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

  Flint stopped walking. “Yeah,” he said and then shook his head. There before them stood Lila Crastdale's expansive Spanish Style mansion. Even though, Flint knew, every room in the mansion would be filled with expensive, antique furnishings, priceless paintings, squeaky clean marble floors, a viewing room (old mansions always had a viewing room) and most likely a library that would knock the socks off of the harshest critic, the mansion itself was nothing more than a cold headstone.

  “Listen,” he said trying to extend a professional arm out to Tori, “a woman has been murdered. Can you understand that?”

  Tori turned to face Flint. “What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “I know a woman has been killed. I'm not stupid, Flint.”

  “You’re naive, Arnold. This murder might involve some very dangerous people who want to keep a secret just that.”

  “People?” Tori asked, giving Flint another confused look. “Flint, a person murdered Lila Crastdale. Probably some burglar, if you ask me. I think your hunch about the murder being connected to the studio is way off. This is real life, you know. Lila Crastdale was an old lady. Now, why would the studio want to murder an old lady?”

  “Why was a limo from the studio parked outside the police station?” Flint fired back. Quickly grabbing his temper, he studied Tori's face. Even when the woman attempted to be serious her facial expressions were still a little goofy to him. “I'm in on this case because I know my stuff. But I tell you what, if I'm wrong and this Crastdale lady was murdered by a common criminal, then I'll buy you lunch every day for a year. If you're wrong, you buy me lunch. Do we have a deal?”

  “You're on, Mr. Hot Shot.”

  Flint grinned and walked away. Making his way behind the mansion, he slowly strolled over to a swimming pool. To his surprise it was just, in shape and size, a regular rectangle pool, three feet at the shallow end and eight feet at the deep end, with no diving board. The water in the pool was slimy green, indicating neglect.

  Spotting no patio furniture sitting around the pool, Flint glanced around. The pool was hidden from the front view by the mansion itself. The sides and back view were hidden by a tall brick wall that surrounded the pool. Only the front side of the pool was open. A river pebble walkway lead away from the pool up to the mansion, stopping at a set of wide glass doors. “Body already at the coroner's office?” he asked Steve.

  Standing near the shallow end of the pool, Steve snapped a few photos before answering Flint. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at Tori. “Say, who’s the babe?”

  “Knock it off,” Flint snapped. “She's with me.”

  “Oh.” Steve grinned and snapped a few more photos. “Yeah, I heard you got a partner.”

  Fed up, Flint reached out and grabbed the tan shirt Steve was wearing under a dark gray jacket. “Listen, smart mouth, if you want to take a swim, just ask. If you don't, keep your mouth shut and do your job. Now who else is around?”

  “No one, Flint, honest,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder at the slimy water. “After the body was hauled away, I was finally let in to take some photos, but not of the body. I couldn't even go inside, nobody could. I did see Evans fishing around for some fingerprints, though. He left with everyone about half an hour ago. Only Roger is around, guarding the driveway like a tired dog.”

  Flint let go of Steve. “Place unlocked?”

  “Just the back door. I was told to tell you that you're the only authorized person allowed inside.” Steve backed away from Flint. Looking at Tori, he shook his head. “You got a raw deal, didn't you?”

  “Just answer Detective Flint's questions,” she said, pretending to sound tough, though she gave him a secret smile behind Flint’s back.

  Rolling his eyes, Flint knelt down and felt the concrete walkway wrapped around the pool. “What time would you say it stopped raining this morning?” he called up to Steve.

  “Maybe six. Why?”

  “Who talked to the groundskeeper who found the body?” Flint asked, standing up.

  Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Flint, I just take the pictures. And speaking of taking pictures, I guess I'm done here.” Beginning to walk away, Steve paused. “Hey, I don't know what's going on here, but something strange is going on. I was put under a gag order. We're all under a gag order. Sure is strange?”

  “I figured that when you said you couldn't take photos of the body,” Flint said.

  Steve shrugged his shoulders, threw a weird look at Tori, rolled his eyes and walked away. Hesitantly, Tori approached Flint. “What's on your mind?”

