The Cooper Saga

Featuring Six Generations of the Cooper Family

Stories 381-390

by Bill Bernico

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Police business had brought Private Eye John Cooper to the Twelfth Precinct that morning.  He wanted to ask his friend, Lieutenant Steve Stone if he wouldn’t mind looking up one of his latest clients.  John wanted to know if the man had a criminal record before he agreed to work on his behalf.  As it turned out, his client had a clean record, with the exception of two unpaid parking tickets.  That would not be a deal breaker as far as John was concerned.  He thanked Steve and was about to leave when he and Medical Examiner Adam Kline crossed paths in the hallway.

“Hey, John,” Dr. Kline said, stopping in front of John.  “What are you doing here this time of day?  Shouldn’t you be out tailing somebody for somebody else?”

“Hi, Doc,” John replied.  “Actually, I just stopped in to talk to Lieutenant Stone.  How are things going in the morgue?  You know, I’ve always wondered how someone gets into that line of work on purpose.  Don’t you find it the least bit creepy at times?”

“Maybe at first when I started in the field all those years ago,” Dr. Kline replied.  “These days, there’s not much that gets to me.  I think I’ve seen it all by now.  Say, listen, my business with Lieutenant Stone should only take a minute.  Do you have time to stop by the morgue and give me your impressions on something I’m currently working on?”

John checked his watch and said, “Sure; I can spare a few minutes.  Go take care of your business with Steve.  I’ll wait right here for you.”  He sat on a bench in the hallway while Dr. Kline let himself into the lieutenant’s office and closed the door behind him.

True to his word, Dr. Kline emerged just ninety seconds later and rejoined John in the hall.  As they walked down the hall toward the wing of the building that housed the morgue, Dr. Kline said, “As it happens, you’re in luck.  I just posted a body and you can get a first hand view of how things happen in the morgue.”

“Posted?” John asked quizzically.

“That’s just short for doing a post mortem,” Dr. Kline explained.  “Post mortem is just the Latin term that means after death.  In medicine, the term is used to describe an examination of a dead body in order to discover the cause of death.  Without it, we might never know the cause of someone’s death, which would also determine if there was anyone to blame for such a death.  It could mean the difference between a condolence card for someone or a prison sentence.”

“Got it,” John said as he and the coroner turned the corner at the end of the hall and headed toward the double swing doors that led into the morgue.  “So if the victim was brought in prematurely and was still alive, he could ask what’s going on and you could say, ‘I’ll look into it,’ to which he could reply, ‘Keep me posted, Doc’.”

Even though Dr. Kline had heard many variations of that joke, he laughed anyway out of politeness and kept walking.

When the two of them walked through the double doors, John was immediately aware of the smell of disinfectant.  Straight ahead, lay the autopsy slab with the body of an overweight man lying on his back.  “Is that the guy you were telling me about?” John said.

“That’s him, John Doe,” Dr. Kline said.  “Come on; step up and take a closer look.  I’d like to get your first impressions, if you would.”

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” John asked.  Dr. Kline didn’t answer, but instead just gestured with his head toward the corpse.

John looked the body over from head to toe and was about to give up when Dr. Kline stepped in and said, “Would you help me turn him over onto his stomach?”

John agreed that he would and slipped into an extra pair of surgical gloves Dr. Kline had given him.  The two of them grabbed John Doe by the left arm and left leg and listed, turning the body over as they did.  As soon as Mr. Doe was on his stomach, he moaned and John immediately stepped back, losing his footing and going down on his butt with a frightened gasp.

Dr. Kline tried to suppress a laugh for John’s benefit and helped him to his feet.  The horrified look on John’s face even made the coroner rethink these latest actions.

“He’s still alive,” John croaked with an unsteady voice.

“I’m sorry, John,” Dr. Kline explained.  “I should have warned you.  The lifting action just expelled air from his lungs, and out through his vocal cords.  It’s a pretty common occurrence in my business.  Come on; let’s take another close look at this gentleman now that he’s on his stomach.  Tell me what you see.”

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly before we walked all around the slab again.  He stopped at the head of the table and then looked at the coroner.  “Obviously this man has been shot in the back of the head.  Have you removed the bullet yet to determine what caliber it was?”

“Yes, you would think that would be the next step,” Kline replied.  “But step over here, if you will, and have a look at this X-ray I took just twenty minutes ago when the body first came in.”  He pointed to a back lit screen with an X-ray clipped to the top.  There were three separate and distinct films hanging there.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” John remarked.  “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly,” Kline replied.  “That hole you saw in the back of this guy’s head is obviously where the bullet entered, but there was no exit wound so I naturally assumed that the slug was still inside the skull.  That’s when I took the X-rays, but as you can see, there is no trace of any metal at all.”

“How is that even possible?” John asked.

“It’s not,” Kline replied.  “And that brings us to the next part of your visit.  The next step would be to remove the cranial cap and examine the brain, hoping to find the missing slug.  If you’re the least bit squeamish, you might not want to watch this next part.  It shouldn’t take me long.  You can just stand over there and I’ll let you know when I have it removed.”

John kept watching the doctor doing his job up until the point where he started the cranial saw and started toward the man’s skull.  John turned away in time not to see the saw blade slicing through the man’s head, but he could still hear the sounds and his vivid imagination took over from there.  He held his hand over his mouth and held his breath until the sawing sounds stopped.  He turned back around just as Dr. Kline was removing the brain and setting on the scale.

After recording the brain’s weight, Dr. Kline set it on another surface and began a closer examination while John watched the procedure from a safe distance.  When he’d finished dissecting the brain itself, Dr. Kline stepped back over to the opened head and looked closer at the rest of it.  “Ah ha,” he said.  “There’s a one in a million shot, literally.”

“What did you find, Doc?” John asked.

Kline pointed to the nasal cavity and explained, “That shot he took to the head was probably from a .22 caliber handgun.  Any larger caliber might have gone right through him and come out the other side of his head.  Chances are this was a professional hit from someone using a .22 caliber; the choice of any real hit man.  The .22 slug would tend to stay inside the head, bouncing around and doing the most damage, but this one found the one way out that wasn’t readily detectable—through the nostril.  That’s why we didn’t find an exit hole or the slug.”

“And that would mean that this guy was killed somewhere other than where they found the body,” John remarked.  “If Steve’s detectives could find the place where this guy was shot, the slug wouldn’t be far away.  I guess this would qualify as one for Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.”  John thought about it some more and added, “Unless you can come up with something even stranger.”

“There’s not enough hours in the day to tell you about some cases I’ve come across that are even stranger,” Kline replied.  “Didn’t you say you needed to get back to your office?”

John waved him off.  “We’re not that rushed.  Tell me about some of those other cases; this is fascinating.”

“Let me see,” Dr. Kline said, searching his memory.  ““My very first case was an elderly male who died in a house fire.  The firemen were unable to extract him until after the fire was put out, so he was completely cooked.  What struck me was how similar the smell is to a pig roast.  When I opened the rib cage, it looked just like cooked ribs but without sauce.  The skin was crackling and oil and juices pooled in the crease between the skin and exposed rib cage.  I tell you, I was off pork for about three months.”

“That won’t bother me,” John said.  “I never cared for ribs in the first place.  Tell me about another.”

“All right,” Kline said.  “When I was a student I saw an autopsy of a man who had hanged himself.  When we checked the main arteries in the heart, he had a huge blockage.  He was basically just about to have a huge heart attack so probably would have died anyway within a week or less.”

“Maybe that’s where the phrase ‘he jumped the gun’ came from,” John suggested.

“How about this one,” Kline said.  “This guy called his ex-wife, told her he was ending it all and that he had a gun.  This distraught husband drove out to the middle of nowhere, must have thought about what he was planning and died of a heart attack.  The police didn’t find him for several days but when they did, the gun was still in his hand, but there were no wounds anywhere on the body.  We couldn’t believe it either.”

“Interesting,” John said, “But give me one more good story that I can take with me back to the office.  I’m sure Dad and Abby will be just as interested as I am.”

Dr. Kline thought about it and then snapped his fingers, pointing at John.  “Got one; a woman who mysteriously suffocated after a car accident.  Apparently, while she was driving, she grabbed her cigarette lighter from her purse and was holding it in her mouth while she fumbled through her bag for her cigarettes.  While she was distracted doing this, she got T-boned by a flatbed truck.  The airbag went off and on the way to the hospital they kept trying to put tubes down her throat to open her airway because she was having trouble breathing.  But no luck. When we cut open her throat during the autopsy, they found her lighter jammed down there.  Apparently, when the airbag went off, it jammed the lighter down her throat and no one knew.”

“See,” John said.  “Smoking can kill you.  Well, smoking and stupidity; one hell of a combination.  Thanks, Doc, I’d better be getting back.  It’s been an interesting and educational morning.”

“Any time, John.”

John left the morgue and walked the four blocks north, back to his office.  Abby, his wife was on the phone when he walked in and his father, Nick was standing at the south window looking down at the pedestrian traffic on Hollywood Boulevard.  He turned toward John as he walked in.  “That took longer than I’d have thought,” Nick said.

John explained, “It didn’t take Steve long at all to look up our client in the database, but when I was leaving, I ran into Dr. Kline from the morgue and we just got to talking.  Dad, you wouldn’t believe some of the interesting stories he has to tell.”  John looked over at Abby again and then back at Nick.  “I’ll wait until she’s off the phone; I don’t want to have to tell these twice.”

“These what?” Nick asked.

“Dr. Kline’s stories about his job,” John said just as Abby hung up her phone.  He turned to her and said, “Another new client?”

Abby shook her head.  “Not likely; this woman wanted us to do something that could get us in trouble with the law so I had to tell her she’d have to find someone else to help with her problem.  How’d it go with Steve?”

John reiterated what he’d told Nick about their client’s clean record and then said, “If I tell you about some of Dr. Kline’s stories, do you think you can keep your breakfast down?”

“I noticed you didn’t ask Nick the same question,” Abby complained.  “Is it because I’m a woman?”

John waved her off.  “Not at all; it’s just because I got a little queasy when he told me.  Anyway, I never knew Dr. Kline’s job had so many facets to it.”  John spent the next ten minutes relaying the stories he’d heard and waited for their reactions.

“Well,” Abby replied.  “The lighter down the throat story was just goofy but I could have done without the detailed description of the guy on the slab.”

Nick jumped in with, “All fascinating stories, to be sure.  However, let me tell you a story that I heard many years ago from Dr. Kline’s predecessor, Dr. Geraldine Winkler.  They called her Gerry and she was as nice a person as you’d ever want to meet.  One day when I was over there looking into some case or another—I forget which—Gerry told me about a body that was found by a river.  She told me how they did a cat scan and something looked funny about this guy’s gut.  When she opened him up, his stomach moved.  It was a snake that had burrowed inside his body.  It struck and bit one of the techs before they realized what was going on.”

Abby held her stomach and said, “Enough already.  I still have lunch to look forward to.  Now I don’t know if I can.”

Nick said, “Almost done with this one.  After they disposed of the snake, they still needed to take this guy’s fingerprints but the skin was so shriveled.  So Gerry’s assistant, who by the way was my aunt, Olivia, cut the skin off one of the fingers and peeled it off the guy’s hand.  Then she slipped it over her own finger to smooth it out from the inside so she could roll it in the ink and get the print.  I always thought that one was kind of creepy.”

John made a mad dash for the bathroom and closed the door.  Nick and Abby could still hear him throwing up into the toilet and had to smile.  John emerged a minute later, wiping his chin with a paper towel.  “Sorry,” he said.  “But that one got to me.”

“What was it?” Abby asked.  “The snake moving around in his stomach or the finger skin being pulled off the guy’s hand?”

“I guess it was picturing Dad’s aunt wearing the dead guy’s finger skin,” John had to admit.  “You know, I’m starting to regret coming back here with those stories.  How about if we move onto to something completely unrelated?”

Wanting to change the subject, Nick said the first thing that came to mind.  “Have either of you been following the news on all these whackos who insist on special pronouns or wanting to be identified as one thing or another?”

Abby sighed heavily and her face took on a look of disgust.  “Tell me about it.  If I hear one more story about some pampered, spoiled kid in school who insists she be identified as a cat, I’m going to scream.  That teacher should just give her the back of his hand and tell her to sit down and shut up.  Of course, I’m exaggerating, but that’s about it these days.  And then there are the boys who want to be identified as girls and vice versa.  Once again, the old willow switch across their butts would shock them back into reality.”

John laughed and said, “How about this; some really stupid kid who’s a D student, insists that he be identified as a straight A student and that the teacher give him all A’s.”

Now it was Nick’s turn to jump in with his opinion.  “I can tell you already what that A would stand for in my book.  This whole subject is just making me angry.  Let’s find something else to talk about.”

“Hey, you brought it up in the first place,” John said.  The task of trying to come up with another subject was rendered nil when John’s phone rang.  “Cooper Investigations, John speaking.”

“John, it’s Steve again.  Did I catch you in the middle of anything important?”

“No, Steve, in fact your call came at the exact perfect moment.  What’s up?”

“Do you remember last year when you came around looking for something to do because your business was in a slump?  Anyway, you offered to look into some of our cold cases just to see what would shake loose.”

“I remember,” John replied.  “Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember that one case that was in our cold case file that involved the murder of some college girl in the valley?”

“I do indeed,” John said.  “Dad and I spent a few days chasing down leads but finally had to concede that it was one big dead end.  What about it?”

“I’d like to talk to you and Nick about your findings,” Steve said.  “Could you both come to my office right away?  We just got a call on another murder that looks to have all the ear marking of that first cold case and I just wanted to compare notes with the two of you.”

“Give us a couple of minutes, Steve.  We’ll be right down.”  John disconnected the call and told his father what Lieutenant Stone requested.  They left Abby to hold down the fort while they drove south to the Twelfth Precinct.  Steve was waiting for them in his office and had the entire file on that first case laid out before him on his desk.

“Come in, come in,” Steve said when Nick knocked and poked his head in.  “Pull up a couple of chairs and let me show you what we’re dealing with.”  He turned some of the files around toward the two men and said, “That first case that went cold; you said that the trail ended at U.C.L.A. and that nobody there knew anything further about that girl’s death.  The only thing we had to go on was a gold crucifix found shoved down that poor girl’s throat.”

“I remember,” Nick remarked.  “The kids there at the time claimed to know nothing at all, even though some of the kids we interviewed were known to hang out with; what was her name again?”  He checked the file in front of him and said, “Oh yeah, Shirley Richter.  Either they really didn’t know or they were all in on it together somehow.”

“Well take a look at this latest victim,” Steve said, showing a glossy morgue photo to Nick.  It was another college girl who looked to be no more than twenty, lying there, her eyes wide open, staring off into space.  “She was found sitting up in her car on the edge of town.  There was a little damage to the front of her car, but not enough to have killed her.  The medical examiner looked in the girl’s throat and found a gold crucifix, just like the first one.  Chances are they’re both connected somehow.”

“Did you get her name?” Nick asked.

“Yes, it’s Donna Lane from right here in Hollywood,” Steve said.  “She was a sophomore majoring in history, from what I understand.  She was just twenty.”

“And just what would you like from us?” Nick asked.

“I’d like to go over your notes from back then and compare them with what we have so far,” Stone said.

Nick produced his cell phone and dialed his office, getting Abby on the first ring.  “Abby, would you go to my laptop and bring up the file on one Shirley Richter from several years ago, please?  You can just forward the entire directory for that case to my cell phone.  Lieutenant Stone needs a copy.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Abby replied.  “I can cut out the middle man and send it directly to the lieutenant’s laptop.  Just give me a few minutes and then tell him to check his laptop for the directory labeled Richter, Shirley.  Anything I can do for you today?”

“Thanks, Abby, that’ll do fine for now.”  He disconnected the call and told Steve what Abby was planning on doing.  “Just giver her a couple minutes and it should show up on your laptop.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Steve said and then turned to John.  “You’d better hang onto that one; she’s a keeper.”

John nodded in agreement and replied, “I think so, too.”  He and Nick made small talk with Steve for two minutes before the file arrival bell dinged on the laptop.

Steve opened his laptop and found the directory Abby had sent, opening it to Nick’s notes.  He looked at Nick.  “Has it been that long ago?  There are even some notes in here from Matt.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, “Dad was pretty thorough when it came to documenting our cases.  Everything you’ll need should be right in there.  So, what is it that John and I can help you with this time around?”

“I’m sorry, Nick, but it’s no longer considered a cold case and my detectives will be taking it from here, but thanks a lot for these files.  I’ll owe you one for sure.”

Nick had expected this reaction so there was no surprise when he and John were left out of the current investigation.  He and John left the lieutenant’s office and drove back to their own to find Abby with her nose buried in the file she had just forwarded to Steve.  “What are you up to?” John asked.

Abby cocked her head toward the laptop screen and said, “I figured you two would be left out of the current investigation, but there’s nothing that says you can’t continue with this one right where you left off, is there?”

Nick gave Abby the thumbs up gesture and said, “Good thinking; Steve was right.  You are a keeper.”  He looked at John and said, “Seeing as how there’s nothing else going on at the moment, who’d you like to…”

“Count me in,” John said quickly.

“What am I, an orphan?” Abby said.  “I’d like to help with it, too.  Besides there may be some situations where I can get access to places neither of you could.  What do you say?”

John exchanged a quick glance with Nick.  “She’s got you there, Dad.”

“Then it’s settled,” Abby said with a smile.  “Where do you want to start?”

Nick scratched his head and furrowed his brow.  “That was so long ago that anyone who was going to U.C.L.A. back then would be long since gone.  We may have to get records at least for the kids known to have hung out with Shirley Richter.  They’d all be in their early thirties by now with families of their own.  How about if I take the registrar at U.C.L.A. and see what shakes loose.  You two can comb through the files again and try to sort out what’s relevant and what’s not.  Keep in touch by phone.”

Abby stepped over to the office printer and pulled out a list she had printed before John and Nick had returned.  “Here, you’re going to need this.”

Nick looked it over, folded it twice and slipped it into his shirt pocket.  Without another word, Nick left the office and drove to the U.C.L.A. campus to have a chat with the registrar.  John and Abby each sat behind Nick’s desk, paging through the files Nick and Matt had collected all those years ago.

Nick parked in the lot and found a directory board with directions to every department.  He found reference to the registrar’s office and made a note of the room number.  When he walked in, he found it relatively quiet, compared to the activity in the halls on his way over here.  There were just three people behind the counter, all apparently busy with one thing or another.  “Excuse me,” Nick said to the woman closest to him.  “Could you tell me where I could find the registrar, please?”

The woman looked Nick over the way a butcher looks over a side of beef, deciding where to cut first.  “You found her,” she said, extending her hand.  “Lillian Ferguson and you are?”

Nick shook the woman’s hand and then gave her one of his business cards.  “Nick Cooper and I’m looking into an old case that led me here.  Have you been here long?”

“Twenty-eight years come spring,” Lillian replied.

“Then you would have been here when Shirley Richter was…”

Lillian held both palm toward Nick.  “Shhh, my two co-workers weren’t here then and I don’t want that whole mess dredged up again.  That was so long ago and we never heard that anyone was arrested for that crime.  Why are you still looking into it now?”

“Is there someplace we can talk in private?” Nick asked.

 “Come with me,” Lillian said, lifting the hinges section of the counter top and leading Nick to a door with lettering across it that identified it as her office.  She closed the door once Nick was inside and invited him to sit in the chair across from her desk.  “Now, what was that you were saying about poor Shirley Richter?”

“So you do remember it,” Nick said.

“Yes; terrible, just terrible,” Lillian said.  “Why haven’t we heard anything about the outcome of that case?”

“I’m afraid the case went cold,” Nick had to admit.  “And it just sat in a filing cabinet until I asked the police if I could snoop into it on my own time just for something to do.  My father and I spent a lot of time looking into it but we came up against a dead end as well.  None of the kids who were here at the time would talk to either of us.  We figured either they didn’t know anything or they were protecting someone.”

“Why have you come to me, Mr. Cooper?”

“I was hoping that you could provide me with the contact information for these people who were here at the time.”  He produced a folded sheet from his pocket and handed it to Lillian.

She looked it over only briefly and tried to hand it back.  “Mr. Cooper, that kind of information would be confidential.  I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” Nick said, “and I’m sure you’ll understand when more students start dying.  The police called me earlier today and told me that they found another young woman who appears to have been murdered in the same way as Shirley Richter.”

“And how does this concern us here at U.C.L.A.” Lillian asked.

“This latest victim was also a student here,” Nick explained.  “Her name was Donna Lane.”

Lillian gasped and held one handover her mouth.  “Not Donna,” she said in a shaky voice.  “Are the police sure it was Donna?”

“No doubt about it,” Nick said.

“So that’s why she hadn’t been to any of her classes for the past two days,” Lillian said.

“Now can you see why I need that information?” Nick said, handing the list back to Lillian, who kept it this time.  “I’d say the confidentiality can take a back seat to preventive measures; wouldn’t you agree.”

Lillian nodded slowly and turned in her chair to access the older files from the cabinet against the wall.  She found each name on Nick’s list and wrote down the last know address for each of them.  She handed it back to Nick and said, “Please, Mr. Cooper, help the police find this maniac.  I don’t want to lose any more students this way.”

Nick promised that he’d do his best, thanked Lillian for her cooperation and left her office.

Lillian composed herself and made sure her eyes were dry before she returned to the outer office to resume her duties.

Nick called John’s cell number and got him on the second ring.  He told him what he had gotten from the registrar and suggested that he and Abby take six of the nine names, split up and start canvassing former U.C.L.A. students.  He read the names and addresses of the bottom six on the list and said he’d be taking the first three.  “Call me if you find out anything useful from those six people.”

