James Conway - In Cold Blonde

Time to sow a few seeds of doubt, Anne thought. “And she’s not going to get angry every time you use some of the money for yourself? A new house? New car? A vacation for the two of you? She’s not going to remind you the money you’re spending isn’t really yours?”

She may not say anything, Ryan thought. But there would certainly be that knowing look in her eye. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“You know what, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Anne said. “Syd seems like a lovely, reasonable girl.” Okay, Anne thought. Time to move on the next part of her plan. She opened her briefcase. “You said you didn’t have much time, so let’s get down to business. I just have a couple of things for you to sign tonight.” Her hands searched the inside of the briefcase and then she looked up, apologetic. “Shit, I must’ve left them in my room. You mind coming upstairs with me? It’ll just take you a second to sign the papers and then you can be on your way.”

Ryan looked at Anne with playful skepticism. “You just happened to leave them in your room? You sure this isn’t a trick to get me in your room, ply me with alcohol and seduce me?”

You bet your ass it is, Anne thought. “No, not at all. Look, if you’d rather wait here, I’ll bring them down.” She quickly got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, don’t be silly,” Ryan said. He got up, dropped twenty on the table for the drinks. “I’ll come with you.”

“Great. And no funny stuff, I promise.”

“Deal.”

So far so good, Anne thought as she slipped her purse over her shoulder. Now for the fun part. “The elevator’s this way,” she said and led Ryan out of the lounge.

Syd watched Ryan and Anne walk toward the bank of elevators. He’s going up to her room, she realized. She’d lost him.

Syd considered calling Ryan, telling him about Alice Waterman. That would be one way to get him out of Anne’s room. Ryan would certainly want to be in on the parents’ interview.

But fuck him. He wants to sleep with his ex-wife, let him. Syd would handle it alone.

Syd collected her things, and with one last look through the binoculars at the man she loved, Syd left.

Alice stared at the TV screen stunned. After all the years of wondering what exactly happened to her that night, now she knew. The blanks were filled in, and now that she’d witnessed the horror firsthand, it was so much worse than she’d ever imagined.

She’d been disgusted watching the three men rape her. But she expected that. What she hadn’t expected was the fourth man, the man who appeared at the end of the video. And that changed everything. Because now one more man had to die.

But first she had to deal with Blake.

“So,” Blake said. “Feel like talking about what you’ve just seen? Want to tell the world your side of the story?”

“Sure. But I’d like some water first.”

Alice wasn’t actually thirsty. But to get to the kitchen Blake had to pass in front of her. And maybe, just maybe…

“Water? Sure. Or maybe wine, it might help you relax. I’ve still got that bottle of Chardonnay.”

“No thanks, lately I found white wine gives me a headache.”

He looked at her, surprised at her wit. “You know, you’re very hot when you’re funny.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s more like it.” Blake stepped out from behind his desk and headed for the kitchen. As he passed Alice, she kicked her feet into the back of his legs knocking his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud. Alice rolled over, dragging her feet toward his face.

“Bitch,” he mumbled and started to get up.

She kicked him in the face. His head bounced off her feet and into the wall. WHAP!

“Cunt.”

She kicked again and again and again. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. His head bounced off the wall as blood erupted from his nose, his forehead and an eyebrow.

He was unconscious. Alice crawled over him and flipped onto her back. Since her hands were cuffed behind her back she had to fish blindly in his pockets for the handcuff keys. If he even had them in his pocket.

She came up empty in his front left pocket, but struck gold in his right front pocket. She twisted the fingers of her right hand trying to find the opening for the lock on her left handcuff. It was awkward, and painful, but finally the key slipped into the lock. She turned the key and the handcuff fell away.

Oh, thank God, she thought. She unlocked the right handcuff and tossed them across the room. Then she quickly untied her feet.

Blake was starting to stir. She thought about kicking him again, but the overwhelming desire to get her gun won out and she bolted into the living room to get her purse. She dug inside for the gun but couldn’t find it. She yanked open the mouth of her purse, her hands and eyes desperately searching every nook and corner. It wasn’t there.

Fuck! She had a terrible feeling about the missing gun but couldn’t dwell on it now. She pulled out the only weapon she had left, the scalpel.

CLICK.

An unmistakable sound.

The sound of a gun being cocked.

Behind her.

She turned. Blake, blood pouring from the wounds on his face, stood in the kitchen, aiming the .25 at her.

She cocked her arm to throw the knife.

He fired.

“I’m looking for Alice Waterman.”

“Alice, why Alice is my daughter, but she doesn’t live here,” Betty Waterman said from her doorway.

The drive down to Santa Ana had been tough on Syd. She’d spent the hour and fifteen minutes obsessing on Ryan and Anne, trying to convince herself not to jump to conclusions. Anne had practically forced him to kiss her. And just because he left the lounge with her, didn’t mean he was going to jump into bed with her.

Then Syd got pissed at herself for trying to excuse Ryan’s behavior. He was just another asshole with a cock attached and she berated herself for thinking Ryan was somehow different.

Finally, she refocused on the case and the looming possibility that she was about to meet the Lady in Red’s parents. And that thrilling prospect fueled the last, suddenly-hope-filled miles of her drive. So now, here goes…

“Alice lives in Hollywood,” Betty said. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Come in, please.”

Syd walked in and was hit by a wave of déjà vu. The layout of the house was almost identical to her Mom’s house in Overland Park. Small living room with lace curtains draped across a narrow picture window, tiny dining room with red and orange paisley plastic tablecloth connected to the undersized kitchen by a swinging door.

“That hunk of blubber on the couch is my husband, Cliff. Cliff, this is a police Detective, Syd… what was your last name again?”

“Curtis. Syd Curtis.” Syd stepped forward, shook Cliff’s hand. He actually wasn’t a hunk of blubber; he had a bit of a beer belly, but there was a lot of muscle on his body, and steel in his handshake. He had a friendly face, with rosy cheeks and a full head of gray hair.

Betty was thin with reading glasses perched on her slender nose, and shoulder length chestnut brown hair. “She wants to talk to us about Alice.”

A frown creased Cliff’s face as he indicated for Syd to sit in one of the chairs. Cliff and Betty sat across from her on the couch. “What’d she do now?”

“Well, to be honest I’m not sure she’s done anything. I’d like to show you a picture.” Syd had brought her backpack into the house; she fished out the surveillance picture of the Lady in Red. She handed it to Betty. “Do you recognize this woman?”

Betty and Cliff looked at the photo. “It’s not a very good picture but that’s her, all right,” Cliff said, disapprovingly. “The new improved version, she calls it. Me, I think she looks like a slut.”