Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  “I should go on out and speak to the boys,” she said. She gave me her hand again and I kissed the back of it.

  “Enchanté,” I said.

  She laughed again. “You’re unreal,” she said and she went out to visit with John and his gaggle. She looked back just briefly. I was watching.

  “Very smooth,” said Maria. I had forgotten her.

  “Thanks. Do I get an A plus?”

  She rolled her eyes at me.

  “Every dog has his day Maria. And today’s my lucky day.”

  I had to get some work done. I needed to start finding answers to questions before more people started dying. I wasn’t sure of the questions just yet. I thought I’d start with Jeffrey. Give him an update and see if he had another bone to throw my way.

  “You’ll find love one day Maria,” I said to her.

  “I already did okay. Mr. Ernst loved me okay.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You and maybe half the neighborhood.”

  “Cabron!” she spat at my back as I was leaving.

  “Puta,” I said and I heard her cursing and yelling at me but I couldn’t understand it. Then I heard some breaking glass. Temper, temper.

  FIVE

  Levin, Logan And Lundberg

  “JEFFREY?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Anthony Carrick,” I said.

  “Hi Anthony what can I do for you?”

  “Well I’m calling with an update. Lorenzo the groundskeeper has been murdered.”

  “Shit,” he said. “Jesus Christ.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t him.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing,” I said, “black humor. Do you have the number for Max’s lawyer? I want to ask him some questions about the estate.”

  “Sure. Hold on a minute.”

  I heard a drawer open and some ruffling of papers. I pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in my mouth. I pushed in the cigarette lighter. I was still parked outside the Ernst’s place.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Always,” I said.

  “Five five five three four five six. The guy’s name is Luke Logan.” I scribbled the information on the back of my cigarette pack.

  “Serious?”

  “Yeah why?”

  “I dunno, just sounds like a made up name to me. Is he with a firm?”

  “Not sure. Probably. Max wouldn’t have chosen any schmuck who just put a shingle up.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Keep in touch Anthony.”

  I hung up and pulled the cigarette lighter out of the dash. I lit my cigarette and inhaled. The first drag was always the best. The first of everything was always the best. I thought about Emily and I thought about how I was wearing cologne. Lucky dog. Always following my nose. Hadn’t led me astray before. It was getting warmer as the day progressed. I was glad for the shade I was parked in. I dialed the numbers I’d just been given.

  “Levin, Logan and Lundberg,” a very cheerful voice said.

  “Lucky long legs Lorraine,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon?” the voice dropped a mouthful of cheer.

  “I thought I had reached alliteration anonymous hun. Seriously though, I’m looking for Luke Logan.”

  “And you are?” she was stuffed full of sours now.

  “Lanky long legs Lucifer Longstockings,” I said. The phone clicked dead in my ear. Damn, she hung up on me. I tried again.

  “Levin, Logan and Lundberg,” she said. She was cheerful again.

  “Luke Logan please.” I thought I’d try a different tack.

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “Anthony Carrick. It’s about Max Ernst.”

  “One moment.”

  I heard some easy listening serenade me for a while. I sucked on my cigarette and blew rings at my dash.

  “Luke Logan.”

  “Hi Luke. My name’s Anthony Carrick. I’m investigating the murder of Max.”

  “Yeah, terrible thing.”

  “Indeed. Listen I want to come and talk to you about his will. He did have a will didn’t he?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have time this morning?” I looked at my dash. It was a green ten thirty.

  “Sure Anthony. Can you come by at around eleven thirty? I’ve got a quick half hour available before lunch.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Where are you located?”

  “In the Mutual Benefit Life Plaza. Fifty nine hundred Wilshire Boulevard. Just across from Hancock Park. Do you know it?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Okay then, see you at eleven thirty. Suite twelve hundred,” he said hanging up.

