by Bill Bernico
Elliott led Matt by the arm back out to the van. They sat there in the parking lot for a moment before Elliott started the van again. “Now don’t you feel just a little foolish, Matt?”
“Hey,” Matt replied. “You’re the one who apparently made up that whole wandering wife story.”
“No,” Elliott said. “I was talking about being a big baby when it comes to going to the dentist. It wasn’t bad at all, was it? Tell the truth.”
“All right,” Matt agreed. “It didn’t hurt much at all. You happy now?”
“Only if you keep all your appointments from now on,” Elliott said. “Take care of those teeth you have. They won’t grow back like they did when you lost your baby teeth. And dentures are no fun at all, or so they tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” Matt said. “Can we get back to work now?”
Elliott started the van and pulled out into traffic again. He caught the Hollywood Freeway going south and headed back to work. He’d only gone as far as the Ventura Freeway when he headed east at the last second.
“This isn’t our turn, Dad,” Matt said. “You were supposed to go straight back there.”
“I know,” Elliott said. “I just figured as long as we’re up this way that maybe I’d pay your grandparents a visit. It’s just a couple miles out of our way. What do you say?”
Matt smiled warmly. “I’d like that,” he said and settled back into his seat. “You know, there are quite a few famous people at Forest Lawn, too.”
“I know,” Elliott said. “That’s where Terry Kath was buried.”
“Terry who?”
“Terry Kath,” Elliott said. “He was the original guitarist for Chicago until he accidentally shot himself. What a waste of talent that turned out to be.”
“Are you saying he wasn’t talented?
“No,” Elliott explained. “I mean all that talent he had was wasted on one careless moment with his gun. If he had just checked the chamber before he decided to show off.”
“Huh?” Matt was totally in the dark now.
“Terry was sitting at the table cleaning his guns,” Elliott explained. “A friend of his who was there with him said something to the effect of being careful with those guns and Terry pointed took the clip he’d recently taken out of that automatic. Then he put the gun to his temple and told his friend that it wasn’t even loaded. Well, he may have removed the clip, but he forgot about the one round in the chamber. He died instantly and the world lost a musical genius.”
“I’m still not sure who you’re talking about,” Matt said.
“You have heard of the musical group Chicago,” Elliott said, more in the form of a question.
“Sure,” Matt said. “Weren’t they some kind of horn band?”
“They were a lot more than that,” Elliott said. They’ve been playing together since 1967 and they’re still touring today.”
“Man, they must be geezers by now,” Matt said, laughing.
“They still have the three original horn players and the keyboard player,” Elliott explained. “They’re all in their sixties by now. The other three members have been replaced over the years with younger guys.”
“So what did this Terry Kath do that I’d have heard of?” Matt asked.
“Remember 25 or 6 to 4?” Elliott said. “Best damned guitar solo ever.”
“That was Terry?”
“He was a natural born musician,” Elliott said and then pointed out the window. “There’s our exit.” Elliott pulled into the parking lot and got out. He could find his parents’ graves in the dark by now. His mother had died of cancer when Elliott was just fifteen, while his father, Clay, succumbed to a heart attack many years later. Matt walked alongside his dad down the paved paths and stopped in front of a large stone marker with ‘Cooper’ carved across the top. Below that were the names of Clay and Veronica, along with their birth and death dates.
“Hi, Dad,” Elliott said, looking down at the marble marker. “Mom,” he added, but said nothing more, opting to convey his thoughts to them silently. Matt stood there feeling a bit awkward. He’d never gotten to know his grandmother. She had died before he was born. Matt nervously looked around him, not sure what he was expected to do or say. He just remained still and silent until Elliott had finished his visit and then followed him back to the car again.
“That was the long way around for a sixty second visit,” Matt said.
“It doesn’t matter how long you stay,” Elliott reminded him. “Somehow it just feels a little comforting to be there. I can’t exactly explain it, but I hope you’ll feel the same when it’s you coming here to visit me someday.”
“Don’t talk like that, Dad,” Matt said. “You’ll probably outlive us all.”
“Come on,” Elliott said. “We’d better get back to work.” He headed back toward the freeway onramp and took the Ventura Freeway west, exiting onto the Hollywood. They’d gone less than and mile when Elliott glanced up into his rear view mirror and saw a car closing fast on his tail. Elliott was already in the far right lane and there was plenty of room in the other lanes for this idiot to go around him. A few seconds later the car was less than a car length from Elliott’s rear bumper and still showed no sign of slowing down.
Before he could warn Matt, the driver slammed into Elliott’s rear bumper, cause him to fishtail slightly. Matt turned around in his seat to see that the driver was a woman, a look of terror playing on her face. “What the hell’s wrong with that lady?” Matt said. “Is she on her cell phone or what?”
“I don’t know,” Elliott said, “but I’m pulling over. If she goes around us and takes off, try to get her license number.” Elliott eased his van to the shoulder. The woman pulled up right behind him and hurried out of her car and up to Elliot, who by now had stepped out of his van, ready for a confrontation.
The woman ran up to Elliott, threw her arms around his neck and then managed to get around behind him. She was breathing heavily now and sobbing uncontrollably. “You’ve got to help me,” the woman said. “He’s after me. Please, don’t let him get me.”
