The commercial implications were staggering. Besides the millions of dollars it could gross in DVD, internet and licensing sales, it would be a great way for him to re-introduce himself to mainstream Hollywood. Hollywood was a sucker for comeback stories and what better comeback was there than capturing the notorious Lady in Red?
He zoomed in for an extreme close-up just as she opened her eyes, turned her head and looked right at him.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
He took shot after shot. A dazzling smile lit up her face as the sunset scorched the sky behind her. Photographers wait hours for this kind of light. It was called the magic hour even though it usually only lasted about twenty minutes each day as the sun set.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking pictures of a beautiful woman. Do you mind?”
She thought about it, decided she had nothing to lose at this point; he’d be dead soon and she could take the camera. On second thought, she might leave the camera for the police to find, these pictures should look a lot better than those lousy surveillance shots they’re showing on TV. So she posed, playfully. “Not at all.”
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
“Did you ever model while you were in Denver?” Since Blake knew her wannabe actress from Denver story was bullshit, he thought it’d be fun to poke at the lie.
Actually, Alice’s actress friend, Dawn, did some modeling in Denver and had told her all about it. “I did,” Alice said, turning her head from one side to the other like she’d seen so many models do on TV. “Mostly print ads for Khol’s Department Store.”
“You should think about modeling in L.A.; you’re fabulous.”
“Thank you,” she said, sweetly.
All right, Blake thought. Enough of this; she is a cold-blooded killer after all, don’t get too cocky. He lowered the camera. “Time for that drink I promised.” He traded the Nikon for the bottle of Cakebread. “Would you get the glasses while I open the wine?” He pointed to a row of wine glasses hanging above the bar in the den.
“Sure,” she said, turning for the bar.
As soon as her back was turned, Blake swung the bottle.
Alice sensed the movement, started to turn but too late, the bottle whacked into the back of her skull. Her head snapped back and she went down.
Blake looked down at the unconscious woman at his feet. He’d done it!
Now the fun would begin.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Syd wrote down a name: Blake Hunter.
Could he be the next victim, Syd wondered? It was written on her yellow legal pad beneath six other names: Kris Adams, Jonathan Battle, Edward Bartowski, John Crystal, Ted Dearborn, and James Eagleton.
Syd was alone in the bullpen, comparing the names in the address books of Colin Wood and Adam Devlin, and had found seven matches through the first five letters of the alphabet. And all seven names were also listed in the yearbook. A notation in Colin Wood’s appointment book explained it; they’d had a ten-year high school reunion last year. So they gotten together with all their old friends and exchanged numbers.
Syd was sure the names of other potential victims were on that list, but the way it was going, there were going to be twenty or thirty names on the list before she finished. Far more names than she’d expected, which disappointed her. She was hoping the combination of the two address books and yearbook would point her at just one or two people. But even twenty or thirty names did help narrow their focus and at this point, every little bit helped.
Syd leaned back in her chair and stretched. She was stiff. She hadn’t been to the gym or dojo in almost a week. She depended on her workouts, not only to stay fit, but also to help throttle back her stress. And she could feel her anxiety level building. Not the case so much; Syd was confident they were close to finding the Lady in Red. It was Ryan. Well, Ryan and Anne to be more precise. Syd could live with Ryan taking the Lotto money; she didn’t agree with it but she understood the money’s irresistible appeal. Hell, there was a fresh stack of messages piled on Ryan’s desk from friends, relatives and complete strangers hitting him up for some of that precious money.
Anne was another story. She was truly dangerous.
Syd’s cell phone rang. She answered. “Syd Curtis.”
“It’s Alex Cortez from Newport Beach.”
“Hey, how you doing, Detective?”
“A little frustrated to be honest. I’ve come up empty on Colin Wood’s dad. His office says he is in seclusion due to the death of his son. I stopped by his house and he’s either not there or refusing to come to the door. Short of getting a warrant and breaking down the door, I’m not sure what else we can do.”
Something didn’t feel right. “What kind of man won’t help the police find his son’s killer?” asked Syd.
“One who can’t deal with his feelings,” Cortez said, not convinced. “Or has something to hide.”
“Yeah, my spidey sense is tingling, too.”
“I do have some good news, though,” Cortez said. “I showed the surveillance photo of the Lady in Red to Zachary Stone’s assistant, and she positively ID’d her as the woman who met him.”
“Great. And we’ve had some other interesting developments.” She brought him up to date on the interview with Emily Devlin and the yearbook discovery. “I should have twenty names or so by morning. So far, half the numbers I’ve found have OC area codes, so we could use your help contacting them.”
“You mean warning them, don’t you?”
“And then some. Something happened in high school, I’m sure of it, some kind of brutal humiliation or gang rape, something horrible enough for a woman to kill and mutilate her attackers years later. So if any of the guys we go see were involved, they may lie about it. I think we should do a lot more than just warn these guys, we should interrogate them.”
“Good point.”
“I’ll finish some time tonight and email you a list of the OC names. But here are two to get you started tonight.” Syd grabbed her list. “Blake Hunter, oh, wait, no, he lives in Malibu. Here, Jonathan Battle and John Crystal.” She told him the phone numbers.
“Thanks, Detective. I’ll let you know what I find. And hey, I hope we can all actually meet face to face one of these days.”
“Oh, we’ll meet,” Syd said. “At the Lady in Red’s trial.”
Cortez laughed. “I like the way you think. Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you, too,” Syd said and hung up.
At the Lady in Red’s trial, Syd thought. They were going to catch her, Syd was more certain of that than ever before. But she wondered if they should be in such a hurry. As she just told Cortez, something dreadful went down eleven years ago. These guys must have done terrible things to the Lady in Red. Syd didn’t know why she waited so long to seek her revenge, but she understood, firsthand, the Lady in Red’s desire for revenge. Syd, herself, had killed twice.
Syd felt her murders were justified. In court she would probably be acquitted of Ernesto’s murder; a self-defense plea would certainly fly. But her stepfather was another story. She planned that one. She intentionally closed that garage door knowing the fumes would kill him, clearly pre-meditated murder.
And the thing was, Syd had no regrets. Given the chance, she would kill them both again.
Syd was sure that the Lady in Red felt the same way. Her murders are totally justified in her mind. The Lady in Red must know she’s going to get caught and has decided that revenge is worth any incarceration or execution.