The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

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The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 166

by Bernico, Bill


  “Couldn’t you just ask for an autopsy independently?” Elliott said.

  “I should have,” Grace said. “The coroner seemed so busy, what with eight other bodies that needed his attention.”

  “You know, Mrs. Evans…” Elliott said.

  “Miss,” Grace said.

  “How’s that?” Elliott said.

  “It’s Miss Evans,” Grace said. “I never married.”

  “You know, Miss Evans,” Elliott said, “You always have the option of taking your father to an independent doctor for the autopsy. Of course, you’d have to pay for that one.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “It would be worth if just for my peace of mind.”

  Elliott looked puzzled. “So tell me, why did you come to me with all this?”

  Grace shifted in her seat. “Well,” she began, “When Mr. Hollister and Mr. Reynolds, that’s the medical examiner I told you about, when they turned me down, I decided to start my own investigation and find a private detective to help me.”

  “Miss Evans,” Elliott said. “Before we get into a full-blown investigation, why don’t you let me ask around at the police department and coroner’s office first? Maybe I can cut through a little red tape and save you some aggravation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” Grace said. “Of course, I’ll be glad to pay you for your time.”

  Elliott waved her off. “First let me see if there’s anything to this and I’ll get back to you.”

  Grace rose from her chair and so did Elliott. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a business card. “Here’s my number,” he said. “If you don’t hear from me by this time tomorrow, please feel free to give me a call.” He wrote down her number on the back of one of his other cards and slipped that one into his pants pocket. He walked Grace Evans to the door and thanked her for stopping in. He heard her footsteps echo down the hall toward the elevator.

  Elliott turned back toward his desk when he heard the door opening again. He turned, half expecting to see Grace Evans. It was Gloria.

  “Who was that?” Gloria said. “That old woman who just left here.”

  “A possible client,” Elliott said.

  “A client?” Gloria said. “What’s an old woman like that want with us?”

  Elliott filled her in on their conversation. “I thought I’d take a ride downtown and see Andy Reynolds. You feel like coming along?”

  “Sure,” Gloria said. “Why not? By the way,” she said, setting a box down on Elliott’s desk, “You owe me thirty bucks for the fan.”

  “I’ll square it with you when we get back,” Elliott said.

  Gloria and Elliott climbed into Elliott’s car and pulled out of the parking lot behind the building.

  Dean and I were just coming out of the coffee shop when Elliott and Gloria made the turn onto Hollywood Boulevard. Dean walked west, toward his car and I walked east, back toward the office. I wondered where those two were headed, but didn’t have the energy to whistle and flag them down. Maybe I could get a little peace back at the office, now that it looked like I’d have it to myself.

  On their way to the twelfth precinct, Elliott gave Gloria the condensed version of the conversation he and Clay had had with Lieutenant Hollister. Elliott parked in the lot behind the twelfth precinct. He and Gloria walked to the end of the north hallway and found the medical examiner, Andy Reynolds, leaning over a table with his scalpel, speaking into a microphone that hung overhead. Dean waited until Andy had stopped speaking before he approached him.

  Andy looked up from the body on the table. “Elliott, Gloria,” he said. “What brings you two down here? Things a little slow at the office today?”

  “Actually,” Elliott said, “Speaking of the office, I just came from there. I was talking to a woman about…”

  “Did Grace Evans bother you, too?” Andy said.

  Elliott nodded. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a bother, though,” Elliott said. “She had some concerns about her father’s death and just to satisfy her, I told her I’d check with you and see if I couldn’t put her mind to rest.”

  “The guy was ninety,” Andy said. “And according to her, it looked like the old guy went peacefully in his sleep. What’s there to check?”

  “Look,” Elliott said, “I know the county’s on a bit of a budget and autopsies don’t come cheap, but do you think you could just give the body a thorough once over without doing any actual cutting? Then I could at least tell her you gave her father a second look.”

  Andy glanced at the wall clock and then at Elliott. “All right,” he said. “A quick look, but I don’t have time to go inside.”

