicide detective.”

“Yes, I know, I saw it on the news. Isn’t it wonderful! To be honest we have a hard time getting the local press interested in Lotto winners these days. We’ve been giving out jackpots for over twenty years so you need something extraordinary to pique their interest. But they do love the hard-working-public-servant-strikes-it-rich angle.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that besides Detective Magee being a cop, he’s also planning to donate much of his winnings to charity. We plan to announce the formation of a charitable foundation at the press conference.”

“That’ll get the media’s attention. How generous of him. There is a Holiday Inn in Studio City we often use for press conferences. I’ll check with them and make sure the ballroom’s available. Did you have a time in mind?”

“I was thinking late morning, say eleven.”

“Excellent. Late morning usually gets our best press turnout.”

“Good.”

“Now if Mr. Magee needs a CPA, I’ve got a cousin who has handled the finances of a number of lottery winners.”

“No, he’s got a CPA.”

“How about a real estate agent? I’m sure Mr. Magee’s thinking about a new home right about now and my cousin, Ed, has put a number of lottery winners into the home of their dreams.”

“We got that handled, too.”

“Bet he needs a new car. My cousin, Teddy, owns the Cadillac dealership in Burbank and he’s helped a lot of lottery winners into their first Escalade.”

How big is your frickin’ family lady, thought Anne. “No, Mr. Magee’s got everything he needs.”

“All right then,” Lucinda said, disappointed but undeterred. “But I know how difficult it is to navigate the sudden wealth landscape so if you or Mr. Magee need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Now just give me a couple of hours to coordinate things on my end and confirm the hotel, then I’ll call you back with all the particulars.”

“That’ll be great, Lucinda. Thank you,” Anne said and hung up.