James Conway - In Cold Blonde

Then life threw a one-two punch. First, Anne lost the baby. A miscarriage. Ryan consoled Anne, told her not to worry they would have plenty of babies.

Then the knockout punch; Ryan’s father was charged with tax fraud. Under financial strain from paying four alimonies and caught short by the bursting tech bubble, Ryan’s father had played a little fast and loose with the IRS. He was caught, convicted, disbarred and sentenced to six years in jail.

Ryan scraped together enough money for his last year of UCLA and Anne had her scholarship, but now there was no money for law school. So Ryan made a decision. He’d work while Anne went to law school. When she graduated, she’d go to work and pay for his education.

Not only had Ryan loved his six years with stepmom Liz, her stories about the Coroner’s office and police work intrigued him. So he joined the LAPD. Anne thrived at UCLA law school and Ryan loved the police force. But it was a financial struggle. A patrolman’s salary barely covered the studio apartment, groceries and incidentals.

The summer after her second year of law school Anne got a job as an intern at a big L.A. firm, Rogers, Middleton and Roberts. There she met Rick Rogers, son of founding partner, Edward Rogers. He was five years Anne’s senior and an associate on the fast track to making partner. He was handsome, Harvard-educated, and rich. He also had a huge crush on Anne and pursued her relentlessly.

And then one night, Anne never came home. Frantic, Ryan worked the phone calling hospitals, friends, family, desperately trying to find her. She called in the morning to say she’d fallen in love with Rick Rogers and she wanted a divorce. Rick sent movers to clean her things out of the apartment while a shell-shocked Ryan looked on. Two weeks after the divorce was final, Rick married Anne.

Ryan was devastated. He tortured himself, wondering what he’d done wrong. Wondering what he could have done to keep Anne. His well-planned life had come completely unraveled. He was supposed to quit the police force and go to law school next year. But without Anne’s salary to support them, how would he afford it?

And suddenly, the idea of becoming a lawyer didn’t appeal to him very much. It hadn’t done much to insure his father’s happiness. And indirectly, law school had ruined his life with Anne. Besides, he loved being a cop. He was good at it. And it was his brothers in blue who gathered round him when Anne dumped him. So Ryan stayed a cop and never thought about becoming a lawyer again.

“Elwood was buried at Calvary,” Liz said. “Not far from your dad. So after the service I stopped by his grave.” Ryan’s father died of a heart attack while in prison.

“How’s he doing?”

“Still dead, but there were fresh flowers on the grave.”

Ryan nodded. “Maggie never stopped loving him.” Maggie was Ryan’s father’s second wife. She only lasted two years. “Not even after he dumped her for you, Liz. Maggie visits the grave every week.”

“Epic love,” Syd said. “Even in the teeth of a gale. That’s so romantic.”

“Pathetic if you ask me,” Liz said. “Ryan’s father was a self-centered son of a bitch who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. I’m just sorry it took me six years to realize it.” Liz started for her car. “I’ll call you guys when I know something.”

Hanrahan shook his head. “I can’t imagine waking up to that every morning. How’d your dad do it?”

“She makes a mean blueberry pancake,” Ryan said. “She’s also smart, informed and passionate about life.”

“Yet she spends her days sticking her hands in dead people, go figure.” Hanrahan sucked the last bit of chocolate off his Tootsie Roll Pop. “Anyway, the bartender’s inside along with a few of the customers who got a look at the blonde.”

“Don’t suppose the bar or parking lot had a surveillance camera?” Ryan asked.

“No,” Hanrahan said.

Syd pointed across the street. “There’s a 7-Eleven. I’ll check to see if they have a camera pointed in this direction.”

“Great idea,” Ryan said. Syd hurried off.

Hanrahan watched Syd cross the street. “If she was my partner, I’d have trouble keeping my dick in my pants.”

Ryan studied Hanrahan for any sign of suspicion, found none. “I’ve never had a thing for redheads,” Ryan said, not crazy about lying to his boss. Then he sprinkled on a little extra seasoning. “Besides, she’s got a boyfriend.”

“Good,” Hanrahan said, turning back to Ryan. “Because fucking your partner always ends the same way. You end up fucking yourself.”

Syd was excited. She just had a feeling. Not about the security camera. 7-Eleven’s have their cameras inside, trained on the aisles and cash register, not on the parking lot. There was probably no way there was a security camera to help in their murder investigation. No, she was excited about Ryan’s lottery ticket. She just had this feeling.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asked as Syd approached the counter. He was smiling, but he didn’t mean it. Syd could just tell. He was Middle Eastern, of course, late thirties to early forties, and he just oozed resentment. He was probably a doctor or an engineer in his native country but in America he’s stuck behind a sticky, slurpee-stained counter.

“Yes,” Syd said, handing him Ryan’s Lotto ticket, beaming him her brightest smile. “Could you check this for me, tell me if I’ve won anything?”

“Certainly,” he said, perking up. No man, no matter where he is from, can resist a pretty girl. He tried to put it in the Lotto reader, but it was so wrinkled the machine rejected it.

“Sorry,” Syd said. “It was sort of forgotten about, stuffed in a glove compartment.”

“No problem,” he said, smoothing it out. “You’d be surprised how many millions of dollars go unclaimed because people forgot about their tickets.” He carefully placed the ticket in the machine and, with a mechanical whir, the machine sucked it in.

Syd couldn’t see the screen from her angle so she watched the clerk’s face. He stared at the screen, expressionless, and then shook his head. “Sorry, miss, no luck today.” He hit a button, the machine spit the ticket out and the clerk threw it into the trashcan behind the counter.

“Can I have my ticket?” Syd asked.

“No need, miss, it’s a loser. I’ve thrown it away for you.”

Syd pulled her .9mm Glock and stuck it in his face.

“Shit,” he gasped, raising his hands. “Take whatever you want. But, please, don’t shoot.”

“I’m a cop, you jackass, and all I want is my Lotto ticket.”

Looking even more worried than when Syd pulled the gun, the clerk leaned down, plucked the ticket out of the trash and handed it to her.

“You lied to me,” Syd said. “I could see it in your eyes. What came up on the screen?”

“Nothing, I swear. It was like I said, the screen said, no winner.”

Syd walked behind the counter, stopped in front of the Lotto machine. “Let’s just double check, shall we?” Syd smoothed the edges and slipped it into the machine. The screen flashed: CALL 800 465-9586.

“What’s that mean?” Syd asked.

The clerk hesitated, then, “It means you’ve won a very large jackpot. The 800 number comes up whenever the ticket is worth more than fifty thousand dollars.”

“And if I’d left after you threw my ‘losing’ ticket away, you were going to take it out of the trash and claim it yourself?”

He just stared at her, sullenly silent.

“One final question,” Syd said, writing down the 800 number. “Do any of your security cameras point toward the parking lot across the street?”

The question was so out of left field, confusion filled his face. “What?”