  I figured that was about a five minute phone call. My two fifty a day that had probably cost Jeff and Universal about five bucks. I figured it had probably cost Max about ten times that. I could see him spinning in his grave. I figured maybe I was in the wrong line of work. I started my car and put in Oliver Nelson’s “The Blues and the Abstract Truth” album with Frank Hubbard on trumpet. I love the trumpet. I figured my fifteen or so minute drive to Mutual Plaza might get me almost half way through the album.

  I turned right on North Crescent Drive and drove down past lots of good looking houses and then past some nice looking apartments. I turned left onto Wilshire Boulevard and found the traffic light gods smiling at me all the way past South Fairfax Avenue. I found a spot just east of Mutual Plaza and pulled in. I put a few quarters in the meter. Someone had left me some time already. It was coming on ten fifty. I spotted a hot dog vendor on the north side by the park. I took a bratwurst with all the fixings. I strolled into the park and took a seat facing the water. A homeless man strolled by with his life’s possessions in the shopping cart. He stopped to dig into a garbage can and came up with a couple of cans. I had the brat demolished in six bites and I was thinking of another one, but I didn’t have the legs to go on back. I watched folks strolling by. Wasn’t too busy but some people were coming out for an early lunch. Looked like the hot dog vendor was going to do good business today. I saw a few hot dogs and brats come by. I could’ve used another one. But I could use some answers more. But there were none of those around to be bought.

  I was trying to figure out why Lorenzo was killed. And who could’ve killed him. He was a strapping lad. Looked like he could take care of himself. I tried to do the math. Vanessa had lost two of her lovers leaving just Jane. That would make Jane a suspect. But was she capable of killing Lorenzo? And if she was, she must’ve known Maria would be around. She’d have to have been pretty quick about it and smart too. I remembered that most of the blinds had been drawn in the house. Likely nobody had seen the murder. Then again, I probably had arrived only a half hour or maybe an hour after. A little earlier and I could’ve caught him, them, her. Who the hell knew. I wanted to talk to Jane next. I fished out the note Vanessa had given me last night and scratched out Lorenzo’s name with my pen. I put the pen back in my shirt pocket and looked at the note. Maybe I should have started at the top of the list instead of getting all fancy. Maybe if I’d gone to see Jane first I might have stopped her, or found her not there. That would’ve given me something to go on. Now I was running on imagination and that wasn’t going to get me a confession. Hell it wouldn’t even get me a good Scotch.

  I decided I’d be better off in the swanky suite of Levin, Logan and Lundberg so I made my way over. I passed the hot dog vendor. I thought I might get another one on my way out. I walked into the white and black building. Loved the harmony theme. On the twelfth floor I hopped out into a very spacious reception area. A woman’s head was bobbing up form behind a sea of desk like a lost buoy. She was giving someone on her headpiece her best cheerful good morning. She was a large, fat, young woman with her blonde hair back in a ponytail. Looked like she was trying to give her face a lift. The hair was pulled back tight. I winced. She looked up at me after transferring the call.

  “Hello, how may I help you,” she said still full of
cheer.

  “I’m here to see Luke Logan.”

  “And who can I say is here?”

  “Lanky long legs Lucifer Longstockings,” I winked at her. She couldn’t hang up on me now.

  “Who?” She raised her eyebrow at me.

  “Anthony Carrick hun.”

  She pushed some buttons, spoke into her headpiece with the best disdain she could muster and asked me to have a seat. She choked on the words asking if I wanted anything. I asked for a coffee. Cream and sugar, just to give her something to do. I picked up the LA Times and went straight to the local section. Sure as Bob’s your uncle, Max Ernst was on the front page. It was a flattering picture of him. Jovial man with round glasses and a grayish beard. His grayish hair was receding and he had it brushed back. That didn’t help. He had a round face with some thickness to it. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than my forty three, but he looked a decade older. They said very nice things about him. They always do. He was a pillar of the community. Gave lots to charity. Will be sorely missed by his doting wife and son. Yada, yada. Obviously hadn’t done much investigative journalism. Or maybe this was the PR engine at work that Jeff had told me about. They had a quote from Miles Kaufman. “Max was a dear friend and esteemed colleague. He has done more for Universal Studios than can be put into words.” Very touching, I wanted to reach for a hanky. They listed some of his movies, only two of which I’d seen. “A Generous Son” and “All the King’s Horses”. They also mentioned “Lucky Sommer” which was the movie with Brad Pitt apparently.

