Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series)

by Don Pendleton

  I followed them outside and watched their departure. They actually waved genially in my direction as they drove away. I went back inside, had a glass of milk, and got ready for my appointment with Chief Terry. The telephone encounter with Harley Sanford allowed me to size him up as a formidable guy. This was going to be a very interesting meeting with my in-laws. This could get brutal, maybe even nasty, but there was no way to avoid it.

  The Chief was waiting for me when I returned to the station. He was in his car and ready to roll. I climbed in beside him and said, "Hope I didn't screw anything up. I just had a brief talk with Sanford."

  He was peeling out of the parking lot before he responded to that. "So how did that go?"

  I replied, "I'm not sure. This guy is no dummy. I went back to the condo after I left here. I surprised Sammy and Clifford rifling Martha's apartment. I checked it out with Sanford and he seemed to confirm that he had sent them there. We didn't talk a lot, just enough for me to realize that he's tough and he's smooth. So I don't know what we are going to encounter when we get over there."

  He said thoughtfully, "That's interesting. You had the impression that these goons are working for Sanford?"

  "Sure, he identified them as loyal employees. What do you think of that?"

  There was a long silence as the Chief threaded the police car through the midday traffic. "Bears do shit in the woods, I guess. This is interesting as hell. I have had these guys pegged as the ones responsible for the gallery fire. Yeah, very interesting."

  I said, "Seems that way, yeah. How do you think he's

  going to take it when he hears about his daughter's death?"

  "Knowing Sanford, he'll probably hold you personally responsible, especially if he has any feeling of guilt over his relationship with her. As you know, guilty men with power don't care who they hurt. Walk with care around this guy, Joe. He's self-made and tough as a cob."

  I said, "Yeah, thanks, I got that. I don't want to brawl with this guy. My heart goes out to him. But I'm not going to roll over for him either. So, what did you get from L.A.?"

  Terry gave me a little embarrassed smile and replied, "Well, I hope you didn't expect me to conceal anything from these people. They know you're in town. They're very interested in that. They were also very pleased to get a positive I.D. on Martha. Of course, that is still tentative pending an official family verification. We'll have to work that with the family unless you'd rather do it yourself. Are you up to that?"

  I said, "I'm not even sure I could do it. I'm still too fucked up. It's coming in bits and pieces, but it's like trying to read an image in a shattered mirror."

  Chief Terry said, "Let me handle it, then. You'll like Mrs. Sanford. Don't worry about that part. If you loved Martha, you'll see a lot to love in this one, too."

  We didn't say much during the rest of the drive to the Sanford estate, a palatial modern mansion with all of the amenities associated with great wealth—tennis courts, a large dome-enclosed swimming pool, Greek statuary, and acres of manicured grounds. It reeked of money. Maybe I was walking into a gigantic buzz saw. So what else was new?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Chief Terry mentioned that he had called ahead, and Sanford intercepted us in the driveway before we could even get out of the car. The set of the jaw told it all— he was expecting bad news. Sanford growled at Terry, "What's this all about?" He was looking bullets at me and obviously searching for my number. He shot me a harsh look and asked, "Is this the Joe Copp?"

  I deferred to the Chief, saying simply, "Tell him."

  "Tell him what?" Sanford blustered.

  The Chief replied, "Let's go inside, Harley. Is Janice home?"

  "She's home, dammit." He was waving us into the house. "Is it about Martha... is something wrong?"

  This is always a tough job. The Chief was trying to lead him into it gently, but there is no easy way to broach this kind of news. I had been there many times myself. Sometimes the kindest way is the simple, direct truth. I told him, "We have bad news, Mr. Sanford. I think you had better get your wife."

  The guy looked scared and suddenly entirely vulnerable. This was not a face he was comfortable with. He said softly, "I'll get Janice. Go on into the study."

  It was a graceful home built for comfort more than

  ostentatious display. I spotted several authentic Remingtons in the hallway, but this seemed to be the extent of his collection in contrast to the art I had seen in Martha's apartment. Unlike Martha, evidently the San- fords preferred Western art. The study was lined with leatherbound books and I noticed a valuable Jack London collection protected behind glass.

