The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  I drove west on Hollywood and parked behind my building. I took the elevator to the third floor and walked to the end of the hall. When I stepped into the office my wife, Gloria, was standing at the window, looking down at the traffic and pedestrians below. She turned when she heard the office door open. She must have seen something in my face that didn’t belong.

  “You look like you’d just been on a ship in rough seas,” Gloria said. “Your face is all white. What have you been doing?”

  I told her about my experience at the construction site and how I’d emptied my stomach out on the street. I sat at my desk, pulled my handkerchief from my coat pocket and wiped my forehead with it.

  “That’s terrible,” Gloria said. “You’re lucky he didn’t land on top of you. They’d never have been able to tell which parts belonged to which body.”

  “It’s bad enough that some poor soul had to die that way,” I said, “but it’s also a shame that I’d just come from breakfast at the diner. There’s six-fifty down the drain, or in the gutter, in this case. I’m hungrier now than I was when I woke up this morning.”

  Gloria turned on the phone answering machine and pulled me out of the chair by my arm. “Let’s go,” she said. “I could use something to eat myself,” she said, leading me toward the door.

  I had my second breakfast of the day, returned to work and tried with no luck to concentrate on the tasks at hand. I kept hearing that body hit the street near my feet. I tried replacing that image with something pleasant but it kept returning stronger than before. I stood at my desk and turned to face the window. I looked straight across at the third floor of the building across the street and then I looked down. I quickly stepped back, tripping over my chair and catching myself on my desk before I hit the floor.

  Gloria looked up from her work. “Are you all right” she said.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I said. “I can’t keep my mind on my work. I’ll see you back at the house when you’re finished here.” I left the office, got back into my car and drove home.

  The following morning I found myself back at that same construction site, my curiosity burning. Somehow I was able to walk right onto the site. No guard stopped me at the entrance and I didn’t run into anyone else. I saw the worker’s elevator with its door hanging open and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I pressed a button inside the cage and the elevator took me to the fifteenth level. I opened the door and stepped out onto a wooden platform area with a wheelbarrow and other construction tools lying about. Still there were no other workers to be seen anywhere. It was like an unfinished ghost town up here.

  I carefully stepped over to the edge of the wood platform where a rope had been stretched across from one girder to another. This was supposed to keep anyone from falling over the edge, supposedly. It didn’t look to me like much of a barrier. I inched my way closer to the edge and accidentally stepped on the edge of a bucket of grease, tipping it over onto the platform. The souls of my shoes became coated in grease and I quickly found myself slipping around on the greasy wooden surface.

  I flailed my arms around my head, trying to maintain my balance, all the while sliding closer and closer to the edge. In a last ditch effort to steady myself, I grabbed hold of the rope barrier and it broke in my hands like tissue paper. I slid right off the edge of the platform and began tumbling fifteen floors to the street below.

  I screamed and sat up in bed.

  “Elliott,” Gloria said, turning on the lamp. “Are you all right? It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

  I grabbed her hand and held her flat palm over my heart. It was pounding out of my chest and my breathing was coming fast and shallow.

  Gloria wrapped her arms around me. “Elliott,” she said. “Your heart is just racing. What were you dreaming about?”

  I blinked my eyes and tried to familiarize myself with my surroundings. I let out a deep breath when I realized that I was safe in my own bed. “I was at that construction site again,” I said. “I got up on the fifteenth floor and fell over the side. It seemed so real.”

  “I can imagine,” Gloria said. “After what you went through this morning, it’s no wonder. Do you want to get up and go to the kitchen for something to eat?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I just want to sleep. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I won’t be any good at work tomorrow. Thank you anyway.” I kissed Gloria and lay back down again, trying desperately to think pleasant thoughts in an effort to influence my dreams.

  When I woke the next morning I couldn’t decide if waking up in the middle of the night from that nightmare had been real or a dream itself. My dreams returned for several more nights before they began to fade away. Four days after the terrible incident I woke feeling better than I had all week. I showered and got dressed and joined Gloria at the kitchen counter for pancakes and sausage.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Gloria asked, kissing my forehead.

  I nodded. “Better,” I said.

  “Did your nightmares come back again?” she said.

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I don’t remember any other dreams after I got back to sleep, thank goodness.”

  “Can you handle things at the office for a few hours?” Gloria said. “I have to take Matt in for a checkup this morning.”

  “Is he all right?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Gloria said. “It’s just a regular checkup that the doctor scheduled. Matt’s going to be starting kindergarten next week and I guess the schools want to make sure that the kids aren’t bringing any sickness or germs with them when school starts. We shouldn’t be too long. I’ll probably be there before you have to go to lunch.”

  I nodded. “Sure,” I said. “I can hold down the fort until you get there. We don’t have anything going right now so maybe I’ll just help you out with all that data entry from our old case files.”

  “I’d really appreciate that,” Gloria said. “That gets to be pretty tedious work after a while.”

  “Well, it won’t last much longer,” I said. “We’re almost caught up with the current files. Then it’ll just be a case of entering each case file as we finish it.”

