The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

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The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 278

by Bernico, Bill


  Eric came over to the van and leaned in at the driver’s window. “I’m going to park the cruiser a block away, out of sight,” he said. “Pick me up with the van.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  Dean stayed where he was, out of sight but promised to keep in touch with his cell phone. I pulled away and drove to where Eric had parked his car. I parked the van directly behind him and killed the engine. Through the windshield I could still see most of the chosen location but it was really nice to be able to see the entire area in the surveillance monitors as well.

  Elliott and Eric both sat in the back of the van, each one studying their own monitor. Elliott had hooked three monitors together so they could each watch one without crowding around the same monitor. I slid out of the front seat and joined them, but not before slipping a sun shade up onto the dash to cover the windshield. Now no one from the outside could see in. I took up my position in front of the third monitor, got comfortable and we all waited.

  “Why didn’t Dean join us?” I said. “This has to be a lot more comfortable than that place he’s crouched at.”

  “He said he wanted to be right there if anything happened,” Eric explained. “If he gets bored or stiff, I’m sure he’ll join us in here later on.”

  We waited another forty-five minutes and still noticed nothing out of the ordinary on the monitors. My legs were beginning to cramp up so I laid out on the floor and stretched them, wiggling my toes. Eric stretched his arms overhead and cracked his knuckles.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea,” Eric said. “We don’t even know if this guy’s considering another killing today. He could hold off until tomorrow or next week for all we know.”

  Elliott looked at his wristwatch. It was quarter to six. “Let’s give it until six o’clock and then we can talk about what we want to do.”

  Eric glanced at his own watch. “Six,” he said. “After that I may have to think about a conventional stakeout on this location.”

  “Let me try something,” Elliott said. “We still have fifteen minutes and I have an idea I’d like to try.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “I want to take the copter off auto-hover and fan out a little around the neighborhood,” Elliott said. “Maybe we’ll see something out of the ordinary.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Eric said. “Go for it.”

  Elliott flipped a mini toggle switch on the controller and then watched the monitor as the view from the copter changed from a static view to a mobile scan of the neighborhood. He flew the copter in an ever-widening circle over the designated location, all the while scanning the ground for anything unusual. After fifteen minutes and no results, he flew the copter back to the van. Elliott got out of the van and stood on the curb as the copter gently descended right into the palm of his hand. He killed the power and stashed the copter in the back of the van.

  “I guess that’s it for today,” Eric said. “I’ll get a couple of patrol cars over here to take over for a while.” He turned to me. “You want to call Dean’s cell and tell him we’re picking him up and shutting down the van stakeout?”

  “Sure,” I said, and dialed Dean’s cell phone. I held it to my ear and listened as it rang more than a dozen times. I closed my phone and looked at Eric. “I wonder if he shut his phone off or if the batter went dead. He’s not answering. I’m going to drive over there and pick him up. What about you?”

  Eric sighed. “I’m going back to the precinct,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything turns up. Thanks for your help today and be sure to thank Dean for me, too.”

  “Will do,” I said and pulled away from the curb. A little more than a block from where we’d been parked, I pulled over and got out. I walked a short way up the sloping sidewalk and found the spot where Dean had perched himself. He wasn’t there. I called out to him. “Dean,” I yelled. “Where’d you go? Dean.” No answer.

  Elliott met me coming back down the sloping sidewalk. “Where’s Dean?” he said.

  I shrugged. “Beats me. He was right there,” I said, pointing to the place where Dean had crouched in the underbrush.

  The two of us turned and walked back down the sidewalk toward the stakeout location. We were almost back at the van when I stopped dead in my tracks, holding an arm across Elliott’s chest.

  “What is it, Dad,” Elliott said.

  I pointed to a large bush that was growing next to the edge of the sidewalk. My heart sank when I saw the leg sticking out from behind the bush. “Oh no,” I said. “Please, no.”

