James Conway - In Cold Blonde

He stopped and turned.

“I almost forgot to ask, how’d your meeting with Anne go tonight?”

Ryan paused, measuring his words. “Let’s just say, it was full of surprises.”

Shit, Syd thought. A non-answer! But, hey, at least he didn’t lie. Yet.

“I’ll give you the details later,” Ryan said, waved and got in his car. As Ryan backed up, he’d wished he put his top up because the reporters were literally shoving their microphones into his face shouting questions:

“Who was the Lady in Red?”

“What was the final body count?”

“Did she know all her victims?”

Finally, his old friend, Patricia, from KNBC stuck her beauty pageant winning smile in front of him and said, “Solving the biggest serial killer case this town has seen in decades and winning the lottery — this must be a great day to be Ryan Magee.”

A great day to be Ryan Magee, Ryan thought. Yeah, right.

He put the Mustang in gear and pulled away, leaving the unhappy media in his wake.

Anne couldn’t believe it. As she drank her room service coffee, she flicked between the morning news shows. They were all covering the same story: The Lady in Red.

Why hadn’t Ryan called her to tell her the good news? He’d not only solved the case but also killed a notorious serial murderer.

This was huge.

Getting publicity for someone winning the Lotto was one thing, getting publicity for someone winning the Lotto who is also a genuine American hero was a whole different ball of wax.

This was great for the foundation. Additional money should come pouring in. But new avenues for revenue had suddenly opened up. Books, movie offers, personal appearances. Ryan Magee was about to become an industry.

And he was all hers.

Which made her wonder again why he hadn’t called? Probably didn’t want to wake me, she decided and reached for her phone. She called him but it went straight to voicemail. Anne said, “Hi, honey, it’s me. I’m watching TV and I see you’ve had a busy night. Congratulations, this is wonderful news. Call me as soon as you get up. I want to hear all the details. I love you.”

Anne hung up, excitement rippling through her. Today was going to be a wonderful, unforgettable day.

Syd never got to bed. When she left Blake Hunter’s house, she took the Pacific Coast Highway to the Interstate 10. She drove east to the 405, but instead of taking it north to head toward her apartment, she suddenly took the ramp leading south to Orange County.

It was just a little after dawn so traffic was light and before she knew it, she was knocking on the front door.

Betty Waterman answered the door and was surprised to see Syd. What was the detective doing back here?

She obviously hasn’t seen the news, Syd realized. And no one had called the Waterman’s because the Lady in Red’s identity hadn’t been released yet.

Then Betty read the expression on Syd’s tired face and put two and two together. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Syd said, and the next thing Syd knew she was holding Betty and they were both crying.

Cliff Waterman greeted Syd brusquely and took the news stoically, as if he always knew his daughter’s life would end like this. And Syd sensed something else, too. Relief. He was scared of Alice, she realized. Well, she had tried to burn down the house. And now she was killing people, so he was probably afraid he was on her hit list, too.

What do you say to the parents of a slain serial murderer? How do you console them? Syd couldn’t tell them about the DVD or video yet. They had to remain secret for the time being. So she said, “In a few days everyone will know exactly what happened to Alice. In a few days everyone will know that Alice was the real victim.” Then Syd told them who to call to claim Alice’s body, and left.

Syd got in her car and shut the door. Now what? Instinct had brought her to Orange County to tell the Watermans their daughter was dead. Or, was it something else?

Someone else lives in Orange Country. In nearby Newport Beach not eight miles from here. Nick Wood.

Syd hadn’t actually thought it through when she took the DVD and video from Blake’s beach house. But she took them for a very specific reason. She took them because she didn’t want anyone else to see them until she’d finished what Alice had started.

Until she killed Nick Wood.

And now here Syd sat just a few miles from his house. Of course, he might not be home. He’d been in hiding since his son’s murder.

But if he’d seen the news, if he’d heard the Lady in Red was dead, then it would be safe for him to reappear, wouldn’t it?

Syd pulled out her cell phone, looked up Nick Wood’s number from her notes and dialed. It rang once.

Pick up, you sleazy bastard, Syd thought.

It rang again. Alice is dead, you coward, pick up.

Another ring. Shit, answer, God damn it.

Then, a click and “Hello?”

“Mr. Wood, hi, this is Detective Curtis from the LAPD. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I got the messages, but I’ve been so upset by Colin’s death I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone.”

Horseshit, Syd thought. You just watched the morning news, saw the Lady in Red is dead and have crawled out from under your rock. “Well,” Syd said. “Good news, the Lady in Red won’t be hurting anyone else.”

“I know, I just saw the news. Great work, Detective.”

I knew it, thought Syd. “Thank you. Mr. Wood, there are a few personal items of your son I’d like to return to you. I’ve just come from a meeting in Newport Beach and could be at your home in ten minutes or so; would it be all right if I dropped by?”

There was a longer-than-there-should-have-been pause; obviously Nick Wood was trying to figure the angles, trying to guess how much Syd knew and didn’t know. But he must’ve realized that refusing to see her would have seemed suspicious so he said, “Sure, I’m at 1412 King’s Road.” He gave Syd quick directions and hung up.

The house was a beautiful Mediterranean-style home sitting on an acre of land with an ocean view. Syd imagined an excited seventeen year-old Alice walking up the stone steps to the front door eleven years ago, fantasizing about her upcoming evening with her crush, Adam Devlin.

Oh, Alice…

Syd rang the doorbell. A few moments later Nick Wood opened the door. Though it was only seven-thirty in the morning, he was dressed; Bali loafers, khaki’s and another Polo shirt, light green this time. But Nick Wood looked a bit tired, a bit stressed.

“Come in, come in,” Nick said. Syd stepped into the entryway. The house was spectacular with hardwood floors, a thirty-foot spiral staircase, artwork draped walls and the soft tic/tock/tic/tock from an unseen Grandfather clock.

“You have a beautiful home,” Syd said.

“Thank you,” Nick said leading her down the hall and into the living room. It was surprisingly feminine, with a thick white carpet, giant tan couch that could seat twenty of your favorite people, two loveseats, a coffee table and vases of fresh cut flowers. Everything faced the picture window, of course, and the to-die-for view of the ocean.

Syd needed to know if they were alone, so asked, “It must take a lot of help to keep a house this big.”

“Not really,” Nick said. “It’s just me now. So I only have a housekeeper stop by three days a week.”

Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Syd assumed. Today was Thursday, excellent.

“Can I get you some coffee, Detective? Or a latte? I’ve got my own machine in the kitchen.”

A latte would take him longer to make. “A latte would be wonderful, thank you.”

“Be right back.” Nick Wood left.