“Back up just a bit,” I said. “Suppose we start with your name and go from there.”
“Vivian Crenshaw,” she said. “My husband’s name is Wayne Crenshaw.”
I wrote the information down on my memo pad and looked back at the woman. She filled in her address and phone information and waited until I had written that down as well before continuing.
“He was arrested last night at the Twin Palms nightclub,” Vivian said. “Pulled him right out of the booth and dragged him out of there in handcuffs. They can’t do that. Can they?”
I stuck the eraser end of my pencil in my mouth and leaned back in my chair. I pulled it out again and said, “And just what made them think Wayne was involved in this hit-and-run?”
Vivian spread her hands. “I guess there was a witness who says he saw Wayne’s car hit the man and then drive off. Later that night a policeman found Wayne’s car in the lot at Twin Palms and saw the front-end damage and the blood and then went inside to find the owner. They found him in a booth drinking with two other men.”
“That’s pretty damaging evidence,” I said. “What explanation did Wayne have?”
“Mr. Cooper,” Vivian said. “I know my husband very well. We’ve been married for thirteen years and I think I can tell when he’s trying to cover up. He wasn’t lying when he said there was no damage to his car earlier that night. The police didn’t want to listen and took him to jail.”
“And what exactly did you want me to do for you, Mrs. Crenshaw?” I said.
Vivian looked exasperated. “Well, prove he’s innocent. I thought that would be obvious to you. That’s why I’m here.”
I made a few more notes on my pad and then laid my pencil down. I rose from my chair and stood next to Vivian, laying my hand on her shoulder. “I think I have enough information to go on, Mrs. Crenshaw. Give me a day or two to look into it and I’ll get back to you. My rate is thirty dollars a day plus expenses. Is that acceptable to you?”
Vivian nodded. “Yes, Mr. Cooper. Just find out what really happened. That’s all I’m asking. Please.”
I helped her to her feet and walked her to my door. “I’ll be in touch,” I said.
She left without further comment and I returned to my coat rack and slipped into my coat and hat for the second time this morning. I still had five bucks to collect from Dan and it looked like I could kill two birds with one trip downtown.
I paused outside Dan’s office and rapped on his door. Without waiting for an answer, I stepped in and sat across the desk from him. He was on the phone and held one finger up to silence me while he completed his call. A moment later he hung up the phone and turned to me. I smiled and held out my hand, palm up. I curled my fingers back and forth a couple of time before he took the hint and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He withdrew a five-dollar bill and held it out. Just before I grabbed it, he let it drop onto his desk, leaving me grasping at air.
“Very mature, Dan,” I said, snatching up the bill and placing it in my own wallet. “That’ll teach you to bet against me on Oscar night. Or maybe you’ve forgotten that between the two of us, that I am the movie buff.”
I stuffed my wallet back into my pocket and just sat there. Dan gave me a strange look.
“You just gonna sit there and gloat or did you want something else?” Dan said, almost impatiently.
I shrugged. “Well, now that you mention it, there is something I’d like to ask.”
“Yes?”
“Wayne Crenshaw,” was all I got to say before Dan interrupted me with a hand in the air.
“Hold it right there,” Dan said. “Why are you asking about one of my current cases, Matt? You know I can’t discuss it with you until our investigation is complete.”
“I know,” I said, “but Mrs. Crenshaw came to see me about…”
Dan interrupted, “About proving her husband innocent, right?”
“Uh huh,” I grunted. “She claims…”
“Claims her Wayne wouldn’t do such a thing,” Dan said. “Is that about what she said?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “She’s sure Wayne is being framed for something he didn’t do. Which leads me to the question of proof. Are you sure you have the right man, Dan?”
“Okay,” Dan said, “So you have a stake in the case, too. You have questions and you want answers. I suppose because she hired you that you are entitled to an explanation. Well, to be honest with you, I just don’t know. All the evidence, what little there is of it, points to his being guilty. His car was definitely the vehicle that ran down Leo Costa. No doubt about that. His are the only fingerprints anywhere inside that car. Even he doesn’t dispute that one. The car was still in the same place he said he parked it when we found him. The hit-and-run occurred less than a block from Twin Palms. The time frame fits. He had plenty of time to hit Costa and put the car back in the lot before our guys picked him up. What am I supposed to think, Matt?”
“All right,” I said. “First, his car was the vehicle, I’ll give you that. Second, someone else could have been driving it and run Costa down and then put the car back when he was done. Third, he could have worn gloves, meaning there’d be no strange fingerprints. Fourth, like you said, the club was close enough that anyone could have driven it and put it back all inside a few minutes. And if no one saw this part happen, how can you know for sure? And lastly, and this is the biggest question, why, if he’d just run a man down in the street, would he park it less than a block away and go inside for a few drinks? Anyone with half a brain would have run Costa down and fled the scene. Hell, they’d have fled the county.”
“I know all that, Matt,” Dan said. “But with nothing else to go on, there’s not much else we can do except hold Crenshaw for now. So, until we finish our investigation he stays right where he is. You can go back and tell that to Mrs. Crenshaw.”