  “Still think a burglar killed Lila Crastdale?” Flint asked, studying the slimy green water in the pool. “Body was found around 7:00am. It stopped raining around 6:00am.”

  “I don't understand?”

  “Arnold, what does the condition of this pool tell you?”

  Tori lowered her eyes to the pool. “Well, it looks like this pool hasn't been cleaned in quite some time.”

  “Which means…?”

  “Maybe Lila Crastdale didn't have the money to hire a company to clean her pool?”

  Flint shook his head and sighed. “Arnold, a groundskeeper found her body. If she had money to hire a groundskeeper... Oh, just forget it.”

  “Well, excuse me,” Tori complained. “I'm sorry if my answers don't please you.”

  Losing his patience, Flint knelt down and smacked the slimy green water with his right hand. “Look around, Pippi Longstocking, no pool furniture, pool water is diseased. My guess is the woman didn't like water, probably couldn't swim, and could have cared two cents about this pool.”

  “Then why was she found in the pool, Mr. Smart Guy?”

  “Bet you a Chinese dinner the body will found with high levels of sedatives and the blood alcohol content will be high,” Flint told Tori. “Old lady wanders outside while it's raining, her mind is twisted on sedatives and alcohol, she falls into the pool and drowns. Accidental death, right?”

  Tori tried to come back with a cutting remark, but came up short. “Hey, maybe you’re onto something. Maybe Lila Crastdale's death was accidental?”

  “No,” Flint said, standing up, “I doubt it. The limo wasn't watching me because it thought I was a bird. The studio has really pressured City Hall on this one. Gag order, no press. Not yet, anyway. Body removed before I could see it...”

  “So you still believe someone at the studio killed Lila Crastdale?” Tori asked.

  “Let's have a look inside.”

  Leading Tori up to the double set of glass doors, Flint paused. Lowering his eyes, he spotted some of the river rocks belonging to the walkway lying on the grass. Kneeling down, he ran his right over the rocks and found they were still damp from the rain. He picked up a few rocks and dropped them again.

  “What?” Tori asked.

  “Come on,” Flint said, standing up. He reached out and turned the bronze door handle attached to the glass door. The modern bronze door handle seemed out of place with the rustic Spanish design. Flint made a mental note.

  Walking into a large room lined with white Spanish marble, Flint paused. The room was large, silent and still, only holding a white grand piano that sat in the middle of the floor. “Wow,” Tori said, pushing past Flint. “Oh my, isn't this something?”

  “Stand by the door,” Flint barked.

  Startled, Tori rushed back to the back door. “What?” she yelled.

  “The body was brought outside through this room,” Flint explained, stuffing his hands down into the front pocket of his jeans. Pulling out a small black camera, he began to take some pictures. Tori watched as Flint walked around, taking pictures of the floor.

  “Floor is squeaky clean,” she told Flint, folding her arms together.

  “Maybe,” Flint answered, stopping at the piano. “This is a city style grand piano. Lila Crastdale did live in Manhattan.” Turning to Tori he bit down on his lip. “Okay, Ace, here's what I need for you to do.”

  “All right,” Tori said excitedly.

  “I ne
ed you to find out the company that made this piano, who purchased it and when. Got that?”

  “Is that it?” Tori asked, disappointed. “Oh come on Flint, give me something better than--”

  “No one said being a detective was thrilling work,” Flint interrupted. “Stay here while I look around.”

  “But--”

  “And don't touch anything!” Flint barked at Tori again. “I won't be long.”

  Leaving a pissed off Tori behind, Flint made his way into the mansion. Methodically, he investigated every room, one by one; a large, silver kitchen, a wine cellar filled with expensive wines, a library filled with antique collections probably worth millions, a living room surrounded with priceless paintings, a private viewing room that smelled of old cigarette and cigar smoke, fancy bedrooms, a private den. Finding no sign of a forced entry, no blood, no sign of a struggle, Flint returned to the piano room.

