Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series)

by Don Pendleton

  I ordered a Coke and looked over the menu while waiting for it. The waiter returned with the Coke. I asked, "What's good?"

  He said, "You can't go wrong here. What do you feel like?"

  "What did she feel like?" I asked, indicating Lila.

  "This time of day, the house speciality," he replied. "Steak sandwich. Chef uses the choicest tri-tip, slices it wafer thin, then grills it and stacks it on a French roll."

  "That's fine. Medium."

  "Onions and peppers?"

  "Did she?"

  He grinned and jerked his head in a nod. All this time Lila is totally ignoring me. I said, "Do mine that way too, then."

  When he left the table, I said to her, "Stop acting like a baby. I didn't come all the way up here to play games."

  After a moment she replied, "Why did you come?"

  "I came because we really need to talk, kid."

  "Can't it wait 'til Monday? I have 'comp' time coming. I took it. I'm off duty 'til Monday."

  "Has nothing to do with duty," I told her. "Has to do with staying alive. Are you up on the news?"

  "What news?" she asked grouchily.

  "Tim Murray was killed this morning."

  It was like she didn't hear it for a moment. I was about to say it again when she replied, "How did he die?"

  "The hard way. Bullet between the eyes. Found him stuffed into the trunk of his car at The Dee-light Zone. End of delight for him."

  "When?"

  "I discovered the body late this morning, nearly noontime. He was stiff."

  Lila hadn't looked at me since I joined her at the table. She turned to me now with eyes brooding and said, "You discovered the body?"

  I nodded. "I was looking for him. He hadn't been home, so I went back to the joint. His car was still there. So was he."

  She asked, "Have a suspect?"

  "Not yet."

  "Let me give you a clue."

  "Okay."

  "It started with Mayor Katz."

  "What started?"

  "The killing."

  "Uh huh. And?"

  "And that's your clue."

  I said, "Katz was killed during a robbery."

  She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn't matter. It started then."

  "And your pal Murray... ?"

  She flicked me a disdainful look. "We weren't pals."

  "No? Pardon the hell out of me but it looked that way last night. Why'd you go to Helltown?"

  "I wanted to set up a meeting with the mystery man."

  "Which mystery man is that?"

  "Harold Schwartzman. Came to town three years ago. Dropped in from nowhere. Built that big place on the hill, started buying up other real estate. Bought into Helltown, big. Nobody really knows anything about him. He deals through intermediaries, holding companies, corporate covers. I believe he corrupted Mayor Katz."

  "Why do you believe that?"

  "Because that is when Brighton started going to hell. That's when all the fighting started. That is when Chief

  Murray became an absentee chief. And that is when our department started falling apart."

  "Could be coincidence," I suggested.

  She gave me another of those looks. "Sure. And it could be coincidence when you see smoke and fire at the same time."

  "So you've got a theory."

  She sipped at her wine and spoke around the rim of the glass to reply, "Not much. Just started wondering about it all when..."

  "When what?"

  "When the chief got fired."

  "And...?"

  "And nothing. Hey, I work vice—okay? I throw my hips on a streetcorner and invite the cruisers to proposition me. What the hell do I know about... ?"

  I said, "No, I think you're more than that. Why'd you go running up to Schwartzman's mansion last night?"

  The waiter brought our sandwiches, interrupting the conversation with an apologetic smile, inquired, "Can I get you anything else right now?"

  I gave him a wink and a shake of the head, looked to Lila—she formed a "no" with her lips; the waiter gracefully withdrew.

  But the flow was broken. Lila began munching on her sandwich and I didn't ask the question again right then.

  It was a hell of a sandwich. It seduced me, showed me how little I'd eaten during the past twenty-four hours. So I ravished it with gusto, then washed it down with several cups of coffee. Lila had been watching me with some be- musement, maybe even amusement, our conversation limited to the merits of Woody's house special. It's not easy to eat a sandwich like that one daintily; she managed it, then remarked during my third coffee, "Some cops lose their appetite on murder cases. Yours doesn't seem to have suffered."

