The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  “Cooper,” McClellan said, “I thought about what you said yesterday and I think there’s a third option that we hadn’t considered.”

  “And just what did we overlook?” I said.

  “Well,” Andrew began. “You pointed out that my one-third of the puzzle wasn’t as useful as the other two-thirds.” He turned to Maggie now. “And I thought that if we could put our differences aside long enough to share information, that our two-thirds might be enough to cut Sonny out of the equation. We could do a fifty-fifty split, just you and me.”

  Maggie glanced my way, looking for some sort of answer. I shrugged and looked back at Andrew.

  “Seems to me you’d still need all three pieces to make any sense out of the riddle,” I said. “You uncle Miles must have known that two of you might try something like this and made each piece useless without the other two.” I looked at Maggie and then over at Andrew. “Think of it this way. A third of the whole pot is still better than half of nothing. And nothing’s what you have.”

  Andrew glanced down at Maggie. “What do you say? You think we think we can work this out with just the two of us?”

  Maggie weighed her options before rising from the chair to face her ex-husband. “What do you suppose we’d find if we could figure out the puzzle?”

  “Think of it,” Andrew said. “Uncle Miles was worth somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty-three million dollars, not counting the real estate holdings and the oil wells themselves. Even if he’d only planned on leaving us one tenth of that, we’d be in for nearly six million dollars. Split three ways, we’re looking at two million bucks each. Now, cut out Sonny and we’ve got three million each. We’d be set for the rest of our natural lives.”

  It was beginning to dawn on me that I’d soon be out of a client and that the rent still had to be paid on this office, shabby or not. “And where do I fit in?”

  “You don’t,” Andrew said. “I’ll pay you the original fee we agreed on—two grand and you don’t have to do another thing for it.”

  He turned back to Maggie. “Well?”

  Maggie nodded and took Andrew’s arm. Andrew reached into his coat pocket and produced a stack of bills and threw it on my desk. “We’re done, Cooper,” he said, leading Maggie out of my office.

  Two pairs of footsteps faded from my outer office and soon the room was silent. I sat behind my desk and returned my feet to the desktop and thought about the easy two thousand dollars I’d just made. Maybe this was going to be a good day after all.”

  When I got bored sitting with my feet up I sat up again and pulled my desk drawer open and pulled out my checkbook. I pulled out a deposit slip and filled in the necessary spaces and signed it, depositing it in my shirt pocket. I grabbed my hat and coat and locked the office door behind me. The bank was just two blocks away and it was a good day for a walk.

  I left the bank, folded the deposit slip and slipped it into my pocket. I headed back to my office. Crossing the street and jogging up the sidewalk until I was out of breath. I slowed to a walk just as I passed the alley in mid-block. I thought I heard something that sounded like a moan and stopped to listen closer. I heard it again and stepped further into the alley. At first I couldn’t see anything, then I saw it. It was a shoe, a lady’s shoe and there was a foot in it. I hurried over to the shoe and squatted down. Behind some boxes I found Maggie, her mouth bleeding and her cheek swollen and red.

  “What happened to you?” I said, trying to pick her up.

  “Andrew,” she mumbled.

  “He did this?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer, but just nodded.

  “Are you all right? Can you stand up?”

  I pulled her to a standing position, brushing off her coat and looking her over for any more injuries. She didn’t seem to have any broken bones and she was now standing on her own. She looked around her on the pavement, frantic now.

  “My purse,” she almost screamed. “He took my purse.”

  “Forget the purse,” I said. “We have to call the police.”

  “No,” Maggie said, emphatically. “No police.”

  “But you were assaulted,” I reminded her. “And he took your purse.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about the purse,” she said. “But my keys were in there. He’ll probably go to my apartment and tear the place apart.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “He wants my piece of the puzzle. He thought I had it with me in my purse. When he didn’t find it, he hit me and ran off with the purse. We have to get to my apartment right away before he finds my piece of the puzzle.”

