Allie Rice called from the door.
“Who’s Rachel Bohlen?”
Josh looked up.
“She was a brilliant artist and a good person. She discovered Richter’s scam and here we are.”
He slumped and shook his head. His eyes were bubblegum pink and swelling.
“Look what they did to her. Look what they did.”
Ryan put his hand on his friend’s back.
“You’ll kill’m, dude. You’re gonna crush’m.”
Allie Rice was still at the door, listening. I edged closer to Josh and lowered my voice.
“She doesn’t know Rachel was murdered?”
“She personally witnessed Grady Locke receive a cash bribe. She was willing to go on record for the podcast. That’s why we’re here. We recorded her statement.”
Allie Rice had crossed her arms as if she was having second thoughts. She looked cold. Even in the bright California light.
I lowered my voice still more.
“Who killed her?”
“Them. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Maybe Locke. I don’t know. She went to see Locke at his loft. Stupid. Stupid. I tried to stop her.”
The argument the blonde and the auburn heard. When Josh got loud.
“She went to see Grady Locke and she never came back.”
He nodded.
“Why would she go to his loft?”
“Evidence. She thought she could get more evidence. Stupid. Maybe she threatened him. I don’t know.”
He wasn’t breathing so deeply now. He finally stood.
I glanced at Allie Rice and moved even closer.
“More. Meaning she had evidence Richter was taking payoffs?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. He’s a crook. Allie’s seen it firsthand. So did Rachel.”
“This was something she took from Locke?”
“Not like you mean. She took pictures. Of cash. Of his phone. It’s what she does. Did. Turning pictures of text conversations into art. She photographed texts between Locke and Richter saying how Chow Wan Li was sending over cash. Locke’s brother-in-law was delivering it. It’s all in their texts. The whole scam. She gave it to me. She wanted to do something with it.”
“Pictures of texts.”
“Yes. Maybe he caught her this time. I don’t know.”
“They searched her apartment. They were looking for something.”
“Rachel gave me the pictures. She gave statements on audio and video. We recorded everything.”
“Statements.”
“For the podcast. About them and what they were doing. She wanted everything on record. She wanted to stop them.”
I saw Rachel’s battered and beaten face.
“Whatever you have, these people think you can hurt them.”
“No shit?”
Ryan laughed.
Josh said, “They’re right. I’m going to hurt them. I’m going to ruin them. I’m going to make them pay for killing Rachel and all the other people they’ve hurt.”
He looked set, determined, and unafraid. He had no idea what he was doing.
“Can I see your evidence?”
“I’ll let you listen. Rachel can speak for herself.”
Allie said, “Can I listen, too?”
“Of course. You’re one of the heroes of the story.”
Josh started for the house, then looked at me.
“One thing, though. Don’t try to stop me or talk me out of it. I’m going to expose these people and destroy them. That’s it. So don’t try to stop me.”
“I’m not here to stop you. I’m going to help.”
Ryan smirked.
“The Men in Black say the same damned thing.”
We went inside and listened to Rachel’s story.
46
Allie Rice was a warm and personable host. She told me her story as Josh set up two small speakers and attached them to his phone.
Allie had been a flight attendant for a charter jet company in Burbank when a real estate developer named A. O. Castillo chartered a ten-passenger jet to fly himself, his wife, Sanford Richter, and Grady Locke to Phoenix for a Lakers-Suns game. As Richter and Locke boarded, Ms. Rice saw Castillo hand two thick envelopes to Richter, who passed them to Grady Locke, who then placed them in a small handbag. He held the bag for the entire flight and twice refused her offer to store it in an overhead bin. She found his attachment to the bag odd and was suspicious of the envelopes. As they began their descent, Locke insisted on securing the bag in the plane’s luggage compartment. She did so, but after the party departed for the game, she opened the hatch and examined the envelopes. Ms. Rice expected to find drugs, but each envelope contained a tightly wrapped block of one-hundred-dollar bills two inches thick. She had signed a nondisclosure agreement and never expected to tell anyone until she overheard Sanford Richter tell Castillo about a developer named Lou Warren. Warren had refused to play along, so Richter was fucking him over. Richter was fucking him so good, he bragged, Warren would end up building dog kennels and then Richter would fuck him over even more just to show him.