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

by Bill Bernico

  The door to Gloria’s room opened and the nurse peeked in again. “Let’s go, Mr. Cooper,” she said, as I looked her way. “You’re going to wear her out and you don’t want that, now do you?”

  I turned back to Gloria and said softly, “I have to go now. I’ll be back tomorrow. Get some rest now.”

  Gloria gave me a wink and an nod and then turned toward Olivia. I left the hospital and drove back to the office. When I got to my floor I could see someone standing at the end of the hall in front of my office door. He was holding a package. When I got closer, I realized that it was Bud.

  “Gees,” Bud said, “I thought this was a new way of telling me I didn’t work here anymore. Where’d you go?”

  I plucked my ring of keys from my jacket pocket and held up the key to my office. “That’s right,” I said. “I forgot to give you a key to the office. Here you go.” I pulled the extra office key off the ring and handed it to him. I unlocked the door and held it open for Bud. “Go on in, I’ll explain it all to you but right now I’ve got to sit down.”

  “That terrific,” Bud said upon hearing my explanation. “So you’re a father now, eh?”

  “I’ve been a father for seven years,” I explained. “My son, Matt is home with his sitter. Gloria and I just had a daughter.”

  “So where’s my cigar?” Bud said. “Isn’t that customary in this situation?”

  “I’ll have to pick up a box,” I said. “I know the rest of my friends will be asking the same thing.” I looked at the package in his hands. “Are those the upgrades?”

  Bud set the package on Gloria’s desk. “Screw the upgrades,” he said. “I want to hear more about your brand new daughter. Come on give. Length, weight, eyes, hair, name, the works.”

  I gave him as many stats as I could remember and finished it off by telling him the name we’d chosen.

  “Olivia,” Bud said. “That’s beautiful. Let me guess. You said you were an old movie buff. Could it be you chose the name because of Olivia deHavilland from Gone With The Wind?”

  “See,” I said, “you’re not totally ignorant of classic films. Do you know which character Olivia deHavilland played in the movie?”

  Bud thought for a moment. “Melanie something-or-other, wasn’t it?” he said. “I don’t get into all the little details like some folks, but I do remember that much and that it came out in 1939.”

  “January of 1940, actually,” I said. “They filmed it in 1939 but didn’t release it until the following January. It’s one of my favorite films, too, but no, that’s not where I got my daughter’s name. Shortly before you were born there was a remake of Romeo and Juliet with Olivia Hussey as Juliet. That’s where I got the name.”

  “Before I was born?” Bud said. “Then it would had to have come out long before you were born.”

  “Reruns,” I said, “but enough of all that. We’ve got things to do.”

  “Oh yeah,” Bud said. “While I was out getting these computer parts, I stopped and filled out an application for a P.I. license. They told me I could have it in a week or so, depending on the speed of the mail.”

  “Great,” I said. “Looks like we’ll be up to speed in no time. Now if we can just get caught up on our client database I’ll be one happy camper.”

  “And that’s on your computers?” Bud said. “Don’t tell me you two have been entering them one at a time by hand.”

  “How else could we get all that information in?” I said. “I know it’s tedious, time-consuming work, but once they’re all in, it’s just a matter of keeping current with the new cases.”

  “Ten years ago that might have been the case,” Bud said. “But these days you can just scan all your documents in and the computer will sort and store them for you. Piece of cake. I can set that up another time if you like.”

  “I’ll give that some thought,” I told Bud. “But you know, it just occurred to me that you may have your P.I. license any day now and if you expect to talk to Mr. Sanders about his daughter’s activities, you’ll have to do it before your license arrives. Make that a priority right after you’re done upgrading the computers, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Elliott,” Bud said and got right to work on Gloria’s computer.

  The phone on my desk rang just then. “Cooper Investigations,” I said. “This is Elliott Cooper.”

  “Elliott, it’s Eric,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “What is it, Eric?” I said. “You sound so somber.”

  “I just had a homicide case dumped in my lap,” Eric said. “I thought I’d better start on it by calling you.”

  “Me?” I said. “Why me?”

  “Because when they found the victim, she had one of your business cards in her purse,” Eric said.

  “I give out an awful lot of cards,” I said. “Can you give me a hint, like her first and last name?”

  “Her license says Bonnie Sanders,” Eric explained. “She’s not even twenty years old yet. Cute little thing, or at least she was.”

  “Are you in your office?” I said.

  Eric said he was.

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” I said and hung up. I turned to Bud. “Could you just watch the phone as long as you’re here? I have to go out for a little while.”

  Bud laid down his screwdriver. “Sure, Elliott,” he said. “I didn’t hear much, but what I did hear sounded serious.”

  “My latest client turned up dead,” I said. “I have to go down to the twelfth precinct and talk to Lieutenant Anderson about it.”

  “Eric?” Bud said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You know him?”

  “We were both lieutenants when I retired,” Bud said. “We went to a couple of seminars together.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Eric did mention that. Listen, I gotta get movin’. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Go,” Bud said. “I can handle it here.”

  I made it to the twelfth precinct in record time and found Eric standing in the hallway talking to another officer. They finished their conversation just as I approached and the other cop walked away. “What do you have?” I said.

