The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [201]
Nick said, “But the thing is, who would believe Captain DeLoach if he told everyone that his son was murdering people? His only audience is the nursing home staff, and they all think he’s demented. They’d just shake their heads and say how sad it was. They’d just give him more medication. Weldon would have to know that. Why would he hurt, maybe even try to kill, his own father when there was no downside for him?”
Over coffee and tea, Flynn told them his snitches were plugged in and would send juice his way if they found out anything. As for the writers and crew on The Consultant, as well as two supervising producers, there was nothing on any of them to raise red flags.
“Typical stuff,” Flynn said. “An arrest for prostitution, some drugs, rehab, parking and speeding tickets, a couple of spousal abuse calls, but no charges pressed, nothing to start my gut dancing.”
“Yeah?” Delion said. “What? The rumba?”
“Nope,” Flynn said, “straight salsa. My wife tells me she likes to see me play basketball, but she loves to see me salsa.”
Nick looked at Flynn and said, “I’m pretty good myself, Detective Flynn.”
Flynn’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll have to try it sometime.”
Savich said, “Yeah, yeah, now, what about Pauley and Wolfinger?”
“Mr. Frank Pauley has been knocking around Hollywood for going on twenty-five years. He’s been married four times, and the current Mrs. Pauley, Belinda Gates, according to insiders, is in for the duration. There’s nothing unusual about him, nothing we can find hiding in his closet.”
Sherlock said, “Surely if Belinda is involved, her husband has to at least suspect something.”
“Agreed,” Flynn said. “Now, Belinda Gates. She came to LA five years ago, got some minor roles, did some commercials, a couple of soft porn flicks, even did makeup for several sitcoms. Landing Pauley really made her career.
“From what we can tell, Linus Wolfinger is indeed a boy wonder. An arrogant little prick, evidently likes boys, but that’s gossip, not fact. He came from nothing; an orphan in and out of foster homes. Put himself through college—UC Santa Barbara—went to work in various production jobs at Premier Studios a year after he graduated, and somehow managed to impress Burdock at the tender age of barely twenty-three, and the rest, as they say, is history. There’s nothing on him, just one damned speeding ticket—and that was on the first day he was driving his new Porsche.”
“What was he doing that year after he graduated?” Savich asked.
Flynn’s eyes lit up. “Don’t know yet. We’re checking it.” He pulled a small black book from his inside jacket pocket and wrote in it. “One thing’s for sure, no one involved in The Consultant will be making a move without our being aware of it.” Then he smiled at everybody. “How about some dessert?”
Flynn and Delion ordered slices of apple pie, with French vanilla ice cream. When the two servings of dessert arrived, Flynn looked around the table. “All you pantywaist Feds, you nibble around like birds. No wonder you need the locals—we provide not only the brains, but the bulk.”
Sherlock, head cocked to the side, her red hair corkscrewing out, said, “You mean that’s our problem? A simple lack of sugar? I never thought of it like that.” She grabbed up her fork and cut a big piece of apple pie from Flynn’s slice.
Nick laughed. Dane joined in. It felt good.
Frank Pauley and Belinda Gates actually did live in a glass house, Dane thought, staring up at the monstrosity atop a cliff off Mulholland Drive. It was filled with lights, and if someone was wandering around inside naked, people five miles away could enjoy the view.
Five cops and one civilian trooped up to the gigantic double wooden doors. Flynn knocked.
A woman answered the door wearing a French maid’s outfit, replete with stiletto heels and stockings with seams up the back. She had a sexy little white cap on her head. The only thing was, she had to be at least fifty and a good