The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  “All right then,” Landry said. “I guess I’ll see you both then.” He walked back toward Lieutenant Houser’s office.

  Gloria and I walked back to my car and paused. “Did you notice anything strange with any of the cops we interviewed?” Gloria said.

  “Strange?” I said. “Like how?”

  “It’s almost like they were expecting us and had pat answers ready,” Gloria said. “Like they’d been coached.”

  “I hadn’t noticed at the time,” I said. “But now that you bring it up, yes, it did seem that way. Who do you suppose is behind the coaching?”

  Gloria shrugged. “No way to know how deep it goes,” she said. “I doubt it goes as high as Lieutenant Houser. He was too cooperative right off the bat, even before he knew what we were after. No, I think if anyone’s involved, it’s probably at a lower level, if at all. You know, maybe we’re just getting paranoid about the whole thing.”

  “What about Sergeant Landry?” I said.

  “I’m not sure,” Gloria said. “He didn’t strike me as someone with anything to hide, either.”

  “Oh hell,” I said. “We don’t even know that there’s anything going on here at all. Let’s just let it go until we come back at three and talk to this Kevin Murphy.”

  I sat in my car and pulled out the seven photocopied sheets Houser had made for me. I made a mental note of the scene of Reese’s murder. On our way back toward Hollywood we stopped at the alley where Gordon Reese’s body had been found. Any trace that there had been a crime committed here had long since vanished.

  “What are we doing here?” Gloria said, looking at her surroundings.

  “I’m just trying to picture the circumstances,” I said. “I thought I might be able to get a feel for the place.”

  “Do we know that this is where Reese was killed?” Gloria said. “Do we know for sure he wasn’t killed somewhere else and dumped here?”

  “According to the police report,” I said, “The coroner is sure he was killed right here where they found his body. There was a trace of blood splatter on that wall at about the height of Reese’s head.” I pointed to one of the alley walls behind me.

  Gloria gestured with her chin at the wall. “And what is this building here?” she said. “I’m sure the police would have checked with whoever lives here or has a business here.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to check again,” I said.

  We walked around to the street side of the building and found it to be a second hand shop. There were mannequins in the windows wearing old clothes, sitting on used chairs and surrounded by other used items. The bell above the door tinkled as we entered and an old man came out from behind a door that had a long, black curtain hanging in front of it.

  He looked at Gloria and me and decided we had to be a couple. He smiled as he approached us. “How can I help you today?” he said, his hands spreading in front of him.

  “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions,” I said.

  The man’s face dropped, realizing that we were not the paying customers that he needed. Gloria was quick to add, “Would you have any women’s jackets in my size from the 80s era?” She held her arms out from her side and spun around to give the man a good look at her body size and shape.

  The smile returned to his face and he led Gloria to a rack of clothes and pulled a jacket off the rack. He held it up in front of her and turned her around to face the full-length mirror on the dressing room door. “If you weren’t so young,” the man said, “You could have been the original owner of this jacket. It’s you.”

  Gloria slipped out of her own jacket and laid it across the rack of other garments. She slipped into this jacket and looked at herself in the mirror again. “Ooh,” she said. “I like it. How much is it?”

  The man pinched the price tag that hung from Gloria’s arm and held it up for her.

  “Are you serious?” Gloria said. “That’s a steal. I’ll take it. Thank you so much.”

  “Can I show you anything else today, young lady?” the man said, carrying the jacket up to the cash register.

  “This is my limit for today,” Gloria said, “But come payday, I’ll be back for a closer look at the rest of your beautiful clothes.”

  The man rang up the sale, slipped the jacket into a bag, took Gloria’s money and gave her change.

  Gloria squeezed the man’s arm before taking the bag from him. “Say,” she said offhandedly, “Would you happen to remember an incident that happened in the alley behind your store about two months ago? The police found a man who’d been hurt back there, if I remember correctly.”

  “Hurt?” the man said. “He was murdered, he was. Oh, it was terrible. I was watching when they put him on the stretcher and took him away. I’ll never forget it.”

  Gloria stepped up her game. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My name’s Gloria Campbell and this is Elliott Cooper.” She gestured toward me. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Israel Sheldon,” the man said. “Folks around here call me Izzy.”

  Gloria touched his arm again and smiled broadly. “Would it be all right if I called you Izzy?” she said.

  I think I saw the old man blush just then. “Certainly,” he said, smiling shyly.

  “Izzy,” Gloria said, “The night that man was killed behind your store, you didn’t happen to see or hear anything just before that, did you?”

  Izzy held both palms up in the air. “I didn’t see anything,” he said adamantly. “I didn’t hear anything, either. I mind my own business and I don’t bother people.”

  Gloria pulled one of her business cards from her pocket and handed it to Izzy. “Mr. Sheldon,” Gloria said and then corrected herself. “Izzy, Elliott and I have been hired by that poor man’s wife to find out what happened to him. No one seems to know anything, or if they do, they aren’t talking. The poor woman is beside herself with grief and is just looking for some closure so she can get on with her life. She simply won’t rest until she knows whether or not her husband suffered at the end. I’m sure you can understand that, can’t you?” She smiled at Izzy again, and whether or not she planned it, she batted her eyelashes at the old man.

