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

by Don Pendleton

  "No crap. I'm just fed up."

  I said, "No, I think you're running scared. Can't take the heat, huh?"

  "Sure, screw you too, bud. Whoever said I had to spend the rest of my life behind this badge? Fuck it! Know how

  long-it's been since I went fishing? Since I took a vacation? Since I took in a movie or went to a football game?"

  I said, "Yeah, sure, my heart bleeds. Whoever said you needed to bury yourself out here in the sticks? A good cop like you could make it anywhere. So why did you settle for the sticks?"

  "Careful there. You're talking about the sticks I love. Beats the hell out of anywhere you've ever lived."

  I asked him, "So where do you go from here? Forest Service?—or maybe casino security or bouncing toughies at some bar? Stop it, you're breaking my heart. Come on, let's get serious."

  This produced one of those characteristic swings in his mood. He chuckled. "Maybe I'll go to work in L.A."

  I said, "You're too fucking old to be starting in L.A. Those kids down there would chew you up, and I'm not talking about the punks out on the street; I'm talking about the L.A. cops. They'd call you 'old timer' and short-sheet your patrol car every time you dozed off on graveyard—and those donut shops can be deadly at your age. So forget it."

  "Nice thing about you, Joe," he replied, chuckling, "you cut right through the shit."

  "So you're not retiring."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Say it, then. People in this town respect you and like you. They need you. More important, you need them. So let's hear no more of this retirement crap."

  "It's not quite that easy."

  "So who dirtied you?"

  "Maybe I dirtied myself. I have to think about this, Joe, but thanks. Maybe I'll have a different slant after some sleep."

  We stared at each other silently for a moment then I asked, "Is it Janice?"

  He exclaimed, "Jesus, you love to shoot from the hip, don't you."

  "It is Janice, isn't it?"

  He did not deny it or confirm it. But I knew, yeah. It was Janice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  i rapped lightly at the door and Marie opened it immediately, almost as though she had been poised there, awaiting my return. The time was wearing on to three o'clock so I was halfway surprised that she was waiting up for me.

  She had changed into slinky lounging pajamas and she looked great. I stood at the door as I told her, "Took longer than I expected. Sorry. Just wanted to say good night properly. Figured you'd be sound asleep by now."

  She said, "No, I knew you'd be back. Can you come in for a minute?"

  I told her, "The whole town is asleep. Maybe we should be, too."

  "I have fresh coffee."

  "As a matter of fact, if it's okay, there is something on my mind. Can we talk?"

  She swung the door wide as she replied, "That's why I made the coffee, dummy. Why so formal? Are you feeling embarrassed about this?"

  I went on inside and took a seat at the table. "Couple of guys I knew died tonight. So if I'm acting like a jerk..."

  "Of course not. I understand. Who died this time?"

  "Two L.A. cops, Andrews and Zambrano. They were in town earlier tonight. Maybe you saw them."

  She showed me a properly mournful face as she replied, "No, I guess not. How did they die?"

  "They were shot. Up near Lee Vining."

  "Why?"

  "That's the question we'd all like to answer." I was suddenly feeling totally bombed out. Marie apparently saw it in my eyes. She hugged me warmly then went on to get the coffee. "It's crazy. Even in L.A., a crime wave of this dimension would be the talk of the town. I get the feeling that it has hardly gotten any attention here in Mammoth."

  "Well, we just don't have Minicams and a television newsman on every corner. That doesn't mean that no one in town is aware of what's been going on. We have our own personal media here; it just spreads by word of mouth." She brought the coffee and sat down beside me. "Everybody in this town knows all about you by now."

  I sipped the coffee, then replied, "God, Marie, I hope not everything."

  "Well, practically," she replied soberly.

  It is strange how sometimes you can be totally blind and even ignorant regarding people who have been in your face for hours or even days. It is especially strange when you are the one who is blind but have always regarded yourself as a pretty sharp cop. I had just that moment noticed a bookcase directly opposite the table where I was sitting and not four feet away, stacked with psychology textbooks and other related subjects. Piled on the table, right beside my hand, was a collection of books by Los Angeles media psychiatrist David Viscott. I must have been eyeing the collection with some interest because Marie asked me, "Do you listen to David?"

  She was referring to a long-running series of television and radio programs in which the listening/viewing audience may directly consult the famed psychiatrist.

  "Met the guy at a seminar once," I told her. "A friend of mine followed him around every chance she got. She wanted to go, so I went."

  "So?"

  "So what?"

  "What did you think of him?"

  "Brilliant guy," I said.

  "That's an understatement, Joe. David Viscott is a full-blown genius. As a cop, you could learn a lot from David."

  I said, "So send him over. I could use some genius right now. What would Viscott say about a guy like Harley Sanford?"

  "My guess is that he would probably call Harley a dependent male who cannot or will not take responsibility for his own failures."

  I said, "But he was a highly successful man."

  "In some ways. In other ways, he was totally inadequate."

  "Based on what?"

  "Every womanizer is an inadequate male."

  I smiled tiredly. "So where did you get such an interest in psychology?"

  "I've studied it informally all my life."

