Panic seized Emily. “But you can’t! You’ve got to get those videos back!”
Ryan threw a confused look to Syd. “It’s too late, Mrs. Devlin, I’m sorry. They’re already running.”
“Then stop them, immediately.”
“We can’t,” Syd said.
“But don’t you see, it’s so embarrassing! Everyone’s going to know Adam was cheating on me. I’ll be a laughing stock!”
Ryan caught Syd’s eye, clocked her surprise. People, Ryan thought. You just never knew how they’d react. “With all due respect, Mrs. Devlin, this is a murder investigation. We think this woman has killed three men and may kill more. Our first priority is to find her and stop her.”
Any trace of grief was gone. Humiliation and anger fueled her words. “Look, let’s be honest. I knew Adam had the occasional affair,” then with a defiant look to Ryan she added, “We both had affairs.”
Syd found it interesting Emily aimed that comment at Ryan. A fuck you to men or a provocative statement to flirt?
“But I have the decency to keep mine private,” Emily said. Then another realization rocked Emily. “Could this woman have been a girlfriend? Someone he’s been seeing for a long time?”
“We have no way of knowing that yet,” Ryan said.
“Motherfucker,” Emily said racing for the phone. “Shit, what’s his number?” she said to herself and then apparently remembered because she quickly dialed. “Thomas, its Emily Devlin… Adam’s dead… Yeah, yeah, me, too. Listen, has he made any changes to his will since we did the Trust papers… Oh, thank God… What… Murdered, it’s on TV apparently… yes, yes, let’s talk later.” She hung up. “I’m sorry,” she said to Ryan and Syd, “Where were we?”
Watching you make sure you’ll get to keep all of your husband’s money, Ryan thought. “We were trying to find your husband’s killer,” Ryan said. “Do you know Zachary Stone?”
“Who’s Zachary Stone?”
“He is, or was, a lawyer in Orange County.”
Emily thought about it and then shook her head. “No. The only people I know in Orange County are Adam’s parents. He makes air conditioning ducts, I think, and she’s a big muckity-muck at one of the banks.”
“Orange County,” Syd said, jumping on the connection. “Was your husband raised in Orange County?”
“Yes.” Emily saw the excited reaction from Ryan and Syd. “Why, is that important?”
“How about Colin Wood?” asked Syd. “Did your husband know Colin Wood.”
“Colin Wood, wasn’t he the actor that was killed yesterday?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Did your husband know him?”
Emily considered. “You know, I actually think I remember Adam mentioning Colin Wood a few months ago. He was in a movie we saw; Adam said he knew him.”
“How old was your husband?” Syd asked.
The rapid-fire questions were unsettling Emily. “Twenty-nine.”
Syd looked at Ryan. “Same age as Colin. And Kathy Tuttle’s lawyer said he heard rumors about trouble when Colin was in high school.”
Ryan looked at Emily. “Did your husband go to school with Colin Wood?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Ryan had a brainstorm. “I don’t suppose Adam kept any of his high school yearbooks?”
Adam Devlin’s office was a mahogany and leather delight. The room smelled of cigar smoke and floor-to-ceiling bookcases encircled a custom made Parnian desk.
It took a while to find the yearbooks. Ryan enjoyed the search because many of Adam Devlin’s books were first editions. There was a shelf of American classics by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner; Adam Devlin even had a signed first edition of Moby Dick by Melville.
Then there was a shelf of classic detective novels: The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler, The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett, The Postman Always Rings Twice, by James M. Cain. Devlin owned scores of books from the world’s most renowned detective writers: Agatha Christie, John D. MacDonald, Rex Stout, Erle Stanley Gardner, Graham Greene, Cornell Woolrich, Ross Thomas, Ruth Rendell; even signed first editions from contemporary masters like Elmore Leonard, John Grisham, John Sanford, James Lee Burke and Michael Connelly.
Ryan loved books and always dreamed of collecting first editions. Of course, he never had the money to buy them or the library necessary to house them.
Until now.
As Ryan scoured through the books, a strange feeling took hold. Now he could buy any book he wanted. He could even buy Devlin’s entire library and it wouldn’t make a dent in his money.
For the first time Ryan really understood the magnitude of his Lotto winnings.
He could have a room like this.
He could have a house like this.
He could have all the toys.
He could have anything he wanted.
He had originally planned to give away all the money, but for the first time he reconsidered. Why did he have to give it all away? If he kept just ten percent, or twenty percent, even thirty percent would still leave tens of millions for the foundation.
“Got it,” Syd said, excited. “I found the yearbooks.”
Ryan and Emily joined Syd. She knelt in a far corner of the library, pulled out a yearbook from the bottom shelf. “Here’s the last one, his senior year.” She handed it to Ryan. He flipped through the senior pictures, found the one for Adam Devlin. He wore a yellow sweater and a warm, open smile.
“Hasn’t changed much,” Syd said.
Emily touched the picture with her finger. “He was wearing that sweater when I met him freshman year at USC,” Emily said, tearing up, suddenly nostalgic.
She’s going to go through a lot of emotions for the next few weeks, Ryan knew. Losing someone to murder, no matter how ambivalent you might feel toward them, was always a jolting experience.
He flipped through the alphabetical pages of photos until he got to the W’s. “Bingo,” Ryan said. Colin Wood’s picture was in the middle of the page. “Mrs. Devlin,” Ryan said. “Did Adam ever mention any trouble he might have had in high school?”
She thought about it. “No, not really. He told me his dad caught him with dope one time, and his mom walked in on him masturbating. I have too, by the way, but that’s another story.”
“I’ll bet the next victim’s in that book. Hell,” Syd said. “I’ll bet the Lady in Red’s in that book.”
“Can we borrow this,” Ryan asked Emily
“Of course.”
“We’ll also need access to your husband’s address book and computer.”
“They’re both there on his desk,” Emily said, looking at Ryan as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Detective, have we met before?”
Oh, shit, Ryan thought. Here it comes. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you an actor on the side or something?”
Syd knew where she was going, too. “No,” she said. “But you may have seen him on TV recently.”
Then it hit her. “You’re the Lotto winner, right. The cop who struck it rich.”
“That’s right,” Ryan said.
“How much did you win?”
“Thirty-four million.”
Emily’s eye’s dropped to Ryan’s ring finger. “I don’t see a wedding ring.”
“Oh, he’s single,” Syd said, enjoying Ryan’s discomfort.
“Well,” Emily said, a little of her old perkiness reemerging. “I’d be foolish not to mention I’m suddenly single.”
“This guy knows everybody in sports,” Syd said, thumbing through Adam Devlin’s address book. They were driving east on Olympic from Brentwood to Hollywood, suffering the fits and starts of rush hours. “Tiger Woods, Maria Sharapova, Tony Romo, Michael Phelps. And even most A list actors: George Clooney, Tom Cruise, Will Smith and, saving the best for last… Colin Wood.”