It was several hours later before all nine people on the list had been tracked down.  One of them died in an automobile accident and two of them had moved somewhere back east right after college.  That left three from John and Abby’s list.  Nick struck out with one on his list, who turned out to have been in a coma for the past three years.  If he had any useful information, it would remain locked up in his head for who knows how long.  The remaining two former students had very little to share and had put the whole ordeal out of their minds years ago.

The three private eyes all met back at the office half an hour before closing time to compare notes.  “Well,” Nick began did you find anything we can use?”

Abby started things out by saying, of the two on my list still living, one outright refused to relive those terrible days and told me to leave.  The other one was a little more helpful.  She said that she knew Shirley Richter, but only as a classmate and they the two of them never hung out together.  She was sorry that she couldn’t have provided anything more useful.”

“What about you, John?  Got anything Steve can use?”

“Funny you should ask,” John replied.  “I got nothing at all.  Like I mentioned, one of them died and the other two on my list moved to New York.  What about your three?”

“One’s in a coma and the other two didn’t remember anything useful,” Nick said.  “There’s four hours of my life I’ll never get back again.”

Just then Nick desk phone rang.  It was Lieutenant Stone.  “Nick, it’s Steve.  I just wanted to give you an update on the case before you and your associates decide to go snooping anyway.”

Nick resisted the urge to tell Steve that the three of them had already wasted four hours each and instead just said, “Is that so?  What did you find out?”

“Nick, it’s beginning to look like we’ve been on a wild goose chase,” Steve said a bit sheepishly.  “Dr. Kline took a closer look at Donna Lane and had to admit that this wasn’t murder at all, but one hell of a freak accident.”

“But the crucifix in her throat.”

“That’s the strange part,” Steve said.  “It was later this morning, after John had been talking to Dr. Kline.  Apparently the good doctor suddenly remembered something he had told John about a different case from a while back that it suddenly dawned on him.”

“What are you talking about, Steve,” Nick said.

The EMTs that pulled Donna Lane out of that car, noticed that the airbag had been deployed but didn’t immediately connect it to the rest of this investigation.  As it turned out, Miss Lane had a bad habit of holding her crucifix between her lips.  She wasn’t paying attention and must have hit a deer, causing the airbag to go off and right into her face, shoving the crucifix right down her throat.  She choked to death before help could get there.  The only good thing to come out of all this is the knowledge that the same guy who killed Shirley Richter is not back; at least not around here.  He could be plying his trade in some other part of the country or he could be dead for all we know.  Anyway, thank John for me for having had that conversation with Dr. Kline this morning.  Without it, Kline might not have put the pieces of this puzzle together.”

Once Nick had relayed what Steve had shared with him, John sighed and said, “It’s like I’ve always said; no good can come from organized religion.”

“That’s a stretch,” Abby said.  “If it hadn’t been a crucifix, it could have been a diamond or a button or even a sea shell that he had between her lips at the time of her accident.  She’d be just as dead with no connection to religion.”

“Do you know what I find extremely ironic?” John said.  Without waiting for a reply from either of his co-workers he said, “I find it ironic that a woman who choked on a necklace do-dad would still be alive if she’d wore a different kind of necklace.”

“Okay,” Abby said.  “I’ll bite.

“A choker,” John said and then stepped back out of range in case Abby felt like smacking this smart-ass.

Cut

Nick still had several friends at the major studio where he had once worked as a security guard.  And today being a slow day at his private investigations office, he decided that today might be the perfect day to call on those friends and do a little catching up.  He knew his son, John and his daughter-in-law, Abby could manage without him for half a day.  Besides, he had already retired once before but came back when he found retired life too boring.  This time around, he could take it at a more leisurely pace and who could blame him.

Nick drove over to the main gate at the studio and waited on this side of the lowered arm for the guard to come out of the shack and approach the car.  The guard carried his clipboard out to Nick’s open window and said almost mechanically, “Name.”  He hadn’t even looked at the driver inside the car.

“Cecil B DeMille,” Nick said and waited for the guard’s reaction.

“Nick Cooper, is that you, you old son of a gun.  What brings you out our way on a day like this?”

“How you doin’, Stuart?” Nick replied.  “I have the morning off from work and just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“The morning off from work?” Stuart said.  “Last I heard you retired.  What changed to make you think you have to go back to work?”  Stuart lowered his clipboard to his side and rested his folded arms on Nick’s window sill.

“I can only feed so many pigeons or watch just so much daytime TV before I realize that this is not the life for me.  Besides, John and Abby were glad to have me come back.  Now, are you gonna talk me to death or can I come in?”

“Oh sure,” Stuart said, leaving Nick’s window and operating the arm into the up position and allowing Nick to drive in.  Just park it next to the guard shack and come on inside so we can talk.”   

By the time Nick stepped into the guard shack, Stuart was already pouring himself another cup of coffee from the pot on the hot plate.  He held the pot up.  “Would you like a cup, Nick.  Oh, that’s right; you don’t drink coffee, do you?”

Nick shook his head.  “Never cared for the taste or the smell.  Same goes for any kind of alcoholic beverage.”

Stuart smiled sarcastically.  “You must be a real scream at parties.  Sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to since the last time I saw you.  What was it; a year and a half ago?”

“Something like that,” Nick agreed.  “John married our former secretary, Abby, who is now a licensed P.I.  They moved into a house just a few minutes from the office and they’re loving their new life together.”

“What about you?” Stuart asked.  “I was sorry to hear about Shelley.  Are you out there in the dating scene yet?”

“Technically, no,” Nick replied.  “I met a great gal and we’re keeping steady company, or whatever people your age are calling it these days.”

“Good for you, Nick.”  Stuart fell silent for a moment and then said, “They’re filming some medical documentary on sound stage three this morning.  I don’t suppose you’d like to look in on them, would you?”

“That sounds more interesting than any pigeon in the park,” Nick said.  “Lead the way.”

“First let me call my replacement for the gate,” Stuart said.  Ten minutes later another uniformed guard appeared and took Stuart’s place while Stuart led Nick out of the guard shack and down one of the streets to sound stage three.  The red light outside the door was out, allowing visitors access to the production.

Just inside the door stood another studio guard named Hank who held up his hand to stop us when he recognized Stuart.  “Sorry, Stuart,” Hank said.  “I thought you were someone else.  Who’s that with you?”

“Nick here is an old friend of mine,” Stuart explained.  “He also used to be a security guard here many years ago.”

“Well, then, go ahead, but just be quiet,” Hank warned.  “You know how some of these directors are about extraneous noise.”

“We will,” Stuart said and led Nick closer toward the production stage.  In the middle of the director, lighting technicians, sound people and the rest of the crew, sat what looked like a morgue set with a body on the slab and two men dressed in white scrubs.  They appeared to be just standing around, waiting for the director’s instructions.”

That body looks real,” Nick commented.  “It should,” Stuart replied.  “It was donated by the Cal Tech medical school.  It was slated for dissection by the medical class, but the producer of this documentary promised them credit at the end of the film.  Just watch and remain quiet.”

Nick stood like a statue as the bell rang on the set and the director called, “Places everybody.”  Once the actors were in their assigned places, the director called, “Lights, camera and action.”  The clapboard came down with a snap in front of the camera lens and the actors began the scene.  One of the assistants pulled the white sheet down off the cadaver’s face and folded it neatly over its crotch.  Then the actor playing the coroner, who was also a trained fourth year medical student, picked up a scalpel and started at the shoulder where the Y incision always began.  He hovered over that spot a bit too long to suit the director, who then yelled, “Cut.”

The production crew shut down and the director knew he’d screwed up.  “No, no, no, I didn’t mean stop filming, I meant cut, as in come on already, use that scalpel and make the initial cut.  Let’s try it again.”

The crew and actors repositioned themselves and waited for the director.  “Action,” he said again and leaned forward in his director’s chair for a better view.  The coroner character began again at the shoulder and began pressing the scalpel for that initial piercing of the skin.  Once he did that, he dropped the scalpel and stepped back away from the corpse.

“Cut,” the director yelled.  “And this time, I mean stop the cameras.”  He got out of his chair and walked over to the actor playing the part of the coroner.  “What is it now?” he asked.  “All these delays are costing us money.”

The coroner character pointed to the cadaver on the slab and said, “Look.”  He pointed to the place on the shoulder where he had pressed down with the scalpel.  Blood was running out of the cut.  “I may not be a real coroner yet, but I’ve had enough medical school training to know that dead bodies don’t bleed.  You’d better have another look; this guy’s not dead.”  He pulled the white scrubs off and threw them on the floor.  “I’m out of here; get somebody else.”  He headed for the outer door and left without further comment.

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to be part of the production,” Nick said.  “How do you suppose a real live man ended up on that slab?”

“I don’t know,” Stuart said, pulling Nick by the arm toward the exit.  “But we’d better get out of here before the police are summoned.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t need any more complication in my life.”  He and Nick left the sound stage and returned to the guard shack.  “Thanks for covering for me, Hank,” Stuart told the other guard, “but I can take it from here.”

Stuart’s replacement nodded.  “No problem.”  He left the guard shack and went back to wherever he’d come from.

“Gees,” Nick said.  “It’s a good thing that actor playing the coroner was slow doing the Y incision or that guy might have ended up being donated to the college anyway…for real.  I wonder who he is and how he got to that sound stage.”

“Not my circus, not my monkey,” Stuart said.  “I don’t want to get involved.  And I think you’d better make tracks before Hank comes looking for you.  He’s sure to remember us both.”

“Thanks for the tour, albeit a short one,” Nick said and got back into his car.  He was out the gate and gone before anyone was any the wiser.  He drove back to his office to tell John and Abby about his interesting morning.  He parked in the lot behind the Cahuenga Building and made one last stop before at the corner pretzel stand before returning to the office.

When the office door opened, John looked up at the wall clock and then back at his father and remarked, “You said you’d be out until after lunch.  Did you miss us both that much already?”

Without answering, Nick held the cardboard tray out to his son, who took a pretzel and a cup of soda and said thanks.  Nick turned and made the same offer to Abby and then set the last pretzel and soda cup on his desk.

“What’s the occasion?” John asked.

Nick slipped out of his jacket and hung it on the coat hook before returning to his desk to enjoy his own mid-morning treat.  “I thought you’d like a snack while you listened to my interesting story from earlier today,” Nick explained and then filled them in on what had happened on the movie set.

John winced and said, “Ouch; it’s a good thing that actor didn’t continue.”

“That’s the same thing Stuart said,” Nick replied.

“Stuart?” Abby said.

“A studio guard who was also a good friend of mine when I was working there,” Nick explained.  “I have a feeling that the shit is gonna hit the fan before this is all said and done.  Somebody’s practical joke—or murder attempt—is going to result in heads rolling at the studio, the college or both.  I sure hope that guy is going to be all right.  All he got out of it was a one inch cut near his shoulder; he’ll live.”

Nick didn’t hear anything more from Stuart for the next week and a half and he figured that the studio had covered up this mess in their usual way.  He had all but forgotten about the incident when his office door opened and a somewhat familiar face stared back at him from the hallway.  “Come on in,” Nick said to the man.  “How may I help you today?”

The man stepped in and slowly stepped over to Nick’s desk.  John and Abby were both out on a case.  “Mr. Cooper,” the man began.  “My name is Peck; Leonard Peck.”

“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Peck and tell me how I can help you today,” Nick offered.

Peck cleared his throat and began, “Someone tried to have me killed and I want you to find out who it is.  Is that something you do here?”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation, Mr. Peck,” Nick said.  “Do you have more than a suspicion or is there more about this that you’d like to share with me?”

“I was…” Peck began to say when Nick snapped his fingers and pointed at Peck’s face.  “Sorry to interrupt you, but I know you from somewhere, don’t I?  I know I’ve see that face somewhere before.”

“I’ve never seen you before,” Peck said, “so I don’t know where you could have seen me.”  He cleared his throat again and started at the beginning.  “Nearly two weeks ago I woke up in the hospital with the after affects of having been drugged.  Well, that and a one-inch cut on my shoulder.”

“Now I remember where I’d seen your face before,” Nick said.  “It was on the set of a movie they were making about some coroner.  You were lying on the slab, weren’t you?”

Peck nodded.  “And from what I hear, the actor playing that coroner hesitated just long enough to realize that I was still alive and stopped cutting when he noticed me bleeding.  Thank goodness for that anyway.”

“That was a close one,” Nick agreed.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Peck asked.  “I have to admit that I did a little detective work on my own before I stopped in here to see you.  I got out of the hospital after three days, lounged around home just resting for another couple of days and then started asking around.  Mostly I got the cold shoulder from people at the studio but there was one guard at the front gate who apparently let something slip.  He was there, too, I eventually found out.”

“And I take it he told you about me,” Nick said.  “Yes, Stuart and I were there but we left right after the cameras stopped rolling.  I wondered what had become of you.  Now I know; which brings us to your suspicions about someone trying to kill you.  Let’s talk about that.”

“What else could it be?” Peck asked.  “I didn’t volunteer to play that part of the cadaver so someone else must have set the wheels in motion, hoping I’d get killed on that set.”

Nick withdrew his yellow legal pad and a pencil and wrote Leonard Peck across the top, ready to add more details as he got them.  “From what I was told, I was under the impression that the studio got their real corpse from the U.C.L.A. medical lab.  Do you go to school there or do you work there, Mr. Peck?”

Peck shook his head.  “Neither; I work as a janitor at Hollywood High School over on Sunset.  The last thing I remember was someone clamping a hand over my mouth with a handkerchief soaked in something that put me right out.  I eventually woke up in the hospital and everything in between is one big blank.  That’s where you come in, Mr. Cooper.  I want you to find out who did this to me and why?”

Nick finished scribbling the last of his notes and laid the pencil down.  “Of course, I’ll take your case,” he told Peck.  “We get three hundred dollars a day and I’ll need a two day retainer to get started.  If that’s agreeable to you I can start on this right away today.”  Nick collected the retainer and got Peck’s signature on one of his contracts.  He shook Peck’s hand and thanked him before showing him to the door.  He sat back down at his desk and went over his notes again.  This could prove to be an interesting case.

At that point, John walked back into the office.  Nick looked up from his notes and said, “I thought Abby was with you.”

John shook his head.  “No, she’s got a case of her own.  She may not be back before we close up shop.  What’s up?”

“I just picked up a case that I might be able to use you on,” Nick replied.

“I think I passed him in the lobby,” John said.  “Big guy with a serious looking face?”

Nick nodded.  “That’s him; Leonard Peck.  And get this; he was the guy I was telling you and Abby about from the studio—the guy lying on the morgue slab that almost got sliced open.”

John was about to hang his jacket on the hook but stopped.  “That was him?  What did he want from you?”

“He suspected that someone was trying to kill him,” Nick said.

“What was his first clue?” John said and finished hanging his jacket up.

“Turns out he’s a janitor at the high school here in town,” Nick explained.  “From what he can piece together from memory, he thinks that some students at the high school might have chloroformed him because he didn’t remember anything after that until he woke up in the hospital.  You know what I think?”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“Well, you know the original cadaver they were going to use for that documentary,” Nick began.  “I have a sneaking suspicion that whoever was supposed to deliver the corpse from whichever medical school donated it could have made a side trip to Hollywood High School and made the switch with Leonard Peck.  I still haven’t figured out the why part of it yet.”

John stepped over to Nick’s desk, lifted one leg and sat on the edge, turning toward Nick.  “You never know, Dad.  What could have started out as a prank could have gotten out of hand.  Maybe the kids at the high school held some sort of grudge against this janitor and wanted to teach him a lesson.  Maybe they didn’t know it would go as far as it did, but by then it was too late to stop it.”

“That leaves one burning question; what happened to the original medical school cadaver?”  Nick scratched the back of his neck and then pointed at John.  “You know it can’t be stuffed in anyone’s locker.  It would surely have stunk up the whole school by now.  No, I think if it did happen that way and they did make the switch, they’d have had to dispose of that original cadaver somewhere between the high school and the movie studio.  And that’s where we come in—putting all the pieces together.  You in?”

“You bet; I don’t get a chance like this every day.  Where do you want to start?”

“Well,” Nick began, “the most logical place to find a cadaver around here would be at the U.C.L.A. medical lab.  Suppose we start there.”  Nick turned on the answering machine, then he and John locked up the office and drove to the college campus to the west.

“Exactly what are we looking for?” John asked along the way.

“If the college did donate a stiff, they’d have a record of that stiff’s name and where it was going,” Nick surmised.  “If the destination was the movie studio then our next step would be to locate that lost corpse because we know where Leonard Peck ended up.  So we just narrowed our search are to somewhere between the high school and the studio.  Can you think of any hiding places between the two where a corpse would be found?”

“I know the perfect place,” John offered.  “What about the cemetery?  That would be the perfect place.  Think about it, Dad.  They ride around the cemetery until the find an open grave for some upcoming funeral and just dump the body in it and cover it with just enough dirt so it doesn’t show.  Sooner or later a casket would be lowered down onto it and some guy with a backhoe would eventually fill in the hole.  Problem solved.”

Once Nick parked in the U.C.L.A. parking lot, he and John found the main office and asked where they could find the medical lab.  It turned out to be a good ten minute walk from the office.  They spent another few minutes trying to find the person in charge and then another couple of minutes convincing him that it would be in their best interest to provide them with the donated cadaver’s name and a description.  The last piece of information they asked for was the name of the driver or drivers who had been tasked with delivering the donated corpse to the studio.  They got all the information they asked for and were back in their car and on the road again in no time at all.

“Where to first, Dad?” John asked without taking his eyes off the road.

Nick looked again at his notes from the U.C.L.A. medical lab and found the name of the driver from that fateful day.  “West seventy-nine hundred block of Fountain Avenue,” Nick said.  “Looks like that driver lives pretty close to the college campus.”

They made it there in eighteen minutes and found the white stucco house with the red Spanish tile roof.  John parked around the corner and the two of them walked up the eight steps to the covered porch.  Nick pressed the doorbell but couldn’t hear any sounds from within.  He knocked on the door and this time he could hear footsteps coming his way.

The door opened and a kid, probably no more than twenty-one or two answered the door in just pajamas bottoms and bare feet.  “Yeah; what do you want?”

John spoke up first.  “Jerry Griffin?”  The man agreed that he was.  “Mr. Griffin, my name is John Cooper and this is my father, Nick.  We’ve been hired to look into the incident that happened to our client at the movie studio nearly two weeks ago.  We understand that you were the driver that delivered the donated cadaver to…”

That was as far as John got before the door closed in his face.  He and Nick could hear footsteps beating a hasty retreat away from the front door.  The two of them just looked at each other, somewhat taken by surprise by Griffin’s reaction.  A moment later they could hear what sounded like the back door closing and a motor starting.  They both turned toward the alley in time to see a white van pulling onto the street and speeding east.

“I have a feeling I know where he’s going,” Nick said.  “Let’s go; I know how to get there ahead of him.  Give me the keys; I’ll drive.”

“Where do you think he’s going?” John asked as Nick sped north and then due east.

“He’s probably going over to Hollywood High School to warn his cohorts before the cops get there,” Nick offered.  “Get on your cell and have Lieutenant Stone send a car over but tell him to keep it out of sight and that we’ll meet him there and tell him to detain that van driver.  If he asks why, just tell him he’s one of the idiots who switched bodies from the medical lab.”

John made the call and then just kept an eye out for cross traffic as Nick continued speeding toward the high school.  They made it there just ahead of the white van, which parked behind the school.  The driver got out and started for the back door before the black and white patrol car cut him off and detained him until Nick and John could join him.

Nick gestured with his chin at Jerry Griffin.  “You might want to take him inside and have him introduce you to his partners in crime.  I’m sure once you lay it all out for them, one of them will flip the other for immunity.  Let’s see who talks first.”

Officer Jeff Gasper and his sergeant, Stan Rooker, each grabbed one of Griffin’s arms and started leading him toward the door.  “No, wait,” Griffin said.  “What do I get if I tell you everything?”

“What do you have now?” Sergeant Rooker asked.

“Nothing.”

“And you’ll get more nothing unless you start talking right now,” Rooker replied.

Griffin hesitated for a moment and then said, “All right, I’ll tell you.  It was Curt Bressler’s idea.  He said he’d give me a hundred dollars just to drive Mr. Peck to the movie studio in place of the cadaver I picked up at the medical lab.”

“And just why would he want to do that?” Nick asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Griffin said.  I guess this Peck guy was the janitor and was giving Curt a batch of shit about the joints he found in his locker.  Curt didn’t want to get in trouble for the weed so he chloroformed the janitor and undressed him.  Originally that’s all he was going to do to embarrass him when he woke up, but then he remembered that I was delivering a stiff to the studio and got the bright idea about switching the two bodies.”

“But Mr. Peck might have died right there on the slab in the sound stage,” Nick said.

Griffin forced a small laugh.  “Curt just figured Mr. Peck would wake up before it got that far, that’s all.  We didn’t figure he’d be out for so long.”

Sergeant Rooker and his partner walked Griffin into the school and asked where they could find Curt Bressler.

Griffin check his wristwatch and replied, “Right now he’s probably in the auditorium.  He and the rest of the seniors are probably rehearsing for graduation.”

“Well, you’re going to point him out to us when we get there,” Rooker said.  “And any funny business from you and we’ll slap the cuffs on and throw you in a cell.”  Rooker told his partner to cover one of the other three doors to the auditorium.  Nick and John covered the other two while Rooker led Griffin down the aisles of the seated seniors.  When they got to the second row, the rest of the students created an undertone, causing Curt Bressler to turn and look over his shoulder.  When he saw his partner in crime being led by the arm with a cop, he bolted and headed for the exit.

Curt Bressler tried running through the third door; the one that Nick was guarding.  He was blocked from leaving when Nick stepped directly into his path.  “Going somewhere, Curt?” Nick asked and took hold of the boy’s arm.