  “Miss Campbell,” Izzy started to say.

  “Gloria,” she said. “Please call me Gloria.”

  “All right, Gloria,” Izzy said. “The police talked to me for more than an hour that night and I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “Could you have?” Gloria said.

  Izzy looked both ways before addressing Gloria again. “Gloria,” he said, “I know some people who don’t live so long getting involved in other people’s business. Me, I want to live to a ripe old age so I mind my own business.”

  “I promise you, Izzy,” Gloria said. “That whatever you tell me won’t go any further. We’d just like to put an end to that poor woman’s worries. Please, Izzy, can you help us?”

  Izzy walked over to his front door, twisted the Open sign so that the Closed side showed outside, pulled the shade down over the door and locked it before walking back over to where we stood. He guided us into his back room and let the black curtain drop behind us. He motioned us over to a small window at the back of the room.

  I walked over and parted the curtains slightly to look out the window. I could see the spot in the alley where we’d been standing just minutes earlier. I let the curtains drop again and turned to Izzy. “You saw what happened that night, didn’t you?” I said.

  Izzy hung his head and nodded slowly.

  Gloria stood next to Izzy again and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Would you tell us about it, please?” she said, gesturing toward an overstuffed chair.

  Izzy sat on the chair and sighed heavily. I pulled up two straight back chairs for Gloria and me and we sat close enough to Izzy so that he could talk softly.

  “It was just before sunset,” Izzy said. “I hear a scuffling noise in the back and went to take a look out the window. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but a second after
I pulled back the curtain a little, I saw him shoot that poor man.”

  “You saw who shoot that poor man?” I said.

  “Why, that policeman,” Izzy said. “Shot him dead without any warning at all. Then he just calmly walked away and I didn’t see him again.”

  “Which man was facing you?” Gloria said.

  “The man who was shot was facing me,” Izzy explained. “The man who shot him had his back to me. He didn’t see me and I closed the curtains again right after the shot. I don’t mind telling you, I was scared. I never said anything to anybody else before tonight and you know what? It feels good to get it out after two months bottled up inside.” Izzy let out his breath and settle back into the chair.

  “Did you notice anything about the policeman?” I said. “I mean, could you tell if he was a patrolman or an officer?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Izzy said.

  “I mean, did you see any stripes on his arms or bars on his shoulders?” I said. “Officers would have something on their uniforms to identify them as such.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean,” Izzy said. “No, I didn’t see anything like that. All I could see from the back was the blue uniform shirt with some kind of patch on the shoulders and the blue cap with the visor. And, of course that gun. My goodness, what a big gun that was.”

  I was trying to picture the action in my mind from the time Izzy parted the curtains until the policeman walked away. I played the scene over and over in my mind, trying to visualize the events of that night. I looked up at Izzy. “Do you recall which hand the policeman used?”

  “Which hand?” Izzy said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Did he shoot the man with his right hand or his left hand? Please, Izzy, think about it carefully for a few seconds.”

  Izzy stood up and turned toward the window. He mimed the action, playing the part of the cop. He pretended to draw a gun from his right hip, raising it up to head height and then tried it again from his left hip. He thought for a moment and then said, “It was his left hand. I’m sure of it.”

  Gloria leaned in toward Izzy. “Izzy,” she said. “Did you happen to see the policeman when he left? I mean do you know if he walked away or did you maybe see him drive away in a police car?”

  “No,” Izzy said. “I didn’t move from this spot after I saw what I saw. I was too scared to go into the store and look out the front window. I didn’t hear a car leaving, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one parked out of my hearing distance.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Gloria said, softly squeezing the old man’s arm.

  “That’s all I know,” Izzy said.

  “And you never told any of this to the police who came around later?” I said.

  Izzy shook his head. “I couldn’t,” he said. “What would have happened to me if the policeman I told all this to was the same one who shot that man? You see? I had to keep quiet. I just told the policeman who came around here that I was in the other end of the store around that time and didn’t see or hear anything. That seemed to be all they wanted to know and they left me alone after that.”

  Gloria and I stood and a moment later, so did Izzy. He showed us to the front of the store again and unlocked the front door, pulling up the shade and turning around the sign again.

  “Thank you again, Izzy,” Gloria said. “For your help and for this.” She held up the bag with the vintage jacket in it.

  “You come back any time, young lady,” Izzy said and then turned to me. “And you come back to, Mr. Cooper. I have some lovely jackets that would look marvelous on you as well.”

  “I will,” I said, and led Gloria out of the store and back to my car.

  When we got back in the car, Gloria raised her eyebrows and just looked at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “What you just witnessed, Mr. Cooper was called finesse,” she said. “You don’t just walk in and start asking questions. You have to gain the other person’s confidence and make them like you, and then you ask your questions.” She threw her bag into the back seat and said, “You’ll learn.”

  I started the car and drove away, somewhat in awe of her technique. “Are you really going to wear that god-awful jacket?” I said.

