"He knew her very well, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"That's better. When did you last see her?"
"Maybe a couple of weeks ago."
"With Sanford?"
"Yes."
"Do you know her connection to Arthur Douglas?"
"That's the cop that works down in Mammoth?"
"That's the one."
"I believe they're cousins."
I said, "Great. Did you know that Arthur Douglas was shot and nearly killed in Mammoth yesterday?"
"God, no! Douglas used to come up to the Sanford home a lot. He and Martha went to school together in Mammoth. So who went gunning for Arthur?"
I told him, "That is under investigation. How well do you know Mrs. Sanford?"
"Hardly at all. She's a wonderful woman but she never spent much time with the business."
"How much time have you spent with the Sanfords?"
"I think," the casino boss said warily, "I should let the attorneys know what's going on before I say any more. You understand. I'm a hired hand here. Anything involving the owners..."
I said, "You've had another tragedy here today. Two of your employees were found dead in the lake this morning. Were you notified of that?"
But our "rapport" had been broken. The casino boss had lost patience with this line of questioning. He replied, rather shortly, "Sam Mescina and Cliff Blandino? They were not employees in the usual sense."
"In what sense were they?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Of course you do. They worked for Harley Sanford, didn't they?"
"Well, they were not on the casino payroll."
"But you'd heard of their accident?"
"Yes."
I said, "That's all?—they were not wonderful men and you simply can't believe that they're dead?"
"I don't know what you expect me to say. I hardly knew these guys. They hung around the casino a lot, and of course I knew that Mr. Sanford sometimes employed them, but not in connection with the casino."
"Sammy and Clifford were small-time hoods with criminal records going back for years. Sanford was not worried about associating with people like these?"
"Mr. Sanford could be very generous and understanding."
I said, "Bullshit."
He replied, "I don't have to take that from you, Mr. Copp. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
I had overstayed my welcome. Actually, I had gotten away with much more than I had thought I would.
I stood up and said, "Thanks for your cooperation." The relief was evident in the casino boss's eyes. He thought he was home free but I was not done with him yet. He walked me to the door, and as I turned back to shake his hand I asked him, "What exactly does a controller do in a place like this?"
He replied, breathing easier now, "It's sort of like the chief accountant. It's an important job, keeps the business matters straight with the IRS and all that."
"So George Kaufman was in a critical post."
"Oh, sure. George was plenty sharp, too."
"Sanford was the principal partner?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Sanford was the controlling owner."
"How was Martha involved?"
That one startled him. He replied, "Martha was never involved as far as I knew."
"And her husband was simply an employee?"
"Well, yes, but it can never hurt to marry the boss's daughter. That fellow really screwed up, didn't he? If he had played his cards right, maybe he would have owned all of this one day."
"What killed the marriage?"
The guy was trying to show that he was being friendly. He dropped his voice and gave me a knowing look as he replied, "Well, he preferred boys, you know."
No, of course, I had not known that until maybe this very moment—but a fragment of memory was zinging me as I walked out of there, something Martha had told me while we were honeymooning. And, yes, I suspected that I had known that the guy was gay.
But what could that have brought to the understanding of things known?
Unless, maybe, Harley Sanford had murdered his own son-in-law. It would not be unbelievable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Harley Sanford could have been the kind of man who would regard it as a personal affront to learn that his daughter's husband was homosexual, even as heinous if the "gender problem" had been concealed before the marriage. A "self-made man" such as Sanford could regard the anomaly as the worst treachery. I could even envision a scenario in which the offended father would be angry enough to kill. So it was not too far a reach, for me, to wonder if Sanford had been directly responsible for his son-in-law's death. I would want to look into the investigation of Kaufman's "accident" by the local authorities.
I was shooting in the dark, sure, but I had been living in the dark since I awoke in a hospital room three days earlier, so what was new?
I found Vicki Douglas's residence in one of the more modest neighborhoods on the outskirts of Carson City. A woman of about fifty answered my ring at the door. Evidently she had already been notified of her daughter's death. She had been weeping and wore that stunned expression that is so characteristic of the families of murder victims. Has something to do with the realization of death out of its place and time—a needless, stupid, senseless death, as others have characterized the experience.
I had seen plenty enough of that sort of thing these past two days, so I could sympathize with this mother's trauma. She was a nice lady, probably never hurt another creature in all her life, and simply could not understand how something like this could happen.
She told me that the police had already been there and she had told them everything she knew but she was anxious to help in any way she could. She invited me in for "a refreshment," which I declined, but I did step inside just to get a flavor of the place. It was small and rather bare but immaculate and homey.
Vicki still lived there, yes, but had been spending a lot of time away from home for the past year. She sort of "came and went" but "that was okay" because she knew that this was not "too eventful a life" for a young girl.
I asked about Vicki's friends and family, in particular her connection to Arthur Douglas.
"Arthur is my late husband's nephew," she replied. "He's a policeman in Mammoth."
"So you know about his recent problem in Mammoth?"
