Flint hung up the phone and walked down to the beach. Following a set of prints in the sand that were obviously made by someone running, he took a left. He stopped when the beach ended at a group of low rocks leading up into a high hill. “There's no way I can find him,” Flint sighed. “He's gonna run for the rest of his life.”
Returning back to his car, Flint reached into the glove compartment and took out a pack of cigarettes. “I'll quit some other time,” he said, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He grabbed a box of matches and lit up. Leaning against the car, he closed his eyes and listened to the waves striking the beach.
The game had turned deadly. Now who are the men that Duffy and Wilson are afraid of?
Working on his cigarette, Flint struggled to put every piece of the puzzle together. All he knew was that Lila Crastdale's death was breaking off into different directions the way an old bottle breaks into little chunks of glass when kicked across the pavement.
Mayor Duffy wanted me to believe Jennifer was the killer. He wants her out of the way. Jennifer is attached to Wilson. He's protecting her. And Lila Crastdale is dead because she had something on everyone.
Two hours later Flint was back at his desk reading a second file Melinda had gathered on Lila Crastdale. Shortly after, Tori strolled up to his desk and sat down in the chair Melinda had given her. “Guess who I saw come back to the studio before I left?”
Flint lowered the file in his hand. He asked who she had seen, even though he had a hunch. “I've had a long day and I'm not up to playing 'guess who'.”
“I saw Ms. Beauty Pageant,” Tori said with a smile. “And from the look on her face, she was not a happy camper.”
“I see,” Flint said, dropping the file in his hands down onto the desk.
Tori began sniffing the air. “Is that cigarette smoke I smell?” she asked, then looked at Flint. “You didn't?”
“I've had a long day, Arnold, that just ended with my best witness being shot at.”
“Shot at... You mean with real bullets?” Tori asked, a little too excitedly for his liking.
“Being shot and killed isn't the good stuff,” Flint told Tori in a tired voice. “Listen, you planted the bug and did good today. Tomorrow I want you back at the studio again, okay?”
“But why? What... hey, I need to find about the piano.”
“I know who bought the piano. I'm having Melinda run the serial number. She'll get me the information I need,” Flint said. “You're the most good back at the studio.”
“Perfect,” Tori said with a scowl. “I sit filing my nails while your dodging bullets and solving the case.”
“Little steps,” Flint explained. He took a sip of coffee. “I tell you what, we'll order in tonight. I need to go back to my apartment and see what the bug has been catching in Wilson's office. That, my rookie friend, is going to help me put this case to bed.”
“Order in... hey, that involves me!” Tori exclaimed in a happy voice.
“And me,” Melinda said, walking up to Flint's desk. “Chief has ordered me to stay at your side tonight. Sorry.”
“Why?” Flint growled. “I don't need a babysitter.”
“He's having your apartment watched,” Melinda explained, then picked up Flint’s cup of coffee and drained it, “for your own protection. Whoever tried to kill your witness today might try to take you out, too. I'm to stay in your apartment and a few of the black and whites will be parked down below.”
“Hey, cool, we can have a movie night!” Tori said. “I'll make popcorn and... ” She trailed off when she saw Flint cast her a sour look. “We’ll focus on solving the case, I mean. We'll see what that dirtbag Wilson has been saying behind closed doors. You got it, boss.”
“Stop calling me boss,” Flint begged. Looking up at Melinda, he sighed. “Okay, you can camp at my place tonight.”
Melinda put her hand on his shoulder. “I don't like it when people shoot at you, Flint. I'm mighty fond of you, you big grouch.”
“Does this mean you're going to find a preacher?” Flint teased. Feeling exhausted from a day of questioning and footwork, Flint stared down at the reports lying on his desk. “A form for a form for a form,” he said miserably. “Ah, forget these reports for now. Who wants Chinese?”
“I'm bringing over some groceries,” Melinda said, “and I'm going to cook us all a healthy meal.”
“Bring some pots and pans,” Flint warned.
“He has a spoon for the peanut butter jar,” Tori teased.
Flint rolled his eyes. Hearing the phone on his desk ring, he snatched it up. “Flint.”
“Detective Flint,” Patrick Wilson said in a cold voice, “I think it's time you and I had another meeting.”
