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

by Bill Bernico

  “We’ll wait in the van,” Elliott told Eric. “We’ll be able to see from there when this guy arrives.”

  Ten minutes later a 1964 Chevy Impala sedan pulled up in front of the metal stamping shop and a man got out. He hurried to the front door of his shop to find Eric and Officer Crowley waiting for him. He looked at Eric. “You said something about a possible break-in?” Sanchez said. “What exactly did you find?”

  “Officer Crowley and I were checking door knobs in the neighborhood,” Eric explained. “Something didn’t seem right so we went around to the side of the building and looked in the window with a flashlight. It looked as though someone had been in there rooting around recently. Can you go in and check to make sure nothing was taken? We’ll be right behind you and if nothing is missing or looks like it’s been disturbed, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Okay,” Sanchez said, unlocking the front door and leading the two policemen into the shop. He flicked on a few light switches, illuminating the front office as well as the metal stamping shop and spray booth. Sanchez walked around inspecting each room and found nothing out of the ordinary. He turned back to Eric. “Looks okay to me.”

  “Are you sure?” Eric said.

  “Take a look for yourself,” Sanchez said.

  That was all the invitation Eric needed. He and Officer Crowley slowly walked through the metal shop and stepped over to where they’d seen the rounded metal cutoffs without looking directly at them. They kept walking through the shop and into the spray booth to get a closer look at the blue overspray. They were about to leave the spray booth when Officer Crowley elbowed Eric and gestured with his chin at the floor. Eric saw a snapshot from one of those instant cameras lying on the floor. It was a photo of a U.S. Post Office mailbox, probably used for reference. He kept walking past it back to the office where Sanchez was waiting.

  “Satisfied?” Sanchez said, dangling his key ring off his index finger.

  “As long as you’re satisfied that no one’s been in here,” Eric said. “We’ll be on our way now and thanks for your cooperation.”

  Eric and Officer Crowley exited the way they’d come and waited while Sanchez locked his door again. Eric nodded politely and walked away with his partner. Sanchez was back in his Chevy before Eric made it back to his car. Officer Crowley slid behind the steering wheel while Eric sat in the passenger seat. He quickly pressed the speed dial button for Elliott and told him to fall in behind him as he tailed Sanchez.

  “We could have grabbed him right there in the shop,” Eric explained, “But we were hoping he’d lead us back to his house, and if he’s not going there, maybe back to where he has the money stashed, or a partner hidden out. Either way, I want to stick with him and see what pans out.”

  “We’re right behind you, Eric,” Elliott said and closed his phone. He followed Eric through the streets of Glendale, finally ending up on Harvard Street, behind a home improvement store.

  Eric stayed a safe distance behind Sanchez and waited until he parked his Chevy and got out before they followed on foot. Elliott pulled his van up behind Eric’s cruiser and he and Matt got out and joined to two cops on the street corner. Eric pointed to a house three houses east and said, “He went in there. Come on, let’s take a closer look.”

  Matt and Elliott followed as Eric maneuvered himself between the house Sanchez had gone into and the one next door to it. They crouched down, below the window level and eased themselves up, trying to see in the windows.

  From somewhere behind them Eric heard a gruff voice barking at him. “What are you doing out here?”

  Eric turned to see who he assumed to be the homeowner from next door looking down at him. Eric held one finger up to his lips as he produced his badge and held it up for the man to see. “Go back inside your house,” Eric instructed the man. “This is official police business.”

  Without any further exchange, the man disappeared behind his door again and within ten seconds the phone inside the Sanchez house rang. Eric watched as Sanchez appeared in the room and picked up the phone. He held the phone to his ear and immediately looked toward the window. Eric and the other three men quickly ducked down, not sure if they’d been seen. They waited in silence as Sanchez finished his phone call and hung up.

