First Kill: An Eli Quinn Mystery

  FIRST KILL

  An Eli Quinn Mystery

  By Robert Roy Britt

  Copyright © 2016 by Robert Roy Britt

  RobertRoyBritt.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion of it may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, which is highly encouraged. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Published by Ink • Spot

  P.O. Box 74693

  Phoenix, Arizona 85087

  InkSpotBooks.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover by Trent Design

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, places, companies or events is totally coincidental.

  Praise for the Eli Quinn Mystery Series

  FIRST KILL (Book 3)

  ★★★★★ “Jam-packed with thrilling fight scenes, witty banter, and well-worn characters, FIRST KILL is an excellent addition to the private detective genre with a likeable hero and a lovable sidekick.”

  — IndieReader

  ★★★★★ “Methodical, yet fast-paced thriller… FIRST KILL solidifies Quinn as a deeply developed hero with great potential for future installations.”

  — Self-Publishing Review

  “Britt offers a sharp, hearty narrative… Another worthy outing for the quick-witted, ever evolving private eye.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  “An exciting thriller … full of intrigue, sex, and even some humor.”

  — Bestsellersworld.com

  “A well-plotted story full of twists and turns with a cast of attention-grabbing characters and dialogue that throws sparks all over the place.”

  — Silvia Villalobos, author of Stranger or Friend

  DRONE (Book 2)

  “A brisk detective novel sequel that packs a punch.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  ★★★★★ “Quinn’s second case reads as if it were written by a master reaching the height of his craft. With its witty banter, cast of colorful secondary characters, and promising detective agency, DRONE sidles into the genre with aplomb. … Characterizations are top notch, the plot is believably paced with ratcheting tension, and the prose is highly polished. … Quinn’s personality gives him an everyman feel that makes him easy to connect with. Unlike more intellectual literary detectives, Quinn is relatable and fun to root for.”

  — Foreword Clarion Reviews

  ★★★★★ “Fast-paced with a few thought-provoking twists, DRONE is reminiscent of a noir detective story with a 21st century flair.”

  — IndieReader

  “Immediately absorbing and thoroughly entertaining.”

  — Bestsellerworld.com

  “Britt’s writing moves briskly with prose that Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler might have applauded. Clipped, no-nonsense dialogue, fast-paced prose and tough-guy characters recall classics such as The Maltese Falcon or The Long Goodbye.”

  — BlueInk Review

  “Robert Roy Britt’s writing is engaging and captivating—written both with a mature slant and just a little camp. Britt takes on a well-trod genre and introduces a distinct yet fitting addition to its hall of fame. Both brilliant and humble, hard-nosed and gentle, Eli Quinn’s mettle is thoroughly tested in curious and entertaining ways. It’s hard to make an original detective, but Britt is more than up to the challenge. He does a wonderful job of telling this twisting tale with excellent pace.”

  — Self-Publishing Review

  “A delightful read, a page turner.”

  “You will not be able to put it down.”

  “Britt has a keen feel for dialogue.”

  — Amazon Readers

  CLOSURE (Book 1)

  “Quinn’s narrative often sports the hardened cynicism of a seasoned veteran … Solo nearly steals the story; he can intimidate with a single bark and a follow-up growl.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  “Fascinating plot.”

  “Great characters.”

  “A great read.”

  — Amazon Readers

  MURDER MOUNTAIN (Short Prequel)

  “An excellent quick mystery.”

  “An engaging tale of pursuit.”

  “Britt writes tight prose.”

  — Amazon Readers

  For Nourie, Yacine & Marius, the lights of my life

  Chapter 1

  The tall man drove into the circular entrance of the hotel, parked away from the valets. The real estate agent would find him, would choose to look at property rather than stay at the convention. Realtors would die to get a listing like this, acreage that would fetch a premium.

  He didn’t care about any of that. His role was simple.

  The agent came out, walked over. Expensive casual business clothes hung perfectly on a stocky frame. He introduced himself and got in.

  On the way to the property, they made polite conversation about the Arizona heat and the growing humidity. The tall man tugged down on his black baseball cap, pulling it low over his eyes. He answered the agent’s questions without any extra chit-chat. Was in the Marines. Grenade. Helping his dad sell this old ranch house. Ten acres. Great views.

  The real estate agent wouldn’t shut up. Typical salesman. On and on about his company, about his whip-smart daughter, who would one day take over the business. His gorgeous wife was a handful. But they’d been together since high school, and she could sell houses like nobody’s business, and for some crazy reason he still loved her.

  The tall man nodded, tugged on his cap. It’d be a pleasure to kill this guy.

  The last half-mile was bumpy and dusty, older homes each on several acres. Thirsty mesquite trees hugged the landscape. Saguaros stood sentry at irregular intervals, arms up, praying for rain.