  My son chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom just two seconds after I heard the toilet flush. As he came closer to me I looked at him with a stern look and said, “Did you wash your hands, Matt?”

  Without answering, Matt turned around and walked back into the bathroom. I heard the faucet running and the sounds of two tiny hands splashing around under the water. A few more seconds of wiping them on the towel and Matt was back at my side, waiting for his morning hug.

  “So you’re starting school next week, are you?” I said, wrapping my arms around Matt’s neck and drawing him close.

  Matt squirmed out of my grip and straightened his messy hair. “Yes, daddy,” he said. “I’m going to kittygarden. I can’t wait to see them.”

  “See what?” I said.

  “The kitties,” Matt said. “They must have a whole garden full of them there.” He giggled with delight and that got me laughing.

  “I don’t think…” I started to say but stopped when Gloria waved me off.

  “You don’t think what, daddy?” Matt said.

  “I don’t think I’d be able to wait to get there, either,” I said. “That should be lots of fun your first day at school.”

  Matt smiled even wider and climbed up onto his chair. He grabbed his spoon and dug into his cereal bowl, milk dripping off the spoon and down onto his shirt.

  Gloria quickly wiped the milk droplets off Matt’s shirt and then wrapped the towel around his neck, tucking it into his collar. I got up, slipped into my coat and kissed Gloria before leaving the house. The ride to the office took me just ten minutes.

  I unlocked the office door, picked up the mail and carried it back to my desk. I hung my coat on the coat rack and settled into my chair with the mail. Publisher’s Clearing House and AARP literature went directly into t
he trash can, leaving me with two bills and a letter addressed only to Cooper Investigations. The return address told me it was from someone named Abigail Bailey in Glendale. I slipped my letter opener under the flap and slid it across.

  The letter was dated two days ago. Abigail Bailey, as it turned out, was the wife of the man who had fallen to his death earlier this week. She went on to say that she had spoken to the police lieutenant who was handling the case and that he had told her that her husband, Raymond’s death was a accident and that there would be no further investigation into the matter. Mrs. Bailey wrote that she had reason to believe that Raymond’s death was not an accident and that she wanted me to look into it for her. The letter included a phone number and stated that she’d be home after ten o’clock on Friday morning, after the funeral.

  This morning was Friday but I’d have to wait another hour to call her about her concerns. I set the letter aside and turned on my desktop computer. The sooner I got at those case files, the sooner we could put that never-ending task behind us. I was still entering data thirty minutes later when my phone rang.

  “Cooper Investigations,” I said. “Elliott speaking.”

  “Elliott,” a familiar voice said. “It’s Eric. Did I catch you in the middle of anything important?”

  “Just this damned data entry,” I said. “Gees, I’ll be glad when we’re all caught up. I’m starting to see these files in my sleep, among other things.”

  “I can imagine what those other things are,” Eric said. “That’s kind of why I’m calling. As you were aware, we looked into the death of that guy who fell from the skyscraper being built on Western and Hollywood.”

  “You don’t have to remind me of that one,” I said. “Raymond Bailey’s image will be with me for quite some time to come.”

  “Raymond Bailey?” Eric said. “Wasn’t he the guy who played Milburn Drysdale, the Beverly Hills banker on The Beverly Hillbillies back in the sixties?”

  “Now that you mention it,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that connection until you just now mentioned it. No, I’m talking about the other Raymond Bailey who splatted next to me on the street.”

  “How’d you know his name?” Eric said. “We hadn’t released it until just recently.”

  “I got a letter this morning from his widow, Abigail, asking me to call her this morning,” I said. “Apparently she doesn’t thing her husband’s death was an accident and she wants me to look into it for her.”

  “I know,” Eric said. “She hounded me for several days with her theories. I told her that we had no evidence to the contrary but that she was free to pursue it on her own. I gave her your name and address before she left my office. I figured you could use the work. There’s really nothing else I can do for her anyway, unless you dig something up. Then we might be able to reopen the case.”

  “Thanks for the referral,” I said. “I’ll be sure to let you know if anything turns up on this one.”

  “That was my other reason for calling,” Eric said. “Let’s keep in touch on this one. I’ll be happy to share whatever we have on this one but you have to do the same for me.”

  “That’s a given,” I said. “Thanks again.” I hung up and got back to my data entry chores.

  I was still pounding away at my keys when I looked up at the wall clock that hung over the office door. It was ten minutes past ten and I decided I’d had enough data entry. Besides, Abigail Bailey should be home by now. I dialed her number and waited. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hello,” a female voice said.

  “Mrs. Bailey?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Mrs. Bailey,” I said, “this is Elliott Cooper from Cooper Investigations. I got your letter this morning. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, thank you for calling, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I was wondering if I might come to your office this morning and talk to you about my suspicions concerning my husband’s death.”

  “I guess that would be all right,” I said. “But I just got off the phone with Lieutenant Anderson and he tells me that Raymond’s death was an accident. What makes you think it was anything but?”