  “Where have you been?” Tori said. “It's been two hours. You said you wouldn’t be long.”

  “Have you noticed the outside of this place doesn't match the inside? The inside has all new styles,” Flint said.

  “I wouldn't know, I've been standing here for the last two hours staring at this silly piano.”

  “Instead of trying to come up with some ideas,” Flint said. “Come on, we're leaving.”

  “Good. I'm starving.”

  “No time for food yet. We're going back to the studio. I need a history of Lila Crastdale's relationship with the studio. Time to ruffle some feathers.”

  “Flint, do you really think the studio murdered Lila Crastdale?”

  “Not the studio itself, but someone at the studio,” Flint said. “We're looking at a two-sided penny here.”

  “Huh?”

  “The studio wants the murder kept silent for now, right?”

  “Sure, I guess,” Tori answered.

  “So, the studio pressures City Hall passes a few bucks to the mayor to make him put a gag order out, and waits.” Flint motioned to Tori to follow him outside.

  “Waits for what?”

  “For me to find the killer,” Flint answered. “The studio doesn't want its name slung around in the mud. So, I find the killer, the studio finally goes public, Lila Crastdale's name is thrown all over the news, the studio makes a few more pennies off of her name, and case closed. So far that's my thinking. Things can change.”

  “But... that means anyone at the studio could be the killer,” Tori said, walking with Flint back toward the pool. But before she could say another word, she tripped over her own feet, lunged forward, and fell into the shallow end of the pool.

  Rolling his eyes, Flint walked back to his car, leaving Tori splashing in the slimy green water.

  “Some help here, please?!” Tori called out after him.

  “Roger,” Flint said, tossing a thumb back up the driveway. “My... partner will be along in a minute. Run her back to the station, will you?”

  “I can't, Flint. I'm on duty here until I'm relieved.”

  “Twenty-four-hour guard duty, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Roger said, now chewing on another toothpick. “A lot of expensive stuff in that place. Find anything missing?”

  “Not that I could tell,” Flint said. Leaning against the black and white patrol car, he nodded his head at the mansion. “Whoever is in Lila Crastdale’s will is going to get a lot of nice stuff. There's more money in the wine cellar up there than I'll make in a lifetime.”

  “Don't temp me, Flint.” Roger laughed. “My pension isn't enough to make a bum happy.”

  Flint spotted Tori storming down the driveway, murder in her eyes. Grinning, he nudged Roger in the side. “Here she comes.”

  Roger spotted the dripping wet Tori and his mouth fell open. “Did she fall in the pool?” he said, chuckling.

  Flint nodded his head. “Make me a list of everyone who was here earlier, will you? I'll be back for it later.”

  “Will do,” Roger said and quickly dried up his laughter. The last thing he wanted was to be slapped by an angry wet woman. “Why the list, Flint? You think it was one of our own that killed this woman?”

  “Nah, just curious to see if anyone out of the ordinary might have stopped in for a visit.”

  “Just the limo,” Roger told Flint. “But the limo left when the groundskeeper did.”

  “I see,” Flint said, cursing himself for not asking more in-depth questions about the groundskeeper when he had arrived. Thanking Roger for his time, Flint hurried to his car. Tori followed. “Get in.”

  “I'm soaking wet!”

  “Get in.”

  She did as he said, puffing out a loud, frustrated breath. “Happy?”

  “Listen,” Flint said, “forget the studio for now. I need to go back to the station. It's like I said, sometimes things change.”

  “Good. I can change clothes.”

  Flint waved at Roger and pulled away. Something smelled fishy in Hollywood. “Have a nice swim?”

  Tori leaned over and slapped him in the back of the head. “Thanks for being a partner.”

  “Don't make me—”

  “Hush,” Tori snapped at Flint. Once they were clear of the mansion, she opened her left palm. “Look,” she said. Flint glanced down to see river rock shimmering in her hand. “I stepped on them in the pool.”

  “Good work.” Flint smiled.

