Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

In moments such
as this, time seems to stand still, even for a seasoned cop. Probably no more than five minutes had elapsed since we had hit the scene. I did what I could to assist the investigation, but the Chief's people were obviously on top of the situation so I skipped across to the P.D. for a possible lock on Harley Sanford's whereabouts. His telephone rang repeatedly without response. I gave it up after two tries.

      
So much for that.

      
I was hoping that the man could be easily accounted for during the time of the shooting in town.

      
Just for the hell of it, I tried Martha's number.

      
Bingo.

      
Sanford picked up on the first ring though I had to wonder for a moment if it was him. He was in a highly emotional state, maybe even crying, as he said, "Martha's not here. Oh shit—she'll never be here. God damn it, who is this?—what do you want?"

      
"This is
Copp
, Harley. Get a hold of yourself, man. How long have you been there?"

      
The guy was almost incoherent. I'm not sure what he said, made no sense to me, something about, "Last time around..."

I said, "Stay right there!"

I had left my van on the back lot of the Police Department. I told the dispatcher that I was going out to Martha's and requested that the Chief meet me there as soon as possible.

I was there in less than three minutes. I did not see his car but I went inside for a quick look, came up empty, so buzzed around the neighborhood a couple of times hoping to pick him up. There was no sign of his car so I drove on back to the condo.

The place looked exactly as I had left it that morning, nothing disturbed, no notes or anything else to give me a clue to the man's state of mind. So I called in from the condo and hurried on back to the P.D.

I got there about the same time as the Chief returned from the hospital. He was standing in the roadway as the damaged police car was being hoisted onto a tow truck. He saw me coming in and met me alongside the road.

I asked him, "How's your man?"

"He's in surgery. Looks bad. Where've you been?"

I said, "I talked to Harley on the phone. Found him at Martha's place. He sounded pretty badly screwed up. He was gone when I got there. Does this situation make any sense to you?"

      
This man never appeared ruffled. He seemed to be thinking about how to respond to my question. After a moment he said, "Only if Santa Claus molests little girls. I don't figure it, Joe. Why would Harley Sanford come gunning for one of my officers? We both saw the state he was in a little while ago, but he didn't seem irrational."

I said, "Well, people do strange things under stress. Any personal connection between your man and the Sanford family?"

"Yeah. He was seeing Martha not long ago. Don't know how serious it ever got, but they were definitely dating each other."

"Okay, I would call that a connection." I reflected for a moment, then said, "Seems strange that Sanford would do something like this just moments after he learns of his daughter's death."

The Chief said, "I have been wondering about that myself, but let's not jump to any quick conclusion here. You said you talked to Harley; what led you to look for him at Martha's?"

I replied, "I tried his house and got no answer. It was just a wild shot to try the condo. Figured we needed a quick fix on Sanford's Lincoln. Witnesses identified a similar car. I wanted to determine if Sanford could have been in the area at the time. I found him at the condo, which is only minutes from here. So that definitely puts him in the game. But it's your town, your game—so what do you say?"

Terry replied with an unhappy sigh. "Sounds like maybe you've got it nailed, Joe, but I still suggest caution here. Look, if Harley did it, then I want his ass, no two ways about it. But I want to be damn sure of the facts before I start busting a guy like Harley Sanford."

I told him, "Listen, the guy wasn't even coherent when I was talking with him. Now he's running around out here somewhere, apparently armed and undoubtedly dangerous. I don't think you would want to take a chance with this guy in his present state of mind."

The Chief snapped, "You're right, it
is
my town—and it's my job to call the shots here."

I said, "Hey, I wouldn't expect it any other way. just want you to know that I'm at your disposal here. Keep in mind, though, that I also have a personal interest."

"Yeah, that's what I keep reminding myself. You're not in the clear yet yourself, bud. Don't forget it."

I told him, "Couldn't forget it. Just don't ask me to bow out. I'm probably in deep shit at home and I have to get a handle on the problem. So don't expect me to just sit around doing nothing. I'm getting a strong feeling that my problems at home are somehow intimately related to the events here in Mammoth. So use me,
dammit
."

