by Bill Bernico
I thought I’d take a ride down to the county garage and have a look at the rest of the fleet. The garage was located in the basement of the county building and I had to drive down a ramp to the underground parking area. There were rows of cars parked across the back wall, all the same color, make and model. They were Chevys and were probably the backbone of the fleet. I guessed that the Lincolns were reserved for upper level employees only. Across from the row of Chevys there were eight of nine small pickup trucks with brooms sticking up out of a holder near the cabs. No doubt these were maintenance vehicles. In the bed there were other utensils that could prove handy to the drivers of these vehicles.
One the end of the garage closest to the entrance there was an office with a large window looking out onto the parking area. I knocked on the door and let myself in. There was a man sitting at the desk and he was checking numbers on a clipboard. He had a silver ring of hair around his head with nothing on top but a few stray wisps. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Clyde Cummings. He finished running his finger down the license of numbers and then looked up at me.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m looking for Clyde.” I’d never met him, but I thought asking for the man by name tended to personalize the meeting.
“I’m Clyde,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”
I wasn’t sure that being honest with him at this point would get me anywhere so I lied a little. “My name’s Cooper and I’m looking into the accident with the Lincoln from last week. We’re holding up the claim until we can get a few more facts.”
Clyde seemed unimpressed. After all, these cars didn’t belong to him and this was just a job as far as he was concerned.
“All right,” he said. “What would you like to know?”
“I have the license number listed as LAC-202. Is that correct?”
Clyde checked his clipboard. “That’s right.”
“I have the car listed as a 1946 Lincoln sedan, black in color.”
“That right, too. Anything else?”
“I just need to verify the name of the driver, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Clyde looked puzzled. “Well, now that’s gonna be a problem.”
“How so?” I said.
“Well, it stands to reason that it would have been a county employee, but in this case, the car was taken from the garage without being signed out.”
“Is that normal procedure?” I asked.
“Not at all,” Clyde said. “It’s usually pretty strict around here but this one got out unnoticed somehow.”
“And did it get back in her unnoticed, too?”
“I’m afraid so. I came in one morning and there it was with the crumpled front end. No one had signed it out or in but there was a mileage difference on the odometer when I checked.”
“How many miles were unaccounted for?”
Clyde checked his notes. “Twelve and three tenths exactly. Whoever took it, sure didn’t go far. They must have also been familiar with the comings and goings in the garage area to have been able to get it out of here unnoticed.”
“And back in,” I added. “You’d think someone would have noticed damage like that when it came back.”
“Sometimes I get called away and the desk is left unattended, but that’s rare,” Clyde explained.
“Tell me, Mr. Cummings, on the day it ended up back here, were you called away from the desk for any reason?”
Clyde thought for a moment. “Why, yes, I was as a matter of fact. I got a call Friday morning from someone who said that one of our cars was over parked a block from here and was about to get towed. I hurried to the location and didn’t see any of out cars on the street. When I got back, the Lincoln was parked down on the other end. I didn’t notice it right away, but later on when I was walking down that way to check on another car, there it was.”
“Do you know who made the call to you earlier?” I said.
“They didn’t leave a name. Probably just wanted to get me away from the desk so they could sneak the Lincoln back in here.”
As we stood there talking, a Chevy sedan with county plates came in and stopped at the office. The driver dropped the keys off with Clyde and signed the car back in before leaving through another door that led into the county building.
Clyde picked up a microphone and pressed the button. “Pickup at the office.”
In a few moments a young man showed up at the office door. Clyde handed the kid a set of keys. “Put this one in space number thirteen.”
When the kid left with the keys, Clyde kept staring after him, shaking his head.
“What?” I said.
“Still can’t get used to that kid.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, look at him. He looks like he’s getting ready to go into the marines with that haircut. Almost down to the nub. And he even shaved off his mustache. I just can’t get used to the way he looks now after seeing him the other way for so long.”
“How’d he look before?” I said.
“Big shaggy head of hair. Now it’s so short you can’t even make out the color. Used to be like a carrot with all that red hair.”
“That kid had a full head of red hair and a mustache?” I said.
“Yup. And even then his hair was too long to be working here. But I couldn’t say anything because of his father.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“You know,” Clyde said, as if I should know. “His dad got him this job because he works in the building in the county commissioner’s office. Hell, I had a nephew who’d have been perfect for this job but daddy got his kid in here instead.”
“And what’s daddy’s name?” I said.
“Kohl, Andrew Kohl.”
“And the kid’s name?”
“Andrew Kohl, Jr. Why?”
“No reason, Mr. Cummings. I think I have what I need. Than you for your time.”
I showed myself out of the office and got back in my car. I still wasn’t sure Hollister could or would help me follow up on these new findings and I knew I’d better tread lightly around the suspect in this case. I pulled my car out of the parking garage and left it in a space at the curb. I walked back down into the parking garage through a walkway at the opposite end of the garage. I could see Kohl, Jr. parking the Chevy in slot number thirteen. I walked up to him while he was preoccupied with parking the car. He jumped back when he turned around and saw me standing there looking at him.