  Elliott looked back at the next door house and could see the man through the window. He was on the phone, no doubt warning Sanchez that the police were outside snooping. Elliott turned back toward Sanchez’s window and lifted his head just enough to see in again. Sanchez had hung up the phone and had pulled a desk drawer open. He withdrew a handgun and flipped the cylinder open, checking to see if it was loaded. Elliott slapped Eric’s shoulder and whispered, “He’s got a gun, Eric.”

  On Eric’s direction, Officer Crowley hurried around to the back door. He instructed Matt to go around to the other side of the house and told Elliott to stay where he was. “I’ll take the front door,” Eric said. “We’ve got all four sides covered in case he tries to run for it.”

  Eric soft-footed it up onto the front porch and took up his position alongside the front door. He rapped on the door with the barrel of his .38 police special and waited. No one answered. He rapped again, this time harder than before. “Open up, Sanchez,” Eric barked. “The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands empty and raised above your head.”

  Eric’s demands were answered with two shots through the front door. He could hear Sanchez scurrying around inside and then nothing. Eric fished his cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial button for the twelfth precinct. When the desk sergeant answered, Eric instructed him to send a couple more squad cars to his location as backup.

  “Ten-four, Lieutenant,” the sergeant said and hung up.

  It was nearly dark now and all Eric had to do was to wait for backup to arrive. Trying to break in now would be foolhardy, to say the least. This guy wasn’t going anywhere.

  Three minutes later Eric could hear the wail of at least two sirens coming closer. Then a third siren joined in and before too long, there were three squad cars positioning themselves in front of Sanchez’s house. Two of the cars were from the twelfth precinct and the third car had the Glendale Police Department identification painted on the front doors. Once the backup officers had taken up their positions at their cars, the pair of Glendale officers hurried up onto the porch next to Eric.

  “What do we have here?” one of the Glendale cops, an officer named Simpson said in a low voice.

  “There’s at least one man inside and he’s armed with a revolver,” Eric whispered. “He’s wanted for questioning in the kidnapping and murder of a Hollywood man. I want him taken alive if at all possible, but first and foremost protect yourselves.”

  “You think they might still have the kidnap victim?” Simpson asked.

  Eric shook his head. “No, they’ve already killed him so this guy’s got nothing to lose. Just be careful trying to take him down.” He looked at Simpson’s partner and then back at Simpson. “On three, we go in. Ready?” Eric silently counted to three, holding up one finger for every count. When he was holding up three fingers, he lifted his leg and kicked the door next to the knob. The door frame shattered and the door flew open. Eric and the two cops stormed in while the Hollywood cops on the street followed close behind. Officer Crowley, Matt and Elliott all held their positions, watching for anyone trying to leave the house from the back or sides.

  Eric, Simpson and Simpson’s partner split up, checking each room but found them all empty. They all met back in the living room and Eric instructed the two cops to look for any attic access while he looked for a basement door. Simpson and his partner found a small, two foot by two foot trap door above the laundry room but when Simpson crawled up and shined his flashlight around, the space was vacant.

  Eric found the basement door behind the kitchen and down half a dozen cement steps. They opened to a main room with an old time furnace, typically referred to as an octopus because of its large belly and eight tentacles or heating
pipes feeding off of it, leading to each room. Past the massive furnace, Eric found another door which led to a dead end coal bin from days gone by. It too was empty. Across from the coal bin door sat a small work bench with assorted tools on it. Next to the work bench Eric could see a four-level shelf with many different paint and stain cans on each shelf. He turned back and retreated the way he’d come. There was no one down here.

  Eric returned to the living room where Simpson and his partner waited. Eric shook his head. “Nothing downstairs, either,” he said, heading for the front door. He stepped out onto the front porch and called out to Elliott, Matt and Officer Crowley to join him inside the house. As Elliott headed toward the front of the house, the neighbor’s garage door opened and a gray SUV pulled out and turned onto the street in front. It disappeared down the block.