  “A quick look,” Elliott said. “That’s all we’re asking.”

  “Thanks, Andy,” Elliott said. “I have to stop in and see Dean. Can I check back with you around noon?”

  “Sure,” Andy said. He looked at Gloria and added, “What are you so talkative about this morning?”

  Elliott and Gloria walked back the way they’d come and turned down the west hallway to Dean’s office. Elliott knocked on Dean’s office door and then peeked in. He turned back to Gloria. “Not back yet. Do you want to come with me to the lobby? The candy machine there has my favorite candy bar.”

  “Why not?” Gloria said.

  Elliott slipped his dollar into the slot on the machine and pressed the button that corresponded with his favorite candy bar. He and Gloria sat on the padded bench next to the machine and waited. Elliott finished his candy, glanced at his watch and slapped the tops of his thighs. “Well, shall we see if Dean’s back yet?”

  “I could have waited in Dean’s office, for all the talking you do,” Gloria said.

  “What is it with women?” Elliott said. “You always want to talk, even when you have nothing to say. Talk is overrated, you know?”

  “Men,” Gloria mumbled under her breath. She followed Elliott back to Dean’s office. Elliott tried the door again, opening it a crack. He could see Dean behind his desk now and opened the door even further. “Got a minute?” Elliott said.

  Dean was about to make up an excuse not to see Elliott when Gloria poked her head in and smiled at him.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Hollister,” Gloria said, flashing her smile.

  “I’ll probably regret this,” Dean said, “but come on in.”

  Elliott and Gloria left Dean’s door open a crack, sat opposite him and wasted no time getting to the point of their visit.

  “You never mentioned Grace Evans during your story earlier today,” Elliott said.

  “How would you know about Grace Evans?” Dean said. “No wait, let me guess. She came to see you about looking into her father’s death.”

  “As a matter of fact she did,” Elliott said. “She thinks there’s more to it than meets the eye and I told her I’d snoop around if only to satisfy her suspicions.”

  “And you’re here because you think Andy Reynolds and I aren’t doing our jobs?” Dean said.

  Gloria used her soft voice. “Lieutenant, it’s not like that at all,” she said. “Why, everyone knows you’re the best cop money can buy.”

  “Money?” Dean said.

  “Taxpayer money, of course,” Gloria said.

  Dean ignored Elliott and turned his attention to Gloria. “And just what is it you want to know?”

  “We just want to know…” Elliott said, before Gloria interrupted.

  “We just want to know,” Gloria said, “if Carroll Evans died of natural causes or if there was any foul play suspected. That’s all.”

  “Did I mention that he was ninety?” Dean said. “Ninety, for crying out loud. He aged like fine wine and then expired. Case closed.”

  “Not so fast,” Andy Reynolds said, slipping into Dean’s office through the crack.

  “What are you talking about, Andy?” Dean said.

  Andy turned to Elliott. “You called that one,” he said. “Anyone could have missed it.”

  “Missed what?” Dean said. “What’s goi
ng on here?”

  Andy turned to Dean. “Looks like Bud Evans didn’t go in his sleep and did not slip away peacefully, like we thought.”

  “What did you find, Andy?” Elliott said.

  Andy held up a sketch of a human head. It had a pencil mark circling a spot at the base of the skull. Andy pointed to that area. “Bud Evans was murdered,” he said. “Someone stuck an ice pick in the base of his skull. His last seconds could not have been painless, but at least it was quick.”

  Dean was on his feet now. “What? Bud was murdered?” he said.

  “Well,” Andy said. “I’ve never seen a suicide clever enough to jam an ice pick into his own skull. No, he had help. No doubt about it.”

  “How’d we miss that?” Dean said.

  “Because we weren’t looking for it,” Andy explained.

  “Oh boy,” Gloria said. “A juicy case.”

  “Oh boy?” Elliott said. “Who says, ‘oh boy’ anymore?”

  “Would you prefer, ‘gee willikers’ instead,” Gloria said.

  Elliott waved her off. “Stick with ‘oh boy’ if you don’t mind.”

