Copp In Shock, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (21 page)

      
"Nice thing about you, Joe," he replied, chuckling, "you cut right through the shit."

      
"So you're not retiring."

      
"I didn't say that."

      
"Say it, then. People in this town respect you and like you. They need you. More important, you need them. So let's hear no more of this retirement crap."

      
"It's not quite that easy."

      
"So who dirtied you?"

      
"Maybe I dirtied myself. I have to think about this, Joe, but thanks. Maybe I'll have a different slant after some sleep."

      
We stared at each other silently for a moment then I asked, "Is it Janice?"

      
He exclaimed, "Jesus, you love to shoot from the hip, don't you."

      
"It is Janice, isn't it?"

      
He did not deny it or confirm it. But I knew, yeah. It was Janice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

i rapped lightly
at the door and Marie opened it immediately, almost as though she had been poised there, awaiting my return. The time was wearing on to three o'clock so I was halfway surprised that she was waiting up for me.

      
She had changed into slinky lounging pajamas and she looked great. I stood at the door as I told her, "Took longer than I expected. Sorry. Just wanted to say good night properly. Figured you'd be sound asleep by now."

      
She said, "No, I knew you'd be back. Can you come in for a minute?"

      
I told her, "The whole town is asleep. Maybe we should be, too."

      
"I have fresh coffee."

      
"As a matter of fact, if it's okay, there is something on my mind. Can we talk?"

      
She swung the door wide as she replied, "That's why I made the coffee, dummy. Why so formal? Are you feeling embarrassed about this?"

      
I went on inside and took a seat at the table. "Couple of guys I knew died tonight. So if I'm acting like a jerk..."

      
"Of course not. I understand. Who died this time?"

"Two L.A. cops, Andrews and
Zambrano
. They were in town earlier tonight. Maybe you saw them."

She showed me a properly mournful face as she replied, "No, I guess not. How did they die?"

"They were shot. Up near Lee
Vining
."

"Why?"

"That's the question we'd all like to answer." I was suddenly feeling totally bombed out. Marie apparently saw it in my eyes. She hugged me warmly then went on to get the coffee. "It's crazy. Even in L.A., a crime wave of this dimension would be the talk of the town. I get the feeling that it has hardly gotten any attention here in Mammoth."

"Well, we just don't have
Minicams
and a television newsman on every corner. That doesn't mean that no one in town is aware of what's been going on. We have our own personal media here; it just spreads by word of mouth." She brought the coffee and sat down beside me. "Everybody in this town knows all about you by now."

I sipped the coffee, then replied, "God, Marie, I hope not everything."

"Well, practically," she replied soberly.

It is strange how sometimes you can be totally blind and even ignorant regarding people who have been in your face for hours or even days. It is especially strange when you are the one who is blind but have always regarded yourself as a pretty sharp cop. I had just that moment noticed a bookcase directly opposite the table where I was sitting and not four feet away, stacked with psychology textbooks and other related subjects. Piled on the table, right beside my hand, was a collection of books by Los Angeles media psychiatrist David
Viscott
.
 
I must have been eyeing the collection with some interest because Marie asked me, "Do you listen to David?"

      
She was referring to a long-running series of television and radio programs in which the listening/viewing audience may directly consult the famed psychiatrist.

      
"Met the guy at a seminar once," I told her. "A friend of mine followed him around every chance she got. She wanted to go, so I went."

      
"So?"

      
"So what?"

      
"What did you think of him?"

      
"Brilliant guy," I said.

      
"That's an understatement, Joe. David
Viscott
is a full-blown genius. As a cop, you could learn a lot from David."

      
I said, "So send him over. I could use some genius right now. What would
Viscott
say about a guy like Harley Sanford?"

      
"My guess is that he would probably call Harley a dependent male who cannot or will not take responsibility for his own failures."

      
I said, "But he was a highly successful man."

      
"In some ways. In other ways, he was totally inadequate."

      
"Based on what?"

      
"Every womanizer is an inadequate male."

      
I smiled tiredly. "So where did you get such an interest in psychology?"

      
"I've studied it informally all my life."

      
"Why not formally?"

      
"I don't want to deal with other people's problems day

and night. That would take all the fun out of it.”

      
So what is your illumination on the problems between the sexes?"

