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

by Bill Bernico

  Both men remained silent. Eric went nose to nose with one of the men and repeated, “Why did you run?”

  A third police car arrived on the scene and two more patrolmen got out and walked up to where Eric and the other two officers stood with their prisoners.

  One officer handed Eric the wallet he’d taken from the silent man. Eric opened it to the driver’s license and read, “Paul Stewart, eh?” He stared at the other man. “Then this must be George Kendall. Well well. And I take it that your dead partner back there must be John Mullins. It didn’t have to come to this, you know.”

  Kendall looked around him and realized he was out of options. “It was Mullins,” Kendall said.

  Paul Stewart gave a sideways kick into Kendall’s leg. “Shut up, George,” he said. “They don’t have us for anything. We were just passengers.”

  Eric nodded to one of the other officers, who pulled Paul Stewart away from George Kendall and around to the back of the truck. Eric stepped up to Kendall now and put his face close to Kendall’s. “Now, what was that you were saying?”

  “It was Mullins,” Kendall said.

  “What was Mullins?” Eric said. “What about him?”

  “He pushed Raymond Bailey off that building,” Kendall said.

  Eric gestured toward the offer who’d led Paul Stewart away. The officer brought him back to where Eric stood. Eric looked at the two men. “Listen up now,” he said. “This is important. You both have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…”

  Eric instructed the first two officers to take the suspects back to the construction trailer and that he’d be right behind them in his cruiser. He instructed the second pair of policemen to stay at the scene and wait for the ambulance. Then he called for an ambulance and a field supervisor to look into the shooting of John Mullins. Afterwards he told the supervisor and that he’d be in shortly but that he had to pick up one more suspect first. Eric and Gloria drove back to the construction site on Western and Hollywood and returned to the trailer.

  Derek Slate and I were having a bit of a staring contest and I wasn’t about to look away first, but I did when the trailer door opened and Eric and Gloria walked in, followed by two uniformed officers who dragged Kendall and Stewart into the trailer, handcuffed.

  “Well?” I said, looking at Eric. “Looks like you caught two of them anyway. Where’s the third one?”

  Eric nodded, all the while looking at Slate.

  “What did you say?” Slate said, looking at Kendall and Stewart. “Where’s John? What did he say?”

  “Well,” Eric said, “Mullins isn’t saying anything. He’s dead, but I’ll bet your two buddies here are anxious to get it all out.”

  “I wasn’t part of it,” Slate said.

  “Part of what?” Eric said.

  “Part of the conspiracy?” Gloria said, leaning on the desk. “It’s all starting to fall into place now.”

  “Would you like to fill me in?” I said. “I think I missed a big part of this whole picture.”

  Eric gestured toward Paul Stewart. “Paul here went along with this whole plan for the money,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Paul?” Steward said nothing. “But I don’t think he was the mastermind in this case. Paul seems more like a follower to me than a leader. Isn’t that right, Paul?” Eric waited but no response was forthcoming. He turned to George Kendall. “And you’re a follower, too, aren’t you, George?” George remained silent, too.

  “But you know, Eric,” I said, “it seems to me that followers can also follow their leader into prison for an awfully long time. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but all three of them could face the death penalty if any one of them is convicted. I’ve heard of cases where one member of a conspiracy turned state’s evidence against the others and got off with relatively short prison time while the others got the death penalty. Have you heard that one, Eric?”

  Eric nodded. “I have, come to think of it. I watched one such execution a few years ago. They say it’s painless and that the prisoner just goes to sleep, but that’s not exactly true. I remember one guy who took more than twenty minutes to die, and he was screaming for the whole twenty minutes. I had to turn away. To tell you the truth I thought I was going to puke.”

  A few seconds passed and then George Kendall blurted out, “It was Slate,” he said. “He set this whole thing up. I told you before that Mullins threw Ray off the building. That’s true, but it was Slate who called the shots.”

  “Why?” Eric said. “Did it have anything to do with the others being mentioned in your will?”