  Elliott and the other two men all converged in the living room, joining the three cops already there. They each had the same dumbfounded look on their faces. “We know he was in here right before we stormed the front door,” Eric said. “He couldn’t have gotten past us so that leads me to believe he’s still in here somewhere. Split up and take another close look in each room. Look for secret panels, false walls, loose floorboards or anything else that seems out of place. And stay alert. If you find any place where someone could hide, have your weapon ready. This guy will be armed and he won’t hesitate to kill you. He’s already killed Langley.” He looked at Crowley. “You check rooms that you haven’t already been in before. I’m going to do the same.”

  “What about me and Matt?” Elliott said.

  “I’ve already checked the basement,” Eric told them, “so how about if you check it again with fresh eyes? You and Matt take the basement and let me know if something seems odd.”

  “You got it,” Elliott said, gesturing to Matt to follow him down the basement steps. The two P.I.s stopped at the bottom of the basement steps and scanned the room, seeing pretty much the same things Eric had seen earlier. Elliott pointed to the furnace. “I’ll check this monster out. Why don’t you go see what’s behind that door at the other end of this room?”

  “Sure thing,” Matt said and headed toward the mysterious door.

  Elliott walked completely around the giant furnace, shining his flashlight overhead at the heating ducts that ran in every direction. There was nothing up there but dust. Back in front of the furnace again, Elliott pulled the door open and shined his light inside. There was nothing but old ashes and cast iron framing. He closed the door again and slowly walked toward the door he’d sent Matt to investigate, shining his flashlight overhead again but finding nothing unusual. By the time he’d walked as far as the door Matt had entered, Matt was coming out again.

  “Nothing in there,” Matt said confidently. “It’s just an old coal bin that dead ends after ten feet or so. No trap doors, no secret panels, nothing.”

  “Fine,” Elliott said. “Close that door and let’s see what’s in this corner.” He gestured toward the work bench Elliott had discovered earlier. The two of them stepped lightly around the bench and against the walls, looking for cracks or separations in the bricks and finding nothing. Elliott backed away from the work bench and bumped into the four-level shelving unit hard enough to knock at least one or two cans from their perch. Nothing fell off of the shelf. He turned and held out two hands, trying to catch whatever might fall. All the cans remained where they were. Elliott looked suspiciously at Matt.

  “What is it, Dad?” Matt said.

  Elliott didn’t answer immediately but just stood looking at the shelf. It had moved away from the wall maybe an inch, but only on one end. Elliott grabbed the edge of one shelf and pulled it toward him. The entire shelving unit swung away from the wall on hinges attached to the opposite side.

  Matt grabbed one of the paint cans and tried to pull it off the shelf. It held fast, as did all the other cans. They had all been fastened to the shelf somehow. He looked at the empty space behind the shelf and then over at Elliott. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking,” he said.

  Elliott ran his fingers down the brick wall and found a hole large enough to stick his index finger into, which he did. He hooked his finger inside and pulled toward him. The brick façade yielded and swung open like a door. He shined his flashlight inside, revealing a small tunnel, perhaps three feet tall and just as wide. A man could easily crawl through and come out—where? He turned to Matt. “Before we met Eric in the house I saw the neighbor’s garage door open and a gray SUV pull out. It sped off down the street.”

  “You think it was the same neighbor who called Sanchez while we were looking in the window?” Matt speculated.

  “Yes, and maybe he’s Sanchez’s partner,” Elliott said. “That would explain the tunnel connecting the two houses. It’s an easy escape if either one were cornered. I’m going upstairs and let Eric know what we found. Wait for me here.”

  Eric and the other policemen followed Elliott back down to the shelving unit/door that was still hanging open. Matt was nowhere to be found. Elliott sighed. “That kid,” he said in an exasperated voice. “I told him to stay put until I got back. He probably went in the tunnel to see where it leads. You’d better send a couple of these men next door in case Matt runs into trouble.”

  Eric instructed the two Hollywood officers to check the neighbor’s house and to look for Matt. He turned back to Elliott. “Well,” he said. “Are you going in?”

