Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3): An Anthony Carrick Mystery

By Jason Blacker

Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

Now you can grab the 1st 3 Anthony Carrick mysteries in one Box Set!

 

First Feature:
All that glitters is not gold. A top Hollywood producer is bludgeoned to death with his own Oscar, and it wasn't because of his recent flop. Why was he murdered?

 

Second Fiddle:
The Big Apple has a rotten core. At least to those involved in the New York Philharmonic. Paul Klee, their rising star and first violin has gone missing.  Then he winds up dead. Who'd want to kill a violinist?

 

Third Base:
The World Series is featuring Chicago vs Baltimore at Wrigley Park. Just before the start the Cubs star pitcher ends up dead by third base. Now Anthony's gotta figure it out before the Series begins.

 

Almost 1,000 pages of murder mystery enjoyment!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lemon Tree Publishing
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540184351

Jason Blacker

Jason Blacker was born in Cape Town but spent most of his first 18 years in Johannesburg. When not grinding his fingers down to stubs at the keyboard he enjoys drinking tea, calisthenics and running. Currently he lives in Canada.  Under his own name he writes hard boiled as well as cozy mysteries, action adventure, thrillers, literary fiction and anything else that tickles his muse. Jason Blacker also writes poetry and daily haikus at his haiku blog.  You can find his haikus and other poetry at his website www.haiqueue.com.  For FREE books and to stay up to date and learn about new releases be sure to visit www.jasonblacker.com where you can find more information about his writing and upcoming projects.  If you enjoy space opera in the tradition of Star Trek then take a look at Jason Blacker’s pen name “Sylynt Storme”. It is under the name Sylynt Storme where you can find both sci-fi and vampire fiction written by Jason Blacker.  “Star Sails” is the space opera series and “The Misgivings of the Vampire Lucius Lafayette” is his vampire series.

Book preview

Table of Contents

First Feature

Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

ENJOYED THE BOOK?

SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

Second Fiddle

Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

ENJOYED THE BOOK?

SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

Third Base

Contents

Title

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

ENJOYED THE BOOK?

SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

ENJOYED THE BOOK?

SOME OF MY OTHER BOOKS

FIRST FEATURE

Jason Blacker

Copyright © 2019 Jason Blacker

PUBLISHED BY: Lemon Tree Publishing

Visit www.JasonBlacker.com to get FREE books and other cool stuff!

All rights reserved .

No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Editing: Andrea Anesi

ISBN: 9781927623640

For my father, Anthony, who doesn’t mind Tony.

CHAPTER ONE

I WAS SITTING IN MY bed. Pirate was across my shins, his warm, limp body hot. His breathing was shallow. It was warm in here and his fur wasn’t helping any. California was enduring another heat wave. My window was open and the blinds were still. You could smell the smoke from the fires up by Falling Springs. They’d been raging three days already. The smog was worse, if you could say that in the valley. The sun was creeping in through the window. Slowly inching towards the bed. Trying to creep up on Pirate and I. I wasn’t going to let him.

I was reading the Book Review section of the L.A. Times. It was Sunday, and I liked to look at the books. I read when I can. Takes my mind off things I’d sooner forget. The Overlook was getting some good reviews from the Times. I liked mystery stories. Funny thing is, truth is stranger than fiction. I was reading out of one eye, like Pirate might. Smoke was snaking up from my Marlboro stuck in my mouth and irritating my left eye. I might have been winking if I’d had a lady in bed next to me. I didn’t. That was a shame. But I wasn’t crying about it.

My cell phone started ringing. Like on old fashioned telephone. Ring, ring, and then a pause. Then ring, ring again. I liked it better that way. I sucked on my cigarette, pulled it out of my mouth and rested it in the glass ashtray. I picked up the phone and it vibrated in my hand. I didn’t like that too much. I’ve got to turn that vibrate off.

Yes, I said. It was nine in the morning. Pirate looked at me out of his one good eye. He wasn’t impressed. He was trying to get some sleep around here.

Anthony Carrick? It might have been a question. I wasn’t sure. It was a man’s voice. Deep but young.

Sure.

Mr. Carrick, my name is Jeffrey Stein, special assistant to Miles Kaufman at NBC Universal.

I wasn’t impressed. Maybe because I didn’t know a special assistant from a secretary. But that’s probably just me.

Call me Anthony, Jeffrey.

Sure. Listen Anthony, Miles wanted me to give you a call see if you’d help us out with something, um, how do I say this. Something discreet.

I know discreet Jeffrey. In my business most things are.

He was a young guy to be sure. I could hear his Yale pedigree in his accent. Got to love these folks. People dying and they talk about being discreet as if they even know what it means. I sucked on my cigarette and blew smoke at the window. I imagined the blue haze as Aladdin. See if I could squeeze out three wishes.

Chief Frank Burton recommended you to Mr. Kaufman.

How nice, I said. He didn’t know what to do with that. He startled a little the young buck.

Can we meet someplace Anthony? I don’t trust these phones.

Joe’s Main Diner down here on Main Street, Santa Monica. I could use some food. I wanted to see if this young fella was worth my trouble.

Sure, he said.

Ten o’clock then Jeffrey. Bring an appetite, they serve good food.

Okay. Thank you Mr. Carrick.

Anthony, I said.

Sorry? he said.

Don’t be. I hung up the phone thinking I could be sorry. But I hadn’t had any work for a couple of weeks and rent was coming due. Besides I was curious about what seediness Hollywood might be up to. That could get me a few bucks from the Inquirer. Or not. I was discreet. I took a last pull on my cigarette and squashed its nose into the sea of ash. I blew smoke rings at Pirate. He yawned at me. I scratched his ears and he started his diesel engine. That small cat could purr pretty loud. He looked at me through one blue eye and one milky blind eye.

A pirate’s life for us hey boy?

