The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  “An interesting twist of fate, to say the least,” Henry said. “Imagine if the Army had taken him.”

  “Yes,” Clay said. “Just imagine. We wouldn’t be having this conversation because four months after he joined the L.A.P.D. he met his first wife, Stella. You know, it is funny how just one event can impact so many others.”

  “How’s that?” Henry said.

  “For instance,” Clay said. “If the Army had taken Dad in ‘42 he’d never have met Stella and gotten married. She wouldn’t have gone to that grocery story for the milk and as such, she wouldn’t have been killed by that holdup man. Life’s cogs would have been thrown off kilter and maybe Dad would have come back from the war and maybe not. Either way, he might not have met Amy Callahan.”

  “And she was?” Henry said, ready with his pencil.

  “My mother,” Clay said. “Dad might not have met her and then where would I be? Nowhere. See how all these little events are connected?”

  Henry nodded and made a few notes on his yellow pad.

  “It’s kind of like if Elliott and Gloria had not agreed to meet with Mr. Sinclair that day in the restaurant and agreed to this book deal. Then you wouldn’t be right here where you are now. Maybe you’d be out walking somewhere and a runaway car would jump the cub and run you down. But that won’t happen because life’s cogs all meshed, putting you here instead.”

  “That’s pretty deep, Clay,” Henry said.

  “I got that from Dad,” Clay said. “We used to spend a lot of time just talking, almost like you and I are doing. When I was a kid, we used to play the ‘what if’ game all the time. It made me think about life in a different way. I tried to make every minute count for something. I always hated wasting time, since we all have a finite amount of it.”

  “So how long were your father and Stella married before she was killed?” Henry said.

  “Just a few days over two years,” Clay said. “Dad was devastated, naturally. They never caught the kid who did it, either, and that really ate away at Dad, being a cop and all. A month after he lost his wife, he quit the L.A.P.D. and started the private investigations business that my son and I run today.”

  Henry flipped the yellow page over and started a new page. “Tell me about your Dad’s first case as a private eye,” Henry said.

  “Well,” Clay said. “Let’s see. It was about two weeks after he’d opened his office for business. A woman from Wisconsin came to him asking to help find her runaway daughter, who had come to Hollywood with hopes of becoming a movie star. Dad found her after a big ordeal with the movie studios and some unscrupulous director who had her stashed away some place for his private amusement. Dad always said that it was that case that made him as cautious about the way he conducted himself.”

  “And why was that?” Henry said.

  “Because Dad had a friend who was also a P.I.,” Clay said. “Dad originally didn’t want the runaway case and referred the woman to his friend, Phil Hart. Someone who didn’t want that runaway girl found got wind that a private eye had been hired and Phil got himself killed for his troubles. You see, Henry, there’s another perfect example of what I was talking about. If Dad had taken the case right away, he might have been the one killed. And that’s why he said this particular case was the one that made him a lot more cautious.”

  “I see your point, Clay,” Henry said. “Although I don’t need to know about each and every case your Dad was involved with, I would like to touch on the highlights of his career, if you don’t mind.”

  Clay shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “What else do you want to know?”

  “What about your mother?” Henry said. “Tell me a little about how Matt met her and about that time period in general.”

  “Dad met mom in March of ‘49 and married her seven months later,” Clay explained. “I came along nine months later and here I am.”

  “That’s a little too condensed,” Henry said. “Let’s go back and flesh that period out a little, all right?”

  “Sure,” Clay said. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Let’s start with how and where Matt met your mother,” Henry said. “After all, the main thread running through this book is going to be the family tree. The P.I. cases will be a secondary storyline. So tell me more about your mother.”

  “All right,” Clay said. “Dad was supposed to meet Dan at the Pantages Theater at seven o’clock that night. They were going to see A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Dad was running late and ran toward the theater. When he came around the corner he ran into a woman and knocked her down to the sidewalk and knocked the purse out of her hands.”

  “Your mother?” Henry said.

  “Exactly,” Clay said. “Well, Dad excused himself and helped the woman pick up her purse and then offered to pay her way into the movies to make up for his clumsiness. He even offered to throw in some popcorn. So for less than a dollar, Dad was able to pretty much buy himself a date that night. And there’s yet another example of fate intervening. Dad might never have met mom if he had not been running late.”

  “You know, Clay,” Henry said. “I have a feeling this book could end up taking a whole different path before I’m finished with it.”

  “Yeah?” Clay said. “How’s that?”

  “The main theme of the book could be about fate,” Henry explained. “And how many different directions it could take if just one event is disturbed.”

  “I like that angle,” Clay said. “If I think of any more examples, I’ll let you know.”

  *****

  The morning Henry Mandell walked into the office, Gloria was on the phone with a potential client. I got up from my desk and greeted Henry.

  “Hello,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Henry Mandell,” Henry explained. “I’m…”

  “You’re the writer Dad was telling us about, aren’t you?” I said. “Dad said you got pretty far with his interview the other day. How’s that part coming along?”

