Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

it had been
a whirlwind romance. I knew that much, now, and I was remembering it in bits and slices. It had really started when two guys began pushing her around in the gallery and I went to her assistance. That part was clear and firmly etched into my awareness. It was our first meeting and I recall hanging around and browsing through the artworks waiting for an opportunity to introduce myself. The two guys from Tahoe came in and began throwing their weight around before I had a chance even to speak to her. One thing followed another and I ended up tossing those guys into the street before I even knew her name. As fate would have it, that incident was what brought us together. I remembered then our first conversation and her warm appreciation for my effort. She had been strongly unnerved by the incident and she invited me next door for a cappuccino and Danish.

I was in love with her before the second cappuccino.

When we returned to the gallery, she knew that I had been drawn to the "God's Country" painting and she tried to give it to me as a gift. I could not accept such a valuable painting scot-free so we compromised and I took it at her cost. Dinner for two at seven o'clock was included in the deal.

That dinner lasted until midnight and obviously neither of us wanted it to end. We went to her place and talked into the wee hours. The sun was breaking over the mountains when I finally tore myself away and reluctantly said good night.

I arrived at the hotel too wired to get right to sleep. I must have lain there for an hour or more before finally nodding off, and then it seemed I dreamed of her continuously until I awoke at noon. I called her at the gallery before I even got out of bed—showered and shaved, got into some fresh clothes, and was at her door a half hour later.

I walked in and we stared at each other; there was no need for words. She went to the front window and put up the
closed
sign. She turned back to me and said softly, "What do you have in mind?"

"What do you have on tap?"

"I do a mean Eggs Benedict. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great."

I followed her in my van to her condo, just a few minutes from the gallery.

She did do a mean Eggs Benedict but that wasn't the chief attraction of the moment. I couldn't keep my eyes off her and obviously neither of us was all that interested in the food. I helped her with the kitchen clean-up and we both knew what was next. We looked at each other with the same mind. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom and not another word was spoken until we lay naked together and she gasped, "Oh God, Joe. I never knew that I could feel this way."

I told her, "Me neither. And, God, I never want to feel any other way again!"

It was the sweetest passion I had ever known and, at the same time, the wildest and most uninhibited hunger I could ever imagine expressed between a civilized man and woman.

The pain of reliving that memory was not as traumatic as one might think. In fact, the remembrance was actually clearing my mind. It was almost like a healing even though it was probably as poignant a pain as I had ever experienced. I still did not have all the answers, of course, but the big picture was coming into focus rapidly, and somehow it was far better this way no matter how brutal the truth. I still had to deal with the terrible feelings of guilt, pain, and anger, but at least it was making me feel like a cop again and I knew that my only way through this confusion was to deal with it head-on. It would not come in a single leap, of course, but simply knowing the truth, no matter how painful that may be, was far better than this ringing confusion that had been my constant companion since awakening in the hospital. It had never been my style to shun the truth, no matter how unnerving; I could not expect to find honest comfort any other way.

It was time to keep my appointment with the Chief, John Terry. He was waiting for me in his office and gave me a warm greeting. I remembered this guy—a prematurely gray six-footer, a deceptively laid-back guy who I knew could stomp ass—and quickly—when the occasion arose. He was a no-crap square shooter, and I liked him. It seemed almost like greeting an old friend though I'm sure we hadn't spent that much time together. I had a sudden image of this guy riding me like a Brahma bull during the scuffle at the Kaufman Gallery, doing his best to keep the peace in his small town. I can admire a guy like this and obviously we had much in common.

      
"Are you working on something, Joe?" the Chief asked as he slid the reports across the desk at me.

      
I said, "Trying to. Is it your feeling that someone torched the Kaufman Gallery?"

      
He replied, "Yeah, no question about it. Has the marks of a professional job. It was quick and it was thorough. Those guys knew what they were doing."

      
I asked him, "Do you sense a connection to the fight at the gallery?"

      
"Seems to figure. What do you think?"

      
"Do bears shit in the woods?"

      
Chief Terry replied, "Sure. Even in Nevada. I have included their rap sheets in the report. But our people in Tahoe tell me they've gone south."

      
"How far south?"

      
"These thugs are L.A. muscle and they are connected. A ream of rap sheets but no convictions. Like homing pigeons, these two have an instinct for survival and I'd guess L.A. is where we would find them."

      
"Have you been trying to find them?"

      
"For what? We have no wants on them."

      
I said to him, "You'd love to nail them, though, wouldn't you?"

      
The Chief replied, "I'd only give about a month's pay for a shot like that."

      
I said, "Maybe we can make it cheaper than that."

      
There was a long pause before the Chief responded.

"You sound troubled, Joe. What's bothering you? What are you hiding under that hat?"