"You mean the shooting, yes."
I said, "Doesn't it seem to you that there is a connection between the problem in Mammoth and your daughter's death?"
She gave me a blank look. "How could it be connected?"
I told her, "Seems that way to me. How well do you know the Sanford family?"
She sniffed at the mention of that name and said, "They are not nice people."
"None of them?" I asked.
"Not one of them," she replied firmly.
"Do you know Mrs. Sanford?"
"Only to see flashing around the lakeside in a big car. No, I don't know any of them."
"Not Mr. Sanford?"
"No."
"Hadn't Vicki been working for Mr. Sanford?"
"I told her she shouldn't."
"But was she?"
"I don't know. He called her a lot. She said he wanted her to work in his casino."
"That shouldn't be a bad job."
She said, "Then obviously you don't know that man."
"But neither do you," I reminded her.
"I know enough," she said, and that seemed to close the subject in her mind.
She did, however, invite me to look at her daughter's room.
"The other officer saw everything there is to see, but you're welcome to look again."
I have no idea what the "other officer" saw or did not see in that room because "seeing" is often a totally subjective experience.
What I saw was a small, fairly recent photo of Vicki Douglas with Janice Sanford in a rather intimate shot with two other men, neither of whom was Harley Sanford. These people were barely dressed but I could not
determine if they were in or near the water—perhaps they were in swim attire but this angle did not look that innocent.
One of the men was Chief Pilot Tom Lancer.
The other was my old pal from Mammoth, Police Chief John Terry.
But what did it mean? It could mean anything or nothing ... and I was not betting on "nothing."
I was suddenly feeling anxious about Janice Sanford and knew that I wanted to get back to Mammoth without delay, although I had not learned a hell of a lot at Tahoe, not in any positive sense. I found myself wishing I had not come, and even for a moment I entertained the idea of simply placing all the dead at final rest and closing the door on the whole thing. It was getting uglier and more disturbing with every new development, and I think maybe I was afraid of what even more shocking revelations might still be awaiting me.
But I could not simply bail out. Too many people were now at the mercy of this runaway steed called death, so I was in for the course, whatever that may be.
I stopped at a convenience store beside the highway off U.S. 395 to check in with Chief Terry at Mammoth. I had decided that there would be nothing to gain by looking into the two-year-old police investigation of the death of George Kaufman. I was feeling a more immediate agitation now. Terry leaped at my call the moment the switchboard put me through.
He tensely asked me, "Where are you, bud?"
"Just out of Carson City. What's the status on Janice Sanford?"
"Glad you asked. She checked herself out of the hospital about six o'clock. I haven't been able to contact her at home. The phone service is back on but she isn't responding. I've even driven by a couple of times. I'm really concerned."
"You ought to be. I found three more victims here at Tahoe."
He cussed beneath his breath. "I heard about Sammy and Clifford. The Sheriff's Department at Tahoe gave me a call."
"When did you last see those two?"
"I guess it was during the rhubarb at Martha's gallery when you tossed their butts outside."
"And you told me recently that you thought they had returned to L.A."
"So I was wrong about that. You knew that. You told me that you discovered them looting Martha's condo your first day back in town. So what are you getting at?"
I said, "You didn't mention that they usually hung out at Sanford's casino in Tahoe."
"Maybe not, but I recall telling you about a conversation I'd had with the sheriff's people up there. So what?"
I said, "So, if these were just a couple of small-time hoods, who had such a hard-on for these guys?"
"According to the information I was given, they had a boating accident."
"Sure, and you can follow the 'yellow brick road' all around the area if you'd like to. Those guys had become an embarrassment to someone. Their sponsor, Sanford, was already out of the picture when they died. Or maybe all three were killed at about the same time, but in different cities, miles apart. You can't miss the 'coincidence' of all these people on a hit list at roughly the same time, and you have to include Janice in that. They're all connected."
Terry said gruffly, "Sure, I've caught that. But you mentioned three new victims at Tahoe. Who the hell else?"
I gave it to him cold. "Vicki Douglas. I think you knew the lady."
There was a long silence at the other end before he recovered to say, "Jesus! When?"
"If you mean when did I find her, that was just a few hours ago. But she had been dead for a long time, I'm guessing maybe two weeks. It will take a coroner's expertise to determine the time and cause of death. I'm guessing gunshot but the body is in a fairly bad state of decomposition."
This news intensified Terry's discomfort. Maybe he was looking at a vision of the close call by Janice Sanford that very day. He said, angrily, "Enough of this shit!"
I replied, "Tell me about it. I can't even keep count now."
"Where did the girl die?"
"Get ready for this one, pal. She died in Harley San- ford's bed at Lake Tahoe."
He cussed some more, then said, "I knew that kid. She was Art's cousin."
"I heard. Also heard one of the Nevada cops refer to her as a hooker. True?"
"How the hell would I know? To some of these cops,
every woman is a hooker, even their own wives. So what if she was?"
