Fresh morning air, warm and delicious, struck Flint's face. Looking to his left and then to his right, Flint searched for his prey. Unable to spot anyone, he began searching the grass for footprints.
“Anything?” Tori asked when she caught up.
Flint threw his eyes toward the black iron front gate that surrounded the large yard of the mansion. “No time to jump the fence... he had to have doubled around to the back of the mansion. Come on.”
They took off to the back of the mansion, only to find a large swimming pool, a stone pool house, and more palm trees sitting on a lawn so lush and green that it seemed a crime to walk on it. But no people. “They’ve made tracks,” Tori said, breathless and disappointed.
“I know,” Flint growled, upset. “Whoever it was wanted information, I think. And like an idiot, I let them hear.”
“The ticket,” Tori said.
“The ticket,” Flint confirmed. “I read the information on the ticket out loud.”
“What now?” Tori asked, her eyes still scanning the back yard. Grateful for the fresh morning air, she glanced at the large pool. Remembering her first case with Flint and how she had fallen into the pool at Lila Crastdale's mansion, she bit down on her lower lip. “I can scout the neighborhood, try and spot anyone, ask anyone working on the lawn if they saw anyone make tracks out of here.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Flint said, still angry. Shoving his gun back into its holster, he scolded himself for letting his prey escape. He returned to the front of the mansion with Tori, kicking the ground as he walked. “Arnold,” he said, “we're going to take a little field trip.”
“I'm too tired, Flint. I need sleep.”
“Not now. First thing tomorrow,” Flint pointed out. “Henry Parsons was strangled to death with a scarf. The killer wanted to make his death very tidy and then called the press. Why? Because the killer wanted to be present.” Flint paused. Drawing in a deep breath, he looked into Tori's exhausted face. “Arnold, was it a coincidence that we found Parsons’ family photo album opened next to him on the bed?”
Tori shrugged her shoulders. “It appeared Mr. Parsons was walking down memory lane before he was murdered. At least that's how I saw it.”
“Me, too,” Flint agreed. “Now, I'm not so certain. Come on, let's get back to the station.”
“Flint, I need sleep. Please. I've been up for twenty-eight hours already.”
“When you reach forty hours, then you can complain,” Flint said. “That’s police life for you.”
Tori sighed miserably. “At least stop for some coffee. I can't stand the coffee back at the station. That stuff makes me feel like I'm being churned into sour milk.”
“Sure thing.” Flint actually smiled. His partner was exhausted and he understood how complete exhaustion felt. “But first let's run back inside real quick. I need to see something.”
Tori sighed again. But, without arguing, she followed Flint back to the parlor. Leaning against the parlor door, she watched Flint examine the carpet near the bookshelf. “What are you looking for?”
Flint motioned for Tori to join him, and she heaved herself off the door and knelt down next to him by the bookshelf.
“Look,” Flint said, pointing his finger. “See how the indent right here is different from a pair of normal shoes?” Remaining on his knees, Flint crawled away from the bookshelf to the parlor door. Tori followed.
“Flint, these indents were made by a high heel,” Tori said as she reached the parlor door.
“And the wet tracks I found earlier were made by a tennis shoe,” Flint pointed out. “Arnold, we have two different people here. Maybe... maybe the killer didn't call the press after all? Maybe the second person called the press to chase the killer off?”
“And maybe,” Tori added, “this woman left Mr. Parsons’ family photo album open on the bed as a clue to help us? Flint, we need to see the photo album.”
“Yes!” Flint said, standing up. Biting down on his lower lip he thought the situation over. “The woman wearing the high heel didn't scram out of the hallway and evade us, that's for sure. The killer doubled back on us... doubled back to the parlor hoping to find the book that would unlock the bookshelf. He sees it open, sneaks down the hallway, hears us talking, gets the information he needs, and becomes a track star and escapes.”
Tori rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Flint, I need some coffee to even try and think this through. Come on.”
They walked back out and Flint locked the main front door behind them.
Twenty minutes later he pulled his car into the parking lot of an old 1950's style diner sitting on a road leading to a popular surfing beach. The diner was empty of patrons, which made Flint happy.
