Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (4 page)

Okay—if so, let it be.

I had to do what I had to do.

CHAPTER FIVE

i knew that
I had to have been crazy in love with this woman because I had bowed out of the marriage game after too many false starts during an eighteen-year police career. Cops should never get married, and I had learned that truth the hard way. There had to have been something very special about Martha for me to even consider another tussle with that kind of record. My former wives had been good women; it wasn't their failure that we couldn't hold it together. It was my failure. It seemed that the work always came first, and you can't expect any woman to play second fiddle to that kind of commitment. Maybe what it amounted to, for me, is that I always wanted the work to come first. No woman wants to be the second choice in any man's life.

The more I learned about Martha Kaufman, the more I understood how I could have fallen head over heels in love and married her. I had sworn, "Never again," but obviously she had become the beautiful exception to my rule. Now her mystique was enveloping me, drawing me into her as if she were still alive. She had come, and it was beautiful, but now she was gone. I was alive. I had to go on living with the cards I had drawn. For sure I had to get myself together enough to find the creeps who killed her. I could not bring her back, but I owed her justice. It was the least I could do.

I still felt drawn to a dead woman and I wanted to have another go at that condo. It seemed senseless to be paying for a hotel room I did not need, so I first ran past the hotel and canceled the room I had taken. Cindy, the desk clerk, still seemed a bit stiff with me but she wouldn't hear of keeping my money. She destroyed the charge slip and told me, "If you change your mind, just give me a call."

I said, "Sure, thanks."

I felt impelled to return to Martha's place even though I was meeting Chief Terry in less than an hour. I had been distracted from my search of the apartment by the discovery of our marriage license. I didn't know what I expected to find there, maybe it was just a compulsion to be near her.

I'm glad I went. Two guys surprised me inside her apartment. They had been tearing the place apart in a wild search for God-knows-what. I had a hunch it was the two guys I had tumbled with at the gallery. They both looked scared as hell when I barged in. I said, "Well, well, we keep meeting this way. Which window do you want to be tossed out of this time?"

They seemed to be torn between a fight or flight. I was one short step ahead of their decision. The younger one, a punk of about twenty-five, made the first break. He went for his piece. He didn't get there. I hit him with a smash to the chops and he went down without a murmur. The older guy gave me a sick look and went for his gun. I closed on him with a quick spin and kicked the gun loose and it skittered under the couch. The poor guy didn't know whether to shit or go blind. He had to get past me to retrieve his gun and he clearly had no wish to risk that challenge.

He said, "Can't we talk this over?"

I had to kick the young one down again, and this time I relieved him of his snub-nosed .38.
 
I held it loosely in one hand and said, for the benefit of both, "No games this time, boys. It's time to get serious. Do I shoot your kneecaps off or do we get friendly?"

The young punk was whining and nursing his chops; didn't really feel much like talking. The other guy said, "I think we can straighten this out. There's been a big mistake here. I'm sorry if we startled you. Can we start all over again?"

I told him, "Too weak, pal. You can do better than that. You torched the gallery, you blew the lady away, you tried to blow me away—now you want to be friends. Go get fucked. Give me a reason for not wanting to blow you away."

"You've got it wrong. Why don't you talk this over with Harley Sanford before you do something you might regret?"

"The only thing I might regret, asshole, is that I blow you away too easy. But just for the sake of conversation, why would I have anything to say to Sanford?"

"We work for Mr. Sanford. He sent us over here to collect a few personal items from his daughter."

"Which daughter is that?"

"Martha, the one who owns the gallery. This is her apartment. She's been out of town and he has been missing some of his personal papers, thought maybe we could find them."

I said, "You just don't want to get serious, do you?" I pulled his face into the snout of the .38. "Last chance, pal, try again."

The guy was in a cold sweat. The kid groaned. I had to kick him again to keep his mind on business. The older man said, with an almost desperate plea, "Look, it's not like you seem to think. This is just a routine go-fer job for us. We got no stake in any of this. We haven't blown anybody away and I don't know anything about a torch job. Look—I know your reputation. I wouldn't be playing games at a time like this. You
gotta
believe me. At least call Mr. Sanford and let's get this straightened out before somebody really gets hurt. Okay?"

I said, "So, okay. Call him."

The relief in that worried mind was obvious. The guy almost leaped for the phone. His hand was shaking as it closed on the handset. I noticed that he did not need to paw through a directory. He had called this number many times. I snatched it away from him at the first ring. A man with an authoritative voice responded.

"Sanford here."

I said, "
Copp
here. Did you send a couple of boys to smash up your daughter's apartment?"

He replied without hesitation, "Who the hell is this?"

"I gave you the name. I'm Joe
Copp
. Did you send somebody to break into your daughter's apartment, or didn't you? Let's keep it straight if you have any interest in keeping these guys out of jail."

The harsh voice on the other end asked me, "What's your interest?"

I decided while I was here that I might as well go for a sensing of this guy. I said, "Martha is my interest. A couple of guys came into her place and began busting it up. They say you sent them. Did you send them?"

      
Sanford replied, "Did you say the name was
Copp
? Are you the guy who was involved in that little scuffle at the gallery a couple of weeks ago?"

      
I told him, "That's me. Are these the same guys?"

      
He replied, "Do these guys have names?"

      
I held the receiver over and called out, "He wants your names."

      
The guy called back, "Mr. Sanford, it's Sammy. This guy's a maniac. Tell him we're okay."

      
I took the phone back. "Know this guy, Harley?"

      
Sanford replied, "Yeah, I know him. He's a loyal employee. What's the problem there?"

      
This guy was smooth as silk. Father-in-law or not, I didn't like this guy. I said, "No problem—thanks," and hung up.

      
The little punk pulled himself up from the floor and the other guy audibly wheezed with relief. They started for the door, thinking it was over.

      
"Clean it up," I commanded with a wave of the piece. They literally stopped in their tracks.

      
"No problem, sir. Let's clean it up, Clifford."

      
I watched without a word as they meticulously put everything back in its place. They actually did make a nice, clean job of it. I emptied the chambers of both guns and tossed them their way. The older guy said, "Thank you, Mr.
Copp
. Sorry for the trouble. It won't happen again."

      
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 have 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."