“Let me go,” Bressler yelled as he tried unsuccessfully to break out of Nick grasp.  He continued to struggle until Officer Gasper caught up to him and took hold of his other arm.  Bressler stopped struggling.

Rooker arrived a moment later and the two cops cuffed each man and led them back to their patrol car.  They closed the back door and turned to Nick and John.  “Thanks for your help, guys.  I’m sure we can find a comfortable cell for our two mischief makers until they can see the judge in the morning.”

“It occurred to me,” Nick said, “that the studio couldn’t have been involved in this mishap.  They thought they had been delivered a real cadaver.  Speaking of which, one of the first things your detectives might want to ask them is where they stashed the real cadaver.  My guess would have been in some unattended open grave at one of the cemeteries, but I wouldn’t rule out other places.”

“Thanks, Nick, John,” Rooker said.  “You’ll probably be hearing from Lieutenant Stone on this.  Catch you both later.”  And with that the black and white patrol car left with its two prisoners.

Griffin and Bressler had their day in court and a jury found them both guilty of depraved indifference in the near death of Leonard Peck.  Both men received a five year prison sentence and Leonard Peck won his civil suit again the co-conspirators.  He was awarded two and a half million dollars for his harrowing ordeal, though he doubted she ever see a cent from it.

Still justice had been served, as far as he was concerned.

Cheese Fon Don’t

Just before Nick Cooper was about to close his office for the day, the door opened and Sergeant Mike Becker stepped in.  “Hey, Nick,” he said.  Did I catch you busy?”

“Actually, Nick replied, “I was just about to close the office and go home for the day.  The kids have already left.”  He was referring to his son, John and John’s wife, Abby, who was also a private eye in this family-run business.

Becker held up both palms toward Nick.  “Well, don’t let me keep you.  I just stopped by with the most unusual police story I’ve ever heard, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow.”  He started for the door.

“Hold on there, Mike,” Nick objected.  “You can’t lay something like that on me and just walk away.  There’s nothing waiting for me at home that can’t wait.  Have a seat and tell me your tale.”

Becker smiled and hurried into the chair across from Nick’s desk.  “Let me give you a little background to set the scene.  This woman came into the station last week claiming that her husband was murdered at work and insisted that we look into it and make sure those other guys didn’t get away with it.”

“Get away with what?” Nick asked.

“Hang on; I’m getting to that.  Anyway, do you know that factory in Pasadena where they process cheese and other dairy products?  Well, this woman’s husband worked there and she claims that a couple of his coworkers threw him into a vat of melted cheese and drowned him for whatever reason.”

“And did you arrest those men and bring them in for questioning?” Nick said.

“We did, but you’re getting ahead of me,” Becker said.

Nick held up his index finger and added, “When you fingerprinted them and took their mug shots, did you tell them to ‘say cheese’ before you snapped the photo?”

Becker said nothing but just gave Nick an exasperated look.  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry, Mike; go on with your story.”

“Anyway, we did an extensive investigation and by the time we’d finished, it was proved beyond any doubt that her husband was drunk when he came into work that day and he fell into that vat of melted cheese all on his own.”  Becker paused for effect.

“That’s it?” Nick said, somewhat disappointed with Becker’s story.

“The good part is coming up; hang in there,” Becker said.  “So the coroner’s assistants pulled that guy out of the cheese vat and drove him back to the morgue.  Not only did they have to requisition for a new gurney, they had to throw away the sheets and their uniforms.  So they managed to wrangle the body onto the slab and left to change their clothes.  Dr. Kline took one look at the body, which by now was covered with the melted cheese.  Of course, by the time the body ended up on the slab, the cheese had hardened as it cooled down.  Dr. Kline told me after it was all done, that it was like carving out a sculpture just to get to the body itself.  He said in all his years as a medical examiner, he’d never seen cheese-filled lungs like this guy had.”  Becker said nothing further and waited for Nick’s reaction.

“I have to admit, that was a good story,” Nick agreed.  “I doubt I’ll ever look at a cheese sandwich the same way after today.”  He smacked his lips and took a deep breath.  “I guess you could call that one a cheese fon don’t.”

“Nice try, Nick, but I heard George Carlin mention that in one of his skits.  Still, I’ll have to remember that when I tell this story again; and I will for sure.”

“Can’t wait to tell Michelle that one.”

“Michelle?” Becker said.

“My girlfriend,” Nick explained.  “Haven’t you met her yet?  Well, we’ll have to remedy that.  Now, unless you have another story about some guy being crushed by a ton of crackers, I have to get going.  Thanks for the story.”  Nick and the cop left the office and shared the elevator to the lobby.

On the way down, Becker said, “You know, I almost had a psychic girlfriend but she left me before we met.”  When he didn’t get anything more than a sideways glance from Nick he added, “No good?”

Nick shook his head.  “Mike, you need some new material.  I’ll give you something to use until you can come up with something on your own.  How can you tell when you run out of invisible ink?”

“As the elevator doors opened, Becker said, “That’s good; I can use that.  Catch you later, Nick, but I always have a backup in case I run out of smart ass comments.”

“Oh,” Nick said.  “And what is your backup?”

“You may be getting older if your friends compliment you on your new alligator shoes and you’re barefoot.”  Becker took his leave before Nick could comment.  The two men parted ways at the parking lot and each drove in different directions.  Nick made it back to his empty home twenty minutes later and decided to give Michelle a call.

The next morning at work, Nick relayed the story of the cheese encrusted victim to John and Abby.  Abby winced but John had to laugh.  “Cheese fon don’t,” John said.

“Did Sergeant Becker tell you that one?” Nick asked.

John shook his head.  “That’s from some old Carlin routine about words and phrases you never hear.  I remember, besides that one he said something about why there is no word for the concept of chalance.”

“Come again,” Nick said.

“They have a word called nonchalance,” John explained.  “So why is there no word for the opposite of nonchalance?”

“Can we get back to work now?” Nick said and took the seat behind his desk.

“And what work is that?” Abby said.  “There are no cases pending today.”

“Not yet,” Nick agreed.  “But the first one that comes our way is all yours.”

Abby didn’t get to claim the next case until the next morning when Lieutenant Steve Stone called looking for a little help from the Cooper Investigations business.  Abby was able to grab the phone on the first ring.  “Oh, hi, Steve,” she said in her friendliest voice.  She listened to what Steve wanted and said, “As it happens, I am free, so you can count on me for however long this takes.  Would you like to fill me in on what you need?”

“Not on the phone,” Steve said.  “Can you stop over here in a few minutes?  Come to my office, if you will.”

“That’s me you hear knocking,” Abby said and disconnected the call.  She got up and plucked her jacket from the coat hook and looked at John.  “Don’t wait up for me.  Looks like Steve has a case for me to work on.  Later boys.”  She smiled at Nick, nodded once and left the office.

John looked at his dad and said, “There; now there’s no chance of any sexual harassment in the workplace.”

Nick furrowed his brow.  “That’s a given, wouldn’t you say?”

When John caught the implication, he corrected it by saying, “Not you; I was talking about Abby.  Now that it’s just the two of us and she can’t sexually harass me.  Oh never mind, the joke was wasted on you.”

“I guess,” Nick said and went back to reading his paper.

Abby drove to the Twelfth Precinct just four blocks south of the Cahuenga Building and parked in the back lot.  Just inside the door and to the right she found Steve’s office, knocked and let herself in.

“Close the door, will you?” Steve said.  “And have a seat.  We may have us a bit of a situation and I think you may be able to help me.”

“What is it?” Abby asked.

“This problem seems to come in cycles,” Steve began.  “It’ll be a problem for a month or two and then it will die down for years sometimes before it comes back.  Well, it’s back.  Someone is once again targeting the homeless population in Hollywood.  We just found another homeless person murdered on the street and things are getting tense out there.  I was originally concerned when I called and you said that you’d be handling this one.”

“Why?” Abby said.  “I’m licensed, trained and fully capable.”

Steve held up both palms toward his guest.  “No doubt you are all of those things, but frankly, you’re too—how shall I put this—pretty, and you’re a female.  You may not blend in to easily out there with the rest of the street people and I need someone to get in there among them and get information for us that we could use.”

Abby waved him off.  “No problem; I can change into some thrift store clothes, take off my makeup, smear a little dirt on my face and mess my hair up.  I’ve done something like this once before and very convincingly, I must say.”

“Where was that?” Steve asked.  “Have you been among the homeless before?”

Abby sighed and said, “Well, not really among them.  Last Halloween John and I went to a costume party as hobos and literally no one knew us the way we were made up.  I’m sure I can pull this off.”

“It could be dangerous out there with that element,” Steve warned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Abby assured him.  “No matter what outfit I wear, I can always find room for my little friend.”  She patted her underarm holster beneath her jacket.  “So, what is it you’d like me to do first?”

“Why don’t you go back and get into your homeless outfit and then stop back here?” Steve said.  “You can leave your car in the lot during this whole assignment.  Just leave your keys with me.  Besides you little friend there, you don’t want to be out there on the street with any reminders of your regular life.  In fact, the last homeless person that we found dead had a shopping cart with him.  We still have it and you’re free to use it for your own junk.”

“Does it still have the last guy’s stuff in it?” Abby asked.

“No,” Steve replied.  “Most of it is in the evidence locker in case we need to connect any of it to the crime.  We just left the aluminum cans in it.  One can looks like the next, so you should be all right.  Besides, those bums out there are probably familiar with each other’s goodies and might recognize them if you showed up with Jake’s personal possessions.”

“Jake?”

“The last homeless victim,” Steve clarified.  “Go change and stop over at the garage.  Don’t come back here in case anyone is watching.  You can pick up the grocery cart over there.”

Abby got up and turned for the door.  “Thanks for giving me the chance,” she told the lieutenant and left.  Instead of going back to the office, she drove straight home, calling John on her way to let him know what was happening.

“You just be careful,” he warned her.

Abby pulled an old cardboard box out of her closet and dug through it, setting John’s hobo costume aside to get at hers.  She stripped completely down, making sure not to be wearing even her new underwear.  She slipped into the costume that had helped her circulate with that Halloween party unrecognized.  Once she was satisfied that everything looked authentic, she slipped off the top, found a secure place to nest her .38 revolver and slipped the top back on.  She shrugged her shoulders several times to make sure the firearm was secure.  Abby then pulled out a small container of common dirt that she had used the first time and rubbed it on portions of her face and arms, making sure it lodged under her fingernails.  She drove back to the police station and parked in her same spot before walking to the police garage around the side of the building.

Steve was waiting there when she arrived and tried to walk into the garage.  He stopped her and said, “Sorry, lady, this is police property; you can’t come in here.”

“Steve,” Abby said with a wink.

“Abby?” Steve said, taken totally by surprise.  “I can see now why you weren’t recognized at your party.  Very nice, indeed.  You carrying protection?”

“Like condoms?” Abby said, having some fun with the cop.  She patted her mid-section and said, “Got it right here.”

“Good, now here’s your shopping cart.  Get out there and start collecting cans or whatever else it is those people find valuable.  Then just start circulating among them and see if any of them feel like talking.  The only way you’ll be able to reach me is by stopping back here.  I hope you didn’t bring your cell phone?”

“No, I didn’t,” Abby assured him.  “But I figured it might come in handy, so I stashed it in an alley on the way here.  No one will ever find it where I hid it.  And I have your cell number memorized.”

“Good,” Steve said.  “Just don’t ever call me on my office phone.  You never know who might be listening.”

“Got it,” Abby said, taking the shopping cart from Steve and turning away.  “Hey, and if I ever get hungry and need the price of a meal, I could always sell these cans.”

“Only if you can find a mean for eighty-nine cents,” Steve replied.  “That’s all those cans are worth.  Good luck.”

Abby walked away from the police garage, looking every bit the part of a bag lady from the streets.

Sergeant Kenny Nolan was on patrol with his brand new rookie partner, Officer Todd Cutter, fresh out of the academy.  Nolan drove and told Cutter just to sit there and observe.  “It’s the best way to learn,” Nolan told him.  “Just watch and do as I do and do as I say and you’ll do all right.”

“Yes, sir,” Cutter replied.

“And one more thing,” Nolan said.  “When it’s just the two of us in the car, you can call me Kenny and I’ll call you Todd.  If we’re in public or back at the station, you will call me Sergeant Nolan; understand?”

“Got it,” Cutter said and continued watching the goings on outside his patrol car window.

As the police car passed a dark alley downtown, Sergeant Nolan slowed to a crawl and aimed the exterior spotlight down the passage.  “What do you see, Kenny?” Todd said.

Nolan stopped the car and killed then engine.  He got out, slipped his night stick into the loop on his belt, positioned his visored cap on his head and told his partner to follow him.  The sergeant shined his flashlight along both sides of the alley until he had illuminated the reason he had stopped here in the first place.  He aimed his light onto a pair of legs protruding from behind stack of wooden crates.  Nolan stepped around the crates and looked down onto the face of an old man who had a trail of blood leading out of a hole in his neck.  The blood had long since stopped flowing.

Nolan told his partner to call this incident into the station and then squatted next to the man, looking for a pulse he was sure he wouldn’t find.  He got to his feet again and continued searching the alley for whatever else might be hiding here.  There was nothing and he returned to the corpse.

“What do you make of this, Kenny?” Todd asked.  “Could you tell what he died from?”

“It’s too dark back here to get a good look,” Nolan replied.  “The medical examiner will be able to tell us more once they pull this guy out and take him to the morgue.”

Six minutes later the morgue wagon pulled to a stop behind the black and white and two attendants wheeled a gurney over to where the two cops stood guard.  “What have you got here, Sarge?” the first attendant asked.

“Poor guy probably crawled back here to get out of the wind and someone else must not have liked his being here and evicted him—permanently.  Tell Dr. Kline that I’ll check back with him a little later so we can get a cause of death for our report.  I already checked; he didn’t have anything on him, not even the usual pocket of lint.”

Without further conversation, the two attendants loaded the old man onto their rolling stretched and strapped him down, wheeling him back out the way they’d come.  Nolan turned to his partner.  “Come on; we still have five more hours left of our shift.”  The two cops got back into their patrol car and headed west.

Abby had pushed her cart about twelve blocks when she had to stop and catch her breath.  Along the way she managed to add some more inventory to her grocery cart.  She found one discarded glove with a hole in the tip of one finger.  Two blocks further and she picked up cardboard carrier with six empty beer bottles in it.  Lying next to the bottles was a single amber bottle without a cap or cork.  She picked it up and sniffed the neck.  It had the strong scent of whiskey so he set it in the cart.  Just two minutes earlier, she found a black plastic trash bag that she initially thought was empty.  However, when she picked it up she noticed it had a little heft to it.  When she spread the cinched top apart and looked in, she quickly dropped it and hurried on her way.  At the bottom of the bag there looked to be three dead pigeons and a dead rat.  She couldn’t imagine that any of those items held any value at all to anyone and wondered how they got in there in the first place.

About a block and a half ahead, she spotted a place on the sidewalk where several makeshift dwellings, if you could call them that, had been erected.  They consisted of nothing more than an old moth-eaten blanket attached to the sharp barbs at the top of a cyclone fence.  The other end of the blanket had been held in place on the sidewalk with three or four bricks.  The result resembled half of a homemade tent.  Sticking out of one end was the closed flap end of a cardboard box with the rest of the box extending under the blanket.

Abby walked a wide berth around the structure and kept going.  All in all there were four such residences in a row.  She decided that she didn’t want to stop here to try to make any connections and just kept pushing her shopping cart.

She had gone anther half block when an older man stepped directly into her path and grabbed the rim of her cart.  “What you got in there?” the man almost demanded.  He looked down into the cart and started rummaging around in Abby’s worldly possessions, finally taking hold of the whiskey bottle and tipping it up to his lips.  Abby could see a single drop of something spill out of the bottle and into the man’s mouth.  “Aah, he said as thought he had just finished a whole glass of the liquor.

“Get your hands off of my stuff,” Abby demanded and jerked the cart backward, away from the man’s grip.  “Go find your own stuff; this is mine.”

The man tossed the empty bottle back into Abby’s cart and staggered away up the street.  Abby let out a deep breath and was suddenly grateful that this was not her real life.  She couldn’t understand how anyone could live like this.  She slowly made her way further down this street, occasionally stopping to add another priceless item to her cart.  At the next corner, she turned north on Vine Street and headed back toward Hollywood Boulevard, where a lot of homeless liked to panhandle.  On the way back to the better lighted part of town, she instinctively read the names embedded in the stars in the sidewalk.  When she finally turned west on Hollywood, the stars continued to lead the way back.

Abby’s feet were aching and her throat was dry.  She stopped in the doorway of one of the buildings that had a single step up to enter.  She sat on the step, resting, when someone came out of the building and yelled at this bag lady to keep moving.  Abby reluctantly got up and shuffled on her way, grumbling something about some people.  By the time she got to the next corner, she was walking even slower and hadn’t even noticed that the traffic light had changed.  She was absentmindedly crossing against the red light and suddenly heard the blare of a horn.  A large car sped around the corner and clipped the front corner of Abby’s grocery cart.  It flew out of Abby’s grip and tumbled end over end into the lane of traffic.  The car hadn’t bothered stopping, but just sped away as thought it was being chased.

The contents of Abby’s cart were strewn all along the street.  Some of the oncoming traffic swerved to avoid the mess while others just ran right over it, blowing their horns and shouting obscenities at the grubby bag lady.  Abby stepped out into the street and pulled the empty cart out of the traffic lane and back up onto the sidewalk.  She tried to right it the cart, but one of the front wheels had been knocked off and the main body was dented badly.  Abby pulled it around the corner, out of the path of pedestrians, and just left it there, leaning against the building.  She walked away wearily and decided she’d had enough of this charade for one night.

Abby found that after all that walking, that she was just four blocks east of Cahuenga and could easily stop there for a much needed rest.  She looked up at a large clock above the entrance to a bank and noticed that it was too late.  The office would have closed more than two hours ago and she didn’t have her keys with her.  She sighed and just kept walking.  Cahuenga was just four blocks away and south of there another four blocks lay the Twelfth Precinct, where her car waited for her.  She’d have to stop inside first and get her keys back from Lieutenant Stone.  She was disappointed that she had nothing to report for her efforts.

At the corner of Hollywood and Cahuenga, Abby turned south and continued walking toward the police station.  She had gone just another block when she noticed two men fighting near the entrance to an alley.  She patted her waistline, reassuring herself that the .38 was still there and just kept walking.  AS she got closer she was aware that neither brawler had noticed her presence.  The bigger of the two men seemed to be dragging the smaller man back into the alley.  She hurried over to where the alley emptied out into the street, retrieved her revolver and slowly approached.

Just inside the alley, she could hear a voice moaning, “No, don’t, please,” before it was silent save for the quick release of a lung full of air.  She aimed her .38 at the larger man, who was standing over the other man’s bleeding body.  The large man had had something in his hand that the light glinted off of.  She looked at his menacing face and knew she’d taken this scenario too far.  She tried to back away as the large man came after her, the knife raised in his right hand.  Abby’s heel caught on something and she tumbled backwards onto her back.  She looked up just as the man with the knife got to her spot on the alley floor.  He started to bend over the fallen woman with the knife pointed out in front of him.  Without giving the man any warning, Abby just aimed up at center mass and pulled the trigger twice.

The man dropped the knife and staggered backward before righting himself and tumbling forward, right on top of Abby.  Her gun went off a third time when the man fell on top of her.  The bullet exited through the back of the man’s neck, spilling blood allover Abby.  Her wrist went limp and the gun fell from her hand.

Two beams suddenly shown in her face and a male voice demanded that she freeze right where she was.  It was two police officers from the Twelfth Precinct, just down the street, who had heard the shots and hurried over to investigate.  One of the officers pulled the dead man off Abby while the other helped her to her feet.  She saw the gun lying where Abby had been and quickly picked it up.  “What happened here?” the cop asked.

“Kenny; Kenny Nolan, is that you?” Abby asked.

“Yeah,” the sergeant said.  “And who the hell are you?”

“It’s me, Kenny, Abby Cooper.”  She tried hard not to cry like she wanted to.

Nolan stepped back at arm’s length and took a closer look at this bag lady.  “Good grief,” he said.  “What are you doing on the street looking like that?”

“I was working for Lieutenant Stone,” Abby explained.

“Sarge, back here.”  It was Nolan’s partner, Officer Cutter.  “Got another body over here.”

Nolan grabbed his shoulder mic and called in to the station.  He asked for Lieutenant Stone to meet him at his location.  “Better bring the coroner, too.  We have two stiffs for him.”  Stone showed up several minutes later with Dr. Kline.  “Apparently this one killed that one,” Nolan said, gesturing to the big man Abby had shot and then over to where Officer Cutter stood with the other victim.

Stone looked over both victims.  “Something tells me that we have the guy who’s been killing those other homeless people.  Good work, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Nolan held both hands up.  “Don’t thanks me, Lieutenant.  “Abby took care of him.”

Stone smiled and turned back to Abby.  “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Cooper.  Good job.  I don’t suppose you’d want to leave your regular job and come work for me on a permanent basic.”

Abby shook her head.  “Thanks for the offer, Steve, but I like it where I am.  At least there I get to sleep my way to the top.”  She waited for Stone’s reaction, which was a second slow in coming.

Stone laughed and laid one hand on Abby’s shoulder for just a second before he quickly withdrew it again.  “What the matter, Steve?” Abby asked.  “I wasn’t going to claim sexual harassment.”

“That’s not it, Abby,” Stone said.  “It’s just that you have something gooey on your shoulder right by your neck.”  He smelled his hand and quickly withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped most of the gooey mess off before throwing the sticky handkerchief into the nearby trash barrel.

