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Raja Williams -- Private Investigation
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Crackerjack Publishing
ISBN-10: 061572955X
Pages: 196
Copyright: July 23, 2012
ISBN-13: 9780615729558
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
When the young husband of a wealthy heiress is found dead on his yacht floating off the California coastline, his death is ruled an accident and the case is closed. The grieving widow, certain her husband was murdered but getting no help from the police, turns to Raja Williams who has dedicated his resources to help those in need of justice.
The Color of Greed introduces Raja Williams and his partner Vinny Moore. Neither the dark, tragic anti-hero nor the James Bond super-hero type, Raja Williams is a wealthy Oxford-educated PI of mixed Caribbean descent who possesses a strong empathic power and a sixth sense for evil that gives him headaches and steers him straight into trouble. His partner Vinny Moore is a gorgeous hipster geek who prefers hacking computers to haute couture.
When the young husband of a wealthy heiress is found dead on his yacht floating off the California coastline, his death is ruled an accident and the case is closed. The grieving widow, certain her husband was murdered but getting no help from the police, turns to Raja Williams who has dedicated his resources to help those in need of justice. When Raja arrives in Los Angeles and more bodies begin to pile up, he suspects a cover-up that may go up as high as the governor. With the help of Vinny, Raja must unravel the case before everyone involved, including the two of them, winds up dead.
A colorful cast of characters, great dialogue and a suspenseful, twisting plot make The Color of Greed an entertaining read.
Excerpt
Chapter Two: The Widow
The phone ringing next to the bed had not woken Raja. He kept the volume down to a barely perceptible level. Nor had the woman’s distraught voice on his computer messaging system pulled him from sleep. Although the early sun was just peaking over the treeline and into the bedroom of his three-story home on the northern tip of Clearwater Beach, Raja Williams had been awake for almost an hour. He had an uncanny sense of trouble when it was coming. Much like the internal clock that tells nocturnal beasts to head for the safety of their homes long before daybreak, or an animal’s recognition that a storm is coming before there is any change in the weather, Raja had a sixth sense about trouble. He thought of it as his own internal version of stormwatch. However, in Raja’s case, he always headed right toward the storm. Although someone might say that made him dumber than the animals, Raja saw it as a point of responsibility. If he knew about something, he should do something about it.
And this morning he knew about something. The signs had been building inside him for nearly a day. That’s why he was awake and alert when the voice began.
“Mr. Williams, my name is Clarice Hope. I need your help.” The voice sounded sad and desperate, two things Raja could never resist, especially in a woman. He grabbed the phone.
“Hello. This is Raja Williams. Clarice Hope, did you say?”
“Yes. I’m calling you at the recommendation of a mutual friend, Mary Steinberg. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Raja could feel the agony choking her voice through the phone. He also knew by the throbbing at his temples that the storm brewing in his head the last couple days was going to be a category five hurricane. He put the call on speaker and jumped up, pushing his wavy chestnut hair back and pulling a pair of jeans over his satin boxers.
“Yes, I know Mary,” said Raja. Know her. She was Mary Steinberg, of the Connecticut Steinbergs, whose twin sons had been kidnapped for ransom in Mexico last year. He had saved them both and busted up a drug and kidnap ring working both sides of the southern U.S. border. But that was another case. “Sounds like you need help, Ms. Hope.”
“Please. Call me Clarice. And it’s Mrs. Hope ... or it was.”
“Tell me what happened?” asked Raja. He could feel the relief wash over Clarice at the prospect of a sympathetic ear.
Clarice Hope poured out the recent events ending with, “My husband has been murdered.”
“I’m sorry,” said Raja. There was not much worse than an unexpected widow, especially if she loved her husband. Mrs. Hope obviously had.
“The problem is, the police have closed the case and ruled it natural causes, or, at worst, an accident. My husband was thirty-two years old and experienced at handling a boat on the ocean. I know it was murder. And I know why. At least partly. But, I can’t talk on the phone. I am prepared to pay you well if you will come out to Los Angeles and help me get justice. I’m a very wealthy woman, Mr. Williams. Money is no object.”
“You’re right about that,” said Raja. He didn’t accept pay for his services. He did let clients cover the job expenses as a matter of exchange, and he did, on occasion, request a favor of a former client, no questions asked, which they always willingly did. He called it his pay it forward program. Raja looked at his watch. It was ten in the morning on the West Coast.
