“I don’t have a house,” Fleming said. “When Janice died I sold the house and got an apartment. And as for the bank account, it doesn’t matter if I take out the whole amount. Three hundred sixteen dollars won’t matter one way or the other.”
“Didn’t you get a lot of money when you sold your house?” I said.
“I did,” Fleming said, “but it was all eaten up with hospital bills. Janice was sick for a long time and I didn’t have enough insurance to cover it all. By the time she died, it was like I was starting over from scratch. Hell, maybe something like this will get me a fresh start somewhere else.”
“So what’s your idea?” I said.
Dad got up from his crouching position in the back of the van and sat at the swivel chair that was attached to the floor in front of the row of mini monitors that I’d had installed for a previous surveillance job. “I figured I could get my make-up artist friend from the studio to do a job on your face and upper body to make it look like you’d been either hit by a car or shot to death or had met some other grizzly end,” Dad explained. “After he’s finished with you, I thought I could get my buddy at the television studio to get your picture on the air along with a fake broadcast about how your body was found, blah, blah, blah. Whoever put out the contract is sure to see it and step away, satisfied that their problem had been taken care of.”
“I like the concept,” Fleming said, “but what’s to keep your friends from spilling the beans on what really happened?”
“I see what you mean,” Dad said. “Well, we could eliminate the make-up man and do the job ourselves.”
I snapped my fingers. “Gloria,” I said. “Dad, remember she’s an excellent make-up artist, not to mention her other skills.”
Dad smiled widely. “That solves one problem. Now what about the television coverage?”
I thought for a moment and then said, “Skip the television camera,” I said. “With all that surveillance equipment we own, we can film him ourselves, once Gloria finishes doing the make-up. Then we leave the video in an envelope at the TV station and call them. If we can come off convincingly enough, they’ll still air the footage, giving us the same end result.”
“I think this just might work,” Fleming said.
“Do you think we should let Eric in on this?” I said.
“Who’s Eric?” Fleming said.
Dad jumped in at this point. “Lieutenant Eric Anderson is our friend on the L.A.P.D.,” he explained. “And no, I don’t think letting him know would be in Mr. Fleming’s best interest. You never know how much of the book he’d want to follow for something like this, and as well-meaning as he might want to be, letting him in on it could just cost someone their life.”
Fleming looked alarmed. “Can’t we keep this just between us three?” he said.
“Us three and Gloria,” I said.
“And who is Gloria?” Fleming said.
“She’s the third partner in Cooper Investigations,” I said. “And she also happens to be my wife. You can trust her with your life.”
Fleming thought about everything for a moment. “Okay, so you do the make-up and send the video. Won’t someone along the way expect to see a body?”
“I hadn’t thought of that?” I said, turning to Dad. “There’s an argument for letting Eric in on it. He might be able to smooth things over in that area.”
Dad shrugged. “We might not have a choice. You want me to run it by him, hypothetically, of course?”
I looked at Fleming. “What do you think?” I said.
“How well do you know this Eric?” Fleming said.
“Well enough to know he’s someone you could trust,” Dad said. “I’m sure if I explain the situation to him, that he’d choose to bend the rules a little to save a life.”
“Do we have enough time?” Fleming said.
“A little less than thirty hours,” I said and turned to Dad. “Can you get over there right away and talk to Eric?”
“Drop me back at the office first so I can pick up my own car,” Dad said. “You take Mr. Fleming up to the office and wait there for me. It won’t take me long.”
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to our building. I left Dad in the parking lot and took Fleming up to the office and locked the door behind us. I told him to have a seat while I called Gloria. I got her on the second ring.
“Hello,” she said, in a low voice.
“Gloria,” I said, “how’s Matt doing?”
“Much better,” she said. “His fever broke and he’s eating again. He’ll be fine.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Listen, can you get Mrs. Chandler to come stay with Matt? I’m going to need you here in the office for a little while.”
