by Bill Bernico
“Now how would you know that?” I said. “I didn’t say anything on the phone about why I wanted to see you.”
“Am I right?” Dean said.
“What’s going on here?” I said.
“I got a call from a Lieutenant Houser at the Burbank Police Department,” Dean said. “He told me that you and Gloria were asking around his department about a two month old murder case.”
“There’s no law against that, is there?” I said.
“No,” Dean said. “And Houser wasn’t complaining. He just wanted to know if I’d heard of you and asked what kind of person I thought you were.”
“And you said…”
“I told him you were legit,” Dean said. “And that he had nothing to worry about. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
I nodded. “You could have added something about how brave and trustworthy I am,” I said.
“You’re a P.I.,” Dean said. “Not a Boy Scout. So, what was it specifically that you wanted to know from me?”
“Climb in,” I said. “I’m getting a stiff neck looking up at you.”
Dean walked around and slid in the passenger side of my car. He picked up the single rose and sniffed it. “What’s this?”
“What does it look like?” I said. “It’s a rose.” I held my hand out and took it from him, gently placing it on the dash.
“You’re not wearing a suit,” Dean observed. “And your jacket doesn’t have a lapel, so I can assume that you didn’t buy it for yourself.”
I tried to ignore his wise cracks. “What I wanted to see you about was if you had any records of men who may have posed as cops in the past. Specifically, left handed men who may have posed as cops.”
“Why are you asking?” Dean said.
“It’s just a hunch for now,” I said. “Do you suppose I could have a look in your files?”
“Not until you tell me what this is about,” Dean said. “If you’re holding out…”
I held one hand up. “Dean,” I said. “I’m just following up a lead. If it leads somewhere, I’ll fill you in. If it doesn’t, I don’t want to waste your time, all right?”
“Sounds to me like you’re protecting someone,” Dean said. “I’ve been at this long enough to know.”
“Actually, I am,” I said. “He’s scared to death and we promised to protect his identity. So, can I see the files, or not?”
“Sure,” Dean said. “I’m going back there now. You want to follow me back?”
“I’ll be along in a minute,” I said, grabbing the rose off the dash.
Dean made an exaggerated motion of looking up at my building. “Might you be bringing that up to your office?” he said, with a stupid smirk on his face.
“I just want to put this in some water,” I said. “Do you mind?”
“Could the recipient’s name rhyme with euphoria?” Dean said.
I hiked a thumb in Dean direction. “Come on, out,” I said. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.
Dean slid out and walked around to his car, laughing the whole time. He drove away and I could still hear his laughter from the other end of the parking lot. I brought the rose upstairs and handed it to Gloria, along with the DVD of the sci-fi classic, E.T. “In case we miss anything on TV tonight,” I said.
Gloria smelled the rose and then stood on her toes to kiss me again. “Thank you, Elliott,” she said. “I’ll put this in some water. Dean should be here any time now.”
“He’s already been and gone,” I said. “I ran into him in the parking lot and he agreed to let me stop by and have a look in his files. I have to leave again.”
“Can I come along?” Gloria said.
“You’d better stay here and keep an eye on things,” I said. I surely didn’t want Dean giving us the fish eye when we walked in together. I still wasn’t used to the idea of Gloria and me being somewhat of a couple. I’d wait until we were more comfortable with each other before I started letting other people know about us.
I left the office again and drove over to the twelfth precinct. Dean was in his office and had four file folders laid out on his desk when I walked in.
“This is all I could find,” Dean said. “I mean, there have been others who tried to pass themselves off as cops, but these four are the only ones who are still alive and walking around free. I assume that’s what you were looking for.”
“That’s perfect,” I said. “Could I get copies of some of this material?”
Dean shook his head. “You can write down whatever you think is useful, but no copies.”
I pulled my notepad from my pocket and started going through the folders. I wrote down all four of the men’s names along with their addresses, employment information and general description. I flipped the notepad shut and returned it to my pocket.
“Thanks, Dean,” I said. “If this turns into anything, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.”
“Watch your back,” Dean said.
I had intended to drive straight back to the office and pick up Gloria before I started checking out these four names, but one of the men on this list lived between the twelfth precinct and my office. It was on the way, so I swung over to the thirteen hundred block of McCadden Place near Fountain Avenue. The house was one of three similar bungalows situated down a narrow alley. It was the middle house I was looking for. The small front yard was surrounded by a thigh high white picket fence with a gate near the front door. I stepped inside the fence and up one step onto the front cement slab that served as a porch.
I rang the bell and waited. I could hear footsteps inside and after a few seconds the front door opened and I was looking at a medium-height man in his late fifties. He wore a strapped tee shirt, commonly known as a wife beater shirt, dark slacks and no shoes or socks. He looked at me warily.
“Yeah?” he said. “What do you want?” He was holding a can of beer in his right hand. His left hand was scratching his butt.
“Jacob Finley?” I said, looking at my notepad.
“Who wants to know?” he said.