“No Chinese food,” he joked, as he slid into his booth seat overlooking the beach.
Tori sat opposite. “I'm wearing the same pink dress I was wearing last night, Flint. My feet are killing me, but thank goodness I had enough sense to wear flat pumps. I'm hungry and sleepy and very cranky. So let me warn you, don't mention Chinese food to me right now.”
Flint held up his hands. “Okay, tiger, settle down.”
Tori glared at Flint, but she wasn’t entirely serious. The sounds of Elvis singing a song about his blue suede shoes danced around the delicious smells of hamburgers, fries, and milkshakes mingled in with fresh coffee and apple pie. A woman in her mid-fifties wearing a black and white waitress uniform approached the booth. “Hi,” she said in a friendly voice, “what can I start you two off with to drink?”
Flint looked up into the woman's face and then read the name on her name tag. “Hi, Freida, I'll have some coffee... black,” he said offering a polite smile. It was clear that Frieda was a beautiful woman who’d had some hard years. Her black hair, which she had tied into a tight bun, showed signs of heavy gray.
“I'll have a coffee, black, too,” Tori said. “I'll also have a double cheeseburger, no mayonnaise or onion, jut cheese, pickle, and ketchup. I'll have a side of fries, too, please... uh, can you make that two double cheeseburgers, I'm kinda hungry.”
“Two coffees, black. Two double cheeseburgers, no mayonnaise or onion. Side of fries. Anything else?” Frieda smiled.
“I'll take a slice of apple pie, please,” Flint said.
“You got it.” Frieda smiled and hurried away.
“She's very sweet,” Tori said.
“She's a woman who spent many years being abused,” Flint pointed out. “Her smile is damaged. Her eyes are still scared... and her heart is still broken.”
“How do you know that?” Tori asked.
“In time, you'll start noticing what people are hiding behind their eyes, too, Arnold,” Flint answered. “We'll leave a good tip.”
Tori watched Frieda and noticed her hand shaking as she poured the coffee. “Poor dear.”
After Frieda delivered the two coffees to the booth, she smiled and excused herself. Flint picked up a white coffee cup. “My mother was abused,” he confessed, taking a sip of coffee.
“Really?”
Flint took his eyes down to the beach. Early morning surfers were enjoying a high tide. “My old man was a drunk, Arnold, as well as a coward. Maybe I'm telling you this because I'm too tired to care?”
“I'm glad you're able to open up with me, Flint,” Tori said in a soft voice. “I'm glad we're becoming close friends as well as partners.”
“Yeah,” Flint agreed.
“So that's how you know our waitress was abused, then, right?”
Flint nodded. “Freida has the same look my own mother wore for many years. When I grew old enough to put my old man in his place, I started fighting him back. When that started my mother left him. She never remarried.”
“Where is she now?”
“Living in Oregon with her sister,” Flint said. “She's happy and that's what matters.”
“I'm sorry your mother was abused,” Tori said in a sincere voice.
“Me, too.” Flint sighed. Putting down his coffee he foc
used on Tori's face. “Okay, Arnold, let's see what we have on our case so far?”
Tori nodded. “Well, partner, we have two people, a man, and a woman, it seems. The woman seems to be leaving us clues and obviously, knows who the killer is.”
“And now, because of my big mouth, the killer has what he was looking for,” Flint added. “We're going to take a field trip to Gold Pot, Nevada, Arnold. My gut is telling me that's where the killer is running too, as well as the woman wearing the high heels.”
Tori sipped her coffee. “Something is in Gold Pot, Flint... a buried fortune, maybe? Just like the old films.”
“Could be,” Flint agreed. “Whatever is in Gold Pot, Parsons was leaving a clue for someone to find...someone who knew how to find the clue, too. Hand me your cell phone, please.”
Tori fished out her cell phone from a green purse and handed it across the table. Flint called Melinda but got her voice mail and hung up. “I guess Melinda has gone home to rest for a while,” he said, handing Tori back her cell phone. Rubbing his chin, he focused back on the beach as someone began to sing about being a teenager in love. “After we eat, go home and get some sleep. We'll meet back at the station around five, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tori said in a grateful voice. Looking into Flint's face, she saw how tired he really was. “Flint, you're exhausted. You can't keep running on steam and Chinese food. When's the last time you saw a doctor?”
