Chapter 3
Flint Stryker was the most famous private detective on the West Coast. He was also the most successful. He occupied an entire floor on the top ol a Beverly Hills building.
In personal appearance he looked more like a character actor than a private detective. A man still in his early forties, dark-haired and muscular, jovial and good-humored, Flint looked anything but the police type. There was always a good natured expression on his face, and his manner was easy and friendly. He liked to chat and exchange jokes with whoever he met, yet the close observer did not fail to notice something hard and unyielding in those mild, gray eyes, now twinkling with fun. The lines about the mouth were firm and determined, and every now and then there came into his face the expression of a man who never lets up on anything he undertakes to accomplish.
He usually arrived at his offices by nine o'clock every morning, unless he was on a case that kept him from sleep. On this particular morning he was late, having delayed his arrival in order to let Helen Wade give him a blow job.
Helen Wade was his personal secretary, and she knew how to keep her boss happy. She could always ease his tension with a lay or by sucking his cock, which she thoroughly enjoyed doing as much as he enjoyed having her do it.
They arrived at the Beverly Hills offices at ten-thirty. Flint went directly to his private office, and then flung himself down in his swivel chair at the desk. He opened the newspaper and hurriedly read the headlines. Helen stood by and waited. For a moment there was complete silence broken only by the sound of their breathing.
Suddenly, Flint Stryker looked up. "Sweetie," he said, "Get Bill in here."
Bill Cooley was Stryker's assistant, and "a bright young man." He was also a handsome young man, and he did all right among the Beverly Hills wives and secretaries and movie starlets. He came into the office and said, "Good morning, chief."
Stryker handed him the newspaper.
"Bill, have you seen this?"
The young man read the headlines. He looked at his boss questioningly.
"You mean the Thomas thing?" Stryker nodded.
"Yes, that's what I mean. Have you heard anything -anything at all?"
Bill Cooley paused thoughtfully. Was the boss simply curious, or was he being tested? Again, there was the possibility that Stryker would be involved as a detective. He hoped so; it would be his first association with a murder case.
"I know only what everyone else knows," Billy finally said. "Matthew Thomas, financier and millionaire, was found strangled and shot to death in his library. The time of the murder was approximately three o'clock Friday morning. The police have dismissed robbery as a motive, because the room was full of valuables and nothing was missing. The police have made no arrests, thought they suspect the killer was known to the victim and is, perhaps, a member of the immediate family. That's about all I know, chief. But why are you so interested?"
"Because I have been retained by the son to solve the crime," Stryker replied matter-of-factly. Bill gave an expressive whistle.
"That's a corker, boss! When and where do we begin?"
"That's just it. First, find the motive. In this case there appears to be two. We can't expect too much cooperation from the police, but I've found out that two persons gained a distinct advantage in the death of the old man. One was his son, Fred, with whom he recently had a violent quarrel, and whom he disinherited. The other was his adopted daughter, Janet Boyington, recently made sole beneficiary under a new will-"
"You suspect the girl?"
"The old man put up a stiff fight. There is evidence of a hard, desperate struggle. The girl could hardly have done it."
"Then the son-"
"Me is more likely. But," he added, "he hired me to find the killer, which must be taken into account. Of course, he may have taken such a step to throw suspicion away from himself-though I doubt it. Anyhow, here goes!" Rising from his seat, he said: "What are you waiting for, Bill? Come on, let's earn our fee!"
Helen Wade stood by the door, waiting. Now she spoke:
"Shall I cancel all appointments until further notice?"
"All but one, sweetie," he said, patting her buttocks as he went through the door. "And you know the one I mean, so keep the place warm."
Helen laughed, and they were gone. She closed the office door and went to work, promising herself that the place would be warm-it was warm already.. .
The murder had fallen upon the Thomas home with the force and suddenness of a thunderbolt. The servants and other members of the household were still under the first shock of terror and consternation. Without warning, grim tragedy had stalked through the house. The inmates had gone as usual peacefully to bed, only to be confronted the following morning with a scene of horror.
It was Finley Grahm, the butler, who first missed Matthew Thomas, and a slightly retarded young man named Andy, who helped in the kitchen and did odd jobs around the house, who found him lying dead in the library.