Elliott pulled the woman’s hands apart and pried her off him before turning around to face her. “Lady, calm down. Who’s trying to get you?”
The woman’s eyes shifted to some unknown place behind Elliott and suddenly her eyes got big as she pointed to a car bearing down on their position. Elliott turned in time to see a dark green Oldsmobile sedan coming dangerously close to where the two of them stood. He pulled the woman out of the way, further onto the shoulder and around to the other side of his van as the car sped by, almost scraping Elliott’s van as he passed them. The driver missed the van, but took Elliott’s side view mirror clean off. It landed in the ditch, crumpled and broken. Elliott managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a lone driver, a man apparently in his fifties or sixties. He could make out a full head of silver hair but no other features. The man sped by too fast for Elliott to get a look at the license plate number.
He turned to Matt. “Did you get his plate number?”
Matt shook his head. “Sorry,” he told his father. “He went by too fast and you and this woman were standing between me and the car.”
Elliott turned his attentions back to the woman now. She was still crying but appeared a little less stressed in his presence. “Who was that? Elliott asked the woman. “And while we’re at it, who are you?”
“I, uh,” she started to say and must have had second thoughts about trusting this stranger. She looked back and forth between Matt and Elliott and must have decided she was safe enough to trust these two men. “My name is Madeline Crenshaw,” she told Elliott. “Thank you for stopping. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.”
“My name is Elliott Cooper,” Elliott told her and then gestured toward his son. “And this is my son, Matt. Now, can you tell me who that guy was that you claim is after you?”
“What are you going to do?” Madeline said.
“Well, if you’ll tell
me his name, I can get the police after him for hit and run for starters.” Elliott stepped over to the edge of the ditch and picked up his broken side mirror and then turned back to Madeline. “And at the very least, I’ll make him pay for this.”
Madeline hesitated for a moment and then said, “His name is Henry Lund. I used to be married to him.” Madeline looked away, somewhat ashamed of her predicament.
“Why is he after you?” Matt said, stepping up to her other side now.
“He can’t accept that we’re divorced,” Madeline explained. “He’s stalking me. Henry somehow manages to find me no matter where I go. He always starts out friendly enough, trying to convince me to reconcile, but I always say no and his demeanor turns from friendly to downright hostile just like that.”
“Can’t you get a restraining order against him?” Elliott said.
“I’ve already got one,” Madeline said. “He violates it at will and the authorities won’t do anything about it.”
“Why not?” Matt said.
“Because Henry’s always careful to come around me when there are no witnesses,” Madeline explained. “It comes down to his word against mine.”
“Have you thought about carrying some sort of protection with you?” Elliott suggested.
“You mean like a gun?” Madeline said, her eyebrows furrowing.
“It doesn’t necessarily have to be a firearm,” Elliott explained. “You could get a can of pepper spray, or carry a baseball bat if you feel uneasy about carrying a gun.”
Madeline reached into her purse and withdrew a small red cylinder and showed it to Elliott. It was labeled pepper spray on the side. “I got this after the first time Henry violated the restraining order.”
“There’s another non-lethal thing you could carry with you,” Elliott said. “Have you ever been to a major sporting event and heard those air horns go off in the stands?”
Madeline nodded. “I have. They’re dreadfully loud.”
“And you probably heard them from a pretty good distance away,” Elliott said. “Imagine what that thing would do to Henry if you blew it right in his ear. He’d be so dizzy and disoriented after a blast like that, it would give you a few extra seconds to distance yourself from him. It’s worth a try.”
“Thanks,” Madeline said. “I’ll buy one today. But who sells something like that?”
Matt turned to Madeline. “Go to any sporting goods store,” he said. “They sell those to boaters, in case they get stranded out on the ocean and need to let someone know they’re in trouble. They’re less than ten dollars and worth every penny.”
“Thank you both,” Madeline said. “I feel better already.”
Elliott walked Madeline around to the back of his van and gestured with his chin down at his damaged bumper. “You may not once you get the bill for a new bumper for my van.”
It suddenly dawned on Madeline that she was the cause of this accident and she gasped. “Oh my,” she said. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“That’s what insurance is for,” Elliott said. “So if you’ll just give me the name and phone number of your insurance agent, I’ll give it to my agent and the two of us can let them battle it out.”
Madeline wrote a name and number on a piece of scrap paper that she had in her purse and handed it over to Elliott. He wrote his information down on the back of one of his business cards and gave it Madeline. She tucked it into her purse without turning it over.
“My office number is on the other side of the card,” Elliott explained. “Just in case you need to reach me.” He walked Madeline back to her car. “Are you going to be all right now?”
Madeline sighed. “I’ll be fine, and thank you both again for your help.” She slid behind the wheel of her car, started the engine and pulled out into traffic again. Elliott and Matt watched as she drove out of sight and then climbed back into the van.
“Well, how’s that for an exciting morning?” Matt said, buckling himself into his seat.
