Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3

by Nancy McGovern

  Mr. Wilson is gone for the day, huh? she mentally berated the woman at reception.

  With her back to the metal door, Tori looked down at a metal, winding stairwell. Cold brick walls surrounded her, lit with antique lights that seemed to have come from spooky castles, and she felt a chill run through her. Swallowing, she drew in a deep breath and slowly descended the steps, down into the darkness. At the bottom of the stairs, she entered in a damp, dreary hallway with concrete floors. “Man, what is this place?” she whispered, carefully maneuvering down the hallway.

  The hallway came to an end. Tori sighed as she stopped in front of a wooden door resembling the wooden vault door upstairs. “Oh well, worth a shot,” she said, and tried the doorknob. To her great delight, the door was unlocked.

  She pulled the door open and walked into a walked into an office that was fancy enough to knock the socks off of the richest man in the world. The office was spacious, lined with an expensive-looking white carpet. Artwork that must have cost millions hung on polished, hardwood, walls. Antique furnishings sat around the office in brilliant locations. At the end of the office sat a large, immaculate, desk that spoke of power and money. Tori whistled.

  Without wasting another second she pulled the bug out of her purse, looked around, and then smiled as she spotted a great place to plant it. Running over to a large, green, plastic tree sitting in the far right corner, she placed the bug down into its white, porcelain, pot. “That will do it,” she said.

  Feeling proud of her courage, Tori dashed away and ran back up the stairs, only tripping twice. Planting her backside back down in her chair right before the door leading out into the hallway opened, she smiled. Richard Wilson walked through the door, looked at Tori with dull eyes, and walked to the door leading into the empty room. “Any messages?” he asked.

  “Nope, not a one,” Tori said with a smile. “Say, Mr. Wilson, I have some experience in the acting field and I was wondering if--”

  Rudely, Richard opened the door leading into the empty room and slammed it shut behind him, cutting Tori off in mid-sentence. “Well,” Tori grinned to herself, “I'm more talented than you think.”

  Reaching into her purse, she grabbed out a nail file and went to work on her fingernails.

  *****

  Chapter 5

  When Flint arrived back at Lila Crastdale's mansion, he found a new cop was standing guard in the driveway. “Hey Flint,” Otis Malson said, strolling up to Flint's car.

  “I need to take a look around,” Flint told the young cop, who appeared anxious to impress anyone who might further his career.

  “Yeah, we've got a real case here, don't we?” Otis said, glancing up the driveway. “It's a shame that they wouldn't let me help you out on this case some, Flint. I was just telling my girl the other night that we'd make a good team and--”

  “I won't be long,” Flint said, turning off his car and getting out. “No visitors.”

  Otis felt as if Flint punched him in the stomach. “Yeah, yeah, I know the song,” he said.

  Flint patted Otis on the shoulder. “Give it time,” he said. He went straight round to the pool, then paused to look down at the dirty, green water. Guns, knives, bombs, gas and baseball bats all made deadly weapons, but water was the deadliest weapon of all, Flint thought. He shook his head as he walked back into the mansion.

  After leaving the doctor who had been caring for Lila Crastdale, he had called Tori at the studio. She’d explained about her daring mission down into the bowels of the studio, told him the bug had been planted, then talked about the young girl she had seen with Richard Wilson. “I heard her say something about a missing earring?”

  “That's good,” Flint said, actually feeling proud of his partner. “We'll meet up later tonight for some Chinese food.”

  “Do I still have to get the information on that piano?”

  “Nah, I will,” Flint said. “You hang out at the studio until closing time.”

  Walking up to the piano, Flint pulled a notepad from his pants pocket and wrote down the serial number attached to the piano. With that task done, he once again walked through the mansion, room by room, searching for a lost earring.

  Finding an earring wouldn't mean much, he knew. Lila Crastdale's niece could easily claim she’d dropped it while visiting her aunt, or even claim wasn't even hers, for that matter. However, Flint thought, going back into Lila Crastdale's upstairs bedroom, he might be able to make Lila Crastdale's niece a wee bit nervous if he dangled the lost earring in front of her face.

