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

by Bill Bernico

  “Or both,” Clay offered. “What if there’s a connection between the two?”

  “There’s that possibility,” I said. “I’m going to leave my car here in the hospital lot and we can drive back to the precinct and poke around. Let’s see what we can find out about this Officer Granger.”

  “And Sergeant Hilliard?” Clay said.

  “For now, let’s concentrate on Granger,” I said. “We can work our way up the chain of command if he doesn’t pan out. Let’s go.”

  Clay pulled the car down into gear and we left the parking lot for the precinct. Along the way my stomach rumbled. It must have been loud enough for Clay to notice.

  “Was that you?” Clay said.

  I held my hand over my stomach. “I guess so,” I said. “It’s been so hectic this morning that I forgot all about lunch.”

  “Wanna stop somewhere?” Clay said.

  “I think we’d better,” I said. “How about some fast food that we can eat on the way?”

  Clay winced and said, “Then you’d just be trading your rumbling stomach for a gut bomb. How about the diner?”

  I agreed and Clay drove a few more blocks and then pulled up to the curb in front of the diner. We took a booth by the window and grabbed a couple of menus. A waitress left a couple of glasses of water with us and stood poised with her pencil. I felt rushed and just picked the first thing I saw, pointing at it while she jotted it down. She turned to Clay and he just held up two fingers. She added our order to her pad and left silently.

  Clay broke the silence. “You’ve been at this a long time,” he said. “What would make a cop go bad?”

  “If that’s what happened in this case,” I said. “We don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”

  “No,” Clay said. “I’m just speaking in generalities. What makes a man risk his career and possibly even jail time to go bad on the job?”

  “Sometimes it’s the lure of money or power,” I said, “and sometimes it’s being pressured by outside forces to do things he wouldn’t normally do. But like I’ve maintained all along, if he’s got nothing to hide in his background, no one can get to him.”

  “But they screen academy cadets, don’t they?” Clay said.

  “What happened to speaking in generalities?” I said. “Sounds like you have Granger in mind.”

  “Just as an example,” Clay said. “Could be anybody.”

  “Well,” I said, “they do screen the applicants, but it’s not a foolproof system. Some bad apples are bound to slip between the cracks, but they’re generally sifted out before their probation period is over. They either screw up or let their partner down or just can’t cut it and drop out themselves.”

  The waitress returned with our meals and we finished them without further discussion, generalities or otherwise. Back in the car Clay still had questions that needed answers.

  “So where do you start?” he said. “You can’t just walk up to Granger and ask if he’s a bad cop.”

  “We start with those people around him,” I said. “Question his co-workers, friends, relatives and former employers, not necessarily in that order. We’ll save his present co-workers for last in case one of them feels the need to say something to Granger about our inquiries.”

  “So if they’re last on our list, why are we driving to the precinct?” Clay said.

  “See,” I said. “You’re learning already. I have a contact in records who can tell me more about Granger than he probably knows himself. Watch and learn.”

  Clay pulled into the precinct parking lot and we walked in through the back door and straight up to records. I found my contact, Eva Bishop sitting behind her desk typing away on some index cards. She smiled when she saw me.

  “Matthew Cooper,” she said. “As I live and breathe.”

  “Hello Eva,” I said. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  Her smile dropped off her face. “And just what did you want from me?” she said.

  “I’m hurt,” I said. “I drive all the way over here to introduce you to my son and you think I want something from you. Shame on you.”

  Eva glanced at Clay. “This is your son?” she said. “He’s handsome. You never told me you adopted a boy.” She gave me a sly smile and winked.

  “Eva Bishop, this is my son, Clay,” I said, gesturing toward Clay. “Clay, this is my old friend, Eva Bishop”

  They shook hands and Clay nodded shyly.

  “Clay’s just joined me in my business and I thought I’d take him around and introduce him to my contacts,” I said. “A guy can never have enough contacts, now can he?”