  "Why not formally?"

  "I don't want to deal with other people's problems day

  and night. That would take all the fun out of it.”

  So what is your illumination on the problems between the sexes?"

  "Too little honesty. Too many games."

  "Both sexes?"

  "Sure. A woman can be just as stupid as a man can be."

  "And how about Janice Sanford?"

  "She gave it away."

  "Gave what away?"

  "Her right to be herself."

  "What if someone told you, right now, that Janice Sanford left town suddenly with another man?"

  She replied, "I'd say good for her and long overdue."

  "How do you think Harley would react to something like that?"

  "Oh, he'd flip out for sure."

  "Even though he has been playing around with other women steadily over the years?"

  She said, "That is exactly why he would flip out. You have to understand something about men like him, Joe. Harley was totally dependent on Janice all these years. A psychiatrist would think of a woman like Janice as an 'enabler.' A man like Harley breeds on women like Janice because he is so inadequate within himself."

  I said, "You should have gone for that degree."

  "Well, don't take my word for it."

  "I've thought of Harley as a totally controlling personality."

  "Yes, he is. But, you know, that can be an overcompensation for an innate weakness."

  I asked her, with a grin, "Are you going to bill me for this consultation?"

  She gave me a solemn smile. "Depends on how tired you are, Joe. How tired are you?"

  "Tired enough to die," I told her.

  "Then you need a soothing massage. Take off your clothes and jump in the shower."

  I said, "No you don't, kiddo. I have a feeling that your touch would put me out for the rest of the night."

  "What could be so bad about that?"

  "I think some people may be after my butt for real. You start that again and I might forget what I'm all about he
re."

  She asked, "How long since you've slept?"

  "I don't remember the last time I slept. Yesterday, maybe."

  "You can't function long that way. What if I promise to be nice? I'll stand guard at your door as long as you say."

  "That's a difficult offer to refuse but I really do have to get on my way. But I'll take you up on the use of your bathroom. I'd like to wet the face down a bit and see if that will revive me some."

  "Sure. Whatever you'd like. How about if I cook us up some eggs?"

  That sounded great to me. A brisk shower sounded even better but I was afraid that would have put me out for the night.

  I was hungry, however, and there were other things still on my mind that I wanted to discuss with Marie before I left. So maybe a bite of food would serve both needs. As it turned out, though, I would have been better off to have left while I was still ahead.

  I came out of the bathroom to the aromatic smell of sizzling bacon. Marie announced cheerily, "Okay, Copp, you made it just in time before disaster. Sit down and belly up."

  Beautifully basted eggs, crisp bacon, and English muffins looked like anything but a disaster zone to me. It was the best food I'd eaten in weeks—hell, maybe since forever.

  We ate with gusto and she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. This woman had an appealing frankness. In some, it could have been taken as brassiness or impropriety. To me, it was charming directness. She said, "Is this good, or what?"

  I assured her. "It's damn good. Everything about you has been good, Marie."

  She watched me for a moment as I attacked the food, then said, "So you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. In fact, if you don't have any problem with being a kept man..."

  I told her, with genuine warmth, "You're better than that, kid, and worth a hell of a lot more than that."

  She said, "So where have I gone wrong all these years?"

  "You were never married?"

  "Oh, sure, I'm a three-time loser. So what has that taught me?"

  "Maybe it should have taught you to try, try again. Or maybe—like me—it has taught you that marriage is often a great spoiler of romance. I've lost a few myself."

  She said, "Yeah, you'd be a hard bastard to live with, I can see that. The problem for women, I think, is that we always try to tame the guy. Once we've succeeded in that, we can't stand his guts."

  I said, "So you can't live with 'em and you can't live without 'em."

  "I guess that's it," she said quietly. "Don't let me scare you off with this kind of stuff, Joe. I'm too old for you and you're too wild for me. But it could be fun for a while, couldn't it?"

  "Already is."

  "So let's just take it one day at a time."

  "In my business, Marie, often we do not have the luxury of an entire day. Let's think of it as one moment at a time."

  She replied soberly, "That's what we're doing, isn't it?"

  I matched her sobriety as I said, "That's really all it ever is, Marie." We stared at each other quietly for a moment, then I asked, "How well did you know Martha?"

  "How well did you know her?"

  "Hardly at all."

  "But well enough to marry her."

  "I guess so. Have you heard about—?"

  She did not give me a chance to mention that tragedy. "I heard all about it, yes. Everyone in town has heard about it. Hate to say this, Joe, but I'm afraid that all the sympathy has gone toward you."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Martha was not the most popular woman in this town, I'm afraid."

  I did not know exactly how to respond. This had been the first negative comment I had ever heard concerning Martha. Maybe it set my nose just a bit because things began going downhill from that point. I asked her, "What are you getting at?"

  "Nothing, I'm sorry. I had no right to... "

  I said, "No, I need to hear it."

  She gave me a long solemn look before she replied, "You'll have to get that from someone else. Especially now. I'm sorry. I just can't talk about Martha."

  "Can you talk about Cindy Morgan?"

  "No."

  "You didn't mind talking about her last night or the first time we met."

