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

by Bill Bernico

  “That must have been hard for the little guy,” Gloria said, referring to Clyde as a child. “I mean, they say that those are the formative years growing up. Some kids never get over the death of a parent.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Elliott said. “According to Carl, his nephew moved on with his life and managed to start a family of his own. Hell, my own mother died way too early and look how I turned out.”

  Gloria remained silent and just looked sideways at Elliott, a thin smile on her lips.

  “Okay,” Elliott said. “Bad example. Let’s just say I turned out relatively normal and leave it at that.”

  “Are you going to call Dean?” Gloria said.

  “And tell him what?” Elliott said. “Carl didn’t exactly break the case wide open for us, did he?”

  “Just a courtesy,” Gloria said. “You know, to keep him in the loop.” She opened her cell phone and dialed Dean’s cell. He picked up on the third ring.

  “Hollister,” Dean said.

  “Dean,” Gloria said. “It’s Gloria. Elliott and I just wanted to keep you up on the latest developments and to let you know what we’re doing and where we’re going.”

  “Thanks, Gloria,” Dean said. “What did you find out so far?”

  “Not much from the first victim’s brother-in-law,” she said. “But he gave us the name and address of the son from way back when. He still lives in the area and Elliott and I are on our way there now.”

  “Are you talking about Clyde Archer?” Dean said.

  “Yes,” Gloria said. “How’d you know his name?”

  “I found it in the original file from ‘79 and checked to see if he still lived in the area,” Dean said. “In fact, you caught me in my car. I’m just pulling up in front of his house now.”

  “Terrific,” Gloria said. “We should be there in fifteen minutes or so. I guess we’ll see you there.” She closed her phone and turned to Elliott. “Dean’s there now,” she said. “How handy.”

  Dean got out of his unmarked cruiser and approached Clyde Archer’s house. All the draped we closed but a car still sat in the driveway. Dean stepped up onto the porch and pressed the doorbell button. He didn’t hear anything from inside the house and knocked on the door frame instead. This time he heard footsteps coming closer.

  The front door opened and a man wearing just pajama bottoms and a strapped tee shirt stared back at Dean. The man stood there with three-day stubble on his face, scratching his ass. “Yeah,” he said. “What do you want?”

  Dean held up his shield. “Police,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you if that’s all right.”

  “Can’t it wait?” the man said. “I work third shift and you got me out of bed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dean said, “But as long as you’re already up, this is pretty important. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

  The door opened all the way and the man stood back to let Dean pass. Dean turned around, checked his notepad and said, “Is your name Clyde Archer?”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, what of it?” he said.

  Dean looked at his notes again and added, “Was Kate Archer your mother? And was Conrad Archer your father?”

  Again Clyde nodded.

  Dean looked around the room. “Is anyone else at home right now?” he said.

  Clyde hesitated and then said, “Nope, it’s just me. Why?”

  “It’s just routine,” Dean said. “Is your wife’s name Sarah? And is your son’s name Jake?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions for routine,” Clyde said, annoyed now.

  “Mr. Archer,” Dean said. “We’re looking into a couple of murders. Maybe you read about the couple found near the ravine where both of your parents died. An article like that surely would have caught your attention.”

  “Yeah,” Clyde said. “I read about it. So what?”

  “Mr. Archer,” Dean said. “I would thing you’d be a little more interested in these murders, seeing as how close they happened to where your mother was found all those years ago. And I’m sorry about your father’s accident in that same area, but I have an investigation to conduct. I’d like to put down in my report that you were cooperative.”

  Clyde began to walk toward the kitchen and then turned his head back toward Dean. “You want a beer?” he said, and kept walking.

  “No thanks,” Dean said. Just then Dean thought he heard other noises coming from somewhere below him. A basement, he thought. He started to approach Clyde.

  “Didn’t you tell me you were home alone?” Dean said.