  I told her, very soberly, "I've known some cops to even lose their sex drive."

  She said, "You must have not known the same cops I've known."

  "How does it affect yours?" I asked, still sober.

  "I'm not going to answer that," she said. "You'll have to find that out for yourself."

  I said, "Okay. When?"

  She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, opened her purse and checked her lipstick, said, "What's wrong with right now?"

  "Your place or mine?"

  "I don't know about your place but mine is a fantasy come true. It's nestled into the trees, it's very secluded, it comes with a hot tub built for two and a magnificent fireplace."

  "Sounds like my kind of place," I told her. "Let's go check it out."

  We did. But I did not forget for a minute why I had come up there. And, I suspect, neither did she.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There is something about a proximity to death that sometimes heightens one's own sensual awareness of the joy of living. I'm no psychologist so I can't explain it, I just know that it's true because I have seen it over and over again and I have experienced it myself. You get that same effect from danger sometimes, too, like when you've just narrowly escaped death yourself, or during a crackling storm. Maybe it's fear-driven, I don't know, maybe it's just the reminder that life can be brief and its joys fleeting. But I think athletes experience it too, I know that cops do—routinely—and maybe that is why war and love so often go together.

  Whatever, Lila and I had a hell of a go at each other at Arrowhead that afternoon. She attacked me with the same kind of hunger I'd shown the steak sandwich earlier, and God knows I love to be loved by a high-spirited woman. Surely her first orgasm was heard all the way down in the lobby of the main building, although the cabin was situated

  at least fifty yards up the hill. After that explosion, it was a continuing series of ecstatic waves in rhythmic sequence, punctuated by muffled yelps into my shoulder at periodic crests, then starting all over again without a pause—on and on into the sunset, until finally she gasped, "Please... Joe... that's enough for now. God, I...think I've broken something."

  She hadn't, but I could understand how it could feel that way. I've always envied women their multiple orgasms. With guys, you know, twice is nice and three make you feel like Superman, but many women have a different mechanism. Get it wound up properly and it seems as though it could run on forever.

  We had started in the hot tub and progressed to the bed, tried several different chairs and the couch, ended up on a thick, furry rug in front of the fireplace. Myself, I felt like I was broken all over and I'd even bled a little from teeth-marks in the shoulder. I guess we both briefly fell asleep in each other's arms on the floor because I did not remember it getting dark in there. The logs in the fireplace had been reduced to glowing coals, and that was all the light there was in the cabin when I came out of it. Lila stirred against me immediately and murmured, "You wanta try that one more time. Chief?"

  I groaned in mock horror and suggested, "Check with my secretary. I might have a date open next month."

  She laughed and snuggled, said, "I was kidding. I probably won't be walking 'til next month."

  "That's what you get for fraternizing," I told her.

  "Yeah. I changed my
mind. Fraternizing can be nice." She giggled. "Am I still Lila Boobs?"

  I sighed, told her, "That doesn't even begin to tell the tale. Let's see... what about Lila Rapture?"

  She punched me in the ribs with a smooth knee and said, "Okay... Joe Cock."

  I yelled, "Hey! Let's show a little respect for the brass here!"

  I swatted her on the bottom and she jumped up squealing, ran to the bathroom. I drew myself together while she showered, put some more wood on the fire, pondered imponderable things while waiting my turn in the bathroom, then I showered while she picked the place up and returned everything to its rightful spot.

  We toasted the rising moon from the window table and she hooked a foot onto my lap while we snacked on cheese and crackers from her duffel bag—then our eyes locked across the table, she smiled and I said okay, and we fell onto each other again. This time was slow, and gentle, and sensuous beyond belief. I held her in my arms and rocked her in a chair not made for rocking; she wept and laughed and cooed, and we became great friends. After that, we talked... and became better friends.