Abby quickly peeled off the moth-eaten sweater and tossed it on top of Steve’s handkerchief.  “What in the hell was that?” She asked.

Steve laughed.  “You don’t want to know, believe me.”  He gestured at Abby to follow him, reluctant as he was to touch her again.  “Come on; I just need to get your statement and then you can go home.”  He dug into his pocket.  “Here are your keys.”

Next time the phone rang at Cooper Investigations, she’d be sure to hesitate just long enough to let someone else answer it.

Vern Nacular

The building on the corner of Hollywood and Cahuenga had been chosen as the office location for Raymond Chandler’s most famous private detective, Philip Marlowe.  This was part of the reason that Cooper had chosen that same building, only four floors lower, for his office as a private investigator.  Cooper was anxious to get to work this morning, but he couldn’t start his day without that first cup.  He had a new client that needed his professional help.  He’d been hired to follow a man to find out where he went and what he did with his day and report back to his client.  The client never did tell the P.I. why he wanted that information.  It didn’t matter to Cooper; he got paid either way.

Cooper stepped into the Gold Cup Coffee Shop on the boulevard and took a seat at the counter.  “Hey, Violet,” he said.  “What’s shakin’?”

Violet just continued chewing her bum and pulling the pencil from inside the pile of hair on her head.  She stood poised with her order pad.  “Well, what’s it gonna be, Mac; I ain’t got all day.”

“Just a cup of Joe,” Cooper said and stuffed the menu back behind the napkin holder.

Violet made a note of it and turned away, grumbling something about the last of the big time spenders.  She returned a moment later and set the cup in front of her customer.  “Is that it?” she said, tearing the slip from her pad and laying it next to the cup.  “That’ll be ten cents.”

Cooper pulled out a five dollar bill and laid it on the counter.  Violet looked at it like it was a snake.  “Look,” she said, “We just opened up.  I can’t break a five spot.”

Violet’s customer took the bill back and dug in his pocket, coming up empty.  “Sorry, that’s all I got.  I can bring you the dime later today.”

“Look,” Violet said.  “It don’t matter to me if you’re a shamus or not.  If you can’t pay, you can wash dishes just like those other crumbs.”

“Don’t get your undies in a bundle, Violet.  I’ll bring it.”

Violet held up a clenched fist in front of his face.  “You know what you get if you try to stiff me.”

“Yeah, a knuckle sandwich,” Cooper said and then pinched Violet’s cheek.  “Have I ever stiffed you before, doll?”

Violet waved him off dismissively.  “Go on; take a powder, ya mug.  We ain’t gonna go belly up without your dime.  And button up your coat; your gat is showing.”

Cooper headed for the door with a mental promise to return with Violet’s dime.  On his way out he passed a sailor in uniform on his way in.  He could hear Violet greet him as thought she knew him.  “Yo, how’s my favorite anchor clanker?”

“And how’s my favorite doll face,” came the sailor’s reply as he sat on the stool and gazed into Violet’s adoring eyes.

The thought of a handsome sailor like that hooking up with Violet was enough to make Cooper want to spew.  He walked back up the street to his office building and rode the elevator to the third floor.  His office was located at the end of the hall, last door on the right.  He walked in just in time to hear his desk phone ringing.

“Cooper Investigations,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Cooper,” a man’s nervous voice said.  “You don’t know me but I got it on good authority that you can be trusted, unless they were wrong.  Can I trust you?”

“That depends,” Cooper said.  “If you mean with my sister, then no.  If you mean can I keep my mouth shut, then yeah.  What do you need from me?”

“Well, you see; there’s these guys trying to make me their patsy but I swear I didn’t do nothin’.  Ya gotta help me, Mr. Cooper.  Ya gotta get me out of town.  These guys are watching the railroad stations, bus terminals and airports.  I’m stuck here, Pally.”

“So you want to take it on the lam, eh?” Cooper said.  “And don’t call me Pally; I don’t even know you.  And while we’re at it, what’s in this for me?”

“I can pay your going rate plus a bonus if you get me out of town alive,” the man said.

“My going rate is twenty-five bucks a day plus expenses,” Cooper replied.  “I get ten cents a mile for my car as well.”

“I’ll double that,” the man said.

Cooper sighed loud enough for the man on the other end of the phone to hear him.  “What’s your name?”

“Not on the phone,” came the reply.  “Can I come to your office right away?”

“Do you know where I’m located?”

“I’m looking in the phone book.  It says Hollywood and Cahuenga.”

“That’s right,” Cooper agreed.  “Third floor in the front; last door on the right.  Shake a leg; I don’t wanna wait all day for you.”  He disconnected the call and took a seat behind his desk.  Business had been slow for a week and this guy’s fee would go a long way to get Cooper back on his feet again.

A forceful knock came on his door several minutes later and Cooper sat up straight in his chair.  “It’s open,” he yelled.  He could tell from where he sat that his visitor was packing heat.

“Mr. Cooper?” the visitor said; more of a question than a statement.

“Come on in and rest your tootsies,” Cooper said, gesturing toward his client’s chair.  “Now will you tell me your name, sir?”

The man looked all around the room to assure himself that they were alone.  “It’s Blair, Lenny Blair.  Let’s not waste any more time, Mr. Cooper.  What can you do to get me out of town in a hurry?”

“First things first,” Cooper said.  “Show me the cabbage.”  He held his hand out, palm up and waited.

Blair reached into his jacket pocket and produced a short stack of sawbucks and handed it to the P.I.  “Here, now tell me how this works.  I ain’t had no shuteye in three days and I’m getting’ slap happy.”

“I need to know something about why it is you need to leave town if I’m gonna do this right,” Cooper said.  “Who is it that’s after you?”

“Just some of Ragetto’s goons,” Blair said.

“Harper?  As in Anthony Ragetto, the crime boss?”  Cooper slid the stack of Hamilton’s back across the desk at Blair.  “It’s nice money, but I don’t need it bad enough to end up in the meat wagon myself.  It’s awful hard to spend it if I’m dead.”

Blair pushed the money back toward Cooper and then reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced another stack, twice as thick as the first one.  “Take it and stop gumming up the works.  We gotta get moving right now.”

Cooper grabbed both stacks and after a quick count realized that he was now holding more than two hundred dollars.  He deposited it into his inside jacket pocket and stood.  “Follow me, Mr. Blair.”  He led his client out of his office and back to the elevator.  Instead of stopping at the lobby, he took it all the way to the basement.

“What are we doing here?” Blair asked, pulling his rod from under his arm and aiming it at Cooper.  “Are you in cahoots with those animals?”

“Settle down, Blair,” Cooper said calmly.  “If anyone saw you come here, they might be watching the street entrance as well as the door to the parking lot.  I don’t want to take any chances.  Now put that thing away before I strain it through your teeth.”

Blair was taken by surprise at Cooper’s unafraid attitude and returned the gat to his underarm holster.  “All right, but just don’t let them get their meat hooks on us or we’ll both get the rubber hose treatment before they kill us.”

“Go on,” Cooper said.  “Crack wise all you want but from now on you do exactly what I say if you want to live to see tomorrow; got it?”

“Yeah, yeah; just keep movin’.”  He followed Cooper to the far end of the basement and over to an automatic hoist where delivery men would bring large items into the building.  He watched as Cooper stepped onto the platform, gestured for Blair to follow and then threw the switch that took the two men up.  A double hatch overhead opened and soon they found themselves at street level in the alley between this building and the next.

“Wait right here,” Cooper said.  “I’ll get my car and swing back around for you in a minute.”  He stepped off the platform and hurried out to the rear parking lot.  His Oldsmobile sedan sat parked three spaces from the back door.  He didn’t see anyone watching the place and just slid behind the wheel.  He turned on the key and stepped on the starter pedal.  The ten year old car coughed and sputtered before the engine came to life and he stepped on the clutch.  He forced the car into first gear and promised himself that when this whole ordeal was over that he’d treat himself to a new car.  Or at least a 1934 model.  Anything would be better than his 1925 antique.  It got him around town all right, but left him stranded almost as often and he couldn’t afford such an inconvenience on a job like this.  He piloted the car around the corner and into the alley where he picked up his client.

“That’s a pretty wide open car you got there, Cooper,” Blair said.  “How am I supposed to keep out of sight in this jalopy?”

“Just lift up the rumble seat and crawl in.  There’s plenty of room back there.”

Blair shook his head and crawled into the back seat instead.  He lay down on the back floor, covering himself with an old blanket that he found on the seat cushion.

Cooper leaned back and said out of the side of his mouth, “Now just stay still back there and don’t make any noise.  I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”  He pulled out of the alley and headed east on the boulevard.  After nearly forty minutes on the road, Cooper pulled over and killed the engine.  He reached back and pulled the blanket off Blair’s back and said, “All right, you can get out now and stretch your legs.”

Blair groaned as he stood up, rubbing his knees and complaining about other aches and pains.  He got out of the car and walked circles around the car before stopping in front of his getaway driver.  “Where the hell are we?”

“We’re in my own neighborhood,” Cooper told him.  “My place is just over the next hill.  Better get back in and stay low.  You’ll be safe at my place until I can think of a better place out of town.”

“You got a lot of moxie, Cooper.  Why can’t we just keep going?” Blair asked.  “That trigger man may be looking for us even now, and for what?  They’re tryin’ to frame me with a bum rap.”

“Don’t worry,” Cooper assured him.  “You get your money’s worth when you hire me.”

Blair snickered.  “That’s peanuts compared to what I have stashed away.”  He crawled back into the back seat and covered himself with the blanket again.  Cooper slid behind the wheel and drove on toward his house.

A few minutes later Cooper pulled into his driveway and nudged Blair on his shoulder.  “Come on; get out.”

“What is this?” Blair said.  “You giving me the kiss off?”

“No, this is where I live; come on.”  He led Blair in through his back door, locking it behind him.  “Just make yourself comfortable until I get back from the bathroom.”

Blair settled into an overstuffed chair in Cooper’s living room.  He picked up a Modern Screen magazine with Shirley Temple on the cover.  The headline said, “Number One Box Office Star for 1935.”  He laid it back down again, not really interested in the seven year old girl’s career.  He laid his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes.  He was out in just a moment and began to snore.

Cooper returned from the bathroom and walked past the living room on his way to the kitchen.  “You hungry, Blair?  How about a sandwich?”  The only reply he got was a series of loud snores.  He shook his head and made himself a sandwich.  He poured himself a glass of chocolate milk and carried them back to the living room where he sat at one end of his leather sofa.  He set the sandwich plate and chocolate milk glass on the end table and settled into soft folds of the sofa.  The sandwich and milk were gone in just a couple of minutes.  He looked over at Blair and suddenly a nap seemed like a good idea.  He laid his head back and closed his eyes, too.

They weren’t sure how long they had been asleep but it was Blair who woke first.  He looked at his surroundings and suddenly remembered why he was here and they he had to keep moving if he wanted to stay alive.  He leaned over and shook Cooper’s shoulder.  “Come on, Cooper, get up.”  Initially there was no reply so he tried again.  “I said get up, Cooper.  Cooper, do you hear me?”

“I said get up, Cooper.”

Nick Cooper smacked his lips and opened his eyes.  He looked up and suddenly recognized Lieutenant Steve Stone, who was shaking Nick’s shoulder.  “Come on, Nick; snap out of it.”

Nick sat up straight and immediately looked to his right.  He turned back to Steve.  “Where’s Blair?”

“Who is Blair?” Stone asked.

“Lenny Blair,” Nick answered.  “I was supposed to drive him out of town.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Steve said.  “I walked in and saw you sleeping there on your sofa, mumbling something about a couple of torpedoes after someone’s cabbage.  That sounds like the old time hard boiled lingo from the thirties.  What did you mean by that, Nick?  You been watching those old Philip Marlowe movies again?”

Nick sighed heavily and stood now.  “I guess I must have been dreaming.  I didn’t sleep too well last night and when I came in this morning, I was just going to rest for a few minutes.  Hey, you never did say why you stopped by, Steve.”

“Yesterday I was telling Abby about a vintage movie magazine I bought at the antique shop down the street and she asked to borrow it.  I just came by to pick it up.  Have you seen it?”  Before Nick could answer, Steve looked over at the edge of the desk closest to the sofa.  “There it is,” he said, picking up the nearly ninety year old fan magazine.  Modern Screen magazine with Shirley Temple on the cover.  The headline said, Number One Box Office Star for 1935.  “I’m glad nothing happened to it.  It’s part of my movie memorabilia collection of that era.  That’s all right, Nick’ you can go back and finish your nap now.”

Just then the office door opened and John stepped in, followed closely by Abby.  When she saw Steve holding the old magazine, she smiled and said, “I was just going to bring that back to you this morning.  Looks like you saved me a trip.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Steve asked.  “That was a pretty interesting article about Shirley Temple; didn’t you think?”

Abby nodded in agreement.  “It was interesting, all right, but so was the article about that choreographer who worked on all those musicals.  They did a piece on him just one page after the Shirley Temple piece.”

Steve opened the magazine and turned to the Temple article and then flipped one more page over.  “This one about Lenny Blair?”

“That’s the one,” Abby said.  “Boy that’s one guy who can really dance.”

Nick laid his head back against the sofa and said to no one in particular, “That’s it; no more spicy food before bed for me.”

“Dad, have you been dreaming again?”

With Boughs of Holly

“Dad,” John Cooper said as he walked into the office that morning.  “You won’t believe what I heard on the street on my way in her this morning.”

“Try me; I’m in a pretty good mood today,” Nick Cooper replied.

“Really,” John said.  “What is it this time?  Did you find a nickel on the sidewalk?  Did you get three numbers on the scratch off lottery and get your buck back?  Or maybe you’re in a good mood because you got luc…”  He stopped abruptly.

“Did I get luc?” Nick said jokingly.  “Were you going to say, ‘Did I get Lucky Luciano’s phone number?  Or maybe you were going to say I got lucky at cards.”

“Forget it, Dad,” John said, somewhat uneasily.  “Do you want to hear my story or not?”

Nick laughed at his son.  “All right, go ahead and tell me.  What did you hear?”

Anyway,” John said, drawing the word out longer than necessary.  “I hear two guys at the corner.  They were waiting for the light to change and one of them says to the other, ‘Boy, I’d sure like to beat those two idiots up.  To which his friend replied, who are you talking about?  The first guy says, you know, Don and Mike Hall; those two guys who are always pushing me around.’”

John managed a sly grin and continued.  “The second guy says to the first one, ‘in other words, you want to deck the halls.’”

“With boughs of holly?” Nick said, ruining John’s story.

John waved him off.  “Oh, never mind; you’re no fun.”

Nick laughed at his son.  “But apparently I’m lucky.”

John blushed slightly and sat down behind his desk while Nick let his laugh all the way out.  The office door opened and John’s wife, Abby walked in.  She looked over at her laughing father-in-law and said, “What did I miss?”

“Nothin’,” John said.  “I’ll tell you later.  Dad would probably jump in with the punch line and ruin it anyway.”

“Hey, I ran into Lieutenant Stone at the corner pretzel stand,” Abby said.  “He was busy buying himself a morning treat but told me he’d be stopping up when he was finished with the pretzel.”

“Did he say what he wanted?” John asked.

“Nope; just that he wanted to talk to all of us together.”  Abby hung up her jacket and took a seat behind her desk.

Several minutes later the knock came on the door and Steve Stone let himself in.  He briefly looked at Abby and then turned to the two men in the room.  “Well, you’re all here,” Stone said.  “Good, I have a favor to ask, that may actually turn into a paying job for all of you.”

Abby held up her right index finger.  “Before you get right down to business, can I say something?”

“Sure, what is it,” Steve asked.

Abby smiled.  “You’ve got mustard on your tie.”

Stone immediately looked down at his tie and said, “Damn; and I have a meeting with the captain when I’m done here.”

“Take your tie off, Steve,” Abby said.  “I may still be able to catch it in time.”

Steve peeled off his tie and handed it to Abby, who rushed over to the sink in the alcove next to Nick’s desk.  She ran the spot on the tie under the cold water and then went to the mini fridge and pulled out a small bottle of club soda, pouring it on the stain and letting it sit for a moment before scrubbing and rinsing.  The stain came out and she patted the tie dry between two paper towels.  She handed it back to Steve and said, “Hang it out your car window on the ride back.  It might be dry by then.”

Steve draped the tie across John’s desk and picked up where he’d left off.  “Anyway, the reason I stopped by to see you all was because I have a delicate problem that I can’t handle internally and thought of you three.”

“To do what?” Nick asked.

“Before I tell you what I need, you all have to swear not to say anything to anyone else about this, and I mean no one.”  Steve held up one palm for emphasis.  The three private eyes all agreed and Steve went on with his explanation.  “We have a new officer that just transferred in to the Twelfth Precinct from Los Angeles Central Division.  He seems like a capable officer and all and he strikes me as a go getter.”

“What’s wrong with that?” John asked.

“It’s more than that,” Steve went on.  “He’s only been on the Hollywood force for two weeks and he’s already solved a major case we’ve been working on for nearly a month.”

“So what’s the problem?” Nick asked.

“The problem is that when I asked him about the places he had checked and the people he had talked to, it was all places and people that my detectives had already covered just a week earlier.”  Steve scratched the back of his neck.  “Either he’s very skilled or he’s very lucky and I can’t figure out which.  That’s where you three come in.  He doesn’t know any of you so you can keep an eye on his movements without him getting suspicious.”

“Sounds like you’re a little jealous,” Abby said.  “At least that the take I get as an outsider.  What’s the real problem here, Steve?”

“Call it intuition; call it a hunch,” Steve replied.  “Maybe the best way to explain it is with another example.  Have you ever heard of trained firemen starting fires so that they can become the hero when they help put it out?  Well, that’s the feeling I get when I think about Lester.”

“Lester?” Abby said.

“The new cop, Lester Gedkey,” Steve said.  “He doesn’t seem to put a lot of effort into his cases, but he always seems to get results quickly.  What does that sound like to you?”

“A good cop?” John said.

“Or?”

“Or what?” Nick asked.

“Or a cop who’s found a shortcut to justice,” Steve offered.  Kind of like that fireman who starts the fires himself.  I have a sinking feeling that Officer Gedkey may be planting evidence to get his conviction rate up there.  It’s the only thing that makes any sense.  And what’s more, he only seems to get results when he rides alone and not with a partner.  So what do you three think?  Can you all take turns tailing him to see if my suspicions have any basis for concern?”

Nick and John exchanged a knowing glance.  John then turned to Abby and got the same look from her.  All three nodded their heads.  “We’re in,” Nick said, speaking for the others.  “When and where would you like us to start?”

Steve smiled a satisfied grin and reached into his shirt pocket, producing three pocket-sized pictures of Officer Gedkey.  He passed them out and said, “Wait a second; I can also give you his schedule for the rest of the day.  Those times marked with an asterisk are the times he’d off his break, so concentrate on them.  You’ll notice that he’s riding alone today.”  He pulled three half-sheets of typed information and gave each P.I. a copy.  “That should give you enough places to start.  Just be sure he doesn’t make you.  He is a cop after all and he’d be trained to notice anything out of the ordinary.”

Nick looked at the photo and then turned to Steve.  “You originally said something about this being a favor.  When does it turn into a paying job for us?”

“Forget what I said about the favor and just go at this like any other paying case,” Steve clarified.  “And I was never up here,” he added.

John looked at Steve and said, “Did you bring your mustache, rubber nose and glasses with the fuzzy eyebrows disguise in case anyone saw you coming into the building?”  When he didn’t get the desired reaction from the lieutenant, John said, “Sorry, Steve.  We’ll all get on this right away and thanks for the work.”

Steve let himself out and started for the elevator.  A moment later he stuck his head back in the office and grabbed his damp tie.  “Can’t forget this.”

Nick spoke first.  “Let’s make sure we’re all familiar with operating one of our three drones.  You may not always be able to keep up with this new cop in traffic, especially if he’s speeding to a crime scene code three with the lights and siren.  And keep that photo with you so you don’t lose him in a crowd of other cops because, just like penguins, most cops look alike from a distance.”

“Do we want to do this in shifts?” Abby asked.  “Or should we handle this as a team?”

“A little of both,” Nick replied.  “We can start out together and split up later if we need to.”  He looked at Officer Gedkey’s schedule and told the other approximately where they could find him at this time of day.  The cop would be on patrol on Sunset Boulevard between Highland and Western.  That was an easy straight shot, east and west.

“Why don’t we just wait on the corner of Sunset and Highland,” John suggested.  “There’s a fast food chicken place there where we can park and when we see him go by, we can just fall in behind him, subtle like.”

“That’s as good a place as any,” Nick agreed.  “Come on; let’s not waste any more time.”  The three of them hurried down to Nick’s car when Nick stopped and had second thoughts.  “Better yet, Abby; why don’t you take your own car while John and I go in mine.  One of us can drive and the other one can operate the drone if it comes down to that.  We can keep in touch by phone.”

Nick slid behind the wheel of his sedan while John sat next to him with the drone on his lap.  They pulled out and headed west on the boulevard with Abby following close behind.  Both cars waited in the chicken fast food parking lot for several minutes before the black and white patrol car rounded the corner and headed east on Sunset.  Abby pulled out of the lot and fell in behind the cop.  John and Nick pulled out a moment later.  At the first light on Sunset, the cop car and Abby’s car both made it through the intersection but John was stuck at the light.

Nick rolled his window down and launched his drone, immediately taking it up to a hundred feet before leveling off.  Nick kept his eye on the monitor and was able to stay with the black and white as it continued east.  A moment later the light changed and John drove on, hoping to quickly catch up with the cop.  “Pull over to the curb,” Nick told John when he noticed that the cop car had stopped and Officer Gedkey had gotten out.  He kept the drone’s camera aimed down at the cop and the two scruffy looking youths that were now standing with their hands against a wall and their feet spread wide apart.