  I knelt next to the body and pressed two fingers into Dean’s neck. I quickly looked back at Elliott. “He’s still alive,” I said. “Call an ambulance and then call Eric.”

  I turned back to Dean and rolled him over onto his back. His eyes fluttered briefly and then closed again. He was still breathing, but they were shallow breaths and his pulse was weak. I patted his cheek. “Hang in there, buddy,” I said. “Help is on the way. Just hang in there.”

  In less than two minutes I could hear the scream of sirens coming closer. Eric was the first to reach us. He hurried out of the cruiser and over to where I knelt next to Dean. “What happened?” Eric said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “After you left, we came back to pick him up and he wasn’t where we’d left him. I found him right here.”

  “Is he?” Eric said.

  “He’s still alive,” I said, “but just barely. Where the hell is that ambulance?”

  Before Eric could answer, I heard another siren getting closer. Thirty seconds later the ambulance pulled up to the curb and two attendants leapt out. They hurried to Dean’s side and immediately began administering whatever aid they could to him. The second attendant rolled the gurney up next to Dean and the two of them lifted him onto it. In no time they had him in the back of the ambulance and were about to close the doors when I stopped them.

  “I’m riding in the back with him,” I said. Before the driver closed the rear doors, I yelled back to Elliott. “Meet me at the hospital.” The rear doors closed and the ambulance sped away, its siren tearing holes in the quite neighborhood. I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Dean’s house. His wife, Helen answered.

  “Clay,” she said cheerfully. “How nice to hear from you. And thanks again for keeping Dean entertained. It’s been nice having the house to myself today.”

  “Listen, Helen,” I said somberly. “There’s been some trouble. Dean’s been hurt. He’s in the hospital. You need to get over here right away.”

  “Is he all right?” Helen asked, her voice sounding a bit hysterical now.

  “He’s alive,” I said. “He’s in the emergency room and the doctor is working on him. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands. Just get over here as quickly as you can.” I closed my phone and turned my attention back to Dean.

  Elliott drove the van to the hospital. He got there in record time, following Eric’s cruiser, which had its lights and siren on. I sat next to Dean in the ambulance, holding his hand and talking to him while the attendant attached an intravenous needle to Dean’s arm. Solution from an overhead bottle dripped into Dean’s arm while the attendant monitors his vital signs.

  When we arrived at the hospital’s emergency entrance more medical staff was waiting to take over for the attendants. They wheeled Dean into the emergency room and called for the doctor. I held onto Dean’s hand as long as I could. I had to let go when the doctor stepped up and pressed his stethoscope to Dean’s chest and then began barking orders at his staff. Everyone worked feverously and it only took a few seconds for some nurse to shoo me out of the room.

  I waited in the waiting room with Eric and Elliott. Less than ten minutes later Helen Hollister came running in. I stood and she ran right into my arms.

  “Where is he?” she said.

  “He’s still in surgery,” I explained.

  “What happened?” Helen said. “How’d he get hurt? Is he going to be all right? What did the doctor say?”

>   “Whoa,” I said. “Slow down. I don’t know anything more at this point other than it looks like he’s been shot.”

  “Shot?” Helen almost screamed. “Where? Who?”

  “We were on a stakeout,” Eric said, stepping up to us. “We were just wrapping it up and I’d already left.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I went back to where Dean was watching and he wasn’t there. I found him lying on the ground and we called the ambulance. That’s about all I know right now. The doctor will let us know when he assesses the damage. It shouldn’t be too long now.”

  Half an hour later the doctor emerged from behind two swing doors and walked up to where we were waiting. Helen jumped to her feet, wringing her hands.

  “How is he, doctor?” Helen said.

  “We’ve got him stabilized,” the doctor said. “It was touch and go there for a while. If that bullet had struck half an inch to the right he’d have bled out on the spot. But I think he’s going to make it. He’s asking for you. That’s a good sign.”

  “Can I see him?” Helen said, tears streaking down her cheeks.