He rattled the chain in his throat a little louder. I glanced back at the paper at my side. The Overlook was getting a great review. The journalist was encouraging us to have a read of it. Even if we’d read it as the New York Times serial. There was new, taut stuff to be had. I couldn’t wait. He had me sold. I figured some of the characters I’d rubbed shoulders with could make for interesting reading. I folded up the paper and tossed it on the floor. I didn’t read most of it much. Too much black stuff. All the macabre and depressing news that’s fit to print. Something like that. I didn’t care for any more violence in my day than I already had. My cup spilled over anyway.

I swung my legs out from under Pirate. He jumped up, stretched his back then jumped off the bed. I got up, cracked my back and went to shower. I don’t usually work the Sabbath. Not because I’m religious. I just like a day of rest. If you can call it quiet at all then Sundays in Santa Monica are fairly quiet. I liked that.

I pulled on some gray slacks and put on a blue shirt. Blue was supposed to be calming I read someplace. Not sure if I was wearing it for me or for Jeffrey. I put on my fedora slightly askance and put a few kibbles in Pirates dog bowl and headed out into the hazy day.

If the earth smoked then L.A. was its ashtray. I’d never seen it so hazy. I figured I’d do my part so I lit up another smoke. Not many people were out walking. Seemed people liked to drive around here. Heard this is where the first highways were built. California that is. But you never hear about sidewalk rage. So I took my time. Admiring the views, which included a young lady jogging by me in spandex. I watched her a while into the distance. Her blonde pony tale sweeping a smile at me. Her firm ass could make a fella forget about church. I smiled after her. She didn’t seem to mind.

Joe’s Main Diner is a great little hole in the wall that you could easily miss, if you were walking by head down in thought. That’s not a bad thing. It keeps it popular with the local folks. Not too many strays. There’s a big tree outside. The climbing kind that I would have tried a handful of years ago. Now I’d just look foolish. I ducked in under its red awning and headed to a two-seater next to the wall. It was busy for a Sunday. Probably around two thirds full. I didn’t mind. I had my regular table. I fished out my phone and turned off the vibrate. I didn’t want to look like a dirty old man. I put my fedora next to me. The phone said ten to ten. Nine five oh. Police slang. I smiled at that.

Hey Mr. Carrick, how are you today? asked Wendy.

Just fine thanks hun. How are you?

A little hung over actually. She giggled then looking down at her feet. She was cute. But I was too old.

How about a coffee for me and for you?

She giggled again like an uncorked champagne bottle. Sure, she said and sashayed off. Her cream colored legs smooth as pudding under a short gray skirt. I took my Marlboro’s out of my shirt pocket and placed them on the table. Couldn’t stand not smoking in restaurants anymore. Bleeding hearts trying to save everyone from themselves. I took a cigarette out of the box and sniffed it anyway. Fresh tobacco and fresh ground coffee. Smells you’d find in heaven I’m pretty sure.

Here you go Mr. Carrick, she closed the k softly in my ear. She had a nice voice. Sultry. Maybe it was the hangover. Maybe it was my wishful thinking.

Thanks hun, I said.

I put two sugars in and two shots of milk. I took a sip. It was sweet and creamy. I thought about Wendy, so I turned my eyes outside. Here people were strolling down Main Street. I saw a short guy get out of a new blue Mercedes. He had on a fine cut suit. Same color as the Mercedes. This was my guy. Dollars to donuts. He took a moment to button up his jacket before walking in. I picked up my hat and put it back down again. He noticed.

Mr. Carrick? Anthony? he said offering a slim hand with long fingers. I stood up and shook it hard. He was limp. Impotent. I figured he was smarmy, maybe even a liar. You can tell a lot about a guy by his handshake. He squirmed out of it and we sat down.

Yeah. It’s Jeff right?

Jeffrey, he said. I smiled at him. He winced a smile at me. Wendy came by. My moderator. She offered us each our own menu. I was hungry. I was going for the omelet.

But I didn’t say anything. I let Jeffrey look through the menu. He pushed it far out from him, holding it out in those hands that had never known honest work. He wasn’t squinting. I figured he just wasn’t impressed with what he saw. Too bad for him. I don’t think a guy like him eats at places like this. His breakfast probably costs me a week’s groceries.

Wendy came back to see what we’d settled on.

The omelet special, I said. She refilled my coffee. A real sweetheart.

Jeff looked at me and then at the menu and then at Wendy.

Perrier, is all he said. Jesus, guy wouldn’t even join me for a coffee. I winked at Wendy.

Thanks hun, I said.

So what can I do you for Jeff? I asked looking him in the eye. I thought I saw a spark behind his. He interlaced his fingers in front of me and laid them on the table. We were getting down to business. I took a swig of coffee.

One of our producers was found dead last night, he said trying to muster his sincerest earnestness. He had nice blue eyes. Not the eyes themselves, the color.

I figured that much Jeff. I looked at him steady. He looked around the room like he was going to offer me a big secret.

He was murdered. Hit over the head a bunch of times with an Oscar. I smiled at the irony.

Sounds like something for homicide, I said.

They’re looking into it. But we want you on board. There are things with this producer that we’d rather have kept discreet. He had, uh, habits that we’d sooner have uncovered by you and dealt with by you rather than hearing about it on the news.

So you’re hoping I’ll clean up some garbage.

He smiled at me but his eyes didn’t. Wendy came by with his water in the nice little green gem of a bottle. She offered him a glass. He looked at it but didn’t like what he saw. He drank from the bottle.

We don’t own the police Anthony. If we’re paying you we have a little more leeway. I understood what he meant. I was about to become his employee. I hadn’t heard him be so honest up until now.

That’s still not going to keep everything out of the papers. You could still be burnt. Besides haven’t you got PR for stuff like that.

