*****
Chapter 5
Rain
Zach Dennington folded his arms like a pouting first grader. Refusing to look at Flint, he focused on a white paper cup on the gray table he was sitting behind in the interrogation room. The paper cup held hot coffee, but he wasn't interested in 'Cop Coffee', as he’d called it. “What's this all about, huh?” he snapped.
Flint, leaning against the front wall near the door, patiently studied Zach's face. “Why did you kill Mandy Garland?” he asked in a cool voice. No sense in playing rough with a bratty kid who would only begin whining to his momma that the teacher made him stand in the corner.
“I told you,” Zach yelled, balling his hands into two tight fists, “I didn't kill that old hag!”
“No?” Flint asked, keeping his cool. “Then who did? Come on Zach, I saw you escape through the ceiling.” Hoping to bait another hook in order to catch a fish, Flint eased forward. “If you confess, I'll work with you. If you refuse to cooperate, then I'm going to have a lie detector test hauled in here and hooked up to you.”
Zach finally raised his eyes. “Listen, Dick Tracy,” he said, his voice still angry as ever, “I didn't kill that woman. I don't know who you saw making this escape you keep talking about, but it wasn't me. So bring on the lie detector test.”
Flint nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, Zach was telling him the truth. He still needed information, though. Zach wasn't getting off easy. “Do you have any enemies, Zach?”
“Who doesn't?” Zach huffed.
“Does William have any enemies?”
“Me,” Zach said. “I can't stand that jerk. But we're all puppets, doing what the studio tells us.”
Flint leaned up off the wall. He walked to the gray table, pulled out a metal chair, and sat down. “Zach, what I'm asking is simply this: do you believe someone is trying to ruin the movie that Haley Frost is currently acting in?”
“Why would someone want to kick a stupid teen horror that will be thrown into a discount bin after the studio has made all the money it can off it?” Zach asked. Giving in, he snatched the 'Cop Coffee' up off the table and took a sip.
“Yeah, why would they?” Flint asked.
“Man, you're way off,” Zach said, rolling his eyes. “The taxpayers are really getting their money's worth with you.”
“Oh?” Flint asked, baiting Zach. “Think you can do better?”
“Better than you,” Zach said. “Listen, Dick Tracy, the death threats are aimed at the little princess, right?”
Flint nodded. “The death threats are aimed at Haley Frost, yes.”
“And Haley's Frost agent, Mandy Garland, was murdered today, right?”
“Right,” Flint agreed, resisting the urge to slap the smug look Zach had on his face across the room.
“Okay, so the old hag is now out of the picture. So now... just maybe... Haley will start getting some decent job offers, you catch?”
“Are you implying Haley Frost is behind the murder of Mandy Garland?” Flint asked.
“Hey,” Zach said, throwing up his hands and pretending to act innocent, “a girl's gotta do what a girls' gotta do to make it in this business, right? Our little princess sends herself some fake death threats to get some extra publicity, then she hires someone to take out her agent... hey man, she's all in the news. I wouldn't be surprised if Paul McLeod came knocking at her door tomorrow.”
“Paul McLeod... the acting agent who made a few people known?” Flint asked.
“A few people?” Zach said, as if Flint had asked the dumbest question in the world. “Paul McLeod makes everyone he signs on an instant star. I would give my two thumbs if that man would take me on. My agent isn't the worst, but she sure isn't busting her butt to get me some serious roles. Paul McLeod, he would swing me into stardom overnight... not that I'm not a star already, mind you.”
“Where were you when Mandy Garland was killed?” Flint asked.
“I've already told you,” Zach said, “I was about to leave the studio. I was signing out at the guard post. Or did you not check that out, Dick Tracy?”
“The guard said you signed out, but then told him you forgot something at the building the movie is being filmed in. You were let back on the studio grounds even though you were officially signed out,” Flint pointed out. “Where were you, boy?”