Finley Grahm had been in Matthew Thomas's service for over thirty years. He was now nearly sixty, but he carried himself with dignity. He was a trusted retainer even when Fred Thomas was born, and as the years rolled by he had diplomatically made himself so indispensable to his employer that his position was more that of friend than servant. Conscious of his own importance, he had bitterly resented the addition of Matilda Wyatt to the family circle, yet conceded that the adoption of a daughter called for special services, feminine in kind, which he himself was incompetent to perform. He had grown fond of Janet Boyington, who had a way of winning her way in everyone's affections, but his relations with Mrs. Wyatt, the housekeeper, were always painfully strained. Fights occurred almost every day, and if there was a lull in the hostilities the most that could be said was that each side had called a temporary truce. Jealous of all authority save that of his employer, Finley Grahm assumed airs of the greatest importance, and bullied the other servants until they were more afraid of him than of Mr. Thomas.
Andy he treated with some kindness and consideration, not only because the young man was slightly retarded but because he was built like Hercules and had a cock big enough to satisfy Finley Grahm. Almost every night Andy would come to Finley's quarters above the garage, to play "gin rummy," they said; but that was for the benefit of the other servants. In the safety and seclusion of his rooms, Mr. Grahm would don a sheer nightgown and become Mrs. Grahm. Andy would become his lover. And he was equipped to be a most imposing lover, for his cock was nine inches long! Grahm would stroke it erect and then take it into his mouth and suck it until Andy spurted his semen forth in large, hot globs. Sometimes Grahm would only suck Andy's cock for a little while and then have the young man screw him in the ass. On other occasions, he would do both-making the young man come twice, once in his mouth and once in his ass. And Andy, who wasn't likely to ever find a woman to love him, was quite satisfied with the arrangement.
But the discovery of the midnight tragedy came upon Finley Grahm as a crushing, overwhelming blow: first because he had lost a good and liberal employer, secondly because it wounded his vanity that such a dreadful crime should have been possible with him close at hand to prevent it.
Grahm's custom was to knock at his employer's door every morning at eight o'clock. He did so as usual that morning, but got no reply. He decided to enter the room, fearing that Mr. Thomas might be ill. To his surprise, Grahm found the room empty and the bed intact, showing that it had not been slept in. He hurried to Janet's room and informed her of the situation. She suggested that he look through the house.
Not for a moment expecting to find what awaited him, Grahm went downstairs and was suddenly startled by being confronted by Andy, who gasped: "Quick! In there-he's dead!"
Not realizing for the moment what Andy was saying, but with a vague feeling of uneasiness, Grahm groped his way into the darkened library and, more by force of habit than anything else, threw open one of the shutters of the big bay-window. This done, he was stepping back when his foot caught in something lying on the floor, and he nearly stumbled. He glanced down and fell back in fright. There on his back, fully dressed, but his hair disheveled, his clothes in disorder, his face livid, tongue protruding was Matthew Thomas.
The terrified butler did not stop to investigate further, but ran breathlessly back to Janet's room to tell her what he had seen. Never would he forget the expression on the young girl's face. If she herself had committed the deed, she could not have looked more agitated. Her face went white as death. He thought she was going to faint. "In the library!" she exclaimed. How did she know it was the library? He had not said so. He noticed too, that her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, that she was fully dressed, and that her bed, too, was undisturbed. He remembered all these details very clearly afterward, and, realizing they might prove damaging to his young mistress, tried to forget them, but the police have such a way of asking questions that it's very difficult to hide anything.
It was absurd, of course, to think that a young girl had anything to do with it. What motive could she possibly have? Mr. Thomas had always been kind to her, no matter what he had been to his son and his servants. Could it be Andy or that chauffeur they discharged a month ago, when they discovered he had a prison record? Certainly he was a good-for-nothing rascal and capable of anything. Yet it could not be he, for his motive would have been robbery, and apparently nothing had been touched. Even the big the diamond ring on the dead man's finger had not been taken.
Was it young Fred? He did not love his father any too much. Many an angry scene between them had nearly ended in blows. No, for Fred Thomas had an alibi. Had not he himself let the young man out at ten o'clock? Mr. Thomas was still alive long after that.
Meantime, nothing must be touched in the library. Those were the orders given him, and by Fred Thomas himself. But orders or no orders, they must air the room and let a little daylight in. So with a lordly gesture, Finley Grahm summoned Nat Innes, the chauffeur, to assist him.
Making a brave plunge into the room, and closely followed by Innes, he went directly toward the large windows with the object of drawing the drapes. As he reached the windows the door from the hall opened, and Fred Thomas entered.