  “Even if he does find it,” I said, “it won’t do him much good without the third piece.”

  “Still, we’d better get over there right away.”

  I led Maggie out of the alley and down the block to where my car was parked. Before we got to my car, we passed a newspaper vending box and Maggie stopped, pointing at the paper through the plastic cover.

  “Look,” she said, still pointing.

  I glanced at the headlines and read something about a man who’d been found murdered late last night behind a bar on Wilshire Boulevard. I dropped my nickel in and lifted the cover, pulling out a copy of the paper. Maggie grabbed it out of my hands and read to herself. She stopped and gasped when she got to the part of the story that identified the victim.

  Salvatore “Sonny” McClellan, 37, was found shot to death behind the Tipo Bar on Wilshire late last night. McClellan was the nephew of the late Miles McClellan, oil magnate and real estate tycoon. Police say he’d been dead approximately three hours when his body was found just before midnight. So far, they have no leads as to the identity of his killer.

  She folded the paper once and dropped he head. I helped her into my car and slid beneath the wheel. We pulled away from the curb and hurried toward her apartment.

  Maggie turned toward me. “You know that had to be Andrew. And if he got what he was looking for, he now has two pieces of the puzzle. If he finds mine, it’s all over.”

  “He can’t get far,” I told her. “And he won’t be able to spend any of the money from prison. They’ll find him and put him away. And when they do, whatever he finds will be all yours.”

  It took us fifteen minutes to make it to Maggie’s apartment. We took the elevator to the fifth floor and hurried down the hall to number 522 at the end of the hall. The apartment door was wide open and even from the hall we could see that the place had been ransacked. Couch cushions were cut open, their stuffings strewn about. Every drawer had been pulled out and emptied on the floor. All the books from the bookshelf had been knocked off and lay in the same pile. The only phone in the apartment had been ripped from the wall.

  In the bedroom it was the same story. The bedding had been ripped off the bed and all the pictures on every wall had been pulled off, leaving just the nails and the faded patches of wall behind.

  Maggie looked at the spot where her reproduction of “Blue Boy” had hung. The safe that occupied the space behind that painting was open, its door swung wide. The safe was empty.

  “He got it,” Maggie gasped. “That son of a bitch got my puzzle piece. He’s got all three now. It won’t take him long to find the spot Uncle Miles had marked on them.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands, and wept. I sat next to her and threw my arm over her shoulder.

  “It’s not hopeless yet,” I told her. “The police will still be after him when they learn that he was responsible for Sonny’s death. Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can go to my office and phone the police.

  I walked Maggie McClellan down the hall and back to the elevator. We exited to the lobby and out to the curb. In another fifteen minutes we were back at my office. I locked the door behind us, took a seat behind my desk and called Dan Hollister downtown.

  “Hollister,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Dan, it’s Matt. I’m at my office with Maggie McClellan. We just came from her place and it’s be
en trashed. It looks like Andrew McClellan got there before us.”

  “McClellan,” Hollister said. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that name since yesterday. Last night we found Sonny McClellan dead over on Wilshire. Any connection?”

  “Got to be Andrew again,” I said. “He also beat up his ex-wife, Maggie and got her purse with her apartment keys. We figure that’s how he got in.”

  “Cooper,” Dan said, “what’s going on here? You saying there’s a connection between Sonny’s death and your mess? Come on, spill it.”

  “Can you come to my office, Dan? And bring Officer Burns with you while you’re at it. We’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  “That’s me you hear knocking,” Dan said and hung up.

  It took Sergeant Hollister and Officer Burns just seven minutes to get to my office from the precinct. I unlocked the door and let them in. Burns stayed in the car. Hollister walked over to where Maggie and I sat. We both stood and I introduced him to Maggie. He listened intently as we filled him in on the three-part map Miles McClellan had left the three surviving heirs.

  When we finished, Dan turned to Maggie. “Just what was it that this cellophane map was supposed to lead you three to?”