Zach's face turned pale. He had tipped the guard one hundred dollars to keep his big mouth shut. “I...” he began to speak, but paused. There was no point in lying. “Okay... okay... I went back to flatten the tires on William's BMW. Well, actually I was going to slash the tires. But then, well... you know, I kinda got cold feet. So what if William is a loser? Hey man, that's no skin off my back. I'm in good with the studio. But if I get caught hitting a foul ball, then Mr. Mayfield might get me to the sideline.”
“Bert Mayfield... age seventy-eight, married to Beth Mayfield. Together the two of them have no children. Bert Mayfield made a few movies in his early days, and bought out the studio he owns from Melvin Corshe in 1982.”
“Yeah, that's the guy,” Zach said, quickly taking a sip of coffee. “You going to rat me out?”
“Nope,” Flint said, standing up. “The truth of the matter is, I could care less about the movie business. To me, you're just an arrogant little punk who thinks he is above the common man because people see you in a few stupid movies. Cops, soldiers, firefighters, doctors, nurses, teachers... those are the real celebrities, pal. Real people who make a difference. I'm not wasting my time with a little snot who tried to slash a few tires.”
“Hey, man, you can't talk to me like that. I have my rights and--”
Flint slammed his right fist down onto the table. “You have rights because real men and women died defending this country to make sure you have those rights, you little punk. You have rights because real men and women risk their lives every day putting on a badge to make sure law and order are carried out. You have rights because men who care about justice and truth studied the law in order to preserve what is fair and right. Yeah, you have rights, but you didn't earn a single one of them. You just confessed to a crime that you were too cowardly to carry out. But now you have rights? Give me a break.”
Zach stared at Flint. Scared, he put his shaking hands together. “I... am I under arrest?”
“No,” Flint said in a disgusted tone. “I have no evidence against you. Take a hike.”
Zach stood up and quickly exited the interrogation room. As he left, Chief Cunningham walked in. “You lost it on that boy, Flint.”
“I know,” Flint said, closing his eyes. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he gathered his thoughts. “Zach is an arrogant snot, Chief, but he didn't kill Mandy Garland. I read his face. If that boy didn't have enough guts to slash a few tires, he definitely doesn't have the guts to kill someone.”
Chief Cunningham closed the door to the interrogation room. “William Denton is waiting to be brought in for questioning. Are you clear enough in your head to take him on?”
“Yeah,” Flint assured him. “Any word on Glenda Frost?”
Chief Cunningham shoved his hands down into his pants pockets. “I spoke with Haley's father. He explained to me that he and his wife had a disagreement and split up. Glenda Frost moved out of their apartment two weeks ago. He hasn't heard from her since. No one has.”
“What about our missing ex-cop?”
Chief Cunningham shook his head. “I'm having Melinda run the bank cards on Ned and Glenda Frost and make a map of their movement in connection to the locations the bank cards were used at.”
“My gut is telling me both of them are right here in Los Angeles, Chief.”
“Flint, you said the killer knows the layout of the studio. If that's true, the killer can't be Ned,” Chief Cunningham said.
“Are you so sure?” Flint asked. “Chief, I didn't get a real good look at the killer. The killer was wearing black tennis shoes, a black windbreaker, blue jeans, and a black ski mask over his face. The kille
r also seemed to be in good shape. I went back to the men's bathroom and did a test run. From the moment Arnold screamed and I kicked my way into the bathroom was maybe a twenty to thirty seconds. The killer was already up in the ceiling. By the time I got my head up into the ceiling, the guy was already a good hundred feet away. He was fast, Chief, real fast. I wasn't chasing a man who had to stop for a rest after he ran ten feet.”
Chief Cunningham looked down at the floor. “Flint, Ned ran track when he was in high school. He was the fastest cop on the force, too. But that still doesn't explain how he would understand the layout of the studio. Studio security is tight. But that really doesn't matter... and all I'm doing is making excuses for an old friend.”
Flint put his hand on Chief Cunningham's shoulder. “We don't have all the facts yet,” he said. “Arnold and I will solve this case. Until we do, I'm not saying your friend is the killer, okay.”
