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

by Bill Bernico

  “Marie,” I said. “Do you remember who you talked to at the police station?”

  She reached into her apron pocket, anticipating my question. She handed me a slip of paper with some writing on it. The paper had the number of the Burbank Police Station on it along with the name Lieutenant Gregory Houser. I pulled out my notepad and copied this information before handing the slip back to her.

  “Did Gordon keep any notes or records on his clients?” I said.

  “Like I said,” she reminded me, “This was only Gordon’s second case, so he never did put together one of those computer files with the names and all of that. He just had a folder in his file cabinet. I gave that to that police detective right after it happened. I’m still waiting for them to return it to me.”

  “So let me see if I have this straight,” I said. “You want me to see if I can find out what Gordon was working on and see if I can determine who killed him. Is that about it, Mrs. Reese?”

  Marie nodded. “This whole thing has been gnawing at me ever since Gordon was killed,” she said. “I need this for closure so I can get on with my life and stop wondering. I just need to know that Gordon is at peace, wherever he is. You can understand that, can’t you, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “I can get started right after you sign one of our standard contracts. I get two hundred dollars a day plus expenses. If after a week, you decide not to pursue it or if I determine that there’s nothing I can do, either one of us can void the contract, but at least you’ll know you did everything you could. Does that sound all right with you, Marie?”

  She nodded and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “That’s all I can hope for,” she said.

  “Fine,” I said. “I have one of my standard contracts with me. I can go over it with you if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Marie said. “I didn’t pick you at random, Mr. Cooper. I found your name in the phone book along with several others. After a little research and after talking to the Hollywood police, I determined that you were the right man for the job. Where do I sign?”

  I secured Marie’s signature on the contract, gave her a copy and pocketed my copy. I stood and walked toward the apartment door. I turned back to Marie and said, “I’ll keep you abreast of any progress if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Marie said. “We’ll talk when the week is up. We should both know by then whether or not this is going to be productive. Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr. Cooper.”

  I left the apartment and walked back to the donut shop parking lot. Before I got back into my car, I decided to bring back a couple of donuts for Gloria. It was nearly noon before I got back to the office. I laid the small white bag on Gloria’s desk. She looked up from her computer.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  “Just a small token,” I said. “The client lived next door to a donut shop and I remembered that you have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  “Why, thank you, Elliott,” Gloria said. “That was mighty thoughtful of you.”

  “It was the least I could do after sticking you with those files,” I said. “Besides, I had a couple myself on the way back here. You want some coffee with those?”

  Gloria nodded as she bit into the glazed donut. I took a cup off the shelf above Dad’s coffee maker and filled it for her. I turned back to her and said, “Let’s see if I remember. Just cream, no sugar, right?”

  “Good memory,” Gloria said.

  I set her coffee on her desk and pulled out my copy of the contract. I laid it on Gloria’s pile and shrugged. “It’s just one more,” I said.

  “Is it a good case?” Gloria said between bites.

  “Depends on your definition of good,” I said. “How does a murder investigation grab you?”

  “Really?” Gloria said. “Who got killed?”

  I pointed to the contract. “The client’s husband,” I said. “And get this; he was a brand new private investigator on only his second case when he got himself shot. You see, this is why people should not become a private eye through the mail with those correspondence courses.”

  Gloria stared at me for a moment and then smiled. “You’re making that up, aren’t you?” she said.

  I nodded. “It might as well have been a correspondence course for all the good it did him,” I said. “He apparently didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “Any idea what he was working on or who killed him?” Gloria said.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be working on this case,” I said. “That is exactly what Mrs. Reese wants us to find out for her.”

  “So what can I do to help with this?” Gloria said.

  “I won’t know until I talk to the Burbank police,” I said. “I was going to head back up there right after I deposited Mrs. Reese’s check. I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun you’re obviously having with those files, but would you like to come along?”

  Gloria clicked her Save button and shut off her monitor. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing the bag with the remaining donut in it.

  I made out a deposit slip and endorsed the back of Marie Reese’s check and sent it in through the drive-in window at my bank. Once I had the receipt, I pulled back onto the boulevard and found the on ramp for the Golden State Freeway. Gloria and I made it to the Burbank Police Department in twenty-five minutes. It was on Third Street, between Palm and Orange Grove. The intersection sported a beautiful star design in the bricks. The Police Department was housed in an L-shaped building that also served as the Burbank Fire Department.

  Just inside the entrance I found an information desk. A beautiful blonde police woman was sitting behind it, her hair clipped up behind her head. She watched us as we approached. I pulled out my I.D. card and shield and held them up for the police woman to see.

  “Can you tell me who I’d see about a murder case from two months ago?” I said.

  “You want the detective division,” she said, pointing down the hall. “That would be the third door on your left.”

