by Bill Bernico
“What business is that?” Elliott said. “We didn’t have any other cases that we were working on before the fire. As if on cue, Elliott’s cell phone rang and he retrieved it, flipping it open. “Cooper and Son Investigations,” he said in his professional voice. “Elliott Cooper speaking.”
“Elliott, it’s Eric. I tried Matt’s cell but it’s probably not on. Do you know where I can find him?”
“As a matter of fact,” Elliott said, “I’m here at his house now. Want to talk to him?” Elliott handed his cell phone to Matt. “It’s Lieutenant Anderson.”
“Ooh,” Matt said. “That’s right. I was supposed to stop in there this morning and give him my statement.” Matt put the phone to his ear. “Eric,” Matt said.
“That’s right,” Eric said. “You were supposed to stop in here this morning. Obviously you forgot. How soon can you get here? I need that statement for my report.”
“Sorry, Eric,” Matt explained. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He closed the phone and handed it back to Elliott. “Gotta run, Dad.”
Matt finished his business with Eric in less than ten minutes. He handed Eric the signed statement and said, “Anything else you need from me?”
Eric shook his head. “That’ll do it. Thanks for coming down, Matt.”
“What did Jerry Armstrong say when you told him about his wife just taking dance lessons?” Matt said. “What kind of reaction did he have?”
Eric laid the signed statement behind him on top of a filing cabinet and turned back toward Matt. “The man’s face just went sour,” Eric explained. “It was like someone dropped a piano on his toe when the realization of what he’d done hit him.”
“So what’s going to happen to him?” Matt said.
Eric shrugged and spread his hands. “Hard to tell,” he said. “If he gets himself a smart lawyer, he could end up with temporary insanity and he might spend a year or two in the county hospital. If not, he could get life in prison or maybe even the death penalty. You never can tell what a jury’s going to do in these cases.”
“Well, I’d better get moving,” Matt said. “Dad found us another office and Mom’s there right now cleaning it up before we open for business again.”
“Really?” Eric said. “Where is this new office?”
Matt was smiling, but the smile faded from his face when he realized that Elliott never did tell him where he’d found an office. He looked back at Eric. “You know,” he said, “Dad didn’t say and I forgot to ask him. Hold on a minute. I’ll call him.”
Eric held up his index finger. “By the way, how does Elliott like being a grandpa?”
Matt laughed as he dialed Elliott’s cell phone. “I think the whole experience has left him with a bad taste in his mouth.”
“Huh?”
Matt held up one hand toward Eric as Elliott answered his phone. “Dad,” Matt said. “I’m finished here with Eric. Did you want me to meet you at the new office?”
“You might as well,” Elliott said. “We can help your mother finish up with the cleaning and get back to business that much sooner.”
“I’ll be there as soon as you tell me where it is,” Matt said.
“Didn’t I mention that earlier?” Elliott said.
“Uh, no, you didn’t, Dad. Where is this place?” Matt pressed the speaker button on his cell phone and held it toward Eric.
Elliott’s voice came over the tiny speaker. “It at 6454 Sunset Boulevard on the corner of Wilcox Avenue, second floor in front.”
“Well, isn’t that handy?” Matt said. “That’s just three blocks from our old office. I can be there in ten minutes.” Matt thought about that for a moment and then added, “Make that half an hour. I’m going to stop at the print shop and get a sign made with our new temporary address on it. I’ll hang it in the lobby of the Cahuenga Building to let potential clients know where to find us.”
“Good thinking,” Elliott said. “I guess I’ll see you when you get here.”
Matt closed his phone and turned to find Eric writing that address down on his desk blotter. “Did you get that?” Matt said.
Eric nodded. “6454 Sunset. Same phone number as before?”
“It is,” Matt agreed. “Can I borrow a sheet of paper?”
Eric pulled a single sheet of copy paper from his printer and handed it to Matt, who picked up a pen from Eric’s desk and hastily scribbled several lines on the sheet before handing the pen back to Eric.
“That should do it for now,” Matt said. “Thanks. See you later.”
Matt dropped off his homemade note at the print shop and asked for sign twice the size of the sheet. “When can I pick that up?” Matt said.
The girl behind the counter looked over Matt’s sheet, did a little mental calculation and said, “I can have it for you in about three minutes. Wanna just wait for it?”
Matt felt a little stupid about not knowing how quick the printing business worked and just nodded. “How much?” he said.
The girl counted the words on the sheet and punched a few numbers on her calculator before announcing, “Eight dollars plus tax.”
Matt gave the girl a ten dollar bill and took his change. Three minutes later the girl came back to the counter with a stiff cardboard sign with Matt’s message neatly printed in large block letters and a fancy border around the whole thing. He proofread the sign and nodded his approval. “How much for the fancy border?” he said.
“I’ll throw that in with the deal,” the girl told him. She handed Matt one of her business cards and Matt dropped it into his shirt pocket.
He gave the girl one of his cards as well. “We’re just down the block,” Matt said, “In case you ever need a good private eye.”