Chief Cunningham nodded. “Yeah, well, I better go walk William Denton in.”
Flint watched Chief Cunningham leave the room. Standing in silence, he prepared his mind to tackle William Denton to the floor. A few minutes later, Chief Cunningham walked William into the interrogation room and then excused himself.
“Why am I here?” William asked, confused. “You don't think I killed Mandy Garland do you?”
“You found her body,” Flint said. “Take a seat.”
William told Flint he preferred to remain standing. “Detective Flint, you are a smart man. I can see that now. You don't think I killed Mandy Garland and then came running to you, do I? I make numerous movies with stupid plots such as those. If I were intent on killing Mandy Garland I would have been far more creative.”
“Maybe,” Flint agreed. “Right now the movie has been canceled. Bert Mayfield isn't happy with the murder. And, like usual, there's pressure being asserted on this office by the studio to protect the studio by keeping the murder hushed up in a tight little box.”
“What you mean to say is that Mr. Mayfield is threatening the city of Los Angeles with a grand lawsuit if word gets out that a murder took place on the property of his studio,” William corrected Flint.
Flint shrugged. “After Lila Crastdale, all I can say is that caution is being applied more... diligently.”
William stood in silence for a few seconds. “Detective Flint, what is the real reason for my being here? I have a meeting with Mr. Mayfield tomorrow morning at nine sharp. It's late. I want to go back to my small but very expensive apartment and dry off.”
Flint tossed a worm on a hook. “I checked with security. Some new people have been hired on. One man, in particular, an ex-cop from New York. Do you know the guy?”
William shook his head. “I don't mingle with security,” he explained. “My job is to direct movies and make Mr. Mayfield happy. It's irrelevant who the security company working for the studio hires or fires. Unlike most people, all I care about is doing my job and earning a paycheck. There was a time when a passion for this business burned inside of me, but that passion died away long ago.”
“That's pretty clear,” Flint agreed. Too tired to keeping tossing his line into spots where the fish might not be biting, he pulled up anchor and rowed into shore. “Listen, William, I doubt you killed Mandy Garland. But whoever did had access to the building. I can use whatever help you have to offer me.”
William sighed. He walked to the metal chair and plopped down. “The movie has been canceled. Mr. Mayfield is reassigning me. I don't know what kind of help I can be, Detective Flint? Do you have any idea how many people come and go at the studio? Anybody could have access to the building my movie was being made in.”
“Yeah,” Flint said. “What troubles me is we had officers in plain clothing walking around outside and the killer got past them. What worries me the most is that the killer knew his target, when to strike, and how to escape. He made a mistake by forgetting Mandy Garland's purse. So what did he do? He plays Mr. Creepy with my partner, leads us on a chase, while his partner sneaks in and grabs the purse.”
“I'm sorry that I can't be of more help.”
“Maybe you can,” Flint said. “Zach suggested Haley is behind all of this. You know, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get by in show business, so she sends herself a few death threats to and then hires someone to kill her agent... real limelight stuff. Do you believe Haley could be behind the killing of Mandy Garland?”
William lifted his right hand and rubbed his eyes. “Detective, Zach is a moron. I despise being in the same room with that slug, but in this case, perhaps... maybe perhaps... he's onto something. As we talked about earlier, with Mandy Garland in charge of Haley's career, well, what chance did Haley really have of making it big? Now that Mandy Garland is out of the way, who knows? Eventually, the news of Mandy Garland's death is going to be released, and who is going to be standing in the spotlight?”
“But…” Flint added, reading William's face.
“But,” William said, exhausted, “this theory is very thin. Haley is a good girl. Detective Flint, her heart isn't connected to this business. If she did have Mandy Garland killed, then she's a better actress than I realized.”
“Good enough,” Flint said. “Sorry to drag you down here. I needed to talk where no ears could hear. I'm sure you understand.”
“I understand,” William said, forcing his legs to lift his body up. “You have your work cut out for you, don't you, Detective?”
