by Bill Bernico
“Make sure no one gets near it until I get there,” Eric said.
“Will do,” I told him and hung up. Bud was looking at me. “You heard?” I said.
Bud nodded. “You’d better get down there and protect the crime scene,” he said.
“You wanna stay here with Daisy?” I said.
“How about if I bring her down with me?” Bud said. “Maybe she can find a trail leading away from the dumpster.”
“Come on,” I said. “We have to get back down there right away.”
The three of us hurried down the hail and rode the elevator to the lobby. I led Bud and Daisy out the back door and into the parking lot just as the large green garbage truck hooked its forks into the side handles on the dumpster. They had already raised the dumpster three of four feet when I waved the driver off. I whistled a shrill whistle and crossed my arms over my head, waving them until I got the driver’s attention. He stopped raising the dumpster and I hurried to his window.
“Put it down,” I said.
The driver’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” he said.
“Because it’s a crime scene,” I said, holding up my shield and I.D.
He set the dumpster down again and killed his engine, hopping out of the truck. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“There’s a dead body in the dumpster,” I said. “The police are on their way, so just sit tight. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you.”
“For what?” the driver said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Just have a little patience,” I said. “The police will have you on your way in no time.”
The driver grumbled under his breath as he returned to his cab and slammed the door. Eric’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot a minute later, followed by Andy Reynolds in the coroner’s wagon. Eric walked over to the dumpster, waited for Andy and then raised the lid. The jostling from the garbage truck exposed more of the body and Eric studied the man’s face for a few moments and then turned to Andy Reynolds.
“Unless I’m mistaken,” Eric said, “That’s Elmer Whittaker in there.”
“You know him,” Andy said, turning to Eric.
“Vagrant,” Eric said. “A well-known vagrant. Looks like he finally hit rock bottom.”
“Rock Bottom,” I said. Sounds like the screen name for some sixties movie star.”
“Very funny, Cooper,” Eric said. “The poor guy probably crawled in there last night to try to keep warm. It was pretty cold here last night. I think once you examine him you’ll probably find that he died from exposure to the elements.”
“You want me to do an autopsy on this guy?” Andy said.
“Probably not worth the expense to the taxpayers,” Eric said. “Just box him up and we’ll see that he gets buried.”
“You got it,” Andy said, motioning to his attendants, who pulled Elmer Whittaker’s body from the dumpster and laid it out on the gurney. They zipped up the body bag and wheeled it back to the coroner’s wagon where they waited for Andy to join them.
After Andy had driven away with the body, Eric turned back to me and said, “You always go scrounging through the dumpsters, Elliott?”
I shook my head. “Nope, I was tossing Daisy’s morning package in there when I spotted his hand sticking out.”
“Daisy’s morning package?” Eric said. “What is that, some kind of code?”
I lifted the lid and pointed to the plastic bag with two pounds of dog crap in it. “Oh,” Eric said and then turned to Bud, who was holding onto Daisy’s leash. “Uh, Bud, if you’re walking the dog, how come Elliott has to dispose of the goods?”
Bud quickly handed me the leash. “Because Elliott was the one walking her this morning,” he said. “He doesn’t trust that job to just anyone, you know.”
Eric laughed and shook his head as he walked back to his black and white patrol car. “You guys are a real scream,” he said, mostly to himself.
“You know, Bud,” I said, “Seeing you with that leash just looks so natural. I think I could trust you with that job.”
Bud quickly handed the leash back to me. “No thanks,” he said. “I’m trying to cut back on the amount of dog crap that I pick up these days. The doctor says it’s bad for my mental health, not to mention the physical pain that comes with the dry heaves.” Bud looked back just once before returning to the elevator.
By the time I got there, he was already on his way up to the third floor. I looked down at Daisy and patted her head. “Don’t worry, girl,” I said. “You still got me.” Daisy wagged her tail and panted.
Later that afternoon I got a call from Lieutenant Anderson regarding the body of the old man found in our dumpster. “Elliott,” Eric said. “Are you at all curious about the old man from this morning?”
“Why?” I said. “Did he turn out to be someone famous or wealthy?”
“Neither,” Eric said.
“Then I’m not sure that I am interested,” I said.
“That’s fine, too,” Eric said. “I just thought you’d like to know that Elmer Whittaker didn’t die from exposure.”
“Okay,” I said, “So his arteries hardened overnight and he just plain expired. I don’t mean to sound callous, but is there an interesting part coming up in this story of yours?”
“Oh, just a little thing called murder,” Eric said. “But, if you’re not interested, well.”
“All right,” I said. “You got my attention. Now I need details.”
“Thought you might,” Eric said. “Andy wasn’t originally going to do an autopsy on Elmer, but once he got the body on his table and got it undressed, he started to wash it down and found a puncture wound inside the ear. It was about the size wound an ice pick would make. Elmer’s last moments were not peaceful.”
“Any idea who did it or why?” I said.