The Chief gave me one of those sudden smiles as he replied, "Sorry, Joe, I shouldn't have jumped at you like that. Look, I was Faxed a hefty file on you from L.A. after our first meeting this morning. I don't have any serious reservations about you but I am also a cautious man and I don't necessarily believe everything I read. For what it's worth, I like you and I respect the way you've always handled yourself as a cop. After learning more about you, I'd have to say I can't figure you for anything dirty. But, as I said, I am a cautious man. So don't take it personal when I lean on you a little."

I told him, "Lean on me all you want, pal. While we're being so candid, let me say that you are as sharp a cop as I have ever known and I respect you, too. I can't say that about every cop I've known."

The Chief replied, "Neither can I."

A young woman whom I recognized as a police dispatcher ran from the building and called to the Chief.

      
"A shuttle driver just reported a vehicle over the side off Minaret Road near the ski lodge. Looks like a silver Continental. No further info at the moment."

For such a laid-back guy, the Chief can move fast when the need is there. He was halfway into his police car when he yelled at me, "Coming?"

I called back, "I'll follow you."

Which was an act of faith on my part because I knew I was in for a hell of a run with this guy. I jumped into my van and put the pedal down directly behind him. We were moving at a rather sedate pace along the heavy traffic of Main Street, but he opened it up as we hit the outskirts of town and started the five-mile climb toward Mammoth Mountain. It's a good thing I was following close because I didn't know the area that well and I had only the haziest idea of our final destination.

We were climbing steadily along a winding road west of town. The official elevation of the city itself is 8,931 feet. Mammoth Mountain, with quick and easy access from the town proper, soars to over 11,000 feet and is considered among the finest ski runs in the country. I've heard it said that skiing down the main run at Mammoth Mountain is equal to sliding down your kitchen wall. The ski lodge sits at the base of Mammoth Mountain and I believed that was about where we were headed. Though the skiers were absent this time of year, the area could be buzzing with tourists awaiting a ride on the gondola for an eagle's eye view from the top of the mountain.

The silver Lincoln was almost invisible, perched upside down in a forested area at about the 9,000-foot level

and maybe a hundred yards off the road. It took a good eye to spot it.

      
We left our cars along the side of the road and closed quickly on the wreckage by foot. It was a silver Lincoln, okay.

      
But Harley Sanford was nowhere around.

      
A dead woman was.

      
I knew this victim, oh yes. I had been with her just a few short hours earlier. She was wearing a uniform suit with her name and title stitched onto the breast pocket.

      
I had known her only as "Cindy."

      
She had been shot twice in the head with a heavy- caliber weapon.

      
She was still warm.

      
I was not. This was strongly reminiscent of the scene at the L.A. County Morgue.

      
I was suddenly cold as ice.

      
And I knew that I would not be warm again until I had come face-to-face with a stone-cold killer.

I
did not
feel that Sanford had been in the car when it took the plunge off the road. It seemed more likely that he had engaged the cruise control and jumped clear before the car had a chance to gain speed, hoping that it would bury itself in the concealing forest. All the signs I could read indicated that the
pilotless
vehicle had left the road at a moderate rate of speed and took a fortuitous leap toward open country, then headed into a shallow ravine where it tipped over and came to rest much closer to the road than I'm sure he had planned.

That was lucky for us because otherwise the car could have sat awhile in deep concealment before being discovered.

Between you and me and the lamppost, this did not seem to be the action of an irrational man. It could have been sheer impulse, sure, but it was certainly calculated and it could have worked.

There was certainly no joy in "
Mudville
" this day. It seemed that I was now to be required to investigate a slaying by my own father-in-law. I wasn't buying it yet, not all of it, but at least I would have to go through the motions—and then, pal, there was still that lovely mother-in-law to be considered.

No joy?

It was damn near insanity.

CHAPTER EIGHT

i guess
I was not the only one in shock here on the dark side of paradise. The Chief seemed to be no better off than I had been lately as he called in the report of this latest shooting. The poor guy appeared to be in a time warp of his own. Murder in the big city is now almost a daily event, standard routine. Violent death in a small town like this is never routine. It just is not supposed to happen here. Most of the police work in a town like Mammoth involves minor offenses and it's a real shocker when crimes of this magnitude shatter the normal tranquility.

An apparent crime spree by one of the area's leading citizens was not only unthinkable but almost unbelievable. It was no wonder that the chief of a small-town police department was beginning to feel almost overwhelmed by the crimes that had suddenly enveloped him.