  “I guess not,” Eva said. She looked up and down the length of Clay’s body and added, “Seriously, Matt, I can see a lot of you in his eyes.” When all the pleasantries were out of the way Eva looked me in the eye and said, “So what is it you need me to look up for you this time?”

  I turned to Clay. “Lesson one, never try to pull anything over on Eva,” I said. “She can see right through you.”

  Clay made a gesture like he was writing in an imaginary notebook and mumbled, “Never pull one over on Eva,” and then closed the invisible notebook and tucked it in his pocket. He smiled at Eva.

  “Okay,” I agreed, “So I need something. Can you get me any background on a new recruit named Granger, Officer Robert Granger?”

  Eva’s looked turned serious. “What’s this all about, Matt?” she said.

  I shook my head. “I wish I could tell you more,” I said, “but at this point it’s all just a hunch and I don’t want to point any fingers until I have more to go on. Okay?”

  She gave me a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye.

  “I’m working with Captain Hollister,” I said. “He’s given me the go ahead.”

  Eva nodded. “Okay. Give me a minute,” she said.

  Eva disappeared into a back room and was gone a few minutes. When she returned she had a three by five index card with a few handwritten notes that she’d copied from the original card. She had it folded twice and palmed it. Before we said our goodbyes and left, she shook my hand and transferred the folded note to my hand.

  “Thanks, Eva,” I said.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Eva said to me and then turned to Clay. “It was nice to meet you, Clay. Take care of your father now.”

  “I will,” Clay assured her. “It was nice to meet you, too, Eva.”

  I waited until we were out of the records room before I pulled Clay aside in the hall and opened the note. All it had on it was Granger’s home address, phone number, previous employer and a reference from some guy named Martin Clement. I showed the note to Clay. “Suppose we start with Mr. Clement,” I said.

  We found Martin Clement at a place called The Ornery Rabbit, a bar on Sepulveda Boulevard. We walked in and stood just inside the door, letting our eyes adjust to the dark surroundings. Across the room I could make out a man in a white apron clearing glasses from a table. He carried them back to the bar and began washing them. I leaned on the bar.

  “I’m looking for Martin Clement,” I said.

  Without looking up the bartender said, “You found him.”

  “Mr. Clement,” I said, “my name is Matt Cooper and this is my son, Clay. We’re private investigators doing a background check on Robert Granger and he listed you as a reference.”

  “Bobby?” Clement said. “Sure, what do you want to know?”

  “How do you know Mr. Granger?” Clay said.

  “Bobby used to work for me while he was still in high school,” Clement said. “You know, odd jobs, errands, and whatever I could find for him.” Clement continued washing glasses as he talked.

  “How long did he work for you?” I asked.

  Clement thought a moment. “Let’s see, that would have been summer of ‘65 until the fall of ‘66 when he graduated from high school,” he said. “He left for college that September.”

  “Did you know him before he worked here?” I said.

  “Nope,” Clem
ent said.

  Clay stepped in and said, “Then how’d you come to hire him?”

  Clement set the last clean glass on the rinse tray and looked up. “I knew his cousin, Pat,” he said. “Pat told me Bobby was looking for a job for the summer and for after school. I’ve known Pat for years so I didn’t question his recommendation.”

  “And can I get Pat’s last name, please,” I said.

  “Cleary,” the bartender said. “Patrick Cleary.”

  Clay and I exchanged glances. I looked back at Clement and asked, “Would you happen to know where I could find Mr. Cleary?”

  “Sure, that’s easy,” Clement said pointing at the ceiling.

  “He’s dead?” Clay said.

  “No, he lives right upstairs from the bar,” Clement said.

  Thank you, Mr. Clement,” I said. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Bobby’s not in any trouble, is he?” Clement said.

  “Just a routine background check,” I assured him.

  “‘Cause you know he’s a cop now, right?” Clement said.

  “Yes, we know,” Clay said. “Thanks again.”

  Clay and I left the bar and paused on the sidewalk. I looked at Clay. “That’s no coincidence,” I said. “There has to be some connection to the Cleary that Benedetto killed.”

