“I have to go out for a while,” Dean said. “I should be back by three. Feel free to use my office if you like. Either way, those three files can’t leave the building.”
“It won’t take us that long,” I said. “Would you like me to leave the first two here with you, or bring them back upstairs?”
“Just leave them all on my desk,” Dean said. “Gotta run.” Dean closed the door behind him while I sat in Dean’s chair. Elliott pulled up another chair and sat next to me.
“What are we looking for?” Elliott said, opening the folder on the first victim.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “We might know it when we find it, but I don’t really know what that is. Just let me know if anything jumps out at you as unusual.”
I opened the file on the second victim and paged through the forms and pictures in it. Victim number two was a guy by the name of ‘Brick’ Thurman, real name Bradley. He had a rap sheet that rivaled Polton’s but he was just thirty-two. He must have taken the speed course for criminals. He’d been shot in the head as well but had not been stripped of his identification or any of his clothes.
“Who do you have there?” I said, turning to Elliott.
“Guy’s name was Henry Mancini,” Elliott said, raising one eyebrow. “Wait a minute. That can’t be right.” He paged through some more of the forms and found the same name on all of them. “It must be a more common name than I had imagined. It’s Mancini, all right, but obviously not the Moon River Mancini.”
“I wonder how much ribbing he took over his name through the years,” I said.
“I wonder how many people tried to sing Moon River to him,” Elliott added.
“So, what’s this guy’s file look like?” I said.
“He’s got a record,” Elliott said. “But nothing like the first two. Maybe he was just getting started. He was only twenty-three.” Elliott closed the file folder. “Adios, my huckleberry friend.”
I rolled my eyes at Elliott.
“Come on,” Elliott said. “That was a good one. I’ll bet you wish you’d thought of it first.”
I ignored him and said, “So far, it looks like the only things these three victims have in common is that they all have a criminal record. But I’m sure Dean already knows that. They must have some other common link, so let’s keep looking.”
“Do you suppose Dean would mind if I used his computer for a minute?” Elliott said, turning around to look at Dean’s desktop monitor.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. “That’s got to be private. Besides, why do you need to use it?”
“I just want to get into the circuit court records database,” Elliott said. “They might have something on these guys that didn’t end up in their folders. Hell, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
I checked the clock above Dean’s door. It was only twelve-fifteen and Dean had said that he didn’t think he’d be back before three-thirty.
I got up out of Dean’s chair and let Elliott sit in it. “Make it quick,” I said. “I wouldn’t want anyone else poking their head in here while you’re nosing around on that thing.”
Elliott took the chair I had vacated and spun around, facing the computer. As soon as he moved the mouse, the screen saver disappeared and the computer’s wallpaper sprung onto the screen. Elliott stopped what he was doing and looked at me. Dean’s screen saver was a picture of my father, Matt Cooper standing next to Dean’s father, Dan Hollister. Dad had his right arm around Dan’s shoulder while his left hand held two fishing poles upright next to him. Dan’s right hand was stuck inside the gills of a large fish and he was holding it up, smiling a broad smile.
“That had to be the fishing trip granddad told me about when I was probably eleven or twelve,” Elliott said. “I remember seeing this picture in a frame at his house.”
“That was August of 1976,” I said, remembering the photo myself. “Gees, dad looked good for sixty-five. Dan was starting to show his age, though.”
“I never got to meet Dan,” Elliott said. “He died before I was born, if I remember correctly.”
“He died four years after that picture was taken,” I said. “I remember thinking how strange that was at the time. You know, Dad died on Dan’s birthday, September fifth, ten years ago on what would have been Dan’s ninety-second birthday.”
“But Dan died relatively young, didn’t he?” Elliott said.
“Yes,” I said. “He was only…”
“Sixty-nine,” Dean said from over our shoulders.
I quickly turned around, startled that Dean had returned so soon.
Elliott stood up and faced Dean. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Elliott said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy or anything. I just wanted to access the circuit court web site to see if we could come up with any more information on the three victims. I didn’t mean to…”
Dean waved him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Go ahead, get to the site. I’d be interested to know if there’s anything else there myself. Did you find anything out of the ordinary in the folders?”
“Only that all three of the victims had criminal records,” I said. “But I suppose you already knew that.”
Dean looked at me. “Uh, yes, I did,” he said. “But I don’t suppose you found any other common thread among the three?”
I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said.
“I think I did,” Elliott said, rolling the office chair away from the computer so Dean could see the results that appeared on the screen. “Look at this. It seems that each of these victims was involved in a major crime of some sort. According to the outcomes here, it looks like two out of the three walked away without any punishment. The verdict in two of the cases was not guilty. I can’t believe both of them could find a loophole to crawl into.”
Dean took an interest in the contents of the screen and then looked at Elliott. “What about the third one?” Dean said.
“Edgar Polton,” Elliott said, “The victim from last night, did a short stretch in San Quentin. He got out a few years ago.”
“Can you print those three screens for me, Elliott?” Dean said, reaching over to turn on his printer.
“Sure,” Elliott said, hitting the Print Screen button. Three sheets slid out of the printer and into the tray beneath it. Elliott retrieved them and handed them to Dean.