      
"Too little honesty. Too many games."

      
"Both sexes?"

      
"Sure. A woman can be just as stupid as a man can be."

      
"And how about Janice Sanford?"

      
"She gave it away."

      
"Gave what away?"

      
"Her right to be herself."

      
"What if someone told you, right now, that Janice Sanford left town suddenly with another man?"

      
She replied, "I'd say good for her and long overdue."

      
"How do you think Harley would react to something like that?"

      
"Oh, he'd flip out for sure."

      
"Even though he has been playing around with other women steadily over the years?"

      
She said, "That is exactly why he would flip out. You have to understand something about men like him, Joe. Harley was totally dependent on Janice all these years. A psychiatrist would think of a woman like Janice as an 'enabler.' A man like Harley breeds on women like Janice because he is so inadequate within himself."

      
I said, "You should have gone for that degree."

      
"Well, don't take my word for it."

      
"I've thought of Harley as a totally controlling personality."

      
"Yes, he is. But, you know, that can be an overcompensation for an innate weakness."

      
I asked her, with a grin, "Are you going to bill me for this consultation?"

      
She gave me a solemn smile. "Depends on how tired you are, Joe. How tired are you?"

      
"Tired enough to die," I told her.

      
"Then you need a soothing massage. Take off your clothes and jump in the shower."

      
I said, "No you don't, kiddo. I have a feeling that your touch would put me out for the rest of the night."

      
"What could be so bad about that?"

      
"I think some people may be after my butt for real. You start that again and I might forget what I'm all about here."

      
She asked, "How long since you've slept?"

      
"I don't remember the last time I slept. Yesterday, maybe."

      
"You can't function long that way. What if I promise to be nice? I'll stand guard at your door as long as you say."

      
"That's a difficult offer to refuse but I really do have to get on my way. But I'll take you up on the use of your bathroom. I'd like to wet the face down a bit and see if that will revive me some."

      
"Sure. Whatever you'd like. How about if I cook us up some eggs?"

      
That sounded great to me. A brisk shower sounded even better but I was afraid that would have put me out for the night.

      
I was hungry, however, and there were other things still on my mind that I wanted to discuss with Marie before I left. So maybe a bite of food would serve both needs. As it turned out, though, I would have been better off to have left while I was still ahead.

I
came out
of the bathroom to the aromatic smell of sizzling bacon. Marie announced cheerily, "Okay,
Copp
, you made it just in time before disaster. Sit down and belly up."

Beautifully basted eggs, crisp bacon, and English muffins looked like anything but a disaster zone to me. It was the best food I'd eaten in weeks—hell, maybe since forever.

We ate with gusto and she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. This woman had an appealing frankness. In some, it could have been taken as brassiness or impropriety. To me, it was charming directness. She said, "Is this good, or what?"

I assured her. "It's damn good. Everything about you has been good, Marie."

She watched me for a moment as I attacked the food, then said, "So you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. In fact, if you don't have any problem with being a kept man..."

I told her, with genuine warmth, "You're better than that, kid, and worth a hell of a lot more than that."

She said, "So where have I gone wrong all these years?"

"You were never married?"

"Oh, sure, I'm a three-time loser. So what has that taught me?"

"Maybe it should have taught you to try, try again. Or maybe—like me—it has taught you that marriage is often a great spoiler of romance. I've lost a few myself."

      
She said, "Yeah, you'd be a hard bastard to live with, I can see that. The problem for women, I think, is that we always try to tame the guy. Once we've succeeded in that, we can't stand his guts."

      
I said, "So you can't live with '
em
and you can't live without '
em
."

      
"I guess that's it," she said quietly. "Don't let me scare you off with this kind of stuff, Joe. I'm too old for you and you're too wild for me. But it could be fun for a while, couldn't it?"

      
"Already is."

      
"So let's just take it one day at a time."

      
"In my business, Marie, often we do not have the luxury of an entire day. Let's think of it as one moment at a time."

      
She replied soberly, "That's what we're doing, isn't it?"

      
I matched her sobriety as I said, "That's really all it ever is, Marie." We stared at each other quietly for a moment, then I asked, "How well did you know Martha?"

      
"How well did you know her?"

      
"Hardly at all."

      
"But well enough to marry her."