  I nodded. “Thank you,” I said and walked down the hallway. I counted doors as I walked and stopped in front of the third one. The name plate on the door said, ‘Detective Division, Lieutenant Gregory Houser.’ Gloria and I entered and found a chest-high counter. We walked up to it and saw a man in a blue suit sitting at the front desk.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Houser.”

  “You found him,” the man said, standing and walking over to where Gloria and I stood. “How can I help you?”

  I showed him my I.D. and shield. “Elliott Cooper,” I said and then turned and gestured toward Gloria. “This is Gloria Campbell.”

  Houser shook both of our hands and nodded politely.

  “We’ve been hired by a Mrs. Marie Reese to…” I said.

  “To look into her husband’s death,” Houser said. “Good luck. We’ve been on that case for two months and still have nothing to go on. I don’t know what you expect to find, but you’re welcome to give it a shot, if you think you can do the woman any good.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said. “Frankly I wasn’t expecting this much cooperation right away.”

  Houser shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain by your looking into this one. We’re up against a dead end.”

  “Do you suppose I could look at Gordon Reese’s file?” I said.

  Houser looked at Gloria. “She’s doesn’t say much, does she?” he said.

  I shook my head. “Don’t get her started,” I said. Gloria slapped my arm.

  “Hold on a moment,” Houser said, lifting a hinged section of the counter that separated his desk area from the waiting area. “Come on back here, won’t you?” He gestured toward two chairs that sat across from his desk. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back with the Reese file.”

  Gloria and I sat and waited. She leaned over toward me and whispered, “What a clean, modern, tidy police department,” she said. “All that’s missing is a
butler.”

  “We had one,” Houser said, returning with the file, “But he didn’t work out and we had to let him go.”

  “Sorry,” Gloria said. “I didn’t realize I was talking that loud.”

  Houser gave a short laugh and handed me the file folder.

  I opened the file as Houser took his seat across from us. There were a total of three documents and four color photos of the crime scene in this folder. “You’re right,” I said. “You really don’t have much on this one.” Houser shrugged and spread his hands. I looked at the four documents. There was the initial police report, the coroner’s report and a form listing Gordon Reese’s possessions at the time of his murder. I handed them to Gloria.

  While she looked at them, I scanned through the photographs. There was a full body shot of Gordon lying in what looked like an alley. Another photo captured his head wound in full gory, color. The third photo was another full body shot from the opposite angle and the fourth photo was a close-up of Reese’s still holstered .38 under his arm. I handed the photos to Gloria and took the forms from her.

  “Do you suppose I could get copies of all these?” I said, gesturing to the file folder.

  Houser shook his head. “Those are the only photos we have,” he said. “I can photocopy the forms, if you like.”

  “Could you photocopy the pictures, too?” I said. “It doesn’t make any difference to me if they’re in black and white. I’d just like them for reference.”

  “Give me a minute,” Houser said, taking the file folder from me and retreating to an adjoining room. He returned a minute later with seven sheets and handed them to me with a paper clip on the corner. “You will let us know if you find out anything,” Houser said. It was not said with a question inflection in his voice.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Thanks for your cooperation, Lieutenant.” I handed Houser one of my business cards and stood.

  Gloria and I headed for the door. She turned around and said to Houser, “This really is a clean, modern police department.”

  “You forgot tidy,” Houser said, and smiled.

  Gloria and I headed out the main door and noticed a delicatessen directly across the street. “Are you up for some lunch?” I said.

  “Great timing,” she said. “I just ate two donuts.”

  “Is that a no?” I said.

  “No it isn’t,” Gloria said. “Since you’re buying, I guess I’m still hungry.”

  We found a booth just inside the door and slid in. We each grabbed a menu from behind the napkin holder and studied it. I decided on the ham on rye with a glass of milk while Gloria chose a club sandwich and a cup of coffee. I started to watch the traffic outside the window. Gloria gave me a stern look.

  “What?” I said.

  “Is this your idea of lunchtime conversation?” she said.

  “I don’t know what it is with women,” I said. “They always feel the need to constantly be talking. I don’t get it. Two guys could have lunch together or ride across town together and not have to say a word. Why do women feel the need to always be talking?”

  “Must be something in our genes,” Gloria said. “We always want to know what’s going on around us. I’ll bet women would make better debaters.”

  “Probably,” I said. “But you can bet they’d get the buzzer more often than men when their time was up and they kept talking.”

  “So what are you saying?” Gloria said. “That you don’t want to talk?”

  “Only if we both have something to say,” I told her. “I don’t want to talk just to hear my own voice.”

  “All right,” Gloria said. “How about if we discuss the case? Would that be something that might interest you?”

  “I guess,” I said. “What would you like to know?”

  Gloria sighed heavily. “Well,” she said. “Don’t get too enthusiastic about it. Where do think we should start with this case?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure,” I said. “There’s not a whole lot to go on yet, is there?”