  “Allegedly killed,” Clay said.

  “Okay, allegedly,” I said, “but if there is a connection you can bet it’s Granger.”

  “Suppose we go talk to Mr. Granger,” Clay said, heading for the car.

  I slid in the passenger’s side and Clay drove back toward the precinct. “It’s probably not a good idea to just approach Granger with questions,” I said. “Probably better if we go around it from the outside. Let’s see what Dan has to say about it.”

  The hospital was just a few minutes away and in no time Clay and I found ourselves at Dan’s bedside again. He was sitting up in bed, eating his lunch. His left arm hung in a sling and I could see he was having a bit of trouble trying to eat with just one hand. Trying to keep the Jell-O on the spoon in his right hand was a comical sight. It kept falling onto his bed.

  “You want some help with that?” I said.

  “No, I can do it,” Dan said, scooping up the Jell-O with the spoon. Just gonna take a little practice.” On the third try he got it up to his mouth but it fell off the spoon again at the last second. “Damn,” Dan said, throwing the spoon across the room. He saw the smirk on my face and didn’t like it one bit.

  “Sorry, Dan,” I said, “But you’re just so much fun to watch.”

  “You didn’t come here to watch me eat my Jell-O,” Dan said.

  “And from what I could see, you weren’t,” I said.

  “Come on, Matt, what is it?” Dan said, growing impatient.

  “It’s Officer Granger,” I said. “Clay and I dug up something interesting and thought we’d run it by you before we take it to the next level.”

  Clay stepped up to the bed. “Captain,” he said, “dad and I did a little background check on Officer Granger and as it turns out, he used to work at a bar called the Ornery Rabbit. The owner told us that he hired Granger while he was still in high school back in ‘67.”

  “What’s this got to do with Benedetto’s death?” Dan said.

  “We’re getting to that,” I said. “Granger got the job on the strength of a recommendation from one of the bar owner’s friends, a guy named Patrick Cleary. Does the name ring a bell?”

  Dan’s eyes shifted from me to Clay and back to me. “Cleary,” he said. “Benedetto’s victim’s name was a guy named Cleary. Any connection?”

  “Patrick Cleary is Timothy Cleary’s brother,” Clay offered. “And Robert Granger is a cousin to the Cleary brothers.”

  Now we had Dan’s full attention. “Interesting,” he said. “You thinking that Granger was the shooter outside the elevator?”

  “It’s starting to look like it,” I said. “We need some answers at the precinct, but I doubt anyone will give us what we need.”

  Dan pointed to the phone and crooked his finger. I handed it to him. “But they’ll give it to me,” Dan said, dialing the phone.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I told Dan.

  Dan dialed the precinct and got his personal secretary on the line. “Hannah, listen,” he told her. “Matt and Clay Cooper will be stopping over there shortly. Give them whatever they ask for, understand? Yes, that’s right. No, I’ll be out of here by then. All right. And Hannah, not a word of any of this leaves my office. Thank you. Goodbye.”

  Dan hung up the phone and turned to me. “Go on,” Hollister said. “Hannah will help you get what you need. And she knows not to share any of this with anyone else.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” I said. “I hope we’re wrong about Granger.”

  “Well, if you aren’t, don’t take any chances,” he said. “A bad cop is just as dangerous as any hoodlum.” Dan flicked his hand toward the door as if he was shooing away flies. “Go on, go teach him how it’s done.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “I was talking to Clay,” Dan said.

  Clay and I left Dan to tackle his Jell-O demons and hurried back to the precinct.

  Hannah greeted us outside Dan’s office and motioned us inside, closing the door behind her. “Captain Hollister told me to give you whatever you need,” she said. “What do you need first?”

  I pointed to the chair behind Dan’s desk. “Okay if I use Dan’s chair?” I said.

  “Sure,” Hannah said, pulling up a second chair for Clay.

  “Okay,” I said. “First, can you bring me Officer Granger’s personnel file? Second I’d like to see his service record and anything else pertaining to him.”