I held a palm up. “Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Andrew exhaled deeply. “I didn’t hear you sneaking up on me.”
I held my hand out. “My name’s Cooper. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“About what?”
“About Friday morning on Western Avenue with the black Lincoln.”
The kid looked back and forth, expecting to see who knows what. “What are you talking about?”
“You know damned well what I’m talking about, Andrew.” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You hit that guy on the sidewalk and drove away. There’s no need to deny it. I have witnesses you’ll place you at the scene. And I’m sure if we dust the car, we’ll find your prints.”
“Of course you’ll find my prints. I park these cars. My prints will be on all of them.”
“But it was you over on Western Avenue, wasn’t it?” I had him and he knew it.
Andrew squirmed. “I have to go now. I have work to do.”
“I’ll get back to you after I have a talk with your father upstairs,” I said, knowing I had no intention of doing that just yet. I was just looking for the kid’s reaction.
Andrew said nothing, but just turned and ran to the other end of the garage and through the door that led into the county building. I had a good idea of where he was going so I didn’t need to follow too closely. I opened that same door and took the elevator to the third floor. I stepped off the elevator and checked the directory for this floor. Andrew Kohl’s office was down the hall in room 312. I opened the door an
d stepped in to see a blonde receptionist sitting at the desk. I asked to see Mr. Kohl.
“Do you have an appointment?” she said.
“Tell him Mr. Cooper’s here to see him.” I told her. “He’ll see me, it’s about his son.”
The receptionist pressed the button on the intercom. “Excuse me, Mr. Kohl, there’s a Mr. Cooper here to see you.”
The intercom box squawked back. “Tell him to wait a minute, would you, Miss Albright?”
“Yes, sir,” she said and released the button, looking up at me. “Would you like to have a seat, Mr. Cooper?”
I sat on a chrome and leather chair just inside the door and waited. The minutes crept by in silence and a moment later the inner door opened and a man in a gray business suit emerged. He walked over to where I sat and extended his hand. “Mr. Cooper, I assume.”
I shook his hand. “Matt Cooper,” I said.
“Andrew Kohl,” the man said, pumping my hand. “How can I help you today?”
I gestured with my head toward his office. “It might be better if we spoke in private.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, leading me into his office and closing the door behind me and taking a seat behind his desk.
“Mr. Kohl,” I began, “I’m here to see you about your son.”
Kohl nodded. “Yes, I know. Andrew was just here and told me some fantastic story about how you accused him of something down in the garage. There must be some mistake, Mr. Cooper.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Kohl.”
“Mr. Cooper, perhaps you’re not aware of where you are and to whom you are speaking.”
“And what does who you are have to do with your son’s actions?”
He apparently wasn’t used to having anyone talk to him so candidly and it showed in his face.
“Andrew told me that someone had taken one of our cars from the garage without permission and that it was involved in some sort of accident, but he assured me he wasn’t involved. Just what makes you think Andrew had anything to do with this incident?”
“I have witnesses,” I said.
“Witnesses? What witnesses?” His voice was almost demanding.
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time,” I told him. “Andrew will have plenty of opportunity to confront his accusers at the trial. I’d suggest you secure yourself a good lawyer for him.”
Andrew Kohl stood, a stern expression covering his face. “You’re wasting my time, Mr. Cooper. Good day.”
“Ignoring this won’t make it go away,” I said. “A man died in that accident and that’s not something that even you can sweep under the rug, Mr. Kohl. And are you sure this is the example you want to se for your son? Teaching him that influence will get him out of a jam isn’t much of a lesson.
“Good day, Mr. Cooper,” Kohl repeated, walking to the door, opening it and waiting to make sure I left. The door closed behind me and I could hear him dialing the phone immediately.
I nodded at the receptionist as I left. I found the elevator again and rode it to the basement. I waved at Clyde through the office window and exited to the street. My car was still where I’d parked it, but the time on the meter had run out and I found a ticket on the windshield. I plucked it off, tossed it on the seat next to me and drove back to my office.
When I got there Sharon Bembenek was waiting for me in my outer office. I unlocked the door and she followed me inside. I hadn’t even had time to slip out of my coat when the questions started.
“What did you find out? Did you find the car? Did you talk to anyone about it? What happened?”
“Whoa, one at a time,” I said. “Yes, I’m feeling fine, thanks for asking.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I’ve just been so anxious to get this whole thing settled and put it behind me.”
“To answer your questions, yes, I did make some progress. I found the car and I think I know who was driving it, but the situation’s a bit tricky.”
“What’s tricky about puttin’ that idiot in jail? If you know who it is, can’t you just tell the police and let them arrest him?”
“I could, but...”
