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

by Bill Bernico

  “Okay,” Gloria said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I,” I thought.

  I was up early the following morning and ate breakfast alone while Gloria and the kids slept. I made it to the country club parking lot by six-fifteen, killed the engine and settled into my chair in the back of my van. I switched on three of the large-screen monitors and watched Jack’s locker. He was still tying his golf shoes when I tuned in. Jack looked around the room, probably wondering where the cameras were situated. He never did look directly at me, and that was a good thing. That meant that he couldn’t detect where I’d placed them and neither would anyone else.

  Jack finished dressing for his round of golf, closed and locked his locker and left the room. I watched and waited, hoping to catch a thief in the act. An hour passed with nothing on the screen but an empty locker room. I was beginning to think the day would be a bust when I caught some motion in the upper left corner of the screen. I watched and waited for more than a minute, but no one came into view in front of Jack’s locker.

  Twenty minutes later I caught more movement on the screen. A few seconds later a figure walked into the frame from somewhere beyond the camera. That meant I could only see his back from the first vantage point. I checked the second and third camera angles and could see a side view of a person loitering in the locker room. He wore a snap-brim golfer’s cap that obscured his face from the eyes up, though I could see his nose, mouth and chin. He was clean shaven with a slight dimple in his chin.

  He looked back and forth and appeared to be nervously staking out the immediate area. Another figure came into view but this man also wore a cap with a fish emblem on the front, but this cap wasn’t pulled down as low as the other man’s. I could make out his face, but didn’t recognize him as anyone I knew. I turned up the volume knob on my monitor and tried to catch their conversation as my recorder caught the video and audio in the locker room.

  “Did you bring it?” Snap Down Cap said.

  “Got it right here,” Fish Cap said, digging into his pocket and producing a small plastic bag.

  “Usual price?” Snap Down Cap said, reaching for his wallet.

  Fish Cap pulled the baggie out of reach and waggled one finger back and forth in Snap Down Cap’s face. “Uh uh,” he said. “My supplier had some extra expenses so I’m afraid the price just went up another thirty per cent. It’ll cost you thirty-eight hundred today.”

  Snap Down Cap’s mouth dropped its smile and took on a look of anger. “Why you crook,” he said. “Just yesterday the price was twenty-six hundred.”

  “That was yesterday,” Fish Cap said. “Of course, you’re always free to shop elsewhere if you like. I’m sure if you shop around for a few days you may be able to find the same thing cheaper. Are you sure you can go a few more days without it?”

  “This is outright robbery,” Snap Down Cap said, pulling hundred dollar bills from his wallet and handing them to the other man, who relinquished the plastic baggy and began counting bills. Snap Down Cap pocketed the baggie and then reached somewhere out of camera range, coming back with a Ping driver. He swung it with all he had and caught Fish Cap in the side of the head. The Fish Cap hat flew off his head and the man who’d been wearing it seconds before dropped to the floor like a sack of laundry and bled out onto the floor. Snap Down Cap bent over, took the bills from the dead man’s hands, stuffed it into his own pocket and walked out of range. The crimson pool forming around Fish Cap’s head began spreading across the painted cement floor.

  “Holy shit,” I said aloud, and left the recorder running while I jumped out of the van and ran toward the clubhouse. I found a man behind the counter, selling a container of golf balls to another man. I interrupted the sale. “You’ve got to get to the locker room,” I said. “A man’s been killed there.”

  “What?” the counterman said. “How would you know that?”

  I didn’t want to reveal the surveillance equipment and improvised instead. “I heard an argument from outside,” I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear it in here. It was certainly loud enough. At least go have a look.”

  The counterman picked up his phone, pressed two numbers and began talking. A moment later he hung up the phone, scrambled out from behind the counter and hurried toward the locker room with me close on his heels. As soon as he rounded the corner and saw Fish Cap lying there in a pool of blood he stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at the body. He was about to step closer when I held him back.