Nick started the recorder and zoomed in.  He could see Officer Gedkey patting the two men down.  After he had patted the first man down and came up empty, Nick noticed that the cop’s hand dip into his own jacket pocket and come out with a small white packet of something.  He palmed it before patting the second man down and then searching the pockets of the man’s jacket.  When his hand came out again it was holding the small white packet that had originally been in his own pocket.

“Uh oh,” Nick said, turning the monitor so that John could see the activity on the sidewalk.  “Looks like Gedkey is using the old switch on one of those guys, making it look like he found drugs in the man’s pocket.”

“Well, he won’t get away with it this time,” John said.

Just then, Abby’s car rounded the corner and pulled up behind Nick’s car.  She got out and walked over to Nick’s window and said, “Could you see what was going on from here?”

“No,” Nick said.  “We couldn’t, but the drone sure as hell could.”  He told her what he had recorded.  “You know, he doesn’t know you by sight.  Why don’t you cross the street and walk past him right now.  See if you can pick up any conversation between Gedkey and those two men.”

“I’m on it,” Abby said and quickly crossed the street.  She casually walked toward the cop slow enough to try to listen to what was being said.  When she got close the cop turned and told her to go around; that he was busy here.  “It’s a public sidewalk,” Abby replied and kept walking.

The cop turned toward her and said, “Hey, I said go around.  If I have to tell you again, I’ll run you in for crossing in the middle of the street.  Yeah, that’s right; I saw you.  Now what’s it going to be, little lady?”  He emphasized his point by turning toward her and giving her a stern look.  Apparently that was all the distraction the two men needed and bolted down the block.

“All right,” Officer Gedkey said to Abby.  “Turn around and put your hands behind you; you’re under arrest.”

“For what?” Abby complained.

“For jaywalking, interfering in my original arrest and if you give me any more of you lip, I’ll site you for resisting arrest.”  Officer Gedkey pulled the cuffs off his belt and spun Abby around, slapping the cuffs on her wrists and leading her toward his patrol car.  Abby was helped into the back seat and Gedkey slid behind the wheel.  He was gone in a few seconds.

Nick and John knew where he was going; to the Twelfth Precinct.  Nick brought his drone back down into his waiting hands and held it on his lap as John drove on to Cahuenga and then turned south two blocks to the police station.  When they walked in carrying their drone, they found Lieutenant Steve Stone talking to the desk sergeant in the front of the hall.

“Did you see Officer Gedkey bring in a cuffed prisoner just now?” John asked.

“If he did, he wouldn’t have come past here,” Stone said. “He’d have probably come in through the back door and then strait to booking.  Why do you ask?”

“Because we just saw him arrest Abby,” Nick said.  “Can you take us over to booking?”

“Come with me,” Stone said, leading the two Coopers down the hall.  He opened the door to booking and found Officer Gedkey just removing the cuffs from Abby’s hands.  Abby looked at Stone, who slowly nodded and she knew enough to remain quiet.  “What do you have here, Officer Gedkey?” Stone asked.

“I had a suspect cold and this woman interfered with my arrest and the two got away,” Gedkey explained.  Plus she crossed Sunset in the middle of the block and gave me a bunch of grief when I told her to move on.  If it hadn’t been for her, I’d be booking a different suspect on drug charges.”

“I think I know exactly which other suspect he’s talking about,” Nick said, holding his drone out in front of him.  “John and I were parked across the street flying our drone overhead to examine a rooftop for a client and we got the whole interaction on video.”

Gedkey smiled now.  “Take a look at it, Lieutenant,” he said.  “You’ll see exactly what I mean about this woman and her attitude.

“Gladly,” Nick said, rewinding the video to the beginning and playing it with the monitor turned so that Stone and Gedkey could both view it.  When they got to the part where Officer Gedkey started to pat down the second suspect, Nick said, “Pay particular attention to this cop’s right hand just before he reaches into that man’s pocket.”

Stone watched as it became obvious that Officer Gedkey was trying to plant damaging evidence on the suspect.  He turned and stared at the cop, who was suddenly at a loss for words.  He held his hand out and took the cuffs away from Gedkey that he had just removed from Abby.  He turned the cop around and affixed the cuffs on his wrists instead.  Just as that happened, the video showed Abby jaywalking and stepping up to the cop on the sidewalk.  Steve turned to Nick and said under his breath, “Delete everything after the part where Officer Gedkey planted the evidence and then let me have that memory card.  No need to get Abby into any trouble over this.”  He winked at Abby just before he led the cooked cop out of the booking room.

Nick erased the part of the video that showed Abby jaywalking and approaching the cop on the street and then removed the memory card.  He’d drop that off at Stone’s office on his way out.  He and John walked out to the parking lot for Nick’s car.  They were about to pull away when Abby knocked on the driver’s side window and John rolled it down.  “Did you forget something?” he said.

Abby sighed in exasperation.  “My car is still parked over on Sunset.  You need to give me a lift back there.”

“Oh yeah,” John said, hiking a thumb over one shoulder.  “Climb in.”

They didn’t find out until the next day when Steve called to let them know what had happened with Officer Lester Gedkey.  “Naturally, he got fired from the force,” Steve said.  “I talked to Captain Murphy about this whole fiasco and he said it would be better all around for the department if it wasn’t publicized.  It wouldn’t do police relations with the public any good if they knew what Gedkey had done.”

“So he just gets off with losing his job?” Nick asked, pressing the speaker button on his phone so that John and Abby could listen in.

“Not quite,” Stone said.  “Gedkey was given an orange uniform to take the place of his blue one.  He’s out there even as we speak, picking up trash on the streets and putting it into the receptacles around town.  He’ll have to put in forty hours of that before he’s free to go find himself another job.  But it won’t be with any neighboring police departments.  I’ve personally called all the precincts around here to tip them off about Gedkey.  He’ll never wear the blue uniform again as far as I’m concerned.”

“So that’s it?” Nick said.

Knowing that John and Abby were listening in on the call, Steve said, “And we have one more orange jump suit here in Abby’s size, just in case she ever decides to cross the street in the middle of the block again.”

Abby stood there, red-faced as John and Nick both enjoyed a good laugh.

Full Court Press

Private investigator John Cooper was sitting in the gallery of the local courthouse, waiting to give his testimony in a criminal case that he had worked on two months previous.  He told his father, Nick, who was also his business partner, that he should be in and out of court in fifteen minutes if all things went as planned.  They didn’t.  As luck would have it, the witness that was called to the stand ahead of him managed to throw a wrench into the workings of an otherwise smooth operation.

The prosecutor called the witness to the stand.  The man in question rose from the gallery seat and stepped up to the witness stand.  The court clerk held his own right hand in the air, expecting the witness to do likewise.  In his left hand the clerk held a bible flat, fully expecting the witness to lay his hand on it.  When the witness didn’t do either of those things, the clerk said, “Place your left hand on the bible, raise your right hand and repeat after me.”  When he still got no cooperation from the witness, the clerk turned to the judge with a question on his face.  “Your honor.”

The judge turned to the witness and said, “The witness will do as he is instructed.  Now place you left hand  on the bible and…”

The witness now spoke up.  “What for?  What will that prove that I’ve put my hand on that old work of fiction.  I don’t follow any of those beliefs so why should I?”

The judge looked at the clerk and said, “Just continue without the bible just this once.”

“Yes, your honor,” the clerk said and laid the bible on a nearby table before turning back to the witness and saying, “Raise your right hand.”

The witness complied this time and waited for the clerk’s canned schpeel.

The clerk began with, “Do you solemnly swear that the evidence you are about to give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you god?”

The witness rolled his eyes at the clerk and said, “Try it again, only this time leave out any reference to that made-up deity that you people believe in.”

The clerk turned to the judge and shrugged, spreading his hands.  The judge gave a stern look to the witness and said, “Young man, are you trying to disrupt this court by being obstinate?  Just answer the clerk’s question.”

“Why should I swear to your god?  I don’t subscribe to any organized religion.  Besides, would swearing to your god make my testimony any more valid?  I am capable of telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth all on my own without any help from your god.  Now, do you want my testimony or don’t you?”

The judge sighed heavily and instructed the clerk to repeat the request, leaving out the reference to god.  The witness repeated this version and took a seat in the witness chair.  The prosecuting attorney stepped up to the witness stand and said, “Would you state you name and occupation for the record, sir?”

“Wayne Barlow, and I’m a truck driver for the Red Cross.”

John Cooper checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.  There was no way he would be able to make it back to his office in fifteen minutes following a trouble-maker like this guy on the stand.  But he couldn’t just get up and leave at this point.  He had been served a subpoena and had to stay until his testimony was entered into the court record.  He sighed and just tried to get comfortable until his turn came.

Nick checked the wall clock in his office and said to Abby, John’s wife and business partner, “How much do you want to bet that he finished his testimony and is out goofing off somewhere?”

“No, that’s not like John,” Abby said defending her husband.  “There has to be some other reason for the delay.  Just wait; you’ll see.  He’ll have a good explanation when he gets back here.”

“I sure hope so,” Nick said.  “Because I took a call this morning from an interesting client that needs our help and I had planned on sending you and John out on it.”

“Really?” Abby said.  “What does it involve?”

“Well, the woman’s name was Beth Nichols and she told me that her father had died when she was still a baby, but that she’d just been sent an obituary for him, dated last week and she wants us to check into it for her.”

Abby looked puzzled.  “To what end?  Obviously her mother didn’t want her to know that her father was still out there somewhere and made up the story of him dying.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Nick replied.  “Her mother died a few days before Beth got her father’s obit in the mail.  I guess she figured nothing could stop her looking into it now.”

“I have to wonder what Beth hopes to get out of all this?” Abby pondered. 

“Closure of some sort, I would imagine,” Nick replied.

“So how did you leave it with her?” Abby asked.

“She’s coming here to the office in about…” Nick looked up at the clock again.  “In about twenty minutes.  Looks like it’s you and me on this one.”

The twenty-minute time frame came and went without the woman showing up.  Even John had not returned yet.  When another hour went by without the Nichols woman’s appearance, Nick turned to Abby and said, “Looks like she may have changed her mind.  I’m going to try calling her.”  Before Nick could connect the call, the office door opened and John let himself in.  Nick hung up his phone and gave John his impatient look.  “Where have you been all this time?”

“Dad,” John said.  “You wouldn’t believe it.  I was scheduled after another witness who bucked the system at every turn and took issue with every one of the attorney’s questions if they weren’t worded just right.  I swear, the judge was about to take that guy out in back of the courthouse and beat the crap out of him.  I was finally called to the stand more than an hour late and my testimony took less than fifteen minutes.  I hope I never have to go through anything like that ever again.”

“Well, when you came in,” Nick began, “I was just about to call my latest client back.  She was supposed to have been here more than an hour ago.  Now if she calls back or if I can get a hold of her, you and Abby can take the case, like I had originally planned.”

“What’s the case?” John asked.

“You can fill him in, Abby,” Nick said as he reached for his phone and dialed Beth Nichols’ number.  It rang seven times before it was eventually answered.

“Hello, who is this?” a man’s voice answered.

“This is Cooper Investigations; who am I speaking to?”

“Nick; is that you?  Why are you calling here?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Detective Frank Bishop.  Who were you trying to reach?”

“I was trying to reach my client, Beth Nichols.  Is she there?”

“Uh, yeah, Nick; she’s here, all right.”

“Can I speak to her, Frank?”

“You can talk all you like but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for her to answer,” the detective said.  “She’s dead and from all appearances, she’s been dead for at least an hour.  Stay put, Nick; I’d better stop by your office and talk to you about Miss Nichols.  I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  He disconnected the call.

Abby was still in the process of explaining the new case to John when Nick cut her off.  “Save your breath, Abby; there is no case now.  The client is dead and Detective Bishop is on his way over here.  This ought to prove interesting to say the least.

“Dead?”  Abby exclaimed.  “What happened to her?”

“You know as much as I do at this point,” Nick replied.  “We’ll just have to wait until Detective Bishop gets here.”

Frank Bishop arrived twelve minutes later and entered without knocking.  He nodded at John and Abby and then looked at Nick.  “I can always count on finding one of you Coopers at the end of my investigation.  What is it this time?”

“Have a seat, Frank,” Nick said, gesturing toward his client’s chair.  “Your victim—my client—Beth Nichols called me earlier today to hire us to look into a matter for her.  She was supposed to stop up here more than an hour ago but she never showed up.  I don’t even know what she looks like.  It was all just a phone call.”

“What did she want you to do for her?”  Detective Bishop asked.  When Nick hesitated, he added, “Look, you don’t have to worry about client confidentiality; she’s dead.  Besides, from what you told me, she never got the chance to sign one of your contracts, so let’s have it.”

“Do you want something to drink?”  Nick asked.

“No thanks,” Frank said.  “I have a lot of work ahead of me on this one and I need to get back to it, so just fill me in with as much as you know up to this point and I’ll be on my way.”

Nick brought the detective up to speed; ending with the call to her that connected him to Frank.  “I was just about to send John and Abby out to look into the obit clipping that Beth got in the mail but we never got that far.”

“Obit clipping?”  Frank said.  “My guys didn’t find any clipping like that on the body or in the apartment.  It’s beginning to look like whoever killed her may have taken it with them.  But what made that bit of information so important that he wouldn’t want it found?”

“He?”  Nick said.  “Are you sure it was a man who killed Beth?”

“Pretty sure,” Frank replied.  “If you had seen the size of the hand prints on that poor woman’s neck you’d know there’s no woman who could have done that to her.”  Frank finished writing the last of his notes in his notepad, returned it to his pocket and got out of the chair.  “Thanks for your help, Nick, but we’ll take it from here.  Don’t let me find out that you’d been looking into this woman’s murder.”

“All right if we snoop around in her father’s death to find out when it was he actually died?”  Nick asked.

“Knock yourself out,” Frank said.  “But do me the professional courtesy to bring me everything you find.”

“That’s a given,” Nick agreed and shook the detective’s hand before he left the office.

Now John gave his father a quizzical look.  “Why would we want to bother looking into her father’s death?  What’s in it for us?  There’ll be no one to pay out bill.”

“Do you have something better to do at the moment?”  Nick asked.

Abby jumped in with, “As slow as it has been around here lately I’d think you’d be glad for something to do besides surfing the web or playing solitaire.  Besides, my curiosity has got the best of me on this one.  I need to know what’s what just for my own peace of mind, if nothing else.  Are you with me?”

“I’m in,” John agreed and sat behind his desk, looking at his laptop.  “Just let me quickly look up the obits from last week and see if I can find the one from Beth’s father that she got in the mail.  Meanwhile, you could do a search for his name and see if you can get any background information on the man.”

“Good idea,” Nick agreed.  “I think I’ll do my search on Beth herself and maybe even her mother.  We can pool all our information and give you two a good place to start looking into this strange turn of events.”

After the three P.I.s had spent nearly forty-five minutes chasing down the backgrounds on the three Nichols family members, Abby spoke up first.  “I think I know why Beth’s mother told her daughter that her father had died when she was still a baby.  I finally found a reference for Chester Nichols in the prison database system.  He was sentenced to life for the murder of another man more than thirty years ago.  He died in prison three weeks ago.  It seems that three other inmates cornered him in the laundry and stabbed him with sharpened toothbrushes more than a dozen times.”

“You know,” John said, “I never really understood why prisons handed out toothbrushes with solid handles.  They out to know by now that these guys could just scrape them against the cement to get a point on them.  They should think about making the handles out of paper.  You know; a single use implement that gets tossed after every day’s brushing.”

“I guess somebody in the system figured out that paper handled toothbrushes would cost the taxpayers a few cents more,” Nick suggested.  “What they should spend the money on is a new system wherein the prisoners would return from the yard to their cells completely nude, unable to smuggle anything back in with them.  And while they’re all out in the exercise yard, the guards could toss all the cells and make sure there are no other weapons hidden.  But no, those bleeding heart liberals spend the money on other prison necessities like weight lifting equipment and a law book library for the criminals.  But hey, don’t get me started.”

“That still begs the question of who sent the obit to Beth,” Abby said.  “And how did they even know she existed, unless old Chester shot his mouth off in prison.  Also; what did they hope to accomplish by letting Beth know about all this?”

“There’s another area to cover,” John said.  “Find out if any prisoners were releases just before Beth got the obit in the mail.”  He turned to Nick.  “What did you find out about Mrs. Nichols?  Did it give her cause of death?”

“The article I read called it as asphyxia due to strangulation from an unknown attacker,” Nick said.  “Her killer was never caught and left no clues at the Nichols house.  Alice had apparently forfeited her life to keep something hidden, since her house was a real mess when police found her body.  The article I found about Chester Nichols said that no one stepped forward to claim the body and that he was buried at the county’s expense in Potter’s Field.”

Abby scrolled through several pages on her laptop and said, “There were two inmates released that same week.  One of them was a guy named Otto Lee Briggs, 78, from Glendale.  According to the article, he had been released directly into a halfway house and then after two weeks roaming free was admitted to an area nursing home, since he was too frail to care for himself.  The other man was someone named Simon Mitchell, 31, from right here in Hollywood.  He’s living in a house just east of Western Avenue near Fountain.  I think that would be the perfect place to start.”  She looked at Nick.  “How about if John and I go pay this Simon character a visit?”

“Stay together,” Nick said.  “And don’t take any chances with an ex-con.”

Now Abby had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”  Nick asked.

“I saw his record, Nick” Abby explained.  “He was only in for eighteen months of a three year sentence for cashing worthless checks.  I think we’ll be fine unless he’s holding a deadly pen.”

“Hang on another minute before you two leave,” Nick said.  “I just want to check something.”  He turned back to his own laptop and did a quick prison database search for Simon Mitchell as well as Chester Nichols.  A minute later he said, “Got ‘em; they were cell mates.  Chances are excellent that Simon sent that obit to Beth after Chester took the big dirt nap.  Let me know what you find out from him.”

John gave his father the two-finger gunman’s salute as he led Abby out of the office and down the hall to the elevator.  On the trip down to the lobby, Abby said, “Has your dad always been this much of a worrier?  You’d think we were just a couple of kids.”

“I guess compared to him, we are,” John replied.  “Age is just a relative term, depending on who you’re talking to at the time.  To the computer whiz kid at the electronics store, we must seem like a couple of old duffers.”  The elevator door opened and the two stepped out and through the parking lot door to John’s Toyota sedan.  Western and Fountain was a fifteen-minute drive from the Cahuenga Building.  John parked a block east and walked with his wife to the front door of the halfway house.

After two knocks, the front door opened and the Coopers stood facing a younger man in his early thirties.  “Are you Simon Mitchell?”  John asked.  When the man agreed that he was, John asked if he and Abby could speak with him inside.

“What’s this about?”  Mitchell asked.

“It’s about Chester Nichols,” John replied.  “We just have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Mitchell stepped aside, allowing the two visitors to pass.  “How do you know Chester?”

“We never met the man,” Abby offered.  “We’re actually here regarding Mr. Nichols’ daughter, Beth.”

That brought a smile to Mitchell’s face.  “Won’t you both have a seat and make yourselves comfortable?  We won’t be bothered in here.  Yeah, Chester asked me to look her up and I planned on doing that tomorrow morning.  He had a few things he wanted me to tell her.  I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear them.”

“She might have been at that, but we’ll never know,” John explained, taking a seat on Mitchell’s sofa.  Abby settled in next to him.  “She was killed earlier today just as she was about to stop by my business.”  John handed Mitchell one of his business cards.  “Have you any idea what she might have wanted us to do for her?  We never got that far before this happened.”

Mitchell sighed heavily.  “Oh, that’s terrible, just terrible.  And with Chester dead too, now neither of them will ever learn the truth about the other.”

“The truth?”  John said.  “About what?”

“Let me explain,” Mitchell started.  “I was Chester’s cellmate for a year and a half before I got paroled.  He was a bit standoffish for the first few weeks, but he eventually came around and started talking.  And damned if I didn’t find myself believing him that he didn’t commit the crime he was sent in there for.  Of course, before I could tell him that I’d look into it when I got released; Chester was killed so I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Abby leaned forward in her seat.  “What about his daughter?  Chester’s wife told her from early on that her father was dead.  She never even knew he existed until someone mailed her the obituary for him.  Did you, by any chance send it?”

Mitchell looked surprised and shook his head.  “It didn’t come from me.  All I was supposed to do was find her and tell her what I’d been convinced of; that Chester was no murderer.”  He paused momentarily and then added, “Wait just a dog-gone minute.  I know Chester sent many letters to his daughter over the years.  Are you saying she never got them?”

“It’s beginning to look like it,” Abby said.  “Chances are her mother intercepted those letters so Beth would never find out about her father.  Either her mother destroyed those letters, or they’re still around somewhere in her things.”

“We’re sorry to be the ones to have to bring you the bad news,” John said.  “At least we caught you before you wasted a lot of time and effort trying to find Beth Nichols.  Well, we have to get moving.  Thanks for your time.”  He and Abby rose from the sofa and started for the door before John remembered one more thing to ask.  “One last thing, Mr. Mitchell; did you know someone named to Otto Briggs?  He was released from prison the same week you were.”

Mitchell’s face turned sour.  “Yeah, I know him, the way people know evil when they see it.  What about him?”

“Oh, nothing,” John replied.  “He’s just another player in this case that we need to talk to.  Thanks again for your time.”  John opened the front door and he and Abby stepped out onto the stoop.

Mitchell stood there with the door open and warned, “Watch your back.  He may be old, but he’s still dangerous.”

John nodded and said, “Thanks for the heads up.  Talk to you later.”  He and Abby walked back to John’s car and drove on.  “John kept his eyes on the road but spoke to Abby.  “The worm turns.”