  “Come with me,” Eric said. “The Sanders girl is with Andy already.”

  Andy was Andy Reynolds, the county medical examiner, who had his office and the morgue down at the end of one of the other hallways in the precinct building. He was standing over a table dictating into an overhead microphone as we approached. He stopped dictating when we stepped up alongside him.

  “Pretty brutal,” Andy said, gesturing toward the body with his chin.

  “Do you have the cause of death yet?” Eric said.

  Andy pointed to a puncture wound just below Bonnie’s left breast. “Just one stab right into the heart,” he said. “But before she died she must have gone through a dozen kinds of hell. Look at her face.”

  Bonnie Sanders’ face was beat to a bloody pulp. Her nose had almost been knocked off her face and her eyes were almost swollen shut. She had several laceration across her forehead and her hair was matted in blood.

  Andy lifted Bonnie’s right hand and held it out for us to see. “She must have scratched whoever did this to her and that must have just made him madder,” Andy said. “I can scrape under her nails and have it analyzed but getting DNA results could take a week or more.”

  “That long?” Eric said.

  “Everybody says that when I tell them how long it takes,” Andy said. “It’s not like on CSI where they get the results within the hour. That’s just television. But once we get the results it shouldn’t be hard to pick the guy up.”

  “It might just be a wild guess,” I said, “but I’d start by checking out Greg Mulligan, the boyfriend.”

  Eric turned to me. “What makes you say that, Elliott?” he said.

  “I don’t suppose client confidentiality still holds when the client is dead, does it?” I said.

  Eric shook his head. “No, it doesn’t,” he said. “If you know something about
this, I wanna hear about it right now.”

  “Let’s go back to your office,” I said. “I can fill you in on the whole ball of wax.” I turned to Andy. “Nothing personal,” I said.

  Andy waved me off. “Go,” he said, “I understand about these things.”

  Eric and I walked back to his office and he closed the door. I filled him in on my relationship with Bonnie Sanders from the time she’d walked into my office until she let me know that she no longer needed my services. I left out the part about going through Greg’s desk when he wasn’t home.

  “So what makes you think the boyfriend would have anything to do with her death?” Eric said.

  I hesitated, wondering what the consequences would be if I told Eric what I’d done.

  “Come on, Elliott,” Eric said. “You know something. Spill it.”

  “It may just be a theory,” I said. “I don’t have any solid proof to back it up.”

  “I still want to hear it,” Eric said.

  “All right,” I said. “I think that Bonnie and her boyfriend were pulling a fast one on her father, trying to get some fast cash.”

  “Wait a minute,” Eric said. “Sanders. Are you telling me this Sanders girl is related to Warren Sanders of Sanders Industries?”

  “She’s his daughter,” I said.

  Eric whistled. “Why would his daughter need to scam him for money? He’s got to be worth two hundred million, easy. You can bet the daughter’s weekly allowance is more than either of us see in a year.”

  “I just got that impression of the boyfriend from everything Bonnie told me about him,” I said. “And from what I found on my own when I went looking for him.”

  Eric swiveled his chair around to face his computer. “Give me the boyfriend’s name again, Elliott,” he said.

  I gave him the name and he typed it into the computer. A few seconds later Greg Mulligan’s face appeared on the screen, along with a list of prior offenses that scrolled off the bottom of the screen. “He’s been a busy boy,” Eric said. “Look at this, he’s twenty seven. What’s he doing with a nineteen-year-old?” Right after he said it, Eric realized how dumb that sounded. “Never mind. He had two hundred million reasons to want to get close to her.”

  “I think you might want to have a talk with Warren Sanders,” I said. “You’re going to have to tell him about his daughter anyway.”

  “How’d you like to come along with me?” Eric said. “He’ll probably want to know about your connection to all this as well.”

  I stood, gestured toward Eric’s door and said, “I’ll be right behind you.”

  We drove to Sanders Industries in Culver City and parked in a spot marked, ‘Reserved’. Once inside we were facing a large, semi-circular reception desk trimmed with lots of glass. We approached the receptionist and Eric said to the woman, “I need to speak to Mr. Sanders.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked in her professional voice.

  Eric produced his badge and I.D. and held it in front of the woman’s face. “It’s really important that I see him right away,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and picked up her phone. “Mr. Sanders,” she said. “There are two policemen here to see you. Yes, sir. “I’ll tell them.” She hung up the phone and turned to Eric. “Won’t you have a seat, please? Mr. Sanders will be right with you.”

  Eric thanked the woman and decided not to sit. We both milled around in the lobby until the elevator doors opened and a man in a pinstriped suit emerged and walked straight toward us.

  “I’m Warren Sanders,” the man said. “What’s this all about?”

  Eric kept his voice low. “Is there someplace we could talk, sir,” he said. “Someplace private?”

  Warren Sanders looked us both over for a moment and offered, “Follow me, please.” He led us to a conference room and closed the door behind him. “Now, suppose you tell me what’s so important.”

  Eric held up Bonnie Sanders’ driver’s license. “Mr. Sanders,” he said, “Is this your daughter?”

