Dan stayed close on my tail as we drove across town to the alley behind the house where I had been held captive the night before. We both pulled our vehicles to the side and met halfway between the cars.
“All right, Cooper, where’s this stiff?” Dan said.
“This is the place,” I said, pointing to the back door of a brown, two-story house. “Let’s go.”
“Not so fast, Cooper,” Dan said. “You and Burns take the front door and I’ll cover the alley exit. Give me about thirty seconds before you go in. Now get moving.”
Dan, Officer Burns and I entered the building with our guns drawn. Burns and I entered through the front door and Hollister covered the back door. The house was vacant and we all met in what appeared to be the dining room. It, too, was bare.
“Right through there,” I said, pointing to the closed door.
Dan stood on one side of the doorframe and me on the other. Burns turned the knob, pushed the door and stepped back and to one side. Dan pivoted around, sticking his gun through the doorway. He stood there, frozen for a second, then entered the room with me close behind.
“Well, Cooper, where’s the body?” Dan said as he holstered his revolver.
I looked around the room. It was empty. Even the chair I’d been tied to was gone. It was as if nobody had ever been there. With a puzzled look on my face, I blurted out, “There has to be something, anything. That big ox was lying right here, bleeding like a stuck pig. Check the floor for blood stains.”
Just as I dropped to my knees to examine the floor, two fellows dressed in white and carrying a stretcher appeared in the doorway. “Where’s the body, Sarge?” They scanned the room for signs of a corpse.
Behind the two attendants stood the coroner, Jack Walsh, looking puzzled. He pushed his way past the men in white and said, “Hollister, I think I can find better things to do with my time than chase after some stiff who seems to be able to get up and walk away on his own.”
Dan was quick to reply, “Sorry, Jack, I assumed Cooper here was on the level. You can go back now.”
The three morgue men, as I called them, turned and walked out the door, shaking their heads in disgust. Dan was quick to turn back to me with a glare. “Well, Cooper, where’s the stiff?”
“I’m telling you, he was right here,” I said pointing to the spot on the floor where Willy had fallen.
“Yeah?” he said. “Well where is he now? There’s not even any evidence to back up your story. We’d find at least a drop of blood or a bullet hole or something, wouldn’t you think, Cooper?”
“Something’s weird here, Dan,” I said. “Somebody’s going to an awful lot of trouble to keep the police out of this. They’re after me for whatever reason and I’m telling you I shot one of ‘em right here last night.”
“Let’s go, Burns,” Dan said. “We got police work to do. And Cooper, if you ever decide to play cop again, leave us out. We’ve got better things to do than humor you.”
Dan and officer Burns exited through the back door to the alley.
I stood there, puzzled, not knowing exactly what to make of this situation. This was definitely the right house, but it had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb by whoever it was that wanted to poke holes in my story.
“Looks like I’m on my own again, as usual,” I thought as I closed the door and walked outside. “I’ll have to try another angle if I wanna stay alive.”
I twisted the door handle of my car and climbed in. “But first I’d better get that key and find a receptacle for it.”
The drive back to my house seemed to take forever. I looked forward to a week in bed. I managed to keep my eyes open long enough to park the car in the driveway, unlock the front door, get to the couch and sack out. It hadn’t even dawned on me that the mess had been cleaned up. I closed my eyes, thought about my next move and drifted off.
I wasn’t sure just how long I’d slept, but when I opened my eyes I could tell it was nearly dusk. The sun was casting a shadow low on the front room wall and there was an orange haze about the room. I felt refreshed and decided I’d better eat if I was going to make a full night of it.
As I entered the kitchen, I finally remembered the condition it was in the last time I saw it. “The kid did a pretty good job,” I thought. There must not have been much left to salvage because the icebox was all but bare. I thought I might catch a snack on the way. I quickly checked the bedroom closet doorsill and found the key.
I thought I’d catch a quick shower at the Y and maybe even have dinner there. I dropped the key into my jacket pocket.
It wasn’t my habit to shower at the Y. My clothes and meals had always been taken care of for me by my wife, Stella. Now that Stella was dead, I had to improvise from time to time and showering at the Y occasionally fit my schedule.
Stella was a slender blonde with big blue eyes and a figure that could tempt any man. She and I had been married for a little more than two years when she was killed. A sixteen-year-old who decided to hold up the corner grocery store where Stella shopped put an abrupt end to an otherwise perfect marriage. Stella was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
After a year and a half on my own, I was beginning to adjust to single life again and found it hard to get involved seriously with any other woman. There was Hazel, but she meant nothing. She was just there. It just wouldn’t be the same.
I grabbed another change of clothes and exited to the street. All the way to the Y.M.C.A. I thought about the events of the night before. I thought about Eddie Bartels’ close call at the dry-cleaning shop and about the character I’d seen running from the alley the night Harry died in my office.
“Could Willy be the guy I saw from my office window?” The question intrigued me. It would certainly tie in with Eddie and the shooting last night. In each instance, somebody wanted something that they didn’t get. Harry paid with his life. Eddie paid with a few bruises and I nearly bought the whole bundle. Only my quick reflexes saved me from becoming Willy’s whittling stick.
