“But you don’t believe him?” Clay said.
“I dismissed it at the time,” Lockhart said, “but the more I thought about it, the more I was sure Vern was up to something. Some of the residences in Beverly Hills and Bel-Air where we’ve installed our systems are worth millions and have millions more in contents inside. That could be too much of a temptation for a lot of guys who wouldn’t follow through because the burglar alarm systems would be almost impossible to get past undetected.”
“Except for either of you,” Clay said.
Lockhart nodded. “Some of the nationwide chains of burglar alarm companies have been taking a pretty big bite out of our business lately and I’m afraid Vern might have decided to help himself to some of our customer’s contents as kind of a hedge against inflation, if you get my drift.”
“And just where does Cooper Investigations come in?” Clay said.
“That last customer,” Lockwood said, “in Beverly Hills. Vern surely must have finished installing that system shortly after lunch yesterday. When he didn’t come back here afterwards, I just assumed he’d gone home for lunch or maybe even got a referral from the homeowner for some neighbor who might want a similar system installed. I let it go yesterday, but today when he didn’t show up for work, I got a strange feeling that Vern let himself into one of our customer’s houses, cleaned them out and took off for who knows where. Naturally when the customer finds out, they’ll call the police and it will eventually lead right back to Lockdown Industries and I’ll be ruined.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Clay said. “I have a feeling there’s more to this story that you haven’t told me.”
Lockhart hesitated and then offered, “That last customer in Beverly Hills, Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle,” Lockhart said. “When they initially called me last week they told me they wanted a new system installed before they left for Paris Monday morning. They told me they’d be gone a week and would feel better about being gone if they got a new burglar alarm system installed. I told Vern about the call and he offered to install it himself.”
“Is that unusual?” Clay said. “How many employees do you have?”
“There’s just the two of us,” Lockhart said, “and Dennis. He’s kind of an all-round gofer and delivery driver when we need an extra pair of hands. Dennis was off picking up some parts for us at the airport and Vern said he’d take this one by himself, so I let him.”
Nick had remained silent all this while, listening intently to the conversation, but quickly added, “Sounds like Vern was planning on revisiting the Carlisle house after they left for Paris. And you can bet he left himself a way to get back in undetected.”
“I’m afraid so,” Lockhart said. “And that’s why I need your services, Mr. Cooper. I need you to find Vern and get back everything he stole so we can put it back before Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle return. They’ll be back in four days.”
Clay thought about it for a moment and then said, “Sounds like a big job to complete in just four days, but we’ll give it our best shot.”
“Is that all the assurance you can give me, Mr. Cooper?” Lockhart said. “Your best shot? Your best shot is not good enough. I need to know for sure that you can handle this job.”
“Mr. Lockhart,” Clay said. “No one, that is, no other detective agency can give you a guarantee like that. There are just too many variables involved. There are too many places Vern could hide and if we did find him, there are even more places where he could hide anything he took, that is, assuming that he’d even admit to taking them in the first place. Let me ask the obvious, Mr. Lockhart. Have you checked the Carlisle house yet yourself to see if Vern is there of had been there?”
“No, I haven’t,” Lockhart said.
“Well, then,” Clay said. “Before I agree to take on this case, suppose the three of us take a ride to the Carlisle house and have a look around? Then I’ll let you know whether or not we’ll be able to handle this for you.”
“Fair enough,” Lockhart said, grabbing a jacket from a hall closet and leading us back out of his front door.
Lockhart crawled into the back seat of my car and the three of us drove towards Beverly Hills. Lockhart instructed me to drive up to Loma Vista, which wound around up into the hills. He told me where to stop when I rounded a corner and spotted an isolated house set back from the road. I parked in the driveway and the three of us got out to have a quick look around.
Lockhart led us up to the front door and rang the bell, knowing no one would answer it. He tried the door knob but it held fast. He reached into his inside jack pocket and produced a small zippered pouch of black leather. Lockhart opened the pouch and withdrew two pieces of metal with pointed ends that looked like something your dentist would poke around with in your mouth. He slipped the two pointed ends into the front door lock and gave a twist and the door knob turned. Lockhart stepped inside and told us to hurry inside, too. He closed the front door, quickly found the alarm box, which was blinking red now.
“We’d better get out of here,” Nick said. “It looks like that this has already gone off.”
Lockhart waved him off. “No, that just means the owner has forty-five seconds to disarm the system.”
“But the owner’s in Paris,” Clay said.
Before Clay or Nick could voice any further objection, Lockhart pressed four numbers on the keypad and the blinking red light turned to a steady green one.
“How’d you know the code?” Clay said.
“I didn’t,” Lockhart said. “But with every system we install we always program in a bypass code in the event we need to shut off the system to work on it. It only works on our systems and the only people who know that code are Vern and me.”
“So now what?” Nick said.
“Let’s have a look around,” Lockhart said. “See if you can find any obvious signs of things missing or disturbed. I’ll start in here in the foyer. Could you take a look upstairs, Mr. Cooper?”
“What about me?” Nick said. “Where would you like me to check?”
“Try the kitchen,” Lockhart said.
