Cooper By The Gross (All 144 Cooper Stories In One Volume)

by Bill Bernico

  Lola stood again and I helped her out of the office and back to the car. I drove her back home again and waited until she’d gone inside and closed the door before I pulled away into traffic.

  It was almost midnight before I got back to my apartment and slipped out of my shoes. I loosened my tie, slipped out of my coat and flopped down in my easy chair, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. I don’t remember anything until six the next morning when I awoke with a stiff neck. I stepped out of my clothes, took a shower and pulled another suit from my closet. My cupboards were all but bare but the diner down the street never disappointed me when it came to breakfast.

  After I ate I drove back to Jack Walsh’s office downtown. I found him in his office with his morning cup of coffee. The door was ajar but I knocked just the same and peeked my head inside.

  Jack looked up from the morning paper and smiled. “Come in, Matt. Sit down and have a cup of coffee.”

  I waved him off. “No, thanks just the same. I just came from breakfast. I just wanted to stop in and see if I could get a picture of the crucifix you pulled out of Ralph Janick last night.”

  Jack plucked a large manila envelope from the corner of his desk and withdrew an eight by ten color photo of the sharpened crucifix found sticking out of Janick’s chest. He handed it to me.

  “Could I borrow this?” I said.

  “You can have it,” Jack said. “I have more.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said. I spied a pair of scissors on Jacks desk and pointed to them. “Mind if I use these?”

  “Go ahead,” Jack said, handing them to me handle first.

  I held the photo by the top edge and trimmed off the bottom portion that showed the sharpened, bloody end of the crucifix, leaving just the crossbar and handle with INRI etched across it.

  “What’d you do that for?” Jack asked.

  “I want to show this around but I don’t want anyone to know what it been made into. It might tip someone and I don’t want word getting out of the two murders.”

  I tucked the trimmed photo into my inside coat pocket, handed Jack back his scissors and headed for the door. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll let you know if this turns into anything.”

  Jack went back to his coffee and paper and I went back to my investigation. I had an idea that I wanted to follow up on and was eager to get started.

  I drove to the corner of LaCienega and Sunset and eased my car to the curb. Two doors from the corner I spotted a nondescript storefront with a sign advertising religious paraphernalia. This was as good a place as any to start. I entered the front door and a bell sounded above me. A curtain near the back of the store parted and an old gentleman emerged. He saw me and smiled.

  “Yes sir,” he said. “May I help you?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’m looking to purchase a crucifix. Maybe even several, I don’t know yet.”

  “Splendid,” the man said. “Step over here and let me show you what we have to offer.”

  He guided me to a counter with a glass top. Beneath the glass lay half a dozen examples of crucifixes, most of them small enough to hang around your neck on a chain.

  I looked up at the clerk. “I was thinking of a larger style. The kind I might hang on my wall at home. Do you have any that size?”

  The clerk nodded, turned around and withdrew four white cardboard boxes from the shelf. He laid all four on the counter and opened the lids. I looked at the four examples, thought for a moment and then plucked the photo from my coat pocket. I showed it to the clerk.

  “I saw this style somewhere and thought I might like one of these. Do you sell this model?”

  The man studied the photo and shook his head. “I’m sorry sir. This is not one that I handle. Perhaps I could show you…”

  “Thanks,” I said, cutting him off, “but I had my mind set on this one. A friend of mine has one like this and I just thought… Well, I’m sorry to have troubled you, sir.” I turned to leave when the old man spoke up.

  “You might want to try the place on Fairfax, between Sunset and Hollywood Boulevard. They have a wider selection.”

  “Thanks again,” I said, showing myself out the door and back to my car. The shop he mentioned was just five minutes from here and I wasted no time finding it. The storefront sported a crucifix maybe five feet tall and four feet across. It glistened in the morning sun. The front window had a display of bibles arranged in a cross formation. This place looked more promising.

  There was no bell overhead when I entered. But the clerk, who was already situated behind the counter, smiled when he saw me.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said. “How may I assist you this fine morning?”

  A little overboard I thought, but played along anyway. “Good morning to you as well,” I said. “I’m looking for a crucifix large enough to mount on my wall at home. What can you show me?”

  “Very good choice, sir. Follow me, if you will.”

  He led me to a display featuring perhaps a dozen different models, some with Jesus hanging from it, and some just plain. I pulled the photo out of my pocket and handed it to the clerk. “This is the kind I want.”

  The man studied the photo before handing it back to me. “That’s a popular model,” he said. “I had a dozen in stock two weeks ago and now I’m down to just two.”

  He reached up on a shelf and pulled down a fancy box and laid it on the counter. He removed the lid and pulled the crucifix out and handed it to me. I held it up next to the photo for comparison, decided it was the same model and handed the crucifix back to the clerk.

  “You say these are selling pretty well?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “How many people did you say bought this style?”

  “Just one other man,” the clerk said. “But he bought ten at one time.”

  “This man who bought the ten,” I said, “do you remember what he looked like?”

  The clerk thought for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  I fished my wallet out, flipped it open to my license and added, “Matt Cooper. I’m investigating a case that involved one of these crucifixes. Anything you can tell me about the guy who bought the ten will help us immensely. What do you remember?”

