by Bill Bernico
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” Larry said. I couldn’t be totally candid with you for reasons I really can’t go into right now. I needed information on Nate and this seemed like the easiest way to get it. But, as it turns out, it appears I won’t need that information after all. So if you’ll just tell me what I owe you for your trouble.”
“Well,” I started to say, “We have a one day minimum charge of two hundred dollars.”
“Not a problem,” Larry said, producing a checkbook and scribbling out a check for three hundred dollars. He handed the check to Gloria, who looked at the amount and turned back to Larry.
“This is made out for three hundred dollars,” Gloria said.
“And a bargain at twice the price,” Larry said. “If you hadn’t remembered that I was in your office at the time of poor Nate’s death, I’d still be sitting there answering a lot of questions. No, you’ve earned it. You keep it.”
Gloria smiled. “Thank you very much, Mr. Feinberg, but if you remember, you already gave us a check for a thousand dollars.” She folded the check and handed it back to Feinberg.
Just then I pulled up in front of Fein And Dan D. and let Larry out. He thanked us again before walking away, leaving Gloria and me dumbfounded by the whole morning. “They don’t come any stranger than that,” I said.
“You mean the case?” Gloria said.
“The case, the guy, the murder victim, everything,” I told her. “None of this makes any sense.”
“What do you care?” Gloria said. “We made a quick three bills for a couple hours of chasing around. Forget it and let’s get back to work.”
“I suppose.” We got back to the office shortly after one-thirty. There were no messages on the machine and we had nothing else going at the moment. I turned to Gloria. “You hungry?”
“That’s right,” she said. “We’ve been so busy I forgot about lunch. Where do you want to go?”
“I didn’t want to go anywhere,” I explained. “I thought I’d run down to the corner and pick us up a couple of Sonny’s hot dogs. Suddenly I have a craving for a fat, juicy hot dog. How about you?”
Gloria waved me off. “Not me. I’m calling out for a pizza. You can get what you want.”
“Back in a flash,” I said, exiting the office. It took me just two minutes to find myself standing in front of Sonny’s hot dog stand, my mouth watering. I looked at Sonny and held up two fingers. “Just mustard and relish,” I said.
As Sonny was preparing my dogs I heard a crash next to his stand. Sonny set my hot dogs down and looked to his right, down near the sidewalk. “Damn it all,” he said, picking up pieced of a large glass jar.
I looked at the place where Sonny was bent over and noticed several dozen large pickles strewn across the sidewalk. “How’d that happen?” I said.
Sonny looked up momentarily. “Oh, it’s my own fault, I guess. I set the jar on the block of ice and forgot about it. The ice must have melted and the jar slid off onto the sidewalk.”
“What ice?” I said. “I don’t see any water on the cement.”
Sonny shrugged. “It was dry ice,” he explained. “It’s not frozen water. It’s frozen carbon dioxide. It doesn’t leave anything when it melts.
“No kidding,” I said. “Where’d you find dry ice around here?”
“I didn’t,” Sonny explained. “I had to drive to Torrance early this morning to get some for my cart.” He pointed to the left side of his hot dog cart. “This side holds the condiments and they have to be kept cold. Regular ice melts too fast and I only had room for one of the blocks in the cart. I set the second block alongside my cart and set the pickle jar on top of it. I just forgot it was there until I heard the crash.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “If you knew your cart only held one block, why’d you get two?”
“They were having a sale,” Sonny explained. “Buy one, get one free. No sense leaving it there.”
“I guess not,” I said. “Can I get those dogs now?”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” Sonny said, squirting two lines of mustard on each hot dog and then spooning on a little relish before wrapping each dog up in waxed paper and handing them to me.
I paid him and walked away, taking a bite out of one of the dogs as I walked. The first dog was gone by the time I got back to the office. I sat behind my desk again and looked at Gloria. “You’ll have to excuse me for eating in front of you, but I have to eat while it’s hot.”
“Not a problem,” Gloria said. “And you’ll have to excuse me for eating my pizza in front of you when it gets here.”
I took a bite of my second hot dog and then turned to Gloria as I swallowed. “Should have seen poor Sonny,” I said. “He lost a whole jar of pickles on the sidewalk.”
“How?”
“His ice block melted and the jar fell off it onto the sidewalk.”
“Why doesn’t he keep his ice block inside the cart?”
I explained Sonny’s predicament and took another bit of my dog.
Gloria’s brows furrowed. “Elliott,” she said, “How big would a block of dry ice be? I mean how tall would it stand?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. A foot, maybe. Why?”
“And how long would it take a block that size to melt?”
“Where are you going with this?” I said.
Gloria inhaled and pointed a finger in my general direction. “What if someone was standing on a block of dry ice and it melted. Would he fall down?”
A light went on in my head. “This hypothetical guy you’re talking about, he wouldn’t by chance have a noose around his neck, would he?”
“And when the dry ice block melted, there’d be no wet spot afterwards, would there?”
I finished my hot dog and dialed Eric’s office number. “Eric,” I said when he picked up. “Do you still have Nate Killian’s clothes there in the morgue?”
“I guess,” Eric said. “Why?”
