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

  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 of 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 here 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.”<
br />
  “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.