“I think I’d better look into these a little further,” Dean said. “Good work, guys.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I said, looking at Dean.
“Vigilante?” Dean said. “The thought had occurred to me, but what are the chances anyone could go undetected for more than a two months now?”
“You saw Death Wish,” I said. “In fact, we saw it together, remember? How long did Charles Bronson’s character get away with it? Hell, yeah, it’s possible a person could go undetected for a month or two, possibly longer. I think what we need to do now is check recent court cases and find out if any more upstanding citizens avoided justice and walked. There might be your next victim.”
The circuit court access site was still up on the screen. Elliott and Dean traded places. Dean sat behind his desk while Elliott and I stood across his desk, looking over his shoulder.
Dean turned and looked up at us. “I’ll probably be a while here,” he said. “Why don’t you two take a break and check back with me tomorrow?”
I gave Dean the two-finger salute. “Good luck,” I said and turned to leave.
Elliott was right behind me and started to close Dean’s door. He paused, turned to Dean and said, “Dean, do you think I could get a copy of that wallpaper picture of your dad and my grandfather?”
Dean smiled warmly. “I can attach one to an email to you. It’ll be waiting for you by the time you get back to your office.”
“Thanks, Dean,” Elliott said and then left.
“What was that all about?” I said to Elliott.
“Dean’s going to send me a copy of that picture he had on his screen,” Elliott
said.
“I’ve got a copy of that picture already,” I said.
“But yours is in a frame,” Elliott said. “I wanted a digital copy for my own screen.”
I placed my hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “Good choice,” I said. “I may just have to do the same with my computer.”
On our way back to the office, I stopped at a corner news stand and picked up a copy of the Los Angeles Times. We had the Tribune delivered to our office, but I wanted to see what The Times had to say about last night’s murder. While I was at the news stand, something else caught my eye on one of the upper shelves. It was a special edition magazine with a picture of Robert Frost on the cover. The fiftieth anniversary of his death in January of 1963 was coming up and I guess this particular magazine wanted to capitalize on the event.
Personally, I wasn’t a huge fan of Frost or any other poet, for that matter, but I knew that Gloria was. She’s talked about him so much that through her, I felt I knew more about the man than most people I knew. And if one magazine makes Gloria happy, then it makes me happy, too. I paid for the magazine and the paper and brought them back to the car, where Elliott waited somewhat impatiently.
“I thought you were just going to grab a copy of the The Times and leave,” Elliott said. “What took you so long?”
I had the magazine folded inside the newspaper. “Nothing,” I said. “I just got a little carried away with the selection they had, that’s all.”
Elliott made a quick grab for the paper on my lap and the magazine fell out onto the floor. He picked it up, gave the cover a quick glance and handed it back to me. “Robert Frost?” he said. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”
“I don’t,” I said defensively. “It’s for someone else.”
“So,” Elliott said. “A little more of the puzzle comes into play. What else will I find out about your mystery woman?”
“Just drive, Elliott,” I said, folding the newspaper over the magazine again.
We got to the front of our building and I told Elliott to let me off there while he drove around to the lot and parked the car. I made it up to the office several minutes ahead of Elliott and buried the Frost magazine under a stack of papers in my desk drawer. By the time Elliott came in, I was sitting on the leather couch reading the Times article about last night’s murder. Before Elliott had a chance to grill me again about the magazine, I folded the paper and held it out to him.
“The Times article says pretty much the same as The Tribune,” I said. “Only this later edition has the victim’s name in it along with his wife’s name. I don’t remember any mention of a wife in his folder.”
“Let me see that,” Elliott said. He read the article all the way through before handing the paper back to me.
“I think this wife might be worth a visit, don’t you?” I said.
“What can she tell us?” Elliott said.
“You won’t know until you talk to her,” I said. “That’s all part of being a good detective.”
Elliott had just one arm out of his jacket before he stopped, sighed and put the jacket back on. “Give me the address,” Elliott said.
I wrote the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Elliott. “I’ll be here when you get back,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Elliott said, shuffling out the door.
I gave him a good two minutes to make sure he wasn’t going to duck in again before I picked up my phone. It was only a few minutes past one and I still had six and a half hours to go before I could see Gloria again. I decided to give her a call and see if we couldn’t change the arrangement a bit.
I dialed Gloria’s number and it rang twice before she picked up. Just hearing her voice gave my heart a jump start. “Gloria,” I said, cheerily. “It’s Clay. What are you up to?”
“Nothing special,” Gloria said. “Just washing a few things out in the sink and then I thought I’d watch a little television. Why?”
“Elliott’s off interviewing someone about a case we’re on,” I said. “And I have an hour or so to kill and I was just wondering…”
“Sure,” Gloria said. “Come on over.”
“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” I said and hung up.
Just in case I got delayed, I left Elliott a note telling him that I was out following up on a lead of my own and that I’d be back as soon as I had finished. I left if on his computer monitor screen, taped to the upper edge. He’d be sure to see it there. I pulled the magazine out of my desk drawer, grabbed my coat, locked up the office and hurried to my car.