“Would you have Andy Reynolds check the soles of Killian’s shoes and let me know what he finds?”
“I suppose you have a good reason for asking,” Eric said.
“I do,” I told him, “But I’d rather not explain until you call me back with Andy’s findings.”
“At least tell me what he’s supposed to be looking for,” Eric said.
“Traces of carbon dioxide,” I told Eric. “Just have him do a quick check for that and call me back, would you?”
“I’m on it,” Eric said and hung up. He called back within thirty minutes. “Now how’d you know about that?”
“Get your lab guys over to Killian’s place and have then run that same test on the carpet directly below the spot where your men cut Killian down,” I said. “My guess is that you’ll find it there, too.”
“What are you getting at, Cooper,” Eric demanded.
“Meet me at Killian’s house and I’ll fill you in,” I said. “Give me that address again.”
I turned to Gloria. “I think we got him?”
“Got who?”
“Feinberg,” I explained. “I think I know how he killed Killian. Come on, this ought to be good.” We drove south on Highland to Melrose and parked around the corner. Eric’s cruiser was already there, along with the crime lab’s van. The front door was open and Gloria and I walked in to find a man on his knees with some sort of portable machine pointed at the floor. It reminded me of a Geiger counter. After a few moments of scanning the floor the man turned to Eric and nodded.
Eric looked up at me as I entered the living room. “Now would you like to explain how you knew there’d be traces of carbon dioxide on Killian’s shoes and on this part of the carpet?”
“Simple,” I explained. “Dry ice. Somehow Feinberg got the jump on Killian and managed to tie his hands behind his back. My guess is he knocked him out with something. Might want to have Andy check Killian’s head for a lump. Anyway, once Killian was out, Feinberg tied his hands and just waited for Killian to come around. He probably held a gun on him
and told him to step up onto the dry ice block and then slipped the noose around his neck. He probably told Killian he’d be back for him or said something else to give the poor man hope.”
“Instead he just left him there,” Eric said, filling in my line of thinking. “And the ice melts while Feinberg is in your office establishing his alibi. He really didn’t need you to do anything for him other than provide the perfect alibi. Clever.”
“But then I went down for a hot dog for lunch and stumbled on the answer,” I told Eric. “I’ll bet if you check with that dry ice company in Torrance, you’ll probably find a record of a sale to Feinberg, if not in his real name, at least around the right time frame. I’m sure they’d be able to identify Feinberg in a lineup.”
Eric turned to the patrolman he’d brought with him. “Call in to the precinct and have Feinberg picked up again.”
“Yes sir.” The cop returned to the cruiser and called in Eric’s request.
Eric looked at me again. “And this time I think I’ll hang onto Mr. Feinberg.”
“He left too many things to chance,” Gloria said. “What a Stooge.”
Eric looked puzzled by Gloria’s remark, but I got it right away. We drove back to the office and didn’t find out what became of Louis Feinberg until the next day when Eric called us. When they presented him with the evidence they had, Feinberg broke down and confessed to killing his embezzling partner and said he wasn’t sorry he did it. He was only sorry he couldn’t have stuck around to see Killian die.
Gloria and I drove back home after work that day and settled in for a night of television with Olivia. It must have been a slow night for Olivia. Usually she’d be out with her friends, hanging around the mall. We took advantage of her night off and spent what we considered to be quality time with her. Around nine-thirty the phone rang and it was Matt.
“Matt,” I said. “How’s everything in that little love nest of yours?”
“Dad,” Matt said in a monotone voice. “Can I talk to you?”
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“No, I mean can we meet somewhere to talk?”
“You want to come here?”
“No,” Matt said quickly. “How about if you meet me at The Copper Penny in Glendale. That’s not too far away for either of us.”
“Sure,” I said. “Ten minutes okay?”
“Thanks, Dad,” Matt said and hung up.
I walked back into the living room and looked at Gloria. “I have to go out for a while. I won’t be long.”
Gloria followed me to the kitchen door. “I heard part of that,” she said. “Matt?”
I nodded. “He wants to talk to me alone. This can’t be good.”
“Be supportive,” Gloria said. “He probably just needs his dad right now.”
I kissed Gloria on the forehead and left through the kitchen door. I made it to The Copper Penny in just under ten minutes. Matt was already sitting in a booth near the back of the dining room. I slid in across from him. He wasn’t smiling. What’s wrong, Matt?” I said.
Matt hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“Debbie’s not…”
Matt held up one palm. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” He let out a deep breath and tried again. “Dad, she broke it off with me. The wedding’s off.”
“What?” I said, taken by surprise. “What happened? I thought you two were all set. She seemed like such a nice girl and you two made a cute couple. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Matt said.
“Did she give you a reason?” I said.
Matt nodded, his head hanging on his chest. “She said she still had feelings for her old boy friend and that she just wanted us to spend a little time apart so she could sort out her feelings.”
“Apart?” I said. “For how long?”
“A month,” Matt explained. “That was yesterday. This morning I drove past her house just as she was getting into some fancy sports car with Todd, that’s her old boyfriend, and they were kissing.”
