“What have you got?” I said.
“He’s been in trouble before,” Eric said. “Larceny, burglary and grand theft auto. Did three and a half years in San Quentin. So, what does that do for your investigation?”
I shook my head. “Nothing so far,” I said.
Gloria held up one finger and turned to me. “I think we need to find out who else was working on the fifteenth floor the day Raymond Bailey fell.”
“And if any or all four of those other guys were up there at the time,” I said, “what would that prove?”
“I’m not sure,” Gloria said. “But it would give us a place to start.”
“Well,” Eric said, “I can save you a little time there. I interviewed almost everyone who was working that day.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of the middle drawer of his desk and slid it over to me. “Three other men were working on the fifteenth floor that day. John Mullins, Paul Stewart and George Kendall.”
“What about Derek Slate?” Gloria said.
Eric checked his notes. “He’s the foreman, isn’t he?”
“Yup,” I said. “We couldn’t get past him. He referred any further questions to his lawyer and then clammed up.”
“Slate was on the ground,” Eric said, “supervising the concrete pour that morning. Mullins, Stewart, Kendall and Bailey were the only four workers on that floor.”
“So if it wasn’t an accident, like they claimed,” I said, “then Bailey had help from one of the other three, but why?”
“I’d be interested in knowing that as well,” Eric said. “Suppose we all take a ride over to Western Avenue and take a closer look into this.”
Gloria and I followed Eric east on Hollywood Boulevard and pulled up behind his cruiser when he parked near the construction site. The three of us walked through the gate and were approached when the guard came out. Eric held up his badge and I.D. and walked right past him. Eric walked directly to the foreman’s trailer and up the steps. He knocked on the door and a man’s voice invited him in. We followed Eric into the trailer and got the evil eye from Derek Slate. He looked me directly in the eye.
“I told you two that our attorneys would be handling any further questions,” Slate said.
“I want to see John Mullins, Paul Stewart and George Kendall right now,” Eric told Slate. “Can you get them in here right away?”
“They’re working,” Slate said. “We have a deadline just like every other business.”
“Well,” Eric said. “I can either talk to them right here, right now, or I can have his construction site shut down until the investigation is concluded. Depending on how much cooperation we get, that could take three hours or three weeks. What’s it going to be?”
Slate glared at Eric and then picked up the walkie-talkie on his desk and pressed the talk button. “John,” Slate said.
“Yes, Derek?” the voice said.
“John, get Stewart and Kendall and come to my office immediately,” Slate said.
“But we’re in the middle of a pour,” John Mullins said. “Give us ten minutes so we can at least get it smoothed out before it sets.”
“Ten minutes,” Slate said. “Then get down here.”
“Will do,” Mullins said.
Slate set the walkie-talkie back down on his desk and turned to Eric. “Might as well make yourself comfortable,” Slate said. “You heard what I heard.”
Gloria turned to Slate. “Is there a porta-pottie nearby?” she said.
“Down the steps and to your right,” Slate said.
Gloria excused herself and left the trailer. Outside she walked right past the portable outhouse and started checking out her surroundings. She didn’t see a concrete truck in the vicinity, nor did she see anyone doing cement work. She did, however, see a red four-wheel-drive pickup truck speed past her toward the guard shack. Gloria noticed three men sitting in the truck. The truck didn’t stop at the guard shack and just kept going out on to the street. It sped south on Western Avenue. Gloria made a mental note of the license plate number and hurried back into the trailer.
“I think our three suspects just left here in a red four-by-four pickup,” she said to Eric. She ripped a small corner off Slate’s desk blotter and wrote down the truck’s license plate number, handing to Eric. “Here’s the plate number. They drove south on Western Avenue.”
Eric turned to me. “I’m going after them,” he said. “You make sure Mr. Slate doesn’t go anywhere.”
I patted my underarm and felt the reassuring heft of my .38. “We’ll be here when you get back,” I said.