  “Better not disturb the scene,” I said. “The police will need to be called right away.” I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Lieutenant Eric Anderson at the twelfth precinct. I told him what we had and he told me he’d be there right away and not to touch anything. I hung up and relayed that message to the counterman, who turned out to be a man named Theo Lansing.

  In less than ten minutes, Eric showed up with two uniformed officers, who were given the task of keeping anyone else out of the locker room while he conducted his preliminary investigation. Eric looked at me and Lansing. “Either of you see what happened here?” he said.

  Lansing shook his head. “Not me,” he said, gesturing toward me. “This man came into the club house and told me he heard a scuffle coming from in here. I didn’t hear anything and I was probably closer. I don’t know how he could have heard anything.”

  I pulled Eric aside, out of earshot. “Eric,” I said, “I was here doing a surveillance job for one of the country club members when I heard the argument. I found Lansing at the counter and we came in here together and found the guy on the floor.”

  Eric thought about it for a moment and then said, “And just where were you when you heard this scuffle?”

  I hesitated, knowing any explanation I might have would sound lame, but also knowing that I had client confidentiality to think of. Just then Jack Walsh came into the club house carrying a bag of clubs. His golf shoes clicked on the cement floor and I could hear him coming several seconds before I saw him at the door being held back by one of the uniformed officers. I nudged Eric, who turned to the officer and motioned Jack in.

  I turned to Eric. “Could I have a moment with my client?” I said, and pulled Jack aside.

  “What’s going on here, Elliott?” Jack said. “What are the police doing here?”

  “Jack,” I said in a whisper. “A man’s been killed in the locker room and I caught it on video. I haven’t mentioned this fact to the police yet. I wanted to check with you as far as your involvement.”

  Jack held one hand up. “I can’t get involved,” he said. “They’ll yank my member ship if they knew I hired you to spy on the locker room. Not only that, you might be in trouble for violating the members’ privacy if they find out. You could open yourself up to several lawsuits.”

  “First off,” I said, “We can kick out the privacy invasion lawsuits. I didn’t record any members dressing or undressing. The only people I recorded were the killer and his victim. And as for your predicament, well, you may just have to find another country club if that’s the way they want to treat you. I’m in possession of real, solid evidence in a murder case. What they’d do to you is nothing compared to what they do to me if they found out I withheld this kind of evidence. I’m sorry, Jack, but the best I can do for you is give you a refund of your retainer and try to deny that you knew what I was doing.”

  Jack considered this for a moment. “No, you’re right, Elliott,” he said. “You can’t hold back evidence like this. I’ll take my chances with the country club. Go on, do what you have to do.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said. “It’s the right thing to do.” I left him and walked back over to where Eric was talking with Lansing.

  “Excuse me, Eric,” I said. “I need to see you right away.” I led him outside and into the back of my van, where three monitors were still receiving video feed from the locker room. Eric stepped into the van and closed the door. He looked at the monitors.

  “Hey,” he said, “
That’s the locker room. There’s Officer Burger. What’s going on here, Elliott?”

  I gave Eric the short version of the reason for my being here while I rewound the recording to the beginning. “I caught the murder on video,” I told him. “The faces aren’t clear, but there should be enough on the video to get an identification of the killer.” I fast-forwarded the video to the part where the two men met in front of Walsh’s locker. “That guy right there.” I pointed to Fish Cap. “He’s the guy lying on the floor back there. The other guy, the one with the Snap Down Cap, he’s the killer. Wait a second, it’s coming up right…here.”

  At that point Snap Down Cap pulled out the Ping driver and smashed Fish Cap’s head with it. Eric looked at me and sighed. “Gees, Elliott,” he said. “What are the odds that you’d have this all on video? Talk about your undisputed evidence. This case will be a slam dunk when we catch this guy and bring him to trial.”

  “What about the legalities as far as I’m concerned?” I said. “Am I going to be in trouble for making the recordings in the first place?”