  “The preliminary interview is almost finished,” Henry said. “I’ll want to talk to him again at the end, when I get all three of you together to compare notes and polish the details. Meanwhile, I came here to talk with you and Gloria about your parts in the book.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess that would be all right. Oh, by the way, I’m Elliott Cooper and that’s Gloria.” I gestured toward Gloria, who was still on the phone. She turned briefly and nodded to Henry and then continued with her phone conversation.

  “She should be finished shortly,” I explained.

  “That’s all right,” Henry said. “Actually I could start with you and get to Gloria when we’re finished. After all, you are the next Cooper in line as far as the story goes. As I understand it, Gloria came along a little later.”

  “She did,” I said. “Dad and I were running the business by ourselves when he had his first heart attack. Did he mention that part to you?”

  Henry looked interested and pulled a notepad from his pocket. “No, I’m afraid he skipped that part.”

  “That’s Dad,” I said. “So, won’t you have a seat? The couch is really more comfortable than it looks.”

  Henry glanced over at Gloria, who was just hanging up the phone. She stepped over to where I was talking with Henry and introduced herself.

  “Hello,” Gloria said, in her friendliest voice. “I’m Gloria Cooper.” She extended her hand.

  Henry took her hand and shook it. “Henry Mandell,” he said.

  “The writer from Sinclair, Newman and Maxwell,” Gloria said. “We’ve been expecting you. Clay mentioned that he’d already spoken with you. How’s that coming?”

  “Like I was telling Elliott,” Henry said, “I’ll have to talk to him again at the end, but meanwhile I came here to talk to you two about your recollections.”

  “Well,” Gloria said enthusiastically, “have a seat. I’ll pour you some coffee if you like.”

  Henry held one palm up. “Actu
ally,” he said, “I’d like to talk to you individually at first and then as a group when I’m finished, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Gloria said.

  “And since Elliott comes next in the story, he’s the one I need to speak to next,” Henry said. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “Sure,” Gloria said.

  “And when Elliott and I finish, I’d like a chance to sit down one-on-one with you as well,” Henry said.

  “Okay,” Gloria said. “I can always go find something to do for now.” She started for the door.

  “Actually,” Henry said, “I have a hotel suite reserved for the interview. I’d like to take Elliott there for the interview. I find it a lot easier to concentrate on the task at hand when there are no interruptions or distractions during the interview. I promise I won’t keep him too long, Mrs. Cooper.”

  “If you would just keep an eye on things here for a while,” I said, “dad should be here shortly.”

  “I hope it won’t be too long before Clay gets here,” Gloria said. “I have to follow up on that call I just took and I don’t want to leave the office unattended for too long.”

  Clay Cooper walked in just at that moment, as if on cue. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Clay stopped in his tracks. “What?” he said. “Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

  “No,” Gloria said. “We were just talking about you and then you show up. It was just a little strange, that’s all. I have to go out for a while. Would you watch the office while Henry and Elliott go to the hotel for his interview?”

  “No problem,” Clay said.

  Henry and I left the office and drove to his hotel. He invited me to sit and set the digital recorder between us on the coffee table.

  “Relax, Elliott,” Henry said. “Sit back and just tell me what you can about your place in this family tale. If you have some interesting childhood stories, we can begin there. Or you can start with the present and work your way backwards; whatever works best for you. Just tell me what comes to your mind. And remember when you tell me something, let me know the time frame that you’re talking about so I can arrange all this information chronologically afterwards.”

  “I’m not sure just what it is that you’re looking for, Henry,” I said. “How about if you start out by asking me some questions? That’ll get the ball rolling and I may think of other things along the way.”

  “All right,” Henry said. “Suppose you tell me about some of your earliest recollections. What do you remember?”

  “I remember my dad taking me to the park to fly my kite,” I said. “And I remember that Grandpa Matt came along, too. That was a fun day. I was probably six or seven years old.”

  “You must have had many days like that one,” Henry said. “Why is it that you remember that particular day?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember back to the events leading up to that day. “I guess it was the contrast between flying the kite in the park and the terrible time Dad had earlier that week.”

  “What do you mean, Elliott?” Henry said.

  “Seems to me I remember hearing Dad talking to his friend at the police department,” I said. “They thought I was sleeping, but I got out of bed and heard them talking in the living room about a couple of bad guys that had died in a car chase. Those two that they were chasing had been responsible for several sniper shootings. Several cops were killed, most of them Dean’s friends on the force.”

  “Dean?” Henry said. “Who is Dean?”

  I looked up at Henry. “Dean Hollister was Dad’s friend on the L.A.P.D. He was the lieutenant in charge of that sniper case. Dean’s father, Dan, and my grandfather, Matt were best friends many years ago. In fact, Dan Hollister was Grandpa Matt’s superior officer when Grandpa was a cop.”

  “This is beginning to fall into place for me,” Henry said. “Go on with your story.”

  “I imagine you’re more interested in what I can recall about certain cases,” I said. “My childhood was comparatively uneventful.”