  He drove down into a dry arroyo, slowed for the curb-height drop into the sandy bottom, then gunned it to avoid getting stuck. He eased up as they pulled out onto a broad, isolated mesa. The stocky man blathered on about how the road could be improved. The tall one just listened. They pulled up to the ramshackle home. The vast, sparse desert ran off into distant mountains. Some wealthy East Coaster would pay handsomely for the land, knock the home down and build a sprawling territorial house. But his father didn’t want to sell. And then this opportunity arose. He had little choice.

  They got out, a cloud of dust catching up and drifting by. He gestured to the front entrance and followed the agent into the shadows of a crudely constructed porch. Then with one powerful blow, the side of his fist connected with the man’s temple and he crumpled to the ground.

  Chapter 2

  Madison Mack stabbed her finger in Jimmy Mendoza’s chest, her nose to his chin as they stood on the sidewalk. I pulled up to the curb across the street in my Jeep, top down. Solo watched them from the back seat, ears up, nose twitching.

  “Stay,” I said to the 110-pound German shepherd. I knew he would, as long as the situation called for it. I hopped out and walked into the argument.

  I’d never met Madison Mack but she was easy to recognize. Her father Joe ran the biggest real estate agency in Pleasant, just north of Scottsdale in the shadow of Pinnacle Peak. Joe’s wife Joanne and Madison both worked for him. Madison’s face was plastered all over town, in newspaper ads, flyers, on the Open House sign behind her in the front yard, and on the side of the dark metallic blue Tesla in the driveway.

  Fifteen minutes ago she’d called and asked me to meet her at this home she was show
ing, said she had a case for me but she’d be stuck at an open house most of the day. I’d been wading through a stack of bills at my new office, including the outrageous electric bill, while wondering where my next case would come from. I locked the office, crossed the small town and arrived five minutes early.

  Their conversation wasn’t meant for me, but my hearing is excellent, and I caught most of it as I crossed the street.

  “Jimmy, don’t tell me you haven’t seen or heard from him,” Madison said. She had one hand on a small purse strapped over her shoulder, a thumb in the purse, ready to reach into it if needed. “You were with him at the conference.”

  “Hell, Madison, c’mon,” said Jimmy Mendoza, hint of an accent sneaking out with his frustration. “I saw him in the morning. Then I didn’t see him after that. That’s all I know.”

  I’d also never met Jimmy Mendoza, another real estate agent whose photo you couldn’t escape, including on the door of his black Lexus at the curb. Easy for them to remember which car was whose.

  She lowered her voice. “You screw with me, Jimmy, I’ll ruin you.” She poked again to punctuate the threat. “I know about the…” She stopped as I approached.

  Jimmy grabbed her by the wrist. “Don’t threaten me, Madison. It goes both ways. You know that.” She glared at him, started reaching into her purse.

  That’s when I tapped Jimmy on the shoulder. He turned his head, held her wrist.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Eli Quinn,” I said. I nodded my head toward his grip. “Let go.”

  Jimmy was neat and tidy, in a perfectly fitting casual suit, no tie. Short black hair on top, shaved on the sides. He had the look of a fighter in his eye, someone who chose to stand his ground, not back down. I knew how to fight, too. Maybe he knew that, maybe he didn’t. But he let go of Madison, took a step back and raised his hands like a criminal. That’s when I heard Solo growl. He stood next to me, giving Jimmy Mendoza his most threatening glare, which resembles his other looks but without his tongue lolling to the side.

  “Look, man.” Jimmy talked to me but eyed Solo. “This is between me and Madison, okay? Everything’s cool. Anyway, it’s none of your business.”

  “You made it my business when you grabbed her,” I said.

  “I can take care of myself,” Madison said, still watching Jimmy.

  I raised my eyebrows at Madison, then looked at Jimmy to see what his next move would be. And I wondered why the hell I was here.

  Jimmy glanced my way, narrowed his gaze, then his eyes hopped over to Madison and he shook his head. “To hell with this,” he said, pointing at Madison as he headed to his car. “This is not over.”

  ***

  Madison Mack defied the early morning Arizona heat and humidity in a black, tailored suit with a skirt cut just above the knee. She was a mid-twenties twin of her mid-forties mother, except Madison hadn’t bleached her dark brown hair, and she wore it long, and she had barely a touch of makeup on. And she didn’t have her mother’s fake boobs. Madison was the more attractive of the two, but since she was about ten years younger than me, and since I was head over heels for someone else, I tried hard not to pay attention to Madison’s good looks. The effort failed miserably.

  “Mr. Quinn.”

  “Just Quinn.”

  “Madison Mack.” She stuck her hand out business-like. We shook. The hand was thin but the handshake firm.

  “Good-looking dog,” she said, nodding at Solo. He wagged his tail. “Scared the hell out of Jimmy Mendoza.”

  “You sure that wasn’t me did the scaring?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure. Jimmy’s a hothead, quick to get into it. I don’t think you’d scare him. And like I said, you didn’t need to rush in on your white horse.”

  “Gun in the purse?” I pointed at it.