  Sanford was a man of about fifty, steel gray hair worn rather closely cropped, not exactly paunchy but beginning to soften up a bit, a shade under six feet and carrying maybe two hundred pounds. The cagey eyes had seen it all and done it all, no guy to simply roll over for any man. In contrast, Janice Sanford had evidently built a life around rolling over for this guy. Some women easily fall into that role under domineering men; I saw control written all over Harley Sanford. He ruled here. It was his domain; she was along simply for the ride.

  She came into the room behind her husband, a subdued little doe of a woman—still quite pretty. I could see an occasional trace of the daughter in her appearance but none of Martha's fire. This woman had been thoroughly dominated by her husband. If she'd ever had a sense of self, it was obvious that she had lost that connection long ago.

  Sanford barked at the Chief, "Let's get to it. What's happened to Martha?"

  The Chief was directing his attention to both of them as he said, "This is Joe Copp. He's a private detective from Southern California. He has something to say to you about Martha."

  I had the full attention of the room. Harley was devouring me with his eyes. Mrs. Sanford showed me a tense smile. I had to simply spring it. It was too brutal any other way. I told them, "Martha was killed in Los Angeles a week ago. I'm sorry it has taken so long to notify you."

  Janice Sanford sagged noticeably but that was her only immediate response. Harley was stunned and made no pretense of masking it. He said, almost moaning, "Wait, something's wrong here! You don't mean that Martha is dead!"

  I replied, "Yes, Martha is dead. She was shot to death in Los Angeles."

  Sanford gave Terry an angry look and cried, "Who is this jerk? Where does he get off with this kind of crap? What is the goddamn scam here? You'll have to account for this, Mister!" The distraught man made a lunge at me, but the Chief intercepted his charge and softly turned him back onto his chair.

  Janice stifled a little moan and gasped, "Would anyone like some coffee?" She bolted from the room before we responded.

  The Chief said, "I have verified that a woman identified as Martha Kaufman was shot and killed near Los Angeles. Someone needs to identify the body. I could fly down there with you, Harley, if you'd like that. Do you think Janice is okay?"

  Harley growled, "She probably didn't hear a word you said. She's just worried about being the gracious hostess. Jesus Christ! I don't believe this." He looked at me and asked, "What's your interest in all this?"

  I told him, "Martha and I were married two weeks ago, Mr. Sanford. I don't know how to explain what happened because I was wounded too, and I'm having a bit of a memory problem at the moment. I don't know who shot her and I don't know why she was shot. Bet on it, though, I'm going to know. I don't expect you to think of me as a member of your family, but I would like to have at least friendly relations with you."

  Sanford snarled, "I bet you would, wouldn't you! Do you have some paper on this alleged marriage?"

  I produced the Nevada marriage license and gave it to the Chief. He glanced at it and passed it quickly to the distraught father. Sanford studied the document carefully, then tossed it back. He said quietly, "It's Martha's signature. Why haven't I heard about this?"

  I told him, "I didn't know about it myself until a few hours ago. I'm sorry, Harley. I know this is no consolation to you, but I h
ave hardly even known my own name since the shooting. I came to Mammoth this morning to try to put the pieces together inside my head. I am still a bit rummy, but I know that you and Janice are in a lot of pain over this and I am trying to be as honest as my memory will allow."

  Sanford gave me a long hard look, then got up quickly and hurried from the room. The Chief looked at me and said, "Jesus! I told you this was going to be tough."

  I replied, "Those poor people. There are never the right words for a thing like this."

  Just as it seemed that we had done all that could be done here, Janice came back in with a coffee tray. The Chief helped her with it and said, "Thanks, Janice. Are you okay?"

  She replied, "I'll never be okay again, but that doesn't matter anymore. Harley is the one who is probably falling apart. It was good of you men to come here at such a terrible moment. Please excuse Harley. He was devoted to Martha." She touched my hand and said gently, "You poor dear. This must be rough for you."