“This place is bigger than some hotels I’ve stayed at,” Nick said. “Where is the kitchen?”
Lockhart shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before myself. Just start looking around.”
Clay climbed the curved staircase, checking the walls as he ascended. There were several framed pictures hanging on the wall on the way up the stairs, but no empty hangers. At the top of the stairs Clay found several doors in a row. He tried each one, opening the door and peeking inside. So far everything looked in apple pie order with no signs of any disturbance. He looked in the upstairs bathroom, which was bigger than his whole office. Everything was immaculate in here as well. The last room at the end of the hall looked to be the master bedroom. Once again, not a thing seemed out of place.
Lockhart walked all around the foyer, checking walls, drawers, doors and cabinets. Nothing appeared to be missing or obviously absent. He finished with the foyer and continued on through to the den. He flipped on the light switch and this room was also spotless and unmolested. He turned the light off again and walked into the living room. Could he have been wrong about Vern actually going through with his plan to rob their rich customers?
Nick found the kitchen and it looked cleaner than the fanciest restaurant he’d even visited. Past the kitchen he found a laundry room that looked as if it had never been used. On the other side of the laundry room, Nick emerged into what looked to be a solarium. There was wicker furniture and glass tables and plants everywhere. This setting was also pristine, with no signs that anyone had been here recently.
Clay descended the staircase and met Lockhart in the foyer again. “Find anything down here?” Clay said.
Lockhart shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “What about upstairs?”
“This whole place looks like some model home that no one lives in,” Clay said. “You sure this place was ever occupied?”
“Now how did you know that?” Lockhart said.
“I found him,” Nick said.
“Where,” Clay and Lockhart said in unison.
“Follow me, boys,” Nick said, shuffling his way back toward the solarium.
When the three of them got to the solarium, Nick pointed out one of the many windows toward the back yard. Lying face down on the plush green lawn was the body of a man wearing a blue blazer and tan slacks. He had brown hair—what there was left of it on the mangled red skull. It was hard to tell from that angle. The tan slacks were stained with blood, lots of blood. One shoe was missing and the shoeless foot was also covered with blood. The blue blazer was ripped the shreds and barely hanging on the body.
“What the hell?” Lockhart said and grabbed the handle to the solarium door.
He’d no sooner twisted the handle than two black and brown Dobermans ran up to the door, jumping and clawing at the outside door knob, their large white and red fangs staring him right in the face. Lockhart pulled the door closed again and jumped back, his heart pounding out of his chest. He quickly locked the door and looked at Clay.
“Jesus Christ,” Lockhart said. “That’s Vern out there. Those two animals killed him.”
Nick laid a hand on Lockhart’s shoulder and said, “Son, where I came from no one relied on any electrical gadgets to protect their property. No sir, they went with the tried and true methods…guard dogs. Now I’d say from the looks of things here, that the home owners didn’t put a whole lot of faith in these new-fangled alarm systems. And since they were going to be gone a week, I’d say it looks like they got themselves a backup system just in case.”
“Nick,” Clay said. “I couldn’t have summed it up better myself. Now suppose we all get out of here and set the alarm again.” He turned to Lockhart. “When we get back to your house, you can handle this thing any way you want. But since it looks like Vern never got a chance to take anything, you’re probably in the clear as far as that goes. You can always tell the police that Vern was there to install a new system and that the dogs attacked him. But I don’t suppose that will gel with what Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle tell them when they return. Vern was supposed to have had the system installed already and he’d have been long gone.”
“What am I going to do, Mr. Cooper?” Lockhart said, climbing back into Clay’s back seat.
Clay quickly drove away, heading back to Lockhart’s house.
When they got back to Lockhart’s house, Nick turned around in the front seat and faced Lockhart. “May I suggest something?” Nick said.
“Anything,” Lockhart said. “Please.”
“Suppose you telephone the police and tell them that your partner went back to the Carlisle house to follow up on yesterday’s installation and that he hasn’t returned yet and that you were concerned. And ask them if they’d mind cruising past the house to have a look for themselves. Once around the house should do it and when they find him lying there and call you back, you’d better be a damned good actor and act surprised unless you want to answer a lot of questions downtown and see your business go down the crapper.”
“And what about you two?” Lockhart said, leading the two men back into his house. “What do I tell them about you?”
“You don’t know us,” Clay said, closing Lockhart’s front door. “Because if they drag us into this mess I’ll have to tell them what really happened and you wouldn’t want that. The cops don’t take kindly to finding out that you lied to them.”
Lockhart considered his options and said, “I like your last option. I’ll leave you out of it altogether. What do I owe you for your time?”
Clay looked at Nick, thought for a moment and then turned back to Lockhart. “Let’s call it fifty bucks…cash, no receipt.”
Lockhart breathed a sigh of relief and pulled three twenties out of his wallet. “Here’s sixty,” he said. “Keep it.”
Nick headed for the front door and then turned back toward Lockhart. “And if you pull this off you’ll also get the bonus of now being the sole owner of Lockdown Industries. And if you both took out partner insurance on each other, there’s that windfall, too. Then after an appropriate period of mourning, you can resume business as usual under your new name…Lockhart Industries.”
