Cooper By The Gross (All 144 Cooper Stories In One Volume)

by Bill Bernico

  Hollister grabbed the leash with his left hand and scooped the dog up in his right. It nestled itself in Hollister’s arm, still shivering. Hollister fingered the dog’s collar and found a small clover-shaped identification tag hanging there. He turned the engraved side toward himself and read. It identified the dog as “Fifi” and listed the owner’s name and address below the dog’s name. There was also a phone number below the address. This had to be the victim’s dog and if that was the case, it had just saved Hollister the trouble of finding out the victim’s identity.

  Still, Hollister knew he was going to have to go through the victim’s purse to look for some sort of identity, just in case the dog didn’t belong to the victim. He reached for the purse when a thought occurred to him. Maybe the hole in the victim’s hand wasn’t a defensive wound. He could have had his hand over his purse, like a woman would do, to keep anyone on the street from picking it. In that position the bullet would have entered through the back of the hand, exited through the palm, gone through the purse and into the victim’s body. This could be a break for Hollister if the bullet was still inside the body.

  Hollister grabbed the man’s arms and pulled, half turning the body so he could see the victim’s back. He didn’t see any exit wound. He laid the man back down and reached for the purse. Inside he found a hairbrush, a compact case, an eyeliner pencil, and a package of tissues with a hole through it and a wallet—all items you’d expect to find in a typical woman’s purse. Hollister pulled the wallet out, opened it and found a driver’s license and a library card. The wallet had ninety-eight dollars and some change in it, so robbery was not the motive. The license identified the victim as one Carl Hastings, twenty-seven years old, with an address just two blocks from where he lay in the street with a bullet in him. The name on the license matched the name on the dog’s collar. Hollister slipped the license back into the wallet and put the wallet back in the purse.

  A few blocks away Hollister heard another siren getting closer. A few moments later an ambulance skidded to a stop at the curb and two attendants hurried out and over to the body. One of the attendants verified that the victim was indeed deceased and the other got on his radio and called the situation in to the hospital. They unloaded the stretcher and waited. It didn’t take long before Jack Walsh showed up and made the death official.

  “You look over the body?” Walsh said to Hollister.

  “Yeah,” Hollister said. “Nothing extensive, just enough to know he was dead and to search for I.D. Seems he lives just up the street from here.”

  Walsh took a closer look himself and spotted the hole in Hastings’ hand, purse and body. He looked back up at Hollister. “Chances are the bullet’s still in him.”

  “I know,” Hollister said. “Be careful getting it out. We might be able to trace it through ballistics.”

  “You got it,” Walsh said, gesturing to the two attendants to take the body away. He made himself a quick note in his notebook, folded it shut and slipped it into his pocket. He turned back to Hollister before he left and said, “This one could be connected to the body in the park.”

  “That had occurred to me, too,” Hollister said. “What if the killer from the park got so traumatized by what he found that something snapped inside him and now he’s out to rid the world of gays?”

  “Well,” Walsh said, “In this town his work would never be done. The gay population around here outnumbers the straights.”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as including the whole town,” Hollister said, “But this section of Hollywood has more than its share, so I’d have to guess that this is where he’ll be hunting.”

  Walsh walked back to his car, turned to Hollister and said, “I’ll let you know when I have the slug.” With that he drove away.

  A black car pulled up to the corner and a woman in a business suit and perfect hair jumped out, holding a microphone out in front of her. She was followed close behind by a man with a large reel-to-reel tape recorder hanging on his shoulder. He pressed his hands over his headphones as he followed the woman over to where Hollister stood.

  She stood next to Hollister but looked down at the microphone. “We’re standing here at the corner of Yucca and Highland, the scene of the city’s latest shooting.” She turns to Hollister, holds the microphone to his mouth and says, “Can I get your name?”

  “Sergeant Dan Hollister,” Hollister said.

  “And can you tell us what happened here tonight?”

  “I don’t have any comments at this time. You’ll have to come to the station for a press release, which will be available to all the newspapers and radio stations. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Hollister walked away, back toward his car.

  “This is Diane Kittleson, KTLA News.” She signaled with a swirling finger in the air and the soundman stopped recording and turned his machine off. “Let’s get over to the station,” she told the soundman.

  After a brief stop for a hamburger and a cup of coffee, Hollister drove back to the medical examiner’s office. He found Jack Walsh standing over the body of the latest victim. Walsh had the chest cavity open and was probing around inside with a long handled surgical tool resembling a skinny pliers. As Hollister approached the table, Walsh dropped something into a metal pan. It made a clinking sound as it hit the pan. Walsh picked it up, ran it under a stream of water, dried it on a towel and handed it to Hollister.

  “There’s your slug,” he told Hollister.

  Hollister examined it, turning it over in his fingers. “It’s a .45 all right, same as the first murder, I’m guessing. Right now we have nothing to compare this one to, but if another body turns up, or if forensics finds a slug at the first murder scene, then we’ll know if we’re dealing with the same killer.”

  “I don’t envy you your job,” Walsh said.