  Hannah turned around and pulled Granger’s service record from one of Dan’s filing cabinets and laid it in front of me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “His personnel record is somewhere else.”

  “We’ll start in on this,” I told her. “Thanks.”

  Hannah left in search of more paperwork while Clay and I poured over the contents of Granger’s service folder. He’d graduated college five month ago and had spent the next three months at the police academy. His marksman scores were in the upper five percent of his class. He knew his way around a gun. His attendance record was spotless; never missed a day since he’d started here two months ago. No mention of any sort of discipline problems, either.

  “Not much here that makes him look bad,” Clay said. “Do you suppose anyone, including Granger, would have the patience and tenacity to get into the department just to be able to have a chance at buttoning Benedetto?”

  “Buttoning?” I said. “What, have you been watching those Raymond Chandler movies again?”

  “Buttoning,” Clay repeated. “It’s a perfectly legitimate word used to describe the act of shooting someone, isn’t it?”

  “It was,” I said, “thirty years ago. Kinda went out of style with spats.”

  “I stand corrected,” Clay said, somewhat annoyed with me. “Do you suppose Granger went through all of this just so he could waste Benedetto?”

  “Again with the vernacular,” I said. “Now where’d you pick that one up?”

  “Kill, shoot, gun down,” Clay said. “Any of those work for you?”

  “Let’s move on,” I suggested. “Yes, it is possible. Highly irregular, put possible.”

  “What’s irregular?” Clay said.

  “Think about it,” I said. “You want to waste Benedetto for buttoning your cousin.”

  Clay looked sideways at me but said nothing.

  “Would you spend five months preparing to get into the inner circle,” I said. “Or would you just walk up to him on the street and start blasting?”

  Clay shook his head. “Sounds easier than it really is,” he said. Benedetto had his bodyguards when he went out, but he almost never went out. He holed up in that fortress of his. No, you’d probably want to be able to get close to him without being suspe
cted of anything. What better way than to become a cop and get front row access?”

  I shrugged and said, “And what better way to slip away undetected than to dump your disguise and walk away in a uniform?”

  “The disguise,” Clay said, snapping his fingers. “Do you think it might still be stashed somewhere in the courthouse?”

  I made myself a note to check out the possibility of a stashed disguise. Just then the office door opened and Hannah came in with another folder. She laid it on the desk in front of me and stepped back.

  “Anything?” she said.

  “Just hunches so far,” Clay said. “Let’s see what we can find in here.” He picked up Granger’s personnel file and began thumbing through it. When he got to the approximate middle of the file he handed me half of the papers and we each started going through them.

  I leafed through a few papers and stopped when I got to his personal information. I read aloud as I scanned the documents. “Born August 4, 1949 in San Francisco. Family moved to Los Angeles in ‘53. He attended grade school and high school here. No military service. No jobs before the Ornery Rabbit job. Held some odd part-time jobs during college. For closest relative he has someone named Orville Granger listed.”

  “That would be his father,” Hannah offered. “His mother died when he was just a kid.”

  I looked at Hannah and frowned.

  “Well,” she said, “I glanced through the folder on my way down here. Thought I could help.”

  “Is there any mention of Orville having any siblings?” Clay said.

  Hannah shrugged. “I didn’t have that much time to look at the folder.”

  Clay and I both paged through the documents, looking for the answer. “Here,” I said, pulling one document from the rest. “Orville Granger had one sister, Ethel, living in L.A.”

  “She married?” Clay asked.

  I found the information and looked up at Clay. “Ethel Granger married Dennis Cleary and they had two sons, Patrick and Timothy.”

  “Bingo,” Clay said. “That’s our connection. Timothy Cleary was Robert Granger’s first cousin and Benedetto killed Cleary. Granger bided his time with the academy and the police force and just waited for his chance and when he found out about Benedetto coming to the courthouse, he jumped at the chance to even the score. Now do we have enough to confront Granger?”