Fred, glancing uncomfortably around the room, quickly stopped the two men with a gesture.
"Don't touch anything until Mr. Stryker arrives."
"Is that the detective, sir?" Nat Innes asked.
"Yes," Fred replied. "Flint Stryker. You may go, Nat"
"Yessir!" Innes said and hurried from the room.
Having satisfied himself that everything had been left as it should be, Fred Thomas retreated to the door and spoke to someone waiting in the hall.
"Eva, wd! you come in here, please?"
In the doorway appeared an attractive, fashionably dressed young woman. About twenty years old, she was well endowed with feminine curves and bulges, one of those fortunate women who look well no matter what they have on.
"What are you doing in here, Fred?" she asked, halting near the door and peering timorously around the room.
"Making sure nothing is touched," he answered her.
Finley Grahm coughed politely and said:
"What time will the detective be here, sir?"
Fred glanced at his watch.
"Any time now," he replied. "And Finley-"
"Sir?"
"I want everyone to cooperate with Mr. Stryker, and show him every consideration."
Grahm nodded acknowledgment and left the room. Eva, taking courage, advanced further into the library. In a quiet, concerned voice she asked:
"More detectives coming?"
"Yes," he replied. "I have engaged Flint Stryker. He takes charge this morning."
"But the police-"
"Screw the police!" he snapped. "They suspect Janet, or me-" he smiled at her and softened his tone. "I hired Stryker to find out who killed my father."
"Do you think he can do anything at this late hour?"
"If he can't, nobody can."
The young woman shook her head. Dubiously, she said:
"Fred, I don't believe they'll ever find out who killed your father. It-will remain one of those mysteries that are never solved."
Fred made no reply. This horror had come upon them all so suddenly that he had not yet had time to think. He looked at his wife and thought, "Thank God, she doesn't know about the girl in my father's bedroom."
Eva would not have made a fuss even if she had known about his sexual bout with Goldie. After all, there were many things he did not know about her. And she had no intention of ever telling him. She preferred to keep her other self, her lesbian-loving self, to herself.
But while he was fucking his father's starlet visitor, Eva was getting her own kicks with Emmaline Rocher. She had not seen Emmaline since her marriage, till that day, when her lesbian friend arrived' to congratulate her and wish her happiness. Fred had gone to see his father and ask him for enough money to invest in a business in Detroit. Emmaline embraced Eva, by way of welcome, and kissed her. Daringly, she pressed her mouth more and more insistently against Eva's.
Eva was caught up in the old urgency. She did not want the kiss to end. Nor did it, for a long time. Finally Emmaline said, "We still feel a yen for each other, I see."
"I can't deny it," Eva said, "though I admit I'm surprised. I thought I'd never want a woman to make love to me again."
"Does that mean you want me to make love to you?" Emmaline rejoined, her eyes hot.
"Yes," Eva sighed. "Yes, I do."
So they had locked the apartment door and gone into the bedroom, where they hastily undressed and got into the bed. Eva began immediately to explore Emmaline's buttocks. She cupped the girl's flesh orbs, lifting them gently up in her open hands and starting to give them a bold and stimulating massage. They felt wonderfully soft and pliable-more sleek and sexy to her touch than any man's she could recall, including her husband's.
Within seconds Emmaline was doing the same thing to Eva's bottom. Soon they lay with legs locked together and mouths fused in a long burning kiss. Emmaline eased Eva over onto her back and pulled her mouth away; then, squeezing gently Eva's right breast, she lowered her mouth over the left one. Eva whimpered with excitement as Emmaline's tongue worried the hard nipple. Delicious shocks of excitement shivered through her loins as she spread her legs and rubbed her cunt against her partner's thigh. With a gasp, Emmaline slid down and quickly pressed her face into the soft wet hollow between Eva's thighs.
At the first swift thrust of Emmaline's tongue, Eva cried out joyfully and arched her back, every muscle in her abdomen and legs tightening. Emmaline's busy tongue was sending bolts of fire into her hot cunt. Eva wound her legs around Emmaline's head, arched her back and let the orgasm send her soaring, high, high, higher, on a blinding, body contorting journey of almost unendurable pleasure.
And she screamed-a long, loud scream of release-just as she always did when Fred was fucking her and brought her to orgasm. But she knew that she would always return to her secret pleasure; if not with Emmaline, which she doubted, with someone else.