Chief Terry identified the latest victim as Cindy Morgan. She was older than I had thought, but not much. Her I.D. showed her as twenty-nine, apparently single, and—according to the Chief—she had been living in the area for only about five years. There are few secrets in a small town like this, and very little goes unnoticed, especially by a sharp cop like this one. The girl had been working for the hotel since its opening two years earlier and previously had worked as a hostess at one of the finer restaurants in town.

While waiting for the coroner to arrive, the Chief cranked up his cellular telephone and tried to catch Janice Sanford at the airstrip. He was told that Mrs. Sanford was not there and had not been in touch with her pilot; the people at the airport knew nothing about any plans for a flight by the Sanford company plane, which was still in the hangar and apparently was not being prepared for flight. There was no response to insistent rings at the Sanford home.

The Chief growled, "Wonder what the hell is going on over there."

It had been just about exactly an hour since we left the Sanford home. The plan had been that the Chief would meet Mrs. Sanford at the airport an hour later for the flight to Los Angeles. She would have called the pilot immediately to get the plane serviced and ready to fly.

Something was wrong out there.

I told the Chief, "This sounds bad. I tried to call Harley at home before connecting with him at the condo, which was just a few minutes after we hit town, and there was no answer at that time. Janice seemed to be reliable and anxious to identify her daughter's body. I can't believe that she would simply change her mind about that and not notify you of the change of plans."

The Chief replied, "I'm with you on that. I'm worried. I'll have to take a run out to their place as soon as we finish up here."

I said, "Well, I told you to use me. Would you like it if I went?"

The Chief gave me an uneasy look and replied, "Yes, thanks, I'd feel better if I knew that Janice was okay. Christ, Joe, it has been a nutty day. To tell you the truth, I am very worried about Janice. As for Harley, he has always been a stand-up guy for my money. I am not willing to condemn the man until I know all the facts. There is no solid evidence that Harley is responsible for these shootings. Okay... maybe he was... and maybe he wasn't. I just don't want to fry him on conjecture, I'd like to know what it's all about. But God damn it, Joe, how would a man like Harley Sanford get himself into this kind of mess? I can't buy it unless the man has totally flipped his wig. I did not get that sensing from Harley when we were over there."

I told him, "This sort of thing is never easy to figure, Chief, but I guess it could happen to anybody when the circumstances take you over the edge. Was he in any financial difficulties?"

"Hell, I don't know. I guess maybe sometimes the bigger they are, the harder they fall, but if Harley was in that kind of trouble I never heard anything about it. This guy started with nothing. If he has ended up with nothing, at this point in his life, maybe it could take him over the edge. He's a proud man, I know that, but he would be more the type to blow his own brains out in a situation like that, not somebody else's."

I said, "Well, you know the man better than I do. Just don't bet your life on it."

I slid out of the seat and showed him a sympathetic smile as I hurried on to my van. He watched me leave but did not return my wave as I turned across the road and headed back toward town. Poor guy was in a hell of a state over this, but that just showed the man's heart, not any weakness.

      
I ran on back to the Sanford place, took only about ten minutes. Took me almost that long to find someone on the premises. A young man, whom I'd seen gardening earlier, finally showed himself outside a garage at the rear and came over to greet me. I asked him, "Nobody home?"

      
This kid was a wiseass. He said, "I'm home. What can I do for you?"

      
Somehow you can spot these guys, the type who come on tough but fold up at the sight of a badge. I had his number. He took a too-quick look at my P.I. badge and changed his tone instantly before even realizing that I was a private cop. He asked me, "What's the problem, officer?"

      
I reminded him, "We saw each other earlier today. Where are the
Sanfords
?"

      
He told me, "They went out. Is something wrong?"

      
I said, "Could be. I was supposed to meet Mrs. Sanford at the airport. She didn't get there. What do you know about that?"

      
The guy replied, "Uh... she tore out of here about... I wasn't watching the time but it was right after you left here a while ago."

      
I asked him, "Did you notice when Mr. Sanford left?"

      
"Just before you left," he said.

      
"Was he driving his Lincoln?"

      
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Sanford drove her BMW."

      
"Any idea where Mrs. Sanford was headed?"

      
"No, sir. They don't usually keep me posted on their activities."