  Hollister looked at the body cavity yawning open. “And I wouldn’t want your job, either. Gees, how can you enjoy your lunch after something like that?”

  “Same way you can enjoy your lunch after processing a murder scene,” Walsh said. “You get used to it after a while.”

  Hollister thanked Walsh and took the slug from the latest victim back to his office and placed it in an evidence bag, labeling it with the date and the victim’s name and the case number that had been assigned to it.

  Captain Rogers stepped into Hollister’s office and leaned against a filing cabinet. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully and then said, “With what we now know about this latest victim, we’re pretty sure that the two murders are somehow connected and that they’re aimed at the gay community. I think you ought to have your men stake out some of the gay bars and hangouts in the area and see if anything surfaces. Chances are if there’s another victim, it’ll be from one of these places.”

  “You may be right, captain,” Hollister said, “But any of our regular officers would stand out like a sore thumb in those places, same as one of those people would stand out in a straight environment. Besides, I don’t think our killer is going to troll for victims on their territory. He’ll probably find one that’s trying to fit into a straight setting, just like the one that fooled him that first night. He’s got to have a lot of hatred and anger building up after an ordeal like that and he’ll no doubt try to keep ‘them’ from infiltrating ‘us’.”

  “What would you suggest?” Rogers said.

  “I was thinking maybe we should pass around fliers in some of those places.” Hollister picked up the first flier he’d had made with the first victim’s picture. “Fliers like these with pictures of the last two victims and warn them about the dangers that are out there if they stray from their regular roosts.”

  “And you think that’ll help?”

  “We’ve got to do something,” Hollister said. “We don’t know if this killer is trying to send a message to the other side, or if he’s trying to wipe them out. But we do know that he’s not about to stop any time soon.”

  “Go ahead,” Rogers said. “Give it a try. S
pread your fliers around town and see if anything shakes loose, but keep on this.”

  Hollister picked up the evidence bag, shook the .45 slug out of it and handed it to Rogers. “Walsh dug this out of the second victim. It didn’t go all the way through this time because it went through the victim’s hand and purse first. Now all we need is another slug to compare it to.”

  “Or the gun it came from,” Rogers said.

  “There is that,” Hollister said. “I’m sure when we catch this guy, he’ll have it somewhere on him or near him and then ballistics will tie this up like a neat little package.”

  “Let me know how this goes every step along the way,” Rogers said. “If you need more men, I can help there, too.”

  “Thanks, captain,” Hollister said as Rogers left the office and walked back down the hall.

  The next morning at roll call Hollister passed out the fliers to his officers. They all had comments as the fliers were passed around. When everyone in the room had one, Hollister held one hand up to quiet the room.

  “All right,” Hollister said. “Let’s have it quiet. Now you have all been given a flier with photos of the first two victims and their descriptions. Get out there and question your regulars. Ask if anyone has seen either of them, especially the first victim, leaving with anyone. And, if so, see if anyone recognizes the John.”

  A hand went up in the middle of the room. “Sarge,” one officer said, “You thinking these are hate crimes? You think maybe our guy has it in for gays?”

  “That’s the assumption,” Hollister said. “He probably got tipped over the edge when he had his first surprise encounter with the drag queen. The guy is no stranger to prostitutes and he’s probably sought them out on several occasions prior to shooting the one who made him feel like he’d been played for a fool. Check with the streetwalkers. Sometimes they know the competition just from having interacted with them.”

  “How are we supposed to tell the fakes from the real deal?” one officer asked.

  Another officer said under his breath but loud enough for a few guys to hear him, “Remind me not to double date with Harry.”

  There was brief laughter but Hollister quieted them down immediately. “Jackson, you think this is funny?” He stared at the wise cracking cop.

  “No sir.”

  “All right then,” Hollister said. “Let’s get out there and find this guy before he kills any more people.”

  The men disbursed, pairing off as partners and carrying their equipment to their respective patrol cars.

  Hollister returned to Captain Rogers’ office and knocked before he entered.

  “What is it, sergeant?” Rogers said.

  Dan pointed a finger at the captain. “Captain, I’ve been kicking around an idea and thought I’d run it past you, see what you think.”

  “Go on.”

  “Captain, you remember Matt Cooper?”

  “Cooper,” The captain said. “Used to work hear a few years ago, didn’t he?”

  “Yes sir,” Dan said. “He’s a private detective now and I was thinking maybe I could use him for some undercover work on this case. His face isn’t as well known as the men who work here and he might be able to get into some circles of society that we might not. It’s worth a shot.”

  “If you think he can help turn up anything,” Rogers said, “I’ll authorize a few days. But let’s keep an eye on the expense vouchers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dan said. “I’ll check with him right now and see what he thinks.”

  “Keep me posted,” The captain said as Dan left the office.

  ****

  I rode the elevator up to my floor and stepped out into the hallway. My office was at the end of the hall on the right. I always left my outer office door unlocked in case potential clients wanted to stop by and take a business card or leave me a note. I grabbed the handle and started to twist when the door flew open, dragging me inside the outer office. I got my balance again and stood up. On the other side of the door stood Sergeant Dan Hollister, one of L.A. finest, holding the knob on the other side.