  The door off the kitchen that led to the basement opened and a middle-aged woman and a teen-aged boy emerged. They stopped in their tracks when they spotted Dean. Dean shot a glance at Clyde, who had swept a large hunting knife from somewhere on the kitchen counter. Before Dean could get to the .38 under his arm, Clyde was on him with the knife. He swept one arm around Dean’s neck from behind and held the knife to Dean’s back, its point nearly piercing Dean’s flesh.

  Sarah snickered. “Another cop?” she said, wiping her red-stained hands on her apron.

  Their son, Jake gave a toothy grin and stepped up nose to nose with Dean. “You guys are just way too nosy for your own good,” he said, his breath stinking of gin. Maybe you’d like to join your buddy downstairs. Would you like that, cop?” He turned to his father. “Stick him, daddy,” he said. “It’s your turn. I did the guy on the road and ma did his wife in the woods. It’s your turn. Go on, daddy, stick him.”

  Clyde drew back the hand with the knife in it and had just started to plunge it into Dean’s back when the knock came on the front door. It was a loud insistent knock and the noise was just enough to disrupt Clyde’s thrust. He missed his mark and the knife pierced soft flesh in Dean’s side instead of severing vital organs. Dean reacted by instinct and stepped on Clyde’s instep. Clyde howled and lost his grip on Dean’s neck.

  Dean was able to grab his .38 and swept it out from under his arm in an instant. He turned and fired twice, catching Clyde in the chest. Clyde went down hard on the kitchen floor. The front door burst open and Elliott rushed in, his .38 extended in front of him. Gloria followed close behind, her own firearm pointing forward as well.

  Clyde dropped the hunting knife and it skittered across the kitchen floor. Jake pounced on it and jumped to his feet in a second. He crouched and held the knife like a street punk would in preparation for a knife fight. He lunged at Dean and Dean managed to sidestep the kid. Elliott managed to bring the barrel of his .38 down hard on Jake’s wrist, causing the knife to fly out of Jake’s hand. Jake grabbed his injured wrist with the other and swore at Elliott. Elliott gestured toward the floor. “Down on your stomach,” he ordered.

  Gloria hurried to the kitchen in time to find Sarah Archer thrusting her hand into an open drawer. Gloria screamed at her. “If you pull anything other than a spatula out of there, I’ll blow your damned head off.” Sarah’s hand came out empty. “On the floor,” Gloria bellowed. “Do it now.”

  Clyde Archer lay on the kitchen floor, bleeding out from two bullet wounds to the chest. Dean reached into his coat pocket and tossed his cuffs to Elliott, who snapped then onto Jake’s wrists. Once he had Jake secured, Elliott hurried to Dean and looked at the wound in his side. Dean sat on one of the kitchen chairs, grabbing a towel from the rack over the sink. He pressed the towel to his wound and sighed.

  Gloria kept Sarah Archer on the floor and then looked at Elliott. She grabbed the hunting knife that Jake had dropped and handed it to Elliott. “Cut those cables from the blinds and tie this one up.”

  Elliott cut off three feet of woven cable from alongside the kitchen blinds and then knelt next to Sarah Archer, securing her hands with several wraps of the cable. He turned to Gloria. “Call 911,” he said. “Get an ambulance here right away.”

  Dean gestured toward the basement steps. “Better take a look down there,” he told Elliott. “The way they talked before you got here, they made it sound like they had another
cop down there.

  “Will you be all right for a couple of minutes?” Elliott said, looking at Dean.

  “Sure,” he said. “Go.”

  Elliott grabbed his .38 again and slowly descended the basement steps. There was just one large room, illuminated by two sixty watt bulbs. At the far end of the basement Elliott found a workshop and a bench full of tools. Most of them were bloody. From over his shoulder Elliott heard muffled sounds and quickly spun around with his revolver cocked. He eased the hammer back down again and holstered his weapon when he spotted the cop tied to the rafter against the opposite wall.

  Elliott hurried over and pulled the gag off the officer’s mouth. “Are you okay?” Elliott said.

  The cop let out a huge breath and nodded. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Cut me down, please.”

  Elliott found a retractable box cutter on the workbench and cut the ropes away from the cop’s wrists. The cop’s knees gave out and he fell to the floor, whimpering. Elliott cut the rope off the cop’s ankles and helped him to his feet.