“Huh?”

“The plot thickens,” John said instead.  “In all of this mess there seems to be just two viable players left; Simon Mitchell and this Otto Briggs character.  All the principals are dead.  I don’t know about you, but my impression of Simon Mitchell is a good one.”

“I know what you mean,” Abby said.  “He came across as harmless and honest.  I don’t know if we’ll be able to say the same once we meet Otto Briggs.  Are you sure you want to take this to that next step or just turn over what we know to Lieutenant Stone?”

“Great minds think alike,” John replied.  “I was thinking the same thing, especially after what Mitchell said about him being dangerous.  There’s no upside in this for us if we look into it ourselves but there certainly would be a downside if we end up hitting a raw nerve with our questions and something sets him off.  I think I’ll take what we know straight over to the Twelfth Precinct.  I’d better call Dad first and let him know what we decided.” 

Twenty minutes later John parked in the police station parking lot and led Abby in through the back door.  They found Steve’s office and knocked before letting themselves in.  They spent ten minutes giving Steve the condensed version of their visit to Simon Mitchell and his parting warning about Otto Briggs.  “We thought it might be worthwhile looking into but figured you’d want that honor.”

“You figured right,” Stone replied.  “Thanks for the heads up and the advance legwork.  I’ll take it from here.  And oh yeah, I just got off the phone with your father a minute ago.  He said to tell you to come right back to the office when you’re finished here.  He didn’t say why, but I told him I’d give you the message.”

Thanks, Steve,” John said and walked Abby out of Stone’s office and back to his car.  They walked back into their own office a few minutes later.  “Steve gave me your message, Dad; what’s up?”

“Steve called me half an hour ago and told me that he and his men had gone over Alice Nichols’ house with a fine-tooth comb.  Aside from the normal legal papers and bills, they also found a wrapped pile of letters that Chester had written to Beth from the prison.  Here’s a new twist; Beth never got them.  Her mother squirreled them away so Beth wouldn’t know that her father was still alive.  She stuck to her story that he had died when Beth was just a baby.  She took that little secret with her to the grave.  Beats me why she never burned those letters.”

“Yeah,” John agreed.  “It’s also too bad that Beth never learned the truth before she was killed.”

Abby jumped in with, “John and I talked to this cellmate of Nichols, Simon Mitchell and we both walked away with the same impression that he was harmless.  Did you know that Nichols had asked Mitchell to look up his daughter once he got released?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that,” Nick replied.  “So what happens now?”

“I guess it’s up to Steve to take it from here,” John said.  “We’ll just have to wait until he’s had a chance to go through Chester Nichols’ letters and finish the investigation.”

Lieutenant Stone wasn’t able to reach a conclusive conclusion.  Otto Briggs died a free man in the nursing home three days later so that branch led to a dead end.  However, he and his team were able to finish going through all of Chester Nichols’ letters to his daughter.  Some of the letters had obviously been written in some sort of code so they’d be able to make it past the censors and out of the prison.  It took the decoding team a few more days to realize that Chester was trying to convey to his daughter that it was Otto Briggs who had actually killed the man that Chester was sent to prison for.

On his first day back into the civilian population, Otto Briggs’ first stop had been to pay a visit to Alice Nichols to ask her about the letters that were supposed to have been delivered to Beth.  He was never able to find them.  Alice Nichols had resisted showing him any of the letters and all she got for her efforts was a broken and bruised neck.

Steve Stone stopped in at the Cooper office the very next day.  He seemed bothered by something and Nick was sure that he was there to get something off his chest.  “What is it, Steve?”  Nick asked.

“Well,” Steve began, “The case has come to an end.  Not the end I was hoping for because one man ended up getting away with murder while the other man died a horrible death in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.  And that’s not all.  The innocent man’s wife died at the hands of the man who actually committed the crime that got her husband sent to prison in the first place.  And now the daughter also paid the ultimate price for her part in this whole thing, so I guess you can see why I’m not to happy with the outcome.  Other than that everything’s perfect; just perfect.”

“They can’t all come to a happy ending when the human equation is involved,” Nick replied.  “Let it go, Steve or it’ll just make you crazy.  Every now and then one of our cases doesn’t end well for one of out clients and we tend to take it personally, but my dad, Matt, told me long ago to just learn to let it go and move on.”

“I suppose you’re right, Nick,” Steve said, “but it’s a difficult thing to do when I’ve poured so much time and energy into a case like this.”

“Come on, Steve,” Nick said.  “Let me take you down the street and I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You?  Drink?”  Steve was taken aback.  He knew Nick had never cared for any alcoholic beverages.

“I’m talking about a glass of chocolate milk at the Gold Cup,” Nick explained.  “I might even spring for a cheese Danish.”

Steve heaved a heavy sigh and said, “So, what are we waiting for?”

As soon as the two had left the office, John and Abby looked at each other with a question on their faces.  “What are we, orphans?”  John said.

A second later, the office door opened again and Nick stuck his head in.  “Come on you two.  Don’t just sit there.  Those Danish aren’t going to come to you.”

Want A Refill

John Cooper and his two business partners were starting another week at Cooper Investigations on the corner of Hollywood and Cahuenga, much the same way the previous five generations of Coopers had from this very office.  Of late the business had been a bit slow but for the past several days they had taken on enough business to keep him, his wife, Abby and his father Nick busy for the rest of the month.

Four blocks to the south of Cooper’s office stood the Twelfth Precinct.  Many of the officers there were well known to the Coopers and some had become close friends over the years, especially Lieutenant Steve Stone and Captain Tim Murphy.  It was the start of another day for the cops from this Hollywood branch of the L.A.P.D. and roll call had just been concluded, as were the daily assignments.

As the police employees all filed out of the squad room and toward the parking lot entrance, a man in a full-length white apron and paper cap let himself in.  He was carrying a large cardboard caddy with a dozen or more cups of coffee.  Even though they couldn’t tell, he smiled under the surgical mask he was wearing as he approached the uniformed cops on their way out to their patrol cars.  “What’s all this?” one cop asked.

The man in white said, “We got a call telling us to deliver this free coffee to the cop shop.  That’s all I know, so help yourselves.”

The cardboard caddy was emptied in seconds with a dozen or more cops walking to their cars carrying their free cups of coffee with them.  With his empty caddy, the man in white looked down at his shoes and noticed that someone had spilled coffee on them.  He just shook his head, left the police station and disappeared down the street with a satisfied smirk on his face.  “Want a refill?” he said to no one in particular and laughed.

None of the black and white patrol cars made it out of the parking lot that morning.  The occupants of the six cars were all slumped over in their seats, coffee stains on their laps and white foam leaking out of their mouths.  They were all dead.  Several minutes later, sitting in his office, Lieutenant Steve Stone casually glanced at the four monitors that covered the outside of the Twelfth Precinct.  He thought it strange that none of the morning shift had left the parking lot yet.

He picked up his desk mic and pressed the key.  “One Adam Three come in please.”  He got no answer and repeated his request before switching to, “One Adam Eight come in please.”  Still no response.  “Anyone out there, come in.”  The airwaves were silent.  Formal procedure quickly took a back seat as Steve’s impatience got the best of him and he stormed out of his office and down the hall toward the parking lot door.  When he got outside he saw the initial six patrol cars that were supposed to have been on patrol by now.  He walked up to the closest car, One Adam Three, and started to yell at the driver, but stopped when he saw both occupants slumped over in their seats.

Steve hurried to the next car and the next and found the same scenario.  All twelve of these cops were dead.  His heart pounded and he began to sweat as he grabbed the radio on his belt.  “Dispatch, this is Lieutenant Stone.  Get all available personnel out to the parking lot on the double and call the coroner while you’re at it.  We have a major disaster on our hands.”

Moments later the lot was filled with uniformed officers, detectives, the corner and his assistant.  The lot was buzzing with activity and conversation.  It didn’t take long for the media to get wind of the story and before long the streets surrounding the Twelfth Precinct were jammed with television, radio and newspaper vehicles.  Reporters from all media branches were chomping at the bit for the macabre details surrounding the deaths of a dozen cops.

When the details finally came to light, eleven police officers were among the dead.  One cop lingered in intensive care for an additional four hours before he also passed away.  The mayor’s office screamed at the police for immediate action.  Captain Tim Murphy screamed at his lieutenants for results.  The citizens of Los Angeles screamed for justice and in the wake of all this screaming, twelve funeral arrangements were being made.

The mood at Cooper Investigations was sullen and bleak.  Among the dead were several personal friends of Nick and John Cooper, including Officer Richie Kohler, Glen Carmichael and Eddie Solomon.  Each of these fine policemen had partners, who also died that day.  They included Sergeants Stan Rooker, Roscoe Hearns and a twelve-year veteran by the name of Mike Becker.  The other half dozen dead police officers had been relatively unknown to the Coopers.

For the next few days Medical Examiner Adam Kline and his assistant, Ben Turner worked overtime to get to all the autopsies that were needed.  These autopsies took their toll on both men, since they had known most of the victims.  After all, the morgue was part of the Twelfth Precinct, having its offices on the back side of the police station.

Later in the afternoon, Nick Cooper had occasion to stop in to the station to renew his gun permit.  He ran into Lieutenant Stone in the hall.  Initially, both men found themselves at a loss for words, but Nick managed to break the ice by holding up his P.I. license.  “I just stopped in to get this renewed, Steve.  I would have come sooner, but I was sure you’d have your hands full, what with everything that’s gone on around here in the past few days.  I just want to say how sorry we all are about your loss.  If there’s anything any of us can do to help around here, you need only to ask.”

Steve sighed and said, “Thanks, Nick.  I still can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that a dozen of my men are gone.  I feel so helpless.”

“Were you able to get any closer to what happened?” Nick asked.  “Do you have anything to go on; any place to start?”

“As far as we can figure, my twelve men were all poisoned by the same coffee,” Steve said.  “There was some guy in a white full-length apron and a white paper hat that had delivered twelve coffees that morning, but the only ones who got a good look at him are all dead.  The parking lot security camera got a pretty good shot of him leaving afterwards, but we couldn’t see his face.”

“I suppose you checked with all the neighborhood coffee shops,” Nick said.

Steve nodded.  “None of them sent any coffee to the station.  This guy was some sick ticket working on his own and it looks like he had some sort of a grudge with the police and a score to settle.  The mayor’s still after my captain and the captain’s still on my ass to get results and frankly, I don’t know where to turn next.”

“Steve,” Nick replied.  “I know it’s going to take you a while to get replacement officers and to get back up to speed, so in the meantime, just know that John, Abby and I are at your disposal.  And I don’t want to hear any arguments about paying us, either.  We’ll be just a phone call away if you need any help.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Steve said, fighting to hold back tears.  “I’ll let you know if there’s anything…”  His sentence trailed off as soon as he thought of something for the Coopers to do.  “Wait a minute; how’d you like to go over the video footage from the parking lot surveillance camera.  I’ll get you a copy for you to take back to your office and study it.  Maybe something will stand out to you that we may have overlooked.  Hell, it’s worth a shot.  So far all we were able to determine by comparing the image to a known article at the scene was that the suspect was approximately five foot six inches tall.”

“You got it, Steve,” Nick agreed.  Before he left the to return to his office, Nick was bringing with him three copies of that parking lot surveillance camera footage.  Between the three of them hopefully one or more of them would see something that could lead to a clue.

“Is it as bad as it looked on the news?” John asked when Nick walked back into the office.

“Worse,” Nick replied with a sullen face.  “I offered our services to Steve and he gave us a task to tackle.”  Nick handed Abby and John each their own copy of the parking lot footage.  “Concentrate on the man in white,” he said.  “See if there’s anything that looks odd or different.  These are our copies so feel free to blow them up, shrink them down or anything else you need to do to get a better look.”

Nick took his memory chip back to his laptop.  All three of them loaded the video into their laptops and fired up their video programs.  They all studied the parking lot video, which lasted all of twenty seconds before the man in white walked out of the frame.  They kept rewinding and looking closely at those same twenty seconds, hoping something unusual would lead to a clue, but nothing did and they decided to put it away for now and look at it again later with fresh eyes.

News of the Twelfth Precinct Slaughter, as it had come to be called in the media, spread to the police departments in the surrounding communities.  Several of them offered the temporary loan of one or two of their own officers until replacements could be found.  Captain Tim Murphy was glad to take them up on their offers and soon he had an additional ten men reporting for duty the next morning.  On that first day, Captain Murphy helped Lieutenant Stone with the distribution of the temporary officers into selected neighborhoods and soon they were running at near normal capacity again.  Each of the ten temporary cops would ride with one of the cops from the Twelfth Precinct, making sure no one ended up riding alone.

On the second day out, one of the teams watched as a man on the street seemed to be moving in an odd manner and decided to investigate further.  They pulled to the curb, got out and detained the man on the sidewalk.  The local cop was a Sergeant named Kenny Nolan, who was riding with a loaner named Eugene Ballard.  Both cops took up positions on either side of the man and started in with their field interrogation.  Sergeant Nolan spoke first.  “Sir, can I see some identification, please?”

The man shifted slightly on his feet and seemed to be squirming oddly as he stood there.  Officer Ballard noticed a bulge under the man’s waistband and quickly drew his service revolver.  “Check under his shirt, Sarge,” Ballard said, still holding his weapon on the man.  “You, keep those hands where we can see them.”

The sergeant slowly and deliberately reached for the man’s shirt and lifted it, revealing his pants waistband with a bulging package tucked halfway in.  He reached for the package and tried to pull it from the waistband but the man pulled back and tried to step away.  Nolan took another hold of the package and pulled.  It came out of the suspect’s pants, split open and spilled a mess right there on the street.  It splashed all over the suspect’s shoes, all over Sergeant Nolan’s pants legs and left a brown stain on the sidewalk itself.

“What are you trying to smuggle there in your pants?” Ballard said in his official voice.

“You’re so smart, you tell me,” the suspect replied.

Nolan, who was still holding on to the package pinched between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it closer to his face and then quickly released it.  He turned to the suspect and said, “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

The suspect gave the cop a defiant look and smiled a half wry smile.  “It certainly is.  You just confiscated my colostomy bag.  You happy now?”

Nolan looked down at his stained pants legs, rolled his eyes and then turned to vomit into the gutter.  His thumb and forefinger had traces of the bag’s contents on their tips and he didn’t know where to wipe them.  He threw up a second time as Officer Ballard holstered his revolver and stepped away from the mess on the street.  He was lucky to have been standing far enough away not to have been affected.  He grabbed his shoulder mic and called for an ambulance for the victim and a change of pants for the sergeant.  “Better send along a box of baby wipes while you’re at it.  And a plastic trash bag, too  And some air freshener if you have it.”

“I’ll sue you both,” the victim exclaimed.  “You’re a couple of incompetent boobs.  You could have saved yourself all this trouble if you had just bothered to ask what that was under my shirt.  Now you’re gonna pay through the nose.”

The ambulance arrive three minutes later and the suspect was slid into the back and taken to the hospital to have a new colostomy bag reattached.

Another unit arrived bringing Sergeant Nolan a fresh pair of pants and the box of baby wipes.  He got himself cleaned up as best he could for now and dropped his stained pants into the trash bag, tying it tightly and depositing it in the back seat of the cruiser.  He and Ballard drove on to the rest of their scheduled route.  They remained silent for the first few minutes before Ballard remarked, “You wanna know what the worst part of having to wear one of those colostomy bags is?”  Sergeant Nolan was not about to be sucked into an obvious joke that was hiding just around the corner and didn’t answer.  “The trouble,” Ballard said, “is finding shoes to match the bag.”

“Just drive, Officer Ballard,” Nolan said in a no-nonsense voice.

After spending an hour and a half away from their laptops, Nick, John and Abby started again, hopefully with fresh eyes.  Five minutes into the task, Abby stopped and said, “Here’s an idea; how about if we all pool our powers of observation and watch the same screen at the same time?  Maybe something will occur to one of us and that person can share it with the other two.  It’s worth a try.”

Nick and John left their desks and rolled their chairs around the back of Abby’s desk where they could all have a good view of her screen.  She played the video again and watched intently as the man in the white apron and paper hat casually walked away from the police parking lot.  Once he was out of the frame, John said, “Run it again; I want to see something.”

Abby started the video again and the three of them stared at the screen.  Several seconds into the video, John said, “Freeze that right there.”  The screen froze and John leaned in closer.  He pointed to a portion of the screen and asked Abby, “Can you enlarge that section and clean up the noise a little?”

Abby spread her fingers across the screen until the suspect’s left hand was enlarged.  It was the hand holding onto the cardboard coffee caddy but the image was blurry.  “Can you sharpen that image up a bit?”  Abby pressed a key or two on the laptop and the image began to come in clearer.  A couple more key presses and now they could read some printing on the side of the coffee caddy.  “Right there,” John exclaimed and tilted his head sideways to read the printing.  “Carl’s Coffee House; that’s it.  And look at that corner of the caddy where he apparently spilled a little over the side.  That stain looks kinda of like Idaho, don’t you think?”

“Idaho?” Nick asked.  “What are you talking about?”

“Look closer at that coffee stain on the side of the caddy,” John explained.  “Doesn’t the outline resemble the borders of Idaho?  Just look close and squint; it’s there.”  He left Abby’s area and pulled a phone book from his own desk drawer.  Turning to the yellow pages, he found the address for Carl’s Coffee House on Sunset and Gower.  “Let’s go.”

“I’ll wait here and watch the phones,” Nick said.  “You two can go check out the coffee shop.”

John and Abby drove south to Sunset and then continued on to Gower.  The coffee shop occupied the corner building.  John parked around the corner and walked Abby into the shop.  The overhead bell tinkled their arrival and a voice from behind the counter said, “I’ll be right with you.”  He handed his current order to a man standing before him, who held his money out to the clerk.  “Now, what can I get for you two?”

“Did you fill an order for a dozen cups of coffee to be delivered to the Twelfth Precinct a couple days ago?” John asked.

Without checking, the clerk said, “I’ve never filled any order that large, ever.  I think I would remember one like that.”

“Could you if the need arose?” Abby asked.  “I mean, do you have those cardboard caddies large enough to hold twelve cups?”

“I have dozens of coffee caddies, but most of them are only large enough to hold six cups,” the clerk replied.  “I do have three or four of the size caddies you described, but I’ve never had the opportunity to use one so far.  They’re all still sitting in the store room.  Why do you ask?”

“Could I see where you keep them?” John asked, opening his leather case to display his badge and I.D.  He closed it just fast enough to give the clerk a glint of his badge before he returned it to his pocket.

“Right back here,” the clerk said, leading the couple to the store room.  “They’re right over…”  He stopped when all he saw were two of the dozen cup caddies still sitting where he’d last seen them.  “Well, I did have four of them in the beginning.  It looks like two of them are gone.  Can’t imagine what happened to them.”

“I could take a good guess,” John said.  “Listen, when you do get orders to be delivered, whose job would that be?”

“There’s just me and Stu and I always work the counter,” he said.  “If we’d ever get an order like that I guess Stu would be the one to deliver it.”

“Do you know where we could find Stu right about now?” Abby asked.

“It’s his day off,” the clerk explained.  “You could find him back here tomorrow unless it’s real important.”

“It is,” John said.  “Could you give me his home address, please?”

By the time John and Abby left the coffee shop, John had the address for Stuart Warrington.  He asked Abby to drive so he could navigate and they headed directly to the Warrington house.  They found it near the corner of Hudson and Romaine.  It was a small house, perhaps a thousand square feet or less, surrounded by a wrought iron fence.  John and Abby parked around the corner and approached the front door.  “Let me do the talking,” Abby said.  “I have an idea.”

“He’s all yours,” John agreed and watched as Abby rang the front doorbell and waited.

A moment later a curtain was pulled aside and a man looked out that the couple on his stoop.  He opened the door and concentrated on Abby’s face.  “Yes, can I help you?”

“Are you Stuart Warrington?” Abby asked, looking at the man who stood approximately five foot six.

“I am,” Stu replied.  “Who are you?”

“My name is Abby Cooper and I just came from Carl’s Coffee House and he told us we could find you here,” Abby said with a friendly smile.  “Could we talk to you for just a minute, please?”

Stu looked at his watch before agreeing to let the couple inside.  “What is it you want to see me about?”

Abby gestured toward John.  “This is my partner, John and we’re opening up a new coffee shop in town and we’re looking for good help.  That’s why you were recommended to us.  Stu, how much are you making at Carl’s?”

“Thirteen fifty an hour,” Stu lied.

“We can offer you fifteen,” Abby also lied.  “But one thing that is very important to us is that the guy we hire be able to deliver large orders of coffee without spilling any.  Think you could handle something like that?”

“Piece of cake,” Stu said.

Unconvinced, Abby said, “Show me.  Empty cups will do fine for this demonstration.”

Stu found a metal tray in the kitchen and filled it with only eight cups and glasses and brought it back into the living room.  Abby looked at it and shook her head.  “That’s not enough.  Sometimes we could have ten or twelve orders all going to the same place.  Looks like you’d have to make two trips, and time is money in our business.”

Stu set the tray down and thought for just a moment when he left the room again and returned with a cardboard caddy with enough space for twelve cups.  He loaded the eight cups into it and got four more from the cupboard, carrying the full caddy back into the living room to demonstrate his abilities.

“Not bad, Stu,” Abby said.  “Not bad at all.  Turn around and let me see you from all angles.”

Stu turned, still holding the coffee caddy, giving John a good look at the side of the cardboard container.  There, outlined with a coffee stain was good old Idaho.  It was a perfect match.  John pulled his .38 from under his arm and aimed it at Stu, who was just turning back to face the couple.  “Freeze right there, Stu,” John told him.  “Don’t you move a muscle.”  Stu froze where he stood but started to shake.  “All right,” John said.  “Slowly lay the cups down on the counter and step away.”

