by Bill Bernico
“Sure,” I said. “What have we got to lose?”
Jane typed in the search criteria and hit Enter. Hundreds of links came up with baby names. Clicking the link brought us to another screen with the twenty-six letters of the alphabet on it. Jane clicked E and waited. A list of names filled the screen and Jane began to read them aloud.
“Earl,” she said, and waited for a response from me. Nothing. “Edgar,” she read. Again nothing. Edward, Edwin, Eldon, Elijah, Elliott, Elmer, Elroy, Emil, Eric, Ernie, Eugene,” she went on.
“Wait a second,” I said. Go back a few names.”
Jane started at the bottom of the list and read them in reverse order. “Eugene, Ernie, Eric,” she said.
“Eric,” I said. “That name sounds familiar for some reason. Eric, Eric. Gees, I know that name, but nothing’s coming to me.” I had no way of knowing that Lieutenant Eric Anderson was creeping into my subconscious. “No, I’m not an Eric,” I said. “I’m almost sure of that. Go on.”
“Emil, Elroy, Elmer,” Jane said. She paused to see if there was any reaction from me. Still nothing. She read on. “Elliott, Elijah, Eldon.” She stopped and waited for me to comment.
“They’re all starting to sound familiar now,” I said. “That Elliott name sounded a little familiar. I think maybe I might have heard of some Elliott narrating some audio books in the past.”
Jane thought for a moment. Although she preferred reading books to listing to books, she was familiar with the entire Raymond Chandler library of audio books. “Could you be thinking of Elliott Gould?” she said. “He narrated all of the Chandler stories on tape.”
“And I remembered that I used to listed to audio books,” I said. “Maybe that’s where I know the name from.”
Jane closed her laptop and sighed. “Well,” she said. “It was worth a try anyway. I guess we’ll know tomorrow when we drive to Barstow.”
“Jane,” I said. “No matter how this turns out, I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I won’t forget it.”
“You might want to forget some of it if it turns out you’re married,” she said. “Know what I mean?”
I nodded. “We were interrupted before,” I said. “Do you still want to watch that movie on the DVD in your laptop?”
“All right,” Jane said, flipping the laptop open again and starting the DVD player feature.
Halfway through the movie, I turned to Jane. “Who did you say this guy, Alvin York was?” I said.
“Just the most decorated soldier of World War I,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I mean who did you say was playing him?”
“Gary Cooper,” Jane replied. “Why?”
I shook my head, still confused. “Maybe this isn’t my shirt,” I said. “And maybe my name doesn’t start with an E like we thought. His name is awfully familiar to me. You don’t think my name’s really Gary, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Jane said. “A guy like you wouldn’t be wearing someone else’s shirt. And that tie I took off your wrists matches your outfit. No, I’d say it’s your shirt and your initials really are E C.”
*****
Gloria dialed the Holiday Inn in Las Vegas and asked for Elliott Cooper’s room. The clerk told her to wait while he checked the register. He came back on the line a few seconds later.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but we don’t have an Elliott Cooper registered here. Are you sure you have the right motel?”
Gloria checked the note Elliott had given her before he left and read its contents to the clerk. “Holiday Inn on Koval Lane, Las Vegas,” she said.
“Yes, that’s us,” the clerk agreed, “but we don’t have anyone named Cooper staying with us.”
“Is your motel sponsoring a convention for private investigators this week?” Gloria asked.
“Yes we are,” the clerk said. “It started at noon today in the main ballroom.”
Gloria tried another idea. “Can you check to see if you had a reservation for an Elliott Cooper, please?”
A moment later the clerk said, “Why, yes, we did. We were expecting him shortly before midnight last night. It’s been more than twelve hours and when someone doesn’t keep their reservation, it is our policy to charge the customer’s credit card for one night’s stay. I’m sure you understand.”
“I’m not concerned about the credit card charge,” Gloria said, her voice louder now. “I just want to know where my husband is.”
“I’m sorry,” the clerk repeated, “but that’s all I know. Now if you will excuse me, I have guests waiting to register.” He hung up and Gloria sat there with the phone in her hand, dumbfounded. Gloria hung up the phone, immediately picked it up again and dialed Lieutenant Eric Anderson at the twelfth precinct.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” the voice on the other end said.
“Eric,” Gloria said. “It’s Gloria Cooper.”
“Yes, Gloria,” Eric said. “How are you holding up, what with the baby so close to being due?”
“Fine,” Gloria said. “But that’s not important right now. Elliott’s missing.”
“Missing?” Eric said. “What happened?”
“He left here in his car last night around eight,” Gloria said. “He was driving to a convention in Las Vegas. He should have checked in more than twelve hours ago and no one’s seen him. I’m worried, Eric. Isn’t there something you can do?”
“Give me the license number and a description of his car,” Eric said. “I get an all points out to our city patrols. I’ll also make sure the California and Nevada State Police Departments get the bulletin. Do you happen to know what route he was taking?”
“We looked it up on the web and there were three routes showing,” Gloria explained. “I remember he picked the shortest, fastest route and that’s the one that went through Barstow.”