Indeed. And that’s what they’ll be used for if it comes to that. Mr. Kaufman believes that with your help less will be leaked in the first place. We’re hoping that you soften up the suspects and especially the murderer for an easy prosecution.

Half his water was gone. Half my patience with his rhetoric too. Wendy came by with my omelet. Hash browns on the side and a couple of sprigs of parsley. Fine dining. I tossed salt and pepper on my omelet. I liked the way they lived in harmony. I was generous with them both. I’m just that kind of a guy. I caught Jeff raising an eyebrow at my food.

You want some Jeff?

No thanks. I tucked in. I was hungry and it smelled good. It needed some heat. I grabbed Tabasco and squirted it on. Perfect.

Okay Jeff. Tell me about this fella of yours. I was feeling more inclined to hear what the suit had to say.

What do you mean Mr. Carrick. I just told you he was murdered last night. What else would you like to know?

How about the fella’s name? His wife, kids, that kind of stuff. This guy was green. New like that suit of his. I swirled my coffee around in the mug. Swallowed some. Chewed some food. Looked at Jeff waiting for his inspiration.

Max Ernst is, uh, was his name. His wife was, uh, is Vanessa. Nee Gideon and they have one son. His name is Walter. What else would you like to know?

Max you say. Like the painter. I’m a fan of the Dadaists.

He gave me a quizzical look. I guess a Yale education doesn’t get you anything but a high paying job nowadays. No culture in kids. I thought I’d lob him an easier one.

Was he killed with his own Oscar or someone else’s?

His own. But the police probably have that already as evidence.

Have they arrested anyone?

No.

Who found him?

Vanessa, his wife when she came back from Pilates. Pilates. These were my kind of people. New age shit for people with nothing but their own navels to gaze at.

Where did he live? What is the address of the scene? I was finishing up my omelet, washing it down with coffee. I needed to leave soon. I needed a smoke.

Eight Lexington Road. Nice big white house with tiled roof. You can’t miss it. Besides, there’ll be a patrol car out front anyway.

He finished his water and put the bottle off to the side. Very carefully. Tight up against the wall.

Is there anything else you need? he asked. This wasn’t his kind of place. He wanted to get going.

Twenty five Benjamins Jeff. And a number to reach you at. I pushed my empty plate up against his green bottle. They clinked.

Twenty five what Mr. Carrick, he said fishing a card out of his wallet and placing it on the table. I looked at it. Special Assistant it said. Jeffrey Stein. 555-1669 cell. NBC Universal.

Twenty five hundred dollars Jeff. I work for a living. It’s five hundred bucks a day plus expenses like this breakfast. Thanks.

Okay Mr. Carrick.

He put those delicate hands back into his wallet. Nice wallet. Thick and soft. Probably calf. He counted out twenty five Benjamins from about thirty or forty of them. A nice thick wad. He put them on the table fanning them out for me to see. He dipped back into his wallet and pulled out Grant and looked at it closely for a second. He placed Grant by himself on his side of the table.

Grant here will pay for breakfast. He smiled at himself. Cute I thought. That’d be a nice tip for Wendy. She deserved it, putting up with these guys I sometimes bring in. He got up and buttoned his jacket. He offered his hand to me. His fingers this time and I squeezed them hard.

Stay in touch Mr. Carrick. We want frequent updates.

You’ll be the first to know. I smiled after him like a Cheshire cat. I watched him pause for a moment by his car and smile to a woman walking by. A sly fox indeed. He never looked back at me. I took my last sip of coffee and got up putting on my fedora. I put the Benjamins and card in my back pocket. I scowled back at Grant. Treat her right I told him. Meaning Wendy. Then I walked back out into the hazy day. My mind no clearer. My conscience neither. I stopped outside by the tree and fired up a cigarette. I leaned against its gnarly bark. I inhaled and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into.

CHAPTER TWO

SOMETIMES I LIKE TO walk down by the beach. See the tourists clicking cameras on the pier. Oblivious to the seedy sides that rub by them unknown. More often I just like to walk around down by the pier and watch people. Try and see if I can find any diamonds amongst the coal. Try to make sense of the violence and mayhem bursting at the seams in this city. Sometimes I see good folks. Sometimes my mind sullies them up anyway. Today I had work to do. Today I had dead people to see.

I got into my LeSabre and looked at my map for the best route to the Hills. Hadn’t been there for a while. Not for a long while. The Hills just isn’t my kinda place. I’m not that familiar with these types of people. A nodding acquaintance you might say. It looked to me like Lexington Road was holding up two pendulous breasts. But that’s just me. I figured on the ten and the four oh five. It was nice and quiet on these roads. I like driving on Sunday. I put on the air conditioning to subdue the barbecue smell in the air. Didn’t need sunglasses it was so hazy. The sun was a burning cigarette in the sky. You could almost look at it. I didn’t. I was driving. I passed through the Los Angeles Country Club. Some nice cars out in the parking lot. Much like Jeff’s. Golfers were dotted on the course like colorful push pins. It was too hot to play golf. But they had their golf carts and tub tarts.

Lexington Road is the kind of road you just keep moving down. Past Oxford Way it’s clean as a whistle. Garbage pick up comes by pretty regularly I reckon. In the black and whites I’m sure. No errant shopping carts in this neighborhood. My two thousand LeSabre looked a little shlumpy around these parts. But I didn’t mind. I wasn’t shopping.

I pulled up to the gates next to the patrol car. A guy from the Beverly Hills PD who I didn’t know asked about me. I gave him my name. He checked his clipboard and waved me through. These rich folks sure get things done.

I pulled up to the front entrance behind some unmarked units and the Crime Scenes’ van. I saw a tennis court off to my side. I walked into the house. It was big. Too big for a guy like me. I’d lose myself in it. I saw Mike Cardigan coming towards me carrying his camera and tool kit. He’s a tall lanky fella with a wig of sandy hair. Looks fake but it isn’t.