  “My what?” Kendall said.

  “Your will,” Gloria said, stepping around in front of Kendall. “Bailey, Mullins, Slate, Stewart and some guy named Cochrane were all listed as beneficiaries in your will.”

  “What will?” Kendall said. “I never made out any will.”

  Eric looked at me and then back at Kendall. “Well, someone did,” he said. “And now two of those people are dead, leaving three more beneficiaries. My guess is that if, as you say, Slate was the leader, that he had plans to eliminate anyone else on that list and my guess is that Paul Stewart was going to be the next one to have an ‘accident’, so to speak.”

  Paul Stewart sat up straight and stared at Derek Slate. “You bastard, Slate,” he said. “You’re not going to get away with this.” He turned to Eric. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  Eric turned to me and said, “Well, Elliott, that’s a new one on me. I’ve never come across two state’s witnesses in the same case before. Which one should we give the break to?” He looked back and forth between Stewart and Kendall. “Which of you can tell me Cochrane’s rolel in all of this?”

  “He knew Slate from San Quentin,” Stewart said. “Slate could keep his hands clean and stay in his office. He had Cochrane to do his dirty work up there on the fifteenth floor. Cochrane passed on Slate’s order to Mullins to push Ray off the tower. That way Slate would have a two-man buffer between himself and the actual crime.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Slate said, staring at Stewart.

  “Clever,” I said, turning to Stewart. “And if Mullins hadn’t been killed in the shootout, we could have gotten corroboration on this story from him. But I guess all we have now is your say so. Why should we believe you?”

  “Because it’s true,” Stewart said. “Find Cochrane and you’ll see for yourself?”

  “Where can we find him?” Eric said.

  Stewart hesitated. “Do I get a deal if I tell you?” he said.

  “What do you have now?” Eric said.

  “Nothing,” Stewart admitted.

  Eric turned to George Kendall. “What about you?” he said. “Do you want the deal instead?”

  Kendall turned his head away and remained silent.

  Stewart shot Kendall a quick glance and then turned back to Eric and nodded. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll tell you where Cochrane is.”

  Eric turned back to Kendall. “Too bad, Kendall,” he said. “You could have had the deal but now your buddy’s going to get it instead.”

  George Kendall looked at Paul Stewart. “Oh, he’s going to get it, all right, that rat bastard,” he said and leaned back on the desk, kicking his foot out at Stewart’s head, his heavy work boot connecting with Stewart’s temple. Paul Stewart went down like a bag of bricks and flopped in convulsive twitches for a few seconds before falling still and silent, his eyes rolled up into his head.

  Eric grabbed Kendall by the collar and yanked him to his feet. “Now you’re going down for two murders,” he told Kendall. “We’ll find Cochrane on our own and I’ll look forward to watching them stick that long, sharp needle into your arm.”

  Gloria looked down at Paul Stewart’s lifeless body and then up at Eric. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “You said Stewart was going to be the next one to get it.”

  “Lucky guess,” Eric said, and then turned to one of the uniformed officers. “Take Mr. Stewart an
d Mr. Slate in and book them; two counts of murder each.”

  “Yes sir,” the office said and pulled George Kendall out of the trailer by his arm. His partner followed close behind, dragging Derek Slate with him.

  “Now all we have to do is find Tom Cochrane and we can wrap this up,” I said.

  “Elliott,” Eric said, “I know this all started when Raymond Bailey landed at your feet, but don’t you think you and Gloria should bow out now? I mean, we’ve already got three people dead and I don’t want either of you paying the price if and when we find Cochrane.”

  I looked at Gloria. “Maybe you should go home and relieve Mrs. Chandler,” I said. “She’s been with Matt all day and is probably anxious to get home herself.”

  “What about you?” Gloria said. “I don’t want anything happening to you, either. Come on, Elliott. Let the police handle this from here on out and come home with me.”

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly seven-thirty. “How about if I meet you back home at nine o’clock?” I said. “I just want to check out one more lead and then I’ll come home, I promise.”

