I drove back to the twelfth precinct and caught up with Eric, who was studying the map on his office wall. “How’s it looking?” I said as I stepped up to the map.
“Have you ever know one of these smiley faces to have a nose?” Eric said.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Eric said. “I wouldn’t want to overlook the possibility of a seventh victim in the even our guy decides that his smiley face needed a nose.”
“No,” I said. “This guy’s been too precise, too accurate so far. His locations were chosen with military accuracy, down to the degrees. And anyone who’s ever seen an accurate smiley face would know that it’s just two eyes and a smile on a yellow dot. I think you can forget about any nose locations.”
“You’re probably right,” Eric said. “What about Elliott and Gloria? What are they working on?”
I filled Eric in on their plans and told him we’d all keep each other in the loop.
“Great,” Eric said. “Let’s go. I have something else I want to check on.”
“And what’s that?” I said.
“Something’s been bugging me about the murder scene over near Silver Lake,” Eric said, “I want to have another look at that underground garage where we found Kilgallen’s body. You remember, over on Mariposa near Santa Monica.”
“I remember the place,” I said. “What’s not tracking right about it?”
“I got to thinking,” Eric said, “that our guy couldn’t be sure that there’d be someone in the garage when he got there, or that the garage door would even be open. I want to know how he got in.”
“Good question,” I said. “Suppose we go and have another look and talk to a few more residents and neighbors.”
“That’s just what I had in mind,” Eric said.
Eric parked in front of the apartment building and we got out to study the surroundings. The overhead garage door was closed so we went inside to see the building manager, a man named Fred Lawson. We found him on the first floor in the front.
“Can I help you?” Lawson said when he opened the door.
Eric showed his badge. “I’d like to have another look at the garage, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I’d like you to open the overhead door.”
“Sure,” Lawson said. “Just let me grab my remote and I’ll be right with you.”
Lawson led us down a flight of stairs to the underground parking area. With a push of his remote button, the overhead door slid up, letting in the light from outside. There was still a small red-tape X on the floor to mark the GPS coordinates that we’d figured out according to the location on the map. The X was located just inside the door to the right. Eric looked down at the mark and made a note in his notebook.
“What is it about this that’s got you troubled?” I said.
Eric scratched his head. “If he was counting on these exact coordinates,” he said, “he’d have had to wait outside someplace nearby to keep any eye on the door. And when it opened, he’d have had to rush over here and catch someone coming out or going in and what are the odds that Patrick Kilgallen would have been standing right there?”
“My guess is that our killer found him hanging around someplace close and killed him where he stood,” I said. “He probably dragged the body over here and dropped him.”
“And that means that someone outside must have seen something,” Eric said. “Let’s check that apartment building across the street and see if anyone saw anything that day.”
“I’ll start on the second floor,” I said. “You’ll probably want to check with the manager.”
We crossed the street and entered the two-story apartment building. Eric stopped at the manager’s door while I took the elevator to the second floor and started knocking on doors. No one answered the first two doors that I tried. The third door was answered by a woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, who would only talk to me with the chain lock engaged on her door. She kept to herself and I sensed that there was nothing she’d be able to tell me about any activity across the street from her. I thanked her for her time and moved on to the next door on this floor.
At door number four I was greeted by an elderly man who answered the door in his wheelchair. Without any hesitation whatever, he swung the door wide and invited me inside. I thanked him and walked over to the window that faced the street. I looked back at the old man and said, “Quite a view you have here.”
“Yes it is,” the man said.
I stepped closer to him and extended my hand. “My name is Clay Cooper,” I said. “I’m here with Lieutenant Eric Anderson of the L.A.P.D. He’s talking with the manager right now.”
“Henry Slater,” the man said. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“Have you heard about the man who was found in that garage across the street recently?” I said.
“That poor Mr. Kilgallen,” Slater said. “Yes, I heard. Tragic, wasn’t it? Any idea who did it?”
“That’s what we’re looking into,” I said. “I was wondering if maybe you might have seen anything from your window that day.”
“Seen anything?” Slater said. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Anything unusual, out of the ordinary. Did you maybe see anyone who didn’t belong in this neighborhood? Anything you can tell me might help, no matter how unimportant it might seem to you.”
“Let me think,” Slater said. “That would have been Wednesday, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Around noon or a little before.”
“Wednesday,” Slater said. “Let me see. I remember now. I had a doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty that day. It didn’t take that long and the cab probably dropped me off back here again around eleven-thirty, quarter to twelve. I don’t remember seeing anything unusual, though. But then again I wasn’t really looking for anything. You sure about that time?”
“Give or take half an hour,” I said. “Hot weather can accelerate decomposition, affecting a time of death estimate. And it was pretty hot that day.”
“Even if I’d been right on the street when it happened,” Slater said, “I couldn’t have identified anyone even if they’d been standing right next to me. The doctor put some drops in my eyes and they were dilated pretty far. I had some dark glasses on as well. I wish I could have been more helpful.”