“What is it, Elliott?” Gloria said.
“Can’t discuss it on the phone,” I told her.
“It’s that important?” she said.
“It is,” I said. “In fact, let me call you back on your cell phone.” I hung up and dialed Gloria’s cell. She answered right away.
“Elliott, what’s going on?” she said.
“We have an important job that will take all three of us,” I explained. “You’ll need to bring your make-up kit and bring one of my shirts from the closet. Find something I don’t wear too much anymore. Don’t ask me anything else about the case right now. I don’t have a lot of extra time. I’ll fill you in when you get here? How long will it take you?”
“I’ll call Mrs. Chandler right now,” Gloria said. “Give me forty-five minutes.”
“The office door will be locked,” I said. “Call me on your cell when you get off the elevator.” I hung up and turned to Fleming. “I think this is going to work.”
Dad knocked on Lieutenant Anderson’s office door and stuck his head inside. “Can we talk, Eric?” Dad said. Dad filled Eric in on most of what we’d learned, leaving out Fleming’s name until he was sure he would have Eric’s cooperation.
Eric weighed the pros and cons of the situation for a moment and then said, “I think I know you and Elliott well enough that you wouldn’t steer me wrong on this, Clay. If it means saving a life versus bending a rule or two, you can count on my discretion.”
“Thanks, Eric,” Dad said. “We have the subject at our office right now. Gloria’s coming over to make him up before we take the stills and videos for the television station. You know, a word or two from you to the studio manager could help move this process along.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Eric said. “Just get me the photos and I’ll talk to Murphy over at KTLA.”
“Thanks, Eric,” Dad said. “When this is over we’ll help you any way we can in trying to identify the people who put out the contract on Fleming.”
“And this Smith character?” Eric said. “Could you find him again if you had to?”
“We won’t have to,” Dad said. “He’ll be dead in less than thirty hours. Someone will let you know where his body turns up.”
“Did this Smith guy say anything about who might have poisoned him?” Eric said. “And come to think of it, how can you be sure he’s telling you the truth about all of this?”
“I can only tell you my impression of how the meeting went,” Dad said. “He seemed genuinely concerned about our client. I got the feeling he was telling us the truth, for whatever that’s worth. Otherwise, what would he have to gain by dragging me and Elliott into it?”
“I suppose so,” Eric said. “Of course you know that John Smith won’t be his real name.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “I figured that out right off the bat.” Something occurred to Dad and he paused momentarily to collect his thoughts.
“What is it, Clay?” Eric said.
“I was just thinking,” Dad said. “We have our client’s real name and he is apparently this Smith guy’s father, so Smith’s real name would have to be the same as our client.”
“And don’t you think you should tell me that name, Clay?” Eric said. “If we’re going to work on th
is mess together, it would help me if I knew who to look for.”
Dad leaned in toward Eric. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone here at the station. Not even your captain. Leaks can come from the most innocent of circumstances, so we have to keep this between you and me and Elliott and Gloria.”
“Agreed,” Eric said.
“Our client’s name is Fleming,” Dad said. “Harry Fleming.”
Eric made a note of it. “I’ll check records for Harry Fleming and see what his son’s name is,” Eric said. “I’ll meet you back at your office when I finish.”
Dad got up and left without further discussion. He came back to the office to find the door locked. “Elliott,” he said from behind the door. “It’s me. Open the door.”
I let Dad in and locked the door again. “We’re still waiting for Gloria,” I said. “How’d it go with Lieutenant Anderson?”
“He’s in,” Dad said. “He’s going to check the records for Fleming’s son’s name.”
“My son?” Fleming said. “What are you talking about?”
Dad and I looked at Fleming. His face was awash with fear. “We didn’t tell you earlier, Mr. Fleming,” Dad said, “but the guy who hired us to find you said you were his father. He didn’t give us his real name but inadvertently he told us who he is.”
“This is crazy,” Fleming said. “Someone told you he was my son?”