“I think this just may work out for the better,” Lockhart said. “Thank you both. Goodbye.”
Back in the car, as they were headed back toward Hollywood, Nick turned to Clay and said, “How did you come up with the fifty dollar figure you gave Lockhart?”
Clay smiled. “That’s all part of having been a private eye for forty years. It’s a time-honored formula that we P.I.s use to figure the value of time spent on a case. In this case, I figured out how much a really nice lunch would cost for the two of us and that’s the figure I gave him.”
“And he even gave you ten bucks extra,” Nick said.
“Can’t forget the tip,” Clay said, and drove on to the restaurant.
72 - Playing The Rolls
The long black Rolls Royce limo pulled off of State Highway 86 and onto the dirt road. It lumbered along at a respectable fifteen miles per hour for a couple of minutes and then stopped when the road branched out into a fork. Clayton Matthew Cooper pressed the button that opened the partition between his compartment and the driver’s and leaned forward. He studied the road for a few seconds and tapped his chauffeur on the shoulder.
“Reginald, I think the left branch is the way to go,” Clay said, pointing out the windshield past the driver’s head.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Reginald said, “But it’s the right branch.”
Clay gave the driver a puzzled look. “You’re sure, Reginald?”
“Quite sure, sir,” he said. “The note was very explicit. I do hope Miss Evelyn hasn’t been too uncomfortable.”
“Very well then Reginald,” Clay said. “Drive on.” Clay sat back and pushed the button that raised the partition glass again. Clay Cooper was a distinguished looking man in his early sixties with hair that was beginning to show a trace of white at the temples. He had a healthy build. Clay had on his three-piece charcoal suit with a bright blue tie spilling out of the front. His hair was neatly combed and quite short.
Reginald was a pleasant-looking man of sixty-eight with the body of a fifty-year-old. His hair was still dark, what was left of it, anyway. It formed a near perfect semi-circle around the back of his head. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and black tie and a black cap with a short visor. His shoes were shiny black leather wing tips. He looked every bit the proper chauffeur.
In a few minutes the Rolls limo rolled to a stop. Reginald exited and stood holding the door open for his passenger. Clay emerged carrying a large, chocolate brown briefcase. He surveyed his surroundings for a moment. Reginald took the brief case from Clay and closed the rear car door.
Fifty yards ahead, nestled in a thicket of pine trees lay a cabin whose roof sported a hole probably five feet around. The remaining shingles looked as though they might blow away with the next breeze. There was what used to be a porch hanging precariously from the front of the building. All that remained was a partial railing, an unstable platform and two creaky steps. The steps leading up to the front door might hold the weight of a squirrel, providing he didn’t have his cheeks full of nuts. It looked worse than Jed Clampett’s house before he’d loaded up his truck and moved to Beverly—Hills, that is.
Reginald stepped up and over the rickety stairs and held his hand out to his passenger. Clay took Reginald’s hand and pulled himself carefully up onto the porch. The two men stopped at the door and looked at each other. Clay nodded. Reginald grabbed the doorknob and twisted. The door opened with the creaking squeal that the rusty hinges provided. Once inside, Reginald stood to one side of the door, his hand inside his coat.
Seated at a dus
ty table were two men. Joe Dagistino was in his late sixties and looked weather worn and rough. His face was tan and full of wrinkles and his hands were covered by black leather driving gloves. He had on a blue jean vest over a black leather jacket.
The other man seemed to be in charge. He was dressed in logger’s boots, jeans and a black and red plaid shirt, open at the neck. A tuft of white chest hair peeked out over the shirt. Jonathan Hoppert appeared to be seventy or so and his white hair fluffed up in the back and ended in a creative swirl on top of his head. With a glance and a nod, his partner took his place near another door that led to a room at the back of the cabin.
Clay stepped forward and held the briefcase out in front of him. Hoppert took the case and laid it on the table between them. He snapped his fingers and Dagistino popped the two catches and lifted the lid, exposing stacks of bound bills.
“It’s all there,” Clay said.
“It better be, ya bastard, Cooper,” Hoppert said. “If it ain’t, yer dead meat. Boat uh yas.”
“Just return Evelyn to me and we’ll leave,” Clay said. “There’ll be no trouble.”
“Joe,” Hoppert said, “Take the ol’ man in back.”
Joe opened the door and swung his arm inward pointing the way. Clay walked over to the doorway and peered in at his old friend, Evelyn, who was bound and gagged and seated on a wooden chair. Evelyn was a woman in her mid-sixties who looked ten years younger. She had an air of sophistication about her. She and Clay had been friends for a dozen years or more. Clay rushed in and pulled the gag from her mouth and untied her wrists.
“Get me out of here,” Evelyn screamed.
“Evelyn,” Clay said, “What did they do to you? Are you all right?”
“Just get me loose,” she said. “This place is absolutely ghastly. I want to get out of here, do you hear me.”
Clay untied his friend and the two of them quickly exited the back room. Reginald had his gun out and was pointing it at the other two men.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 209