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

by Bill Bernico

  “How about if we drive over to the local lottery office and see if Rob was telling us the truth about winning twenty-five grand with a scratch-off ticket,” I said. “Lottery winners are a matter of public record. We only have to check on winners from the last couple of weeks.”

  “And from that we should be able to get their last names,” Gloria said. “Great, let’s go.”

  We drove south from the twelfth precinct and a few minutes later found ourselves in front of the building that housed the lottery commission. I found the information board in the lobby and learned that the lottery commission was located on the fifth floor in room five-seventeen. Gloria and I rode the elevator to the fifth floor. When the doors opened, we saw to signs on the wall. One pointed to our left, directing people to rooms 501-515 while a sign directly below it pointed to the right, directing visitors to rooms 516-530. We headed right and walked into the lottery office. We were greeted by a woman in a gray business suit and skirt.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “May I help you?”

  Gloria and I stepped up to the counter. “We’d like to see a list of winners for the twenty-five thousand dollar scratch-off game, please.”

  “That quite a tall order,” the woman said. “Could you narrow it down a little? When would this win have happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I told her. “All I know is that it was supposed to have been won in the last two weeks and the first name of the winner would be either Rob or Robert, I’m not sure, or Eileen. Is that enough to go on?”

  “Let me have a look,” the woman said. She punched a few keys on her computer, entering a date from two weeks ago and then today’s date. She entered ‘scratch-off’ in the box marked ‘Type.’ A list of seven people appeared on the screen and she ran her finger down the list, stopping when she came to one of the names we’d provided. “Here we are, the winner’s name was Eileen Ruppert. Did you need anything else?”

  “Does it list an address?” Gloria said. “And maybe a phone number?”

  The woman gave us both a suspicious look and then said. “May I ask why you want that information?”

  I retrieved the leather case with my badge and I.D. card and flipped it open in front of the lottery clerk. I pulled one of my cards from the pocket and handed it to her. “We’re on a murder case and one of the clues led to Eileen. We need to find her and get some answers to our questions so we can eliminate her as a suspect. Purely routine.”

  “Well, Mr. Cooper,” she said, “we’re always happy to cooperate with the authorities in these matters.” She wrote Eileen’s name, address and phone number on a slip of paper and slid it across the counter to me. I folded the slip and stuffed it into my short pocket.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Could I have your name in case I need to call you again?”

  “Certainly,” the woman said. “It’s Evelyn Ballard. Here’s my card.”

  “Thanks again,” Gloria said.

  We left the lottery office and took the elevator back to the lobby. I drove east toward Pasadena and found Eileen’s address on South El Molino Avenue just off Colorado Boulevard. It was a three-story stucco apartment building with a Spanish tile roof. I parked at the curb and told Gloria to cover the back door while I climbed the four steps up to the front door. Just inside the door were six mailboxes, each with a name pasted over the slot. Box 202 listed E. Ruppert on it. I climbed the steps to the second floor. Each floor had just two apartments and Eileen’s was the one that faced the street.

  Gloria approached the rear door to the apartment building and was surprised to run into Eileen on her way out. Eileen’s eyes widened when she saw Gloria.

  “Gloria,” Eileen said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Were you going somewhere?” Gloria said.

  “Yeah,” Eileen said, “I was just going…”

  “Down to the corner for cigarettes,” Gloria said, “I know. Where’s Rob?”

  Gloria flinched when a shot rang out from inside the building. She instinctively looked toward the upper floors and then back at Eileen. Gloria pulled her .38 from her purse and trained it on Eileen, gesturing back toward the rear door. “Suppose you and I go take a look at where that came from,” she told Eileen.

  Eileen turned back toward the building and slowly walked ahead of Gloria. The two women took the rear stairway to the second floor, Gloria staying several steps behind Eileen. At the second floor landing the door to the apartment facing the street hung wide open.

  Gloria pointed with her .38. “Inside,” she said.