“Are you sad that I'm still alive?” Flint said, motioning at Melinda to go record the call. Melinda hurried back to her desk. Tori leaned forward and listened. “I'm sorry your hit man didn't take me out today.”
“Why Detective Flint, I don't know what you're talking about. If you are implying that I tried to have you killed, you are deadly wrong,” Patrick replied.
Sitting in the back of his limo with Jennifer, he made motioned for the driver to get moving. “I am aware of the shooting that took place out on Ocean View Road earlier.”
“I'm sure you are,” Flint said, and lifted his coffee cup up in the air. With his eyes, he told Tori he wanted a refill.
Tori made an 'Are-You-Serious' face at Flint. Flint snarled at her with his eyes. Tori grabbed the cup and got moving, nearly tripping over her feet as she stood up. “I'm good,” she told Flint, catching her balance.
“Detective, the shooting is the reason that I am once more contacting you. You are fully aware that you nauseate me and making this call is absolutely revolting,” Patrick said. “However, it has been brought to my attention that you paid an interesting visit to Ms. Reed today.”
Flint guessed Patrick knew the call was being recorded and was cautiously watching his verbiage. Leaning back in his chair, Flint looked over at Melinda. Melinda gave him a thumbs up. “Where do you want to meet?”
“I want to meet alone. In my office at the studio, say in one hour?”
“No deal,” Flint objected. “We can meet at a little Chinese restaurant I know.” Flint shot out the address to the Chinese restaurant. “Can you be there, Wilson?”
“If I must,” Patrick replied in a sickening voice. “But if I see anyone but you I will leave immediately. I only wish to assist you on the case, now, Detective. I wish to make that very clear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Flint said, then hung up the phone. Tori walked back with his coffee. “Thanks,” he said, taking the coffee cup.
“So is he gonna meet you?” Tori asked.
“Yeah.” Flint looked down at Tori's shins and saw multiple bruises. “You really got to start being more careful, Arnold. I'm not sure what you would have done if you would have been at the shooting earlier.”
“I can handle myself,” Tori said, examining her bruised shins.
“Arnold, bullets are nothing to take lightly. I'm just worried that if you had been at the shooting, you might not be here right now.”
“Hey,” Tori said sternly, “I know the dangers the job entails. I'm not scared. If I die in the line of duty, then at least I died for something. It's sure better than growing old alone, isn't it, going to stupid flower club meetings and baking bread all the time, hoping, just hoping and praying... someone might call you because you're so dang lonely you can't stand it.”
“She has a point,” Melinda said. “I remember when I first became a cop. I was scared every time I went out of the station door. Flint here gave me the same speech he's giving you. He thinks women are meant for the kitchen.”
“I'm just saying that it's dangerous out there and I don't want to see Arnold get hurt,” Flint said. “Some idiot shot up my car with an automatic rifle. I've seen men chewed to pieces by those kind of rifles. I've seen the dead bodies, okay? I don't want to see Arnold in the morgue co
vered over with a white sheet, Melinda.”
“Hey,” Tori said, speaking in a soft voice, “Flint, I appreciate your concern, but we're partners. I know the dangers. All I can do is keep my head down, just like everyone else, when the bullets start flying. Last time I checked, bullets aren't discriminatory. They kinda go after anyone in their path - man, woman or child.”
Flint bit the inside of his jaw. Looking into Tori's goofy face he couldn't help but smile. Sure, Tori was a klutz, but she had the making of a good detective. He could see that now. “All right, Arnold, just keep you head down and don't get shot.”
Tori beamed. “You got it... partner.”
“Now,” Flint said, standing up, “I'm going to get some Chinese and you two are going to stay put right here until I get back. Wilson ordered me to come alone.”
Melinda patted Tori's shoulder. “We'll follow him in my car and stay close.”
“No,” Flint objected, “you won't.”
“Yes,” Melinda said firmly, “we will. Chief’s orders, pal. Don't worry, we won't be seen. I've worked undercover before, Flint. I know how to stay in the shadows.”
“Arnold was at the studio today. Wilson saw her. If he sees her anywhere the restaurant he'll know she's a cop,” Flint fired back at Melinda. “Now--”
“Hey, you called me a cop!” Tori interrupted. “Thanks.”