He thanked her again and carried the sign out to his car. The front of the Cahuenga Building was still charred black in places above the second floor, where the fire had started. Some of the tenants on the first floor were still open for business. Matt walked around two striped sawhorses at the entrance and let himself in. On the wall next to the bank of mailboxes, Matt attached the sign letting people know where Cooper and Son Investigations could be found. He stood back and gave the sign one last look before he left the building and walked back toward his car.
Behind the building Matt could see an old man scrounging through the dumpster. He tried not to make eye contact as he passed the man. He knew he’d be in for some serious begging if he gave the man any attention. From over his shoulder Matt could hear, “That was some fire, wasn’t it?”
Matt stopped and turned toward the old man. “How’s that, old timer?”
The man kept rooting around in the dumpster but lifted his head long enough to repeat what he’d just said. “I seen it from here,” he added. “That was a hot one.”
“You were here when it happened?” Matt said, interested in the old man now.
The man pointed to the blacktop below where his feet dangled over the side of the dumpster. “I was right here,” he said, easing himself down from the rim of the dumpster. “Actually, right there,” he pointed to a spot behind the dumpster.
“What did you see?” Matt said.
The old man began to lick his lips. “Kinda hard to think when my mouth is so dry,” he said.
Matt produced his wallet and peeled a ten dollar bill from inside. He let the old man see that he’d separated it from the others and had stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. Matt toyed with the bill but didn’t hand it over yet. “What did you see, exactly?”
The old man reached for the bill but Matt pulled it just out of his reach. “This’ll buy a few bottles of Two Buck Chuck,” Matt said. “Now tell me what you saw.”
The bum blinked his eyes a few times, smacked his lips again and said in a crusty voice, “I was taking a leak behind the dumpster when I seen this man run out the back door of that building.” He pointed to the door Matt had come out of. “He was carrying a little red can with him. You know, the kind you use when you need to fill up your lawn mo
wer.”
“Go on,” Matt said. “What about this guy with the can? Did you get a good look at him?”
The old man blinked several times again and added, “He didn’t notice me, but I saw him when he ran right past here and got into his car over there.” The man pointed in the direction of the parking lot.
“Did you notice what kind of car it was?” Matt asked. “Did you see what color it was or the make or model or license number?”
“He was too far away,” the man said. “But it was black. I know that much.”
“Think hard now,” Matt said. “Was it a two door or four door?”
The man looked down at the pavement, lost in deep thought and then looked up again. “Four door,” he said. “I know because the door handles were close together like in the old days.”
“Suicide doors?” Matt said. “Did the rear door open toward the front of the car?”
“He opened the back door to put the red can away and yeah, the door opened toward the front,” he told Matt.
“Now let’s get back to the driver,” Matt said. “What did he look like?”
The old man said nothing but stared at the ten spot in Matt’s fingers. Matt handed the bill to the man, who quickly stuffed it in his coat pocket. “He was about your size, maybe a little taller.”
“What color was his hair?” Matt said. “Brown, black, blonde, red, what?”
“Blonde,” The man said. “But not like Marilyn’s blonde.”
“Marilyn?”
“Marilyn Monroe,” the man said. “This guy’s was dirty blonde, almost brown and it was long, too. It hung down past his ears and neck.”
“That’s good,” Matt said, encouraging the man. “That’s real good. Now what was he wearing?”
The man looked at Matt with a puzzled look on his face. “Couldn’t tell,” he said. “Like I told you before, I was back here taking a leak when he ran out of that building. I could see his hair ‘cause his head stuck up over the dumpster, but the rest of him was below the top of the dumpster.” He held his hand up at dumpster height. “When I turned to zip up again, he was just getting in his car. By then all I could see was the red can and his shaggy hair before he drove away. He scraped another car that was parked in the end space as he left here.”
“Did you see which way he went?” Matt said.
The old man pointed west. “That way.”
Matt pulled out his wallet and withdrew another ten dollar bill, handing it to the bum. “Thanks, mister. What’s you name in case I need to see you again?”
The man held both palms out toward Matt. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head violently. You ain’t taking me down to no police station. I ain’t gonna testify. He could come back and where would that leave me?”
“Back?” Matt said. “Why on earth would he come back here?”
“Because he lives right…” The old man caught himself and stopped in mid-sentence. “Oh no,” he said and turned and ran before Matt could ask him anything else.
Matt climbed into his car and drove back to the twelfth precinct to find Eric. He relayed the old man’s story, ending with the half statement that the guy with the gas can lived nearby.
“Well, that should make him a little easier to find,” Eric said. “There aren’t many cars with suicide doors these days. It must be an older model, maybe a Lincoln.”
“I want in on this one,” Matt said. “Come on, Eric. I didn’t dangle from that fire truck ladder for nothing. I want this guy as much as you do.”
“Matt,” Eric said. “This is a police matter and probably even a matter for the fire chief, but…”
“I’ll do it on my own anyway,” Matt said. “Wouldn’t it be better if we were on the same side on this one?”
Eric thought about it for a moment and then relented. “All right,” he told Matt. “But I want to know everything you find out. Got it?”
Matt nodded. “Thanks, Eric. You won’t be sorry.”
Matt hurried over to Sunset and found the office building that housed their temporary office on the second floor. Elliott and Gloria were busy dusting, washing windows and arranging furniture when he walked in.