I thought about it for a moment and then said, “Where’s the car?”
“Huh?”
“Crenshaw’s Pontiac,” I said. “Where is it?”
Dan pointed in some non-specific direction. “In the police compound around the back. Why?”
“Is the lab finished dusting it?” I said.
“They are.”
“And do you suppose I could go back there and have a look, if for not other reason than to satisfy my curiosity?” I said.
Dan sighed and turned his head away and then back. He gestured with his chin toward his office door. “Go on, have your look so you can tell Mrs. Crenshaw that we did our job.”
I got up from Dan’s chair and walked toward his door, turning around at the last second. “And Dan, one more thing.”
“What is it, Cooper?” Dan said impatiently.
“Thanks for the five bucks,” I said and hurried out, closing the door behind me.
Dan shook his head. I gave it three seconds and then stuck my head back in his door and added, “Double or nothing on next year’s Oscars?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I closed the door and hurried back around to the police compound to have a look at Crenshaw’s car.
I stopped at the sliding gate to the compound yard. An officer I’d known from my days on the force had been assigned to the police compound. I found him hunched over a Buick, copying down an identification number from under the hood. He closed the hood and flinched a little to suddenly see me standing there.
“Gees, Matt,” he said, “Don’t you ever knock?”
“Got the old ticker going, did I, Steve?” I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What brings you out here?” Steve said.
“Hollister said it would be all right if I had a quick look at the Pontiac they hauled in from that hit-and-run over near Twin Palms,” I said.
Steve hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Against the fence,” he said. “Last one in the row.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I said. “Shouldn’t take long. I just need a quick look.” I looked at the flashlight Steve was holdi
ng. “Can I borrow that for a minute?”
Steve handed me his flashlight. “Here. Just make sure you give it back before you leave.”
I walked over to where the Pontiac sat and did a quick walk around, looking at the damage. The grille and left front fender were badly damaged and stained with blood. The driver’s door was unlocked and I opened it, sliding in behind the wheel. I snapped on the flashlight and shined it on the instrument panel. I don’t know what I expected to find, but I looked nonetheless. I illuminated the glove box area and peered inside. There was nothing but a registration slip, two napkins and a Los Angeles street map. I closed the glove box and aimed the beam on the floor, hoping to see unusual dirt or residue that didn’t seem to belong. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
I started to slide out of the car again but had leaned too far over and my foot caught on something hanging down from behind the dashboard. I stepped out of the car and squatted next to the driver’s seat, looking at what my foot had snagged. It was a long green wire that I would have thought someone would have secured better under the dash. I pulled on it and a little more of the wire came out. A few inches from the connected end I saw that some of the insulation had been scraped away, exposing some of the bare wire inside. I reached under the dash and felt around. Another loose wire came out and the end of that one had been cut or ripped and then stripped of an inch of insulation. I held the two exposed wires side by side and examined them. I touched the two exposed sections together and the car’s motor came to life and purred like a kitten. Steve hurried over to where I crouched.
“Where do you think you’re going, Matt?” Steve said. “And where’d you get the key?”
I pulled the two wires apart and the engine died. I stood up and smiled at Steve. “I don’t have a key,” I said. “But I think I have a clue. Thanks.” I handed Steve back his flashlight. “Gotta run.”
I hurried back inside to Hollister’s office and let myself in without knocking this time. Dan looked up from some report he’d been reading.
“What?” Dan said.
“Did you find Crenshaw’s car keys on him when he was arrested?” I said.
“We did,” Dan said. “Why?”
“Did the lab look under the dash?” I said.
“Huh?”
“I think I know how someone else could have taken Crenshaw’s car and used it to run down Costa,” I said.
“Really,” Dan said, trying to hide his annoyance. “And how’s that, Sherlock?”
I sat opposite Dan and held two imaginary wires in my hands. I pretended to touch them together. “The wires under the dash had been stripped. That’s how someone was able to take the car from the lot, they hotwired it. Didn’t your lab guys spot that?”
Dan looked genuinely surprised and shook his head. “It hadn’t occurred to us to look for it,” he said. “We had the driver and his keys. How’d you find it?”
“Remember,” I said, “I’m a trained sleuth.”
“In other words,” Dan said, “You stumbled on it.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Dumb luck,” I said. “But that’s enough evidence to create a reasonable doubt about Crenshaw, isn’t it?”
Dan had to admit that it was and reluctantly agreed to take a closer look into the case. I thanked him and told him I’d keep in touch and asked that he do the same for me. I drove back to my office and started a file on Wayne Crenshaw, filling in what his wife had told me, along with what I’d found out on my own. I called Vivian Crenshaw to let her know that things were looking up.
“I think we’ll be able to get a judge to set a reasonable bail now,” I said. “Wayne can be home for supper tonight if all goes right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” Vivian said. “When I get Wayne out, we’d both like to come see you and find out if there’s anything you can do to find the person responsible. Would that be all right?”