I made a note of the time that the cab dropped Henry Slater at his front door and slipped the notepad back into my pocket. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Slater,” I said, heading for the door. Before I left, I handed him one of my cards and asked him to call if he thought of anything else. He said he would, but I wasn’t holding out too much hope for him.
There was one more door on this floor. It was the apartment closest to the corner and would have had views of both streets from there. I rang the bell and waited. A woman in her late sixties opened the door a few inches and asked what I wanted.
I held up my I.D. and badge. “My name is Clay Cooper,” I said. “I’m looking into the shooting that happened across the street recently. I was wondering if I might talk to you about it.”
“I didn’t see anything,” she said. “I don’t know anything and I’d like you to just leave me alone.” Without further ado, she closed the door and I could hear several locks engaging.
I took the elevator back down to the first floor. Eric was just coming out of the manager’s office when I stepped out of the elevator. We met at the front door and paused.
“Anything?” I said.
“Nothing,” Eric said. “If this guy knows anything, he’s not saying.”
“You get the feeling he’s holding back?” I said.
“Call it a hunch,” Eric said, “but I think he knows more than he’s letting on. He seemed evasive and vague and he got nervous when I started asking him about the garage across the street.”
“Why don’t you take him in and sweat him for a while?” I said.
“What good would that do?” Eric s
aid. “Without something to go on, he’d just walk and then if he is involved, he’ll just lay low and we’ll get nothing. No, I think it’s better if we just keep an eye on him for a while and see what happens. How’d you do with the people on the second floor?”
I gave Eric the results of my inquiries. “Nothing solid,” I said. “But I’d like to check with the cab company. They let one of the residents off pretty close to the time of the murder. The old man’s eyes were dilated at the time, so he’s not going to be any help, but maybe the cabbie saw something when he dropped the old guy off.”
“Well, it’s something, anyway,” Eric said. “But rather than stop in at the cab company, why don’t we just call for a cab and tell them we want the same driver who was here that day?”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and dialing the cab company. I told them what I wanted and they put me on hold for a moment. When they came back on the line, the dispatcher told me that the driver I was looking for was delivering another fare at the moment. I told him I was in no hurry but that I wanted the same driver as before. I gave him the address of the apartment building we’d just come out of and told him I’d wait.
Wait here,” Eric said. “I’ll be right back.” He slid beneath the wheel of his cruiser and called the station to let them know where he could be reached for the next half hour if necessary and then came back over to where I was standing. “Come on, Clay. Let’s go sit on the stoop and wait for the cabbie.”
Eric and I say on the cement stoop, which was shaded by the front of the apartment building. I wrapped my arms around my knees and sighed. “What kind of world is this,” I said, “where some sick, twisted animal has to kill six people to get the attention he’s obviously missing?”
“Takes all kinds,” Eric said. “I remember hearing stories from some of the older guys at the station.” Eric looked at me and caught himself. “I didn’t mean…”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I know I’m old. You don’t have to tiptoe around it. So what were these relics telling you?” I winked at Eric and he smiled.
“These veterans,” Eric said, by way of correction, “once told me about a killer who had terrorized the city for more than two month before they caught him. This guy killed a dozen people just because he didn’t like the way they looked. His victims included people with a lot of tattoos and facial piercings, sloppy dressers, rude people, stupid people and even interracial couples. He confessed all this the day they brought him in and he even said he wasn’t sorry for ridding the city of ‘those scum’, as he called them.”
“Those scum?” I said. “What did he consider himself to be?”
“He actually thought he was doing the city a favor,” Eric said. “And for a while there, we were seeing fewer tattooed and pierced people walking the streets. People were either dressing better or just staying off the streets if they fit the killer’s prerequisites. And believe it or not, people were generally more courteous to each other up until they caught the guy.”
“Well then it wasn’t all for nothing,” I said.
“I can think of a dozen people who’d argue the point if they hadn’t been killed,” Eric said.
We made small talk and traded stories for twenty-five minutes when a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. The driver pulled a clipboard off the seat next to him and made a note on his sheet, sliding his pencil back behind his ear when he’d finished. Eric and I got to our feet and walked to the curb to talk with the driver. Eric produced his I.D. and shield and asked the cabbie to step out of the car.
“Something wrong?” the cabbie said.
“Not with you,” Eric explained. I just want to ask you about a fare you had recently. It was an old man who lives in this building. He was wearing dark glasses and he was coming from the medical building after a doctor’s appointment. You dropped him here around noon. Do you remember the guy?”
“I sure do,” the cabbie said. “He couldn’t see worth a damn and when I told him how much he owed me for the ride, he gave me too much money. I guess he couldn’t see what denomination of bills he was pulling out of his wallet.”
Eric tilted his head back and looked down his nose at the driver.
The driver held up one hand. “But I gave it back to him and helped him dig out the right amount from his wallet,” the driver said. “He was so grateful that he gave me a ten dollar tip. Kinda hard to forget a tip like that, so yeah, I remember the old guy.”
“That’s great,” Eric said. “Sounds like you’re a stand-up guy. But what I was really interested in knowing was whether or not you noticed anything unusual that day when you dropped the guy off. Did you see anyone who looked like they didn’t belong? Anyone look like they were in a hurry to leave? Anything.”