  Eileen stepped inside the apartment to find Rob on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back. I stood over him holding two guns, his and one Gloria had apparently never seen before.

  Gloria looked over at me. “Was that a shot I heard?” she said, and then looked down at Rob’s right hand. There was a little blood and some superficial scrapes. She looked back at the second gun I was holding.

  “Looks like my time at the pistol range paid off,” I said. “Shot it right out of his hand. I think I heard his trigger finger break.” I nudged Rob with my foot. “Now suppose you tell me why you were pointing this gun at me.”

  Rob tried to strain his head back to look at me. “I thought you were someone else,” he said. “You didn’t have to shoot me in the hand. I wasn’t going to shoot you.”

  “Save it, Rob,” I said. “Lieutenant Anderson has some questions for you and Eileen. I can assume you know what Chuck has been telling us.”

  “Chuck couldn’t…” Rob started to say but caught himself.

  “Chuck couldn’t what?” I said. “I think once ballistics checks the bullets in your gun here against the one they took out of Chuck’s head, well, let me put it this way. “Your idea about what a warm, friendly place California is might just change. Your fellow inmates in San Quentin might not be so neighborly, unless, of course, you look like their type. Then I think you can count on a party every night and you’ll be the guest of honor.”

  Gloria looked at Eileen. “And your playmates at Chowchilla are just going to love you,” she said. “And you know what? I don’t think any of them would take kindly to you picking their pockets.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Eileen said. “You can’t hang Chuck’s murder on me. That was Rob and only Rob.”

  “Why you bitch,” Rob said, snarling at Eileen. “You just shut that big mouth of yours.”

  “I didn’t want any violence,” Eileen said. “Rob just got nuts when he found out that Chuck was in with those two punks from Sheboygan. All three of them ripped us off, only the other two double-crossed Chuck and gave him three slugs for his trouble.”

  Rob wiggled on the floor, trying to get closer to Eileen. “Shut up,” he yelled.

  “I’ll tell your lieutenant anything he wants to know,” Eileen said. “But I’m not going down for murder.”

  Gloria looked at me. “Cover her, Elliott, while I cuff her,” Gloria said, slipping his .38 back into her purse and producing her pair of cuffs. She snapped them onto Eileen’s wrist and twisted her other arm around behind her and snapped on the other half. Gloria eased Eileen down onto the sofa. I left Rob lying on the floor and pulled out my cell phone. I had Lieutenant Anderson’s number on speed dial and his secretary picked up right away. She told me that Eric was out but that she could get my message to him and have him return my call. I closed my phone and within three minutes Eric called me back.

  “Elliott,” Eric said. “What do you have for me?”

  “Gloria and I have Chuck’s killers cuffed and ready for pickup,” I said. “How soon can you get to Pasadena?” I gave him the address and told him we’d stay put until he arrived. I closed my phone, picked up Rob by his good wrist and sat him in the chair opposite the sofa. He scowled at Eileen before I stepped between the two partners in crime.

  “So this was your real reason for hiring me,” I said. “You must have been thrilled to pieces to learn that the second punk was killed and that I was bringing Chuck right
to you. What a dope I’ve been. I should have seen this one coming.”

  Rob said nothing but just hung his head.

  “You got that right,” Eileen said from behind me. “All the way out to California Rob bitched about being ripped off of all that money we lifted in Sheboygan.”

  I looked down at Rob. “Now you have some idea of how your marks feel, don’t you?” I said. “What I don’t get is why you told me that you had talked with Chuck about trying to give the money back to the people who ran the festival where you did all that pocket picking. That seemed so out of character for someone like you.”

  Rob just shook his head. “Twelve grand was chump change,” he said. “It wasn’t the money. It was the idea that a guy I trusted ripped us off. Hell, we can make twice that much on a good day in a big crowd. I just wasn’t going to let that greedy asshole get away with it.”