  “Either way,” Dean said, “You don’t have a case. I do.”

  “It’s a case you wouldn’t have had without us,” Gloria said. “Come on, Lieutenant, you owe us one.”

  Dean thought about it for a moment and then said, “The main murder case is ours,” he said. “If you two want to do some of the leg work for the background, knock yourselves out. Then you can at least tell the old woman that you looked into her case. But you let me know everything you find out. Is that clear?”

  “Clear as mud,” Elliott said. “We’ve gotta get going, Dean. We’ll be checking back with you.”

  Elliott and Gloria left Dean’s office and nearly ran back to Elliott’s car. Once inside, Gloria turned to Elliott and said, “So where are we going to start?”

  “First of all,” Elliott said, “We’ve got to get back to the office and fill Dad in on this. He’ll want to help and I can’t say that I’d blame him.”

  I was sitting on the leather couch when Elliott and Gloria walked in, all smiles. “You two look like a couple of cats with canaries hanging out of your mouths,” I said. “What’s up?”

  Gloria plopped down on the couch next to me. Elliott pulled the client’s chair close to the couch, facing me. “Wait ‘til you hear, Dad” Elliott said. “You know that Bud guy that Dean was talking about earlier? Well, it turns out…”

  “It turns out,” Gloria said, taking over the conversation, “That old Mr. Evans didn’t die peacefully in his sleep. He was murdered. Someone stuck an ice pick in the base of his skull.”

  “What?” I said. “How would you even know that?”

  Elliott slid his chair even closer and lowered his voice somewhat. “Right after you and Dean left for the coffee shop, Evans’ daughter stopped in here looking to hire me, us, to look into her father’s death. She suspected something wasn’t right so Gloria and I went to see Andy Reynolds and asked him to give Bud another quick look before we reported back to her.”

  “So just what did Andy find?” I said.

  “He found a small hole at the base of Bud’s skull,” Gloria said. “A professional hit all the way, if you ask me. Lieutenant Hollister is taking over the main murder case, but he told us we could dig around for background.”

  “And I knew you’d want to be a part of this,” Elliott said.

  “You’re damn right I want in,” I said. “Where did you plan to start this investigation? And who’s paying our tab?”

  “Well, technically,” Elliott said, “Grace Evans is paying us to look into her father’s death. I don’t know how long she’ll want us to keep at it once she has some of the facts, but for now, we’re on her dime.”

  “It’s got to be good for a couple of days on the clock anyway,” I said. “So let’s give Bud’s daughter her money’s worth. Elliott, since you’ve already established a rapport of sorts with the woman, how about if you go back and get as much information as you can about her father and his most recent activities? Gloria, how’d you like to go back and get more details from the M.E.?”

  “And what are you going to do?” Elliott said.

  “I’m going to the twelfth precinct and talk to Dean,” I said. “Maybe he’ll let me dig through some old records. Bud probably made more than a few enemies during his time as a cop. Maybe those records will reveal something none of us has thought of. Let’s get going. We’ll meet back here at, let’s say, four o’clock. If anything comes up, we’ll all have our phones on.”

  The three of us hurried to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby, splitting up from there. Gloria and I each drove to the precinct in separate cars. She went to the Medical examiner’s office and I went to see Dean. Elliott was on his way to see Grace Evans.

  I rapped on Dean’s door and got no answer. His secretary, Abbie, told me that Dean had gone to the captain’s office. “I’m working with him on this Bud Evans thing,” I said. “I’d like to see the arrest records that Evans had accumulated while he was a cop here. Do you suppose that would be all right?”

  “I don’t know, Clay,” Abbie said. “The lieutenant is out. Can’t it wait until he comes back?”

  “Normally it could,” I said, “But there’s a bit of urgency with this case and I think the quicker we all work to find a solution, the better it’ll look for Dean.”

  Abbie thought about it for a moment and then slid her desk drawer open. She withdrew a gold key and handed it to me. “What years did you want to see?” she said.

  “All the years from 1946 to through 1986,” I said.

