Eric holstered his .38 and knelt next to the broken man. “Lay still, Cramer,” Eric said. “An ambulance is on the way.”
Cramer tried to move but his body just wouldn’t cooperate. All he managed to do was grunt.
“You killed those six people,” Eric said. “Why? Just so you could form some stupid smiley face on a map?”
Cramer’s eyes fluttered and he licked his lips. He tried to smile, but winced with the effort. “You noticed that,” he said. “It was just a coincidence after the first two. Then I saw that moronic smiley face billboard and it came to me. I just wanted to go out being remembered.”
“What are you talking about?” Eric said. “What do you mean, ‘go out’?”
“You didn’t kill me with this car chase,” Cramer said. “I was dying anyway from pancreatic cancer. I’d have been gone in a month no matter what.”
“So why kill those first two people?” Eric said. “You remember, the two whose locations formed the smiley face’s eyes. Why’d you kill them?”
“You’re so smart,” Cramer said. “You figure it out.” Blood bubbled up and out of his mouth and ears and a second later he sputtered blood down his chin and fell silent.
Eric looked at me and shook his head. I holstered my .38 and joined Eric alongside Cramer’s body. Eric stood, returned to the cruiser and updated his request for backup, cancelling the second unit and requesting an ambulance, but added that there was no hurry. No sense putting two ambulance attendants’ life at risk speeding to the scene of a dead man.
Eric tossed the mic back onto the front seat and turned to me. “Now all I have to do is find out why he killed his first two victims,” he said. “The last four were just some sick need to finish his pattern on the map.”
“Any connection that you know of between those first two and Cramer?” I said.
“Now that we know where to look,” Eric said, “it shouldn’t take us long to make the connections. I guess I can handle it from here, Clay. Thanks a lot for your help, but I’d better cut you loose before the budget committee starts breathing down my neck.”
“I understand,” I said. “But you be sure and let me know what you find out about those first two victims. I won’t be able to put this one behind me until I know.”
“I will,” Eric said, turning toward the sound of a siren. It was the ambulance and two additional squad cars. Eric designated assignments and secured the scene before turning it over to Sergeant Rydell, who had arrived in the second black and white unit.
“Come on, Clay,” Eric said. “I’ll drive you back to your office. You can come in tomorrow to make your official statement.”
Eric drove me back to Hollywood Boulevard and dropped me at the front door to my building. He waved briefly before he pulled away. I took the elevator to the third floor and walked to the end of the hall. When I came into the office, Elliott was sitting with his feet up on his desk, reading the afternoon paper. Gloria was entering facts into our case database.
I looked at Gloria. “I can see who the brains of this outfit is,” I said.
Elliott lowered is paper and looked over the top at me. “Enjoy your ride in the squad car?” he said. “Did Eric let you work the lights and siren?”
I looked at Gloria and rolled my eyes. She laughed and shook her head before closing her screen and turning off her computer. “So what did you do all day?” she said.
I gave them both the condensed version of the day’s events and told them that I thought I’d take the rest of the day off and look in on Dean.
Elliott had to admit that my day’s activities had certainly been more exciting than his. “Good job, Dad,” he said. “I’ll bet Dean’s eager to hear how it came out. You be sure and say hi for both of us when you see him.
“I’ll do that,” I said. “Then I’m going home. Call the next time you need some more help here.”
I had an hour before visiting time at the hospital was over and I couldn’t think of any better way to spend it than with my best friend, Dean. He was looking much better than when I’d seen Helen spoon feeding him just the other day. When I walked into the room he was sitting all the way up, his bed cranked up as high as it would go. He was watching some mindless court show on the wall-mounted television set.
“I’ve known you nearly sixty years and you never said anything about being a court TV fan,” I said, taking a seat next to his bed.
“There’s probably more than one thing you don’t know about me,” Dean said. “I can’t share everything with you. Gotta have some mystery between us.”
“I suppose,” I said. “But you know, all the things I know about you I found out either second hand or by accident. I don’t recall us ever sitting down and just having any in-depth conversations.”
“Who are you?” Dean said. “Did some women’s encounter group send you over here to uncover my deep, dark secrets?”
“Don’t be a smart ass,” I said. “We came pretty close to losing you a few days ago. Do you think we can be serious just this once?”
Dean switched off the television set and laid the remote on the end table. “Okay,” he said, “what do you want to know?”
“I didn’t have any specific questions in mind,” I said. “I just thought maybe you tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know. Go ahead, surprise me.”
“You want secrets, eh?” Dean said. “Let’s see. I like travel, food & drink, TV & movies, redheads and music.”
“Redheads?” I said. “You? But Helen’s a brunette.”
Dean held his index finger up to his lips. “Keep that one to yourself,” he said.
“Keep going,” I said. “Tell me more.”
Well,” Dean said, “I always prefer dark food & drink to light.”
“Huh?” I said.
“For example,” Dean said, “I prefer cola to 7-Up, beef to chicken, dark chocolate to milk chocolate, grape nuts to corn flakes, dark rum to light.”