Flint shook his head and stormed out of the patrol room. “Come on,” Melinda said, walking back to her desk and grabbing her purse. “We've got a stubborn bull to chase down.”
“He's not so bad,” Tori said, following Melinda. “Well,” she said on a second thought, “he does need to take some serious chill pills, but other than that, he's a pretty cool guy.”
Walking out into the parking lot, Flint examined the darkening sky. He pulled out a cigarette and began to light up, but then hesitated. Staring at the cigarette in his hand, he felt a strange anger overcome him. An anger, not focused on the world, but at the cigarette itself. “You don't control me!” he said out loud. There had to be a better way. He slung the cigarette down onto the ground. “You won over me today but that'll be the last time.”
Jumping in an ugly, cramped red rental car, Flint buckled up and sped away. Melinda and Tori followed. Flint, staring into the rearview mirror, spotted Melinda's car. Though he was tempted to lose her, he decided to play nice. Deep down, he liked—and respected—Melinda.
As he drove to the Chinese restaurant, maneuvering through thick traffic that finally fizzled out as he drove into a shabby part of town, Flint thought about his day. When he pulled into the dirty parking lot, he spotted the limo and pulled up next to it. In front of the cars was a run-down building, housing only a cheap Chinese restaurant ran by a man who Flint had arrested many years back. Overhead, darkness was pulling the last of the light out of the day, drawing in a night that would bring out lost souls, criminals, weirdos, and much more.
Flint waited until a pimped out car blaring gangster music cruised by, then kicked the back tire of the limo. “I'm not waiting all night, Wilson.” No answer came from the limo. “Come on, Wilson!” Flint yelled and kicked the tire again. “My patience is wearing thin.”
When no answer came a second time, Flint's instinct kicked in. Drawing his gun, he snatched the back door of the limo open. And there, sitting in the back seat slumped over, sat Patrick Wilson. “Dang,” Flint said, jumping into the back seat. Putting his gun away he grabbed Patrick's left wrist and checked for a pulse. “Dead!” Flint said.
Methodically, he checked Patrick's body for any sign of a bullet or knife wound and then checked the man's veins to see if someone had stuck a needle in them. “The black widow strikes,” Flint said, jumping back out of the limo. Waving his hand in the air toward Melinda's car parked across the street, he motioned for her to drive over to him.
Looking around the run down neighborhood, Flint knew asking questions would be pointless. “Well,” he said, hearing another car blaring gang music approaching. “I guess I picked the wrong restaurant to eat at tonight.”
*****
Chapter 6
With Dr. Miles away on vacation, Flint was subjected to a fat, middle-aged man who continuously wiped at his nose and had the voice of a horse. Standing in the morgue, Flint watched the fat man waddle himself behind Dr. Miles’ desk and sit down. Impatient for answers, Flint fought back the urge to snatch the fat man up and yell in his face.
Glancing at Tori, he sighed. His partner was dressed in a deep purple dress with little red dots on it. The dress, along with the way she had her hair wrapped in a tight bun, made her appear as a woman caught in the mind of a teenage girl taken prisoner by a disastrous taste in fashion. “Do you have to dress like that?” Flint hissed.
“What?” Tori asked scanning her dress. “This dress happens to be the most current style in Paris.”
“Figures,” Flint groaned.
“Hey,” Tori snapped, “I've got my shield, my service gun is attached to my ankle, and I have pen and paper in my purse. I'm getting better, okay? After all, I'm back here in this creepy morgue, and that speaks volumes.”
“You spilled coffee on me back at the station, you tripped walking to the car, you didn't have you ankle holster put on properly, and your gun wasn't even on safety,” Flint said. Cranky and ill from a night loose with sleep, he popped his arms together and glared at the fat man. “Well, what's it gonna be?”
“The recently deceased,” the fat man spoke, paused, wiped at his nose, and then opened a brown file on his desk, “died from suffocation.”