“I’m going with you, Eric,” Gloria said and hurried out of the trailer and back to Eric’s cruiser. Eric instructed Gloria to attach the magnetic red light on the roof outside her window and then turned on the siren. He pulled away from the curb and sped south on Western, grabbing his dash mic and calling in his pursuit, along with a description of the truck and its license plate number. He laid the mic on the seat next to him and sped up.
Over the radio, the dispatcher announced, “Any units in the vicinity of Hollywood and Western, be advised that One Adam Eighty is in pursuit of a late model red pickup truck last seen heading south on Western Avenue. Any unit in the area, please assist One Adam Eighty.”
The response came in less than three seconds. “Dispatch, this is One Adam Sixteen. We will assist One Adam Eighty with the pursuit. We are heading east on Melrose and should intercept the target vehicle any time now.”
“Roger, One Adam Sixteen,” the dispatcher said. “All unit be aware that One Adam Eighty and One Adam Sixteen are in pursuit south on Western and east on Melrose.”
“We’ll get ‘em,” Eric said. “They can’t get far.”
“There they are,” Gloria said, pointing out the windshield. “They just passed Melrose. That must be your other unit right behind them.”
Over the radio one of the officers in the lead pursuit vehicle announced, “Dispatch, this is One Adam Sixteen. We are in pursuit of the red pickup truck traveling south on Western Avenue. Request assistance from any unit south of us.” A few seconds passed and then another transmission came over the radio. “Dispatch, this is One Adam Sixteen. Target vehicle just turned east on Beverly Boulevard. Request interception by another unit at Vermont and Beverly.”
“Roger, One Adam Sixteen,” the dispatcher said.
Eric turned east on Beverly Boulevard and sped up. Now he was right behind One Adam Sixteen. “We’d better catch up with this guy before he makes it to the Hollywood Freeway,” Eric said.
Gloria hung on tight and braced herself as Eric floored his cruiser and passed One Adam Sixteen. They were going to try to box the red pickup truck in between the two police cars and slow him down. The red pickup must have seen Eric in his outside mirror and yanked his wheel to the left, grazing the side of Eric’s cruiser. The red truck bounced off the right side of the police car right where Gloria was sitting. She recoiled and slid further away from the door.
Eric gained a little more ground and lined up his front bumper with the rear bumper of the pickup. When he got positioned in the exact spot he wanted, Eric yanked his steering wheel to the right and executed a perfect PIT maneuver, pushing the rear end of the truck around, causing it to spin in a half circle and come to a stop in the street, facing the opposite direction. One Adam Sixteen brought its front bumper nose to nose with the front of the truck. Eric turned around and pulled up directly behind the pickup, blocking it from the rear. He jumped out of the car with his service revolver drawn and aimed at the driver. The two officers from One Adam Sixteen covered the three men from the front and ordered them out of the truck with their hands raised.
The two passengers emerged from the right side of the truck, their hands held high in the air. The driver leaned over and ducked down on the seat. When he came back up again, he opened the driver’s side door and jumped out, a gun in his hand. He aimed it at the two officers covering the front and fired twice. Both officers ducked down behind the open
door of their patrol car and returned fire.
Eric got around behind the driver and held his gun out in front of him. “Drop it,” he yelled to the driver, who spun and fired, but his shot went wide. Eric’s shot found its mark and caught the driver in the center of his chest. The driver dropped his gun and fell to the street, dead. Eric rushed over and kicked the driver’s gun away and then knelt next to the body, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there.
Gloria walked up and stood next to Eric. “Gees,” she said, “this is a little more action than I’m used to on a case.”
Eric gestured down with his gun. “That’s the way he wanted it,” he said and then stepped around to the front of the truck.
The two officers from One Adam Sixteen had the other two men spread-eagled over the hood of the truck, their hands patting up and down the sides of their prisoners. One of the officers turned to Eric. “They’re clean,” he said and clamped handcuffs on behind both men before turning them around again.