“Okay,” I said. “I get it now.”
Dean thought for a moment and then continued. “I love Mexican food,” he said, “but I totally don’t care what dish I order because it’s the exact same ingredients just presented differently. You know, tacos equals tostadas equals burritos equals enchiladas. Same with Italian food. Lasagna equals cannelloni equals manicotti. It’s all pasta in a different shape, that’s all.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” I said.
“You wanted to know,” Dean said. “I like weird flavors of stuff. When everyone’s getting vanilla or chocolate or strawberry ice cream, I’m getting mocha-kiwi-bubblegum. I have almost no resistance to sweets. They’re my Achilles heel, so to speak. I prefer pie to cake, with exception of cheese cake. I swear, if I found out I only had twenty-four hours to live, I’d get a large, five-pound cheese cake and finish it all in one sitting. I’d probably wash it all down with a thick chocolate malt.”
“So far,” I said, “we’re still separated at birth. I like all those things, except for the Mexican food. I’m not an experimenter when it comes to eating. I stick with the basics. I’d almost rather chop off my own foot than put even a teaspoon of mayonnaise in my mouth.”
“What a boring world this would be if everybody was the same or liked the same stuff,” Dean said. I don’t know about you, but I like to stay up way late and sleep way late. To hell with mornings and those who enjoy them. I’m like a salamander who doesn’t stir until the sun is high in the sky.”
“But you were a cop for all those years,” I said. “I’m sure you had to be up at the ass crack of dawn plenty of times.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “And I was one ornery mother until I got my coffee. Anyone who knew me, knew enough to stay out of my way first thing in the morning. And another thing, as long as you’re asking, I intensely dislike politics, religion, modern music, and sports. I won’t watch a ball game nor engage in a conversation about one, either.”
I smiled broadly as Dean described things
about himself that also applied to me. “This is getting spooky,” I said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were describing me.” I slid my chair closer to the bed. “Tell me more.”
“Okay,” Dean said. I dislike small talk, because I’m not very good at it. I want to get to the meat of a conversation, not talk about the weather. I love travelling but hate travel. That is, I enjoy being places, but hate getting to them. I really dislike political correctness. If you get to call me honky, I get to call you darkie, no complaining. Fair’s fair. Either we’re both rude or we’re both polite, but not one of each.”
I had to laugh. These were all things I’d thought but had never vocalized. If Dean hadn’t been fourteen months younger than me, I’d have sworn that one of us had been kidnapped from our mother.
“I’m totally okay being by myself, at home or away,” Dean said. “I’m always alone but never lonely. My mom used to say, ‘Dean enjoys his own company more than anyone elses’, and she was right.”
“I’m like that myself, to a certain degree,” I said. “Veronica could never understand how I could spend so much time alone.”
“Your wife knew you better than you think,” Dean said. “I remember giving her a lift back home one night and we had half an hour during the drive to talk about you.”
“Me?” I said. “What’d you say?”
“I told her even back then that I thought we could have been an entry in one of those Separated at Birth books you see in the store,” Dean said. “I told her how you and I were closer than even a couple of brothers and how we’d sometimes walk the street late at night when we were teens. Remember?”
“I do,” I said. “We both snuck out our bedroom windows and met out on the street, just walking and talking and comparing stories. We were back in our beds before anyone even knew we were gone.”
“Those were the days,” Dean said. “Remember when we pitched a tent in my front yard and we slept out in our sleeping bags just talking all night?”
“Indeed I do,” I said. “I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. I don’t want to get mushy or have this go to your head, but I’m awfully glad you’re going to be around for a while longer.”
“Me, too, buddy,” Dean said. “Me too.”
The following day I got a call from Eric. “You ready for this, Clay?” he said after I picked up the phone.
“Ready for what?” I said.
“I found out why Cramer killed his first two victims,” Eric said and paused for effect.
“Come on, man, spill,” I said. “Don’t leave me hanging in suspense.”
“That first woman that we found behind the Hollywood First National Building on Highland,” Eric said, “turned out to be Malcolm McCormick’s girlfriend.”
“McCormick?” I said.
“The second victim,” Eric said. “That was the guy we found just east of the Golden State Freeway. Turns out he was actually the first victim, not the second. Doris Connelly, the woman on Highland was actually the second victim.”
“But wasn’t she in her early twenties?” I said.
“She was,” Eric agreed.
“And wasn’t he in his late fifties?” I added.
“Correct again, sir,” Eric said. “Where are you going with this?”
“The guy was old enough to be her father’s older friend,” I said. “What’s she doing with a guy like McCormick?”
“Using him,” Eric said. “The Connelly woman was seeing Cramer, don’t ask me why, but she hatched a plan with McCormick to take Cramer for a bundle and rub his face in it to boot.”
“Cramer had money?” I said. “Sure couldn’t tell it by looking at that bum, could you?”
“Hey,” Eric said, “some of the richest guys out there are also the most frugal and dress like crap to save a few bucks.”
“So Cramer apparently didn’t mind looking shabby, he just didn’t care for being treated shabby,” I said.