Only Fred must never know; he wouldn't understand her strange longings. She crossed the room and approached him, Touching his shoulder gently, she said:
"Don't worry so, Fred. What does it matter what people think? In a little while it will all be forgotten."
"I hope so," he said, shrugging. "How is Janet this morning?"
Eva hesitated a moment before answering.
"She's so strange, Fred. She hasn't said a thing about your father since I came. She simply won't speak of it."
"Can you blame her? Besides, Janet never talks about the things that are way down deep within her."
"And your father liked her for that, didn't he?"
Fred nodded.
"Yes. He could quarrel with me, but he couldn't ever get a rise out of Janet. She'd just simply keep quiet-and get her own way with him. He never forgave me for not marrying her, but he never quarreled with her for not marrying me."
Eva smiled. Bitterly he added:
"Now that he's dead we're not much better than we were before, Eva. There's no doubt that he executed the new will, cutting me out. Mr. Knapp has told me as much."
"Never mind that," she said, softly. "Personally, I prefer it that way. At least you'll know it isn't your money I care for, but you yourself."
Fred put his arms around her and kissed her. They were so engrossed that they did not notice the door open and someone enter until they heard a discreet cough behind them. Turning quickly, they saw Mrs. Wyatt, the housekeeper.
Mrs. Wyatt tripped lightly toward them. Her manner gushing and fussy, she said, apologetically: "Excuse me. Good morning, Mr. Thomas-Mrs. Thomas. I didn't know you were here. Finley tells me another detective is coming."
Fred smiled and nodded.
"Yes-and I want you to give him all the assistance you can, Mrs. Wyatt. Nothing must be touched in this room until he says so. He has-"
But she did not let him finish. In her explosive fashion she burst out:
"I think you're perfectly right. I mean to say those . police detectives aren't getting anywhere. We don't know any more than we did at first!"
"We soon will, though," replied Fred, confidently.
Turning to his wife, he added hastily: "I've got to go now. The lawyers have sent for me, but I'll be right back."
Kissing the young woman lightly on the cheek, he hurried out of the room.
For a few moments after his departure the two women sat and looked at each other without speaking. Eva glad enough to be alone with her thoughts, realizing painfully as she did that it was she who had been the cause of the tragetly. But it was a physical impossibility for Mrs. Wyatt to remain quiet. Chafing under the long silence, she could finally not stand it any longer. Suddenly she burst out:
"This house has been my home for twenty year-sever since Janet was taken into the family-but it never will be again. I mean to say I never could feel at home in a house where they'd been a murder. I suppose I'm peculiar, but it doesn't make any difference whether the room is opened or locked up, I can't go by without feeling it. Do you know what I mean? I suppose Janet will sell the place. Have you heard her say anything about it?"
Not wishing to encourage the housekeeper to discuss family matters, the young woman answered only in monosyllables. Shaking her head she said: "Oh no."
But the voluble Mrs. Wyatt was not to be put off so easily.
"Mr. Thomas certainly was a very strange man. I don't want to say anything disagreeable about the dead, but it's hard to understand how a man could cut his son off without a cent and leave a fortune to a girl who's in no way related to him.
Eva shook her head.
"I don't believe Janet will let that will stand."
The housekeeper shrugged her shoulders. Her lips tightened, and her voice sounded harsh and bitter as she said:
"I'd say that, too, if I didn't know human nature as well as I do. Janet's a dear girl, but money changes people. I mean to say take a perfectly fair-minded person, like Janet, generous to a fault, and you never can tell what money will bring out in them-do you know what I mean?"
Before the young wife could answer there was a knock at the door and the butler entered. With an air of offended dignity, he said, pompously:
"Mrs. Wyatt, that detective has come."
The housekeeper rose, an expression of annoyance on her face. For the last forty-eight hours the house had been overrun with them. Really, they got on a woman's nerves with all their impudent questions. Still, if the family wished it, it must be done. Resignedly she said:
"Mr. Stryker-oh-well-I suppose you'd better bring him right in here, Grahm."
"Very well, ma'am," snapped the butler, viciously.
He retired, and Eva went hastily toward the door.
"Hadn't we better go?" she said.
The housekeeper nodded, and also rose.
The two women hastily left the room, closing the door behind them. A minute later the butler re-entered, followed by Flint Stryker and Bill Cooley.