  If she lost an earring there might have been a struggle, he thought as he examined the bedroom. The room held a large bed surrounded by thick bed curtains in a shimmering emerald green. Antique furniture sat around the bedroom: a sitting chair here, a vanity there, a bookshelf over there. Flint shook his head and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine in his mind what it might have been like the night Lila Crastdale was killed.

  Was she in her bedroom? Flint wondered, getting ready for bed, and then... maybe the killer comes in, attacks her. Lila is weak from the alcohol and sedatives. The killer attacks. Lila manages to fight back, but is overcome... Flint opened his eyes. The killer served Lila alcohol, slipping just enough sedatives into the drinks to zone Lila out into space.

  Biting the inside of his jaw, Flint began a methodical search of the bedroom. When he came up empty-handed, he extended his search to the entire mansion.

  Where could that earring be? he asked himself walking back out to the pool.

  And then, he knew. “Arnold, you're brilliant!” he said. Running to the pool, he emptied his pockets and then jumped into the shallow end. Taking a deep breath, he submerged his body under the water and began searching for the missing earring. The bottom of the pool was slimy and slippery. Flint felt a few river rocks at the shallow end and then worked his way toward the deep end, coming up for quick breaths of air. And then, on his fourth trip down under the water, at the bottom of the deep end, sitting on top of a drain, he felt something. After grabbing the item, he shot upward toward the surface.

  He swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted himself out. Smiling, he looked down into his right hand. “Now that's a very nice diamond earring,” he said. Soon he was collecting his belongings and hurrying back to his car.

  “What happened?” Otis asked, seeing Flint walk up to him soaking wet.

  “Got too close to the pool,” Flint explained, in a voice that told Otis to knock it off with the questions. “Now listen to me,” he ordered, “has anyone been by here?”

  “Just that cute chick,” Otis said, then quickly looked down at his feet.

  “What?”

  “Uh... well, she said...”

  “What?” Flint demanded.

  “She... sweet talked me, okay?” Otis admitted, throwing his eyes up at Flint. “She was real cute, you know. And hey, she was the old lady's niece.”

  “What did she want?” Flint asked.

  Otis shrugged his shoulders. “Something about needing time alone to say goodbye,” he explained. “Hey, Flint, don't get me into trouble over this, okay? Be a pal.”

  Flint reached out and patted Otis on his shoulder again. “Don't worry. You've helped me out today.”

  “I have? How?” Otis asked.

  “Later,” Flint said, approaching his car. “No more visitors. I'm sending over a forensics team.”

  “But the mayor--”

  “What the mayor don't know won't hurt him,” Flint said. “If you peep a single word about this to anyone, I'll have your badge. Are we clear?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, we're clear,” Otis promised. “And hey... thanks, you know... for being understanding. Cute girls... well, I can never say no when they ask me something.”

  “Been there,” Flint said and jumped into his car. “But you’ll have to learn some self-control. Time for me to see if Ms. Jennifer Reed is home.”

  Flint left the grounds of the mansion and drove toward the canyons, zooming along the dry, windin
g roads. He liked the canyons, the way they looked, felt, smelled. The canyons always called out to him in a way that he really couldn't explain. The landscape of southern California appealed to him in a strange way. Maybe, he thought, driving up the winding canyon roads, Los Angeles was a place where the misfits all came together; where the good and the bad all mingled into one voice, fighting for dominance in a landscape that was almost forbidden in itself.

  Stopping his car in front of a tall, gray, metal gate, Flint looked at a medium sized light brown bungalow glaring down at Los Angeles from the canyons. Spotting a red, flashy, BMW parked in the driveway, he nodded his head. “Bingo,” he said, getting out of his car.

  Walking up to the gate, he activated a white call box.

  “Yes?” a woman's voice came through a few seconds later.

  “Detective Flint,” he said, “here to deliver a missing earring.”

  The woman grew silent. A couple of minutes later she spoke. “Yes, please, come in,” she said in a nervous voice.