Flint shrugged. “In the end, I'll catch the killer and move onto another case.”
“You seem very certain.”
“I've never let a case go into the cold files yet,” Flint said. “You see, I may not know who the killer is, and maybe there are a few more paths I need to explore, but the killer inadvertently helped me out today.”
William became curious. “Oh, how did the killer do that?”
Flint nodded down at William's shoes. “I saw his shoes size. You're a size nine, right?”
“Yes,” William said.
“If you were a size eleven, I would slap handcuffs on you. Go on, get out of here and go get some rest.”
William walked to the door and paused. “Zach isn't a size eleven, either.”
“Size ten,” Flint confirmed. “Why?”
William hesitated and then made a confession. “Zach has a crush on Haley. He would deny that accusation of course, but I can tell by the way he looks at her. Haley knows it, too. She gives Zach the cold shoulder, and that drives him crazy. Zach is used to winking his eye at any girl he wants and expects that girl to come running to him with drool hanging from her mouth.”
Flint fought back a yawn. “Thanks for the tip. Have a goodnight.”
Flint left the station feeling exhausted. Walking to his car, he lifted his face and stared up into a dark, heavy, rain. Los Angles was wet, dark, lonesome and lost. What was it about the city that held him there? Were there not smaller towns scattered all across the American landscape that offered a cleaner way to live? Why was he consumed with chasing murderers around a lost city where no one really belonged? Closing his eyes, Flint allowed the rain to fall on his face as the image of the spooky house Haley Frost was meant to make a movie in came into his mind. The house would be standing empty, sitting in a dark building, listening to the rain fall outside.
Flint slung his eyes open. “Of course,” he said. He ran to his car, then jumped in and sped off. Racing toward the studio, he chose to take the back streets to avoid the major routes that would undoubtedly be clogged with traffic. Speeding through one residential neighborhood and then another, Flint aimed his car toward the studio, leaning forward on the steering wheel in order to see through the rain. With Haley safely back at the house sitting up in the wet canyons, Flint knew that he could trust Tori to hold down the fort while he did some personal investigating.
Spotting a stop sign, Flint hit the breaks and slid to a stop. Looking to his left and then to his right to make sure the coast was clear, he kicked the gas, leavin
g a neighborhood filled with simple two story homes, occupied by people who worked middle-class jobs, behind. Clearing his mind, he focused on the spooky house.
The person who killed Mandy Garland had keys to the studio building the set was housed in. “How else did the killer get inside?” Flint asked himself. “The doors are locked from the outside.” Flint eased off the gas pedal as he made a hard right into another residential neighborhood. “The killer has to have a set of keys, which makes me believe he works for the studio.”
Flint drove in silence, weaving in and out of one neighborhood and then the next until he arrived the front gate of the studio. Stopping at a white guard shack, he watched a chubby guard eating a slice of a pizza step out of an open door. “Detective Flint,” Flint said, flashing his shield.
The guard checked Flint's identification with lazy eyes, walked back into the guard shack, grabbed a clipboard, and walked back outside. “Sign in,” he said, being careful not to get wet. As Flint signed in, the guard studied the rain. “It's going to rain for a few more days. I hear flooding is getting real bad.”
“Yep,” Flint said, handing the clipboard back to the guard. “Anyone else come by tonight?”
“The head boss ordered the grounds emptied out. Not even the night cleanup crew is allowed in,” the guard explained, taking back the clipboard. “I have orders to keep everyone out, but I guess you're okay. Everyone doesn't mean the cops.”
Flint nodded. “Listen, I'm going to do some checking. If anyone else arrives, keep them right here. If you hear any shooting, don't freak out, okay. Call 911.”
“Shooting... what do you mean?” the guard asked, becoming nervous. “Say, maybe you let me call the head boss and get an okay first, after all?”
“Maybe you lift the gate before I arrest you for interfering with an officer of the law,” Flint snapped. “I'm sure you know what happened today, right?”
Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3 Page 20