  “You let me worry about that,” Eric said. “For now, just transfer those recording to a jump drive and let me have them. You’ll still have the originals if you need them.”

  “And my client?” I said. “Can we keep him out of this?”

  “I don’t see how,” Eric said. “The defense attorney is going to want to know who hired you to place those cameras in the locker room in the first place. I’m afraid he’ll just have to tough it out.”

  “That’s pretty much what I already told him,” I said, “So he’s aware of what may be coming his way.”

  “Is that the guy you were talking to in there?” Eric said.

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “His name is Jack Walsh.”

  “Walsh?” Eric said. “That’s a familiar name.”

  “You’re probably thinking of his grandfather,” I said. “That Jack Walsh was the medical examiner back when my grandfather, Matt was working out of my office.”

  “Yes, I recall the name,” Eric said.

  I made the transfer to a jump drive and handed it to Eric. He looked at me. “Do me a favor, Elliott,” he said. “Leave those cameras running and keep recording while I finish up my investigation, would you? You never know if the killer may just wander back into the scene of the crime, trying to pretend he’s just seeing it for the first time.”

  “Sure, Eric,” I said. “If you think it’ll help.”

  “Come on,” Eric said, “Let’s get back in there.” He opened the van doors again and stepped out, grabbing his shoulder mic and calling the precinct for our current coroner, Andy Reynolds to come to the country club. He also called for a crime lab team and a photographer.

  Eric lifted the yellow crime scene tape and slipped under it. I followed close behind him. I led Eric to Jack Walsh and introduced the two men. Eric pulled a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket and looked at Walsh. The two men shook hands before Eric started talking. “Elliott’s filled me in on the nature of his employment with you, Mr. Walsh,” he told Jack. “Can you tell me where you were at approximately eight o’clock this morning?”

  Jack looked at me and then back at Eric. “Sure,” he said. “I was probably on the sixth or seventh fairway by then. I only have time for nine holes in the morning.”

  “And what time did you get back to the locker room?” Eric said, making noted on his pad.

  “Just a few minutes ago,” Jack said.

  I turned to Jack. “Do you recognize the man lying on the floor, Jack?” I said.

  Jack turned to look down at the body on the locker room floor. He shook his head. “Never saw him before,” he said.

  Eric wrote that bit of information down and then asked Jack to come out to the van with us to view the tape. Jack followed us out to the parking lot and crawled into the back of the van. I rewound the video to the part with the two men’s confrontation and paused it. Eric turned to Jack. “Would you take a look at this next sequence of events and tell me if you recognize anyone, Mr. Walsh?” he said.

  I hit the Play button and within a few seconds into the conversation between the two men, Snap Down Cap pulled out the golf club and hit Fish Cap on the side of the head. I stopped the video and waited for a reaction.

  “Well?” Eric said. “Did you recognize the guy with the golf club?”

  “I couldn’t see his eyes,” Jack said. “And it’s a little hard to tell from just the nose and mouth.”

  “Know anyone with a dimpled chin like that?” I said.

  Jack shook his head. “There’s nothing familiar about either of them that I can see,” he said.

  The three of us sat silent for a moment. I furrowed my eyebrows and held up one finger.

  “Have you got something, Elliott?” Eric said.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, pressing the Rewind button on the recorder. I went back to just before Fish Cap got hit with the golf club and froze the screen. “Watch closely, Jack,” I said and hit the Slow button. The frames of the video appeared for half a second each before moving on to the next. Just before the head of the golf club made contact with Fish Cap’s head, I froze the image on the screen and turned to Jack. “What do you see now, Jack?”

  Jack looked at the screen. The rounded backside of the Ping driver was centered on the screen. He looked at it and then turned to me. “Can you zoom in a little?” he said.

  I twisted a knob on the side of the recording unit and the head of the club expanded to fill the screen.

  “There it is,” Jack said. “Take a look.” He pointed to three initials on the club’s head—DWT.