Anthony, he said, you’re on this one?

I suppose. You guys coming or going?

Just finished up with the crime scene. You can go check it out. Just down the hall on your right. Can’t miss it, a huge office. Messed up now, but nice.

He came up and stopped next to me.

What do you figure? I asked him.

That’s why you’re here Anthony. We do the collecting and collating you guys do the figuring. He smiled at me. He was playing coy.

Michael, Michael. Give a guy a bone here. You’ve been in this game long enough to do some of your own figuring.

I was looking at him. His eyes were a good half foot higher than mine.

Definitely a murder Anthony. Might be a robbery too but a botched one because it seems only the den has been rifled through. John’s on this case. He’s probably back at the station if you want to talk to him. He’s come and gone already.

Who else is here from the family?

Nobody. The wife is at the station with John doing a statement. Maria Rodriguez, the domestic engineer aka the maid is here. I left her in the kitchen fixing us up a sandwich. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

Okay, thanks pal.

Catch you later Anthony. By the way, when’re you coming back?

I looked at him sideways.

Well Mike, I was thinking maybe next week when hell freezes over.

He laughed. Patted me on the back and said something about that coming sooner than I figured. I left him with his tool chest and walked down the hall and into the den. I ducked under the police tape. The room seemed almost as big as my apartment. There was no door. Right behind me across the hall was a bathroom. Just a little further up. The room had a big dark brown desk. Might be mahogany but I couldn’t be certain. I’m not a carpenter. The desk was about the size of a bed. It had a large pad of paper on it, some pencils and pens strewn over its face. The room had hardwood floors. In front of the desk was a large Persian carpet. Probably seven feet by five feet or more. There were a couple of comfy leather chairs on the carpet. One of them was turned on its side. A dark wooden coffee table stood squat between them. Probably cut from the same tree as the desk. Its face was naked. Not a mark or scratch on it. Highly polished dark brown.

As I walked into the room, behind me was a floor to ceiling book shelf. A lot of the books were on the floor, strewn about the hardwood. Some made it onto the carpet. A lot of dead trees in this room. To my left was a set of sliding glass doors looking out onto a large patio. Beyond that was the rest of the backyard. A tool shed in the distance. Off to the side I could see the tennis court.

I passed around the far side of the desk. Behind it was another floor to ceiling bookshelf. Most of these books were on the floor behind the desk. The high leather chair was squashed up against the bookshelf. About six feet away from the desk. I looked around the floor by the desk and noticed a couple of picture frames on the floor. One was face up, cracked and missing half the glass. The missing glass crunched under my foot. I picked up the frame and placed it on the desk. I noticed the one fella in the photo. Brad Pitt with his hand around a shorter heavyset fella with a tidy beard and round glasses. This fella was smiling. He had a space in his tooth. That meant money or something. So I’d heard. This was probably my guy.

I looked at the bookshelf. There were some blood splatters on the books at about eye level and a little higher. This was off to the right of the desk as you faced it. I kicked a couple of books out of my way and noticed where the guy must have fallen. There was a pool of blood on the honey colored hardwood. Some of the books on the floor had little red spots of blood splatter. A smattering of blood rain. On the corner of the desk closer to me was a smudged bloody stain. I figured this might have been where the killer put the Oscar back down after the event. The blood had dried. Deep wine colored. Maybe a merlot.

I took a seat in the leather chair and looked towards the entrance. There were a couple of drawers in the desk which I opened and found nothing of note except a gun. It was a Springfield Armory XD forty five. It hadn’t been touched. If I was robbing a guy, I’d steal his gun too. Nothing else much of interest. Some odds and ends. Coins, stuff like that. Not much of value. I figured this was a crime of passion. Not a robbery. You’d take the guy’s gun if you had really robbed him. And you wouldn’t beat him with his own Oscar. You’d have your own tools. And that gun. Sitting here seeing someone come in on me. I’d reach for that gun and tap him a few times before he could turn around and say help me Jesus.

I’d seen enough. There were going to be a bunch of folks who could have or would have liked to pop this fella off. Not saying he deserved it. Just saying how these things turn out.

My cell rang. I looked at the number. It wouldn’t say.

Yes, I said.

Anthony buddy. I heard you’re on the case?

It was John Roberts, Captain John Roberts from LAPD Homicide. We went back a ways.

Unfortunately, I said.

C’mon buddy. Listen, it’s great to have you on board. I’ve got a lady here who’d like to talk to you. She figures she knows who did it.

Great. Go arrest him and I’ll go back to the crossword.

It’s Sunday Anthony. I’m heading home for some r n’ r. Come help a buddy out. It’ll be just like old times.

Sure. What’s her name?

Vanessa, he said. Talk to her. She’s the deceased’s wife.

Before I could say anything a woman’s voice was on the line.

Mr. Carrick, she said. She had a raspy voice. A practiced smoker.

Yes.

When can we meet? John tells me a lot of good things about you. I’d like your help.

Well Ms. Ernst I’ve been employed by your husband’s employer.

Oh, she said. The air had been punched out of her.

But I’m more interested in the truth.

Okay. So you’re looking for who did this to my husband?

Yes. Do you have something to share?

Of course Mr. Carrick. I know who did it.

I bet you do. I couldn’t help myself. Smart woman thinking she’s so clever.

What was that Mr. Carrick?

Just a little remark Ms. Ernst. Where do you want to meet?

I caught her off guard. She thought cops and the like were schmucks. She thought wrong. I had a feeling she’d probably be as good a candidate as any she was going to offer.

Meet me at the Rooftop Terrace. I’m staying at Raffles L’ermitage under Ms. Gideon. Do you know where Raffles is Mr. Carrick?

Sure, I said, just a grenade throw from South Central.