  “Kids,” Elliott said under his breath and dropped to his knees. From outside, Elliott had estimated that the two houses were approximately fifteen or twenty feet apart. The tunnel couldn’t be much longer, he thought as he crawled forward with Eric crawling close behind him. It took just a minute or so to reach the other side, where he saw light shining in another room beyond the tunnel. “Matt,” he called out. “Matt are you there?”

  A face dropped down in front of the hole and looked back at Elliott. “I made it,” Matt said. “Sure enough, it leads next door and you can bet Sanchez was in that SUV that left here ten minutes ago. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Elliott and Eric exited the tunnel, stood up, brushed off the knees of their pants and then rubbed their palms together in an effort to wipe away the dirt. Eric grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and called the twelfth precinct. The desk sergeant answered. “This is Lieutenant Anderson,” Eric said. “Patch this through to records.”

  “Right away, sir,” the sergeant said. A woman came on the line a few seconds later. “This is Mary in records. How can I help you?”

  “Mary, it’s Lieutenant Anderson. Get me the owner of record for these two addresses.” He read the two addresses to Mary and then gave her his cell phone number. “Call me at this number when you have that information.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mary said and hung up.

  Eric turned to Elliott and Matt. “Let’s check this place out. Be careful. There could still be one or more people hiding here.”

  The three men climbed the basement stairs and found themselves in the kitchen. The two houses must have been built by the same contractor around the same time. They had identical floor plans and Eric figured most of the houses on this block probably shared those blueprints as well. They checked all the rooms, confirming that anyone else who may have been here earlier was now gone. Eric stepped out the front door onto the porch. He walked down three steps and turned to look at the empty garage, its door still standing open. Matt and Elliott joined Eric on the sidewalk just as Eric’s phone rang. It was Mary from records.

  “Lieutenant,” Mary said. “I have those names you wanted. The first house is titled to a Fredrick Champlain.”

  “And the house next door?” Eric said.

  “Same guy,” Mary said. “Fredrick Champlain owns them both.”

  “What did records tell you about Mr. Champlain’s address?” Eric said.

  Mary read off an address in Hollywood and gave Eric a phone number to go with the address. “Thank you, Mary,” Eric said and hung up.

&nbs
p; “What’d you find out?” Elliott said.

  “One man owns both houses,” Eric explained. “He could be involved or maybe his houses were just being used like this without his knowledge. Either way, I’ve got to check him out. I’ve got backup coming to handle these two scenes. You two want to join me back in Hollywood?”

  “Sure,” Matt said. “We’re still on the clock, aren’t we?”

  Elliott shot Matt a dirty look and Matt straightened up. “I mean, count us in, Lieutenant,” Matt added.

  Elliott and Matt climbed back into Elliott’s van and followed Eric’s cruiser back toward Hollywood. On the way back Elliott handed Matt his cell phone and told him to call Gloria to explain why he wouldn’t be home when he had originally told her he would. Matt kept the call short, giving his mother only the essential information, ending the conversation by telling her that Elliott would call her when they’d finished with Eric. Elliott followed Eric to a house on Hobart Avenue in Hollywood and the three men walked up to Fredrick Champlain’s front door. Eric held his .38 behind his back while he rang the door bell. After a few seconds an old man, perhaps in his mid-eighties answered the door. His hair was white, what there was left of it, and the tops of his hands showed several liver spots big enough to almost obscure the flesh tone beneath them.

  “Fredrick Champlain?” Eric asked.

  The man’s eyes darted back and forth between Eric and the other two visitors before he nodded his head. “That’s right,” he said. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Eric retrieved his badge and I.D. and held them up for Champlain to see. “Police, sir,” Eric said. “Do you own two houses in Glendale?”

  “Why, yes I do,” Champlain said. “Is there a problem, officer?”

  “Would you tell me who lives in those two houses, Mr. Champlain?” Eric asked.

  The old man’s face went blank. His eyes stared at the floor for a moment before he offered, “I’ll have to go and look it up. Would you gentlemen like to come inside while I find it?” He held the front door open wide and waited while the three men entered. “Please, make yourself at home. I won’t be long.” Champlain disappeared into a back room down the hall.