  “Like I said, I can take care of myself. But I also know when to hire someone. Can I hire you?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On why.”

  “My dad is missing.” Her business face clouded over.

  “Joe Mack is missing?”

  “Since about noon yesterday.”

  “Sorry, didn’t know.” I pointed at my battered face. “Been a little out of it.”

  “You do look like hell,” she said.

  I laughed. It hurt. I stopped laughing.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just that I’ve heard that quite a bit lately.”

  My lip was still puffy, six stitches due to come out later today. My swollen eye had opened up, but the white part was red. The bruise on my cheek had turned from blue to vomit yellow. And my ribs still hurt.

  Two cases into this private detective thing and I was a mess. A few bad guys were even worse off. With help from a small, informal team I was developing, I’d just nabbed the guy who tried to assassinate a state senator and uncovered the even worse act he was engaged in. Before that, I’d solved the Tinker Bernstein murder. I hoped my next case would involve fewer injuries.

  “I saw on TV,” she said. “They called you a hero.”

  “I’d reserve that word for people who do far greater things.”

  “They said you’re a genius detective.”

  That was hard to argue with, so I shrugged.

  “Let’s get out of the heat,” she said, nodding at the house. I followed her to the front door. She fitted a key into the lock. “No dogs.”

  “No dogs, no Quinn,” I said, having learned on my last case to keep Solo as close as possible at all times.

  She glanced at Solo, then pushed the door open. “He won’t crap on the carpet?”

  “Not unless I ask him to.”

  The house was empty and spotless. Mack Realty brochures sat on the kitchen counter, a picture of Madison on the cover. I picked one up and turned it over. A photo of Joe Mack was on the back. I stuck the brochure in my back pocket, told Solo to lie down in the kitchen. He curled up with gusto, always excited to do nothing. Madison walked through the living room to a wall of windows, stood looking out at the small backyard and the nice view of Pinnacle Peak, hands clasped behind her back.

  “Can you find my father?”

  “I don’t know yet. Tell me what happened.”

  Her voice was even, her back to me. “He went to a real estate conference at the Princess hotel in Scottsdale yesterday. All-day thing. I called him in the afternoon and he didn’t answer. I texted him, no reply. He always replies to my texts. I tried a couple hours later and still nothing. Nobody has seen him since.”

  “Did you call the Scottsdale police?”

  She turned and glared at me. “Of course. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  I didn’t have much to go on, but her eyes, green and complex as a stormy sea, suggested she was not an idiot. “No, Ms. Mack. You seem very capable.”

  “Madison,” she said.

  I nodded. “Ms. Mack, it’s been less than twenty-four hours. You sure he’s missing?”

  “The police asked me the same thing. But yes, I’m sure. He would have returned my texts, at least. They said they’d look into it, but they didn’t seem to be in a rush.”

  “Maybe his phone died.”

  “He’d have found a way to call the office and check in. He’s compulsive that way. I don’t remember a morning when he didn’t check in.”

  “Did you call the hotel?”

  “Of course,” she said. “They don’t know anything. He didn’t have a room, so they have no record of him being there.”

  “Has he ever disappeared before, maybe overnight or something?”

  “Of course not. Nobody is more responsible than my father.” A quick tug at her light summer blazer closed that matter.

  “What were you arguing with Jimmy Mendoza about?” I pointed with my thumb to the front of the house.

  She looked away, then turned and went back to the windows. “We were fighting over the listing of this house. He thought he’
d get it. I got it.”

  “Strike one,” I said.

  She turned. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s your first lie.”

  Her face flushed.

  “You accused Jimmy of knowing where your father was,” I said.

  “You have excellent hearing.”

  “And we’re off to a bad start,” I said. “I can’t work for someone who’s going to lie to me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and cupped her forehead, let out a sigh, then put herself back together quickly. “It won’t happen again.”

  “What’d you threaten him about? Something about knowing something else.”

  “Jimmy and Dad go way back,” Madison said.

  “Bad blood?”

  “Jimmy’s the third biggest agent in town. They respect each other, and they get along well enough, but no question Jimmy is jealous of Dad. They’ve had arguments, and Jimmy threatened Dad with lawsuits a couple times, but they always managed to work things out.”

  “Sounds like a suspect.”

  “See, you are a genius detective.” She smiled and, for the first time, looked like her photo, but prettier. Lively face, strong cheekbones, slight overbite.

  I found the business-like nature of our conversation curious, like a boardroom meeting or a conversation I might’ve had in the newsroom at The Arizona Republic, back when I was a reporter. But everyone dealt with stress differently. I weighed all this. She watched me weigh it. Then she walked toward me, stopped a few feet away, put one hand on a hip and smoothed her hair with the other. Her voice was strong and her face stern.

  “Listen. I love my dad. And for now I assume he’s alive and everything’s OK. I can’t believe otherwise. He’d want me to be strong, keep my emotions in check and take care of business.”