by Bill Bernico
“He didn’t do it,” I said. “He has the perfect alibi. He was dead at the time. Now that’s a rock solid alibi if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Have you been into the smart ass pills again?” Clay said. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Go ahead.”
Clay explained what he’d found and how it all connected to Cagney. When he’d finished his explanation, he sat on the edge of Gloria’s desk and waited for their reactions.
“It looks like you’re not the only old movie buff,” Gloria said. “How does it feel to have that in common with a serial killer?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “If the Rooftop Sniper has a definite connection to the other six victims, then who killed Watson?”
“If I had to put money on it,” Clay said, “I’d have to say Watson’s neighbor, Louis Ahern is looking pretty good for it.”
“How’s that?” I said.
“I just came from there,” Clay said. “He wasn’t home and that gave me a chance to talk to Mrs. Ahern. She didn’t tell the same story that Mr. Ahern told the police shortly after Watson’s murder. She told me they were a quiet couple, and he told me that they fought a lot. One of ‘em’s lying and I don’t know why.”
“If it’s him,” I said, “what does he have to gain by lying?”
“I don’t know that it is him,” Clay said. “He could be right and she could be lying. Again, I have no idea what either of them stands to gain by lying.”
“Well how are we going to find this Rooftop Sniper?” I said.
“We’re not,” Clay said. “That’s a problem for the police. Now that we know Watson wasn’t one of his victims, we can concentrate on finding Watson’s killer. That’s what Olivia Watson is paying us for.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “I guess I got caught up in the whole sniper thing there for a minute.”
“So what’s our next step?” Gloria said.
“I think it might be wise to keep a close watch on Louis Ahern,” Clay said. “Something’s not right there and I want to know what that something is. How’d you like to put on one of your famous disguises and tail him for a day or two?”
“You bet,” Gloria said. “See, I knew this would turn into a juicy case.”
“Juicy?” I said. “What’s juicy about tailing a guy?”
“In disguise,” Gloria reminded me. “It’s almost like having an acting job. I can be someone other than myself. It could actually be fun, I suppose.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said. “You let your guard down or you could get hurt.”
Gloria clasped her hands together, laid them aside her cheek and gave me her best Scarlett O’Hara impression. “Oh Elliott,” she said in an exaggerated Southern drawl, “I didn’t know you cared.”
I signed and shook my head. Dad laughed and Gloria joined him.
“Go on,” I said. “Go do whatever it is you have to do to turn into someone else. Dad and I are going to check another angle. I pointed with my chin toward the door and walked out of the office, with Dad and Gloria following close behind.
All three of us stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. We exited to the street and began walking east on Hollywood Boulevard. Just before we got to the corner Dad pulled his keys out of his pants pocket and a quarter fell out onto the sidewalk. Dad bent to pick it up and a piece of a brick from the building behind us shattered with the crack of a rifle. The slug ricocheted off the sidewalk and zinged off down the street.
The three of us immediately ducked around the corner and plastered ourselves up against the east side of the building, our guns now drawn. I tried to peek around the corner, but another slug ripped another brick to shreds just inches from my head.
“It’s coming from the rooftop across the street,” Clay said.
“I’m on it,” I said. “I’ll circle around the back and try to come up on him from behind. Don’t take any chances.”
Gloria pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed Dean Hollister’s number.
“Hollister,” Dean said.
“Dean,” Gloria said, panic in her voice. “We’re under fire from a sniper on the roof across from our office building. Elliott’s gone around the back to try to sneak up on him from behind. Better get some of your men over here ASAP.”
“Stay under cover,” Dean said. “We’re on our way.”
I entered the building again from the east door and followed the corridors all the way over to the west side of the building, exiting to a dead-end alley that opened onto Hollywood Boulevard. I looked up at the roof of the building across the street, held my breath and made a dash for cover across the street. I paused in the doorway to catch my breath and then sprinted across the lobby to the elevator. I took it to the fifth floor and then found the stairs to the roof. I eased the roof door opened and peered through the crack. I couldn’t see anyone from that vantage point.