The woman continued, “Mary assured me of two things. You are the best at what you do. And, I can trust you. Right now, I need someone I can trust.”
“I can be there by five o’clock. I’ll be flying into Long Beach Airport. Meet me in the Legends of Aviation Restaurant at five thirty. You can buy me dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet. Hold your thanks until I’m done.” Raja always solved his cases, but solution is in the eye of the beholder. There was one thing he had learned as a private investigator. You can promise a client results, but not that the results will be what the client wants. Some clients are unhappy with the truth.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you at five thirty.” Raja ended the call. He had a bad feeling about this case. Clarice’s husband would not be the only one to die. Nevertheless, he called Mickey, his pilot, at the airport to set his flight plan to LA.
On the way to the Clearwater Airpark where he kept his private jet, Raja called the one person he needed to. Raja didn’t have many close friends, either personal or professional. It kept life a lot simpler. Vinny was the exception on both counts.
“Now what?” asked the familiar voice, feigning irritation.
“I’m flying to LA to check out a case.”
“Already?”
“Gotta go where the wind takes me, Vinny.”
“I don’t suppose you would take my bet that there is a female behind this particular wind,” said Vinny. “I’ll give you great odds.”
“You know I’ve never been a gambling man. You want to ride along?”
“I’m just beginning to unwind from our last case. Do you need me now?”
Raja knew Vinny would go if he asked. “No. But, maybe later. I’ll keep you in the loop. What are you doing to unwind?”
“You know the old saying, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“That begs the obvious question.”
“Nonetheless, my lips are sealed.”
“Okay, well, have fun, whatever you are doing. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Later.” Vinny and Raja were the kind of friends who didn’t have to sweat the small details.
After the jet did a rough slingshot takeoff, necessary due to the short runway length, the flight to LA was smooth with Mickey piloting Raja’s custom Hawker 1000. The plane had been retooled for short takeoff and landing and for increased range. The jet was fast as lightning and, with Mickey flying it, could drop on a dime. Raja had run across Mickey O’Toole flying guns in to rebels in the Congo, and assumed he was a gun dealer at the time. When he found out Mickey only flew small quantities of weapons into the country as a front for bringing in the desperately needed medical supplies that were otherwise being blocked by both sides in the civil war, he hired Mickey as his pilot.
Mickey had a sweet deal, and he knew it. All he had to do was take care of any upkeep on the multimillion dollar jet and he could use it for his own rent-a-jet business in between flying Raja around. The jet touched down in Long Beach at five o’clock West Coast Time.
“Don’t suppose you want to stick around for a few days?” asked Raja.
“I do have an Atlanta charter scheduled for Sunday that I’d like to make, if that’s okay with you,” said Mickey.
“Sure, go ahead. I have a feeling I am going to be here for a while. How long is the charter trip?”
“A week. It’s a honeymoon in the Bahamas.”
“Okay. Better add a case of Dom on me.”
“That’s a lot of champagne.”
“You only get married once, right?”
“We can always hope,” said Mickey.
“Call me when you’re back in Clearwater.”
“You got it, boss.”
Knowing Mickey, he would probably wolf down some food while the plane refueled and head right back to the East Coast. Raja checked his watch, noting he was just in time to meet Clarice Hope as planned. He headed to the Legends restaurant. It was a nice little place that had been newly renovated in an Art Deco style, with murals of classic planes from the early days of aviation. Nothing fancy, but they served a decent meal and the casual, relaxed atmosphere would help him get to know his new client. When he entered he saw a woman sitting at a table. Raja knew Clarice was in her fifties, but she didn’t look it, at all. She was well-preserved with attractive curves. Modern science could do wonders these days.
The woman looked around nervously, like she felt out of place.
“Mrs. Hope?” asked Raja as he approached. “Clarice?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, looking relieved. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“I said I would,” said Raja bluntly.
“Of course. Don’t take offense. I mean nothing by it. It’s just that, well, I have not had much luck getting any cooperation lately—especially from the police.” Clarice shook off her troubles for a moment, and looked Raja over. “You are much better looking than Mary let on.”
Despite her recent loss, Clarice had not lost her eye for younger men. Raja had done his homework. Thirty years back Clarice had been a finalist in the Miss Universe contest, where she had caught her first husband’s lecherous eye. He was thirty years her senior and not much to look at, but he more than balanced the marriage equation as the sole heir to the Crayola crayon fortune. You might not think there was much money in wax crayons, but millions of kids happily scribbling in their coloring books had made her first husband’s family uber-wealthy. Clarice had been faithful arm candy for him for fifteen years until he died. Then the bulk of his estate fell into her lap. Turn about is fair play, so when she passed forty, Clarice began a habit of dating young virile men, mostly athletes or actors.
