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

by Bill Bernico

  Andy was Andy Reynolds, the county medical examiner. He pulled up behind Dean’s cruiser and brought his little black bag over to where the victim lay. Andy knelt next to the body but he didn’t even bother checking for a pulse. He reached into the man’s coat and pulled a wallet out, handing it to Dean. Dean flipped it open and made a note of the man’s name and address before handing the wallet back to Andy. Andy returned the wallet to the victim’s pocket.

  “Gees,” Andy said. “You’d think I’d be used to seeing this kind of mess after a while. Well, I’m not.” He looked up at Dean. “Another Rooftop Sniper victim?”

  Rooftop Sniper was the name the papers had given this killer. He had made headlines all across Southern California ever since the first victim some eighteen months earlier. His killing spree added victim number seven on this hot August night in Hollywood.

  An ambulance’s siren tore a hole in the night as is screamed to a stop several feet from Andy. Andy waved them off and the siren died out. “No big hurry,” Andy said as the attendants emerged from the ambulance. “He’s beyond help.”

  Dean glanced at the ambulance attendants. “Hold off there for a while,” he said. “I want the photog to get a few shots of the area, including the victim.”

  The police photographer, a middle-aged man named Broderick, took several photos showing the victim’s head, a longer shot that included the whole body and several others of the surrounding areas. He gave Dean the nod and then left. Dean gestured to the attendants and they lifted the body onto the gurney and loaded it into the ambulance. They drove away, their red lights and siren turned off.

  “Get the report to me as soon as you can, will you Andy?” Dean said.

  “I can pretty much tell you what it’s going to say now,” Andy replied. “Victim died as a result of a single gunshot to the head. If you want, I can photocopy the last report and just change the name.”

  “I know, I know,” Dean said. “This is getting to be like cookie-cutter reporting. All the same except for the name.”

  “Except for the name,” Eric echoed. He looked puzzled for a moment.

  “What is it, Eric?” Dean said.

  “I don’t know,” Eric said. “Maybe nothing. It’s just something you said about them all being the same except for the name. That made me think of patterns, or lack of patterns in this case. Maybe there’s some kind of pattern in the names of these victims. Has anyone analyzed just the victims’ names?”

  “What do you mean by ‘analyzed’?” Dean said.

  “I’m not sure,” Eric said. “I’m just taking a stab in the dark on this thing. It may not lead anywhere, but I’d like to take a look at the list of victims’ names just for the hell of it. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Dean flipped open his notepad and copied this latest victim’s name on a separate piece of paper, handing it to Eric. “I’ll meet you back at the precinct,” he said. “You go ahead and see if you can come up with anything we can use.”

  Eric gave a half-hearted two-finger salute and walked back to his car, leaving Dean at the scene with another pair of patrolmen, who’d been called in for crowd and traffic control.

  **********

  I was on my way to the office and it was seven fifty-two. Gloria was probably there already, making coffee and straightening out the mess I’d left last night. It was like having a built-in maid when I hired her a year and a half ago to take up the slack during Dad’s recovery from his heart attack. She was much more than mere maid, though. Gloria came to me with more experience than I could have hoped for. She already had her P.I. license from having worked in the business with her late father. She had excellent handgun experience and was a top marksman. She had her Tae-Kwon-Do certification, and as it turned out, she was also a master of disguise and makeup. She fit in seamlessly with our operation.

  When I walked in, Gloria was sitting at her desk making notes. Across from her sat another woman, perhaps forty years old with a weary expression. I eased the office door closed and walked over to where they sat. I introduced myself to the woman.

  “Good morning,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Elliott Cooper, and you are?”

  “Talking to this woman,” she said sharply. She didn’t offer her hand.

  I drew my hand back and wiped it on my shirt. “Okay,” I said, and stepped over to my desk.

  Gloria stood up. “Sorry, Elliott,” she said. “You caught us at a bad time.”

  The woman immediately had second thoughts about her behavior and stood as well, turning to face me. “Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so rude with you. It’s just...” She didn’t finish her thought, but instead broke down and cried.

  Gloria sat her back down and pulled a tissue from the box on her desk, handing it to the woman, who dabbed at her eyes with it. Gloria motioned me over.

  “Elliott Cooper,” Gloria said. “This is Mrs. Watson. Mrs. Conrad Watson.”

  The woman looked up at me and this time extended her hand. “I’m sorry Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bark at you.”

  “Not a problem, Mrs. Watson,” I said. “Is there something we can do for you today?”

  Gloria came around from behind her desk and stood next to me. “Olivia wants to hire us to find her husband’s killer,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t that be a job for the police?” I said. “We’re a private investigations business.”

  Olivia Watson looked up at me. “I’ve already been to the police,” she explained. “They tell me that they don’t have anything to go on and that I should be patient. Mr. Cooper, it’s been nearly five months since Conrad was killed. You’d think the police would have found something, anything in all that time.”

  “Did they give you a reason for the lack of progress with your case, Mrs. Watson?” I said.

  “Please, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “Call me Olivia.”

  “All right, Olivia,” I said. “And you can call me Elliott. Now what about the police?”