Eric holstered his .38 and stepped up to the two men. “What was that all about?” he said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. “Why’d you run?”
Both men remained silent. Eric went nose to nose with one of the men and repeated, “Why did you run?”
A third police car arrived on the scene and two more patrolmen got out and walked up to where Eric and the other two officers stood with their prisoners.
One officer handed Eric the wallet he’d taken from the silent man. Eric opened it to the driver’s license and read, “Paul Stewart, eh?” He stared at the other man. “Then this must be George Kendall. Well well. And I take it that your dead partner back there must be John Mullins. It didn’t have to come to this, you know.”
Kendall looked around him and realized he was out of options. “It was Mullins,” Kendall said.
Paul Stewart gave a sideways kick into Kendall’s leg. “Shut up, George,” he said. “They don’t have us for anything. We were just passengers.”
Eric nodded to one of the other officers, who pulled Paul Stewart away from George Kendall and around to the back of the truck. Eric stepped up to Kendall now and put his face close to Kendall’s. “Now, what was that you were saying?”
“It was Mullins,” Kendall said.
“What was Mullins?” Eric said. “What about him?”
“He pushed Raymond Bailey off that building,” Kendall said.
Eric gestured toward the offer who’d led Paul Stewart away. The officer brought him back to where Eric stood. Eric looked at the two men. “Listen up now,” he said. “This is important. You both have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…”
Eric instructed the first two officers to take the suspects back to the construction trailer and that he’d be right behind them in his cruiser. He instructed the second pair of policemen to stay at the scene and wait for the ambulance. Then he called for an ambulance and a field supervisor to look into the shooting of John Mullins. Afterwards he told the supervisor and that he’d be in shortly but that he had to pick up one more suspect first. Eric and Gloria drove back to the construction site on Western and Hollywood and returned to the trailer.
Derek Slate and I were having a bit of a staring contest and I wasn’t about to look away first, but I did when the trailer door opened and Eric and Gloria walked in, followed by two uniformed officers who dragged Kendall and Stewart into the trailer, handcuffed.
“Well?” I said, looking at Eric. “Looks like you caught two of them anyway. Where’s the third one?”
Eric nodded, all the while looking at Slate.
“What did you say?” Slate said, looking at Kendall and Stewart. “Where’s John? What did he say?”
“Well,” Eric said, “Mullins isn’t saying anything. He’s dead, but I’ll bet your two buddies here are anxious to get it all out.”
“I wasn’t part of it,” Slate said.
“Part of what?” Eric said.
“Part of the conspiracy?” Gloria said, leaning on the desk. “It’s all starting to fall into place now.”
“Would you like to fill me in?” I said. “I think I missed a big part of this whole picture.”
Eric gestured toward Paul Stewart. “Paul here went along with this whole plan for the money,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Paul?” Steward said nothing. “But I don’t think he was the mastermind in this case. Paul seems more like a follower to me than a leader. Isn’t that right, Paul?” Eric waited but no response was forthcoming. He turned to George Kendall. “And you’re a follower, too, aren’t you, George?” George remained silent, too.
“But you know, Eric,” I said, “it seems to me that followers can also follow their leader into prison for an awfully long time. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but all three of them could face the death penalty if any one of them is convicted. I’ve heard of cases where one member of a conspiracy turned state’s evidence against the others and got off with relatively short prison time while the others got the death penalty. Have you heard that one, Eric?”
Eric nodded. “I have, come to think of it. I watched one such execution a few years ago. They say it’s painless and that the prisoner just goes to sleep, but that’s not exactly true. I remember one guy who took more than twenty minutes to die, and he was screaming for the whole twenty minutes. I had to turn away. To tell you the truth I thought I was going to puke.”
A few seconds passed and then George Kendall blurted out, “It was Slate,” he said. “He set this whole thing up. I told you before that Mullins threw Ray off the building. That’s true, but it was Slate who called the shots.”