“Oh Matt,” I said, reaching for his arm and patting it. “I know this isn’t easy and it seems like you’ll never get over it, but trust me, time will heal this hurt you’re feeling. Just don’t let it get you down. If you two were meant to be together, she’ll come back. If not, well, it’s better to find out now than after you married her, isn’t it?”
Matt didn’t answer. He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and wiped at his eyes. How am I ever going to find anyone as perfect as Debbie? They’re scarce.”
“As scarce as an Amish guy in a speedo?” I said, trying to lighten the moment.
Matt looked at me for a moment and then couldn’t help himself. He had to laugh. It seemed strange to see him laugh while tears rolled down his cheeks. He quickly wiped his eyes.
“Seems to me those were almost the exact words you used when Betty broke up with you,” I reminded him. “And look what happened there. Give it time. You’ll see.”
“I sure hope you’re right, Dad,” Matt said.
“What’s going to happen to your apartment?”
“Huh?”
“Your apartment,” I said. “Wasn’t Debbie living there with you?”
“She hadn’t really moved in yet,” Matt explained. “She just had some of her clothes there but she took those with her when she left. I’m just going to keep the apartment. I have to live somewhere.”
“You could always move back in with your mother and me,” I offered.
Matt shook his head. “No, I have to be on my own. Thanks anyway, Dad.”
“Then you’re still coming to work with me?”
Matt sniffed and sighed. “Looks like I have to, doesn’t it? I couldn’t afford to keep the place on what I make writing parking tickets. Sure, I’ll still be there the first of the month. I need the work to keep my mind off all this as well as for the money.”
“That one good thing, anyway,” I said. “You know how many eligible women you can meet on a job like that?”
“No,” Matt said. “How many?”
I paused momentarily. “I don’t know, but it’s got to be a lot, and with a face like that.” I picked up Matt’s chin and looked sideways at him. “We’ll have to buy you a big stick just to beat the girls off you.”
Matt laughed for the first time tonight and laid his hand on my arm. “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “You’re a good listener.
“Isn’t that what dads are for?” I said. “I’ll tell your mother that I’m giving her notice and to clear out her desk by the first of next month. She’s got a new garden all planned out and I’m really looking forward to us running the business together, son.”
“Me too, Dad.”
We both slid out of the booth and Matt hugged me, as if he might not ever get the chance again. It felt good and I hugged him back. I let him go and stood back to have a better look at my son, now a full-grown man in his own right. I snapped my fingers. “It just dawned on me. What am I going to do about parking tickets now?”
Matt said nothing, but just slapped my shoulder. “Same ol’ Dad,” he said.
We parted ways in the parking lot. I hoped I could keep it together when I relayed poor Matt’s story to Gloria.
122 - Scared To Death
I stood next to Lieutenant Eric Anderson of the L.A.P.D., looking down at the body on the slab. Eric shook his head. “Max Brewster,” he said offhandedly. “Who’d have figured with the life he was leading that he’d end up dead from something as tame as a heart attack?”
“How’d you expect him to go?” I said. “In a barrage of bullets or at the bottom of the bay in cement overshoes? Maybe you’d have preferred to find him with his throat slit ear to ear. What’s wrong with a good ol’ heart attack? He’s just as dead and good riddance, I say.”
“I know, Elliott,” Eric said. “I just thought there’d be a little more poetic justice in finding him with the garrote still wrapped around his neck. Then at least we’d know where to
start looking for his killer.”
“And now?” I said. “What, are you going to arrest the owner of the donut shop? Max obviously didn’t know when to quit. Hell, you arrest bartenders if they keep serving someone booze after they’re drunk. Why not arrest the baker if they keep selling a fat fuck like this more donuts even after it’s obvious he’d had too much already?”
“That’s just it,” Eric said. “Max might have been a little overweight, but the medical examiner says this guy’s heart wasn’t clogged at all. Kind of makes you wonder, donut?”
I looked sideways at Eric. “I take it you’re not too broken up about this guy’s death. Just take it for what it’s worth and don’t look this gift horse in the mouth,” I told him. “It’s one less dirt bag on the streets. Now, would you care to tell me why you called me down here?”
Eric pointed to a symmetrical pair of red bruises, one on each of the victim’s shoulders. “That’s got me stymied,” he said. “Looks like he was wearing suspenders and someone snapped him to death with them.”
I took a closer look at the bruises. “That is unusual,” I said. “But it’s still just a heart attack, isn’t it?”
“Not with the healthy heart Max had,” Eric said. “Officially all the M.E. can do is put ‘heart attack’ down as the cause of death, but I’m not buying it.”
“All right,” I said. “Then where do I come in?”
“If someone thinks they got away with this, I want them to go on thinking that and the official stance around here will be just that.” Eric scratched the back of his head. “But you, on the other hand, can quietly look into this without causing any ripples in this big damned pond. Want the job?”
“I didn’t even think there was a job in this,” I said. “Where would I look and who would I question?”
Eric unfolded a sheet of paper he’d had in his shirt pocket. He handed it to me. “That’s a list of all of Max Brewster’s known associates. One of them must know something and I’m hoping you’ll be able to find out what that something is.”