“Not at this time,” Eric said. “Guys like this don’t exactly get top priority on our to-do list around here. The captain’s got seven other cases that he wants me on, so I was thinking that this might be something you’d like to tackle. There’s not much money in it, but I know how sporadic your business can be and sometimes having something to do is worth the lower pay check. Want to see what you can find on this one?”
I looked over at Bud, who was playing solitaire on his computer and I had to admit that neither of us had anything pressing that we had to attend to. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll take it. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you in the morgue. Can you dig up everything you have on Mr. Whittaker from your records department? It may give me some place to start with this one.”
“I’ll call up there now,” Eric said. “You can pick up the printout in my office.”
“That’s me you hear knocking,” I said and hung up the phone. I turned to Bud and said, “I have to go out for a while. Can you hang out with Daisy until I get back?”
“How about if we come along?” Bud said. “I still haven’t talked to you about that idea I wanted to run by you.”
“Come on,” I said. “We can talk on the way there.”
“On the way where?” Bud said.
“Didn’t I mention?” I said. “Eric has some work for me on that old man I found in the dumpster. Turns out he was murdered and he wants me to look into it for him.”
Bud rubbed his hands together like a fly tasting spilled sugar. “Great,” he said. “Something we can sink our teeth into.”
“What’s the matter?” I said. “Solitaire not doing it for you anymore?”
“Well,” Bud said, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I came out of retirement to join you. I had this strange idea that private investigations were at least as interesting as police work. I guess not.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “It all depends on where the trail leads us.”
Bud and I met Eric in the morgue. I left Daisy in the van. Andy Reynolds had the old man’s body laid out on the autopsy table but he hadn’t yet made the Y incision down the length of Whittaker’s body.
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nbsp; Eric motioned us over. “Take a look at what Andy found,” Eric said, pointing to the old man’s right ear.
I looked into the ear and could almost make out the tiny puncture wound. If I hadn’t been specifically looking for it, I’d have missed it altogether. I looked at Andy. “How’d you ever spot that?” I said.
“I was just starting to wash the body down,” Andy said, “when I saw the slightest little trickle of blood inside the ear and decided to take a closer look. This was almost a professional job. A real pro wouldn’t have even left this much of a trace behind.”
“But why?” I said. “Obviously this old man didn’t have anything anyone could want. I can’t imagine robbery being the motive.”
“I never said this was going to be easy,” Eric said. “You’ll be earning your fifty bucks a day on this one.”
“You’re just lucky I didn’t already have a real case of my own,” I said. “I’d have been making two hundred bucks a day on my own.”
“Well,” Eric said, “It’ll keep you in dog food and plastic bags for a while.”
“Funny,” I said.
Bud pointed to the old man’s hands. “Did you check under the nails for anything?”
Andy exchanged glances with Eric and then looked at Bud. “Anything like what?” he said. “All you’ll probably find under those nails is dirt and grime. He had enough of it on the rest of his body, but, okay, if it’ll satisfy your curiosity, I’ll give it a look.”
Andy reached onto his table of instruments and picked up a thin, stainless steel probe, like the one the dentist scrapes your teeth with. He ran the edge of the instrument under Whittaker’s nail and spread the result on a glass slide, slipping it into place under the microscope on another table. He pressed his eye to the eyepiece and focused before looking back up at Bud. “Just as I suspected,” Andy said. “Dirt, and lots of it, but nothing else.”
“So we’ll have to go another route then,” Bud said and then turned to me with a question on his face.
I turned to Eric. “Did you get Whittaker’s records printed out for me?” I said.
Eric handed me the short stack of papers he’d been holding. “This is everything, Elliott. I don’t know what you expect to find, but if it’s not in there, then I don’t know what else I can do for you.”
“Thanks, Eric,” I said and motioned to Bud. “You ready to earn your pocket change, partner?”
Bud extended his hand out toward the door. “After you, boss,” he said. We left the morgue and walked back out to my van. Daisy walked one quick circle in the cargo area and lay back down again while Bud and I slid into the front seats. Bud reached out for the records and I started the van. Before we left, Bud took a quick look at the top sheet and made a mental note of a name and address near the top. “How about we start with this guy?” he said, showing me the information. “Just take a left at…”
“I know how to get there,” I said. “This is my town, too, you know.”
Bud laid the stack of papers on his lap and raised both palms. “Sorry,” he said. “You just drive and make believe I’m not even here.”
I turned left on Gower and drove south for a few minutes. I turned east on Fountain and immediately heard Bud clear his throat, but he still kept any comments to himself. Fountain dead-ended at Bronson and I just sat there at the intersection trying to remember how to get to the address on the sheet in Bud’s hand. I sighed and said, “Okay, so I forgot how to get there. Suppose you tell me.”
“But this is your town,” Bud said chuckling to himself. When he realized that I didn’t see the humor in the situation, he cleared his throat and looked at the address again. “You’d have been on track if you had turned west on Fountain instead of east. The address you’re looking for is between Gower and Vine.”
“Thank you,” I said in my best professional voice and pulled into the first driveway I came to. I turned around and headed west on Fountain. A block past Gower I found the address we were looking for on Lodi Place. It was a small Spanish style house with new brickwork construction going on in the front area. I parked at the curb and Bud and I got out to talk to the home owner, who seemed to be overseeing the brickwork. I looked behind me in the van and told Daisy to lie down and that we’d be right back. She seemed to understand what I had told her.