  “Over there,” the cop finally said, pointing to a firewood box. “In the box.”

  Elliott lifted the lid to the box and found two other people, one on top of the other. From the looks and the smell, they’d been dead for a few days. Elliott closed the lid again and got away from there quickly, bending over and trying to keep his lunch from coming up.

  He returned to the cop and pulled the cop’s arm around his own shoulder. The cop rested on Elliott’s shoulder and slowly made his way back to the stairs. They made it back to the kitchen after a long struggle with the stairs. Dean looked at the cop and his eyes got wide. It was Sergeant Eric Anderson. His face was bloody and swollen and his wrists were raw.

  “Sergeant,” Dean said. “What happened?”

  Anderson’s voice was weak and raspy. “Could I have a drink of water?” he said.

  Gloria found a glass in the cupboard and opened the faucet on the kitchen sink. She rinsed out the glass, emptied it and filled it again, handing it to Anderson. Anderson took several swallows and set the glass down. He coughed and cleared his throat and finally said, “I was just going through the files and thought I’d talk with the Archers and see if anything jumped out at me.” He gestured toward Clyde’s body. “It did—him. He and that animal of a son got the jump on me and dragged me downstairs.”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish his explanation when the front door opened again and several other officers came in, their guns drawn.

  “In here,” Dean yelled from the kitchen.

  Two men in white came in directly behind the cops and hurried over to where Dean sat holding his side with the bloody towel. They helped him out of the chair and onto their gurney. One of them started an IV and connected to Dean’s arm while the other applied a dressing to Dean’s wound and kept pressure on it as Dean was wheeled out to the ambulance.

  The officers hurried to Sergeant Anderson’s side and eased him to the floor. “Just lay quiet until they come back in with another gurney,” one of the officers told him. A few moments later one of the ambulance attendants came back in with a second gurney. The officers helped him lift Sergeant Anderson up onto it and he was quickly wheeled out to the waiting ambulance.

  Another cop cut the cables from Sarah’s wrists and replaced it with a pair of his handcuffs. They took Sarah and her son out to the patrol car and placed them into the back seat. When the dust had cleared, the patrol car and the ambulance were on their way downtown. That left one pair of officers in the house with Elliott and Gloria and Clyde’s body.

  “Better call the coroner,” Gloria said to one of the remaining officer. “This one’s not going anywhere.”

  “And there are two more in the firewood box in the basement,” Elliott said. “It’s a real mess down there.”

  One of the officers called Andy Reynolds and asked for the crime scene team to come as well and to bring three body bags with them. Gloria and Elliott stuck around until the medical examiner and the crime scene team showed up before they left.

  The two of them drove to the hospital and waited as Dean was rushed into surgery to close the gaping wound in his side. As they sat in the waiting room, Helen Hollister walked in, her eyes red. Elliott and Gloria stood up and greeted her as she approached them. Elliott threw his arms around her and hugged her.

  “Have you heard how Dean’s doing yet?” Helen said, more than a trace of panic in her voice.

  “We’re still waiting,” Gloria said. “The doctor said he’d let us know when he was finished.”

  “What about Sergeant Anderson?” Helen said. “They told me he was in pretty rough shape as well.”

  “He’s in there right now, too,” Elliott said. “From what I could see, most of his injuries are external. He should make a full recovery.”

  A pair of double swing doors opened and a doctor garbed in green scrubs emerged, pulling the mask down off his face. Helen ran up to him. “How is Dean Hollister doing?” she said.

  “I just stitched him up and he’s doing very well,” the doctor said. “He was very lucky. Another inch or so and things might not have turned out so well for him. They’re bringing him down to recovery now. You can see him in a few minutes.”

  Helen threw her arms around the doctor’s neck and hugged him. “Thank you, doctor,” she said, tears running down her face. She turned back to Elliott, who grabbed both of her hands and squeezed.

  “See,” Elliott said. “I knew he’d be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  A nurse walked over to where we were standing. “Are you friends of Sergeant Anderson?” she said.