Very funny Mr. Carrick. You’ll need a jacket and tie. You know what that is don’t you?

I let that one roll out the park. I left her hanging there on her own words. Most folks can’t hang there too long. She couldn’t.

Six pm Mr. Carrick?

Sure, I said.

Thanks pal for doing this. I’ll owe you one, said John.

It’s my pleasure, I said. I’m a sucker for a haughty woman.

He laughed at that. Called me a kidder and hung up. I looked around the den again. Seems money can’t always find you happiness. Not that poverty can either. From what I’ve seen though, there are more problems with being rich than poor. But maybe that’s me. Sour grapes. I got up and headed towards the kitchen. Wherever the hell that was. I wasn’t hungry. But I had my eye on the hired help. My colleague if you will.

Down the hall and a couple of right angles and I found it. I was feeling obtuse. I bet this place had a nice bottle of scotch somewhere. I’d ask the domestic engineer. She was sitting at the breakfast bar on a high stool. No sandwiches in sight. It had a black face and thin silvery legs. She had long warm legs and a pretty face. I smiled at her. She didn’t have any makeup but I still liked how she looked. She was Hispanic and I wanted to learn Spanish.

Her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying. Or else peeling onions but I couldn’t smell them. She looked at me under heavy lids. I’d seen eyes like that. In my dreams.

She smiled feebly. Hello, she said.

Hi. I’m Anthony Carrick. I’m here to find the murderer. Sounded authoritative. But then I realized she’d probably been interviewed by a few cops. I came around to the other side of the bar. I opened a glass faced cupboard and took out a wine glass. I filled it with water and gave it to her. I’m a gentleman. It’s an old school thing.

Thank you Mr. Carrick, she smiled warmly this time and I saw her straight white teeth. Color of milk and the eyetooth sparkled a bit. Might have been a diamond.

I fished out a cigarette and lit it. She didn’t wince. I took a long drag of it and then held it over the sink.

What’s your name? She took a sip of water.

Maria, she said, Maria Rodriguez.

She got up and brought an ashtray to me. I could smell her. Clean and fresh. Soapy. She couldn’t have been more than twenty five if a day.

Thanks. Listen Maria, where you from?

Boyle Heights, she said. That wasn’t what I was asking.

No Maria. Where are you really from? I don’t think they’ve announced the results of the green card lottery yet. I was taking a chance. But I figured I had about a seventy, maybe eighty percent chance that she was illegal. Most of the maids up in these parts are. She looked at me hard. I gave it back. She bit her lower lips but my knees didn’t buckle. But I liked the look.

What you going to do. Have me sent back. I’ll disappear so fast that you’ll never find me.

No, nothing like that Maria. I just want us to start off on the right foot that’s all. I just want to know I can trust you to tell me the truth.

She pointed her chin up at me and crossed her arms over her small breasts. Her lips were full and still pouting. I looked into her brown eyes and winked at her. She broke into a big smile. That’s better.

Okay, Mr. Carrick. You’re okay.

Good, I said. I smiled at her. We were flirting. I liked it. I was wondering where it might go.

I’m sorry to hear about your boss.

He was a good man. I’ve been with them for over a year. He pays me good... Paid me good. She looked down in respect.

What happened to him?

He was killed. They beat him over the head with his statue.

Can you tell me how you found him?

Well I’d come in from my break. I was going to get ready to cook him and the wife some dinner. I came in and saw Mrs. Ernst in the office standing over him holding the statue in her hand and there was blood dripping from the bottom of it. I saw Mr. Ernst lying down amongst his books with his arms by his head and there was a pool of blood under his head. I freaked and I must’ve shrieked or something because Mrs. Ernst turned around and dropped the statue and told me to call the police.

I pulled on my cigarette and blew smoke rings towards her. She sat back down on the opposite side from me.

Do they have any Scotch around here? I asked her.

She left the kitchen walking into a lounge area and around the corner where I lost her. I figured they might have some good Scotch to drink in this house. It had been a long day already and I was thirsty. Surely it was past the yardarm someplace.

She returned with a bottle of honey colored Scotch and two tumblers. She placed everything in front of me. I picked up the bottle of Scotch. Ladyburn 1973. I’d never had it before. Not at six or so Benjamins. I smiled at the bottle. I smiled at Maria. The inside of my mouth got wet.

Good choice Maria. You want some too?

She nodded. I could use a good drink.

I nodded back at her. I picked up the tumblers, they were heavy for their size. I was being spoilt. Lead crystal with flowery initials of M.E. on them. The bottle was two thirds full. I could make a good dent in this. I poured Maria a pencil’s worth. I poured mine a thick thumb. I splashed some down the sink. I wanted to splash some on the floor but I couldn’t bring myself to it. Might as well throw cash there instead.

For our ancestors, I said handing Maria her drink. She giggled at me. I clinked her glass and took a swig.

Easy with that, I said, too late. She took a sip and it bit her. She spluttered a bit but then took another sip. I like to see a woman who can handle her liquor. I admired my tumbler. Damn fine stuff. I took another swig.

So you think the old lady killed the old man? I took the last drag from my cigarette and blew it out of the corner of my mouth. I squashed it into the ashtray.

I dunno. I just saw her there. I mean she could’ve done it.

Yeah I get that. But why would she have done it? Did they fight a lot? Did they have money problems? Why would she do it? I could spend all day talking to Maria and drinking this whisky.

No. They didn’t have money problems but they weren’t close either. They didn’t really fight, but they didn’t really talk much. I never saw them real close if you know what I mean?

I nodded and poured us each a little extra help.

C’mon Maria, give me a hand here. There’s no loyalty now. You’ve got to help me with trying to figure this out. Or else the cops are going to be back to ask more questions. And maybe they’ll bring some friends from immigration. Her eyes burned at me. The Scotch burned in my throat. I was on fire and feeling good.