  “I was just about to leave,” Hollister said. “I left you a note, but now that you’re here…” He let the sentence trail off, pointing at the door to my inner office.

  I unlocked it and Dan followed me in. I hung up my hat and coat and took a set behind my desk. I gestured at my client’s chair and Dan sat.

  “So,” I said, “What brings you to this part of town? I haven’t seen you since, since, oh, what does it matter? You’re here now. What’s up?”

  “Does something have to be up for me to pay a visit to my old friend?” Dan said casually.

  Hollister could use some spit and polish on his casual tone. What I heard was something like, “Matt Cooper, old pal. I was just thinking how I’d like to get you to do some grunt work for me for free.” I looked at him suspiciously. “No, seriously, Dan, what do you want?”

  Dan shook his head. “I guess I’m no match for a master sleuth like you, am I?”

  “Come on,” I said, “Give.”

  “Okay,” Dan said. “We’re working a couple of cases and I could use some help in one area in particular. And I’m not here asking for charity. The department will pay you for your time. You interested?”

  “You bust some drug dealer with a bag full of money or something?” I said. “The only time you pay is when I have something on you.”

  “Look,” Dan said, “I came here in good faith to hire your services. If you’re not interested I’ll be on my way. The next detective in the book is Lloyd Corcoran. Maybe he can use a few bucks.” He got up and turned toward the door.

  “All right,” I said. “Sit down and tell me what it is you want done.”

  “That’s more like it,” Dan said. “First of all, let me preface this by saying that although my captain’s agreed to pay for your services, he also told me to watch the expense account, so that means no joy riding or meals. You still interested?”

  “Okay,” I said. “A flat twenty-five a day and I’ll bring my own lunch. What you got for me?”

  Dan sat back down again and leaned over my desk. “You been following the news lately with the story on the woman’s body found in the park the other day?”

  I thought for a moment and said, “You talking about the young blond found in Griffith Park with the hole through her? That one?”

  “That’s the one,” Dan said, “Only it wasn’t a woman.”

  I frowned. “No?”

  “Well, sort of,” Dan said. “It was really a guy in drag. Whoever she was with found a surprise package in her pants and shot her.”

  “Her?” I said.

  “That’s where it gets confusing,” Dan said. “At least it was confusing until I got an I.D. on the body. The victim was a Felix Chamberlain from Pasadena.”

  “What else have you got so far?” I said.

  Dan filled me in on the victim’s police record and told me about the details of the case, including the missing fake fingernails.

  “And you’re thinking that maybe those fingernails are still in the killer’s car?”

  “It’s possible,” Dan said. “There’s no slug since the bullet passed right through Chamberlain’s body.”

  “Which means the killer’s car might also be a mess,” I said.

  “There’s that,” Dan agreed.

  “I have a feeling there’s more that you’re not telling me,” I said.

  Dan nodded. “A second victim. May or may not be connected to the first, but it’s a hell of a coincidence if they’re not connected.”

  “How’s that?”

  Dan filled me in on the second victim, Carl Hastings.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “That sounds like there might be a common link there. So where do I come in?”

  Dan smiled and took a deep breath.

  “Oh oh,” I said.

  “What do you mean, oh oh?”

  “I mean, it sounds like there may be some dirty work attached to these case
s and you wanna pawn it off on me. Right?”

  “Not exactly dirty work,” Dan said. “It’s more like undercover work that my own men wouldn’t be able to pull off, since their faces are already too well known in this city.”

  “And you figured you get me to dress up in some sissy outfit and go trolling for pansies?’

  “Not at all,” Dan said, emphatically. “In fact, the first victim could very easily have been picked up in a straight bar. That’s all we’re asking you to do. Just ask around at the bars in town. I’ll give you a flier with Chamberlain’s picture, both in drag and as himself. All you have to do is come up with someone who might have seen him leave with a man on the night he was killed. And for that, you get your twenty-five a day.”

  I thought about it for a moment and then said, “And if I find out anything?”

  “Then you let me know and we’ll follow up on it.” Dan smiled and raised both eyebrows. “Whaddya say?”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll check around and let you know what I find. But no interference. I have to do this my way.”

  Dan held his hand out to me. “Deal.”

  I shook it once and let go. We both stood and Dan plucked Chamberlain’s mug shots out of his coat and handed them to me. “So where do you figure on starting?”

  I raised one eyebrow.

  “Okay,” Dan said. “You’re on your own. But just in case you get it into your head to start at his hotel room, here’s the key.” He tossed me a key with a large tag hanging from it. The tag had the name of the hotel and the room embossed on it.

  “Thank you, sir.” I said, pocketing the key.

  Dan left the way he’d come and I took a closer look at the two faces of Felix Chamberlain. Didn’t they say two heads were better than one? Well, I had two ways to go on this case and that put the odds in my favor.

  I stood at my window and looked down onto Hollywood Boulevard. Dan was just getting into his car. The clouds overhead told me rain was on its way. I still had the stylish trench coat that every cool detective wore and it looked like I was going to get some use out of it.