I said, "Hey, don't unload on me, pal. I was just telling it like I got it. Apparently the girl had been involved in the past with Harley Sanford, spent a lot of time in his casino. I also found a picture of her at her mother's home. You knew her, too, John."
"So string me up. I've known several people who have not survived involvement with that guy. So what are you saying?"
I said, "Testy, testy. It's okay, so am I. This thing is getting to me, too, John. I'm about ready to hang it all up."
"Maybe you should. I have some information for you, too. Two of your pals from the big city blew in here about five o'clock. They're hot for your body. You didn't hear this from me, of course, but they brought warrants with them."
"I didn't hear that, no. Andrews and Zambrano?"
"Yeah. They're putting on the feed bag right now at The Chart House. I told them you'd gone up to Tahoe for a few days. Maybe you shouldn't make a liar of me."
"Dammit, that's going to complicate things. I would rather take myself in, but not before this thing unravels a bit."
"Well, you know, I have very little latitude here. None at all, in fact. But if you're telling me that you're still at Tahoe, I hear you, and it's my duty to pass that info along."
"Let's leave it that way, then."
"You've got it, bud. Look for company as soon as they hit your area—if you're still there."
I said, "Yeah, thanks, I have that. Look for Janice at Lancer's place."
"You know something I don't?"
"I'm just saying that you should look for her at Lancer's."
"I read that. Thanks. You know, of course, that you and I can't be talking this way until you've resolved your misunderstandings in L.A."
I told him, "Yeah, thanks, I understand. Tell Andrews and Zambrano that I called you. Cover yourself."
I knew and he knew that he had to do exactly that. I also knew, though, that this guy would never just hang me out to dry.
I hoped that the two L.A. cops would be well on their way to Tahoe before I got to Mammoth.
I also knew that no one could cover my ass on this thing forever.
I had to break this case. I had to break it quickly and decisively.
Janice Sanford's fate could be in the balance. Mine, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Some of the sharpest cops on the continent were apparently right now building a shroud for Joe Copp, and maybe the shroud would not wait for my memory to reassert itself.
It would be only a matter of time, I knew, before these people would be all over my butt—and properly so, I have to say. They had my own gun as the murder weapon that blew Martha apart and a suspect whose only "defense" was a schmaltzy story about "amnesia." I would not have bought that one myself, coming from someone else. So I knew what these guys were thinking and I could not even blame them. So I was their chief suspect in what had now developed into a string of murders. The mystery to me, of the moment, was why John Terry was still speaking to me.
Those considerations were driving me all the way back to Mammoth. I had to get a handle on this thing and I had to get it damned quick. But I was being driven into a corner that was pulling me tighter and tighter; so how much play did I have left?
I was cut off now, even, from my access to Terry. I could not and would not expect him to continue to shelter me from the warrants out of Los Angeles. And, yes, I was definitely feeling like a hunted fugitive—which, to my dismay, was exactly the situation.
So to hell with it. More and more, it was beginning to appear to me that Janice Sanford was in much greater jeopardy than I was, and that was the problem I had to focus on.
Problem was, I could not find Janice
Sanford—not at the Sanford home and not with Tom Lancer. I suspected—no, I hoped—that Lancer had taken her into hiding somewhere.
I returned to the Sanford house and jimmied a lock to get inside.
Another deja vu.
The whole place was a disaster area. This time, though, I had at least an inkling of what this string of burglaries was about.
Each of them, I would have taken book on it, was about a million bucks in bearer bonds. That was a good enough theory to begin with, anyway.
I wondered if the house had been in that shape before Janice returned home from the hospital—and if that was why Lancer had spirited her away. Or maybe he had simply taken her to a hotel as a refuge from the mess.
So I returned to Lancer's place and broke into that one, too. Again, someone had been ahead of me but much neater than the usual routine. Even so, they had been determined as hell to get to those bonds, or whatever. I was betting on the bonds, but what the hell did I know? They could have been looking for anything, and I was leaving all options open.
But where did that leave me?
With a sinking gut, that's where it left me.
It was now closing on eleven p.m. I was flailing around, and I knew it, when I drove into town and parked at the hotel.
There was a stranger at the front desk, a guy of about forty. "I was hoping to find Marie on duty," I told him.
He said, "Check the coffee shop, sir."
I did, and I scored.
Very interesting woman.
There is something about a mature woman that often intrigues me. A police-department shrink once suggested to me that it had something to do with my mother, as though it were some sort of wish fulfillment.
I don't know about that part of it, but my mother did abandon me at a tender age; all I know for sure is that I have always felt comfortable with women older than me. Don't try to develop anything Freudian about this. I like women, period, and I don't stop liking them, whether or not they've aged a bit.
Marie came at me like a long-lost friend. She cried, "Boy, am I glad to see you. I've been wanting to talk to someone about Cindy Morgan but I guess I'm a little intimidated by cops."
I joined her at the table and told her, "Don't feel bad about it; cops intimidate me, too."
Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) Page 14