“Five months ago. I was given a clean bill of health. Dr. Cove said I have a heart of a twenty-five-year-old. He did fuss about at me over the cigarettes, but hey, that's one habit I kicked out the door. Anything else, mom?”
“Not now.” Tori sighed. “You're a real hard case, you know that. I was only trying to care.”
Flint glanced at her. She was obviously trying to be a real friend. “I guess I do need some sleep. You're right, I can't run on a steam all the time.”
Tori smiled. “If you try, I will call your mother and make her pay you a visit,” she warned.
Flint rolled his eyes. “When's the last time you saw a doctor, Arnold, huh?”
“Three months ago. Dr. Relton said I am in perfect health for a woman my age,” Tori announced proudly.
“Give me a year and I'll have you in a nursing home,” Flint joked. “Okay, Arnold, here's the deal. I'm sure the killer has gotten out of here. There's no way the department is going to finance a field trip that takes us out of our jurisdiction. There's also no way I'm going to let this case go cold on me.”
Hearing the door to the diner open, Tori looked up and saw Chief Cunningham walk in. He spotted Flint and Tori sitting at the back booth and nodded as he came over. “I thought I might find you here.”
Tori smiled. “Hey Chief.”
Chief Cunningham was in no mood to be friendly. His face was serious. Sitting down next to Tori, he gripped his hands together. “I'm sorry to do this, but I'm going to have to reassign you two to another case.”
“Why?” Tori exclaimed. “Chief, we have solid leads.”
Frieda walked up to the booth. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked Chief Cunningham.
“Water with lemon, a stack of pancakes, turkey bacon, dry toast and a slice of apple pie,” Chief Cunningham told Frieda, right off the bat. “Please.”
Frieda smiled and walked away.
“What's going on?” Flint asked the chief.
“Henry Parsons’ attorney has presented evidence to the department,” Chief Cunningham explained in a voice that appeared awake and ready to tackle new problems. “Turns out Henry Parsons was dying of cancer. The man only had a few weeks left to live. Even if someone wouldn't have strangled him to death, he would have still died. Mr. Parsons’ attorney is claiming the killing was a mercy killing. Mr. Parsons was on some very strong morphine.”
“I'll speak with Parsons’ nurse and doctor,” Flint said immediately.
Chief Cunningham shook his head. “You can't. Both Mr. Parsons’ nurse and doctor are under a gag order now. Flint, the fact is, Mr. Parsons was an old man, and he was dying of cancer.”
“And…?” Flint said reading Chief Cunningham’s eyes.
Chief Cunningham grabbed Tori's coffee and took a sip. “Guys,” he said, “it was in Mr. Parsons’ Will that if he should ever get sick, instead of suffering, he requested an assisted suicide. America has better sense than to murder innocent people, and his request was denied. But Mr. Parsons has a living relative who might have carried out the man's dying wish. And as it stands right now, the way the body was found, it could be that Mr. Parsons himself ended his own life.”
“Oh come on,” Flit exploded. “Chief, you saw the body. There is no way that old man strangled himself to death.”
“Mr. Parsons’ attorney is hiring an expert to claim otherwise,” Chief Cunningham barked back. “We have so sign of forced entry. The mansion isn't missing one single item, so burglary is thrown out like old dish water. Mr. Parsons’ body shows no signs of trauma, ruling out that there was a struggle when he died. And...”
“And what?” Flint asked testily.
“Mr. Parsons was taking very heavy anti-depressants, Flint. After his wife died, the man fell to pieces. Nine years ago Mr. Parsons tried to hang himself. His nurse was able to stop him.”
Flint looked back at the beach. “Parsons was murdered, Chief. Tori, explain where we're at.”
Tori drew in a deep breath. “We located a hidden room in the mansion,” she began to explain, and told him all about what happened, the ticket, and the high heel marks in the carpet.
Chief Cunningham reached out and patted Tori on her shoulder. “Good work, detective. You've given me some ammunition. Let's eat and get back to the station.”