  Gloria shot a glance at Eric. Eric shrugged and spread his hands. “Hey,” he said, “don’t look at me. I suppose I could make him stay off this case but I can’t make him go home.”

  “An hour and a half,” I said, and kissed Gloria on the forehead. “I’ll be home by nine either way.”

  Gloria sighed. “All right,” she said, “but no later. We still have our own business to run and I don’t see myself running it as a widow.”

  She turned and left the trailer. A moment later I heard her tires crunching on gravel.

  “What’s this one more lead you wanted to check out?” Eric said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I was stalling for time. I thought I’d ride along with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Chances are we won’t be able to wrap this up in ninety minutes,” Eric said. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Not if keep standing here talking about it,” I said. “Let’s hit the road.” Without another word we left the trailer and got into Eric’s cruiser.

  Eric started the engine and then turned to me. “Where to?” he said.

  I thought for a moment and then said, “If you were Cochrane, where would you be?”

  “Well,” Eric said, “he probably doesn’t know yet that Mullins and Stewart are dead, so he might not be in as much of a hurry to run. But as for where he’d be now, that’s anyone’s guess.”

  Eric was about to pull out of the construction parking area when I held up one finger. “Wait,” I said. “I thought I saw something out there. Turn the car off. Listen.”

  Eric’s window was down and we both peered out into the night. Something moved again. This time I got a better look at it. It was a man and he was running through the construction site. Eric and I slid out of the car and drew our guns, following the sound of quick footsteps through the gravel.

  “Over there,” I said, pointing toward a pile of rough-cut lumber. “Behind the wood pile.” I circled around one end of the pile and Eric took the opposite side. We met around the back but there was no one else there. We stopped in our tracks and listened again. A few seconds later the footfalls sounded again to Eric’s left. He spun toward the sound and tried to see where the sound was coming from.

  “Let’s go,” Eric said, leading the way toward a small pile of dried concrete drippings. Whoever it was out there had to have known that we were in pursuit. When we stopped, he stopped. When we started again, he started walking or running.

  In the dark, a figure ahead of us stopped, turned toward us and raised a hand. Eric and I ducked behind the wood pile just as a shot tore a chunk of wood off one of the two-by-fours on the pile. We crouched and returned fire, aiming at the spot where we’d seen the muzzle flash coming from. The figure turned and ran, putting another ten yards between us before we continued our pursuit.

  I gestured for Eric to swing wide, around one end of the uncompleted building while I swung wide in the other direction. We could still see each other through the skeletal framework of beams and girders, but the man we’d been chasing was nowhere to be seen. Eric and I met on the opposite side of the structure. He turned toward me. We listened again but didn’t hear any more footsteps. The next sound we heard was the blast of a handgun from somewhere ahead of us. Blood spurted from the front of Eric’s shoulder and splashed onto my shirt, the bullet whizzing past, missing me by less than an inch.

  Eric fell to his knees, clutching his wounded shoulder. “Get him,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

  I left Eric there kneeling and picked up the pursuit, dodging in and out of cover. I could make out the figure ahead of me and knew I was within range for a clean shot. “Freeze,” I yelled to the man. “Freeze or I’ll shoot.”

  The man stopped dead in his tracks, his hands raised. In his right hand he still held fast to the handgun, his finger still wrapped around the trigger.

  “Drop it,” I yelled. “Do it now.”

  The man slowly began to turn toward me, but still hadn’t dropped the gun. “I said drop it,” I repeated.

  The man quickly lowered the gun, trying to get a shot off at me, but I was quicker and put one into the center of his chest and another into his thigh as he fell. Finally he dropped the gun and fell dead where he lay. I cautiously approached him, taking no chances. When I got close enough, I kicked his gun out of reach and then knelt next to the man. I quickly patted him down, checking for another gun. He didn’t have one, nor would he ever need one again. I reached into his back pocket and produced a brown bi-fold wallet, flipping it open to the driver’s license. It identified the dead man as Thomas Cochrane from Hollywood.