  Gloria was silent for a moment and then offered, “What about phone records? Either his home phone, his office phone or his cell phone may have a number on it we can use to get started. His wife would have gotten the bills for his office and home phone by now. She probably also has his cell phone lying around somewhere.”

  Our sandwiches and drinks arrived just then.

  “See,” I said. “That’s why you get the big bucks. You’re a thinker.”

  “And a talker, apparently,” Gloria said, giving me a sideways glance.

  “Touché,” I said and took a bite from my sandwich, washing it down with a swallow of milk.

  After we’d finished lunch, Gloria and I drove back over to see Mrs. Reese. I introduced her to Gloria and told her about our visit with Lieutenant Houser. She was able to find both telephone bills for the house and her husband’s business. The three of us sat at the kitchen table going over the bills. Gloria and I asked Marie Reese about some of the numbers on the printouts. Most could be explained simply and she knew who belonged to those numbers. There were two numbers on Gordon Reese’s office bill that she couldn’t identify. I wrote those two numbers down on my notepad and then turned to Marie.

  “Do you have a monthly bill for Gordon’s cell phone?” I said.

  “He didn’t get a bill,” Marie explained. “He had one of those pay as you go disposable cell phones.”

  “Did the police give you back his phone when they gave you the rest of his personal possessions?” Gloria said.

  Marie pulled open a kitchen drawer and withdrew a large manila envelope with Gordon’s name on it. She opened the clasp and dumped the contents out on the counter. Among the things that the police had taken from Gordon’s pockets was a small flip phone. I flipped it open and pressed the power button. It was dead. I looked at Marie.

  “It hasn’t been used since Gordon died,” Marie said. “It’s probably been on the whole time.”

  “Have you got the charger for it?” I said.

  Marie shook her head. “I looked for it recently and it’s nowhere in the house,” she said.

  I picked up the phone. “Would you mind if I took this along with us?” I said. “I’ll be sure to get it back to you when we finish looking at the contents.”

  Marie nodded. “Sure,” she said. “If you think it’ll help.”

  Gloria and I got up from the table and thanked Marie for her time and assistance and then headed back to my car.

  Out in the car Gloria held up the phone. “How are you going to get the information off this phone?” she said.

  “We passed a phone store on the way here,” I said. “We can get a cheap charger or just get a new battery. Hopefully it’ll be worth the expense and we’ll find something useful on the phone.”

  Gloria pointed out the window on her side. “Is that the store you’re talking about?” she said.

  “That’s the one,” I said, and pulled into the parking lot next to the store.

  We walked in and looked over the merchandise displays. A phone charger for Gordon’s phone was $12.95 and a replacement battery was $19.95. On another display rack we found the entire phone package, including the charger, a battery and ten minutes of talk time for $9.95.

  “Well, that’s a no-brainer,” I said, picking up the pre-paid phone in the shrink wrap package. Once we were back in the car, I ripped open the plastic package and pulled the phone out. The battery popped out of the back of the phone in just seconds and it took just a few more seconds to exchange the batteries. Gordon’s phone powered up this time. I handed the phone to Gloria.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “You’re probably more familiar with cell phones than I am. First give me the number of Gordon’s cell phone.”

  Gloria read off the number and I made a note of it. It ended in 4518.

  I pointed to Gordon’s phone. “Does it have a button to tell you what numbers were called from this phone?”

  Gloria hit a few buttons and in just a m
oment she had a list up on the screen. It was a short list, but a list nonetheless. She read off the first number, along with the date and time of the call. I checked my notepad for numbers I had written down while we were talking with Marie Reese.

  “No good,” I said. “That’s his home phone. Probably wanted to test it out when he first got it. What other numbers are on it?”

  Gloria scrolled down to the next number and read it off to me. It was dated one week after the first call. I checked my notepad. “That’s the phone store,” I said. “He probably called them to find out how to work some of the features on his new phone. Are there any other numbers?”

  The third number on Gordon’s phone was one that I didn’t have in my notepad. This one was dated just two days before his death. The duration of the call was only ten seconds. I wrote it in the notepad with a question mark. There was a site on the web that had a reverse directory where you could input the number and it would tell you who that number belonged to.

  “Is that it?” I said, gesturing toward the phone in Gloria’s hand.

  “There’s one more,” she said and read the number off to me.

  “That’s the same number you just gave me,” I said. “Did you get to the end of the list?”

  “No,” Gloria said. “That number’s on here twice. The second time it’s dated the day he died, about an hour before.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “What’s the duration?”

  Gloria looked at the paper again. “Ten seconds again,” she said.

  “That’s where we’ll start. Let’s get back to the office and see who belongs to that number.”

  We headed south on the Hollywood Freeway and made it back to the office in twenty-five minutes. Gloria went directly to her laptop computer and found the reverse directory.

  “Give me that number again,” she said.

  I read her the number, she typed it in and hit Enter. Half a second later we were looking at the name that went with the last number Gordon Reese ever called.

  “What do you make of that?” I said.