“You can both come over,” I said, “But as far as finding the person who may have taken your car and run that man down, I’m afraid that’s a matter for the police. Meanwhile, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
I hung up, satisfied that I’d earned my retainer and returned to my newspaper to finish reading about the other Oscars that had been handed out last night. I was pleasantly surprised to read that “Johnny Belinda” had garnered a total of twelve Oscar nominations but only took home one for Jane Wyman in the lead role. “Sierra Madre” had only been nominated four times, with John Huston taking two of those for directing and for the brilliant screenplay he’d written.
I wasn’t a Shakespeare fan by any stretch of the imagination and didn’t bother counting the nods for “Hamlet.” That would be a movie I’d go to if I had trouble sleeping. However, the Scandinavian immigrant saga, “I Remember Mama,” also got quite a few nominations. I remember when I first heard of the movie last year. It was around the same time as the Black Dalia case, where a woman was found murdered, cut in half and dumped in a vacant lot in Los Angeles. When I heard the title of the movie I must have heard it wrong and thought it was called “I Dismember Mama” and thought it was about the Black Dalia case.
The following day I got a call from Vivian Crenshaw asking if she and Wayne could stop by my office for a few minutes. I told them it would be all right but not to stop by until after ten-thirty because I’d be out of the office for the first few hours. Vivian agreed and hung up.
I returned to my office at ten-twenty and hung up my coat and hat. I poured myself a cup of coffee and stood at my window, looking down onto Hollywood Boulevard. Traffic was moderate and it had begun to rain. A minute later a yellow taxi pulled up to the curb in front of my building and I watched as Vivian Crenshaw and a man whom I assumed to be Mr. Crenshaw emerged. The man leaned into the cab and paid the driver. The couple then stepped into my building and I pulled back from the window, finishing my coffee and pulling my coat on over my shoulder holster. A minute later the couple entered my office. I pulled a second chair up next to my desk and invited them both to sit.
“So,” I said, “How did it go for you in court today?”
Vivian spoke first. “It was like you said, Mr. Cooper. The judge looked at your new evidence and lowered Wayne’s bail and that was that.”
Wayne Crenshaw smiled and added, “Mr. Cooper, Vivian told me what you did for us and I just want to say thank you.”
“Hey,” I said, “It’s what I get paid for. Any idea when you’ll get your car back? I mean, I noticed that you came here in a cab. It’s got to be hard getting around town without your car.”
“We’ll get along without it for a few days,” Vivian said. “Sergeant Hollister says the lab will have all they need by tomorrow and then we can pick it up and go have it fixed.”
“You know,” I said, “It looks like your car was picked at random and it could just as well have been someone else’s car that the killer used to run that man down with.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Cooper?” Wayne said.
“I guess what I’m saying is that it doesn’t look like anyone has targeted you in this case,” I said. “So you probably have nothing else to worry about. Neither of you saw anything and couldn’t testify if it comes to that. So I guess you can just go on with your lives and try to put it behind you. The police will catch the guy sooner or later. It’s just a matter of time.”
Wayne’s brow furrowed. “What about the man that was run down?”
“His name was Leo Costa,” I said. “He owned the nightclub that you went to the night that the cops picked you up. I’m sure there’s no connection other than that.”
“That poor man,” Vivian said. “I wonder what’ll happen to his nightclub now.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
We were all silent for a few moments and it was beginning to get awkward. I clapped my hands together once and stood. “Well, I guess that should do it.”
The couple stood and didn’t know what else they could say and just sidestepped toward my
door.
Wayne extended his hand toward me. “Thanks again, Mr. Cooper.”
I shook his hand and the two of them walked away without further delay. I closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. I thought they’d never leave.
I spent the rest of that hour going through my notes from another case before breaking for lunch. I hung my ‘Back In One Hour’ sign on my door and took the elevator down to the lobby.
My favorite diner was just a few doors west on the boulevard and I was hungry. I walked in and took a stool at the counter. I stared at the menu for a minute before settling for the special and a Coke. As I waited for my meal, I swiveled on my stool toward the large window facing the boulevard. People walked by at a steady pace. I turned back when I heard the sound of a plate being set in front of me. I finished my lunch in ten minutes and still had most of the hour before I was due back at my office. I decided to drive over to the Twin Palms nightclub just to satisfy my curiosity.
In front of the Twin Palms entrance I found all of the parking spaces empty and eased my Olds into the one closest to the door. I got out and walked up to the door and found a hand written note attached to the door announcing that the nightclub was closed due to a death in the family. It didn’t mention when or if it would reopen.
I walked to the end of the lot and stood in the same space where Wayne Crenshaw had parked the night of Leo Costa’s death. I turned toward the street and tried to retrace Costa’s steps, around the corner and up the block. I stopped at the exact place where the car had impacted with his body, and then I paced off sixty feet and stood right where his body had come to rest. I looked back at the sixty-foot distance and let out a deep breath. In my mind I could see the Pontiac with the damaged front end speeding off down the street. I turned and walked back to my car. I’d always been a visual person and it always helped me to see first hand where events had happened. I got back into my Olds and drove home.
It had been nine days since I’d last seen the Crenshaws. Business was slow and I was starting to get bored. I found myself taking care of all the little odd jobs around the office that I’d been putting off. It had never looked cleaner than it did today.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 77