  Maggie shook her head. “None of us had any idea. Uncle Miles may have left a large cache of money, stocks, bonds, rare coins, deeds. We just don’t know. But whatever it is, Andrew surely must have gotten to it by now.”

  The outer office door opened and footsteps came toward us. Dan and I both drew our guns and waited for the inner office door to open. When Officer Jerry Burns poked his head in, Dan and I both let out our breaths and dropped our guns to our sides. Jerry’s eyes widened and he pulled his head back out of the office. Dan pulled the door open again and said, “Come on in Burns.”

  Burns, obviously out of breath from running said, “Just caught the squeal over the radio, an explosion over Los Feliz Boulevard. Two units are there already. Come on, let’s roll.”

  “What has this got to do with our case,” Dan asked.

  “One guy was killed,” Burns explained. “It was Andrew McClellan.”

  Maggie’s eyes shot over to me and I immediately looked at Dan. No one said another word all the way down to the squad car. Dan flipped on the red light and the siren and we sped west on Hollywood Boulevard to Los Felilz. Dan squealed left around the corner at Hollywood and Western and up onto Los Feliz Boulevard. In another three minutes Dan screeched to a stop in front of a large empty lot on the north side of the street.

  There were two other squads already on the scene, their red lights circling the neighborhood. As we approached the lot, the coroner’s wagon pulled up to the curb and Jack Walsh, the medical examiner, got out, his black bag in hand and two other men in white flanking him. He approached Hollister.

  “What do we have here, Dan,” Walsh said.

  “Don’t know yet, Andy. We just got here ourselves. Come on, let’s go have a look,” Dan said, leading the way.

  Thirty yards from the curb we could see a white sheet covering what looked like the shape of a body. The sheet was covered with red stains. Nearby lay a shovel and a small mound of recently dug dirt. The hole next to the mound was larger than could have been filled with the excavated dirt. It had obviously been made bigger by the explosion. Walsh walked over to the body and lifted the sheet. Even a seasoned veteran like Jack Walsh winced when he saw what was left of Andrew McClellan. He dropped the sheet and stepped back.

  “Gees,” Walsh said, “what a way to go.”

  Burns looked down into the hole and shouted back over his shoulder. “Sarge, better come have a look at this.”

  Hollister and I hurried over to the hole. Maggie followed close behind me. We stared down into the hole and could make out the shards of wood that had once been a box of some sort. Dan picked up the shovel and nudged the wood with it. A large piece broke away, revealing a large manila envelope. Dan motioned to Burns, who quickly bent over and plucked the envelope out of the box and handed it to Hollister.

  Dan looked at the envelope and read the label. It was addressed to Andrew, Salvatore and Maggie McClellan. He handed the envelope to Maggie. “I guess this would be yours now.”

  Maggie nervously held the envelope and looked at me. After a few seconds she handed me the envelope and said, “You open it, Matt.”

  I took the envelope from her still shaking hands and tore the end off. Inside was a single sheet of paper typewritten, single spaced with just a single paragraph. I read it aloud.

  I am deeply disappointed in all of you. You have all been greedy, selfish and self-absorbed. None of you deserve anything from me so I’ve left the bulk of my estate to my old college to do with as they see fit. As for this little display, I knew that by giving each of you just one piece of the puzzle, that in no time you’d be at each other’s throats. There was no way you three were going to co-operate with each other, pool your resources and come to this discovery as a team. If you had, all three of you would be lying here right now instead of just the one of you who sunk lower than the other two to possess all three pieces. This is your reward. If any of you have survived this ordeal, then just be thankful you are still alive and that you have your health. It could just as easily have been you lying here.

  I handed the paper back to Maggie, who dropped it immediately. She leaned toward me and grabbed my shoulder before collapsing altogether.

  I looked at Hollister. “I’ll put her up at my place tonight and bring here in tomorrow for a full statement. Her place is still in shambles.”