  It was about nine o'clock when I kissed her goodbye, staggered through the dark to my car, and went back down the mountain. To those who may doubt the value of deep human communion, I can only say that you should try it before you knock it. And to those who would shame us for carrying on so, in the very shadow of death, I would like to say again that the very proximity to death can be a reminder that life is sweet only when we taste it fully.

  I'd had a full taste, there on the mountain. I think Lila had too.

  I won't say that I felt anything like Moses felt when he came down off Mount Sinai, but certainly I came down

  from my mountain a lot smarter than when I'd gone up there. My talk with Lila Turner had been very enlightening, as much by its implications as by its content. And since it had been produced within that special golden torpor following fantastic sex, when two hearts are lying there beating as one, I had to give it at least ninety-nine percent credibility.

  I'd asked her, "Why did you go to the mansion last night?"

  And she'd replied, "Well, the first time I went because I'd been invited, and I was curious."

  "What first time?"

  "That was at eight o'clock. I'd heard about the parties up there but I'd never been to one. Then yesterday when—"

  "Wait a minute. What kind of parties?"

  "Just... parties, I guess. It seems that Schwartzman is one of these far-right-wing law and order men. Has a special feeling for cops. But, see, I think that corrupted some people. When a guy like that comes into a town like Brighton and starts flashing his mega-millions... well, it can be a corrupting influence, I think."

  "Okay, so you were invited. Never before?"

  "Never before, no. But yesterday—I was about to tell you—yesterday after that little charade with you at the supermarket, Peterson congratulated me on a job well done, and I guess he thought he was giving me a little reward. He handed me a—"

  "Peterson's the one, the sergeant—"

  "Investigations Unit, yes. He gave me a passkey and told me that the party started at eight. It was, uh, like I'd been offered some special privilege."

  "So you went to the party. What was that like?"

  "Well, I went because I think mainly I was just curious. I'd known about those parties—seems like every weekend

  they have a blowout up there and—well, to be honest, I felt good about finally being invited to one of them."

  "So what was it like?"

  "Just a bunch of cops sitting around the pool and drinking, telling tall stories."

  "Was Schwartzman there?"

  "No. He wasn't there. But Chief Murray was."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Uh huh. And he came over and thanked me for setting you up for Peterson and Manning. Now this is going to sound crazy..."

  "What?"

  "It was like...he was still the chief. There were about twenty cops up there, and he was still the chief to all of them. You know what I mean?"

  I knew what she meant, yes.

  "It was like... he was still running the department. Through those guys."

  "A leader in exile."

  "Exactly! That's exactly the way it felt to me."

  "Were the narcs there?"

  "The narcs?" She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. Not at the pool, I know, but. .. well, there were things going on inside too. So I don't know who all was there."

  "Brass?"

  "There was some brass, yes, couple of lieutenants for sure."

  "You stayed at the pool the whole time?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you meet Lydia Whiteside?"

  "The name is familiar, but..."

  "Housekeeper, secretary, whatever. You know nothing about her?"

  "Okay, yes, I've got her now. She used to—I think she was a public steno or something like that, ran a telephone answering service—something like that."

  "In Brighton."

  "Yes. Then Schwartzman I guess made her an offer she couldn't refuse. I've seen her around. That's about it."

  "You've never met Schwartzman."

  "No."

  "But obviously Tim Murray had."

  "Oh, sure. And he went to work for him immediately after he lost his job with the city. He acted like he was right at home up there last night, that's for sure. I'd say he's spent a lot of time at that mansion."

  "Okay... you went to the party at eight. Then what?"

  "I left about ten. Went home and went to bed. Got a call to come meet the new chief. I'd been swimming, hair was a mess when I went to bed, decided when I got home I'd get up early and repair it then—couldn't do a God damn thing with it, Joe, when they called me to come meet you. That's why I was late."