I walked up to the man, extended my hand and said, “Elliott Cooper and this is Bud Burke. Would you be Tom Parker?”
The man didn’t shake my hand, but instead hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “The guy in the white shirt and tie,” he said and walked away without further comment.
“Thanks,” I said, and approached the man in the white shirt and tie. “Tom Parker?” I said.
The man nodded. “I’m Parker,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Elliott Cooper,” I said. “And this is my partner, Bud Burke.”
“Well,” Parker said, “Whatever you two are selling, I don’t want it. I already have enough on my plate with this new driveway, so if you’ll excuse me.”
I held up my I.D. and shield. “Mr. Parker,” I said, “We’re not selling anything. We’re looking into the death of Elmer Whittaker and I understand you were his parole officer.”
Parker’s face softened. “Whittaker’s dead?” he said.
“I’m afraid so,” I told him.
“Hey look,” Parker said, “I’m sorry I was so short with you, but as you can see, it’s chaos around here.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “Can you tell me a little about Elmer Whittaker? What was he in for? How long has he been out? That sort of thing. Anything you can tell us may help us find his killer.”
Parker scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Let me think,” he said. “My caseload is so full right now I can’t keep these guys straight. Whittaker, you say. Yes, I recall. He drew three years for repeated shoplifting. He got out after eighteen months and that was six or seven weeks ago.”
“What’s he been up to since then?” Bud said. “Did he have a job?”
“Several,” Parker said. “He couldn’t seem to hold on to any one job for more than a week or ten days. He just didn’t want to work. Tell me, where did they find him?”
“I found him,” I said, “In a dumpster behind my building.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Parker said. “But you mentioned something about murder.”
“That’s right,” I said. “The medical examiner confirmed it this morning.”
“How did he die?” Parker said.
“Ice pick in the ear,” Bud said. “Almost a professional job, but not quite. The killer left a drop of blood behind or they’d have never caught it.”
“So what do you want from me?” Parker said.
“Can you tell us who he hung around with?” I said. “Can you tell us the names of those places he worked? We need to talk to anyone he knew.”
Parker thought for a moment. “Why are the police giving so much attention to this particular murder?” he said. “I mean, Elmer wasn’t anyone famous or important. What do they expect to find?”
“We won’t know until we talk to those people,” I said. “So if you could…”
“Of course,” Parker said, and rattled off a couple names of guys he was known to hang around with. We also got the names of the places he had worked. I thanked Parker for his time. “One last thing,” I said, “And stop me if you’ve heard this before, but when was the last time you saw Elvis?”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t… Oh, I get it,” he said. “My name—Tom Parker. No, I’m no relation to Colonel Tom Parker, if that’s where you’re going with this.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t resist. You probably get that a lot.”
“I did up until 1977 when Elvis died,” Parker said.
“You mean he really is dead?” Bud said. “Damn, I was hoping he was just in hiding, planning a spectacular comeback.”
“No such luck,” Parker said. “Now, if you two will excuse me,
I have a lot of work to do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” I said and walked with Bud back to the van.
I slid beneath the steering wheel and started the engine. Before I drove off I looked at Bud. “You weren’t really serious about thinking Elvis might still be out there somewhere, were you?”
Bud didn’t answer, but just gave me a wry smile and winked instead.
“So where’s our next stop on that list?” I said.
Bud checked the printout. “At the corner,” he said, gesturing with his hand, hang a right and go up to Selma Avenue.”
“What’s there?” I said.
“That was Whittaker’s last known address,” Bud explained. “You never know. Someone there may know something.”
“You think Whittaker was still living there?” I said. “And if so, why did he look like he’d been living on the streets for a few weeks?”
“We’re about to find out,” Bud said.
I pulled up to the curb at the corner of El Centro and Selma. Whittaker’s address was the first house around the corner on Selma. “This can’t be right,” I said. “There’s nothing on this corner except two parking lots, a parking garage and a restaurant. Did Parker ever check up on Whittaker? I guess you can cross that one off the list. What’s next?”
“Highland, just north of the boulevard,” Bud said. “It’s apparently an apartment building on Yucca.”
I drove north to Hollywood Boulevard and then west to Highland Avenue. Yucca was just a block north of there. I pulled to the curb across the street from the apartment building. “What’s supposed to be here?” I said.
Bud checked his notes again and said, “Whittaker’s ex-wife lives here on the second floor. Let’s go pay her a visit.”
As I started to get out of the van Daisy barked just one short bark to remind me that she was still there waiting for me. “We’ll be right back, girl,” I said. “Just keep an eye on the van.”
Bud and I climbed the stairs and found the apartment one door from the stairwell. I knocked and waited. I didn’t hear anyone on the other side. Bud leaned in and gave the door a more solid knock. The force of his knuckles made the door swing open. He looked inside and called, “Hello. Is anyone home?” There was no answer.