  “Always glad to cooperate with the police,” the clerk said nervously.

  I hadn’t mentioned that I was a private investigator and if he wanted to assume I was with the police, who was I to correct him?

  “So tell me what you remember about the customer,” I said.

  The clerk thought for a few seconds. “Let me see now. I remember it was a Thursday afternoon. I remember that because I was here alone. Thursday’s not our busiest day, you see. Anyway, he came in and asked to see what I had in crucifixes and I showed him several styles. When he saw this one he said he’d take ten. I thought that was odd, but then again they may have been meant as gifts so I sold him ten of that model.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like?” I said. “Anything unusual or memorable about the customer that you can recall?”

  “Like what?”

  “Any scars or distinguishing marks, for example. Did he walk with a limp? Was there anything unusual about his speech patterns or did he have an unusual hairstyle? Anything like that?”

  The clerk shook his head. “No, none of that, but would his name help you out at all?”

  I could have kicked myself. That should have been the first question out of my mouth. “You have his name?” I said.

  “I had him fill out the receipt,” the clerk said. “The end of the month isn’t for another six days, so it should still be in with this month’s receipts. Let me check.” He disappeared into a back room and a minute or two later emerged with a cigar box. He laid the box on the countertop and rifled through it until he came to the receipt for the ten crucifixes. “Here we are,” he said, handing me the receipt.

  I looked at the information the customer had filled out on the top portion of the receipt. On the line for the name he’d writer Harry Stern. On th
e next line he’d scrawled 3214 N. Fuller Avenue, Hollywood. He’d left the phone number line blank. I plucked the notebook from my lapel pocket and jotted the name and address down, handing the receipt back to the clerk.

  “Thank you, sir.” I said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  “Always glad to help the police whenever I can.”

  I smiled, swallowed hard and left the store. I hoped the clerk would never call downtown to see if his information had helped.

  Fuller Avenue was several blocks this side of LaBrea and I made it in just a few minutes. I turned north, scanning the houses for address numbers. The number sequence did not match up. There was no 3214 or anything even close. Another dead end. It was a safe bet that Harry Stern would turn out to be a phony name as well. But at least I knew something that I hadn’t known earlier. This killer still had eight more crucifixes and there were many more leaflet distributors than that left roaming Hollywood Boulevard. I had to get back to the boulevard and try to find out anything else I could from the bums passing out the Jesus literature.

  I decided to stop first at my office. I piloted my car into a space around the block and took the elevator to my floor. I stepped off the elevator and was heading down the hall when Dan Hollister came out of my office. He looked at me and stopped in his tracks.

  “There you are,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Oh, I didn’t know I was supposed to check in with you before I left the office.”

  “Go ahead,” Dan said. “Crack wise all you want. I just stopped in to see if you’d found out anything else after you talked to Mrs. Janick. She stopped in to see me this morning.”

  I tried to guide Dan toward my office, but he stopped and stared.

  “Where are you going?” Dan said.

  “I thought I’d check in at the office before heading out again. Do you mind?”

  “Actually, yes,” Dan said. “I do. I have something I think you should see.”

  “Can’t it wait?” I said.

  “No, it can’t.” Dan said. “I need you to come with me to Walsh’s office. There’s been another stabbing.”

  “Crucifix?”

  Dan nodded. My office could wait. I turned and left with Dan. Outside my building I started to turn left toward my car. Dan grabbed my arm.

  “Come on,” Dan said. “You can ride with me. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  “Okay by me,” I said. “I have a few things to tell you as well.”

  Dan pulled away from the curb and headed downtown. He turned to me. “You first. What’d you learn?”

  I pulled my notebook out, flipped to the last page and read Harry Stern’s name and address to Dan.

  “You know Fuller doesn’t go to the 3200 block, don’t you?” Dan said.

  “I do now,” I replied. “The name’s probably a phony, too.”

  “Where’d you get this information?” Dan said.

  “Uh uh, “ I said. “Your turn. What have you got?”

  Dan kept his eyes on the road as he talked. “Third victim had several of these in his pocket,” Dan said, handing me a leaflet I’d seen twice before. I handed it back.

  “Guy’s on a streak, isn’t he?” I said. “At least we know who he’s targeting and where to look for his next victim.”

  “There better not be another victim,” Dan said, “or the captain’ll have my badge.”

  “What I meant was, now you’ll have some idea of where to hold your stakeout to catch this guy before he stabs another soldier for the Jesus cause.”

  Dan pulled into a parking space downtown and the two of us took the stairs down to Jack Walsh’s office. Before we got to his office I could see that he was still standing next to the slab with the latest victim on it. Dan and I walked over to where he was making his examination.

  I nodded to Jack as I approached. “Jack,” I said. “What’s the latest?”

  Jack Walsh gestured down to the body on the slab. I could smell body odor along with the decay that was beginning to set in. The victim was still fully clothed and had apparently just arrived. The crucifix was still sticking out of his chest, right over his heart. I tried to hold my nose and look away, but the second I saw the victim’s face a bell rang in my head. His left eye was covered with a black eye patch. And that smell was unmistakable.