“Not in so many words,” I said. “He told us he’d been contracted to kill you but he wanted us to find you first and save you because, like we told you earlier, he’s dying.”
Fleming glanced at me and then at Dad. “Something’s not right here,” Fleming said.
“What do you mean, Mr. Fleming?” Dad said.
Fleming sat down in my client’s chair. “My son died six years ago in Iraq. I don’t know who the man you met is, but he’s certainly not my son.”
Now Dad and I were alarmed. What did Smith have to gain by telling us this tall tale about his father? And why bring us in on it in the first place, unless. “Oh oh,” I said.
“What, oh oh?” Dad said.
“What if we’ve been set up?” I said.
“Set up?” Dad said. “By who?”
“Smith,” I said, “or whatever his name is. What if he just hired us to find Fleming for him and we’re the Judas goat?”
“He wouldn’t have to do that,” Dad said. “Remember, he’s the one who gave us Fleming’s name and address. He could have gotten to him without our help?”
I turned to Fleming. “Is it possible there’s more than one Harry Fleming in the Los Angeles area?” I said.
Fleming shrugged. “Not that I know of,” he said. “Why?”
“Dad,” I said, feeling queasy inside. “Would you hand me the phone book?”
Dad pulled the Los Angeles phone book out of the drawer in his desk and handed it to me. I flipped it open to the F section and found the list of Flemings. I ran my finger down the page until I came to Harry and then looked up at Fleming. “What is your address, Mr. Fleming,” I said.
“I live on Tamarind Avenue, just north of Fountain, why?” Fleming said.
Directly below the Tamarind Avenue Fleming was another Harry Fleming who lived on Wilcox Ave. My ears got hot and my heart sunk. “Oh shit,” I said.
“What is it?” Dad said.
“Smith must have given us the wrong name,” I said. “There are two Harry Flemings in the book.” I turned to Fleming. “Do you know this other Harry Fleming?”
“I didn’t even know there was another one,” Fleming said. “You think he’s the real target?”
“It probably doesn’t matter,” Dad said. “If Smith got the wrong information, chances are he got it from whoever ordered the hit. They probably don’t even know they have the wrong guy targeted. And we have no way of knowing who these people are. We couldn’t stop them if we wanted to. Hell, we don’t even know where to find this Smith character. So, for all practical purposes, Harry here is still their target and we have to carry on with our plan, same as before.”
“So I still have to lose everything and go into hiding?” Fleming said.
“It looks like it,” I said. “Unless Dad and I can find Smith or the people who hired him.”
My cell phone rang and I jumped somewhat. It was Gloria calling from the lobby. “I’m coming up,” she said.
I closed my phone and waited near the office door for Gloria. I heard the elevator door open, followed the sound of footsteps. The outer office door opened and I opened the inner door for Gloria.
“Now what’s with all the secrecy?” Gloria said when she stepped inside. She glanced at Fleming. “Who’s this?”
Harry Fleming,” I said, by way of introduction, “Gloria Cooper, my wife. She’ll be doing the makeup job on you.”
Harry extended his hand and Gloria shook it.
I explained Harry’s situation to Gloria and told her about my plan to fake Harry’s death.
“What effect are we trying to create here?” Gloria said. “I mean, what is supposed to be the cause of death?”
“I think we’re going to have to convince someone that Harry’s been shot,” Dad said. “After all, they sent a hit man and we saw the gun he was packing. How about if you do a makeup job around his forehead, making it look like a bullet hole.”
I looked at Harry. “Take off that jacket, would you Harry?” I said.
Harry removed the blue Transit Authority jacket, revealing a white shirt and tie.
“Perfect,” I said. “The red will make a nice contrast against the white.” I turned to Gloria. “Let’s make three or four bullet holes in the front of the shirt, accented by red and, oh hell, you know what we need. Just do your magic on him.”