“To say the least,” Eric said. “Somehow Cramer caught wind of the whole scheme those two had going and finished off McCormick, dumping him off the freeway late one night. Then he caught up with the girlfriend and gave her some of the same, dumping her right where he killed her on Highland. Had to have been during the early morning hours before dawn, since no one saw anything.”
“I’d say that’s one guy with a serious grudge fixation,” I said.
“Not anymore,” Eric said. “Dead people don’t hold grudges.”
“Good point,” I said. “So that’s it?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Eric said. “Now we can get back to all our regulars. You know, burglars, thieves, hijackers, muggers, jaywalkers, robbers, purse snatchers.”
“Jaywalkers?” I said.
“Just wanted to see if you were really listening to me,” Eric said. “Why don’t you drive over to the precinct and give me your official statement so I can close the file on this nightmare?”
“I’ll see you within the hour,” I told him. “What I’m going to do with the rest of my day is still up for grabs.”
“I saw a job opening just this morning,” Eric said. “How’s your memory?”
“My memory?” I said. “What’s my memory got to do with anything?”
“You have to remember your lines,” Eric said. “It’s an important part of the job, I guess.”
“What the hell?” I said. “Did you see an opening for a movie actor or something?”
“Not exactly,” Eric said. “Before I tell you where I saw this job, just let me see if you’re good at remembering lines.”
“Try me,” I said.
“Okay,” Eric said. “Repeat after me. ‘Want fries with that’? Hello? Hello?”
94 - Bleeding Heart
“Cut,” the director yelled. “Print it. That’s all for today. Be back here at six tomorrow morning and we can wrap this one up.”
Elliott extended his hand and Gloria grabbed it. He pulled her up from the floor, brushed off her back and smiled. “That was very convincing,” he said.
“Thanks,” Gloria said, brushing the sawdust off the front of her suede fringed jacket. “But you came pretty close to my chin with that last swing. I could feel the wind from your fist.”
“I have to make it realistic, don’t I?” Elliott said, walking Gloria toward the dressing room. “We have to be aware of where the camera is. Makes for a better illusion if the audience thinks you really took one on the jaw.”
“You know,” Gloria said, “audiences won’t like your character when they see you beating up on my character. People tend to take a dim view of bullies.”
“Comes with the job,” Elliott replied. “It’s all just make believe.”
Gloria laid a hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “But you know as well as I do that some people have a hard time separating fantasy from reality,” Gloria said. “Take Matt Dillon, for example. I loved his character in There’s Something About Mary. He was really funny as that sleazy private detective. But years before that I actual hated the actor himself when he played the role of that bully in My Bodyguard. Every time he and his minions beat up on the Chris Makepeace character I wanted to pound Dillon myself. And I should know better. I’ve been hanging around this business long enough. Hell, it’s where I first got interested in Tae-Kwon-Do to the point where I became good at it.”
“I see what you mean,” Elliott said. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t turn down this part just because it might make me unpopular with the movie-going public. We agreed to do these bit parts as a favor to the producer, and if you remember, he was the one who got us the investigation jobs and the bodyguard jobs and I don’t want to kill off our golden goose. He sends a lot of business our way.”
“That’s exactly what you have to do,” Gloria insisted.
“Huh?” Elliott said.
“You have to take control of your choices,” Gloria told him. “No one else is going to look out for your interests. Look, let’s just finish this movie and get b
ack to doing what we do best—detecting. This isn’t our bread and butter, after all.”
“But you forget,” Elliott reminded her, “that the public is not going to think that I’m the bully here. I’m just the stunt double for Lance. They’ll think he hit you. You can’t even see my face in those shots. It’s supposed to be Lance’s character who’s slugging you.”
“Oh yeah,” Gloria said. “I get so wrapped up in doing scenes like these that I forget that we’re just the temporary stunt doubles. Gees, I’ll be glad when the real stunt doubles get out of the hospital. I can see now why they make the big bucks. This work’s dangerous.”
Elliott held the dressing room door open and Gloria stepped in. Elliott followed close behind. The two slipped out of their old west costumes, hung the jackets up on a hanger and sat at their perspective dressing tables, wiping the makeup off their faces.
Elliott picked up the knife from the dressing table and handed it to Gloria. “You know what you have to do with this tomorrow, right?”
Gloria examined the prop. The blade looked like real steel but was actually a flexible rubber shaft that retracted into the handle when pushed. Under the handle there was a small button that, when pressed, squirted out a solution of corn syrup dyed red to simulate blood. It had a very realistic effect when viewed from the proper camera angle. They’d both used this same prop in several scenes earlier in this movie. Between a knife like this and the exploding squibs under their costumes, Elliott and Gloria could easily be ‘killed’ on screen and it would look totally believable.
“Sure,” Gloria assured him. “I just stab you in the chest, push the button and pull back to expose the fake blood so the camera can get the full effect of the wound as well as the look on your face.”
“Perfect,” Elliott said. “Put it in your purse. You can take it home and we can rehearse the scene a few times tonight before we come back here in the morning.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 280