I opened the door further and stepped out onto the roof. Around the corner from where the roof door opened, I could see the figure of a man leaning over the edge of the roof ledge. He had a rifle nestled up against his shoulder and was looking through the scope at a downward angle.
I sneaked up closer and yelled, “Drop it,” aiming my .38 at the man’s back.
The man spun around, his rifle in front of him. He raised it to his cheek but before he could pull the trigger, I put two in his head and the impact of my slugs sent the man stumbling backwards toward the ledge. He dropped the rifle on the roof, but his body continued tumbling backwards. He flipped back once, his feet coming up over his head and he disappeared over the ledge of the roof. Even from where I stood, I could hear the sickening thud as his body hit the pavement fifty feet below. I could also hear women screaming from the street.
I hurried to the edge of the roof and looked down. Dad and Gloria were running across the street, toward the fallen man. A black and white cruiser had just pulled up and had stopped in the street. Dad looked up and waved at me. I waved back and then hurried back to the roof door and then back down to the street.
Dean Hollister was waiting when I emerged to the street level again. He had his hand out, palm up and I knew what that meant. I pulled my .38 from its holster and laid it in his palm.
“I’ll get this back to you after ballistics is finished with the preliminary investigation,” Dean said.
I looked at the body lying on the sidewalk, face down. “Who is he?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “We just got here ourselves. Andy Reynolds will be here in a few minutes. We’ll find out then. Meanwhile, we have to leave him just like he is for now.”
Gloria ran over and threw her arms around my neck and held on tight. “Elliott,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Sure, I’m in a lot better shape than he is,” I said, pointing with my chin to the man on the sidewalk. “How’s Dad?”
“Dad’s fine,” Clay said, stepping up to where Dean and I had met.
Gloria released her grip on my neck and stood back, trying to regain some of her composure.
“I didn’t know you cared,” I told Gloria. I straightened my jacket out and brushed off my pants legs. Gloria cleared her throat and stepped back one more step.
A few minutes later Andy Reynolds, the county medical examiner, pulled up behind the black and white and hurried over to where Dean stood watching over the scene. By now several other patrol cars had converged on the scene and officers immediately took up their positions around the scene, keeping the gawkers back.
Andy looked down at the body, a large pool of blood now forming around the dead man’s head. Andy looked at his watch, noted the time on his clipboard and went through the motions of pressing two fingers into the man’s neck. No surprise there when he didn’t find a pulse.
A police photographer circled the body, taking shots from every angle before he nodded to Dean.
“All right,” Dean said. “Turn him over. Let’s see who this is, or was.”
Andy grabbed the dead man’s arm and turned the body over onto its back. Clay’s eyes got wide when he recognized Louis Ahern staring back at him.
“Know him?” Dean said.
“That’s Louis Ahern,” Clay said. “I’d just talked to him not more than an hour ago.”
A patrolman emerged from the building holding a rifle by the strap. He handed it to Dean. “Found this on the roof,” he said, pointing up.
Dean twisted the strap, looked the rifle over and said, “It’s a .30-30 Winchester.” Dean gave Clay a knowing look before handing the rifle back to the patrolman. “Get this over to ballistics right away,” Dean told the patrolman. “Make sure no one, including yourself, touches the rifle itself.”
“Yes, sir,” the patrolman said, laying the rifle on the back seat of the black and white cruiser. He drove away and another cruiser took its place in the street.
Clay pulled Dean aside from the crowd. “Someone’s going to have to tell Mrs. Ahern that her husband is dead,” he said. “How about if I go with you?”
“You’re volunteering to tell a wife that her husband is dead?” Dean said. “Normally no one wants that duty. Why are you so eager to tell her?”
“I’m not really eager,” Clay said. “But I had a hunch that she knew more than she was telling me when I was there. She might open up if her husband isn’t there hovering over her. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
Dean agreed and Clay stepped over to where Gloria and I were talking.