“You want this done here in the office?” Gloria said. “Are you trying to create the effect that he was shot indoors?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” I said.
“What about movie prop squibs?” Gloria said. “You know, they plant them under the shirt and set them off remotely. The effect looks very realistic. You video record the shooting part, cut to the close-ups and show his face and chest and you can almost convince yourself that he’s dead. It’ll sure as hell fool the contract killers.”
“Where are we supposed to get squibs on such short notice?” I said.
“I can get some,” Gloria assured me. “How much time do we have left?”
I looked at my watch. “About twenty-nine hours, according to Smith,” I said. “And that’s assuming he was telling us the truth about him dying.”
“Give me an hour,” Gloria said. “I have a contact at the movie studio who’ll let me have a handful and he won’t ask any questions.”
Dad and I exchanged glances with Harry. We all nodded and I turned to Gloria. “Go,” I said. “We’ll be here when you get back.” I locked the door again after Gloria left the office.
I turned to Dad. “Let’s use this time to get set up outside with the remote cameras,” I said. “We can use the alley between this building and the next. We can set up several of our surveillance cameras to capture the action from several different angles. I’ll also want to get some close-ups and once we finish I can edit the final mix to look like an amateur video caught Harry’s death.”
“Perfect,” Dad said. “Let’s get moving.”
“You think it’ll work?” Harry said.
“If this video doesn’t convince them, nothing will, short of throwing your actual body on their front lawn,” I said. “You wait here and keep the office door locked until Dad and I get back. Don’t open it for anyone else.”
“Don’t worry,” Harry said.
Dad and I set up six of our mini video cameras in strategic places in the alley. When we’d finished, Dad and I walked back to my van in the parking lot and checked the row of mini monitors that were permanently set up against one wall in the back of the van. All the cameras were functioning perfectly and all were getting good video of the al
ley.
“This should do the trick,” Dad said.
“We’ll want to wait until dark,” I said. “It’ll have a better effect with lower lighting. That’ll give Gloria a little more time to dress Harry up with the squibs. Have you ever seen squibs work?”
“Only in the movies,” Dad said. “I haven’t actually seen them up close in person.”
“I have,” I told him. “Remember last month when I was working as a technical advisor for that movie studio? I was right there on the set when they set off the squibs under the actor’s shirt. If I hadn’t known they were just movie props, I’d have sworn that I had witnessed an actual killing. They’re that realistic.”
It was almost five o’clock when Dad and I had finished setting up the video cameras. Gloria made it back to the office at five-thirty. She was carrying a brown paper bag with her. She set it on the desk and reached into it, pulling out a man’s brunette wig. She set it on the desk and retrieved several packets with wires running out of them. They had adhesive backings on them as well.
“I could only get four,” Gloria said. “That should be enough for three in the chest and one in the head.”
“And that’s what the wig is for?” Harry said.
Gloria nodded and tried the wig on Harry, adjusting it to look as natural as possible. “I’ll have to cut and style it to match Harry’s real hair,” she said. “Then all I have to do is score the back side with a razor blade.”
I had Harry take off his shirt so I could score several spots on the front with a razor blade. Scoring was a method of cutting little X patterns in the fabric so they’d blow out when the squib charge was detonated. It gave the red dye inside the packet a place to exit the shirt.
By the time Gloria had cut and styled the wig, situated all the squibs on Harry’s chest and inside the wig, it was almost seven-thirty. We were ready to go with our plan.
I looked out the window and then back at Harry. “We’ll give it another half hour,” I said. “It should be dark enough by then.” We used the extra time to rehearse somewhat. I explained the scenario to Harry and told him where to run, to best capture the action with the cameras. I told him where to stop in the alley and which camera would get the best shots of him when the squibs went off. At eight o’clock we all rode the elevator to the ground floor and exited to the parking lot. Dad sat in the back of the van, monitoring the scenes on the miniature screens. Gloria and I stayed with Harry in the alley.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 249