  “They tell me that Conrad was one of the Rooftop Sniper’s victims,” Olivia said. “They say he was that animal’s fifth victim and that they were doing all they could to find him. Well, Elliott, whatever they’re doing isn’t working. I don’t think they’re looking hard enough and I’d like you and Gloria to check into it for me, if you would.”

  I pulled my client’s chair away from my desk and slid it next to Olivia and sat. “We can take your case if the police will allow me to look into it,” I said. “After all, it is an ongoing investigation and it may not be easy to get access to what they know. We may be starting from scratch in this case.”

  “Whatever you do,” Olivia said, “would have to result in more effort than they’re putting forth at this point. I’d appreciate anything you could do for me. This has been hanging over me like a big loose end for too long now and I need to get some answers and some closure. Please, please see what you can do.”

  I nodded at Gloria and she laid her hand on Olivia’s shoulder.

  “We’ll do whatever we can,” Gloria said. “Between Elliott and me and Elliott’s father, Clay, the three of us will dig as deep as we can to help you find the answers you need.”

  “Thank you both,” Olivia said. “Will you call me when you find anything out?”

  “It may not be right away or in the next couple of days,” I said. “But as soon as we know anything, we’ll call you.”

  Gloria walked Olivia to the door and watched as she walked down toward the elevator. She turned back to me and said, “A little high-strung, but I really feel sorry for her.”

  “Seems sincere,” I said. “Where did you want to start on this one?”

  Before Gloria could offer an answer, the office door opened again and Dad stepped in. “Good morning, kids,” he said, like he did every other morning.

  Gloria and I were both in our early thirties, hardly kids. But since dad was in his early sixties, anyone younger than he was a kid to him.

  “What’s on the
front burner this morning,” Clay said.

  “How’s a murder case grab you, Dad?” I said. “We just had a woman in here who wants us to look into her husband’s murder.”

  “Was that the woman I passed on my way out of the elevator?” Clay said.

  “Olivia Watson,” Gloria said. “Her husband was the fifth victim of the Rooftop Sniper that the police are still trying to find and she seems to be up against a brick wall as far as getting any answers out of the police.”

  “From what Dean tells me,” Clay said, “They don’t have anything to go on. This latest serial killer is good at covering his tracks or at not leaving any clues at all. What makes you two think we can do what the police haven’t been able to do so far?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I said. “Sometimes we have the advantage of not being police officers. They have to follow certain procedures that we don’t and that works to our advantage sometimes.”

  “So where did you plan to start looking?” Clay said.

  Gloria and I both stammered and shifted our feet. “I was thinking maybe you could ask Dean if we could get a look at the records,” I said. “You two are thick as thieves and it might work out to Dean’s advantage to have us looking into this. If we find something out that they couldn’t, it could only help their case, don’t you think?”

  “When the going gets tough,” Clay said, “they all come to me. See, that’s where experience counts just as much as youthful enthusiasm. Okay, let me go and see what Dean thinks of all this. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Think you two can stay out of trouble until I get back?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” I said sarcastically. “Will you bring us some toys?”

  Clay shook his head and left the office, mumbling something about kids.

  “We’re not just going to sit here, are we?” Gloria said.

  “Hell no,” I said. “Let’s go out and dig up some leads of our own. Remember, we have youthful enthusiasm on our side. How about if we pay Andy Reynolds a visit?”

  “What can the M.E. tell us?” Gloria said.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” I said. “Come on. We’re burning daylight.”

  “Burning daylight?” Gloria said, her eyebrows furrowing. “What are you, some kind of cowboy taking the herd to Abilene?”

  “It’s just an expression,” I said. “Perhaps you would prefer if I said time’s a-wastin’?”

  “Forget it,” Gloria said. “At least now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “And what would that be?”

  “A reference book of current sayings,” she said, laughing.

  Andy was in his office when we arrived. Out in the work room there was a body lying on the table, its chest cavity yawning open. Andy was making notes on a form and looked up as we entered.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Bobsey Twins,” Andy said, smiling.

  Gloria looked at me. “Make that two copies,” she said.

  “Two copies?” Andy said. “Did I miss something? Two copies of what?”

  “Never mind,” I told Andy. “Gloria’s just being a smart ass today.”

  All right,” Andy said, shifting his gaze from Gloria to me. “What can I do for you two?”

  “I don’t suppose I’d be violating any client confidentiality if I told you her name,” I said. “After all, you’ll find it out when I tell you whose death we’re looking into.”

  “Is it someone who passed through this office?” Andy said.

  I nodded. “About five months ago,” Gloria said. “You probably worked on a guy named Conrad Watson. It was assumed that he was the fifth victim of the Rooftop Sniper.”

  “Assumed?” Andy said. “Is there something to lead you to believe otherwise?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Our client, Mrs. Watson. She’s not convinced that her husband was just another sniper victim. We’re looking into it if for no other reason than for her peace of mind.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation,” Andy said, “she’s not the first spouse to come around asking questions about their deceased loved ones. Seems like everyone’s sure that their husband or wife was not a sniper victim, but rather a victim of someone they actually knew.”