  This was graciousness in the face of shock, and I was touched by her acceptance of me and our mutual pain. Janice Sanford was a deceptively strong woman and she was probably the one who had been holding Harley up through all the trials of their years together, and all the while he had thought the strength was his. Self-made men often have this illusion about themselves, and they frequently refuse to recognize the female qualities that hold their whole world together.

  Sanford did not return that afternoon. Janice unnecessarily apologized for him. I understood something of what he must have been going through. Janice served the coffee and we sipped it in silence, waiting for Harley to reappear, but I guess she knew her husband well enough to finally say to us, "I'm sorry, Harley is probably not coming back. Chief, I will go with you to Los Angeles. We can take the company plane. How soon could you be ready to leave?"

  He replied, "I could be ready within an hour unless you'd rather wait until tomorrow."

  She said, "Oh, no. Let's get this over with. An hour would be fine. I'll meet you at the airport."

  Terry said, "Fine," and shot me a questioning look. "Sure you wouldn't want to join us?"

  I replied, "I've been there once, I couldn't do it again." I gave the lady a restrained smile and told her, "Please don't think that I don't care."

  She brushed my hand with hers, and said, "I do understand."

  She was a quality lady and I would have been proud to have had her as a mother-in-law. The father-in-law was still a question mark in my mind. I still didn't like the guy, but of course this could have been a premature and unfair assessment of the man. Time would tell.

  We were only about two minutes clear of the Sanford estate when the Chief's mobile radio came alive with an urgent message. "Trouble, Chief, there's been a shooting right next door to the P.D.—an officer is down. How far away are you?"

  We were cranking, even before he had his hand on the mike button. His response was, "I'm less than five minutes out, proceeding with all due speed."

  The dispatcher added, "God, Chief, I only got a glimpse, but it looked just like Harley Sanford's Lincoln. This looks bad. Maybe he's heading your way. Be careful."

  The Chief radioed back a tense, "Ten-four," and he punched it. We would be there in less than five minutes, for damn sure.

  There seemed to be a virtual crime wave in this placid town.

  I asked the Chief, "Did you hear his car leave the house?"

  He replied, "I didn't hear it, no. That doesn't mean anything. With all the racket from the gardener's equipment I wouldn't have heard a Sherman tank going through there."

  Now was no time for distractions. The wail of the siren and the screech of the tires hugging the winding mountain road preempted any desire for casual conversation. This guy was rolling it. I sure didn't want to get in his way.

  The paramedics had already transported the victim, Officer Arthur Douglas, to the hospital when we hit the scene. We had to work our way through a still-gathering crowd to gain access. Douglas had been shot inside his patrol car immediately after leaving the P.D. The vehicle had rolled out of the parking lot onto the street when the assailant apparently opened fire at close range. The officer had been hit through the windshield and the car had swerved across both traffic lanes and had come back to rest against the curb almost directly in front of the P.D. According to witnesses, Douglas had not attempted to return fire and the consensus seemed to be that he was shot with no apparent warning. Two other officers were on the scene when we arrived. The Chief hurried on over to the hospital, a few short blocks away.

  I stayed behind to help with the questioning of witnesses. The shooting had occurred in full view of a line of traffic but no one seemed to be able to offer any coherent explanation of the event. One man who claimed to have been almost hit himself by gunfire kept repeating over and over that "the shots came from nowhere." He added that a dozen or so cars were directly in the traffic lanes and that it was almost a miracle that no one else had been injured.

  An incident such as this one often leaves the witnesses in a state of confusion as to the actual facts. There seemed to be an almost unanimous agreement, however, that the shooting had erupted from a fast-moving silver Lincoln Continental and that the gunman's vehicle sped away before the witnesses realized what had happened.