Well... Mr. Ernst, she said looking at her drink. He was a good man okay. He didn’t deserve this. She looked up at me and took a drink to steal courage. I poured her more. She now had two pencil widths in her glass. That Mrs. Ernst, she carries on with other people.

Other men?

She shook her head. I don’t know about that. But I’ve seen her with another woman. She thinks she’s so clever. She thinks that I don’t know what she’s up to. But I can tell okay. I can tell the way they look at each other and I saw them kissing one time, but she didn’t know that.

He tongue was looser now. I was getting somewhere.

What hand did you say she was carrying the statue in when you saw her in the office?

Her left hand, and then she dropped it. She looked surprised that I had found her there. I don’t think she was expecting me.

Maria was sipping her whisky like a pro. Her eyelids were heavy and she was blinking them slowly.

What’s this woman’s name that Mrs. Ernst was sleeping with?

I dunno, but she’s an actress. I know that because Mr. Ernst knew her too.

I looked at Maria. I looked at my Scotch and swirled it around a bit. I needed to slow down. I still had the night ahead of me.

But why would she want to kill him just because she was subbing for the other team occasionally? I‘d bet he probably had a couple of playmates too.

Nuh uh, Mr. Ernst wasn’t like that. He worked a lot and he would never cheat on his wife. One time I heard them arguing over his will. It said something like she wouldn’t get nothing if they were divorced or if she was unfaithful to him. And they could get divorced if she was unfaithful and it wouldn’t cost him a thing. I think he was going to get divorced from her and leave her with nothing.

Sounded like a nice fairytale to me. I didn’t see it happening quite like that. I didn’t think he was stupid and I didn’t think she was either. Maybe Maria here figured I was, or she didn’t like the missus. I could get that.

Do they have any other help around here? I asked her. She looked at me over her tumbler. I could see her mouth open up. Pink and wet as she took a sip. Maybe I could see Max trying to have a go with her. Or maybe I could see myself trying to have a go if I stayed here long enough.

Well there’s the gardener, she giggled, or groundskeeper I think they call him. His name is Lorenzo. But he doesn’t work the weekends.

She had taken to holding her tumbler carelessly. I could see the Scotch spill all over this fine marble counter top. That’d be a shame for the Scotch. I couldn’t care about the marble. A lot of sculptors were going wanting for stuff like this.

Well what about Lorenzo? You think he might have tried to kill the old man?

Listen, she said. I saw Mrs. Ernst with the statue in her hand standing over him. She did it okay? She was looking at me with her smoldering eyes. My mouth was wet. She was smoking.

Okay hun. Let’s play pretend that you didn’t see her there. Do you think Lorenzo might have done it?

You’re a fine looking man, she said as she came over and brushed her arm against me. She’d had enough. I hadn’t. I could see things into the future. I could see her black hair falling over her naked shoulders. I shook my head and shut my eyes closed real tight. Maria poured herself a little more.

Maybe you could give me a ride home, she bit her bottom lip. I felt hot. My blood ran like the fire up at Fallen Springs. I wanted to grab her by the jaw and kiss her. I knew better.

Maybe you could answer my question, I said sipping some more whisky.

What question is that?

The one where I said let’s play pretend that you never saw the missus standing over the mister. Let’s see if Lorenzo might have done it. What do you think about that?

She strolled back over to the other side of the bar but not before looking at me over her shoulder and saying something about wanting to play something else. I let that one fly by me, not even watching it swoosh by. I raised my eyebrows at her.

No way. Lorenzo pretty much keeps to himself. Besides, like I told you before. Mr. Ernst was a good man okay. He treated us real good. He played me good, she giggled again. I could get used to that in my ear. I mean he paid me good, and I’d bet he paid Lorenzo good too. Go ask him.

I will when I get a chance.

So Mr. private dick. She stopped on that last k and shut it closed on my ear softly. Like we were all alone and the door barely clicked. Will you take me home please?

Usually I like to help out a damsel in distress. But this wouldn’t help me out any. Sometimes you’ve got to look a gift horse in the mouth or it might kick you in the teeth. I didn’t need a kick in the teeth this early in the case.

Maybe when it’s all done and we’ve got the murderer locked away nice and safe. Then I’ll give you a ride home, and you can show me some tricks.

She pouted at me. That bottom lip a freshly cut strawberry. I realized I was hungry. Food would have to do. I swallowed the last of my Scotch. It didn’t help. I was still salivating.

Where can I find you hun? If I want to give you that ride sometime.

She took a pen and paper out of a kitchen drawer and wrote something on it. She handed it to me. Her writing was loopy and big and gregarious. It said Maria Rodriguez. Five five five three four three five it said. Next to it was a heart not quite matching up perfectly with an x and an o underneath it. I thought I saw ‘for a good time’ in invisible ink. Another artist.

I folded it up carefully and put it in my shirt pocket. Maybe it was warm there lying next to my beating heart. Maybe it was me.

Thanks Maria. I’ll be off now.

Call me, she said, dick, she said.

I didn’t look back at her. I wasn’t sure of myself just then. Wasn’t sure where I was going. The house was too big. The neighborhood too extravagant. In a different time I might’ve taken her up on her generous offer. But I figure with a woman like that I wouldn’t be the first. Probably not even the only one. And I’m special. Aren’t we all?