  Gloria shook her head. “Not in this lifetime,” she said. “But just look at all the information we got for just six dollars and fifty cents, which I plan on turning in with my expense account.”

  I had to laugh. “A bargain at twice the price,” I said. “You better hang onto it, thought, in case you have to go back there for any reason. Just think how much more you’ll get from him if you come into his store wearing that monstrosity.”

  “As long as no one I know sees me in it,” she said.

  As we drove along the Hollywood Freeway, Gloria and I talked about what we’d just learned. “We have two possibilities here,” I said. “One, Gordon Reese was shot by a cop.”

  “And what’s number two?” Gloria said.

  “Gordon Reese was shot by someone dressed like a cop,” I said. “And that means that we’d better forget about talking to any more Burbank cops until we know a little more about the circumstances surrounding Reese’s death. We certainly don’t want to be poking our stick in any hornet’s nest.”

  “Couldn’t we just sort of hang around the Burbank Police Department without asking a lot of questions?” Gloria said.

  “And that would accomplish what?” I said.

  “Well,” Gloria said. “It would be like spending the morning at the mall when you don’t really intend to buy anything.”

  “Come again,” I said.

  “When I have nothing else to do, one of my favorite pastimes is to go to the mall, plant my butt on a bench and just watch the people,” Gloria explained. “The show is free?”

  “Now what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “A few years ago,” Gloria explained, “I ran into a man on Hollywood Boulevard. He had a camera and he was just taking pictures of all the colorful people who walk up and down the boulevard on any given day. When he’d see an interesting specimen, he’d take their picture and try to get them to sign a release so that he could include their photo in the book he was planning on writing. He told me he was going to call the book, ‘The Show Is Free’ because of all the strange people he came across. He said it was cheap entertainment and it was right there in front of him for the taking.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. How does his story relate to us?”

  “Don’t you see?” Gloria said. “We spend a few hours at the cop shop and just people watch. Who knows? Sooner or later we may see a cop wearing his gun on his left hip.”

  The light bulb above my head burned brightly and Gloria smiled like a man with a turban on some mountain top, sitting cross-legged and dishing out pearls of wisdom.

  “I think you may be onto something there, Miss Campbell,” I said.

  “That’s Ms. Campbell,” Gloria said.

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Tell me you’re not one of those,” I said.

  Gloria stared coldly at me for a few seconds and then broke into a wide grin. “I’m just jerkin’ your bobber, boss,” she said. “I can’t stand those kinds of women, or the ones who insist on using some pretentious hyphenated last name. I say pick one and go with it, for Christ’s sake.”

  Now I was laughing right out loud. “Sometimes, I feel like we were separated at birth,” I said. “You kill me, you know that?”

  “I’m serious,” Gloria said. “The only people who annoy me more are the wine snobs who go on about bouquet and body and having to let their wine breathe. Give me a break. Pour a little ‘Two Buck Chuck’ in one of those fancy bottles and they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Who’s worse, the wine snobs or those so-called art connoisseurs? You’ve seen these morons at the galleries going on about their interpretation of a painting and how they can feel the artist’s pain and knew exactly what he
was trying to convey with his piece.”

  “Oh yeah,” Gloria said. “And the painting they’re looking at is called ‘Man’s Inhumanity To Man’ and it’s nothing more than a red triangle on a yellow background.”

  “Stop,” I said, laughing hysterically now. “Or I’ll piss in my pants.”

  Gloria held up both palms toward me. “Enough said,” she replied and folded her hands in her lap. We remained silent for exactly three second before we both exploded in laughter.

  My exit was coming up and I reached over and placed my hand on her knee. “Enough,” I said. “This is where we get off.”

  At that comment, Gloria shot me a sideways glance with one eyebrow raised. She glanced down at my hand on her knee and then back at me. I quickly pulled my hand back and grabbed the steering wheel, and said nothing. She seemed to sober up immediately.

  I tooled my car east on Hollywood Boulevard and turned north on Cahuenga, pulling into the lot behind our building. We got out, walked in through the back door and rode the elevator to the third floor. We sat there for a minute, neither of us saying a word.

  The silence was a bit awkward so I broke it by saying, “I’ll be stopping by to look in on Dad later this afternoon. Would you like to come along with me and say hi?”

  Gloria’s head shot up quickly and she had a startled look on her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.

  “Huh?” I said.

  She must have realized that she’d overreacted and backed off. “Nothing,” she said. “I thought you said something else. Never mind.”

  “So, is that a no on the visit then?” I said.

  “I have to stay here,” Gloria said. “I have some catching up to do. I’ll check in on him later, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Whatever works for you.”

  I picked up my phone and dialed Dean Hollister at the twelfth precinct.

  “Hollister,” Dean said when he got on the line.

  “Dean,” I said. “It’s Elliott.”

  “Elliott who?” Dean said.

  “Now how many Elliott’s do you know?” I said.

  “Well, let’s see, “Dean said. “There’s Elliott Ness, the crime fighter, Elliott Gould, the actor, Mama Cass Elliott, the ham sandwich eater.”