“But nothing,” Sharon said in an uncharacteristic voice. “What’s stopping you?”
“You don’t understand, Sharon,” I started to say.
“I understand you’re trying to sweep this whole incident under the rug. Who got to you, Mr. Cooper?”
“No hold on just a minute there, Missy,” I said, getting my back up. “I want to see this guy face his consequences as much as you do.”
She settled back into the client’s chair and sighed.
“I’m taking this slowly a step at a time so that he doesn’t slip through the cracks,” I explained. “I just need you to be patient for a while longer. Can you do that for me?”
Down the hall I could hear a commotion. I stepped out of the office and peeked out the outer office door to see what was happening. It was just a janitor with a mop bucket that had spilled and the janitor was voicing his frustration at the mop. When I stepped back into the office I saw Sharon standing there behind my desk, looking over my notes. She flushed when she looked up and realized that I’d caught her snooping.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Andrew Kohl, Jr.” She said throwing my notes back onto my desk. “So that’s the guy who ran Scott down and you won’t do anything about it.”
“I told you already, we have to take it slow and easy or he could walk. You have to trust me on this. We’ll get him, but we have to do it legally.”
Sharon seemed to calm down somewhat but she didn’t want to sit. She paced nervously before heading for my door. She looked back briefly. “I’ll give you until Wednesday to bring him in or you’re off the case.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but just left in a huff.
Great, now all I had to do was bypass Hollister, piss off the commissioner’s office and manage to hang on to my P.I. license. But I had no idea where to turn next and time was running out. I wondered if my connection at the Los Angeles Times would be interested in my dilemma.
I drove downtown and parked in the Times parking lot. My contact at The Times was a woman named Anita Clark. She was a general assignment reporter whose byline I’d seen a lot of lately. She’d been covering the upcoming mayoral campaign and I guessed she might find my predicament interesting. I found her at her desk on the fifth floor. She looked up as I approached and for reasons known only to her, she smiled broadly and stood.
“Matthew Cooper,” she said enthusiastically. “What a sight for sore eyes. Whatever brings you here?”
As I was walking up to her desk I noticed that she was just slipping into a jacket and had gathered her purse off the desk. I gestured with both palms up. “Did I catch you on your way out?”
She shrugged it off. “It can wait a few minutes, unless you’d like to walk with me.”
“I’d like that,” I said and followed her out of the office to the elevator. We both got on and rode it down to the lobby. “So where are you off to today?”
“I have an interview with the incumbent mayor this afternoon,” she said casually. “And you?”
“Actually,” I said, “I came to see you about a problem I’m having.”
“I can’t imagine you with a problem,” Anita said, hooking her arm around mine and walking me out to the street. “You want to ride with me in the cab downtown?”
“I’ll do you one better,” I said. “I’ll drive you there myself.”
“That would be nice, Matt. I don’t get to see enough of you as it is.”
“And, I’ll drive you back when you’ve finished your interview.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Where are you parked?”
“In the lot,” I said, steering her that way.
I opened her door and she slid in. I went around and slid in next to her and backed out of my space. We headed to the mayor’s office.
A block or so from the parking lot she said, “So, what’s this probl
em you feel you have to tell me about?”
“Well,” I said, “It’s not so much of a problem as it is a stumbling block to the investigation I’m working on now. I think I have it all solved and organized but I’m not sure I’ll be able to proceed.” I told her what I’d uncovered without telling her who was involved. I also told her about the reactions I’d gotten from the principle players. She listened intently as I described in detail how I’d come to the proverbial brick wall.
“Matt, if I were in your position, I’d first get written depositions from the witnesses you talked to. And you’ll want to get them notarized. You know, dot all your i’s and cross all your t’s. You don’t want any of those people changing their minds when they get to court.”
I nodded. “I’d planned on revisiting those folks this afternoon. But what I was wondering was, if I still come up against resistance or if the higher ups tell me to drop it, would you be interested in doing and expose’ on the whole matter?”
Anita turned to me. “It is an interesting problem, Matt. And it’s the kind of thing I’d normally jump at, but with the election just three weeks away, I have my hands pretty full covering this election. If you could wait until after the election I could devote myself fully to it. But for now, I’m afraid I’d be spreading myself too thin to do either project justice. Sorry, Matt.”
“Don’t be, Anita,” I said, patting her arm. “I’ll work something out. And if I can’t work it out my way, I promise you’ll get the exclusive.”
“Don’t worry, Matt,” they’re not going anywhere. They have roots in the community and from what you tell me, it sounds like they’re confident that they can sweep this whole fiasco under the rug.”
“You know,” I said, “That’s about the third time I’ve heard that phrase in as many days.”
“What phrase is that?”
“Sweep it under the rug.”
“And isn’t it ironic,” Anita said, that the mayor’s opposition is using ‘Clean Sweep’ as his campaign slogan?”