  “Really?” Gloria said. “And what did those other autopsies reveal?”

  “So far,” Andy said. “They all fall into the same category of Rooftop Sniper victim.”

  “All of them?” I said.

  “Just what are you expecting to uncover?” Andy said.

  “That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t know. I may not even know it when I see it, but I at least have to look.”

  “At what?” Andy said.

  I shrugged. “Could we take a look at anything you have on Watson?” I said.

  “Not much to look at,” Andy said. “Couple of photos, some reports and half a page of my notes. If any of those will help your client get closure, then by all means, go for it.” Andy swiveled his chair around and pulled open a drawer in his filing cabinet. He withdrew a file and laid it out in front of me. “That’s everything I have on Watson. You’ll have to look at it here. This stuff can’t leave my office. I have to finish up on the last night’s victim. Just leave the folder there when you’re done looking at it.”

  “Thanks, Andy,” Gloria said.

  Gloria sat in Andy’s chair and I stood looking over her shoulder at the papers in front of us. The photos of Conrad Watsons exploded head made my stomach rumble. I picked up the photos and turned them face down, picking up the autopsy report instead. Watson was depicted on this form as a drawing, showing where the bullet had entered and exited his head.

  “What’s this word?” Gloria said, holding Andy’s handwritten notes up for me to see. “He’s got the penmanship skills of a doctor.”

  I looked at the word, trying to determine if it said ‘wart’ or ‘want’. “I think it says wart,” I told her.

  “Well then, according to Andy,” Gloria said, “Mr. Watson had a wart on his neck. What does that prove?”

  “Nothing that I can see,” I said. “What else do we have?”

  Gloria scanned through the notes and came up empty. “Zip,” she said.

  “Does it say anything about what caliber bullet killed Watson?” I said.

  “It says here that all seven of the victims were shot with a .30-30 but the police hadn’t released that information,” Gloria said. “I guess they didn’t want any copycat killers getting any ideas.”

  “What did you say?” I said.

  Gloria looked at me, puzzled. “I said the police hadn’t released that information,” she repeated.

  “No,” I said. “That other part about a copycat killer. You just gave me an idea.”

  “I did?” Gloria said. “About what?”

  I sat on the edge of Andy’s desk and turned toward Gloria. “Suppose a person with a grudge wanted to kill someone else and get away with it. What better way than to make it look like their target was just another victim of the current serial killer? The police would automatically assume that this latest victim was just another unfortunate soul on the serial killer’s list and they wouldn’t even bother looking for any other suspects.”

  “Are we talking perfect murder here?” Gloria said. “There isn’t supposed to be any such thing as a perfect murder. The killer always slips up by leaving a clue or a motive or something else that points to them as the murderer.”

  “Unless someone like us comes snooping around,” I said. “If Olivia hadn’t come to us, and if the current serial killer would be shot dead by police, he wouldn’t even be around to refute any evidence to the contrary and Watson’s real killer would walk away Scott free.”

  “Now all we have to do is find said evidence,” Gloria said. “That’s the hard part.”

  “But that’s why they pay us the big bucks,” I said. “Let’s wait and see if Dad turns up anything at the twelfth precinct.”

  Clay Cooper sat across of Lieutenant Hollister and stretche
d in his chair. “Cripes,” Clay said. “My back is killing me. If this is any indication of what I have to look forward to, well, then just shoot me now.”

  Dean Hollister reached into his jacket and grabbed the butt of his .38. He pulled it out just far enough so Clay could get a quick look at it. “Say when,” he told Clay.

  Clay raised one eyebrow. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “What are friends for?” Dean said. “You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Speaking of doing things for each other,” Clay said. “Any chance you’d let me have a look at your files regarding this Rooftop Sniper case?”

  Dean released his grip on the butt of his .38 and let it drop back into his shoulder holster. “Where’s this coming from?” he said.

  “We picked up a client this morning,” Clay said, standing and stretching his back from side to side. “She’s convinced that her husband was not one of the sniper’s victims and she’s asked us to look into it for her.”

  “Olivia Watson, I would guess,” Dean said. “She’s in here every other day asking if we have any more information on her husband’s death. I keep telling her that it’s an ongoing investigation and that we still don’t have anything more than we had the last time she stopped in. But she keeps coming in, insisting that we’re not looking in the right place for her husband’s killer. I’m really getting tired of seeing her.”

  “Is there anything in what she says?” Clay asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Dean said. “I suppose there’s always that one percent chance.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I look at the file on Watson?” Clay said.

  Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you expecting to find?” Dean said.

  “Maybe nothing,” Clay said. “I might not even know it if I see it, but I at least have to be able to tell Olivia Watson that I tried. You never know, if I look into this thing, she may stop coming in to see you. It would be worth letting me look just for that benefit, wouldn’t it?”

  Dean shrugged. “If only,” he said, swiveling around to face his filing cabinet. He pulled out a folder with Watson, Conrad typed on a label across the front of the folder and handed it over the desk to me. “The file can’t leave here,” Dean said. “But have yourself a look and see if the killer’s name jumps out at you.”