by Bill Bernico
“The officer called it in,” Eric said, “And the desk sergeant recognized your name and called me. I went to the scene to see for myself. Well, you can imagine my relief when I looked at the dead man and realized it wasn’t you. First thing I did was call Gloria to see if you were home. She said she hadn’t heard from you since you left the office to go to the drug store. She told me she was getting worried.”
“And I called Bud,” Gloria said. “And told him about Eric’s call. He and his wife, Emily came right over. Emily is still at the house with Matt and Olivia. Bud drove me to the office. We got there just as Eric was pulling up out front.”
“And we found you in the hallway, unconscious,” Bud added. “Thank goodness you’re going to be all right. But who in the hell is that dead guy with your wallet?”
“That has to be the guy who mugged me,” I said.
“Elliott,” Eric said. “I hate to be the one to state the obvious, but it looks like you were the intended victim. Someone had a description of you and probably still thinks they killed you. Can you think of anyone mad enough at you to want you dead?”
“No one comes to mind,” I said. “I wonder who could have given this killer my description.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said. “Someone described you as tall, dark and handsome, no doubt.”
“You mean tall, dark and dead,” I said. “That idiot who took my hat and coat might still be alive if he had stopped at just my watch and wallet. I wonder if the blood stain will come out of that coat. It was almost new. And a bullet hole wouldn’t be hard to patch up, I guess. Couple of bucks ought to do it.”
Gloria gave me a piercing look that told me this was no time for my warped sense of humor. “Never mind,” I said. “Might be better for my image just to leave the bullet hole where it is.” There was a pregnant pause in the conversation before I added, “Well, at least I’ll be out of here tomorrow and back at work.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Gloria said. “You’re staying at home where I can keep an eye on you for the next couple of days anyway. Bud can handle things at the office.” She turned to Bud. “Can’t you?”
“Not a problem,” Bud said and then turned to me. “Just take it easy for a while. No need to hurry back so quickly.”
I held up both palms in resignation. “Okay, okay,” I said. “I know when I’ve been outnumbered.” I turned to Eric. “Do you have the real identity of my mugger yet?”
“Not yet,” Eric said. “It’ll take me until at least tomorrow morning to run his prints through the system. I’ll call you when I know. Maybe a connection will occur to you once you hear the name. Then again, the mugger himself may have no connection to you. He may just have been unlucky enough to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time wearing the wrong clothes.”
I yawned. “Well, if you all don’t mind, I’m going to call it a night,” I said. “Thanks for coming by.”
Eric and Bud said goodnight and left the room. Gloria stayed behind for another minute. She bent down, hugged me and then kissed my neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Elliott,” she said. “I’ll come by for you tomorrow. What time did the doctor say he was going to release you?”
“Around ten-thirty,” I said. “Good night, Gloria.”
“Good night, Elliott,” Gloria said and left the room.
I don’t remember staying awake much longer after that.
I was awakened at seven-thirty the next morning by a nurse with a thermometer in her hand and a stethoscope draped over her neck.
“Good morning, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Like I could have slept another couple of hours,” I said. “What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?”
She laughed. “Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I’m halfway through my day already. You weren’t planning on sleeping your day away, were you?”
“Not anymore,” I said. “Can I get out of here now?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the doctor to sign your release,” the nurse said. “He’ll be along this morning and then we can wheel you out of here. I understand your wife is coming by to pick you up.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I hope she brings the three little ones with her. I sure miss them.”
“Three?” the nurse said. “What are their ages?”
“One, seven and twelve,” I said. “Olivia, Matt and Daisy, although I’m not sure how much longer Daisy is going to be with us.”
“Just visiting?” she said.
“No, she’s one of the family,” I said, “But her kind usually doesn’t live much past twelve or thirteen, I’m afraid.” The nurse gave me an alarmed look. “I’m sorry. I should probably explain that Daisy is our dog.”
The nurse exhaled and smiled a nervous smile, not able to fully appreciate my dry sense of humor. “I’ll have your breakfast sent in right away,” she said and left the room, mumbling something under her breath that I couldn’t make out.
I finished my bowl of oatmeal, two slices of toast, and a small glass of orange juice and finished the meal off with the special glass of chocolate milk I ordered. I didn’t find out until I got the bill a few weeks later that the eight ounce glass of chocolate that was not on the menu showed up as a charge to my final bill as three dollars and seventy-five cents. At that rate, a gallon of chocolate milk would cost me thirty dollars. I’ve heard of markup and profit, but that was ridiculous.
The doctor came to my room at twenty past ten, gave me a cursory examination and declared me fit to be released. Gloria showed up ten minutes later with a fresh change of clothes for me. We got back home shortly after eleven and I immediately called Bud at the office.
“Bud,” I said. “How’s it going there? Any new cases?”
“Nothing yet,” Bud said. “Did Eric call you yet?”
“No,” I said. “What have you heard?”
“I talked to Eric this morning,” Bud said. “They identified your mugger, some guy named Butch Palmer, a long-time loser and criminal with a record as long as your arm.”
“Butch Palmer,” I repeated. “Doesn’t ring any bells. What’s his real name?”