  Nobody knew it yet, but a lot of trouble was headed for "River City."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  In moments such as this, time seems to stand still, even for a seasoned cop. Probably no more than five minutes had elapsed since we had hit the scene. I did what I could to assist the investigation, but the Chief's people were obviously on top of the situation so I skipped across to the P.D. for a possible lock on Harley Sanford's whereabouts. His telephone rang repeatedly without response. I gave it up after two tries.

  So much for that.

  I was hoping that the man could be easily accounted for during the time of the shooting in town.

  Just for the hell of it, I tried Martha's number.

  Bingo.

  Sanford picked up on the first ring though I had to wonder for a moment if it was him. He was in a highly emotional state, maybe even crying, as he said, "Martha's not here. Oh shit—she'll never be here. God damn it, who is this?—what do you want?"

  "This is Copp, Harley. Get a hold of yourself, man. How long have you been there?"

  The guy was almost incoherent. I'm not sure what he said, made no sense to me, something about, "Last time around..."

  I said, "Stay right there!"

  I had left my van on the back lot of the Police Department. I told the dispatcher that I was going out to Martha's and requested that the Chief meet me there as soon as possible.

  I was there in less than three minutes. I did not see his car but I went inside for a quick look, came up empty, so buzzed around the neighborhood a couple of times hoping to pick him up. There was no sign of his car so I drove on back to the condo.

  The place looked exactly as I had left it that morning, nothing disturbed, no notes or anything else to give me a clue to the man's state of mind. So I called in from the condo and hurried on back to the P.D.

  I got there about the same time as the Chief returned from the hospital. He was standing in the roadway as the damaged police car was being hoisted onto a tow truck. He saw me coming in and met me alongside the road.

  I asked him, "How's your man?"

  "He's in surgery. Looks bad. Where've you been?"

  I said, "I talked to Harley on the phone. Found him at Martha's place. He sounded pretty badly screwed up. He was gone when I got there. Does this situation make any sense to you?"

  This man never appeared ruffled. He seemed to be thinking about how to respond to my question. After a moment he said, "Only if Santa Claus molests little girls. I don't figure it, Joe. Why would Harley Sanford come gunning for one of my officers? We both saw the state he was in a little while ago, but he didn't seem irrational."

  I said, "Well, people do strange things under stress. Any persona
l connection between your man and the Sanford family?"

  "Yeah. He was seeing Martha not long ago. Don't know how serious it ever got, but they were definitely dating each other."

  "Okay, I would call that a connection." I reflected for a moment, then said, "Seems strange that Sanford would do something like this just moments after he learns of his daughter's death."

  The Chief said, "I have been wondering about that myself, but let's not jump to any quick conclusion here. You said you talked to Harley; what led you to look for him at Martha's?"

  I replied, "I tried his house and got no answer. It was just a wild shot to try the condo. Figured we needed a quick fix on Sanford's Lincoln. Witnesses identified a similar car. I wanted to determine if Sanford could have been in the area at the time. I found him at the condo, which is only minutes from here. So that definitely puts him in the game. But it's your town, your game—so what do you say?"

  Terry replied with an unhappy sigh. "Sounds like maybe you've got it nailed, Joe, but I still suggest caution here. Look, if Harley did it, then I want his ass, no two ways about it. But I want to be damn sure of the facts before I start busting a guy like Harley Sanford."

  I told him, "Listen, the guy wasn't even coherent when I was talking with him. Now he's running around out here somewhere, apparently armed and undoubtedly dangerous. I don't think you would want to take a chance with this guy in his present state of mind."

  The Chief snapped, "You're right, it is my town—and it's my job to call the shots here."

  I said, "Hey, I wouldn't expect it any other way. just want you to know that I'm at your disposal here. Keep in mind, though, that I also have a personal interest."

  "Yeah, that's what I keep reminding myself. You're not in the clear yet yourself, bud. Don't forget it."

  I told him, "Couldn't forget it. Just don't ask me to bow out. I'm probably in deep shit at home and I have to get a handle on the problem. So don't expect me to just sit around doing nothing. I'm getting a strong feeling that my problems at home are somehow intimately related to the events here in Mammoth. So use me, dammit."