  Flint waited until the gates opened, tapping his heel against the ground. As soon as they opened he was right through them, though he approached the bungalow with caution. Glancing to his left and then to his right he studied the dry, brown yard. Spotting no flower beds or any sign of lawn care, he focused his attention on the bungalow itself. Looking up at the gutters he saw debris sticking out. It was evident that the bungalow had not been occupied very long.

  Flint strode up to the front door and waited. Next to the door stood a large bay window covered with white silk curtains. Flint saw a woman pull the curtains back, look at him, and let the curtains go. A minute later the front door opened. “Jennifer Reed?”

  A young, beautiful woman with long black hair nodded her head. Wearing a long red dress, she was breathtakingly stunning, like a gorgeous screen beauty that had walked off the big screen straight into Flint's eyes. “Yes.”

  Flint knew that outward beauty was very deceiving. He could also see how Jennifer Reed had sweet talked Otis, too. “You're missing an earring?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” Jennifer replied, sounding calm. “You're the detective investigating my aunt's death, I assume?”

  “You know I am,” Flint said, “so stop the games.”

  “I don't have to stand here and--”

  “If you close that door I'll get a search warrant,” Flint said. “I'll stand right here until the warrant arrives. Now we can do this the hard way or my way.”

  Jennifer stared at Flint. “I will call my attorney. He will have your job.”

  “Go ahead and make your call,” Flint said. “I've got all day and all night. But rest assured, sister, you're going to answer my questions.”

  Jennifer considered her options. Even though she was beautiful, she wasn't the type of woman that did well under pressure. “Come in.”

  “No,” Flint said, glancing up at the sun, “I like being outside.”

  “Very well,” Jennifer said, walking out and closing the front door behind her. “What can I do for you, detective?”

  “First, let's clear up a misunderstanding. You are not Lila Crastdale's niece, are you?”

  Jennifer froze. All the color in her face drained. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean?”

  “Oh, sure you do,” Flint gently pressed. “Ms. Reed, you are twenty-five years old. Lila Crastdale was in her eighties. Simple math tells you the obvious. Someone rigged the system, someone who wanted you to inherit quite a bit of money.”

  “Leave at once,” Jennifer demanded.

  “In a minute,” Flint said. “Lila Crastdale did kill Patrick Wilson, didn't she? But she had something went wrong, didn't it? So Richard Wilson at the studios helped her beat a conviction and hoisted her off to New York. But Lila Crastdale came back, didn't she?”

  “My Aunt was a very disturbed woman,” Jennifer said. “I tried many times to get her to speak with a psychiatrist, but she refused. She was paranoid that people were out to harm her.”

  “I spoke with her doctor earlier,” Flint shot back, “and he told me that the old woman was in pretty good health for her age and had a real sharp mind, too. The only problem that Lila Crastdale had was an addiction to alcohol and sedatives. I also spoke with the groundskeeper and he told me Lila Crastdale was a brilliant piano player, too.”

  Folding her arms, Jennifer stared at Flint, trying desperately to outsmart him. Maybe if she flirted with him? “Detective, you look tired. Why don't we go inside where it's more comfortable? I can make us something to drink.”

  Flint batted away the flirt. “The piano the old lady played came from New York,” he said, keeping his momentum, even though he still had to confirm the actual location the piano was purchased. “Tell me about it.”

  “Why?” Jennifer asked, her voice turning icy. “The piano belonged to my aunt, that's all I know.”

  “Richard Wilson is eighty-one years old,” Flint said, throwing Jennifer off guard. “A little younger than Lila Crastdale, but not much. He's Patrick Wilson's twin brother. I did some checking. But I don't think that information worries Richard Wilson. He didn't seem too interested in hiding his last name or who he was.”

  Jennifer could only stare at Flint. She didn't like cops. Cops made her nervous. She wanted to call Richard. “Unless I'm under arrest, I'm going inside, now, Detective.”

  “Lila Crastdale didn't mean to kill Patrick Wilson. She thought she killed Richard, didn't she?”

  “You have no proof.”