  Gloria stepped to the side of me so she could get a good look at Rob. “And what do you have now for your troubles?” she said. “By the time you get out—if you make it out alive—you’ll be an old man. Was it worth it?” Gloria turned back to face Eileen. “And you, I imagine they’ll teach you a new trade on the inside. But I doubt that by the time you get out there’ll be any need for someone with experience in sewing mail sacks or stamping license plates.”

  “I told you,” Eileen almost screamed. “I didn’t have anything to do with killing Chuck. That ought to be worth something to the cops. I’ll tell them all they want to know, but I don’t want to go away for something Rob did.”

  I shrugged. “Don’t waste your breath on me,” I said. “Save it for Lieutenant Anderson, but I doubt he’ll have any interest in going easy on you. They have all they need. What do they want with your testimony?”

  “Because I can tell them where to recover more than sixty thousand dollars that Rob and I lifted from all those stupid marks downtown these last few weeks,” Eileen said.

  As if on cue, Eric and two uniformed officers stepped through the apartment door with their guns drawn. “These the two you were telling me about, Elliott?” Eric said.

  I hiked a thumb over my shoulder. “That one’s Eileen Rupert,” I said, and then turned toward Rob. “And this one is Rob,” I paused. “I didn’t get your last name Rob,” I said to my prisoner. Rob just sneered at me and said nothing.

  Eric pulled Rob up off the sofa and dug a wallet out of Rob’s back pocket. He flipped it open to an Illinois driver’s license and read. “Robert Baker,” Eric said. “With a Chicago address.” Eric stuffed Rob’s wallet into his own pocket and pulled Rob my the wrist, turning him over to one of the officers.

  “Take him downtown and book him for murder one,” Eric said. He handed Eileen over to the other officer. “Her, too.”

  “But…” Eileen started to say before the officer pulled her out of the room and escorted her down the stairs behind Rob and his escort.

  Eric turned back to me. “How’d you find them?” he said.

  “I remembered something Eileen said back in my office the day they hired me,” I said. “I thought they were trying to hire me with money that the two of them had stolen. But she said that it was money that they’d won with a scratch-off lottery ticket. All we had to do was check with the lottery commission and get the names of winners within the last few weeks. There was only one winner named Eileen. That led us right to them.”

  On our way back down to the curb, I filled Eric in on what Eileen had told us. We all stopped next to Eric’s cruiser. Gloria held one finger up. “You know,” she said. “I’ve heard stories and I’ve seen television accounts of people that claimed winning the lottery ruined their lives. I thought they were full of shit, but now I think I understand what they were saying.”

  Eric and I both laughed at the irony in this case. He turned to me and said, “Listen, I have to get back to the precinct and process our new guests. But how about if I meet you two for coffee afterwards? Let’s say The Gold Cup on the boulevard. I’ll call you when I finish with those two.”

  “Works for me,” I said.

  Gloria turned to Eric. “Coffee sounds good,” she said, “but let’s skip The Gold Cup. I know a place that serves much better coffee and it’s free.”

  “Really?” Eric said. “And where would that be?”

  “My kitchen,” Gloria said. “I want to get home and spend some time with Matt. Besides, you haven’t seen him in a while. He’s getting bigger every day and I’m sure he’d love to see you again.”

  “I’d like to see him, too,” Eric said. “It’s a date. I’ll call before I leave the precinct. See you both then.” Eric slid beneath the wheel of his cruiser and sped away.

  I slipped an arm around Gloria. “That was a great idea,” I said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Matt, too.” I looked at my wristwatch. Yup, it’s now been six hours, eighteen minutes and three seconds, but my watch could be a little slow.”

  Gloria hugged me and kissed my neck. “I’m sure he misses you, too, Daddy.”

  I had to smile every time I heard myself referred to by that name.

  102- Memories Are Made Of This

  I was enjoying my lunch in the park on my favorite bench when a familiar face came toward me. It took me a moment to recognize Lieutenant Eric Anderson. I was used to seeing him in uniform. Today he wore jeans and a sweat shirt with U.C.L.A. emblazoned across the front. He wore bright white sneakers and was walking at a faster than usual pace. It wasn’t quite jogging, but it certainly wasn’t the usual pace of a person out for a leisurely stroll. Eric did a double-take as he passed me and then stopped and turned back.