“It’s really Butch Palmer,” Bud said. “They looked up his name in the motor vehicle records and in the birth records, too. His parents really gave him Butch for a first name. I guess they must have been movie buffs who liked Jackie Jenkins.”
“Who?” I said.
“Didn’t you ever see Our Vines Have Tender Grapes?” Bud said. “Or My Brother Talks To Horses?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve seen them both several times. What’s the connection?”
“Remember the little red-haired, freckle-faced kid, Arnold, who went down the river with Margaret O’Brien in that old bath tub in the Grapes movie?”
“Sure,” I said. “That was Butch Jenkins.” Then it dawned on me. “Okay, I get it. The kid’s name was really Jackie Jenkins, wasn’t it?”
“Give that man a Kewpie Doll,” Bud said. “So anyway, like I was saying, Butch Palmer was wearing your hat and coat when someone gave him a .38 massage between his shoulder blades.”
“So, does this mean I should be looking over my shoulder for a while?” I said.
“Just stay home for a couple of days,” Bud said. “Eric told me they already ran the bullet that killed your mugger through ballistics and got a match to some holdup from last month. Eric figures it’ll just be a matter of time before they get this guy.”
“You make it sound so ordinary,” I said.
“Well, you can just thank your lucky stars that you weren’t wearing your .38 on the way home last night,” Bud said, “Or he might have finished you off with it.”
“That’s a big if,” I said.
“And if my grandmother had wheels, she be a tea cart,” Bud said. “And now that I hear it out loud, it sounds really stupid. If my grandmother had wheels, she’d just be an old woman with wheels. I never understood where the tea cart part came in.”
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p; “Who knows?” I said. “But more importantly, who cares? Thanks for brightening my day, Bud, but I think I’ll go lie down and take a nap. Don’t want to overdo it.”
Gloria walked into the room at that moment. “Who was that?” she said.
“Bud,” I told her. “They identified the mugger and should have the ballistics results soon. I’ll certainly be glad when this is all behind me and we can get back to normal around here.”
“Now, Elliott,” she said. “You be nice to Bud. He was nice enough to run the office while you were home. And he had your van brought back home while you were in the hospital.”
“I know,” I said. “I guess I’m just a little restless. I’m not used to sitting idle when there’s work to be done.”
“That’s the whole idea,” Gloria said, “to just sit idle and let your body mend.”
After two days of lying around the house, listening to the sounds of Gloria’s vacuum cleaner, Olivia’s cries for attention and Matt’s squeals of delight as he played with Daisy, I was ready to get back to the office and some relative peace and quiet. Thursday morning I dressed as usual, had breakfast with the family and drove to work.
Bud was sitting behind my desk reading the paper when I walked in. He looked over the top of the paper and said, “Morning, Elliott. You ready to get back to work and take your place among the useful members of society again?”
I hiked a thumb over my shoulder. “Out of my chair,” I barked. “You have your own desk over there.”
“I can take a hint,” Bud said, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm and sidestepping his way out from behind my desk.
“Is that my paper?” I said.
“It will be when I finish it,” Bud said, handing me a short stack of four phone messages. “By the time you return those calls, I’ll be done with the paper and you can have it.”
I hung my old jacket on the coat rack, along with my Dodgers baseball cap and slipped into my shoulder holster. It felt good nestled there under my arm. I felt like I was fully dressed now when I sat in my chair, warm from Bud’s butt. I sighed, dropping the phone message slips in front of me and rubbing the butts of my palms into my eye sockets. Before I returned any calls, I wanted to talk to Eric and see if he had any more news to report.
I got Eric on the second ring. “Anderson,” he said, sounding every bit like a cop.
“Eric,” I said, “It’s Elliott.”
“Elliott,” Eric said. “How’s it going? Did that lump on your head go down yet?”
“I’m back at work,” I told Eric. “Just wondering if you got any further with the mugger killing.”
“Did Bud tell you we matched the bullet to a holdup from last month?” Eric said.
“Yeah,” I said, “he mentioned something about it. Did that match get you any closer to the shooter?”
“Not yet,” Eric said. “The first bullet came out of that clerk in the liquor store holdup. We’re still following leads on that case. Hopefully this latest shooting will give us another piece of the puzzle.”
“You only have the one connection?” I said. “No other cases involving this same gun?”
“Nothing else has surfaced yet,” Eric said. “We’re checking with surrounding departments. We’ll get it on the wire and get it into the nationwide database. I’ll let you know what we find. Meanwhile, this guy’s still out there so watch your back. What about you? Were you able to think of anyone who might want to see you dead?”
“I’m drawing a blank,” I said. “I’m sure I’ve pissed off a few people in my business, but not enough to make them want to come after me.”
“Well you just keep your eyes open and be alert while we look into this,” Eric said.
“Yes, Ma,” I said.
“Just trying to look out for you, Elliott,” Eric said. “Gotta run. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”
I turned to Bud, who was pecking away at his keyboard. “What are you doing this morning?” I said.
“Just trying to broaden my outlook,” Bud said. “It stands to reason that a total stranger wouldn’t try to kill you, so it must have been someone you crossed paths with recently.”