  “You're not Lila Crastdale's niece. You're Patrick Wilson's granddaughter. He and Lila had a child who they gave up for adoption a year before Patrick was killed.” Flint threw his idea at Tori with conviction, making his words sound as if he had hard proof to support his statement. As a detective, he’d found that throwing unsupported ideas at the guilty sometimes worked out to his advantage. In reality, he still had a great deal of background work to dive into.

  Jennifer walked back to the front door. “Detective, you're a very mentally ill person and I will not allow you to harass me any longer. Now leave at once.”

  Flint saw some cracks appear in Jennifer's voice. Reaching down into the front pocket of his wet jeans, he pulled out the earring. “I had your prints pulled off this earring,” he lied. “This earring was found on Lila Crastdale's bed.”

  “That's impossible,” Jennifer blurted out and then caught her voice. “I... that's not my earring.”

  “Your prints were found on this diamond,” Flint continued to lie.

  “I... okay, yes, that's my earring. I visited my aunt often. I'm sure the earring just happened to fall off one day.”

  “In the bedroom?”

  “I... sometimes I assisted my aunt to bed,” Jennifer said in a shaky voice.

  “I see,” Flint said, and shoved the earring back down into his pocket. “Okay, I'll be in touch. Don't leave town.”

  “Wait!” Jennifer cried out when Flint turned to walk away. “You don't think I killed my aunt, do you?”

  Flint paused. Turning to look at Jennifer he simply shrugged his shoulders. “Lila Crastdale was killed because she knew something. I think she came back to Los Angeles to finish what she began. Lila Crastdale came back to Los Angeles to kill Richard Wilson and to ruin the political careers of some very powerful men.”

  “You're insane!” Jennifer yelled.

  “And you're going to prison,” Flint said with a grin. “Unless you help me out, some.”

  The word 'prison' caused Jennifer to completely crack. “You have it all wrong, you moron,” she said. “Patrick Wilson isn't dead at all! Lila killed Richard Wilson, but she thought it was Patrick Wilson. It was Richard, the dead man, she loved, not Patrick. But Patrick blackmailed her into marrying him. I... I'm Patrick Wilson's granddaughter.. You're right about that.”

  Flint nodded. So he was off his mark a little, it happened to the best of them. What was important was that Jennifer had put him on the right track. Richard Wilson didn't take any effort
to hide his name, and now Flint understood why. He was Patrick, and Richard was long dead. “Hang around town,” he ordered.

  “If anyone finds out I told you, they will kill me,” Jennifer said, beginning to cry. “Detective, I didn't kill Lila Crastdale.”

  “I found your earring in the pool,” Flint said. “I didn't find it in the bedroom. I was baiting you. Now if you can tell me what your earring was doing in the same pool Lila Crastdale was found dead in, that would help.”

  “Oh!” Jennifer cried, throwing her face into her hands. “My job was to slip the sedatives into her drink., get her into bed, and then leave. When I was helping her to bed, she almost fell down. I... maybe that's when she bragged my earring? But I didn't know she was going to be murdered. I thought...”

  “What?” Flint pressed hard. “You better talk to me.”

  “I thought...” Jennifer cried, “…they were going to get a confession out of her.”

  “A confession?” Flint asked.

  “Yes. I was to drug her and then later some man was supposed to come by and make Lila confess that she killed Patrick Wilson, well, who everyone thought was Patrick. With that confession, they would be able to silence her.”

  “Who?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I can't tell you that. Look, Detective, Lila became a very wealthy woman in New York. It was there she tracked down my biological mother. She and my mother became very close. Years later, I was born. At first, everything was good. I grew up with wealth all around me. I had a loving mother and a loving grandmother. But everything changed when my mother began asking questions.”

  “Questions?”

  “My mother began to demand that Lila tell her who her father was,” Jennifer explained. “My mother was a very bad drinker. Two years after I was born she divorced my father.”

  “So she begins to demand the old lady tell her about Patrick Wilson?”

  Jennifer nodded. “But Lila wouldn't tell her anything. My mother hired a private investigative firm to track down Patrick Wilson. That's when the relationship between my mother and Lila became... well, deadly.”