Elliott looked at his wrist watch and then back at Matt. “That was an awfully long half hour, Matt. Where’ve you been?”
“Dad,” Matt said. “I got a lead on the fire in our building. I came across this old man going through the dumpster in the parking lot. He saw a guy run out of our building shortly before the fire started. I took his information to Eric and Eric agreed to let me look into it with him and the fire chief.”
Elliott laid his dust cloth on the desk and gave Matt his undivided attention now. “Tell me all about it,” Elliott said. “I want to get in on this, too.”
Matt told Elliott everything the old man had described to him, ending with the vague description of the black sedan with the suicide doors. “Eric thinks it’s an older model, maybe a Lincoln.”
“Makes sense,” Elliott said. “They haven’t produced cars with those kinds of rear doors in more than forty years.”
“So where do you want to start on this one?” Matt said eagerly.
Gloria stopped dusting now and stepped up to where they were standing. “You two better be careful,” she warned. “This guy sounds like a real nut job. If he’s willing to burn down a whole building without regard to who might still be inside, he won’t hesitate to come after you if you corner him. You both make sure you’re armed at all times.”
Elliott gave her a kiss on the forehead that Gloria must have interpreted as condescending. She pulled back away from her husband. “I mean it, Elliott. You too, Matt. You watch each other’s backs on this one.”
Matt wrapped an arm around his mother. “We’ll be careful, Mom. I promise.”
“Me, too,” Elliott said.
“Go on, you two,” Gloria said. “Go find your arsonist. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”
“You’ll be helping me a lot if you just get this office ready to move into,” Elliott said and left with Matt.
“Where are we going?” Matt said.
“I thought we’d start with my contact at City Hall and see if we can come up with any registered Lincolns from the sixties,” Elliott explained.
“The sixties?” Matt said.
“Sixty-nine was the last year for any production model Lincoln with suicide doors,” Elliott said. “There can’t be too many of those still on the road in L.A. today.”
“Dad,” Matt said. “Why did they call that configuration ‘suicide doors’ anyway?”
Elliott gave it some thought before answering. “Because if the door was opened while the car was moving, the wind would whip it all the way open, possibly ripping it off the car or at least causing damage to the door and the car body.” He could see Matt digesting this new information and then added, “The open limousine Kennedy was riding in when he was shot had suicide doors.”
“Whatever happened to that car after the assassination, Dad?”
“I remember reading somewhere that it stayed in service for the next four presidents,” Elliott said. “Johnson wasn’t crazy about riding in that dark blue convertible and gave orders to have it painted black. They also added a clear, bullet proof bubble hard top, steel reinforced side panels and flat proof tires. I believe they took it out of service around 1977 or so.”
Matt chuckled a bit and then replied, “Imagine president Carter riding around in a sixteen-year-old used car trying to set an example for the rest of the country.”
“Here we are,” Elliott said, parking in the lot at City Hall. “Come on, we’ll go see my old friend Scott Lane in records. If anyone can cut through the red tape, Scott can.”
Elliott found Scott behind the counter, paging through an old bound journal. Scott looked up as Elliott and Matt approached. “Elliott Cooper,” Scott says. “How long has it been?” He extended his hand and Elliott shook it.
“Too long, Scott,” Elliott said and gestured toward
Matt. “I don’t believe you’ve met my son, Matt, have you Scott?”
Scott shook Matt’s hand and smiled. “A chip off the ol’ block,” Scott said to Elliott. “I can see a lot of you in his eyes. So what brings you two downtown on a day like this?”
“We were hoping you could make our job a little easier today,” Elliott explained. “I’d like to know if there are any Lincolns registered in L.A.”
“Probably no more than twenty thousand or so,” Scott said.
Elliott held up his index finger. “Let me narrow that down a bit for you. How about any registered Lincoln sedans 1969 or older—in black?”
“That’s more like it,” Scott said and turned to his computer. He punched in this information and waited for his screen to update. “Here we go. Now your list has only three possible. However if the car was registered outside the county and I go statewide, then you’ve got yourself eighteen matches.”
“Would you make a printout of that list for me, Scott?” Elliott said. “And if you would, highlight those three that are in this county.”
“You got it, Elliott,” Scott said, pressing the button on his computer that operated his printer. The list came out of the printer in two pages, with only four pieces of information on the second page. Scott scanned the list, highlighting the three in-country Lincolns with a yellow marking pen. He handed the two sheets to Elliott. “There you go, Elliott. That should keep you guys off the streets for a while—or should I say on the streets. So, why are you interested in old Lincoln sedans?”
“Did you hear about the fire in our building earlier this week?” Elliott said.
“Did I hear about it?” Scott said. “I saw it on the news all that afternoon and into the night. My goodness, there was this one poor guy out on the ledge and…”
Elliott held up one hand to stop Scott. “Uh, Scott, that guy on the ledge was Matt.”
Scott held up both palms toward Matt. “Oh, I’m sorry, Matt,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t know.”
Matt waved him off. “Not your fault,” he said. “We have reason to believe the guy who started that fire is driving one of these older Lincolns and we need to find him right away.”