“Let me think a minute,” the cabbie said. “I walked with the old guy up the sidewalk there and opened the front door for him. I wanted to make sure he got in all right, since he wasn’t seeing too well. Once he was inside, I walked back to my cab, which was sitting right where it is now.”
“Did you happen to look across the street at that garage door?” I said, pointing to the overhead door that hung open.
“Let’s see,” the cabbie said. “I checked off the address of this place on my clipboard, set it down on the seat next to me and…wait; I do remember seeing that door open. I remember thinking how odd it was, since no one was coming in or going out at the time.”
“What time was that exactly?” Eric said.
“Hmmm,” the cabbie said. “I’m not sure.” He paused momentarily and then added, “Hold on, that sheet is still on my clipboard. Let me check.” He reached into his cab and retrieved his clipboard and flipped a few pages up and over the top. “Here it is. I dropped the old guy off and checked myself off as being available at exactly eleven forty-three. Does that help?”
Eric nodded. “It does,” he said. “It narrows our window down a bit. Is there anything else you can remember about that fare? Did you see anyone else at that time?”
“Just Mr. Cramer,” the cabbie said.
“Cramer?” I said.
“The manager,” Eric said. “I just came from his office, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” I said and then turned to the cabbie. “What about Mr. Cramer?”
“He asked if I saw anyone else,” the cabbie said, gesturing toward Eric. “Mr. Cramer’s the only other person I saw during that time.”
“What was he doing?” Eric said.
The cabbie shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just jogging.”
“Jogging?” I said. “Who jogs in this heat, especially at noon? It had to be in the nineties. How was he dressed? Can you remember?”
“Let me think,” the cabbie said. “He had on dark slacks and a plaid, sleeveless shirt.”
“What about his shoes?” Eric said. “Did you notice his shoes?”
“Just regular shoes,” the cabbie said. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean,” Eric said, “was he wearing jogging shoes or tennis shoes or just regular street shoes?”
“Just regular shoes,” the cabbie said. “Dark brown or black. Now that you mention it, I don’t ever remember seeing anyone jogging in their street shoes. Why do you suppose he wasn’t wearing sneakers?”
“That’s what we intend to find out,” Eric said. “Thanks for your time.”
“So you really don’t need a cab today?” the cabbie said. “I have to pay for my own gas, you know. I must have burned up three or four dollars worth just coming here.”
Eric fished his wallet out and gave the cabbie ten dollars. “Keep the change,” he told the cabbie, and walked back toward the apartment building. The cabbie drove away in search of his next fare.
I walked with Eric back toward the apartment building and noticed a curtain fall back into place on the ground floor in the front.
“I saw it,” Eric said. “That’s Cramer’s office. Let’s go have another talk with Mr. Cramer,
shall we?”
Eric stood in front of Cramer’s office door and knocked. A second later a bullet tore through the wood and missed Eric’s head by less than an inch. We each jumped to the sides of the door, our guns drawn.
“Give it up, Cramer,” Eric yelled through the closed door. “You’re not going anywhere.”
A second shot ripped a hole in the door about mid-way up from the floor. Eric leaned back and put all he had into the kick that shattered the flimsy door frame. The door flew open and we both swung around from the side, our guns pointed ahead of us. We both fired at the same time, breaking a window on the opposite wall. The window stood open and the curtains waved in the breeze but Cramer was gone. Eric checked the rest of the apartment while I hurried outside and around to the other end of the building.
Cramer got into a beat-up Chevy and squealed away from the curb. I yelled in through the broken window. “Eric,” I said. “Let’s go. He took off on us.”
Eric hurried outside and the two of us slid into his cruiser and started after the Chevy. Cramer had a three block head start, but his twenty-year-old sedan was no match for Eric’s cruiser with its big-block police interceptor engine. He caught up to Cramer after a few more blocks. Cramer took the corner on two wheels and sped south. Eric stayed with him.
Eric plucked the mic from his dash and called in for backups to intercept Cramer. The dispatcher acknowledged Eric’s request and radioed for any units in the area to assist with the pursuit. They needn’t have bothered. Before any other units could respond, Cramer lost control of his Chevy at the next corner. He took the corner too fast and the car rolled over twice, coming to rest on its roof. Eric slid to a stop directly behind Cramer’s overturned car and jumped out, his gun trained on the disabled sedan. I took up a position on the other side of the car, aiming my gun and the shattered windshield.
Eric and I edged our way up to the car and crouched to get a look inside. The car was empty. We both stood up and immediately scanned the area. Cramer had been ejected out of the Chevy, through the windshield. His body had been tossed like a rag doll and had landed on the sidewalk fifty feet from the car. Cramer’s left leg was twisted up behind him in a way no yoga guru ever thought of. The side of Cramer’s face looked like he’d been attacked with an electric sander. Both of his hands had the flesh torn off the palms and a pool of blood was beginning to form under his body. I kept my .38 trained on Cramer.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 279