“Elliott,” Dad said. “Dean and I are going over to see Mrs. Ahern. I may not see you two anymore today, so let’s meet tomorrow morning back in the office.”
On the way over to the Ahern house, Clay turned to Dean and said, “How about if we don’t tell her right away that Louis is dead?” he said.
“What?” Dean said. “Why?”
“Because without Louis around she may open up to us,” Clay said. “After we tell her about him, she may not be able to talk to us.”
“Good idea,” Dean said. “You can just try to pick up the conversation where you left off. I’ll stay out of it until we have what we need.”
Dean parked in front of the Ahern house and two of them stepped up onto the porch. Clay rang the bell and the two men waited. Mrs. Ahern answered the door and invited them inside.
“Mrs. Ahern,” Clay said, “this is Lieutenant Dean Hollister of the L.A.P.D. Would you mind if we both talked to you just a little bit more about the Watsons?”
The woman looked puzzled. “Louis isn’t home. What more can I tell you?” she said.
They all sat in the living room and Clay began the conversation. “Mrs. Ahern,” he said. “Had your husband shown any signs of strange behavior lately?”
“What do you mean by strange behavior?” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Clay said. “Maybe talking too much about the Watsons or about Olivia Watson in particular?”
Mrs. Ahern shifter her gaze between Clay and Dean, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Why would you ask such a question?” she said.
“No particular reason,” Clay said. “Think back. Did he mention Olivia Watson more often than you might have thought necessary?”
“Now that you mention it,” she said, “I thought it was a little strange that he’d talk about her and not about Mr. Watson. Louis would bring her up at the most inopportune times for no reason at all. As a matter of fact, he mentioned her just yesterday again.”
“Can you remember what he said?” Clay asked.
“Louis said that we wondered how Olivia was getting along without a husband now that Mr. Watson was dead,” she said. “He never cared about either of them before.”
Dean spoke up. “Mrs. Ahern, does Louis have a home office or a den in this house?”
Mrs. Ahern looked at me and then at Dean. She nodded and rose from her chair. “He has an office in the basement,” she said, gesturing toward the basement door.
“May we see it?” Dean said.
“Louis might not like it,” she said. “He’s very private and protective about his office. He doesn’t even like me to come in sometimes.”
“It’s important, Mrs. Ahern,” Dean said. “Can we have a look?”
She wrung her hands, hesitated for a moment and then said, “Just a quick look. Louis may be home any minute. I don’t want him to find us in there.”
She led us down the basement steps and over to a door with a hasp and a padlock on it.
“Does he always keep it locked?” Dean said.
“Yes,” she said, “but I know where he keeps the key. He doesn’t know I know, so don’t tell him.”
“We won’t,” Clay said. “And we won’t make a mess. We just want to have a quick look.”
Mrs. Ahern lifted a lamp from a small table outside Louis’s office and found a small, brass key under it. She unlocked the padlock and lifted it off. She stepped aside while Dean and Clay entered the office and flipped on the light switch. Mrs. Ahern followed close behind. She gasped when she saw all the photos of Olivia Watson taped to the walls of her husband’s office.
Behind the desk on the wall were at least three dozen photos of Olivia Watson, all in candid shots. It was obvious that she didn’t know she was being photographed. Some of the shots were a little grainy and looked as though they’d been taken with a telephoto lens. The wall to the left of the desk had just as many photos, all candid shots of Olivia Watson.
Clay reached over and pressed the Enter key on the laptop computer that sat on top of the desk. The screen came alive and there was another picture of Olivia Watson in the nude. Mrs. Ahern made a small squeaking noise and placed one hand over her mouth.
“Looks like he’s taken this obsession to the extreme,” Dean said, glancing at the photo.