  I carried the wallet back to where Eric was still kneeling. “Cochrane,” I said. “He’s dead. And now we’d better get you to a hospital, fast.” I sped through the streets of Hollywood and squealed to a stop in the emergency entrance of the hospital. I found a wheelchair sitting just outside the door, loaded Eric into it and wheeled him inside, yelling for some help. A doctor appeared and took the wheelchair from me, wheeling Eric behind two swing doors next to the nurse’s station.

  I flipped open my cell phone and called home. Gloria answered. “Gloria,” I said. “Listen, I know I told you I’d be home by nine, but we ran into a snag.”

  “What kind of a snag?” Gloria said, an edge to her voice.

  “I’m calling from the emergency room at the hospital,” I said.

  “Elliott,” Gloria said in a panic. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” I said, “but Eric’s been shot. It’s not too serious, but they still have to remove a bullet from his shoulder. He’ll be fine, but we got Cochrane.”

  “Dead?” Gloria said.

  “As dead as they come,” I told her. “I just want to hang around here until they bring Eric out of surgery, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Gloria said. “As long as you’re not hurt. What time do you think you’ll be home?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It all depends on when they finish with Eric. Shouldn’t be too long. I’d better get off now and call someone at the precinct to let them know about Eric. I’ll see you later. Love you.”

  “I love you, too, Elliott,” Gloria said and hung up.

  I made the call to the twelfth precinct and waited around for another hour and a quarter before the doctor came out to talk to me. He told me Eric would be fine and that he’d make a full recovery with two weeks rest. I thanked the doctor and asked if I could see Eric. He told me which room I could find Eric in. I walked into Eric’s room and found him reclined in his bed, which had been cranked up to a sitting position.

  “How do you feel?” I said as I walked up to the bed.

  “A little foolish,” Eric said. “I should know better than to expose myself to getting shot and still I stood there like a rookie.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “If anyone at the
station asks, we were ambushed. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  “Thanks,” Eric said. “Did they send someone to the construction site to pick up Cochrane’s body?”

  “Andy’s got him on a slab down at the morgue,” I said. “Andy Reynolds was the county medical examiner and a friend of mine.

  “Did anyone say anything to you about Cochrane’s role in all this?” Eric said.

  “From what they could find out at the station,” I said, “Slate and Cochrane cooked up this whole thing while they were bunking together at San Quentin. They just had to wait for the right set of circumstances before they could play it out. They forged George Kendall’s name on a phony will, listing those other guys as beneficiaries. Then they began knocking them off, one at a time starting with Raymond Bailey.”

  “Wait a minute,” Eric said. “Cochrane’s name was on that list, too. And so was Slate’s.”

  “They wanted themselves to appear to be in just as much danger as the others,” I said. “Then when the other three beneficiaries were dead, they were going to take care of Kendall, too. Then the two of them would share in Kendall’s will.”

  “But what did Kendall have that they wanted?” Eric said. “Hell, if he had anything worth killing for, why would he be working in construction?”

  “It was all part of this complicated plan that Slate and Cochrane had worked out,” I said. “Kendall didn’t know it, but seventy-five percent of the interest in Harper Construction had been signed over to him. Once Kendall was dead, the company would pretty much belong to Slate and Cochrane.”

  “How could that happen without Leo Harper getting wise to their plan?” Eric said.

  “They were going to kill him, too,” I said. “Remember, Slate worked in the office and had plenty of examples of Harper’s signature. He kept himself close enough to Harper to gain his confidence and trust. And if Mrs. Bailey hadn’t hired me to look into her husband’s death, this whole thing could have gone on record as an accident. And there would have been more accidents, you can bet on that. Slate and Cochrane knew from their stretch in San Quentin how to be patient and it might have taken them another year to get to the last killing. But with the stakes as high as they were, they must have figured that they’d just sit back and wait.”