“Gets the old juices flowing,” Elliott agreed. He instinctively looks where his outside mirror used to be before pulling out into the traffic lane. He had to roll his window down and stick his head out to see if it was clear. He managed to take his place in the far right lane again and in just a few minutes exited to Hollywood Boulevard. He turned left and continued east.
“Where are we going?” Matt said. “The office is that way.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder.
“I can’t go without an outside mirror,” Elliott explained. “I’ll have to get something temporary until the insurance company can fix it properly.” Elliott drove a few more blocks and pulled into the parking lot of a variety dime store.
“What are we doing here?” Matt said.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he told Matt and then slid out of his seat. He returned in a few minutes with a small brown bag. He pulled a hand mirror from the bag, along with a fist full of rubber bands and attached the mirror to what was left of the bracket with the rubber bands. He slid back into the van and smiled at Matt. “There, that should do it until the insurance check comes through.”
“Well, aren’t you a regular MacGyver?” Matt said.
“I thought it was pretty clever,” Elliott said. “And when I get the regular mirror installed, I can still use these things at home.”
They drove the rest of the way to their office in silence. Matt was quietly trying to formulate ideas for drumming up a little business. He’d never seen it this slow before and he surely didn’t relish the idea of having to go out and find a regular job. He liked this one too much.
*****
It had been three days since Madeline’s stalking husband had taken Elliott’s mirror off. He’d almost put Madeline Crenshaw out of his mind when his phone rang that Thursday afternoon. It was Lieutenant Eric Anderson, Elliott’s friend at the twelfth precinct.
“Cooper,” Eric said. “I need to see you right away. You going to be around for the next few minutes? And don’t use that phony paper shuffling routine again for my benefit.”
“Sure,” Elliott said. “Was there something specific you wanted to see me about or did you just miss my company?”
“Stay put,” Eric said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Eric hung up, leaving Elliott with a blank look on his face.
“What’s up, Dad?” Matt said.
“I’m not sure,” Elliott said. “Eric’s on his way over. Wouldn’t say why.”
“We’ll find out soon enough, I guess,” Matt said, turning his attentions back to his computer screen. He and Elliott continued doing whatever they were doing, in silence for the next ten minutes when the office door opened and Eric stepped in.
“Where’ve you been?” Elliott said. “You told me you’d be here in ten minutes. That was twelve minutes ago.”
“Normally I’d indulge you and laugh,” Eric said. “But my visit isn’t a social one. Can I sit down?”
The smile fell off Elliott’s face as he gestured toward his client’s chair. “Sounds serious,” Elliott said.
Matt got up from his desk and pulled his client’s chair up next to Eric and sat.
“I just came from your parking lot,” Eric said. “You have a little accident with your van? Your side mirror is missing.”
“That’s what all this drama is about?” Elliott said. “You’re just now getting around to investigating my hit and run?”
“Hit and run?” Eric said. “No, that’s not why I’m here.” He pulled one of Elliott’s business cards from his shirt pocket and laid it down in front of Elliott.
“No thanks,” Elliott said. “I have a whole box of them left. You keep it.”
Eric turned the card over, revealing the name of Elliott’s insurance agent along with a phone number.
Elliott sat up straight. “Where’d you get that?” Elliott wanted to know.
“So that is your writing on the back?” Eric said.
“You know it is, Eric,” Elliott said and then remembered some
thing about the card. “Hey, wait a minute. That’s the card I gave that woman…” He looked at Matt. “What was her name again?”
“Marilyn?” Matt said. “No wait, Betty Lynn, Andoline…”
“Madeline,” Elliott said. “Madeline Crenshaw. What about her?”
“Where were you when you gave her this card?” Eric said.
Elliott gestured toward Matt. “We were on the shoulder of the Hollywood Freeway, just south of the Ventura near Universal City. Madeline Crenshaw hit the back of my van with her car. That’s when I gave her my insurance information.”
“Must have been one hell of a bump to break the outside mirror,” Eric said, looking sideways at Elliott now.
“Oh, no,” Elliott said. “She didn’t do that. Just the rear bumper. Her ex-husband took off my side mirror when he tried to run us down.”
“And I’m just now finding out about this” Eric said. “Why didn’t you report a hit and run?”
“I did,” Elliott said. “That same day, less than an hour after it happened. It wasn’t in your jurisdiction, so I reported it to the North Hollywood station over on Burbank Boulevard. I spoke to a sergeant named O’Hara. “How did you get involved in this fender bender?”
“It’s a little more than just a fender bender, Elliott,” Eric explained. “I got that card out of Madeline Crenshaw’s purse.”
“And?”
“And her purse was lying on the floor next to her body,” Eric said.
“Her body?” Elliott said. “She’s…”?
“As a doornail,” Eric said. “Looked like someone beat her to death. Her face was a mess. So I naturally came to you when I found your card in her purse.” Eric played with the card, flipping it between his fingers. He stopped playing and said, “What do you know about this ex-husband of hers?”
“Probably no more than you do,” Elliott said.
“Hold on a minute there, Dad,” Matt said. “Don’t you remember? She told you that she’d gotten a restraining order issued against him but that he kept bothering her anyway. What the hell was his name?”
“Harry, uh,” Elliott struggled with his memory for a few seconds. “Harry Lind.”