  “Only for a minute,” the doctor said.

  Eric Elliott and I took a few steps closer before the doctor held up his hand. “Just his wife,” he said. “I don’t want him getting too excited. You can see him tomorrow. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Why don’t you all go home and get some rest?” He walked Helen down the hall and disappeared behind the swing doors again.

  I walked back over to the chairs in the waiting room, summoning Eric and Elliott to join me. We all sat on the chairs, pulling them into somewhat of a circle.

  “We can’t let it be known that Dean’s alive,” I said. “Dean was found at the exact coordinates where we predicted the sixth murder would take place. We have to let the killer think he succeeded with his sixth victim. Then maybe he’ll play out his hand and we can catch the son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I agree,” Eric said. “I’ll release a statement to the press that Dean was killed, but I’ll let Helen know what we’re doing so she doesn’t inadvertently try to explain to anyone who might call her and give our plan away.”

  “Are you thinking that now that he has the entire smiley face pattern complete that he might send a message to the media or something?” Elliott said.

  “We’re at a dead end if he doesn’t,” Eric said. “That inquiry to the advertising company netted us nothing. Turns out that the guy who commissioned that billboard did it for his wife. I guess he met her years ago purely by accident when they bumped into each other on the street and they were both wearing a little yellow smiley face button. He put the billboard up for their twentieth anniversary.”

  “So we’re back to the theory that the killer may only have been inspired by seeing that billboard,” I said, “which leaves us nowhere.”

  “I’ll have a dozen men on this before the night is out,” Eric said. “This is getting top priority. Dean was one of us and he still has a lot of friends in the department.”

  Eric met with the chief of staff and had Dean moved to a private room under a different name. He also met with the press to announce the death of former L.A. Police Lieutenant, Dean Hollister. It made the eleven o’clock news that night.

  Helen remained in Dean’s private room at his bedside. The hospital had a second bed rolled into the room for her and brought meals for both of them for them next few days. On the third day after the shooting Eric and I were able to visit Dean. Elliott had to return to his office and his business.

  The head of Dean’s bed had been cranked up somewhat before Eric and I entered the room. Helen was sitting at his side, feeding him with a spoon and wiping his chin. She looked up and smiled when she saw us.

  “How’s he doing this morning, Helen?” I said.

  Dean’s eyes shifted to the left and he looked right at me. “Why don’t you just ask me yourself?” he said.

  “How are you feeling, buddy?” I said. “You look like shit.”

  “Still the smooth talker, aren’t you?” Dean said. He glanced at Eric. “Any leads on whoever shot me?”

  Eric shook his head. “Nothing yet, I’m sorry to say,” Eric said. “We were hoping you could shed a little light on it for us. What can you tell us about it?”

  “Not much,” Dean said. “He shot me from behind. I never saw anyone. I was down and out before I knew what hit me.”

  “Did you hear anything before you were hit?” I said. “I mean like the shot or footsteps or anything.”

  “He had to have had a suppressor on his gun,” Dean said. “All I can remember hearing was a wispy sound like a bullet coming through a silencer and then nothing.”

  “Did you get any feeling at all about how close he might have been to you?” Eric said.

  Dean shook his head. “No,” he said. “No footsteps, no rustling, nothing. He must have been quite a distance away at the time. Did they find the bullet?”

  Eric pulled a small plastic evidence bag with a slug in it from his pocket and held it up for Dean to see. “Rifle,” he said. “More specifically, it’s a .308, most likely fired from an M-21 sniper rifle. This guy could have been a hundred yards away at the time. The only thing we can think of that might have thrown off his shot just enough to keep from killing you is that he might have been distracted by the mini surveillance copter flying circles around the area.”

  “If Elliott hadn’t decided to quit hovering and circle the neighborhood,” I said, “the killer might have been able to get off a successful shot.”

  “You be sure and thank him for me,” Dean said. “So, what do we do next?”