*****
Chief Cunningham approached Flint's desk with sleepy eyes. Yawning, he carefully examined the squad room to make sure everyone had left. Only Melinda remained. Sitting hunched over her desk, hard at work examining a file, she refused to look in Flint's direction. Grinning, Chief Cunningham sat down on the edge of Flint's desk, looked at Tori, and then back at Flint. “I'm glad to see you two have rested.”
“If you call four hours of sleep rest,” Tori complained. Now dressed in a dark blue dress with a gray cardigan, she felt more comfortable and at ease. Picking up a brown take-out cup holding a strawberry milkshake, Tori nodded at Flint. “Are you awake, partner?”
Flint lifted his head off his desk. Looking like a man who had been sleeping in his clothes for a month, he simply grunted, ran his fingers through his messy hair, and then over a brown mug holding cold coffee. “What's the word, Chief?” he asked taking a drink.
Chief Cunningham reached into the front pocket of his gray trousers and pulled out two travel vouchers. “You leave come daylight,” he announced. “Flint, Tori, I really stuck my neck out on this one. City Hall is a mess and fought me with sharp claws. I had to go past City Hall, guys. I gave the Lieutenant Governor a call and explained the case to him.” He tossed the travel vouchers down on Flint's desk. “Brad gave me the green light only because he's walked the beat as a cop once himself. The guy thinks highly of you, Flint. He told me to tell you that if you don't come back from Nevada with the person who killed Henry Parsons... well, you can say goodbye to your shield.”
“I won't come back empty-handed,” Flint assured him. Meeting Tori's stare, he quickly corrected his words. “We won't come back empty-handed.”
“Good,” Chief Cunningham said, “because your job is on the line, too, Tori. Oh, by the way…” A happy smile swept across his tired face. “… You two are to be known as Casey and Beth Andrews. Mr. and Mrs. Casey and Beth Andrews.”
“What?” Flint exclaimed. Melinda giggled at her desk. Flint shot her a dark look, then said, “Hey, Chief, no way. I'm not playing this game.”
“Oh come on.” Tori smiled. “It'll be fun, Flint, you old grouch.”
Chief Cunningham picked up the travel vouchers. “Okay, then, I'll speak with Brad and call this trip of
f. Of course, you and Tori will probably be directing traffic for the rest of your careers.”
“I would rather direct traffic,” Flint replied. “No offense, Arnold, but pretending to be your husband... there's no way I can pull that off. Whose dumb idea was this anyway?”
“Revenge is sweet.” Melinda laughed. She stood up and walked over to Flint. “Next time you will think twice before taking me to some crummy Chinese restaurant, pal.” Then she threw a brown file down onto the desk. “You're going to need all the luck you can get, Tori.”
Flint watched Melinda leave the squad room. The woman was beautiful, even when she was wearing her uniform instead of dressed in a fancy evening gown. And sure, Flint knew, he was privileged to have such a woman toss favor in his direction. But he just wasn't ready to commit to a relationship that involved... serious feelings. Shaking his head, he snatched up the brown file and opened it. “Okay, what do we have? Names to match the photos in the photo album... the genealogy I asked for… lit of fingerprints found in the mansion... Good.”
“That took Melinda all day, Flint,” Chief Cunningham said. “She made a lot of calls and had numerous people helping her. To you, that's just a file, but to Melinda, that file represents hours and hours of work.”
“Why is everyone crawling down my back?” Flint fussed. “Melinda did her job. Do you want me to give her a medal or free cruise tickets, Chief? We're working on a murder case, here.”
“All I want you to do is show some appreciation,” Chief Cunningham told Flint in a stern voice. “You are both fine cops, Flint... the best in my book, including you, Tori. But when one cop begins to take another cop for granted, a very fragile line in drawn in the sand. Understand me, Flint?”
“You're saying I’m playing off of Melinda's emotions, is that it?”
“All I'm saying is that Melinda has been working her tail off for you and you took her to a Chinese restaurant,” Chief Cunningham replied, keeping his voice firm. “Flint, that woman... and Tori... are becoming like daughters to me. I don't like to find one of my daughters crying in her car.”
Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3 Page 27