Instead of doing what he was told, Stu dropped the twelve cups on the floor at John’s feet and lunged for his revolver.  With one hand on John’s gun, Stu froze once again when he felt the cold steel of another revolver pressing into his ear.  When he heard the hammer cock and the cylinder rotate he immediately wet himself.

“That’s more like it,” Abby said.  “Now back away.”

Stu released his grip on John’s gun, giving John the opportunity to holster it and pull a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.  He spun Stu around and snapped them on his wrists.  John turned to his wife and said, “Great job there, kid.  Let’s get this slime ball back to the Twelfth Precinct.  You drive; I’ll be in the back seat with our guest.  I can call Steve on the way there.”

The look on Lieutenant Stone’s face was worth the price of admission as John turned their prisoner over to the cop.  “How in the world did you two…?”  He suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

Abby smiled at Steve and said, “Don’t try this at home; after all, we are professionals.”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “I can’t thank you enough,” he said.  “Call me later; right now I have to get this guy processed and into a cell before my men find out he’s here and tear him into little pieces.”

“Will do, Steve,” John assured him.  “We’ll be eager to hear why he did this in the first place.”

Between the booking procedure and fending off the press for now, Steve had his hands full and wasn’t able to talk to John when he called two hours later.  It wasn’t until the next day that they learned the truth about the man they’d captured.  Steve managed to get some information out of the suspect before he clammed up and asked for a lawyer.  Steve found himself with just a few minutes to spare and figured he owed the Coopers an explanation.

“Stuart Warrington,” Steve began, “Applied for a job with the Twelfth Precinct but didn’t make it past the physical part.  Our minimum height requirement is five foot eight and he fell short by just two inches.  He has the perfect name because he stewed about the rejection for a day before he came back with twelve cups of poison coffee and got what he considered to be his revenge.  I know, it sounds warped, and he certainly is that.”

By the time the phone conversation ended, Abby John and Nick felt better about themselves and their efforts than they had in a long time.  It’s never all about the money and this was one of the best examples to prove that very point.

Professional Courtesy

Nick Cooper was standing in line at the circulation desk of the L.A. Times, waiting to ask a few questions regarding his subscription.  His yearly subscription was about to expire and he wanted to find out if he could switch to a monthly plan.  As he stood there, he noticed a pair of overhead security cameras aimed in his direction.  By the time he got to the front of the line, he’d forgotten all about them and started in with his questions for the clerk behind the desk.  Even before he’d finished asking his first question, the clerk’s phone rang and she excused herself to answer it.

She turned away from the line of people and said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Marx; what can I do for you?  Sure, as a matter of fact he’s standing at my counter right now.  Oh, yes, the cameras.  I’ll tell him as soon as I’m finished with his questions.  Good bye.”  The clerk turned back to Nick and addressed his subscription questions but before Nick left she said, “Uh, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Marx would like you to meet him in his office if you would.  It’s on the fifth floor; room 516 at the end of the hall.”

“Hey,” Nick replied.  “If switching my subscription plan around is going to be a big deal, you can just tell him that I’ll keep the plan I have.”

“That’s not why he wants to see you,” the clerk clarified and then pointed behind Nick.  “The elevator is right over here.”

Nick thanked the clerk for her help and walked over to where three elevator doors stood open.  He stepped into the closest one and hit the button for the fifth floor.  Similar to the setup in his own office building, Charles Marx’s office was down the hall, last door on the right.  Nick stepped in and found a receptionist just inside.  “Mr. Marx is expecting me.  My name is Nick Cooper.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Cooper,” the receptionist said.  “You can go right in.”  She pressed a buzzer button on her desk and Nick let himself into the editor’s office.

“Mr. Cooper,” Charles Marx said.  “Thank you for coming, and I might add you came at just the right time.”

Nick looked at the ornate clock on Marx’s desk and then at Marx.

Marx smiled and clarified, “I don’t mean here; I meant you showed up at the circulation desk at the perfect moment.  When I saw you on the monitor, I called Lucille and told her to send you right up.  Please, won’t you have a seat and I can explain why I sent for you.”

“This is quite an office you have here,” Nick said.  “Makes my office look kind of puny by comparison.  And just so you know, I read your paper every morning at my desk.”

Marx nodded and smiled.  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper, but if we can get down to the reason I asked you up here.”

“Of course,” Nick replied.  “I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“Mr. Cooper; would you mind if I called you Nick?”

Nick said it would be all right.

“Well, Nick, one of my reporters has gone missing for the last two days and I could use your help finding her,” Marx began.  “She’s our best investigative reporter and she sometimes stays away for several days while she’s working a story, but this time things are different.  The last time I spoke with her, she told me that she was just wrapping things up and would be starting to write the article.  That should have been started yesterday and I haven’t heard a word from her one way or the other and I’d like you to find her for me.  Do you think you could do that?”

“I could,” Nick replied.  “But wouldn’t it be faster and more efficient if you took your request to the police?  They have a lot more resources and they…”

Marx cut him off and said, “No, not the police.  We have to play this one close to the vest, if you get my drift.  If the police got involved, our competition would get word of it and our secret would be out.  Our story wouldn’t have the same impact.  It has a short shelf life.  Please, Mr. Cooper, I need your help right now.”

Nick thought about the scenario for a moment and then something dawned on him.  “The story she’s working on is about the police department; am I right?”

Marx sighed and nodded.  “I can’t put anything past you, can I?”

“Mr. Marx, you may or may not know that I have quite a few close friends on the police department.  Wouldn’t you consider that a conflict of interest?”

“Not at all,” Marx replied.  “As a matter of fact, your association with them could work in our favor.”

Nick hesitated momentarily and then said, “Before I agree to work for you on this case, I’d need to know a little more about what you expect of me.  I don’t want to drive any wedges between my company and the Twelfth Precinct.”

“Oh, I see your reluctance, Mr. Cooper.  No, the story has nothing to do with the Hollywood branch of the L.A.P.D.  Karen was doing an expose’ on the downtown branch.  Do you have any friends there?”

“None I know of,” Nick said, breathing easier now.  “Tell me about what concerns you have about the downtown branch.”

“Before I do, you have to promise me that what is said in this office stays in this office,” Marx said.  “If anything about this conversation got back to the wrong people, all of my reporters’ safety could be compromised.”

“Would I be able to tell my business partners?” Nick asked.  “After all there may be times when all three of us could be working on this case.”

“Very well,” Marx agreed, “but no others; no friends, no relatives, no girlfriends; nobody.”

“Agreed,” Nick said and listened intently as Charles Marx explained what he needed Cooper Investigations to do for him.  After twenty minutes of listening to what the editor of this major publication had to say, Nick gave him his rates and told the man that he’d return with a contract and to collect his retainer.

“I can give you a cash retainer out of petty cash right now, but I can’t have any paper trails that lead back to this office.  You’ll just have to trust me, Mr. Cooper.  If need be, I can give you a bigger retainer.”

Nick waved him off.  “That won’t be necessary; Mr. Marx, but I will need a recent photo of Karen and a description of her car along with the plate number.  And can you tell me what she was working on?”

“She was looking into that whole mess over at Echo Park,” Marx started.  “Seems the homeless moved in and just sort of took over the park and the police were tasked with removing them to somewhere else.  That’s where the trouble started and Karen got herself right in the middle of it all.”

Nick got what he asked for, thanked Marx for his business and left the office.  The five-mile drive back to Hollywood ended up taking him more than forty-five minutes in the heavy rush of morning traffic.

When he walked back into his office, his son and business partner John was standing at the south window looking down at the pedestrian traffic on Hollywood Boulevard.  He turned at the sound of the office door opening.  “Hey, Dad, that took you longer than you thought it might.  Did you get stuck  in traffic?”

Nick turned his head to the right and noticed John’s wife, Abby, the third P.I. in this business, still on her phone.  He looked at John and said, “Hold off with your questions until Abby’s done on the phone.  I don’t want to have to tell this twice.”  While he was waiting for Abby, he said, “No, the traffic’s the same tangled mess it’s always been.  When are they going to do something about it?”

Abby finished her phone conversation, hung up and announced, “Looks like I have myself a case for a couple of days.  I hope you can spare me.”

Nick and John exchanged a knowing glance and sat on the sofa beneath the south window.  Before he got down to explaining the L.A. Times case to John he looked at Abby and said.  “Good going; I know you’ll do a good job on your case.  I guess John and I will have to handle the one I picked up this morning.  You can listen in if you like, but any details about this case are strictly hush hush.”

“I’d like to, Nick, but I have to get moving on my case right away,” Abby said.  “Good luck to both of you on your case.”  She gathered up her purse and her laptop and left the office.

“All right, Dad, let’s hear it,” John said.

Nick explained being called to the editor’s office and about the case he was hired to handle.  “Have you ever heard of Karen Wolper?”

“The reporter?” John said.  “Who hasn’t.  Her byline is in the paper all the time.  What about her?”

“She’s missing, according to Marx,” Nick explained, “and he’d like us to find her as soon as possible.”  He told John about Karen Wolper’s undercover assignment looking into the workings of the L.A.P.D.

“But you know most of those guys,” John remarked.

“Not the Twelfth Precinct,” Nick clarified.  “Wolper was looking into the downtown branch and that’s one place that we’ll need to steer clear of for now.”

“Well,” John said.  “What are we waiting for?”

The two of them left the office and headed straight for the Echo Park district.  They started their trek north on Echo Park Avenue and turned left onto Park Avenue, keeping Echo Lake on their left the whole way.  “It looks to me like the cops managed to clear all of the homeless out of the park.  So far I haven’t seen a single tent or homemade structure anywhere,” John remarked.  “I wonder where they all relocated to.”

“Beats me,” Nick said, “but you can bet when things die down again, they’ll be right back here with all of their belongings.”

At the next corner, John turned left again, this time taking Glendale Boulevard south.  They’d almost made a full trip around the lake when Nick said, “Slow down a little and take a look at that.”  He pointed to a hillside on their right that was overgrown with thick vegetation.  “I tell you, if I was a homeless person looking for some place to hide, I’d pitch my sleeping bag under all that thick cover.  Who’d ever think of looking there?  Pull over and let’s take a closer look.”

They parked behind a pickup truck with a load of collapsed cardboard boxes in the bed and got out.  Even when they were standing just two feet away from the thick greenery, they couldn’t see anything that might be hiding within.  Nick stuck an arm into the thicket and pushed it aside.  Even then he might not be able to see if anyone was in there.  The two of them  moved on and checked behind the rest of the bushes.  They’d almost given up when Nick said, “Hold on, I thought I saw something.  Give me a hand here.”

The two men each pushed the bushes aside and could finally see a pair of legs protruding from within what looked like a sleeping bag.  Nick grabbed one of the feet and was startled when it recoiled and a head poked out of the other end of the sleeping bag.

“Gees, can’t a guy have any privacy?” a scruffy looking man said, pulling his foot out from Nick’s grasp.

“Sorry, mister,” Nick said and stepped back, allowing the vegetation to spring back to its original location.  Once again the sleeping man was covered from sight.  Nick looked at John.  “See what I mean?  These people will fight adversity and find a way, no matter what it takes.”

“I’ll give ‘em a T for tenacious anyway,” John said.  “Personally, I couldn’t sleep out in the open like this.  Not just because of whatever little critters might be crawling all over me during the night, but just the idea that someone like us could come along and discover their hiding place.  The next guy might not be so kind.”

“I have to agree,” Nick said.  “And then what happens when you have to go to the bathroom?  Do you chance crawling out of there and walking to some gas station restroom only to come back and discover that your sleeping bag has been stolen?”

They moved on to the end of the block before returning to their car.  “Where to next, Dad?” John asked.

“How about if we go into the park itself and start talking to people there?  There may be someone who remembers seeing Karen Wolper during that whole time when the cops were running the homeless out; come on.”  The park was surrounded by a five-foot cyclone fence.  They kept driving around the lake, looking for the entrance.  Near the intersection of Echo Park and Laguna Avenues they found and opening in the fence and a path that led into the park.

John parked on the street and the two of them walked over to the entrance.  From where they stood, they saw very few people inside the park but went ahead anyway.  Just inside the entrance they found a man dressed in some sort of uniform.  The arm patch said “Echo Park” on it and there was a name tag over one of the man’s pockets identifying him as Mike.  He had a canvas bag slung over one shoulder and was poking at debris on the ground with a stick with a nail in one end.

“Excuse me,” Nick said as he approached the man.  “I take it you work here.”

“That’s right,” Mike said.  “What are you looking for?  Most people who approach me want directions to some part of the park.  Which part are you trying to find?”

“None, actually,” Nick explained.  “I was just wondering if you were working here the day the police came in and cleared out the homeless people.”

Mike looked back and forth, trying to see if there were any news vans.  “Reporters?” he asked.

“Nothing like that,” Nick replied.  “We were just curious about what went on that day.  Can you tell us what you saw?”

Mike relaxed somewhat and said, “You know, people say that I do a pretty good job of cleaning up this park, but I can’t hold a candle to those cops.  They had everybody cleared out of the park in just a couple of hours and they weren’t particular about who they pushed.  They removed the homeless, the reporters and the demonstrators and in one continuous sweep.  It looked like those newsreels you used to see of the cops back when they were facing the demonstrators during the ’68 Democratic Convention in Chicago.  They must have busted a few heads in the process.”

“Well, Mike, thank you for all that,” Nick said.  “You don’t mind if we just walk around for a while, do you?”

“Knock yourself out,” Mike said.  “But you won’t find anything.  It’s all been picked up and thrown away.  Man, what a pile of garbage those people left behind.”

Nick and John left Mike to his job and continued into the park.  As they walked, John said, “Here’s a thought, Dad.  What if this Wolper woman got rounded up with the homeless and just got lost in the shuffle?”

“And she wouldn’t have had a chance to call her editor?” Nick replied.  “Not likely, but what if she had been arrested with some of the troublemakers and thrown in jail?  Even she would have been allowed her one phone call.”

“I suppose,” John agreed.  “What does that leave?”

“Either she’s dead and the body has been disposed of, or…” Nick didn’t have a finish for his sentence.

“Dead?  Who would want her dead?  And being as famous as she was, who would think they could cover something like that up?”

Nick stopped walking and was soon lost in thought.  “What is it, Dad?”

“Did I ever tell you about when my grandfather, Elliott was carjacked?” Nick began.

“No, I don’t think I ever heard that one,” John said.  “What happened to him?”

“Two guys jacked his car right there at the gas pump and drove him out to the middle of nowhere in the desert and just dumped him on the side of the road.”

“And?”

“And before they did, they took his wallet and his shoes and socks and beat the crap out of him.  By the time someone came along and found him there, he couldn’t even remember his own name or anything about himself.”  Nick reminisced about hearing of that ordeal from his father, Matt and added, “Grandpa had amnesia for several days until he remembered bits and pieces about his life and finally remembered who he was.”

“And you think that this Karen Wolper might have taken a beating at the hand of the cops?” John asked.  “She might be among the homeless even as we speak, not knowing who she is.  If that’s the case, where do we start looking?”

“We’d first have to find out whatever became of the homeless that were rounded up two days ago,” Nick suggested.  “Then just start asking around until we find her.  Come on; let’s see what Mike knows about the disposition of the people who were taken out of here.”

Mike scratched the back of his neck and said, “Seems to me that a lot of them were thrown into the back of several police trucks and hauled away; probably to some place downtown.  There were a few who no doubt were hauled directly to jail, but I’d say the majority are camped on the streets downtown.  Does that help?”

“We won’t know until we start looking there.  Thanks again, Mike.”  Nick and John walked back to their car and headed downtown.  Near Fifth and Wall Streets stood a little half-block park known as San Julian Park.  Even as they were circling the block, looking for some place to park, they could see the collection of tents and homemade structures covering most of the area around the park.

“This must be it,” John said, parking around the block.  He and Nick casually walked past the park, finally walking through the middle of the transient community.  Surprisingly there were very few dwelling set up within the wrought iron fence that surrounded this park.  However, there were dozens of tents and structures set up right on the sidewalk itself.  In the entire four square block area, Nick and John noticed the filthiest dwellings they had ever seen.  “I’ve see town dumps that didn’t look this dirty,” Nick remarked as he and John walked past piles of refuse.  “Just look at this whole neighborhood.  A lot of the buildings look like they’ve been condemned.”

“Uh, Dad,” John said.  “You know what this section of town is called, don’t you?”

“What?”

“This is Skid Row and we’re right in the middle of it all.”  John looked at his immediate surroundings and began to itch.  “Whatever it is we have to do, let’s do it quick and get the hell out of here.  If this Karen is Wolper is anywhere in the vicinity, let’s find her and take her away from this dump.”

The two of them circled the block completely, checking in each of the shelters for the woman whose face was known to millions of people throughout Southern California.  It shouldn’t be too hard to spot her among all the dregs of society that were camped out here on the sidewalks.  At the end of their route, John turned to his father and said, “I don’t think she’s here.  We’ve seen every tent and structure there is; what’s left?”

Just then Nick spotted an old woman pushing a dented and rusty grocery cart ahead of her.  The woman was obviously not Karen Wolper but it gave Nick an idea.  “What if she’s out right now collecting cans or old clothes?  She could be walking around out here with these other people.”  He withdrew the photo of Karen Wolper that he’d gotten from Mr. Marx and showed it to John.  “Memorize that face.  We need to split up and circle the block again in opposite directions otherwise she could be walking ahead of or behind us the whole time and we’d never catch up to her.  You go that way and I’ll go this way and we can meet right back here.  Call me if you find her.”

“You got it,” John said and started off in the opposite direction.  He’d gone halfway around the block and still had not seen any viable candidates that looked like the woman in the photo.

Meanwhile, Nick had continued in the opposite direction, paying close attention to anyone on foot.  He knew from talking to Mr. Marx that Karen Wolper had last been seen wearing black slacks and a purple blouse.  That shouldn’t be too hard to find among all these other raggedly dressed women.  Nick made it nearly halfway around the block when he spotted John coming toward him.  Walking toward Nick was a woman in black slacks and a purple blouse, albeit both were dirty beyond words.

Nick stepped in front of the woman and said, “Excuse me, Karen?”  The woman looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead and simply tried to walk past him.  Nick sidestepped and blocked her path again, taking a closer look at her now.  This was definitely not Karen Wolper, but it opened up new possibilities for his search.  “Where did you get those clothes?” Nick asked the woman.

“What’s it to you?” she replied just as John stepped up to his father.

“Did you find her, Dad?”

Nick shook his head.  “No, but I’ll bet you this woman knows where she is.  Those are the clothes Mr. Marx described to me as having been worn by Karen.”  He turned back to the woman and asked again, “Where did you get these clothes?”  When all she did was stare back at him, Nick added, “Maybe we should call the police and let them sort this out.”

That got the woman’s attention.  Her eyes got wide and she blurted out, “I didn’t steal these clothes.  I traded my clothes for them.  That woman didn’t mind.  Now you let me go.”

“Where were you when you made the trade?” John asked.

This was the first time the old woman had noticed John.  “And just who the hell are you?”

“This is my son,” Nick explained.  “Look, we need to find the woman you traded clothes with.  If you help us there may even be a few bucks in it for you.”  Nick produced a ten-dollar bill and snapped it in front of the woman’s face.  She made a grab for it, but Nick pulled it just out of her reach.

“All right,” the bag lady said.  “She was over in the next block.”

“What kind of tent was she in?” Nick asked.  “And what do the clothes look like that you traded her?”

“She didn’t have no tent,” the woman said.  “She was just inside the doorway of that old building, right over there.”  She pointed to a four story brick building that was staring to crumble.  “She’s probably still there.”

“And the clothes?” Nick said.

“Just an old house dress,” the woman said.  “It’s got flowers all over it.  You can’t miss it.”

Nick gave the woman the bill and hurried away with John.  A block away stood the old building with eight or ten tents set up along the sidewalk.  They walked past all the tents and stepped in through the overhead door, into the dark space.  Nick and John both fired up the flashlight feature on their cell phones and started looking around the interior of the building.  There were at least a dozen people huddled against some of the walls, trying to stay warm.

Thirty or forty feet into the building Nick noticed a motionless lump lying next to the wall.  The dress she was wearing may have had flowers on it, but it was so filthy that you’d have had a hard time making out any pattern on it.  Nick stopped at the person who was curled up in fetal position and knelt down next to her.  He nudged the woman’s shoulder and said, “Karen; Karen Wolper?”  He got no response and tried again.  This time the woman stirred and looked up at the man who was bothering her.  This time Nick got a good look at the woman’s face.  Dirty as it was and with her hair in a tangled mess, Nick could still make out the facial features.  This was Karen Wolper, no doubt about it.

Nick held his open hand out to the woman and said, “Come on, Karen, we’re going to take you back where you belong.”  He pulled her to her feet and only then noticed the dried blood that had run down the back of her neck.  On the top of her head Nick could see the spot where she’d obviously been hit with some round object, perhaps a police Billy club.  He turned to John and said, “Help me get her out of here.  We can take her back to the newspaper office and let Mr. Marx know what happened to her.”

John drove while Nick sat next to Karen in the back seat.  Ironically, she’d been found less than a mile from Marx’s office.  On the way to the L.A. Times office, Nick called for an ambulance to meet them there and told them where they could pick up Karen Wolper.  Then he called Charles Marx and told him that they’d be bringing Karen to his office.  He was there at the elevator when they stepped off.  Marx helped get Karen into his office and sat her down to wait for the ambulance attendants.

He turned to Nick and said, “Wherever did you find her?”