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the day, Elliott?” Eric said, bending over slightly, his hands on his knees.

  I held up the sandwich with one bite out of it. “Lunch,” I said. “Every now and then I just have to get away from the office and get some fresh air.”

  “Fresh air,” Eric said. “That’s a good one. Let me know where you find it so I can fill my lungs, too.” He took a deep breath and let it out, gesturing towards the seat next to me. “Mind if I join you for a while?”

  I scooped up my lunch bag, brushed off the crumbs and slid down to make room for Eric. “Sure,” I said. “If you don’t mind watching me eat.”

  “Won’t bother me,” Eric said. “I already had my lunch an hour ago before I started my walk.”

  “And you walk because...” I said.

  “To stay fit and trim,” Eric said. “And to keep my present weight.”

  “If anybody didn’t need to walk, it’s you,” I said. “Look at you; you’re the picture of health.”

  “That’s because I walk,” Eric said.

  “Let me ask you something, Eric,” I said. “How long have you been a cop?”

  “Are you writing a book or something?” Eric said and then quickly smiled.

  “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I am. You remember my dad?”

  “Clay Cooper,” Eric said. “I certainly do. He was a fine man. What about him?”

  “Well,” I said, “do you remember a few years ago when dad was going to write a book about his experiences as a private detective?”

  “Seems to me I do,” Eric said. “Did he ever get anywhere with it?”

  I had to laugh. “He started it but got warned off the project by some of the characters he was going to include in his memoirs.”

  “I don’t get it,” Eric said. “Why is that funny?”

  I straightened out my face and said, “That’s not the funny part,” I said. “The funny part was that Dad ended up writing a detective-themed cook book. He even found a publisher. He didn’t exactly get rich from it, either. The publisher was one of those vanity presses and Dad ended up paying more than two grand to have his book printed. I still have six big boxes of those things in my garage. I’d have to sell fifty-seven of them at full retail just to make back Dad’s investment. So, no, being an author is not all that lucrative.”

  “So what is it that you’
re going to tackle?” Eric said. “Don’t tell me you’ve thought up a sequel to the cook book.”

  “Nothing like that,” I said. “I just felt I owed it to Dad to finish what he started. I’m going to be going through his old cases from the seventies through last year, when he died. I also wanted to include stories that Dean Hollister and his dad, Dan might have had. I know you worked under Dean, but Dan would have been before your time.”

  “Dean was a special guy,” Eric said. “He shared a lot of his exploits with me over the years.”

  “And that’s where you come in,” I said. “I was wondering if you could share some of Dean’s experiences with me. And, if you want to contribute, I’d be interested in hearing about some of your cases, too.”

  “That’s why you asked how long I’d been on the force,” Eric said. “This is my thirteenth year. I was a sergeant under Dean and took over as lieutenant when he retired.”

  “Were there other cops in your family?” I said between bites of my sandwich. “I mean, was your dad a cop, too?”

  “My dad wasn’t,” Eric said. “He went the other way.”

  “A career criminal?” I said, laughing.

  “A prosecuting attorney,” Eric said. “He did that for nearly thirty years.”

  “Is he still alive?” I said.

  “Sure,” Eric said. “He’s got seven more years until retirement and he’s really looking forward to it. He tells me there’s a monster trout with his name on it just waiting for him up in the mountains.”

  “So that makes you the first generation of cop in your family?” I said.

  “Well,” Eric said, “Dad skipped the lineage but his father was with the L.A.P.D. back in the early fifties. In fact, grandpa worked with Dan Hollister and your grandfather as well.”

  “Small world, isn’t it?” I said. “But of course by the early fifties, Grandpa had been off the force for five or six years already. He started Cooper Investigations in 1946 after only two and a half years as a cop.”

  “Imagine that,” Eric said. “So, where did you want to start with the questions?”