Clay leaned in for a closer look. “That’s not Olivia Watson,” he said. “Oh, the head is hers, but it’s been edited onto an existing nude body of some other woman. This isn’t a very good editing job. I can still see the different skin tones between the shoulders of the body shot and Olivia Watson’s neck.”
“But why would Louis have all these pictures of Mrs. Watson?” Mrs. Ahern said.
“Because he was infatuated with her,” Clay said. “And that’s why he killed Mr. Watson.”
Mrs. Ahern’s eyes got narrow. “What are you saying?” she said. “Are you accusing Louis of killing Mr. Watson?”
“It’s beginning to look like it,” Dean said. “And when Clay here came over earlier asking questions of both of you, Mr. Ahern began to get uncomfortable with it all. He was afraid we’d find out that he had killed Mr. Watson.”
“And that’s another part of why we came to see you, Mrs. Ahern,” Clay said.
Mrs. Ahern sat on a chair next to the desk and sighed. She dropped her head and waited.
“Mrs. Ahern,” Dean said. “There was a shooting tonight in Hollywood. Your husband Louis was shooting at Clay from a rooftop. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Louis was shot in the exchange.”
She looked up quickly and shifted her gaze between Clay and Dean. “Is he…?” she said.
Dean nodded. “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Ahern. He was killed trying to shoot Clay’s son. They took his body to the morgue. I’d like you to come down and make a formal identification, if you think you can.”
Mrs. Ahern buried her face in her hands and wept. Dean laid a hand on her shoulder and patted it.
“We’d better go now,” Dean said. “Let me help you up.”
The three of us drove back to the twelfth precinct and from there it was a short walk down the hall to the morgue. A few minutes later, Dean walked Mrs. Ahern back to his office for a formal statement. I left the two of them there and called Elliott to come pick me up.
When we got back to the office, Gloria was nowhere to be found. Dad and I sat on the leather sofa against the wall, kicked our shoes off and slumped down into the soft leather folds.
“One hell of a case,” I said. “I’ll give
Olivia a call in the morning and have her come in so the three of us can fill her in on what’s happened.”
Dad was about to answer me when our office door opened and an older woman walked in. She was a bit hunched over, wearing a long overcoat. She wore black, chunky-heeled shoes like I’d seen many a grandmother wearing. Her head was wrapped in a brightly colored scarf and she wore thick glasses down on her nose. A large, black purse dangled from her arm. She remained hunched over, but raised her head to look at us.
“Excuse me, young man,” she said. “My name is Emily Crumford. Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Cooper?”
“That’s me,” Dad and I both said in unison. We stood to greet the woman.
“What is it we can do for you today,” I said, gesturing toward my client’s chair.
The woman sat and snapped open her purse, withdrawing a lace handkerchief and dabbing at her nose with it. She dropped the handkerchief back into her purse and snapped it shut again. She looked up at me and said, “I’d like to hire you to find a woman who cheated me out of three thousand dollars.”
“We could probably do that,” I said. “Can you give me the woman’s name?”
The old woman held one index finger in the air. “Give me a moment,” she said. “It’s on the tip of my tongue. Yes, I remember now. Her name was Gloria Campbell.”
I shot a look at Dad. He looked just as surprised as I did. I looked back at Emily Crumford. “Are you sure you have the right name?” I said. “Gloria Campbell. That’s the woman who cheated you out of three thousand dollars? How’d she do that?”
Emily sighed and said, “I hired her two years ago to find my stolen jewelry and she took my money and never gave me my necklace. I tried finding her at her old office, but it’s been closed for some time now.”
“Mrs. Crumford,” I said. “Was this Gloria Campbell a private investigator?”
“Yes,” Emily said. “I gave her the three thousand dollars that she asked for and I found out from someone else that she did recover my necklace. I think she’s keeping it and my money. I want you to find her and make her give it back.”
Clay stepped up to the woman. “Mrs. Crumford, we have a woman working for us with that same name, that’s why we have to be very sure that we’re all talking about the right Gloria Campbell.”