“That would take him on Two-Ten out of town and he’d most likely catch Interstate Fifteen north into Las Vegas,” Eric said. “I’ll have the State Police check that route. There’s a lot of desert between Barstow and Las Vegas. If he broke down on Fifteen, someone would have seen him. Are you sure he didn’t do anything foolish, like try to make up lost time on some back road as a shortcut?”
“I don’t think he’d do anything like that,” Gloria said. “But who knows with Elliott. It’s a brand new car, so I can’t imagine him having any trouble with it this soon. Will you let me know if you hear anything, Eric?”
“I’ve got your number on speed dial on my cell,” Eric said. “You’ll be the first to know if anything turns up.”
Gloria hung up the phone and was startled when it rang almost immediately. “Elliott?” she said.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Gloria,” Clay said. “But it’s just me.”
“Oh, Clay,” Gloria said. “I was just going to call you. Elliott’s missing.” She told Clay everything she’d just told Lieutenant Anderson and let Clay know what Eric had told her.
“Don’t panic,” Clay said. “I’m sure Elliott’s all right. Maybe he just had some car trouble or something simple like that. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
“But he has a cell phone,” Gloria said. “You would think if he had any trouble that he’d at least call and let me know. I haven’t heard a thing from him.”
“You know,” Clay said. “Some of those remote areas in the desert don’t get cell reception. That doesn’t mean anything. If he’s having any trouble, he might have slept in his car and maybe he’s walking to the nearest town as we speak. As soon as he gets somewhere that has cell reception, he’ll call. You just wait.”
“I hope so,” Gloria said. “This isn’t like him at all.”
“Let me check around,” Clay said. “If I find out anything I’ll call you and you do the same if you hear anything. I’ll have my cell on.”
Gloria agreed and hung up the phone, not sure who to call or what to do next.
Clay made sure his cell phone was fully charged before he close
d it and hurried into the kitchen, where he filled a gallon jug with ice water. He locked his house and carried the jug out to his car. Before he left town, he stopped and filled his tank. He got onto Two-Ten and just kept going. He kept going until he saw the Interstate Fifteen sign ahead. He took the exit and headed north towards Barstow, all the while keeping an eye out his window for signs of Elliott and his new car.
He exited at Barstow and pulled in the filling station just off the Interstate. He parked up close to the building and went inside. He dug a picture of Elliott out of his wallet and held it up to the clerk behind the counter.
“Have you seen this man in here recently?” Clay said. “If he stopped here at all, it would have been around nine or nine-thirty last night.”
The clerk, a girl no older than eighteen, wore a name tag identifying her as Stacey. She didn’t even look at the photo. “I wasn’t working last night,” Stacey explained. “That would have been the night crew, and most people don’t even bother coming inside. They can swipe their card at the pump, fill up and be gone without ever seeing any of us.”
Clay pulled out his I.D. and badge and held it up in a casual manner, just long enough for the girl to catch the glint of the badge but not long enough to see that it was just a private investigator’s license. He flipped it closed again and looked the girl in the eye.
“Where are your surveillance tapes from last night?” Clay said. “I need to see them.”
“I don’t know if…” Stacey started to say.
“Now,” Clay demanded, “before we have to close this station as a crime scene. You wouldn’t want that, I’m sure. You’ll lose an awful lot of revenue in those twenty-four hours. However, if I can just have a look at last night’s surveillance tapes I can be on my way in no time at all and you can stay open. Now where are they?”
Stacey motioned to another clerk, who came over to where I stood. “Show this officer to the tape room in the back,” she said. “Find the tape from last night between eight and ten and let him see it.”
The other clerk, a kid no older than Stacey, led Clay to a back room and showed him the four screens that were displaying live images of the gas pumps. He pulled the topmost tape off the shelf, popped the current tape out of the recorder and inserted the tape from the shelf.
“We can get twelve hours on a tape,” he explained. “But at that speed, the picture quality is not very clear.” He pressed the play button and the date and time appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen.
“Can you fast forward to just before nine o’clock last night?” Clay said.
Without answering, the kid pressed the FF button and the tape sped up, showing ten minutes elapsing in ten seconds. When the time got to eight-fifty, he slowed the tape down and I watched as cars pulled into and away from the pumps in a steady stream.
“Can you run it at double speed?” Clay said.
The kid must have been a mute, because he didn’t answer this time, either. He just hit another button and stood back while I watched. I knew Elliott’s car and license plate number and watched for a white Toyota Corolla sedan. Several minutes passed before the white Toyota pulled up to the pumps.
“Stop it right there,” I said. “Now just let it run at regular speed.”
The kid did as he was told and I watched as the car door opened and I saw Elliott step out and swipe his card in the slot on the gas pump. He grabbed the nozzle and filled his car, which only took a minute or less. I watched as he returned the nozzle to the pump, screwed on the gas cap and closed the little flap that covered it. That’s when I saw the two men approach him. One of the men stuck something in Elliott’s back while the other one went over to the passenger side of the car. A few seconds later, Elliott got behind the wheel and opened his passenger door. The second man slid in while the first man took his place in the back seat, directly behind Elliott. The car pulled away from the pump and out of camera range.