It wasn’t Raja’s nature to judge. He said only, “Thank you,” and sat down across from Clarice. He looked at her expectantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been so out of sorts since Randy died.”
“I understand. Tell me why you think he was murdered.” Raja had an unusual manner that combined empathy with a sometimes withering bluntness. While he had a knack for putting people at ease, he had little of the social veneer most people used automatically to grease their relationships. And, he had no tolerance for small talk of any kind. It was something he had learned from his Jamaican grandmother. When he was a young boy, she would listen to him babble and then say, “Sonny, if you have nothing important to say, your lips should not be moving.” As an investigator, he had learned that much of what people say does more to confuse the facts than clarify them. So his curt manner could sometimes rub someone the wrong way, as well. The maddening part was that he didn’t seem to care which one he did.
The pleasant smile dropped from Clarice’s face. “I know he was murdered,” she asserted. “As I told you on the phone, he was healthy as a horse. And his seamanship was practiced—more than I preferred.” A pained, sad look gripped her face for a moment and her face turned red. “He usually didn’t go boating alone. I doubt he went out alone that day.”
“What was her name?”
“I didn’t begrudge his party friends, but I didn’t want to know them. You understand?”
Raja understood he hadn’t gotten an answer. “Do you have a name?”
“No.” Clarice turned a darker shade of red. Her dalliances with younger men had been the acts of an aging woman craving validation, devoid of the emotional connection Clarice actually needed. That is, until she met Randall Hope, a tennis player twenty years her junior, whose kindness had captured her heart.
Seeing she cared enough to have motive, Raja had to ask her the obvious. “Clarice, did you kill your husband?”
“No, of course not,” she said without any lag. “I may be a middle-aged woman, but I’m not a fool. It wasn’t like that. We understood each other. I loved Randy and he loved me.”
Raja was satisfied she was sincere. “Okay. The murder?”
“Randy found out something—something about some important people.”
“What people?”
“I’m not sure, but it had to do with business and politics. He said it could ruin a lot of people, and he even mentioned the governor.”
“Governor Black?”
“Yes.”
“Some personal scandal?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I know he was scared. He said he was going to talk to someone he thought could help. And to think I donated to Governor Black’s campaign.”
“That’s pretty vague, but it does present a possible motive.” Raja did not sound convinced.
“That’s not all. When I contacted the coroner’s office to request that they take another look at the circumstances of his death, I found out his body had already been released to a funeral home. And he was immediately cremated.”
“Did he want to be cremated?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point. He had only told me his wishes. We had talked about documenting his intent in a will, but we never did. Just the idea of making a will creeped him out so badly, we dropped the whole thing. No one else would likely have known, and certainly no one should have authorized the cremation.”
“Now we have a fact that doesn’t fit. I think you are right, Clarice. Randy was murdered. I am going to help you find out how and why.”
Clarice exhaled forcefully. A hint of anger flashed in her sad eyes. “Good. I want someone to answer for what they have done.”
Raja waved the waiter over to their table. “Let’s order some food and we’ll make a plan. I’m famished.” Raja was pleased to be on another case.
The two ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. Raja sent a text while they waited for their food. While Clarice sipped a glass of white Bordeaux, Raja studied her closely. She was actually a decent sort of person, more innocent than her sophistication would have you believe. Despite her bluster, she had no idea the size of the hill they were about to charge up. Raja only hoped he could keep her out of the line of fire he knew was coming.
They ate in silence. Afterward while they sipped coffee, Raja said, “I’m going to need some time to dig around. Is there someplace you can go—someplace outside the city?”
“Do you think I’m in danger?”
“Probably not, since you are still alive. But, I do want to keep you safe. Whoever killed your husband may not know how much he knew or what he told you.”
“Ironically, I was invited to go to the governor’s private party on Friday night, but I certainly don’t want to go now. I do have a horse ranch near Santa Barbara. I could head up there if you think that would be prudent.”
Raja sent another quick text message on his phone. “Let’s call that Plan B until I find out a little more. For now, I want you close by. A hotel here in Long Beach, perhaps?”
“Okay. I’ll be at the Marriott. Let me know what you find out.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
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