  Dan nodded as I led Maggie back to the squad car. “Burns can drive you back to your office.”

  I helped Maggie up to my apartment, took her shoes off, swung her feet up and laid her on my bed. I looked down at her. “I’ll come pick you up in the morning and we can start straightening up your place.”

  Maggie looked up at me with a weary face. “But where will you stay tonight?”

  “I can sleep on the sofa in my office,” I explained.

  Maggie patted the bed next to her and said, “Nonsense.”

  I turned out the light, shed my clothes and slipped between the sheets. What can I say? It’s one of the perks of my job.

  13 - The Case Of The Plates

  I was on my way back to my office, having spent that last hour downtown with Sergeant Dan Hollister of the Los Angeles Police Department. I could find my way there in my sleep. I’d spent several years on the force before leaving to open my own private investigation business. I was heading east on Hollywood Boulevard when the car ahead of me tuned on its left blinker. I might not have paid any attention to it at all had it not been for the license plate hanging by one bolt from the rear bumper. I tilted my head to the side and read, “PU-7163” and thought about the PU part of the plate. Not a very complimentary plate, I thought. I also thought about pulling up next to the guy and suggesting he buy himself another nut and bolt before he lost the plate altogether.

  I continued east for a few more blocks before pulling up to the curb in front of my office. It was a Thursday morning in August and it was already beginning to get hot. I hated to think what high noon would bring. My shirt was sticking to my back and I was uncomfortable. Luckily I kept a spare hanging in my office.

  My office didn’t offer any relief from the stifling air that hung in the hallway. Before I’d even removed my jacket I made another attempt to flip on the window fan. Nothing had changed since yesterday and the power switch yielded no results, as usual. I slammed my hand down hard on top of the unit and it groaned briefly before kicking in. A cool gust of air poured from the vents as I slipped out of my jacket.

  I smiled confidently and hung my jacket on the coat tree. I sat at my desk and put my feet up, locking my fingers behind my head. The cool air felt good. In a minute or so I smelled something behind me. I turned to see smoke rising from the fan motor. My feet swung down off the desk and I spun around toward the window. I yanked the power cord from the socket and gave t
he unit a kick. It loosened up from the brackets that held it in the sash and fell backwards out the window. It smashed onto the sidewalk and several pieces flew out toward the curb. Hot air from outside blew into my office. I quickly closed the window.

  “That’s just great,” I said, as if there were anyone there to hear me. I closed the window, cursing under my breath at the contraption that once occupied that space. I hurried downstairs and out to the sidewalk to pick up the pieces of my fan. Luckily no one was hit by any of the pieces. I left the pieces in a pile just inside my office and took a seat behind my desk again. My pulse and heartbeat were just getting back into the normal range when the phone rang.

  “Cooper,” I said.

  “Matt. It’s Dan. Hot enough for you?”

  “Hey,” I said sarcastically, “I’ve never heard that one before. You just make that one up?”

  “Forget it, wise guy. You looking for a little work?”

  “Hollister,” I said, “don’t you ever call just to shoot the breeze? The only time I hear from you is when you’re up to your armpits in bureaucratic bullshit. What is it this time? You need someone to peddle some more tickets to the policeman’s ball?”

  “Maybe I’ll get back to you when you’re not so ornery, Cooper. Goodbye.”

  The phone went dead and I stood there looking at the receiver. I’d no sooner hung it back in its cradle when it rang again.

  “Cooper.”

  “You in a better mood yet?” Hollister said.

  “You know Dan, you could have told me about this an hour ago. I was just there, remember?”

  “It came in just after you left,” Dan said. “Now, take a deep breath, relax and let it out. Okay, now tell Uncle Dan what’s troubling you.”

  “It’s starting out to be one of those days,” I said. “This damned window fan just died and fell out the window and I’m sweating like a fat lady at a church bazaar. What do you need?”

  “It no cooler here,” Dan said,” but you don’t see me crying about it.”