  "So you came to the meeting. It ended with a hit on Peterson and Murray. Why'd you go back to the mansion then?"

  "I wanted to talk with Tim Murray. Before the word got out about the murders, if possible."

  "You stopped at a doughnut shop on Foothill and talked to some patrolmen."

  "Hey, you were right on me, huh? That's right. They patrol north of Foothill at that end. I spotted them, decided to ask if they'd seen Murray's car recently. They hadn't. I figured, okay, maybe he's still up there, so I went on up."

  "Why?"

  "Look, Joe, I didn't like the odor. I felt that maybe I'd

  been dragged into something I wouldn't want any part of. I had to know what was going on."

  "But Murray wasn't up there."

  "No. But quite a few were. I still had the passkey. Works the gate, you know? Slip it into the box, the gate opens."

  "But you parked outside."

  "Not at first. I drove in. But this time the drive was lined with cars. I didn't like the looks of that, didn't want to get boxed in. So I backed down and parked outside, went up on foot."

  "What about the dog?"

  "I didn't see any dogs my first time up there. Saw the warning signs outside but no dogs inside. This time the whole house was lit up, top to bottom, and a bunch of guys were standing under the portico talking. They were cops, Joe. I don't think they knew about Manning and Peterson, if the conversations meant anything. They were just socializing, so..."

  I said, "Most everyone had left the meeting when Manning and Peterson bought it. Maybe they didn't know. Who did you recognize?"

  "I think they were mostly from the patrol division, the ones that were standing outside talking. I don't know a lot of these guys by name."

  "You didn't go up and join them? Why not?"

  "I don't know, it just seemed... weird."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I kept clear. I wasn't on the drive. I'd cut across the yard. I was standing just down below them, in the dark. I stood there for a few minutes trying to get a sense of what was going on. It really wasn't a party atmosphere this time. I mean, it was very sober and... strained. I overheard one of the guys saying that they all should go down to Dee-light and talk to M
urray about this new development. He meant you. I assumed, then, that the chief was not at the mansion. I wanted to get to him before those guys did. I hadn't been seen yet, I thought, and I was leaving when the guy came up with the dog. He pulled a gun on me. I tried to show my badge, explain who I was. He wouldn't let me, made me hit the ground in a spread. I think he was going to cuff me, but the dog was acting up and he was having a hard time holding him. He warned me that the dog would chew my face off if I made a move, and then he sort of disappeared in the darkness. I thought he was tying the dog to the fence. I heard three shots, quick shots. I jumped up and got the hell out of there."

  "You didn't see any more of the dog?"

  "I didn't see the dog or the man again."

  "You keep saying 'the man.' Didn't you recognize him?"

  "No, I don't believe I'd ever seen him before. Of course it was dark down there by the gate. I didn't get a really good look at him. Those dogs scare the hell out of me, Joe. I don't like them even when they're on my side."

  "You didn't know what the shooting was about?"

  "Not until later. I didn't know what it was when I left there. I went on down to see Tim Murray. You know the rest."

  I didn't know the rest, but I was too busy thinking about what I did know to even wonder about the rest, at the moment.

  "You didn't fire your weapon when you were at the mansion?"

  "No. I pulled it when I heard the shots, but I didn't see anything to shoot at. So I just got the hell out of there.

  Believe me, though, I would have shot that dog if he'd come back."

  "These were close shots."

  "Oh, yes. Couldn't have been more than a few feet away."

  "But you saw nothing."

  "I saw nothing. Wondered, sure, I wondered. I know what you're thinking. I'm a cop. Why didn't I investigate? Well, the place was already filled with cops."

  "That's why you didn't bother to call it in."

  "That's one reason."

  "What's another?"

  "Well... maybe someone was just horsing around. You know cops when they're drinking and having fun. I didn't know, so..."

  "Why did you tell me that you had fired those shots?"

  "I didn't tell you that."

  "You let me think it. Why?"