Nick described the neighborhood where Karen had been huddled and told him of the conditions.  Marx was about to ask more questions when his office door opened and two men in white walked in pulling a gurney behind them.  They helped Karen onto the gurney and looked her over quickly.  One of them turned to Charles Marx and said, “We’ll be taking her to the hospital.  What name should I register her under?”

“Karen Wolper,” Marx replied.

The attendant took a closer look at the dirty face that lay on his gurney.  “That’s Karen Wolper.  You could have fooled me.”  He and his partner wheeled Karen out of the office and over to the elevator.

Marx looked at Nick and then over at John, a question playing on his face.

“Mr. Marx,” Nick said, “This is my son and business partner, John.  He helped find Karen and neither of us talked to anyone on the way back here.”

Marx thanked them both and told Nick he could keep whatever was left of the retainer.  Nick thanked him and led John out of the editor’s office.  On their way down the elevator, John turned to his father and said, “What do you suppose happened to her?”

“Chances are she got caught up in the melee and lost her I.D.,” Nick surmised.  “No doubt she got smacked on her head, forgot who she was and just wandered the streets until we found her.  You can bet there’s going to be a major investigation into that whole Echo Park fiasco.  They’ll find some scapegoat to take the heat and none of the higher ups will have to face any charges.”

“Ain’t that always the way?” John said.

The following morning in their office, they relayed their story to Abby, ending with the reporter being hauled to the hospital.  “That poor woman,” Abby said.  “She must have been terrified there on the streets.”

Nick shrugged and spread his hands.  “I doubt she was with it enough to realize her predicament.  But I dare say she’ll have plenty to write about when she gets out of the hospital and recovers from her ordeal.”

Karen Wolper never did write another article for the paper or anyone else.  The hit she’d taken to her head was so severe that she suffered irreparable brain damage.  She spent the next six months in a rehab center before she was released to a nursing home where she’d get constant care.  Her story, however made the front pages, even though it would eventually be written by some other reporter.

Nick and John and to some lesser extent Abby discussed the situation at length and none of them could come up with a good reason why a country like ours would have to put up with the homeless situation that it faced.  It was a national disgrace.  Maybe the L.A. Times article about Karen Wolper’s situation would someday change all that.

They could only hope.

Vicious Circle

“Dad,” John Cooper said as he walked into the office that morning.  “Oops, sorry; I didn’t see you there on the phone.”

Nick Cooper finished his phone call, made a few notes on the conversation and then looked up at his son.  “Morning, John.  What’s up?”

“Strangest thing,” John said.  “I was down at the corner to get a pretzel when some woman tapped me on the shoulder and just started in talking, as if she was coming in at the middle of some conversation that she thought we’d started earlier.  I never saw her before.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to hire me to follow her husband,” John explained.  “You know the routine; cheating husband, follow him around, blah, blah, blah.”

“So what did you tell her?” Nick asked.

“I told her to come up to the office and we could talk about it.  She said she had just one stop to make and then she would come up.  I told her where we were located and now I just have to wait for her to show up.”  He looked over at the empty third desk.  “Abby come in yet?”

“She’s been here and gone already,” Nick said.  “She got herself another case.  That girl is a real go-getter.  You’d better keep her.”

“Good advice, Dad,” John said slipping out of his jacket.  Then he looked down, noticed his shoulder holster, and slipped the jacket back on before sitting down.  It took several minutes before the woman showed up.  She knocked once and stepped into the office.  “Hello again,” John said, gesturing toward his client’s chair.  The woman quickly looked over at Nick and then back at John.  “Oh, this is my father and business partner, Nick.  I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.”

The woman politely nodded and smiled at Nick and then turned to John.  “Vivian Weber.  I’ve never hired someone like you before.  What do I do?”

“Suppose I start by getting some information from you,” John said.  “What is the nature of the case you want to hire me to do for you?”

“I’d like you to follow my husband and see what he does and where he goes,” Vivian said.  “Is that something you do?”

John nodded.  “We do, indeed.  Do you suspect him of being unfaithful to you?  And what is his name?”

“My husband’s name is Donald and yes, I have a feeling he’s been seeing someone on the side.”  Vivian wrung her hands in her lap.

John made a note of this new information and continued.  “What does Donald do for a living?”

“He manages the shoe store downtown,” Vivian explained.  “You know there are women coming and going from that place all day, every day.  I suppose it was just a matter of time before he saw one he liked better than me.”

“Tell me about what he does to make you suspect another woman.”

“It’s no one thing you can put your finger on, but some days when he’s getting ready for work I can hear him whistling or humming and when he comes to the breakfast table, I could smell cologne and he almost never wears cologne to work.  And one time when I was putting his shirt in the laundry, I thought I smelled a perfume different from mine.  And lastly, sometimes he’s late getting home from work.  Oh, he always says it was a busy day at the store, but I don’t know.  I need for you to either find him out, or set my mind at ease if there is nothing.”

“Do you have a photo of Donald that I could hang onto for a while?” John asked.  “It would also help if I had a description of his car and the license plate number.”

Vivian had anticipated that request and had brought both with her.  She handed John a three by five portrait of her husband along with a slip of paper with the car information on it.  “Will that do it, Mr. Cooper?”

“Terrific,” John replied.  “Now all I need is a two day retainer to get started plus your signature on one of our contracts.”   He got everything he asked for and escorted the woman to the door.  “It might be better if I didn’t call you.  I wouldn’t want to get Donald on the phone by mistake.  How about if you check in with me once a day?”  He handed her one of his business cards, wrote his cell phone number on the back, thanked her for her business and watched her walk down the hall to the elevator.

“Not exactly the thrilling case you’d like, was it?” Nick said.

“It pays the bills,” John replied and then looked down at his shoes.  “I wonder if it’s time for a new pair of shoes.”

“And I wonder where you’ll go looking for them,” Nick kidded.

“I’ll catch you later,” John said as he left the office.  The shoe store in question was located just three blocks east on Hollywood Boulevard.  It was a nice day so John decided to walk rather than to stress out trying to find a parking spot nearby.  The store was part of one of the national chains with a large neon sign overhead and double display windows in front.  As John walked up to the store he could see a man in stocking feet inside the display window, arranging shoe displays, comparing it to a glossy photo in his hand and fine tuning the arrangement.  John didn’t even pause to watch the man, but just stepped inside and started browsing the shoe racks.  Another clerk approached and asked if there was anything he could do to assist him.  John assured him that he was just looking so far.

As he picked up shoe after shoes, John made sure he held it between himself and the man in the display window.  No doubt about it, that was Donald Weber, all right.  John now had that man’s face burned into his memory and wouldn’t have to refer to the photo from Vivian.  He set the last shoe back on the display and stepped over to the clerk who had approached him earlier.  He found out that the store would be open until nine o’clock.  “Are you the manager?” John asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t.

“No sir,” the clerk replied.  “The manager is that man in the display window.  Would you like me to get him for you?”

John waved him off.  “No, I was just asking in the event that I come here later tonight.  Would he still be here at closing?”

“No sir, I’m closing the store tonight.  Mr. Weber is off at four today but closes up tomorrow night.”

“Thank you,” John said and walked out of the store.  Now he could relax and take it easy until four o’clock that afternoon when he could start his tail job.  He made it back to his office several minutes later.  Nick’s desk was empty and John just plopped down on the leather sofa beneath the south window.  Spontaneously he started to sing along to a song that had been stuck in his head when he heard the toilet flush and saw Nick stepping out and over to the sink in the alcove.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Nick said, a sly smile playing on his face.  “You were sounding in good voice there; don’t let me stop you.”

John blushed and got off the sofa to look out the window.

“Oh come on; everybody sings to themselves once in a while,” Nick said.  “Even me; you don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“Well, then you sing something,” John said.  Trying to change the subject he added, “I saw my target at the shoe store.  He’ll be there until four this afternoon.  I guess I can just hang out here until just before then.  He should be fairly easy to tail.”

Three forty-five came and John slid behind the wheel of his Toyota sedan.  He would wait behind the shoe store for Weber to come out and then fall in behind him when he left the parking lot.  At exactly four o’clock Weber left the building and got into his own car; a black Chevy coupe.  He pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard and headed east.  He turned south at Western Avenue and then east again on Fountain.  Several blocks to the east stood a convenient store, set back from the street.  Weber pulled into the lot and waited.  He seemed to be looking at his watch.  A minute or two later a young woman with bright red hair left the store and walked directly over to the black Chevy coupe.  She slid in on the passenger side and immediately turned toward the driver.  John watched, as the two people seemed to be embroiled in a heated discussion.

Out of nowhere, the young woman slapped Weber’s face and got out of the car, slamming the door hard and walking away in a huff.  Weber just started the car and pulled out onto Fountain Avenue.  John stayed with him as he drove west and reconnected with Western Avenue.  He hesitated at the corner, as if he wasn’t sure which way to go next.  John watched as Weber leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel.  A moment later, he sat erect and pulled out into traffic in the southbound lane.

John fell in behind him and watched as the black Chevy coupe seemed to be weaving back and forth across the lanes.  John knew that if Weber didn’t snap out of it and pay closer attention to his driving that he’d…  Then it happened.  Weber’s car drifted to the left and into the lane of oncoming traffic.  His Chevy drove head on into a milk truck with a loud crash of wrinkled steel and breaking glass.  The truck didn’t seem to have suffered much damage, compared to the Chevy, which looked to have been totaled.  John pulled to the curb and quickly got on his cell phone, dialing 9-1-1 to report the accident.

By the time the dust cleared and the debris had been cleaned up, one person was left dead—Donald Weber.  The driver of the milk truck was treated at the scene and released with just a bump on his head.  John was busy talking to the two police officers who were conducting interviews with pedestrians who might have seen the accident.  When they finished with them, they turned their attention to John, who was able to describe in detail the last actions of a spurned man.  They took his statement and released him several minutes later.

Now John had to stop by and talk to Vivian Weber about this new turn of events.  He figured he’d wait a couple of hours and give the police a chance to notify her of her husband’s demise.  It was closing in on five o’clock and John knew that Nick would be closing the office right about now.  John used the time to grab a bite to eat at the Gold Cup.

It was just after six when he drove to Vivian Weber’s house.  He was surprised to see two black and white patrol cars still parked at the curb but decided to go in anyway.  He knocked on the front door and was greeted by a uniformed officer with a seriously stern look on his face.  “Is Vivian Weber here?” John asked.

“And who are you?” the cop, a man named Redmond asked.

John handed Redmond one of his cards and said, “John Cooper; I was working for Mrs. Weber.  I also witnessed her husband’s accident and wanted to talk to her about that.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late, Mr. Cooper,” Redmond said.  “We got the call an hour ago from some neighbor who told us that she heard screaming coming from this house.  Vivian Weber is dead, sir.”

John’s mouth hung open in disbelief.  “What; I was just talking to her earlier today.  What happened to her?  Do you know who did it?”

“Maybe you’d better come in, Mr. Cooper,” Redmond said.  “I have a few more questions for you.”

John stepped inside just as two ambulance attendants were wheeling Vivian Weber’s body out of the house.  He looked past them to see another woman with bright red hair sitting at the kitchen table talking to another police officer.  John gestured toward the other woman and asked, “Who is that?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Redmond said.  “She was caught at the scene, still holding the .22 caliber revolver in her hand.  What do you know about all this?”

John sighed and said, “I guess it doesn’t matter now if I violate client confidentiality.  Both parties are dead.  I was hired by Mrs. Weber to follow her husband.  She suspected he was seeing someone on the side.  Anyway, I followed Mr. Weber to a grocery store over on Fountain Avenue and saw that woman get into Weber’s car.  It looked like they were having some sort of argument when she slapped his face and hurried out of the car.  That’s when I followed Mr. Weber back to Western Avenue, where his car drifted into the opposite lane and hit that milk truck.  I was just coming back here to talk to Mrs. Weber about all this when I ran into you and your partner.  That’s all I know.  Did you happen to get her name?”

Redmond nodded.  “Lola Parker.  We haven’t been able to get too much out of her, but from all outward appearances, it looked like she came here to confront Weber’s wife and things got out of hand when she shot her.  Talk about your twisted love triangles.  Makes me glad I’m still single.”

“Do you need me anymore, Officer?” John asked.  When the cop said he didn’t, John gave him one of his business cards and told him to call if he had any further questions.  John drove straight home from there and found Abby in the living room, watching TV with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of soda.

She turned when she heard the kitchen door open.  “Kind of late, aren’t you?  Did you have a bad day?”

“Not nearly as bad as Vivian Weber,” John explained and told his wife the rest of the story.

“Those things never end well, do they?” She said.

“No they don’t,” John agreed, reaching for a handful of popcorn and plopping down next to Abby on the sofa.  “It’s a vicious circle, if you ask me.  Three people don’t make for a cozy couple.  And this is a perfect example of why you collect a deposit up front.  I can imagine what Dad will say about all this when I tell him tomorrow.”

The two of them finished watching the movie, leaving their popcorn bowl and glasses in the sink and retreating to the bedroom.  Such is the life of a private eye.

Wake Up

Nick Cooper and his girlfriend, Michelle were getting into a comfortable place in their relationship.  They had been keeping company with each other for quite a while now, ever since the day Nick crashed into her cart in the grocery store.  On occasion, Michelle would spend the night at Nick’s place and he’d do the same at hers when the opportunity arose.  Nick’s wife was the late Shelley Cooper, who had died while on a case with him.  He had trouble relating to woman for quite a while after that terrible day, but something about Michelle just clicked and they hit it off from the start.

On this particular night at Nick’s house, he and Michelle had spent the evening watching an old movie on TV before retiring to the bedroom.  Neither of them had trouble falling asleep and within twenty minutes both were enjoying a sound sleep.  It was shortly after two a.m. that Nick began to stir.  He was hearing voices and opened his eyes to find that he and Michelle were alone but the voices he was hearing were coming from her.  All the while they had been going together, Nick had never known that Michelle talked in her sleep.

Tonight she was talking up a blue streak so Nick decided to sit up and listen.  What he heard sent shivers up his back.  Michelle was mumbling something along the lines of, “No, I didn’t mean it, dear.  I’m sorry; please don’t die.”

By now there was no way Nick was going to be able to fall asleep again, not after hearing something like that.  He just sat there listening.  For several minutes, the talking stopped and just when he thought Michelle had nothing more to say, he heard, “It was an accident, dear.  Oh, no, you’re bleeding.  Dear, please don’t…no, open your eyes, dear.  It was an accident, honest.  I don’t even know where this knife came from.”

Now Nick was out of the bed and backing away from Michelle.  Would he confront her in the morning?  What would he say?  Could he trust being around her after what he had heard?  He left the bedroom with an extra blanket and pillow and stretched out on the sofa in the living room.

The next morning Michelle was the first one awake and wondered where Nick was when she looked at the opposite side of the bed and found it empty.  She slipped into her robe and slippers and wandered into the living room to find Nick fast asleep on the sofa.  She decided to let him sleep and walked into the kitchen to start the coffee brewing.  After she had poured herself a cup she carried it back to the living room and sat in the overstuffed chair across from the sofa.  She reamined quiet and just watched Nick sleep.  After a while Nick stirred and opened his eyes.  Initially he smiled when he saw Michelle but then he remembered her dialog from the night before.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Michelle said.  “How did you end up out here on the sofa?”

“Huh,” Nick said, rubbing his eyes.  “Oh, I woke up in the middle of the night.  You were thrashing around in the bed so I came out here.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Michelle said.  “I guess I forgot to warn you about that bad habit of mine.”

That’s not all you forgot to tell me about, Nick thought to himself.  “Not a problem,” he said and sat up on the sofa.  He looked over at Michelle sipping from her cup.

“Would you like a cup?” Michelle asked and then suddenly remembered that Nick didn’t drink coffee.  “I mean, would you like a glass of chocolate milk?”

Nick looked at the clock on the kitchen wall and quickly stood.  “I’m late; I have to get dressed and get down to the office.  I can pick up something to eat on the way.”  He rushed into the bedroom and got dressed, washed his face, combed his hair and still had time for a quick kiss at the kitchen door.  “I guess I’ll see you tonight after work.  Don’t bother with dinner; we can eat out tonight.”  He hurried to his car and backed out of the driveway.

Nick drove through the drive-thru and bought a ham and cheese biscuit.  By the time he had made it to the Cahuenga Building parking lot, the sandwich was gone.  He walked into the office right on the stroke of nine.  His son, John and his daughter-in-law Abby were already at their desks.  They each wore a surprised look on their faces, since Nick usually came in half an hour before both of them so he could read his paper in peace.

“Didn’t your alarm go off this morning, Dad?” John asked.

“I forgot to set it,” Nick explained, leaving out the one sided conversation Michelle was having from her pillow.  “No big deal.  Do we have anything on the docket for this morning?”

Abby thumbed through her day planner and announced, “Nothing so far; how about you?”

Nick’s day planner was also empty until ten a.m. and he said as much.  It was then that Abby’s phone rang.  “Cooper Investigations, Abby speaking.  Oh, hi, Michelle; hang on a second, Nick’s right here.”  She held the phone up toward Nick and said, “Line one, Nick.”  She waited until Nick picked up and then hung up her phone.

“What’s up, Michelle?” Nick said.  “Are you kidding me?  I never even noticed.  No, I have to go out on a case soon, but I’ll bet I could get one of the kids to pick it up for me.  Great, I’ll send one of them over for it.  Thanks for the call.”  He hung up and turned to John.  “Would you mind stopping by my place and picking up my wallet?  I left the house in a hurry and forgot to transfer it from my other pants.”

Before John could answer, Abby spoke up.  “I can get for you.  I was planning to head out that way anyway.  I have to pick up another couple of reams of copy paper.  It’s almost on my way.”

“Thanks, Abby,” Nick said.  “Can you leave right away?  You might be able to get back here before I have to leave.”

“I’m on it,” Abby said, slipping into her jacket and grabbing her purse.  She was gone without another word.

As soon as Nick heard the elevator doors close, he turned to John and said, “It’s just as well that she’s gone.  I have something I wanted to run by you.  Give me your impression, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure, Dad, shoot.”

Nick explained in detail about Michelle’s sleep talking and what she had said.  “It took me completely by surprise.  I never knew she talked in her sleep.  They say that people who do that are sometimes speaking from their subconscious.  Do you suppose anything like that ever really happened in her life and she’s just replaying it?”

“Hard to say,” John replied.  “Is that all she said?”

“That was all I heard until I moved to the sofa,” Nick explained.  “I hate to come right out and ask her about it.  If something like that actually did happen to her she might be embarrassed that I heard it.”

“Well just let it ride for now and see if she does it again some night,” John suggested.  “If she doesn’t then maybe it was just a fluke.  And if she gives a repeat performance then maybe you need to dig a little deeper with her.”

“I guess you’re right,” Nick agreed.

“You can think about it while you’re out on that case?” John said.

“What case is that?”

“The one you told Abby that you were going on later this morning.”

Nick shook his head.  “There is no case.  I just wanted a chance to talk to you alone about Michelle’s ramblings.  If Abby gets back before the time I said I had to leave, I can just take my wallet and go.  Otherwise, I’ll have to leave anyway and just hang out for a while somewhere.  I can always come back and say the interview didn’t result in a case and let it go at that.”

Abby didn’t make it back in time so Nick just left the office and instructed John to tell Abby that he’d gone out on his interview.  Nick drove out of his parking lot and parked around the corner so that Abby wouldn’t see his car.  He came back around the corner on foot and just started window-shopping along the boulevard.  He passed a bar, a barber shop, a pizza place and ended up in front of an electronics store.  He stepped inside, and just started browsing in the gadgets isle.  Maybe he’d find something he could use on the job.  Such was not the case and he moved on to the television displays on the north wall.

All the TVs were tuned to the same station that was running an old black and white movie from the forties.  He noticed a woman in the movie holding a knife dripping with blood and the scene caught his attention.  At the woman’s feet lay a man with several stab wounds.  Then the woman began talking to the corpse on the floor.

“No, I didn’t mean it, dear.  I’m sorry; please don’t die.”  The woman was near tears as she stood over the man’s lifeless body.  “It was an accident, dear.  Oh, no, you’re bleeding.  Dear, please don’t…no, open your eyes, dear.  It was an accident, honest.  I don’t even know where this knife came from.”  The woman on the screen dropped theknife and fell to her knees.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nick said with a certain amount of relief.  “So that’s where she got that from.”  He laughed a nervous laugh and soon found himself on the verge of crying but he held back.  He looked around to make sure no one was in sight before he wiped his eyes and hurried out of the store.  He got Back into his car but instead of driving back into the Cahuenga Building parking lot, he drove straight home to be with Michelle.  When he got there, he hurried into the house and found Michelle in the bedroom, getting dressed.  He startled her when he came into the bedroom.

She held her hand over her heart and said, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?  What are you doing back here so soon?”

Nick didn’t answer, but instead wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight.  “I guess I just missed you,” he explained.  I left here this morning before I got the chance to tell you just how much I love you.”  He kissed her long and hard and released her.

“Maybe you’ll have to oversleep more often,” Michelle responded.

Nick took her by the hand and sat her on the sofa.  He explained about what he had heard her saying in her sleep and how it had disturbed him enough to sleep on the sofa for the rest of the night.

Michelle had to laugh by now.  “What did you think, that I would go bananas and run you through with a kitchen knife?”

“Not really, I guess,” Nick replied.  “But I…”

“I get it now,” Michelle said.  “I must have been remembering that old movie I watched a couple nights ago.  Didn’t you ever see that movie with Shirley Duncan and Bert Clover called Wake Up?  It’s a classic and it’s one that stays with you long after the movie is done.”

“You don’t say,” Nick replied.  “Well don’t be surprised one day to find padlocks on the knife drawers.”  He held a straight face for a few second and then broke into a warm smile and hugged her some more.

He could breathe easy again.