I made it Gloria’s house in twelve minutes, the magazine rolled up in my sweaty fist. I didn’t get a chance to ring her bell when the front door opened and she pulled me inside. I dropped the magazine on the end table and wrapped my arms around her. I kissed her and she held the kiss longer than I had intended. I wasn’t complaining, though, but by the time we’d parted again, my heart was pounding out of my chest.
Gloria laid her hand on my chest and then bent over, laying her ear on that same spot. “You’d better relax or you’ll have the big one right here,” she said. “Now I ask you, how would that look? How would I explain that to Elliott?”
I smiled and gave her one more brief, gentle kiss and then slipped out of my jacket, laying it over the back of her overstuffed easy chair. She ran her hand on my cheek, her fingernails gently scraping from my ear to the tip of my chin. The look on her face made me want to pull her to the floor right then and there, but I managed to restrain myself until my heart rate was back to normal again.
Gloria retreated to the kitchen and returned a minute later carrying two glasses of lemonade. She handed one to me and then took a seat on her sofa. She set her glass down on the coffee table and looked at me again before patting the seat next to her. I set my glass next to hers and then planted myself next to her. If we’d been any closer, she’d have been wearing my clothes.
She ran her fingers through the hair on the back of my neck as she pulled me close and locked her lips with mine. After a moment, her right hand had stopped tousling my hair and had moved to the buttons on my shirt. She unbuttoned three of them and then slipped her hand inside, running her fingers through my thick chest hair. She pinched my nipple gently and then moved her mouth from mine to my ear. Her tongue played on the rim of my ear for a moment and then she whispered, “Let’s go into the bedroom.”
She gently guided me off the couch and led me by the hand to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She pushed me down on the bed and finished unbuttoning my shirt, peeling it off me as if she was peeling a banana. Then she dropped to her knees and unbuckled my belt. I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back down again and finished working on my belt buckle.
Thirty minutes later, when we emerged from her bedroom, our arms around each other’s waist, I had a hard time wiping the smile from my face. I walked to the front door, pulled my jacket off the back of the chair and slipped into it. The ice in both of our lemonade glasses had long since melted, almost like my heart.
Gloria glanced down at the end table and saw the rolled up magazine lying there. She picked it up and noticed Robert Frost on the cover. “What’s this?” she said. “Is this for me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I saw it at the news stand and thought you might like it.”
“I do,” she said. “This one can be my reading copy. It’s already curled up, so I won’t hurt it.”
“Your reading copy?” I said. “What are you talking about?”
Gloria grabbed a magazine that had been lying upside down on the dining room table and brought it over to show me. It was the same magazine I’d just brought her. “This one can be my keeper copy,” she said. “I’ll put this one away as a collector’s item and I can still read the one you brought. Thank you so much, Clay. You’re such a dear to think of me this way.”
“You’re welcome, I guess,” I said.
“Are we still on for seven-thirty?” Gloria said, walking me to the door.
“You
bet,” I said. “Think about where you’d like to eat tonight and what you want. I’d better get back to the office before Elliott starts asking more questions.”
“When are you planning to tell him about us?” Gloria said. “I mean, he’ll find out sooner or later, won’t he?”
“Let’s give it a while longer,” I said. “I have to find just the right moment.”
“All right,” Gloria said. “Just don’t let him find out from anyone else.”
“I won’t,” I said. I gave her one more kiss before I walked back to my car and drove to the office.
Elliott’s car wasn’t in the lot when I got back and I breathed a sigh of relief. I rode the elevator back up to the third floor, smiling to myself the whole time. I unlocked the office door and stepped inside. I removed the note from Elliott’s monitor, crumpled it up and threw it in my waste can. Then I looked at the answering machine and saw that the red light was blinking. I walked over and pressed the message button. It was Elliott.
“Dad,” he said. “Pick up. It’s Elliott.” There was a pause and then Elliott said, “Dad, I’m at the Polton house. I just spoke with Mrs. Polton and she told me something that I need to follow up on. My cell phone is on. Call me as soon as you can.” A clicking sound followed and then the dial tone sounded. This was followed by the mechanical voice that came with the answering machine. “Wednesday, October Twenty-Forth, one forty-five, p.m.”
I checked my watch. It was quarter after two. Think, Clay, I told myself. Where have you been for the past thirty minutes? In the bathroom? No, he wouldn’t believe I’d taken that long. Maybe I stepped out for lunch. Yes, that was it. I went to the corner for a sandwich. That was believable enough, I thought. I started dialing Elliott’s cell phone and then hung up again. The sandwich excuse wouldn’t work. We’d both grabbed a burger on the way home from Dean’s office. Where else could I have been that he’d believe?
Then I remembered the note. Sure, I was out following up on another lead. But what lead? Why was I beating myself up over this? I’m the father. I shouldn’t have to answer to my own son, should I? Of course not. I should just tell him. After all, like Gloria said, he’ll find out sooner or later and it would be better if he heard it from me. And when you think about it, he’d had his chance. If he had been interested in Gloria, he’d had her to himself for those three long months when I was home recuperating from my heart attack. If he hadn’t made a move before this, chances are he wasn’t interested. But I certainly was.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 184