  “I know this guy,” I said.

  “Who is he?” Dan said.

  “Well, I don’t know him like that,” I insisted. “But I met him that first day on the boulevard. He was handing out that Jesus literature and I stopped him on the street. We exchanged a couple of sentences until I asked him where he got his fliers and who was in charge. Then he took off like a thief in the night. Didn’t see him again until now.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this to me yesterday, Cooper?” Dan said.

  “Nothing to tell,” I said. “There was no way I could know this would happen to him. Gees, three down and seven to go.”

  “What are you talking about, Cooper?” Dan said.

  “Huh?”

  Dan turned to me. “You said seven to go. What did you mean by that?”

  “Oh,” I said. “You asked earlier where I got the information I showed you on the way over here. Well, I traced the crucifixes to a store on Fairfax and the clerk showed me a receipt for ten of these. The name on the receipt was the one I showed you in the car. You know, the one with the phony address?”

  “And he bought ten of those?” Dan said, pointing to the crucifix in the victim’s chest.

  “Looks like it,” I said. “But we still don’t know who he is or where he is. So I’d guess that the stakeout idea is your best bet at this point.”

  Dan turned to Walsh. “Thanks, Jack. Let me know if anything strange turns up.”

  “You got it,” Jack said.

  “Let’s go,” Dan said, turning to me. “I’ll take you back to your office. You can fill me in on the details along the way.”

  As Dan drove back to Hollywood, I told him all I’d learned at the last religious supply house and how the killer had used a phony name and address.

  “You in a hurry to get back?” Dan said, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Whaddya got in mind?” I said.

  “How about we go back to that shop and see if the clerk remembers any more about the guy?”

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  “You lead the way,” Dan replied. “You’re the one who’s already been there. I don’t know where the place is.”

  I told Dan where to turn and in no time we found ourselves in front of the store on Fairfax. I followed Dan inside. The same clerk approached as Dan entered.

  “Gentlemen,” he said cordially. “How may I...” He spotted me. “Well, you’re back. Did my information pan out?”

  “‘Fraid not,” I said. “The address was nonexistent and the name was probably as phony. But it was worth a shot.” I gestured toward Dan. “This is Sergeant Dan Hollister,” I said. “Do you think we could go over the description of the customer who bought those ten crucifixes again?”

  Dan extended his right hand to the clerk as his left hand held up his shield and I.D. Card.

  “That looks different from the one your partner showed me,” he said, looking at Dan’s credentials.

  “Partner?” Dan said, looking back at me and then turning back to the clerk. “He’s not my partner. He’s not even a cop.”

  The clerk looked at me with something akin to disappointment. I just shook my head and held up one palm. “I’d didn’t say I was a cop.”

  “You didn’t say you weren’t, either,” the clerk said. “You let me believe you were. That’s the same as saying you were, isn’t it?”

  Dan waved the whole conversation off. “Can we get back to the description of your customer?”

  The clerk reluctantly took his eyes off me and looked at Dan. “Go ahead, ask.”

  Dan withdrew his notepad and pen and waited. “First let’s start with your name, sir.”

&n
bsp; The clerk straightened up visibly. “Oscar Green,” he said.

  “Mr. Green,” Dan began, “How tall would you say he was?”

  Green looked at Dan and then over at me. He pointed at me. “About that tall.”

  Dan turned to look at me. “About six feet tall. Okay, what about his weight. What would you say he weighed?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Green said. “Hundred and sixty, hundred and seventy. In there somewhere.”

  “Did you happen to notice what color hair and eyes he had?”

  “Hard to say,” Green said. “He was wearing a hat, but the little bit I could see sticking out of the sides was a kind of brown. Maybe a little gray mixed in.”

  “And that would make him about how old? Take a guess, Mr. Green.”

  Green thought for a moment and then offered, “I’d say maybe forty, forty-five. But that’s just a guess.”

  Dan wrote this information on his pad and looked up again. “And his eyes?”

  “I remember those,” Green said. “I always try to give eye contact when I’m selling. This guy’s eyes were brown. Brown and mean.”

  “Mean?” Dan said. “How’s that?”

  “Just mean,” Green said. “You know, how when you look in someone’s eyes and you can just tell there’s something going on behind them. That’s the way his looked. Kinda squinty.”

  “Squinty,” Dan said, writing the description down. “And what was he wearing, if you can remember?”

  Green thought again, trying to replay the interaction in his mind. Then he remembered. “Dark pants and a kind of a blue work shirt. You know, the kind you see on guys when they’re coming out of a factory or something. Like that. And he had sneakers on. I remember because they stood out against the dark pants legs. The guy made me a bit uneasy, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “Did you happen to see him when he left?” Dan said. “Did he walk away or drive a car? Did you happen to notice?”

  Green shook his head. “Sorry. After he left, I got a phone call and went into the back room. I just heard the front door close.”

  “You’ve been a big help, Mr. Green,” Dan said, closing his notebook and dropping it in his pocket. I’ll be in touch from time to time. If you remember any more about the man, please call me.” He handed Green a card with his office number on it and waved as he turned to go.