“Why?” Eric said. “Did it have anything to do with the others being mentioned in your will?”
“My what?” Kendall said.
“Your will,” Gloria said, stepping around in front of Kendall. “Bailey, Mullins, Slate, Stewart and some guy named Cochrane were all listed as beneficiaries in your will.”
“What will?” Kendall said. “I never made out any will.”
Eric looked at me and then back at Kendall. “Well, someone did,” he said. “And now two of those people are dead, leaving three more beneficiaries. My guess is that if, as you say, Slate was the leader, that he had plans to eliminate anyone else on that list and my guess is that Paul Stewart was going to be the next one to have an ‘accident’, so to speak.”
Paul Stewart sat up straight and stared at Derek Slate. “You bastard, Slate,” he said. “You’re not going to get away with this.” He turned to Eric. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
Eric turned to me and said, “Well, Elliott, that’s a new one on me. I’ve never come across two state’s witnesses in the same case before. Which one should we give the break to?” He looked back and forth between Stewart and Kendall. “Which of you can tell me Cochrane’s roll in all of this?”
“He knew Slate from San Quentin,” Stewart said. “Slate could keep his hands clean and stay in his office. He had Cochrane to do his dirty work up there on the fifteenth floor. Cochrane passed on Slate’s order to Mullins to push Ray off the tower. That way Slate would have a two-man buffer between himself and the actual crime.”
“Shut your mouth,” Slate said, staring at Stewart.
“Clever,” I said, turning to Stewart. “And if Mullins hadn’t been killed in the shootout, we could have gotten corroboration on this story from him. But I guess all we have now is your say so. Why should we believe you?”
“Because it’s true,” Stewart said. “Find Cochrane and you’ll see for yourself?”
“Where can we find him?” Eric said.
Stewart hesitated. “Do I get a deal if I tell you?” he said.
“What do you have now?” Eric said.
“Nothing,” Stewart admitted.
Eric turned to George Kendall. “What about you?” he said. “Do you want the deal instead?”
Kendall turned his head away and remained silent.
Stewart shot Kendall a quick glance and then turned
back to Eric and nodded. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll tell you where Cochrane is.”
Eric turned back to Kendall. “Too bad, Kendall,” he said. “You could have had the deal but now your buddy’s going to get it instead.”
George Kendall looked at Paul Stewart. “Oh, he’s going to get it, all right, that rat bastard,” he said and leaned back on the desk, kicking his foot out at Stewart’s head, his heavy work boot connecting with Stewart’s temple. Paul Stewart went down like a bag of bricks and flopped in convulsive twitches for a few seconds before falling still and silent, his eyes rolled up into his head.
Eric grabbed Kendall by the collar and yanked him to his feet. “Now you’re going down for two murders,” he told Kendall. “We’ll find Cochrane on our own and I’ll look forward to watching them stick that long, sharp needle into your arm.”
Gloria looked down at Paul Stewart’s lifeless body and then up at Eric. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “You said Stewart was going to be the next one to get it.”
“Lucky guess,” Eric said, and then turned to one of the uniformed officers. “Take Mr. Stewart and Mr. Slate in and book them; two counts of murder each.”
“Yes sir,” the office said and pulled George Kendall out of the trailer by his arm. His partner followed close behind, dragging Derek Slate with him.
“Now all we have to do is find Tom Cochrane and we can wrap this up,” I said.
“Elliott,” Eric said, “I know this all started when Raymond Bailey landed at your feet, but don’t you think you and Gloria should bow out now? I mean, we’ve already got three people dead and I don’t want either of you paying the price if and when we find Cochrane.”
I looked at Gloria. “Maybe you should go home and relieve Mrs. Chandler,” I said. “She’s been with Matt all day and is probably anxious to get home herself.”
“What about you?” Gloria said. “I don’t want anything happening to you, either. Come on, Elliott. Let the police handle this from here on out and come home with me.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 284