“My name is Elliott Cooper,” I said. “I’m wondering if you’re the same Jacob Finley I’ve been looking for.”
“Why?” the man said, sipping from his beer can.
“I’ve been hired to find one Mr. Finley in regards to an insurance claim.” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “The Finley I’m looking for may have some money coming to him from a deceased relative. It’s only a couple thousand dollars, but I have to be sure I have the right man.”
“I’m the right Jacob Finley,” he said. “You got some money for me?”
“Sir,” I said. “I’ll need to see a sample of your signature to compare with the one I already have. Could you sign your name on this notepad for me, please?”
Finley set his beer on a table just inside his door and took my notepad and pen from my hand and signed his name with his right hand, and handed it back to me. I looked at his signature and then flipped my notepad back to the page where I had written his name down in Dean’s office. I looked back up at the man. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Finley, but the signatures don’t match. You’re not the man I’m looking for. Good day, sir.”
Before Finley could argue the point, I turned and stepped off his porch and walked back toward my car on McCadden Place. Once back in my car, I crossed Finley’s name off my list and checked the next name and accompanying address. It was a house near Lockwood and Vermont so I decided to stop by the office first and pick up Gloria. She might come in handy if it came to getting information from a reluctant man.
I stepped off the elevator and hurried down the hall to my office. Gloria was on the phone when I walked in. She talked a lot quieter when she saw me. I waited until she’d finished before speaking.
“Dean gave me a list with four names and addresses on it,” I said. “I have four men here who have records for impersonating an officer. It’s possible our guy might be one of these men. Can we close this place up for a while? I’d
like you to come with me on these last three.”
“What happened to the forth guy?” Gloria said.
“It was on the way here,” I said, “So I already stopped there and he’s right handed and kind of old. He’s not the guy we’re looking for.”
“Sure,” Gloria said. “Just let me grab my jacket.”
“Who was on the phone just now when I walked in?” I said. “Another client?”
“No,” Gloria said. “I just called Clay to see how he’s doing.”
“And how’s Dad doing?” I said.
“He was resting,” Gloria said. “Mrs. Chandler made him some chicken dumpling soup and he was watching television.”
“That’s good,” I said. “He can use the peace and quiet. Poor guy. I hope he’s learned his lesson and doesn’t do anymore of whatever he was doing when he had this last heart attack.”
Gloria said nothing, but just switched on the answering machine, grabbed her jacket and headed for the door behind me. I followed and locked up the office. Back in my car, I handed her my notepad and told her to read off the next name and address.
“Mark Fuller,” she said, reading from the pad. “4447 Lockwood Avenue. That would make it on Lockwood mid-way between Vermont and Madison.” Gloria looked out her window. “Turn right on Western Avenue and take it down to Santa Monica. Then go east to Vermont and south two blocks to Lockwood and then turn left.”
“See?” I said. “Who needs a GPS when I have you sitting next to me?”
“I was born here, remember?” Gloria said. “And for almost six months before I decided to join dad in his investigations business, I drove a cab. I know this town like the back of my neck.”
“Hand,” I said.
“Huh?” Gloria said.
“You said like the back of your neck,” I told her.
“And that’s what I meant,” she said. “I can see the back of my hand. I can’t see the back of my neck. That’s how well I know this town.”
“Oh,” I said.
I drove east on Hollywood Boulevard, keeping my eye on the traffic. Gloria slipped my notepad above the passenger side visor and turned to me.
“So you struck out with the first guy on your list, eh?” she said. “What kind of excuse did you use to talk to him?”
“The old insurance benefit story,” I said. “When he thought he might be getting a check for three thousand dollars, he was cooperative as all get out.”
“Works for me,” Gloria said. “Can I be the insurance agent this time?”
“Sure, why not?” I said. “I’ll be your supervisor, you know, the guy with the check.”
“You like this role playing part, don’t you?” Gloria said.
“It’s as close as I’ll ever come to being an actor,” I told her. “And I don’t have to give my agent ten per cent, either.”
“I’ve got a role you can play,” Gloria said, eyeing me up and down and smiling wryly.
“I’ll bet you have,” I said. “But for now, suppose we concentrate on the suspect.”
“Turn here,” Gloria said as we approached Lockwood Avenue. She retrieved the notepad from above the visor and slipped it into her pocket.
The house was a small, blue, cottage-type affair with a short cyclone fence around the yard. The gate opened out onto the alley, which is where I parked the car. The sidewalk led up to the front door, without any steps or stoop. Gloria pressed the doorbell button but didn’t hear anything ringing inside. She pulled open the screen door and knocked on the inside door and waited.
The front door opened and a woman, perhaps forty greeted us. “Yes,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mark Fuller,” Gloria said, checking her notes.
“I’m Mrs. Fuller,” the woman said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Gloria said. “I need to speak to Mark. Is he here?”
The woman looked puzzled. “Mark is still at work,” she explained. “He won’t be home until five or five-thirty. What is this all about?”