  The receptionist brought my coffee by in a black mug. Design by Ikea probably. She smiled at me and said here you go. She might as well have cracked her face. I said thank you very much.

  A guy of average height came around the corner. He had a blonde Cesar cut and was clean shaven. He had black pants that fell nice and straight but loosely. I wanted to touch the fabric find out what kind of pants those were. Probably out of my price range. He had black Oxfords that had a military shine. His shirt was a soft pink and he had gold cuff links on each cuff. I was curious to find out what color socks he was wearing. I was betting for pink. He had a gold chain around his neck and a gaudy gold ring on each of his pinkies with a blue stone in each. He had a blond soul patch under his lower lip. I wanted to yank it off.

  “Anthony?” I stood and took his hand. It was effeminate and soft. His voice wilted slightly on the ear. If I was a betting man I’d say he was gay. Or maybe metrosexual. Hard to tell sometimes and I wasn’t sure with this strange duck. Apparently some women like that.

  “Luke?” I said.

  “Please come with me.” I followed him into a big office that had glass walls and a big glass window overlooking Wilshire and out onto the park. His office was the size of my bedroom. He tucked himself behind a big, light yellow desk. Against the one wall was a stack of books. All legal. On the other wall were two pieces of modern art. Colorful abstracts probably worth thousands each. They were no bigger than three feet by three feet each of them.

  “I like the art,” I said.

  “Thanks,” he said looking up at the pieces. “They’re a local artist who I like. I think he’s up and coming. But I bought them because I like them.”

  “That’s the best reason,” I said.

  “You like art too?”

  “Yeah. I paint a bit,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well bless me. I think you’re the first private dick that I’ve ever met who is a painter.”

  “You’ve met a few gumshoes?”

  “Yes. Probably six or more I’d guess. Do you show anywhere?”

  “As a matter of fact I do. I have a show coming up at the end of the month. Opening on Thursday the thirtieth.”

  “Great. I love that. A private dick who paints. Where is your show?”

  “Triangle Gallery on Beverly Boulevard.”

  “Super. I’ll stop buy.”

  “Good,” I said. “And buy something. Being a private eye doesn’t always pay the bills.” He smiled at that and rifled through some papers on his desk.

  “You wanted to know about Max’s will?” he asked.

  “Yeah. How much is his estate worth roughly.”

  “I’d say a little over fifty million if you count the houses.”

  “Houses?”

  “Yes. The one up on Lexington and they have another one out by Martha’s Vineyard on the East coast.”

  “So who gets all the proceeds?” I took a sip of my coffee and placed it on a coaster on his desk. It looked like slate with a Chinese character cut into its face.

  “A few people share in the proceeds, but most of it goes to his wife.”

  “Can you be a little specific?” He rifled through the papers on his desk. The will, with slender manicured hands.

  “The son Stephen gets five million in trust until he’s thirty. That’s about nine years from now. The housekeeper Maria gets one million, so does the groundskeeper Lorenzo. He has a brother Walter who gets two point five million and um, the only other person I see here is his assistant Sulan who gets one point two million. His wife as I said will get the remainder. Roughly forty million or so. Including the houses. They’ll both go to her.”

  He leaned back into his leather chair. He steepled his fingers and rested the points on his chin.

  “What if Lorenzo dies?”

  “Well then his million goes to Maria, and if she dies and he’s alive then her million goes to him. If they both decease it goes back to the wife. Is he dead?”

  “Yes, just came back from seeing him. Only I didn’t have a chance to speak to him. He’d cashed in before I got there. In a manner of speaking.”