Tori looked at Flint and then back at the fat man. The poor guy was wearing a horrible brown suit that brought out every feature of his chubby face. Of course, Flint didn't seem to care that Dr. Wayne appeared overworked and exhausted. Nah, Flint just wanted answers, the jerk. “Dr. Wayne, please, take your time,” Tori said in a soft, caring voice.
Flint elbowed her. “Knock it off.”
“Hey!” Tori said, and elbowed Flint back.
Dr. Wayne wiped at his nose again. “I found small traces of synthetic fibers in Mr. Wilson's nose.”
“Someone shoved a pillow over his face,” Flint said.
Dr. Wayne continued in a bored voice. “I also found traces of the same synthetic fibers in Mr. Wilson's mouth.”
“Yeah, when someone is suffocating you to death with a pillow I'm sure your mouth is open,” Flint said, then walked off toward the office door.
“You're kinda cute,” Tori quickly whispered at Dr. Wayne, then hurried off to Flint. “What are you thinking?”
Flint stopped at the office door. “I'm wondering how someone got a pillow into the back of that limo. I'm also wondering who really killed Patrick Wilson.”
“Jennifer Reed,” Tori said in an obvious voice. But then she looked at Flint’s face. “You don’t think so?”
Flint shook his head. “I believe Ms. Reed killed Patrick Wilson as if she put the pillow over the man's face herself. But it was a man who did the actual dirty work. Come on, let's get back to the station. We've got work to do.”
“Wait a minute,” Tori said, then quickly ran back to Dr. Wayne. “Hey, um… how about dinner tonight?”
Dr. Wayne looked up at Tori with bored eyes. “My wife wouldn't like that.”
“Oh... I... I thought...” Tori burst out, embarrassed. Turning red she eased away from the desk. “I... There’s no wedding ring on your finger. So sorry!” Not paying attention, she tripped over her feet and almost lost her footing.
Flint caught her wrist and helped her to her feet. “Good grief. Come on Juliet, you can find your Romeo another day.”
“So sorry,” Tori said to Dr. Wayne. “Give your wife my best!”
“Listen,” Flint growled. “Cody is missing. Patrick Wilson is dead. Jennifer Reed is AWOL and Mayor Duffy has come down with a sudden case of amnesia. He's pressuring Chief Cunningham to find the killer of Patrick Wilson, forgetting all about Lila Crastdale.” His voice was coarse and sharp.
“Why are you mad at me?” Tori protested. “I didn't do anything.”
“I'm... I’m mad at myself,” Flint said. “I didn't see this one coming. I'm going to get Duffy and make sure he spends his life behind bars. Let's go.”
Back at the station Flint sat down in an empty interrogation room. Sticking up her nose at the drab gray walls of the room, Tori sat in a gray metal folding chair and rested her hands on a cheap, hard plastic table. “Smells awful in here. Maybe you should go home and change your clothes. I don’t want to be rude, but it could be you that smells, you know. No matter what the situation is, we always have time to shower and put on a fresh change of clothes and--”
“Be quiet, Pippi,” Flint said acidly. So what if he was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day before? So what if he needed a shave? So what if he was on his eighth cup of coffee for the morning? So what if he was tired and cranky? He had work to do. Reaching forward to a black tape recorder sitting on the table, he pressed play. “Let's see what we have.”
Tori sat silently. For the next hour, she listened to every word spoken in Patrick Wilson's office. And then, the real prize came into play. “Hey!” Tori exclaimed.
“Yep,” Flint said. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms and listened to Jennifer Reed make a call to Mayor Duffy after Patrick Wilson had left his office, leaving her alone.
“He's nervous,” Jennifer was heard saying. “That Detective is getting too close. He paid me a visit, you idiot... He knows... No, you kill him, not me... Don't you dare threaten me! This was all your idea... I didn't kill Lila. You threw her into the pool, not me... I know... I swear I didn't kill her. We were only supposed to drug her in order to get the information she had on Wilson in order to blackmail him... If he finds out I know he'll kill me... No... I'll call you later... Bye.”
Flint grinned. “Seems we have a double play at work here,” he said. “Listen to me, and you listen carefully. Mayor Duffy is behind all of this. He's the man we're after now. But we have to be careful. He's getting desperate, so I wouldn't put it past him try and kill anyone who gets in his way.”
Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3 Page 10