I stepped up next to Gloria. “Ma’am,” I said. “We are representatives of the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company out of Omaha. We’re looking for a Mark Fuller that may have a substantial amount of money coming to him from a deceased relative, but we have to be certain that we have the right Mark Fuller. Could we ask you just a couple of questions to determine if he is, indeed the man we are looking for?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Fuller said. “Won’t you come in?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Fuller,” Gloria said. “We won’t be here that long. Just two questions and we’ll be on our way. First of all, can you tell us what line of work Mark is in?”
“He works in a machine shop downtown,” Mrs. Fuller said.
I pretended to make a note of that on my notepad.
“And second,” Gloria said, “Can you tell me if Mark is right-handed or left-handed?”
Without hesitating, Mrs. Fuller said, “He’s right-handed.”
Gloria closed her notepad and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Fuller, but the man we’re looking for is left-handed. You have a good day now.”
The poor woman looked as though she’d just lost her last friend as we stepped away from her door and walked back to my car. When we got back into the car, Gloria turned to me and said, “Did you see the look on her face when she realized that she and her Mark wouldn’t be getting any check?”
“Two down and two to go,” I said. “Read off the next name, will you?”
“Frank Stouffer,” Gloria said. “823 North Coronado Street. That would be in the Silver Lake District.”
I headed east as Gloria checked her street map for a cross street. A moment later she found it.
“Between Kent and Marathon,” Gloria said. “Closer to Kent, so hang a left up here at the corner. Keep going until I tell you to turn.”
Ten minutes later we found ourselves in front of a pink stucco apartment building with a cast-iron fence around the yard. Even the driveway was closed off by an iron gate, similar to the one that opened onto the sidewalk just outside the front door. The building housed four apartments, two with doors that opened onto Coronado Street and two that opened behind the building. 823 was in the front. Gloria and I stepped inside the yard and started to walk up to the house when the front door opened and a large man stepped out onto his stoop.
“No salesmen,” he said, pointing to a sign in his front yard. “Can’t you two read?”
“Mr. Stouffer?” Gloria said in her sweet voice. “We’re not selling anything. We’re from the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company out of Omaha.”
“I don’t need any insurance,” Stouffer said, “So beat it.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “We’re not here to sell you any insurance, either. We just want to…”
Stouffer wasn’t having any of it and wouldn’t give us a chance to use our phony lines on him. He started coming toward us and I had to think fast. I pulled a piece of paper from inside my jacket that I had folded twice the long way and held it in front of me.
“I have a check here made out to Frank Stouffer,” I said quickly. “It’s made out in the amount of three thousand dollars. It’s from a death benefit from one of your deceased relatives.”
Stouffer stopped dead in his tracks. “You have a check for me?” he said. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Gloria said. “One of your relatives died and we were sent to find you and deliver the check. The only thing is that we have to verify that you are who you say you are. You understand, I’m sure.”
Stouffer let out his breath and motioned to us. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s have a look at this check.”
I held one hand up, palm facing Stouffer and paused. “First we have to be sure that you are the right Frank Stouffer,” I said. “I just need to see a sample of your signature to compare it with the one we have on record. That’s all we need from you before we hand over the check and be on our way.”
“That’s it?” Stouffer said.
“That’s it.” I said. “Now, can I have you sign your name here so we can compare the signatures, please?” I held the piece of paper and my pen out in front of me. Stouffer took the paper in his right hand and grabbed my pen with his left hand. I turned around and let him use my shoulder to write on. When he finished signing his name, he handed the paper and pen back to me and waited anxiously for the results.
Gloria and I looked at his signature and then compared it with his name in my notepad. We looked at each other and shook our heads before looking back at Frank Stouffer.
“One last question, Mr. Stouffer,” Gloria said. “Can you give me the name of your aunt in Lincoln, Nebraska?”
Stouffer thought for a moment, knowing full well that he was not the right man and then said, “Mathilda Conrad.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stouffer,” I said. “It would appear that you are not the right Frank Stouffer. The one we’re looking for had an aunt named Gertrude Hoffmeister. But thanks for talking to us, sir. You have a good day now.”
We turned and left Frank Stouffer standing there with his mouth hanging open. We both hurried back to my car and drove two blocks before I pulled over and killed the engine.
“It might be him,” I said.
“He was left-handed,” Gloria said. “And his temperament is not what I’d call stable, either. What do we do now?”
I opened the notepad again and wrote down a few items regarding Mr. Stouffer. I closed the notepad and handed it back to Gloria. “So far, he’s our number one suspect,” I told Gloria. “Let’s just check out the last guy on the list so I can tell Dean that we looked into all four of the names.”
The last name on the list turned out to be a fellow named Irvin Joslyn from Pasadena. We crossed him off the list after a brief glimpse of the man in the wheelchair. He told us that he’d been run down in a busy intersection more than five months ago. He couldn’t have been in an alley gunning down Gordon Reese two months ago. That left Frank Stouffer as our prime suspect.
“What do we do now?” Gloria said. “Didn’t you promise Dean that you’d let him know if you found out anything?”