“And that’s why you’re checking the old case files?” I said. “How will you even know if you find the guy?”
“I don’t know,” Bud said. “I guess I’m just hoping something out of the ordinary will jump out at me. Maybe this is all for nothing, but I have to do something. I can’t just sit back and wait for this guy to take another shot at you.”
“What I want to know,” I said, “is who gave this guy my description? I mean, how did he know what I’d be wearing last night? I don’t always wear that same hat and coat.”
“It didn’t have to be anyone who gave the shooter your description,” Bud said. “Maybe he’d been stalking you for a while, just biding his time, waiting for the right moment.”
“Then why didn’t he come after me when the mugger did?” I said. “After all, they found my mugger with a bullet in his back blocks from here, away from my regular route.”
“Maybe it was a crime of opportunity,” Bud said. “Maybe the killer just happened upon your mugger, thinking it was you, and figured now was as good a time as any to let you have it. After all, it was dark and it was deserted at that time of night.”
“There is that,” I said. “I guess it’s no more snap brim hats for me until they catch this guy. And I’ll have to pick a totally different color and style of jacket.”
I picked up my phone message slips. The first one on the pile was from a man named Schnitzler, no first name with a Burbank number. I called that one only to find it was some guy selling aluminum siding. That’s why he didn’t leave a first name or any message. I told him I had a brick house and wouldn’t need his services.
After I hung up Bud looked at me. “You don’t have a brick house,” he said.
“I know that,” I said. “But it was all I could think of to keep a pest like that from ever calling me again with another special offer.”
“Clever,” Bud said and went back to scouring the database.
The second number belonged to a woman wanting me to try to convince her mother to buy herself a gun and carry it with her. I guess she figured the suggestion would carry more weight coming from a private eye. I told her that wasn’t part of what my job entailed but thanked her for thinking of me. I looked back at Bud, waving the pink message slip. “You might want to ask some of these callers what they want,” I said. “Then you could screen them or tell them pretty much what I tell them. Another waste of time.” I crumpled up the message slip and tossed it in my waste can.
“I’ll grill ‘em next time,” Bud assure me.
I looked at the third message slip but before I dialed the number, I turned to Bud and asked what he remembered about this caller. He came over to my desk and took the slip from me, examining it to try to jog his memory. Bud shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, “Nothing’s coming to me.” Then his eyes lit up and he smiled. “I remember now. This guy wanted to know if you were hiring any extra operatives. I told him he’d have to speak to the owner.”
“Maybe I could hire him to screen my calls,” I said, and threw the slip in my waste can. The last message slip had the name Hilda Fredricks across the top and her number below that. I held it up for Bud to see. He shrugged. I decided to find out for myself and dialed the number. She answered on the second ring.
“Hello,” a meek voice said.
“Could I speak with Hilda Fredricks?” I said.
“This is she,” Hilda said.
“Hilda,” I said, “This is Elliott Cooper returning your call. How can I help you?”
“Elliott Cooper?” Hilda said, obviously unaware of who I was.
“Cooper Investigations,” I said. “I’m returning your call.”
“Oh yes,” she said, remembering the call she’d made the day before yesterday. “Mr. Cooper. I was wondering if I could meet with you regarding a matter tha
t I’d like you to look into for me.”
“Can you tell me what it’s about?” I said, “So I can get an idea as to whether or not I can help you?”
“I’d rather not say on the phone,” Hilda said. “I could come to your office if you’d rather not come here. I understand that it cost money to travel, not knowing what I’ll ask of you.”
“Never mind,” Mrs. Fredricks,” I said. “I can come to where you are. Can you give me your address?”
“It’s Miss Fredricks,” she said, and gave me her address. “Could you make it around one o’clock, Mr. Cooper?”
I told her I could and wrote her address down on my note pad before I hung up. I turned to Bud. “Well, one out of four anyway. Might turn out to be something. I won’t know until I go talk to this woman.”
“Where does she want you to come?” Bud said.
I read the address to him. It was in Pasadena and he said he knew where that was. “She wants to see me at one,” I told him. “Want to come along?”
“Sure,” Bud said. “Beats straining my eyes, pouring over these old cases looking for Mr. Wrong to pop out at me.”
Bud and I drove to the Pasadena address of Hilda Fredricks. It was a tidy house with a neatly trimmed yard that looked like it belonged on the cover of a gardening magazine. The path leading from the road to her front door was lined with knee-high shrubs, planted close enough together to form a hedge. We stepped up onto the small porch and rang the bell. The door opened and a white-haired old lady answered it.
“Mr. Cooper?” she said.
I told her I was and she invited us inside. The door closed behind me and Bud and a large, burly man stepped out from behind the door. He was holding a .45 automatic in his right hand and his smile had nothing to do with being friendly.
“Good work, Hilda,” the big man said. “Now go and sit down and keep your yap shut, understand?”
Hilda looked at me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cooper,” she said and took a seat at the far end of the sofa.
“You two might as well sit down, too,” the big man said, gesturing toward the sofa with the gun. “Go on, we’re going to be here a while so you might as well get comfortable.”