      
I gave the guy a knowing smile and thanked him. Next stop was the hotel where Cindy Morgan had worked.

      
An older woman was at the front desk. She was about fifty, friendly—almost too friendly—but I did not remember seeing her before. I asked her, "What time did Cindy go off duty?"

      
The woman replied, "She works a split shift on weekdays." She gave me an almost flirting smile. "She's due back at six. Could I help you with something?"

      
I told her, "Maybe you could. Do you know Harley Sanford?"

      
"Sure, I know Mr. Sanford," she replied.

      
"Do you see him often?"

      
She gave me another teasing smile. "Not nearly as often as Cindy sees him."

      
"What does that mean?"

      
She covered it with a laugh and said, "I was just kidding."

      
I said, "Of course you weren't," and gave her a wink.

      
She gave me a wink in response as she said, "People do talk. Weren't you staying here a few weeks ago?"

      
I said, "Yeah, I'm Joe
Copp
. I'm a police investigator and I've been doing some work with the local police department."

      
That information intrigued her. Didn't seem necessary to explain that I was a private investigator. I checked her name tag as I leaned close to show her a confidential wink.
    
"Did you see Cindy leave here with Sanford a little while ago, Marie?"

      
She replied in almost a stage whisper, "Yes. Oh, well,

I'm not sure about today. I didn't actually see the car, but he's been picking her up here just about every day for months. For lunch, of course, or so they say. Look, I'm not just gossiping, everybody in town knows what's going on. That is, maybe everyone except his daughter. She and Cindy are close friends, so I can't imagine that she would know about it. You know these small towns, they're practically soap operas—everybody is connected with everybody else, and they all know each other's business."

"You're speaking of Martha Kaufman, right?"

"Yes. She owned the art gallery that burned recently."

"Have you heard about the policeman who was shot today?"

She replied, "Did I hear! I was about a block away. It sounded like the Fourth of July. Poor man, I hope he's going to be okay. What was that all about? I can hardly believe that a thing like that has happened here. It really shakes you up."

I said, "Yeah, it sure does. Afraid we don't have any answers yet. We're still trying to sort it out. Uh... listen, Marie... you seem to have most of the scoop around here; do you think that Janice Sanford knows about her husband's 'lunches' with Cindy?"

"That poor woman, how could she not know? God, it's been one after another for years. For all I know, maybe he goes home and boasts about his indiscretions. Certainly he has never seemed interested in trying to conceal it."

I said, '"Peyton Place,' huh?"

"'Peyton Place' was before my time," she said teas-
ingly
.

      
I teased her back—"Sure, sorry. Mine too. Guess I was thinking of 'Dallas.'"

      
She was having fun with it. "You don't look like a soap-opera man, Joe. I'm sure you can find more interesting ways to spend your nights. But if you need any suggestions..."

      
"God, Marie, you'll have the whole town talking about us."

      
She said laughingly, "I don't care if you don't."

      
I told her, "Sure, you say that now, but how will it feel when the entire police department is talking about

you?"

      
"I could handle it," she replied soberly.

      
I kissed her on the lips and beat it out of there. I was not sure that I could handle it. Especially not in this town. Paradise? Not really. There was no such place in the world I knew. Didn't seem to matter the size or the name, the whole world seemed to be intent upon devouring itself despite all the efforts of the finest and the sweetest among us. If that sounds like a cynical cop, then let me wear that label for a minute—it comes to all of us at one time or another, and this seemed to be my turn.

      
A dark thought suddenly struck me.

      
Had Mrs. Sanford noticed her husband's absence after the chief and I departed, and went searching for him? Had she found him?

      
God, I hoped not.

      
This thing had become twisted enough without adding further complicating factors.

      
But what could have sent Harley Sanford gunning murderously for two people? What set him off? Was it

simply grief that sent him over the edge? Was it revenge? Or could it have been an overpowering guilt?

I almost did not want to know the answer to that. Even less did I desire to know the truth about Janice Sanford's possible leap into the darkness. I liked that woman. Already she'd had enough heartache.

Something dark and scary was whispering at me. Something almost already known or at least suspected, and maybe too terrible to contemplate. If so, could I handle that truth, or had it been blotted from my mind as a merciful amnesia to shelter a knowledge too terrible to face?