"There is plenty I haven't told you yet."

Terry leaned over for a closer look as I removed my hat. He whistled. "Is that as mean as it looks?"

I replied, "I caught a bullet. One more silly millimeter and I wouldn't be here talking about it. I've been on my back for a week. I still have birdies in my belfry if I move too quick."

We stared at each other silently for a moment, then he asked, "What else are you keeping from me, Joe?"

"Martha is dead," I told him quietly. "She was killed in Los Angeles last week. It's still a little fuzzy in my mind at this point. I didn't even know my own name until yesterday. I know this much—she was scared, and I was scared, and I was trying to get her to a safe place. I failed. Martha didn't make it. God, John, I wish I hadn't made it. I have been going crazy with this. I've been lying in her bed all morning just trying to get my head together."

The Chief said, in a barely audible voice, "Christ, Joe, I'm sorry. This is heavy shit. God! She was too good for this. I've known her most of her life. It's tearing me up too. You two looked so right together. Jesus, Joe. I'm sorry."

"Did you know that we were married ten days ago in Tahoe?"

"Jesus!"

Some guys you just know even before you know them. He was sincerely shaken by this news. John Terry was a cop with heart. You don't always find that in the dehumanizing pressures of police work. I liked this guy and I felt a bond despite the often conflicting interests that naturally arise between the private and public cop. There seemed to be none of this crap between us and he was obviously sharing my pain over Martha's death.

I had to level with him all the way. "The L.A. Sheriff's Department told me that she was killed with my gun. I think they're trying to connect me to the shooting. At the moment I have no direct memory of her death. It was really strange when I went to the morgue to view her body. She was a total stranger; it was like seeing her for the first time. My memory of us together didn't really start coming back until a few hours ago. Now it's driving me crazy. I came up here to try and put the pieces of the puzzle together in the hope that I could stay a step ahead of their investigation."

"Were you and Martha shot at the same time?"

"
Dammit
, Chief, that's what's driving me crazy. I don't know what happened. It's starting to come back in pieces, but I don't have a clear picture of any of it yet. I was worried about her and I was taking her away from here, that's all I know for sure, but I believe someone jumped us on the way to my place near L.A." Terry was giving me a strange look. I said, "You're not really buying all this, are you?"

He replied, "Let's take it a step at a time. It does sound a bit farfetched, but I have to go with you on this, at least for the moment. Thanks for being square with me, Joe. How can I help?"

"This may sound crazy but I know nothing about Martha. Can you give me a bit of her background?"

      
The Chief was still a little bowled over by all this. He said, "Are you serious? You didn't know that she was Harley Sanford's kid?"

      
"Who is Sanford?"

      
"God, you are screwed up. He's just the biggest man in this area. Construction, development, banking, he's into all of it—even some of the Tahoe gambling action. Has a lake house up there. Hell, he's got homes in three counties."

      
"Is he clean?"

      
"You hear things, you know, but guys like Sanford are always in the spotlight and who can guess what's truth and what's envy. So far as I've ever heard, he's always been clean. Mrs. Sanford is a real stand-up lady, I can tell you that much." After a short pause, Terry asked me, "Did you know about George Kaufman?"

      
I replied, "Not that I remember."

      
"She was married to him, Joe."

      
"She, who?"

      
"Martha,
dammit
. You're really serious—you didn't know about any of this? Kaufman worked for the old man. Martha married him about five years ago."

      
"So where is he now?"

      
"He was killed in a car accident up near Tahoe a couple years ago. I gather that it was not a particularly happy marriage. If memory serves me right, they were in the process of divorcing when he died. He was in with some fast company up there, and to tell you the truth, I've always wondered about that 'accident.' Have you
I.D.'d
her to the L.A. authorities?"

      
"Not yet."

"I'll take care of those details. Poor bastard, you must be in shock over this. After I've confirmed it, would you like for me to notify the family?"

"Jesus, that sounds so cold. I haven't even met the family... I guess. Maybe I should go over there."

"Would you like it if I went with you?"

I said, "I'd appreciate that, Chief. I'm still a bit numb about all this."

"I think it best I go along. You're in for some surprises with this family. Why don't you meet me back here in an hour. I'll get on the horn with L.A. and get all the facts I can. Harley Sanford is going to want to know all the gory details. He's a man accustomed to getting his way. You might be in for a rough time there, Joe."

I thanked the Chief and stumbled out of there feeling crippled, blind and half crazy, realizing that the more I learned the less I knew. It was something like going at a Chinese puzzle with a chain saw, blindfolded and handcuffed; the closer you get, the more dangerous it becomes. Except this was not just a game—it was probably for the whole enchilada. It felt like I was taking a blind plunge into a devastating abyss that would totally engulf me.