CHAPTER THREE

I FIGURED I’D DRIVE around a bit. Take in some of the lovely, hazy sites in the neighborhood. Actually I just needed to clear my mind. I had a feeling I was heading straight into a hornet’s nest. Cute little Maria. I didn’t know what her angle was but I didn’t think she liked the missus much. I drove back down from where I came from. It was four so I put on KJAZZ. Jack Devaney was on with nothing but the blues. A good man that Jack. He doesn’t lie about his programming. I headed down the four oh five to the ninety and onto the Via Marina. I was heading down towards Pacific Avenue. I parked my car facing the inlet. I watched the boats come and go into the Marina Del Rey. There’s a song in there someplace. But it wasn’t the blues I was listening to. A lot of folks with too much money and too little sense steering their boats in and out. Like throwing money in the ocean, I heard a fella say once. He was talking about his boat. But if you’ve got too much money I guess it doesn’t matter.

It was hot. I unbuttoned my shirt. Maria’s note was burning her numbers on my chest. That, or it was the smoggy sun. I opened the windows wide and turned the stereo up. Lead Belly was singing Midnight Special. A poignant song that. My siren song I figured. Somebody was going to end up headed to prison soon. I sang along with the chorus. I could use some light shining on me. This case was likely not as simple as it seemed. I should leave it to the cops. But Jeff likely wouldn’t like that.

I blew smoke out the window. It didn’t waiver. I didn’t either. I had my eye on the prize. I just didn’t know what the prize was. A guy probably in his sixties with a copper body was steering his yacht back to harbor. He had a big fat cigar stuck in his mouth. His hair was gray curls that looked like they might have been shaved off steel tubing. His body was naked except for a small silver Speedo. He had gray hair on his chest and a big gold chain around his neck. Bling, bling I think they call that now. He had skinny legs and a big belly. Life had been good to him. His wife was lying on a thin mattress on the bow. She was more modest. A full pink swimsuit. She looked like a beached seal. Her hair was the copper of her husband’s body. She was reading a novel. Couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe one of those mysteries that make it regularly to the bestseller lists. Maybe it was The Overlook I had read about this morning.

I had a good mystery. I wondered if she’d read about it. I watched them for a while. Then I squashed my butt out in the ashtray. It was getting full. I took it out and dumped it in a close garbage can. There was a young couple in a convertible Mustang making out. I thought I’d give them some privacy. Besides I was getting hungry and I didn’t figure that Raffles was the kind of place for my palate. I was hungry for steak and Sonny McLean’s was the place for me. I headed down Pacific Avenue and made my way up Wilshire Boulevard to that place where most people know my name.

I dragged my tired ass into the place. It was getting busy. It was coming on five and I didn’t have much time. I wedged myself up against the bar and ordered my steak sandwich. Guinness was my appetizer of choice. I was thirsty and Scotch wouldn’t cut it. Besides I felt Irish. I was Irish. And sometimes you had to represent as the cool kids say. I looked at some of the old black and white photos of the old country. I didn’t recognize them. Maybe that’s because I’ve never been to the old country. I plan to. When I have the money.

I’m Irish like a lot of my friends I know are Jewish. It’s more of a cultural heritage thing. I wasn’t born there. My pops was. I’m just more Irish than anything. Maybe because of my temper. Maybe it’s got more to do with rooting for the underdog. Whichever way you like it, I’m Irish. I’d asked Brian the barkeep to hustle the sandwich. They’re good to me that way. I figured it wouldn’t take longer than twenty minutes to get to Raffles. Maybe more if I parked around the block from it. They might not like the look of my car too close. Depends if I was in one of those moods. I hadn’t decided yet.

My steak came and I started feeling magnanimous. Maybe I’d see if I couldn’t get valet too. That’d be an expense that Jeff could pay. I liked that the more I thought of it. I liked it the more I chewed on my sandwich and drank my beer. I finished up with twenty minutes to spare. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not Swiss. Punctual like clockwork. You can set your watch by me. I left Andrew at the bar for Brian. I left the coleslaw on my plate too. But the beer was finished.

It didn’t take me too long to get there. About those twenty minutes I had figured. I pulled into a parking stall off of west third just back behind the hotel. My car didn’t fit in too well. But it tried its best. I had cleaned it the week before. I figured that made it look a couple of years younger. I might have tried that myself. Except I only had time to grab a tie and jacket when I stopped at home. I had on gray slacks, the blue shirt from earlier which could’ve been changed and a blood red tie. I had grabbed my navy blue sports coat. It would have to do. The tie was loud, maybe distracting. And just maybe that might help.

I found myself in the lobby at a few minutes after six. Nice thing about most hotels is you can walk in there and act like you belong. They had the signs clearly marked to the Terrace. With deft eye movement I walked around the lobby to the elevator as if I’d been here a dozen times. I hadn’t. But I played the part.

I nodded at the maitre d.

"Can I help you sir?’

No thanks, I’m just browsing, I caught his raised eyebrow as I scanned the terrace. A lady in red raised her hand and gave it a little wave like the Queen does. I nodded at her.

I’ve found what I was looking for, I said to Jean Paul, so his name tag said as I brushed by him. I wasn’t that underdressed I noticed.

Vanessa gestured to the chair. I sat myself down it, unbuttoning my jacket. It was warm out here. Vanessa was taking advantage of that and showing ample skin. She was a tall slim woman with just a bit too much makeup. Her lips were the same painted red as her dress. Not as dark as my tie. Leaning more towards the orange than the blood. The dress had two thin spaghetti straps with a wide and deep v neck. The dress was draped over her ample bosom. Looked plastic to me. Probably cost more than my car. I could see her nipples as two smart buttons. If I had to guess I’d say the back of the dress was open all the way down to her dimples. I wanted to find out. I had a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. Her arms were the color of a frothy cappuccino. Her nails were the same red as her mouth and lips. She was an attractive woman, but she had hard steel eyes. Crow’s feet etched out from the sides of them, and her mouth had creases at each corner. It was warm out on the patio, but she was cold. Didn’t look like she smiled much.

Thank you for joining me Mr. Carrick. Not even a smile. I noticed an open packet of Lady Slims on the table next to her side plate. They had red filters. The color of my tie.