I left all these questions behind and entered the front door to the Y and walked past the desk. I was half way down the hall when a voice from behind shattered my daydream. “Hey, buddy, you got a pass?”
“Sorry,” I said, half in a daze, “My mind is somewhere else today. I haven’t been here for a while and I just forgot. How much is it?”
“Seventy-five cents will cover the use of the showers and the pool. For another quarter you can lock up your valuables in one of the lockers. Some guys rent them for a month at a time and some guys just take ‘em for the day. It’s cheaper by the month if you…”
“Here’s a buck,” I said. “I’ll take the shower and gimme one of those lockers, too. But just for today,” I said, handing over the dollar.
The attendant passed a towel over to me, and I quickly tucked it under my arm and started toward the shower room door.
“Hey, buddy, wait a minute,” the man said. “If you’re gonna use a locker, you’ll need a key.” The attendant reached under the counter as I turned around and walked over to the service desk. “Here you go, five ninety-eight. Just bring the key back when you’re done.”
He handed me the key, and I unconsciously slipped it into my jacket pocket and continued toward the shower room area once more, carrying my towel and change of clothes.
Once inside, I laid my extra set of clothes on the bench near my locker, slipped out of my jacket and sat, untying my shoes. I reached for the locker door handle and pulled up. It wouldn’t budge. I remembered the key and reached into my jacket pocket. I pulled out the key and pushed it at the lock cylinder. With a little encouragement, it slid in but wouldn’t turn.
I withdrew the key and examined it. “What the…” Then I recognized the key as the one I got from the envelope at Marcheske’s shop. “Oops, wrong one,” I half laughed to myself. I reached into my jacket once more and produced the other key. This time it slipped into the cylinder with ease. As I turned it to the right, I released the k
ey and looked at the head. It was fat and red and had three numbers etched on it.
I pulled the key from out of the locker and held it up next to Marcheske’s. They were identical except for the number. “That’s it,” I said as I jumped to my feet. “This is where Harry’s key fits,” I mumbled as I walked up and down the rows of lockers, scanning the number tags across the top.
As I approached the end of the last row of lockers, I felt my stomach turn. It was a little exciting to finally see what all the fuss was about and I was looking right at locker 672 with the key in my hand. “This is it.”
I quickly scanned the room. It was deserted and quiet. I turned my attentions back to the locker and inserted the key in the cylinder and gave it a quick turn. It opened easily as I lifted the handle and pulled the door back toward me.
I looked inside and quickly shut the door again, looking around the room once more to assure myself that I was alone. I was. Lifting the handle again, I opened the door and stood there looking at its contents. “So this is what they’re after, eh?”
I reached inside and produced an official looking document. The word LEASE was written in English scribe across the top in big, bold letters. I had to look closer to decipher the contents of the small print.
As I mumbled scattered words to myself, I stopped at one of the paragraphs half way down the page, my eyes open wide with amazement. “I wonder why they thought this was worth killing Harry for,” I said to myself and quickly folded the document back to its original shape.
I showered and changed into my fresh set of clothes. Once dressed, I slipped the lease into my inside jacket pocket, hung the old clothes on my hanger and plopped my hat on my head.
The attendant was still sitting at the desk as I passed. I gave him back the towel and key and said, “Looks like I won’t be needing these after all.”
“Sorry, buddy, no refunds. It’s the policy of…” he said. He didn’t get to finish his obviously canned speech before I was already half way down the hall and headed for the front door.
“How can you figure some guys?” The clerk said aloud as he stood there alone once more.
I went back to my car, opened the passenger door from the curb and threw my old set of clothes onto the front seat. Running around to the driver’s side, I opened my own door and slid in. I turned the key and stepped on the starter. I felt something cold on the back of my neck. The clicking sound was all too familiar to me as I recognized the sound of a revolver cylinder rolling into place as the hammer was being pulled back.
“Nice and easy, Cooper. Just drive ‘till I tell you different. Got it?” The voice from behind sounded as if it meant business and I mechanically followed orders.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Just shut up and drive or I’ll plug you right here,” he said.
There was no mistaking the tone of that voice. Two sentences were all that I needed to place the voice. It belonged to the guy who had me tied up in the chair—Willy’s boss. I knew that if I tried anything stupid like jamming on the brakes, the sudden forward motion of the car could be all it took to set off the revolver that was still resting on my neck.
“Turn right at this next corner,” he said. “And no funny stuff or you’ll be breathing out the back of your neck.”
I felt the man’s breath on my scalp and turned right and headed up Los Feliz Boulevard.
“Pull onto that dirt road up ahead and keep going,” the voice said.
I maneuvered my Olds along the dirt road and drove along, thinking that this could be my last day on earth. Realizing that I had little to lose and everything to gain, I gave a quick yank on the steering wheel, sending the car into an almost ninety-degree turn. As I did, the back seat passenger swayed and fell over on his side. The revolver went off, ripping a hole in the roof of my Olds.
I opened the driver’s door and jumped. I rolled over several times as the Olds kept rolling, meandering across the open stretch of park that I had turned onto.