  Abbie held her hand out and curled her fingers inward. “Let me have the key,” she said. “The records in this records room don’t go back that far. Here,” she said, handing me a different key.

  “What’s this for?” I said.

  “Room 120 down at the end of this hall,” Abbie said. “It’s where we keep the older stuff on micro phish rolls, like they have at the library. The rolls are in the filing cabinets, filed chronologically starting in the leftmost cabinet, top drawer. Knock yourself out. Clay. I’ll send someone in to check on you in a couple of days.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours,” I said, walking down the hall toward room 120.

  I unlocked the room, turned on the light and spotted the micro phish machine on a table at the end of the room. The wooden chair that came with it looked like it was chosen to make sure the user didn’t stay too long at the machine. I checked the leftmost cabinet, top drawer and looked at the label. This one said 1900-1910. The next drawer down was labeled 1911-1920. I skipped a couple of drawers and went to the one labeled 1941-1950 and slid it open. I had to shuffle through a few boxes until I came to one labeled 1945. I pulled it and two other boxes, labeled 1946 and 1947, and brought all three boxes to the table and sat at the machine.

  I threaded the first spool onto the machine and flipped the light switch on. I knew that Bud Evans had joined the force in October of that year so I hit the fast forward button and stopped when the film began to display information for September, since it took the spools a little while to slow down. I hand cranked it to October 1, 1945 and began reading arrest reports. I hand cranked past the first few reports until I came to one that had Carroll Evans’ name in the upper left hand corner as the arresting officer.

  Evans’ first arrest had been that of a drunk driver on October 10, 1945. The driver was a fifty-three-year-old woman. I moved on and found another arrest three days later. Bud had arrested two men, both in their forties, for fighting outside a downtown bar. No good. If they had anything to do with Bud’s death, they’d have had to do it from the grave.

  The rest of 1945 yielded nothing important as far as arrests went. I rewound the spool, put it back in its box and inserted the 1946 spool. Fifteen minutes later I was still no farther ahead with any clues as to why someone would want to kill Bud. I switch spools and on
the third reel I found an arrest dated March 12, 1947 that had Evans’ name on it. It also had the name Clifford Lewis below Bud’s. Clifford Lewis, I thought. That name rang a bell. Then I remembered the story Dean had told us in the office about being partnered with Dan Hollister’s partner, whose name was Cliff Lewis. I read the report and it said pretty much the same things that Dean had told us. Sergeant Clifford Lewis had been killed in the line of duty, apprehending a suspected murderer. Patrolman Carroll Evans was credited with bringing in the suspect after he’d had to shoot him in defense of his partner.

  I moved ahead to the next page of the report. According to this, the killer of Sergeant Lewis was one Lester Cobb, 23, from Los Angeles. I kept reading the report and learned that Cobb was found guilty of the murder of the woman in the bathtub as well as the murder of Sergeant Lewis. The judge in this case gave Cobb the maximum sentence, life without the possibility of parole. That judgment was dated July 17, 1947—some sixty-five years ago. That would make Cobb nearly ninety himself. I decided to follow up on Cobb’s sentence.

  I put the micro phish boxes back where I’d found them, locked the room and returned the key to Abbie. I thanked her and asked if Dean was back yet.

  She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s in his office,” she said. “Go on in.”

  “Thanks, Abbie,” I said and opened Dean’s door.

  Dean looked up when I entered. “Are you three making any progress?” he said.

  “I don’t know about Elliott and Gloria,” I said. “We split up and took different areas to check.”

  “And what have you found out?” Dean said.

  “It may be nothing,” I said, scratching my head, “But I was wondering if I could see a particular record for one of Bud’s arrests from 1947. I need to know if a guy he sent to prison back then is still in or if he’s even still alive.”

  “Which one?” Dean said.

  “Funny thing,” I said. “It’s the guy from that story you were telling us about in the office this morning. That young kid who stabbed the woman in the bathtub and then killed Dan’s old partner, Cliff Lewis. The suspect’s name is Cobb, Lester Cobb.”

 

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