Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (19 page)

      
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."

She smiled and said, "Takes one to know one, doesn't it. I'm not afraid of you, though, Joe. Did you come looking for me?"

"Maybe I picked up your vibes," I replied. "Yeah, I came looking for you. You have something to tell me about Cindy?"

She really was quite attractive, obviously intelligent and downright flirty. She leaned closer and with a seductive air said, "Is this place okay for you?"

      
I asked, "Did you have something else in mind?"

      
"Can't get much privacy here," she replied soberly.

I did not know why not; we were the only ones in the whole place except for a cook and a waitress, both half asleep in the back. I told her, with a joking leer, "You're scaring the hell out of me, Marie. Let's just keep it right here. What else is on your mind?"

      
"
Scaredy
-cat. You need some attention to your head injury. And whatever else needs attention. Have you eaten?"

      
I said, "I grabbed a hamburger a while ago. Where do you live?"

      
"I have an apartment right here at the hotel. Nice apartment. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

      
"Now that you mention it, I guess I don't."

      
"You do now, if you want it."

      
I said, "Well, we do need a quiet place to talk. It's too damned noisy in here."

      
She had a great sense of humor. That observation was as funny to her as it was to me. "So let's get out of here," she giggled.

      
So we got out of there. But it took us a while to get back to the point of our discussion. Hell, it took quite a while. And I remembered, then, what it was about older women that charmed me so.

She gave me
attention, all right—from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. And she had been right, I really needed that—to block out the shocking reality that had been pummeling me these past two days—and I needed sanctuary, at least for a moment.

Some may feel that I am an insensitive, sexist lout after all this talk about my sense of tragedy over the death of Martha. I can only say that it had been a furious and even sometimes numbing experience from almost the beginning, and of course I only now and then had a foggy recall of Martha. I needed Marie—thank God for her and the respite that she provided me during a difficult time.

Besides that, it was beautiful and she was beautiful. Such fire in that woman—and, yes, there will always be a special place in my heart for her.

It was a brief respite, however. One of Terry's people must have spotted me going in—or maybe they had spotted my van outside and someone put the pieces together, whatever, but Chief Terry was at Marie's door at one o'clock.

I heard him apologizing for the intrusion as she answered his soft knock at the door. She did not seem the least flustered or embarrassed—but definitely unhappy with the interruption—as she announced his presence while skipping through to the privacy of her bathroom.

This was the type of accommodation supplied to top management personnel in the hotel trade. It was actually a suite of rooms, quite homey and comfortable with all the normal trappings of residential needs.

There was an entirely serviceable kitchen area, large bath with shower, expensive television with VCR and cable hookups, spacious living room with a sun deck, and a master bedroom suite with a king bed.

I slipped on my pants and went to the door to meet the chief outside. He said, "Sorry if I broke up anything here, bud, but I thought you would want to know about this."

      
I replied, "It's okay. What's up?"

      
"Your pals from L.A. got blown away a few minutes ago."

      
I guess I just stared at him stupidly for a moment before I inquired, "Where was this—Tahoe?"

      
"No, they never got to Tahoe. Someone blew them off the highway north of Lee
Vining
. I'm going to run up there. Would you like to go with me?"

      
"Give me a minute," I told him.

      
"Make it quick. I'll be waiting in the car."

      
Marie came out of the bathroom the minute I closed the door and grabbed for my clothes. "Is the party over?" she asked.

      
"For now, I'm afraid so." I struggled into my clothes as I reminded her, "There was something you wanted to tell me about Cindy Morgan."

      
"I guess it can wait," she replied.

      
I said, "No, let's have it."

      
"I just wanted you to know that Cindy was planning on leaving. Today was to have been her last day on the job. She and Harley Sanford were going away together."

      
"How do you know that?"

      
She scooped a small package from a bedside table. "She was in such a state the day she died, she left this behind in her drawer at the front desk."

      
There were two airline tickets in that package, made out to Mr. and Mrs. Harley Sanford, and the destination was San Juan, Puerto Rico. They were one-way tickets.

      
"They were leaving Saturday," Marie told me. "And it looks like they were not planning on coming back."

I said, "That's the way it looks, yeah, but how do you know that Cindy had not merely picked up those tickets for the
Sanfords
?"

"Because I know that one of these tickets was for Cindy. She had been excited for a week and she even quit her job. I know it belonged to her."

I thanked her and added, "Hang on to these tickets until I get back. They could be very important. Good work. I'll discuss this with you later."

"So you're coming back?"

"Sure, soon as I can. But it's police business so..." I kissed her warmly and told her, "Just don't wait up for me."

Terry was waiting in the squad car just outside the lobby entrance. He was wheeling it even as I was closing my door. He said, as we hurtled onto the street, "Hope I didn't cramp your style there, bud, but I figured you would want to be in on this."

"Thanks, yes, I appreciate it. Hope this doesn't mean that I'm a suspect."

"This is no
Toonerville
police force here, you know. We've known your movements from the minute you hit our city limits." He showed me a droll smile without missing a beat on the rapidly accelerating police car. "You and Marie—I would never have suspected it."

I said, "Why not? Attractive woman. They don't all have to be twenty and dumb."

He was enjoying this. "My sentiments exactly, but still..."

"Still nothing," I retorted. "She's a lot of woman. And, incidentally, she has some information that she's holding for you."

"What's that?"

"It seems that Harley and Cindy Morgan were planning on running away together. At least, it looks that way to me. Cindy gave notice and quit her job last week. She and Harley had booked flight to Puerto Rico for this weekend—one-way tickets."

The chief almost lost a beat with his car. "I would have to question that information," he said stiffly. "He couldn't just—well, maybe he could, but not that way. Harley had too much at stake here, a hell of a business empire. I could buy Puerto Rico for a few days, sure, but not forever."