The pleasure is all mine Ms. Ernst. I gave her my best movie star smile. She smiled, or winced back. I couldn’t tell.

Please call me Vanessa, Mr. Carrick.

Please call me Anthony, Vanessa.

Another wince from her. Things were going so well I thought I might see if I couldn’t get in to see a dentist after this. A waiter dressed as a penguin came by and poured water in a glass next to me.

A menu sir? he asked.

No thanks just a Stella.

He bowed and left discreetly. Vanessa took a sip of her wine. Red of course. I started thinking maybe a pink or yellow tie might have been more becoming.

I like your tie Anthony, she said.

I like your dress. If I’d have known, I would have worn my red suit.

Are you always this facetious? she asked.

When I’m out of my element. Another wince. I wanted to see if I could get her to flash those pearly whites. They probably cost a lot too. Maybe too much to offer me a glimpse.

I had a look at your house today. Seems like it might be coming on the market soon?

Why do you say that?

Well I don’t imagine you’ll want to be staying there by yourself anymore. Especially since your husband was murdered there.

My voice might have carried a bit too far. I saw an older couple glance up at me and murmur something.

Mr. Carrick. Some discretion please? She sipped more wine. The waiter came by with my Stella in its namesake glass. He put a plate of weeds in front of her with some sort of fish. Could’ve been salmon, but they’d done things to it I didn’t understand.

I spoke with Maria. Did you hire her?

No, she said between a mouthful of weeds. That was Max’s idea. He liked to have young help around. Especially female.

Why? Are they harder workers because they’re younger? I smiled at her again. I was a card. She smiled at me this time and I saw white. Yup, expensive teeth.

You’re cute Anthony. No, Max hired her because she was easy to bed. You have to understand that Max wasn’t happy with just me. He needed other... distractions.

She picked at her salad. I sipped on my beer. The glass was sweating. I wasn’t. I could get used to being up here on the Terrace. I thought I’d try another angle.

Maria tells me she saw you standing over Max with the bloody statue in your hand.

She looked sternly at me. I leaned in to bathe in it. She raised her eyebrow. I raised her two.

Mr. Carrick, maybe she didn’t like my first name, Maria and I hardly saw eye to eye.

So you’re saying you saw things differently. See, Maria thinks you killed your husband. No point beating around the bush. Might as well go for the jugular.

Well I didn’t Mr. Carrick. I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t like Maria. I mean come on. She was screwing my husband and not being very discreet about it. But she is right about one thing. I was in the den when she saw me. I wasn’t holding the statue, it was on the corner of the desk and I hadn’t been there very long. Maybe thirty seconds.

She ate more weeds. Same kind I see in the cracks on the sidewalk. I drank more beer. The earth spun on its axis and the fires in Fallen Springs probably still burned on.

Did you say anything to her?

Yes I did Anthony. I told her to call the damn police. Someone had just killed my husband. Now we may not have been very close but he was still my husband. And we were married twenty years. That counts for something.

I nodded. It did count for something. But I couldn’t figure out the math. The waiter came back and poured more wine for Vanessa from the half liter carafe on the table. I took another Stella.

Did your husband have a will?

Yes he did Anthony and there’s no need to be coy with me. You know more than you’re letting on. Let’s cut the nonsense and let’s both start being honest with each other.

You have a point. If you want me to be blunt, I can be blunt. It’s nothing personal Ms. Ernst, but I’ve been asked to find your husband’s killer. And that might be you.

That’s better Anthony. Now we’re getting somewhere.

We were, but not exactly where I wanted to be going. I tore a piece off of a crusty roll in the middle of the table. I didn’t bother with the butter.

So Ms. Ernst. Are you the sole beneficiary of your husband’s estate? I was chewing the roll. This was good bread.

No. I know he left at least ten percent to our son. But he can’t access that until he’s thirty. But he still has a trust that he recently had access to now that he turned twenty one. He just got thirty three percent of five million. When he turns twenty five he can have another thirty three percent of this five million and again when he turns thirty he’ll receive the remaining thirty three percent.

She went back to picking at the weeds. She’d made quick work of the salmon. She took a sip of wine. She wasn’t drinking deeply or quickly, but the wine was disappearing. I admired her bosom. I admired her lipstick print on the glass. I caught myself admiring, so I looked out at the dusky vista.

So Vanessa, what kind of estate are we talking about?

She looked at me for a moment not sure if she was going to spill. She looked away into the distance, trying to figure it out. Or trying to decide if she was going to tell me.

Not that it’s any of your business Mr. Carrick, but seeing as how we’re being honest, you must know that my husband was a very successful producer. He made over two dozen films amongst other things like television. We’re talking of roughly fifty million dollars Mr. Carrick.

The way she said that. The way the second syllable of my name banged closed I knew I wasn’t going to see any of that. I wasn’t disappointed. The price would have been too high anyhow. I drank some Stella. Maybe I should have ordered something. Seeing as how I was the guest. Might as well get a sniff of what money can buy. Then I thought better of it.

That’s a bit of green Vanessa. That would give a person pause to kill someone. Especially if they were about to be axed.

I’m not a good fisherman. But I figured these waters were shallow. I might get a bite. The penguin came by again with my Stella. I thanked him. He bowed himself away.

What did Maria tell you Anthony? You should be looking more closely at her. She probably thought she’d be in the money. But she’s not.

I chewed some more bread. I drank some more beer.

Everyone’s a suspect. Only she saw you at the scene first. Hard to have killed him when she found you looking over his dead corpse. She tells me that if you and Max were getting divorced you’d lose everything. Is that right?

Not exactly. But I sure wouldn’t be getting anywhere close to the fifty million or so. And anyway, we weren’t even considering divorce. I told you before. We were loyal if not the most compatible. Max had his needs and I gave him some leeway in that regard.

Vanessa finished