I reached over and hit the Stop button on the recorder. I hit the Eject button and the tape popped out. I grabbed it and turned to the kid. “We’re going to need this as evidence,” Clay told the kid. “You’ll get this back after the case is finished. Thanks for your help.”
Clay exited the small room and hurried out to his car. Once inside he dialed Lieutenant Anderson’s number. “Eric,” Clay said. “It’s Clay Cooper. I’m here in Barstow at the filling station.”
“Clay,” Eric said. “What are you doing? This is a police matter.”
“Save your breath, Eric,” Clay said. “This is my son we’re talking about here and I intend to find him, so don’t talk for a minute. Just listen.” Clay told him about what he’d found on the gas station surveillance tape. “I don’t know which direction they went after they left the filling station. I’m just going to have to take a chance and head north on Interstate Fifteen. Would you contact the Nevada State Police and tell them what I’ve discovered. We need them to start from Las Vegas and work their way toward me. The California State Police can start at Barstow and cover the route back into Los Angeles.”
“Clay,” Eric said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to…”
Clay hung up and drove out of the filling station lot. He caught Interstate Fifteen again and headed north towards Las Vegas. The road was a boring ribbon of cars going both ways and the scenery was almost non-existent, save for the occasional tumbleweed and jackrabbit. Clay drove on, more aware of his surrounding now than ever before.
Lieutenant Eric Anderson called the Nevada State Police again, gave them a description of Elliott’s car and his license number and informed them that there may be three occupants in the Toyota. When he hung up the phone, he dialed the office of Cooper Investigations and got a busy signal. He tried several more time and finally reached Gloria.
“Gloria,” Eric said. “I just got a call from Clay.”
“So did I,” Gloria said. “I just got off the phone with him. He told me about Elliott’s car on the filling station surveillance tape. I’m scared, Eric. I know Elliott can handle himself one on one, but there were two of them and that’s a big empty area out there.”
“I talked to the State Police from both California and Nevada,” Eric said. “Everyone’s out looking for him right now. Don’t you worry, we’ll find him.”
*****
It was creeping up on seven-thirty when Jane cleared the table of the supper dishes and I slid my chair back and loosened my belt. “I have to tell you,” I said. “You are a very good cook. And a great host as well. You know I probably owe my life to you, don’t you?”
“No charge,” Jane said. “It’s all part of the full service.”
I got up from the table and stepped up behind Jane, wrapping my arms around her waist. I nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear. She purred like a contented kitten and turned around to face me.
“Well, Mr. X,” she said. “We still have another twelve hours to kill before I can use the car again. Any ideas?”
“Nothing as clever as the one you came up with earlier,” I said, and kissed her. “What about a second helping of dessert?” This time I pulled her back into the bedroom and pushed her down on the bed. A few moments later our bodies were locked in embrace. Jane kissed me and I let her.
Suddenly something inside me felt strange. I pulled away and looked at Jane, my brows furrowing.
“What is it, Eddie?” Jane said.
“That’s just it,” I said. “I know my name’s not Eddie. I’m not sure what it is, but I am sure that I have a wife somewhere.”
“What?” Jane said. “Did something trigger your memory?”
I licked my lips. “Just now,” I said, “when you were kissing me. It was so familiar and then lunch came back to me and I could vividly see that soup can sitting on the stove.”
“The soup can?” Jane said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“The brand name,” I explained. “It was Campbell’s and it didn’t register at the time, but I think my wife
’s name was Campbell before she married me. Something Campbell. I can’t remember the first name, but the Campbell part comes out stronger than any feeling I’ve had today. That has to be it.”
Suddenly we both became self conscious about our nudity and Jane pulled the blanket over herself. I turned away from her, suddenly embarrassed by the realization of what we’d done. I quickly got dressed and left the room. A few minutes later Jane emerged, fully clothed again. I had trouble looking her in the face.
Jane came over to where I stood and put her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she said. “What we had was a beautiful thing but it doesn’t have to wrack you with guilt. Who knows? Once you get your memory back you may remember someone named Campbell and it may not even turn out to be your wife at all.”
“This is all so confusing,” I said. “Please, until I find out for sure who I am and what my background is, please let’s just keep this thing plutonic. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jane said.
*****
Officer Kyle Foster of the Nevada State Police set out on Interstate Fifteen from Las Vegas and headed southwest as far as the state line, where he turned around and retraced his route back into the city. The Las Vegas Police had also been alerted to be on the lookout for the white Toyota sedan and to approach with caution if they encountered it.
California State Patrolman Hal Bishop continued southwest on Interstate Fifteen toward Los Angeles. He exited onto Two-Ten and continued west, watching for Elliott’s white Corolla. He was having no luck, either.
Clay had driven almost all the way to the Nevada State Line, always looking out both sides of the car for any trace of his son. He still found nothing he could use. He called Gloria and told her that he was still searching and not to give up hope. They didn’t talk for long. Gloria wanted to keep the phone lines open in case Eric or the State Police tried to call her.