  “Just tell me whatever comes to mind, Elliott,” Henry said. “It’ll all be sorted out later and put into some kind of order.”

  “You know, Henry,” I said, “the music of my teen years was mostly crap. I mean, with all that heavy metal, head banging, long hair and spandex. It was downright embarrassing to even hear it. I guess that’s why I gravitated toward the music of my Dad’s teen years. I’m talking about The Beatles. You do remember The Beatles, don’t you, Henry?”

  “I seem to recall a thing or two about them,” Henry said. “How do they fit in with this storyline?”

  “Oh, quite well,” I said. “And even thought I was only twelve at the time, I can remember hearing Dad talk about it like it was yesterday. It all happened more than twenty years ago, and when I was older Dad told me more about the case than I initially knew. You see, there was a serial killer taunting Dean Hollister with every one of his killings. He’d leave a cryptic note about each of his victims. The note contained references to a particular line in a Beatle song. Well, Dean didn’t know anything about The Beatles, but Dad sure did. He was a regular Beatle trivia nut, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “Now there’s something I want to hear more about,” Henry said.

  “Well,” I said, “I remember Dad telling me about one of the killer’s notes in particular. It started out, ‘Ask me why I killed her and I just may tell you.’ That in itself wouldn’t reveal much, but once Dean laid the first few notes side by side, Dad immediately saw a pattern. For example, the first three words in this note were Ask Me Why, which was the title of an early Beatle song. The first few words in the other notes also contained Beatle song titles. Once Dad saw those, it made finding the killer and his intended victims a little easier. That’s one case that stayed with me for years.”

  “That’s just the kind of material that will translate very well to the screen,” Henry said. “Millions of people can relate to The Beatles, just like during the summer of ‘69 when that Manson clan murdered Sharon Tate and all those others. They spelled out ‘Helter Skelter’ on the wall in blood.”

  “Another Beatle song title,” I said.

  “Keep going, Elliott,” Henry said. “I think we’re making some real progress here.”

  “All right,” I said, but my school life was almost as dull as my real life back then. How about if I jump ahead a few years?”

  “Whatever you like,” Henry said.

  “Well, when I was about twenty,” I began, “Dad and I went to see Grandpa Matt for his birthday. That would have been July 17, 2002. Grandpa had just turned ninety-one that day and Dad and I were drilling him for some interesting stories of his younger days on the police force and as a private eye.”

  “Let me interrupt you there for just a minute, Elliott” Henry said. “I just have to make a quick trip to the bathroom and I don’t want anything distracting me.” Henry switched off the digital recorder and walked to the bathroom down the hall.

  While Henry was gone, I got up and walked over to the refrigerator. I found a can of Pepsi and brought it back with me to the overstuffed chair I’d been sitting on. I popped it open, took two small sips and set the can on the coffee table. Henry returned from the bathroom, stopping at the refrigerator for a Pepsi of his own. He settled back into his comfortable position and switched the recorder back on again. He picked up his yellow legal pad and looked at me. “Are you all set to continue, Elliott?” Henry said.

  I nodded. “Sure, let’s do it,” I said. “Where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you about Grandpa Matt’s ninety-first birthday and how Dad and I were asking him for stories from the old days. And let me tell you, he came up with quite a few gems, like the time he had to find some runaway kid from Wisconsin who came out here to be in the movies.”

  Henry held up one finger. “Excuse me, Elliott,” Henry said. “I already got that story from your father. What else have you got?”

  “Okay,” I said, �
��let me think. “Yeah, there was the time Grandpa’s first wife was killed.”

  Henry shook his head. “Clay covered that one as well.”

  I thought for a few moments more before I offered, “Did Dad tell you about Grandpa Matt’s second wife, my grandmother, Amy?”

  Henry nodded. “I’m afraid so, Elliott. We covered Matt’s life pretty extensively. Suppose you tell me more about yourself and the part you played in the investigations business.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s see, I joined Dad in the business when I was twenty-four, so that would have been back in 2004. Nine years and counting. As Dad got closer to sixty, he began spending less time at the office. I’d pretty much taken over the business by then.”

  “Clay mentioned something about having a heart attack,” Henry said. “What do you remember about that time in your life?”

  “Oh man,” I said. “Those were scary times. I didn’t know if Dad was going to make it there for a while. But, as you know, he pulled though but had to spend several months at home recuperating. We had talked about it and decided that I should hire some temporary help until he could come back to work.”

  “Your dad did mention that briefly,” Henry said, “but this is one occasion where I’d like to hear your version of those events. It’s important, since you were directly involved and may recall it differently than Clay did.”

  “Did Dad mention that that was how I met Gloria?” I said.

  “He did,” Henry said, “but since he was there himself and you were, I’d like to hear you tell me about it.”

  “It’s kind of interesting,” I said. “Interesting and ironic, that because of Dad’s heart attack that I would meet the girl who would eventually become my wife.”

  “Your Dad and I spent quite a bit of time talking about irony and fate,” Henry said. “Sounds like you take pretty much the same view that he does.”