  "It was different then."

  "How was it different, then?"

  "You can get this stuff from anybody. Sorry. You won't get it from me. You're too damned defensive."

  That was a surprise to me. I hadn't realized that I was being defensive. So what the hell was that all about? I said, "You don't want to talk about Arthur Douglas either, do you?"

  "No."

  "Vicki Douglas?"

  "Especially not her."

  "She was found dead yesterday at Tahoe."

  That shocked her. It took her a moment to reply, "That doesn't really surprise me. I'm sorry, but not surprised."

  "Why not?"

  "I guess I'm beyond surprise, after all the stuff that's happened around here."

  I asked, "So nothing would surprise you?"

  "Absolutely nothing," she replied soberly.

  And obviously that was all she intended to say. We finished our coffee in an almost embarrassed silence.

  After a moment she said quietly, "I have an early- morning call. Maybe you never sleep but I have to. So it's time to say goodnight. Last chance—would you like to stay?"

  So what the hell had brought that sudden change to our warm rapport? Maybe she was just as tired as I was. I didn't know why, but I did know that it was over, at least for the moment. I said, "Thanks, but I really have to go."

  There were secrets in this quiet town—dark secrets, it seemed. And maybe I would never plumb the full depths of that darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was past four o'clock when I again traversed the business district of Mammoth and made my way on through town. The streets were deserted and there was an almost ghostly feel to the night. A fine rain had developed against a typical windblown night, slanting in from the western peaks, not enough to soak the streets but potentially treacherous enough to drive with caution.

  I wondered what the hell I had hoped to accomplish at such an hour in this sleeping town. Even the police department seemed tucked in for the night, as well as the hospital. I had been crazy, I decided, to leave the warm company of my friend at the hotel, and I immediately regretted doing so. This was the witching hour and there were not even any witches about to liven the night.

  So I drove over to Martha's condo in the hope that something would show up among her possessions to give me a better focus on the developments of this case.

  Or so I thought.

  The telephone was ringing as I went inside. It was obviously Lancer's voice in taut response, but he did not give his name as he said, "Thank God, I've been trying you every twenty minutes for hours. Don't identify yourself.

  Do you understand the meaning of electronic countermeasures ?"

  "Spook stuff," I replied. "Sure. Are you telling me I need to check for that?"

  "If you would, yes, please. Don't say anything else until you're sure it's clean."

  Well, what the hell?—I didn't have any gear with me to check out stuff like that. Electronic surveillance is a very sophisticated business, the way it has evolved these days, but I tried the usual games to look for hidden bugs in the obvious places for a couple of minutes before reporting back, "Looks clean enough, but don't trust it to anything really important. What's going on?"

  "Don't use any names."

  "Gotcha, no names."

  "A certain person desperately needs your counsel. Can you meet us?"

  "Just tell me where."

  "You remember our first meeting?"

  "The very first?"

  "Right. I'll be there for at least the next twenty minutes. Please come."

  "I'll be there."

  "Alone. My friend would be very nervous if anyone else came with you. So would I."

  "I'd like to bring John with me."

  "Especially not him."


  I said quietly, "Gotcha. I'm on my way. Look for me."

  "You can't miss me," he said, and hung up on that note.

  Curiouser and curiouser, yeah. Lancer's "friend" was

  Janice Sanford, of course, and the first time I'd met Lancer was at the Mammoth airport. Why meet there? It had not been the safest harbor in the world the last time I'd seen that place.

  But it was not my game, it was just my play.

  And I had to assume that the guy knew why he needed to play it this way. But what did he know about Chief Terry that I did not? That was a worry, yeah... it was a worry.

  The night had worsened a bit in the airport area, the wind more blustery and the rain considerably heavier in spots. The higher peaks to the west were largely obscured by a fast-moving weather front and it seemed probable that those areas were encountering at least a dusting of snowfall. It was definitely raining here now, enough so that you would not wish to be caught in it without some protection.

  I did not see Lancer or his car but a small team of mechanics were working on the Cessna jet inside a hangar. It seemed an odd hour to find these guys so involved, but what did I know? I supposed that it was logical enough to find them there, though, if Lancer was pushing the repair toward a quick conclusion. That could explain his request to meet him at the airport.

  The chief mechanic greeted me in the open doorway of the hangar. "Can I help you, sir?"

  I explained that I was meeting Lancer.

  "Are you Mister Copp?" he asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Could I see some I.D.?"

  I showed him my driver's license. He inspected it with more than a perfunctory examination, smiled, then produced a sealed, handwritten letter from a back pocket of his uniform.

  "He's not here?" I asked.

  "No, sir."

  "When did he leave the note?"

  "About... oh, several hours ago."

  "Several hours ago?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "He delivered it personally?"

  "Yes, sir."

  I thanked the mechanic and he went back to his work while I read the note from Lancer. This guy, I decided— speaking of Lancer—was playing it super cagey. I remembered that I had concluded that he had come from some kind of military background. So maybe the guy was just playing it overly cautious—and certainly there had been plenty of reason for that, but this was sounding like something from a spy novel.