  “We?” Eric and Helen said, almost in unison. Helen kept talking. “We are not doing anything else,” she said. “We are going home and living out the rest of our lives in peace and safety. We, more specifically, you, are out of the police and investigation business for good. Do you hear me, Dean Hollister?”

  Dean looked at me somewhat sheepishly. “Correction,” he said. “What are you going to do next?”

  Helen let out a deep breath and squeezed Dean’s hand.

  “We’re checking on the sales of M-21 rifles as well as .308 ammunition,” Eric said. “Those rifles were used in Viet Nam and some of our boys may have brought that rifle home with them. If that’s the case, we’re probably looking for some old guy, like your age.”

  “Old guy?” Dean said, gesturing toward me with his chin. “Clay’s older than I am.”

  “Fourteen months,” I said.

  “Regardless,” Eric said, “if it’s not some Viet Nam era soldier turned whacko, it might be a relative or it could just be someone who found the rifle at a gun show. We’re checking out all possibilities. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

  “I can still help from here,” Dean said, and then quickly looked at Helen. “I don’t have to physically be out there with them. But I have so much knowledge and experience; it would be criminal for them not to take advantage of it. I still want to do my part to catch this guy, but I’ll just phone it in from now on.”

  Helen gently nodded. “But that’s it,” she said.

  “You listen to her, Dean,” I said. “Helen knows what’s best for you. You should be thankful you have someone who cares so much about you.”

  “That just what you need, Clay,” Dean said. “Someone like Helen to watch out for you.”

  I ignored Dean’s remark and said, “So, you just take it easy now. Eric and I have to get back to work.”

  “Smooth,” Dean said, “how you segued out of that one.”

  I waved at Dean as Eric and I left the room. Eric drove back to the precinct while I returned to my former office to fill Elliott in on our progress. I promised Eric I’d meet up with him later today. Elliott and Gloria were in the office when I got there.

  “How’s the jaw?” I said to Gloria as I entered.

  She rubbed her cheek. “Much better,” she said. “Am I glad to be done with that.”

  “What was
it?” I said.

  “Impacted molar,” she said. “They had to dig it out. It broke off at the gum line. I can’t imagine how people stood it back in the old days before Novocain came along.”

  I turned to Elliott. “Dean says to thank you,” I told my son.

  “For what?” Elliott said.

  “For circling the neighborhood with your mini copter,” I said. “Eric figures that the shooter must have been distracted by the copter circling overhead and that’s why his shot didn’t kill Dean. He just told me to tell you that he’s grateful to you.”

  “Glad I could help,” Elliott said. “How’s he doing today?”

  “Much better,” I said. “But he’s out of the picture. Helen put her foot down but said she’d allow him to help us by phone only.”

  “Good for her,” Gloria said. “There’s no reason Dean should have to take any more unnecessary chances at his age.” She caught herself immediately and looked up at me. “No offense, Clay.”

  I waved her off. “None taken,” I said.

  “So what’s our next move?” Elliott said.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Eric’s looking into the sales of M-21s and .308 ammo. He’s also going to check with gun shows.”

  “And what does he want us to do?” Elliott said.

  Before we left the hospital,” I said, “I told him that we’d check databases and see if we could come up with any Viet Nam vets who might have been snipers during the war and who might have brought their rifles home with them.”

  “I’ll take the vets,” Gloria said. “I know someone at the Veteran’s Administration who could be helpful.”

  “I can check with a guy I know at Edwards Air Force Base,” Elliott said. “I know that the M-21 was developed at Fort Benning, Georgia, but I’m not flying to Georgia just to find out information that my guy at Edwards might be able to tell me. I can drive to Edwards in less than an hour and a half.” Elliott checked his watch. “I can be back here by three or so.”

  “And I’m going to join Eric and see if we can’t narrow these searches down a little,” I said. “Let’s stay in contact by phone if any of us finds out anything that we can use. I’ll catch you both later. Watch your backs.”

 

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