  “Yes,” Elliott said. “How’s he doing?”

  “Is your name Elliott Cooper?” the nurse asked.

  Elliott nodded.

  “He’s asking for you,” she said. “Down that hall, first room on the right, number two-eleven.”

  “Thank you, nurse,” Elliott said. He turned to Gloria. “It’ll still be a few minutes before we can look in on Dean. Would you stay with Helen for a minute?”

  “Sure,” Gloria said. “Go ahead.”

  Elliott stepped into Eric’s room and found him propped up on the single bed. He smiled when Elliott came in and motioned him over.

  “How do you feel?” Elliot said.

  “I’ll live,” Eric said. “They want to keep me overnight for observation, but I’ll be going home in the morning. How’s Lieutenant Hollister doing?”

  “We’ll know in a few minutes,” Elliott said. “He’s out of surgery and they brought him down to recovery. We’re going there from here.”

  “Elliott,” Eric said, reaching for Elliott’s hand. “I just want to thank you for getting me out of that basement. I was sure they were going to kill me, and they would have if you hadn’t shown up. Did you get all three of them?”

  “We did,” Elliott said. “The father’s dead and the mother and son were taken into custody. Man, what a messed-up family that was.”

  Gloria stuck her head in the door and said, “Elliott, we can go see Dean now. You coming?”

  Elliott turned back to Eric. “I’ll let you know how Dean’s doing after I see him and before I leave the hospital.”

  “Thanks, Elliott,” Eric said, and then looked past him at Gloria. “Thank you, too, Gloria.”

  Gloria smiled at Eric. “All part of our full service,” she said.

  Gloria and Elliott walked into Dean’s room right behind Helen. Dean was lying flat on his back, an intravenous line running from a hanging bottle to a needle taped to the top of Dean’s left hand. His face was a bit pale but he looked to be in good spirits.

  Helen stepped up to the other side of the bed and held Dean’s right hand. She bent over and kissed his lips. She was still crying. “Dean,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  In a groggy voice, Dean said, “Takes more than this to keep me down.” He smiled up at his wife.

  Helen sat in the chair next to the bed, but didn’t let go
of Dean’s hand. Elliott stepped up next to Dean and looked down at him. “That was a close one,” he told Dean.

  “You know,” Dean said. “That nut job might have finished me right there in the kitchen but you banged on his front door at just the right moment. He slipped and here I am. Thanks, Elliott.”

  “I’m just glad you’re going to be all right,” Elliott said.

  Gloria looked down at Dean and gave him a warm smile. She bent over and kissed his forehead and then looked back at Helen. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said.

  Helen almost had to laugh at the situation. “Not at all,” she said. “Kiss him all you like.”

  The door to Dean’s room opened and Clay poked his head in, saw it was the right room and then stepped inside. He looked at Elliott. “Gloria called me and I rushed right over. How’s my fishing buddy doing?”

  Dean caught Clay’s eye and smiled. “I may be your fishing buddy sooner than you think,” Dean said and then looked at his wife.

  “Helen,” Dean said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve changed my mind again. I’m retiring for good this time. The captain can let someone else take over. I’m done.”

  Helen broke down and wept, burying her head into Dean’s pillow.

  “I take it you approve,” Clay said, laying a hand on Helen’s head. He turned to Dean. “I know this spot where the bass are biting, but we’ll have to get there first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Everyone in the room turned to stare at Clay.

  Clay held up both hands. “Okay, so it can wait a week or so.”

  Dean turned to Elliott. “Have you looked in on Sergeant Anderson yet?” he said.

  “Just before we came in here,” Elliott said. “I told him I’d stop by one more time before I left to let him know how you’re doing.”

  “Well,” Dean said. “You can tell him for me that if after all this he still wants the Lieutenant’s bars, he’ll get no argument from me.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Elliott said, “But after what he’s been through I wouldn’t be surprised to find him fishing right alongside you and Dad.”

  “He’s pretty tough,” Dean said. “This experience will just make him tougher, and a better cop.”