  “Do you recognize that club or the initials, Jack?” Eric said.

  “There’s only one person at the club with those initials,” Jack said. “Daniel Walter Tinsdale, but I don’t think that was him doing the killing. Dan doesn’t have a dimpled chin.”

  I rewound even further to the place on the video where the lower half of the killer’s face could be seen. I froze the picture and zoomed in on his chin. “Take a closer look,” I said.

  Eric and Jack squinted and leaned closer to the monitor.

  “See it now?” I said, pointing to the man’s chin. “That’s not a dimple at all. It’s a scratch.” I captured the image, moved it to a photo editing program on my laptop and erased the scratch. “That’s what he’d look like without that mark. Now what do you think?”

  Jack looked at the image on the screen and squinted slightly. He shook his head. “Sorry, Elliott,” he said. “Never saw him before.”

  Eric turned to me. “I think I’d better talk to this Tinsdale character,” he said and let himself out of the van. Jack and I followed him back inside the locker room.

  The coroner was pulling a wallet from the dead man’s pocket as we entered the room. He saw Eric and handed the wallet to him. Eric opened it to the driver’s license compartment and plucked the license from behind the celluloid window. He turned the license so that Jack and I could see the name on it.

  “Dennis Carson,” I said, mostly to Jack. “Sound like anyone you might know?”

  Again Jack shook his head. “He could be new here,” he said. “I don’t know everyone here.”

  Eric turned to Jack. “Are only members allowed in here?” he said.

  “Members and guests,” Jack said.

  “Like me,” I said. “I’m Jack’s guest for today.”

  “Is anyone else allowed in here besides members and guests?” Eric said.

  Jack thought for a moment. “Employees, naturally,” he said. “Oh, and caddies. Most of them are already members, but some just come here to caddy for their particular golfer. This guy could be one of those.”

  “Thanks,” Eric said, and headed for the main office. I followed him but Jack stayed behind in the locker room. Eric knocked on the door of the country club director, a man named Drew Hamilton, by the name stenciled on the frosted glass.

  “Come in,” a voice called from behind the
closed door.

  Eric and I let ourselves into the office and found a middle-aged man seated behind a large mahogany desk. He was on the phone, so we waited quietly until he finished his conversation. When he hung up the phone he looked at the two of us standing across his desk. Eric flashed his shield and I.D. and returned the leather case to his pocket.

  “Yes, Officer?” Hamilton said. “How may I help you?”

  “It’s Lieutenant,” Eric said. “Lieutenant Anderson and this is Elliott Cooper. I’d like to ask you about one of your members, a man named Tinsdale, Daniel Walter Tinsdale.”

  “Yes?” Hamilton said. “Mr. Tinsdale is a member here. What did you want to know about him?”

  “Would you know if he’s here now?” Eric said. “I need to speak with him right away. It’s very important.”

  “I imagine it has something to do with that terrible incident in the locker room,” Hamilton said. “Awful, just awful. Have you caught that man yet?”

  “I’m working on it,” Eric said. “That’s why I need to speak to Mr. Tinsdale. Would you check if he’s on the premises, please?”

  “Certainly, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Right away.” Hamilton picked up his phone and pressed two digits. “Miss Miller, would you find out if Daniel Tinsdale is on the grounds? And hurry, it’s urgent.” He hung up the phone and stood, coming around to our side of the desk. “Would either of you like a cup of coffee?”

  Eric waved him off and I told him I never drank coffee, but thanked him just the same. I looked at Hamilton and asked, “Do you keep a list of the names of your members’ caddies?”

  Hamilton furrowed his brows. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Who is Mr. Tinsdale’s caddy?” I said. “And is he also on the premises?”

  “I’ll find out,” Hamilton said. “Did you also want to speak with him if he’s here?”

  “Yes, please,” Eric said.

  Hamilton got back on his phone and told Miss Miller to include Tinsdale’s caddy in her inquiry.

  “Can you give me the caddy’s name?” I said.