  “Oh, come on,” Tori said, sounding dejected and slumping back in her seat. “I'm a klutz. If I hadn't fallen into the pool--”

  “Hey,” Flint scolded in an attempt to cheer her up, “only I can call you a klutz, got it? Besides, I was going to have the pool drained and checked.”

  “I guess,” Tori replied. “So why are we going back to the station?”

  “You'll find out,” Flint replied. They fell into silence after that. He didn't speak again until he was in Chief Cunningham’s office.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  “The scene was loose,” Flint complained, slamming his body down in a chair. “The bare minimum was carried out. Some fingerprints were taken, a few photos, and that's it. I didn't even get to question the groundskeeper who found the body. I was okay with that. I can always ask questions later, you know.”

  Chief Cunningham folded his hands together and placed them down on his desk. “Flint, I was called, told a few scraps, and then ordered to assign you to the case and get you out to the scene and--”

  “I bet the mayor has a back pocket full of cash,” Flint interrupted. “The scene was in violation of so many operational standard procedures that it would take me a decade to name them off. I've seen it before. Some so-and-so big name gets murdered and City Hall jumps through hoops while crushing every law they can dream of. Everyone knows the studio has the mayor in their back pockets. But Chief, this was different.”

  “How?” Chief Cunningham asked, concerned. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tori straining water out of her hair. The faint smell of fish lingered in the air.

  “I can't put my thumb on it yet,” Flint said. “Did Melinda get me the information I asked for?”

  Chief Cunningham picked up a brown folder from the desk and handed it to Flint. “Lila Crastdale's life is in that folder. I think you might find some interesting information in there.”

  Flint opened the folder. Tori craned over and her hair hung forward, dripping onto the page. Flint wiped the page, then pulled her chair close to his. “Okay. Let's see what we have. Lila Crastdale...”

  “Married once, no children, has a niece,” Tori began to read off the front file paper. Flint shot her a 'Stop-It' look. She pressed her lips together, pissed off.

  Flint read in silence. “The lead actor killed in the last film she was in was her husband,” he said.

  “The man murdered was also a very active political figure,” Chief Cunningham pointed out. “A behind the scenes type man. He got under the skin of a lot of powerful people, too. Like Lila Crastdale, he was found floating face down in a pool”
/>   “Same pool Lila Crastdale was found dead in this morning, according to this,” Flint added. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a few things around in his mind. “Say, Chief, what if this man had dirt on some political figure back in his day?”

  “I'm listening.”

  Tori reached for the file in Flint's hand. He let it go, and instantly regretted it, worrying he was getting too soft. “The man murdered was Patrick Wilson. He was a no-name actor that the studio hired on to play lead roles in a few B-rated horror movies with Lila Crastdale. My guess is she pushed for her husband to be hired.”

  “Possible,” the Chief said.

  Flint knew Chief Cunningham was about to ease him away from assumption back onto the road of hard evidence.

  “Let me finish,” Flint pressed. “Patrick Wilson makes himself some political enemies who threaten to close down Canyon View Studios and--”

  “And someone from the studio kills him, right?” Tori asked, jumping into the conversation.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Flint answered. “The coin could be flipped on both sides right now. Maybe I had it wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” Chief Cunningham asked.

  “I'm not sure yet,” Flint said. “Chief, all I need to know is who called you and requested I be assigned to this case?”

  Chief Cunningham drew in a deep breath, folded his hands together, and leaned back in his chair. “The Mayor's Office,” he said. “The Mayor personally called me.”

  “I thought as much,” Flint said with a nod. “Chief, I would go question the groundskeeper but something tells me he's already been paid off. I can't say for sure, but I think City Hall and Canyon View Studios may be acting like they're on the same team, but really have different agendas. Lila Crastdale might have been murdered because she knew more than both sides were willing to allow.”

  “That’s making sense to me,” said Tori.

  “You need to go track down the grand piano for me,” Flint said to her. “I want to know who bought it, when, where and what company relocated that piano to Los Angeles from Manhattan.”

  “I can do that,” Tori said.