  Luke scrunched up his mouth and shook his head. “That’s a lot of tragedy around the family lately.”

  “What do you mean by that.”

  “Well the two deaths now, plus his son and his brother. Not to forget that they lost a daughter a few years ago in a tragic hit and run drunk driving incident.”

  “What about the son and brother?” I might be onto something here. Two more jokers to complicate things for me.

  “Well the son is somewhat estranged. He hangs out with the wrong crowd. Max was certain he was doing drugs. Hard stuff. Heroin and cocaine. He’s in pretty tight with this girl of his, Jezebel Ringling is her name. Max thought she had a bit too much control over him. Stephen. About a year ago Max kicked Stephen out of the house. Vanessa wasn’t happy about it, but it needed to be done. Then there was a burglary a few months after that. Stephen was suspected but never charged. Vanessa’s jewelry, some electronics and a few thousand dollars in cash were taken. Definitely looked like an inside job. They knew where they were going.”

  “People keep that kind of cash around?” I’d hit the jackpot. Luke here was a gold mine of information. I sipped more of my coffee. It started to taste better.

  “Sure. That’s not a lot of money for these folks. Most of it was in the safe in the den. Again, another reason why they think Stephen did it. Vanessa wouldn’t let the police run with it. And Max grudgingly agreed. Don’t get the wrong idea Anthony. They love their son, he’s just mixed up in some bad stuff. A little bit before he was kicked out they had a huge fight. I was there. Stephen cursed his parents a blue streak and threatened to kill them. He assaulted his father and slapped his mother across the face, before I stepped in and they stormed out. He was with Jezebel and he seemed pretty high to me. She was sneering all the time. As I said, she seems to relish in this sort of anarchism. I think she knows how to push his buttons.”

  I shifted in my seat. I wouldn’t mind giving this young lad a lesson in manners. I crossed my right ankle over my left knee and cradled my coffee in both hands.

  “Do you think he would’ve or could’ve killed his old man?”

  Luke rested his elbows and forearms on the desk and leaned in towards me.

  “I don’t know Anthony. I wouldn’t be surprised by anything now. I
don’t think so though. Maybe in a fit of rage or a botched burglary. Maybe he and Jezebel came to rob his parents again and he had it out with his father. I can see that. I can see her picking up the statue and swinging it at Max. I don’t know. I like to think blood is thicker than water so maybe Jezebel did it. But if you came to me tomorrow and said it was the son, I wouldn’t be all that surprised. But I don’t think he would have killed his father for the money unless he was in a tough spot. Only a few months ago I released the first third of his trust to him. That would’ve been around one point five million give or take. That’s a lot of money to have blown through in a few months. But you never know with the crowd he’s hanging out with.”

  “What about Lorenzo? I’m trying to figure out if he was killed by the same person or could we be looking at two different crimes.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “I could see Stephen being upset with Lorenzo.”

  “Why is that,” he had me on the edge of my seat. Figuratively. Luke paused for a moment, stood up, turned around and looked outside across the park.

  “You know Anthony,” he said. “You can look out here and everything seems good and pure and civil. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining and it looks like people are going about their business with ease.”

  “Yes Socrates. But what is your point.” He turned around smiling at me.

  “You like to get straight down to business hey?” He sat back down in his chair.

  “Don’t see the point in wasting time or money. And we can sit here all day wasting both. But I don’t have as much to waste as you do Luke.”

  “Fair enough. What I’m getting at is that things aren’t always how they appear. Stephen might have known that his mother was having an affair with Lorenzo. Personally I think it was too close to home. But then what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  “I understand. Would he have known about the old man’s indiscretions?”

  “Probably. But I don’t think that would have bugged him as much as his mother’s. Sons can be funny that way. I suppose he could have killed Lorenzo. How did he die by the way?”

  “He had the side of his head bashed in and shears stuck in his throat.”