I took cover among a clump of small trees along the side of the road. As I looked back at my car, I saw it travel another hundred feet or so before it came to rest against a large oak tree.
I cautiously approached the vehicle, my .45 drawn and ready. Slowly I peered over the windowsill and into the back seat. The intruder was hanging over the driver’s seat, his fists clutching the steering wheel. The wheel had cracked under the impact of the man’s forehead and he was out cold. I took the opportunity to pry the victim’s hands off the wheel, lay him back onto the back seat and rifle through his pockets.
The inside right pocket produced a long brown wallet. I grabbed it and stepped back away from the car. “Let’s see who we got here. Well, well, Nate Kilgore, of all people,” I said aloud and continued to inspect the contents of the wallet.
Flipping through the cellophane windows, something caught my attention. It was a picture of a woman. Not just any woman. Although the pose was different and the clothes were different, there was no mistaking that face. It belonged to the woman in the picture from Harry Marcheske’s wallet. “Small world,” I thought, “And it seems to be getting smaller all the time.”
I flipped past a few more windows when I came upon a business card. I removed it from the wallet and held it up for further inspection. It said “Nathan Kilgore” across the top and along the bottom edge it said “Investment Counselor.” That in itself didn’t seem strange to me. The odd part was the address of Kilgore’s business. It was listed as 814 Orange Avenue. I remembered that Harry’s dry cleaning shop was at 812 Orange Avenue. That put Nate Kilgore just one door north of Harry Marcheske’s shop.
I decided now was the time to see what this lease business was all about. Making sure I wouldn’t suddenly be disturbed, I decided I’d better tie up Nate. Remembering that I had no rope along, I did the next easiest thing. I grabbed my keys from the ignition and stepped to the rear of my wrecked Olds. I slipped the key in the trunk and turned. It popped open and I raised it until it propped itself up.
I grabbed Nate around the waist and pulled him from the car. Dragging him around to the back, I heaved Nate into the trunk and closed the lid again, depositing the key in my jacket pocket. “Now, let’s see what this is all about,” I said as I pulled the lease from my jacket pocket.
“This looks like the original copy,” I said and scanned the document. According to the lease, Harry owned the lot that housed Nate Kilgore’s business. At least he did own it. Nancy Marcheske, Harry’s widow, owned it now.
“This can’t be worth dying over,” I thought and continued to read. Even if Harry evicted Nate and took over the building, Kilgore could surely have found another location. There was nothing else in the document that I could connect to Harry’s murder. The only other item in it was the date that Nate’s lease ran out—September 1, 1947. “Two days from now,” I thought and folded the lease and returned it to my pocket.
I climbed in my front seat and started my Olds. It started and ran for a few seconds before I heard a grinding sound and it died out. The impact with the tree had pretty well finished the engine fan and radiator. I turned the key and removed it from the ignition, depositing it in my pocket.
I began walking. Looking back over my shoulder, I said in a half laughing voice, “I’ll send someone back for you, Kilgore,” and kept walking toward Los Feliz Boulevard.
“Let’s just see what’s so important about Nate Kilgore’s location,” I thought. “I got a feeling I’m gonna find a few answers there.”
I made it back to the edge of town, almost running as I thought about Nate in the trunk of my Olds. I walked another two blocks before I spotted a yellow cab coming my way. I stuck the fingers of my left hand into my mouth and let out with an ear-piercing whistle, while waving at the cab with my right arm.
The cab pulled over to the curb and I climbed in the back seat. Slamming the door behind me, I looked at the driver, who was already leaning with his right arm across the seat, staring at me.
> “Where to, buddy,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone.
“Eight-fourteen Orange Avenue,” I said and settled back into the comfortable cushion. The cabby lowered the meter flag, shifted into low and sped away. I watched the buildings fly by as the cabby hurried to my destination.
Several minutes later, I found myself in front of Nate Kilgore’s office. “This is it,” I told the cabby and opened the rear door and stepped out. I stepped over to the front passenger side window and looked in at the cabby, who had grabbed the pencil from behind his ear and was jotting something down on his clipboard.
“A buck eighty-five, Mac,” the driver said as he lifted the flag and slipped the pencil back behind his ear.
I peeled off a couple dollar bills from the folded currency that I had in my pocket. “Keep it,” I told the cabdriver and walked away from the cab and headed for Nate’s office door.
“Last of the big-time spenders, eh?” the cabbie said. The yellow vehicle sped off in search of another fare.
I stood there, eyeing the front of Nate’s building. One door to the south was Harry Marcheske’s dry cleaning shop and one door to the north was another large building with a gray brick front and lots of glass. The sign above its front door read “H. H. Dennison Company, since 1879”.
I didn’t think anything of it at the time. All I knew was that the Dennison Company was a major employer in the area. I remembered reading that there were about seventeen hundred employees working for Henry Dennison, sixty or so at this location and the rest at several other locations around town.
I tried the front door handle. It was locked and the lights were out. Slipping through the space between this building and Harry’s shop, I found the back door and tried the knob. Not really expecting to find it unlocked, I wasn’t surprised when the door wouldn’t budge.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 13