  Sanders took the license from Eric and then pulled a pair of glasses from his suit pocket and slipped them on. He looked at the license and then back at Eric. “Did she get another speeding ticket?” Sanders said.

  “I’m afraid it’s more serious this time,” Eric told him.

  “Was she in an accident?” Sanders said. “Is she hurt?”

  “Mr. Sanders,” Eric said. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter is dead.”

  Warren Sanders fell silent for a moment, staring off into space. He took a deep breath and then said, “Car accident?”

  Eric shook his head slowly. “It looks like murder, Mr. Sanders,” he said. “I’m going to need you to come down to the medical examiner’s office and make a formal identification for us. I can drive you there if you like.”

  Sanders just nodded and pursed his lips. “Let’s go,” he said. “I want to see her.”

  We walked back out into the reception area and Sanders stopped at the front desk for a moment. “Miss Turner,” he said. “Hold all my calls and cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I have to go out for a while.”

  “Yes sir,” Miss Turner said.

  Eric turned to me. “Elliott,” he said, “Would you walk Mr. Sanders out to my car? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “Sure, Eric,” I said and then turned to Warren Sanders. “Right this way, Mr. Sanders.”

  Eric waited until I had walked Sanders out of the building before he opened his cell phone and dialed the medical examiner’s office. “Andy,” Eric said, “It’s Lieutenant Anderson. “I’ll be bringing Bonnie Sanders’ father down for the formal identification. I just wanted to give you a heads up so she’s not lying there all opened up when he walks in.”

  “Don’t worry,” Andy said. “I haven’t even started the autopsy yet. I’ll wait until he’s gone. I’ll just clean up her face a bit so it’s not such a shock for him.”

  “Thanks, Andy,” Eric said. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  Eric and I walked Warren Sanders down the hall to the morgue. He paused outside the double doors and looked at Eric. He took a deep breath and then pushed the doors open.

  “Andy,” Eric said, “This is Mr. Sanders. He’s here to make the formal identification.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Sanders,” Andy said. “Please follow me.” Andy lead Sanders to the wall of drawers and slid one out. A body under a sheet lay there silent. Andy pulled the sheet back off the face and stepped back to give Sanders some privacy.

  Sanders looked down on the face of the young girl, bit his lip and turned away. He looked at Andy and nodded. “That’s Bonnie,” he said and then turned to Eric. “How did this happen? Do you know who did this?”

  Eric walked Sanders away from Bonnie’s body. “We’re working on it, Mr. Sanders,” he said. “There’s not a lot to go on yet.”

  I stepped up to where Eric and Sanders were talking. “Mr. Sanders,” I said. “Have you had any requests recently from your daughter?”

  “Requests?” Sanders said. “Requests for what?”

  “Money,” I said. “Has Bonnie asked you for a large sum of money?”

  “For what?” he said.

  “Ransom?” I said.

  “Ransom for whom?” Sanders said.

  “Maybe for her boyfriend,” I said. “A guy named Greg Mulligan.”

  Sanders looked at Eric. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Yes, what are you talking about, Elliott?” Eric said.

  “I started to tell you earlier,” I said, but we got off track and I never got to finish.”

  “By all means, finish now,” Eric said.

  “I, uh, came across more than a hundred grand,” I said, “When I was looking into Bonnie’s missing boyfriend, Greg. It was all in freshly wrapped bank bundles and seemed out of place in its context. I just wondered if he and Bonnie might have told someone that Greg had been abducted and needed a ransom s
take to get him back.”

  “That’s what you were trying to tell me?” Eric said.

  Sanders interrupted Eric. “Excuse me,” he said. “I think I’d know if I’d given Bonnie that much cash.”

  “Is there any way she could have withdrawn it from your account without your knowledge, Mr. Sanders?” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” Sanders said. “I suppose it’s possible she could have taken it from my office without my knowledge.”

  “You keep that kind of cash on hand?” Eric said.

  “Lieutenant,” Sanders said, “I run a multi-million dollar company. I keep upwards of a quarter million in cash in my office for special occasions or for those times when the bank may be closed. I make deals every day and some of them can’t wait.”

  “Would Bonnie have access to that cash?” Eric said.

  Sanders thought for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “That would explain a few things.”

  “Like what?” Eric said.

  “Like yesterday,” Sanders said. “She stopped in the office and her purse looked out of place.”

  “Out of place?” Eric said. “What do you mean?”

  “Bonnie wasn’t a big girl,” Sanders explained, “but that purse was bigger than any I’d ever seen her carry.”

  “Looks like she needed the extra room,” I said.

  “But I still don’t understand why,” Sanders said. “She always had enough spending money. And even if she ran short, she knew she could always hit me up for a couple thousand dollars.”

  “That may be,” I said, “But I saw a hundred twenty-five thousand in freshly wrapped bank bundles in her boyfriend’s apartment. Either she gave it to him or he took it from her. Either way, we’ll need to ask Greg Mulligan about it.”

  Eric gave me a sideways glance. I knew I’d have some explaining to do before this was all over.

  Elliott,” Eric said. “I’m going to drive Mr. Sanders back to his office. Follow me in your car and we’ll go pay a visit on Mr. Mulligan.”