  “I’d rather not discuss that on the phone,” Abigail said. “I’d rather talk to you in person, if you don’t mind. Are you free this morning?”

  I pretended to shuffle though some papers on my desk, making enough noise for her to hear it over the phone. I didn’t want to admit that I had no clients at the moment. “I can fit you in,” I said. “Does eleven o’clock work for you?”

  “I’ll make it work,” Abigail said. “I’ll see you then, Mr. Cooper and thank you.”

  Forty five minutes later I heard footsteps in the hall coming toward my office. Abigail Bailey walked into the office and spotted me sitting at my desk. I rose from my chair as she approached and held out my hand.

  “Elliott Cooper,” I said, shaking her hand.

  She took it and pumped it twice before releasing it. “Abigail Bailey,” she said.

  I gestured toward my clients chair and asked if I could get her a cup of coffee. She waved it off and sat down. I took my seat and pulled my yellow legal pad and pencil from my drawer. “Suppose we get to know a little about each other before we start in with your concerns, Mrs. Bailey?” I said.

  “Abbie,” she said. “You can call me Abbie.”

  “Very well, Abbie,” I said. “Would you like to go first?”

  “Actually,” Abbie said, “I’d like to hear a little more about you first. Lieutenant Anderson recommended you, but he really didn’t tell me anything more than your name and address.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s see, I run this agency with my wife, Gloria. She’s usually here this time of day, but she taking our son, Matt in for a pre-school registration checkup. My father, Clay is mostly retired from this business but helps out occasionally as we need him. His father, Matt started this business in 1946 after a few years on the L.A. police department. We’ve handled literally thousands of cases in the last forty-seven years and I’d have to say with all modesty that we’re very good at what we do. Does that answer all your questions about Cooper Investigations?”

  “Very impressive, Mr. Cooper,” Abbie said.

  “Elliott,” I said, interrupting her.

  “How’s that?” Abbie said.

  “You asked me to call you Abbie,” I said. “Please feel free to call me Elliott.”

  Abbie nodded. “Fair enough, Elliott,” she said. “What would you like to know about me?”

  I picked up my pencil and looked at Abbie. “Just so I have a little background,” I said, “suppose you tell me a little about you and your husband. How long were you married? Where and when did you meet? How long had he worked in the construction business? Things like that.”

  “Why is it important where and when we met?” Abbie said. “I don’t see what that had to do with Raymond’s death.”

  “Abbie,” I said, “it may not seem important now, out of context, but it helps me get an overall picture of you two and who knows, maybe somewhere down the line during the investigation, something you tell me now may suddenly fall into place. The more I know about you two, the better my chances are of connecting some seemingly unimportant piece of information to the truth.”

  “I see,” Abbie said. “Okay, Raymond and I met six years ago, ironically enough on another construction site south of here. Raymond had been in the construction business for five years when we met. He was working on a new building and I was watching from the sidewalk. He looked down at me from the second floor and smiled. I guess I smiled back. I don’t remember. But he said I did and within a minute he was down on the street talking to me.”

  “And who says there’s no such thing as love at first site?” I said, and then realized that she had no idea that I was talking about the work site. “First site, first sight,” I said, trying to explain my offbeat humor. “Never mind, go on.”

  “Well,” Abbie said, “we started dating that
night and we got married just four months later. That was six years ago. This July would have been our seventh anniversary.” Abbie retrieved a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. She took a deep breath and continued. “When Raymond left the house that morning the last thing he said to me was something about picking up a gallon of milk on his way home. I never saw him alive again.” This time she dropped her head and sobbed into her tissue.

  I got out of my chair and came around to her side of the desk, laying my hand on her shoulder.

  “I thought I was all cried out,” Abbie said.

  “Take your time,” I told her. “There’s no hurry.”

  “I don’t know what more I can tell you about us,” Abbie said.

  “Well then,” I said, “how about if you tell me about your suspicions? Why do you think Mr. Bailey’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  Abbie wiped her eyes and looked up at me. “It was something Raymond said the other night,” Abbie explained. “He said he had some suspicions about two of the other workers on that skyscraper project.”

  “Did he tell you specifically what those suspicions were?” I said. “And did he mention the names of those two guys he suspected?”

  “That’s just it,” Abbie said. “That was all he told me. He said he didn’t want to say any more until he had the proof, otherwise it wouldn’t mean anything and he wanted to be sure. He wouldn’t tell me the names of the two guys he suspected, either. He said he’d have the proof he needed any day now. He never got to share his suspicions with anyone else. That’s what I want you to look into, Elliott. I want you to find out what Raymond was so suspicious about and see if you can find out the names of the two guys he was checking up on before he died.”

  “Do you have the names of any of Raymond’s co-workers, Abbie?” I said.

  She thought for a moment. “Well,” she said, “there’s Derek Slate, the foreman. I’ve heard Raymond mention him many time over the years. Some of the other guys he mentioned were John, Paul and George. You don’t forget names like those where you’re as big a Beatle fan as we both were.”