Copp In The Dark, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (12 page)

      
And maybe, I was thinking, I'd better take my own advice and make myself armed and dangerous.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I went back east and circled south instead of north toward San Antonio Heights, wanted to run by Valley Central Hospital and try to look in on Susan Baker. That may sound crazy but I figured it was worth a soft probe anyway. I wasn't going to do anything crazy, just take a look and play the ear. Had no intention of spending the day at Judith's place in the hills either, though the idea was strong that I should go take a look there too and see what I could learn from the White family home. Didn't really know where else to start, and now with the added aggravation of trying to avoid cops it seemed a little
 
silly to be running up and down the boulevards in
Lahey
country—but what the hell else could I do?

The hospital was on the way, sort of, and I wanted to see Susan Baker. Had absolutely no idea of what I would find there, if anything, but certainly Susan could be an important piece of the puzzle. If I could get to her, and if she could talk coherently to me... well I figured it was worth the risk. And I got lucky. A police car was standing empty outside the emergency entrance, but that's normal,

you can expect to see that any time—and I could not detect any hint of other police presence in the area.

      
I waltzed in the back way and went up to the psychological/psychiatric section and walked smack into Susan— right past her door anyway, saw her sitting in bed watching television. She didn't see me and I didn't see anyone else in the room, nor was there any evidence that she was under any kind of security watch.

      
I went on to the nurse's station and told the girl at the desk, "I'm Doctor Joseph."

      
She looked up from a report and said, "Yes?"

      
"I'm consulting on Susan Baker."

      
She was quick on the uptake. "Oh yes. She was just brought down from the security ward. This way, please."

      
That told me something right there. It meant both that Susan was not considered a difficult patient and that the cops were no longer standing over her.

      
The nurse was leading me to Susan's room. I followed her back down the hallway, asked her from a pace behind, "What is the regimen?"

      
She replied over her shoulder as we continued along, "
Bedrest
and TLC. She's doing fine."

      
"No medication?"

      
"Nothing's on the chart. She will probably be released tomorrow."

      
The nurse left me at the door and I went into the room alone, which of course was what I wanted once I had established the condition of the patient.

      
Susan turned her head to look at me, blinked twice then said, "Oh, it's you." The voice sounded a bit weak but she wasn't whispering.

      
"You got your voice back," I observed.

      
"Yeah, how "bout that."

      
I laid the thousand bucks on her bed tray and told her, "I didn't earn this."

      
She looked at the money for a moment before replying, "It's not all mine. How much did you earn?"

      
"Not a penny."

      
"I guess not." She turned her head toward the window. "I don't want the fucking money."

      
I said, "Maybe the other contributors wouldn't feel that way. Take it."

      
They're all dead," she declared in a tiny voice.

      
"What kind of game was it, Susan?" I asked gently.

      
She turned to me with a snort. "Game?! Some game! They're all dead!
 
All but me!
 
Why not me?"

      
"Who killed them?"

      
Her eyes fled again to the window. "Craig said it would be easy, like learning a script and staging it. Well it was never easy. It was horrible. Nobody would cooperate. Everyone had to ad lib. Like you."

      
I said, "I guess no one ever showed me the script, kid. What was I supposed to do?"

      
"You were supposed to . . ." She caught herself and turned to me with venom in the eyes. "Get out of here!" she screamed.

      
I tried to calm her but it just got worse, at the top of her lungs.

      
The nurse was running back toward the room when I stepped outside.

      
"Guess she doesn't like me," I said as the nurse ran past me.

Damned if I knew why, though. Nice guy like me? My performance on Craig's stage must have been a terrible disappointment to everyone.

It was a graceful three-level house on a cul-de-sac with several others of equal value, probably built at a time when a hundred-thousand dollar house was a mansion and dirt was still cheap. With real estate now a cottage industry and everyone playing that market, you probably couldn't touch these places for a million—but it was the kind of home you would visualize for a successful lawyer. Don't know about federal judges—they're not in the same league because their annual salary wouldn't equal a lawyer's share of one good accident award—but I didn't know at the time how long Judge White had been on the bench or how long ago he'd bought the property.

The area was nicely secluded—deeper into the hills than where I lived and the terrain quite a bit more rugged— but it was a view house perched onto the side of the mountain, so there was not that feeling of isolation that comes with some of these remote neighborhoods.

Gertie
was black, about sixty, obviously sharp of mind but also gentle and possessed of a dignified reserve, not terribly warm but not cold either—the perfect housekeeper. I gathered that she'd been with the family for a long time. I asked her about Judge White and she told me that he had moved into Los Angeles several years earlier, shortly after Judith returned home from her world travels.

That's about the time he went on the bench," I guessed.

She said, "When he went to federal court, yes. He was a judge before that."

"Superior Court?"

She shrugged and made a dumb face. "It was just down here in Pomona, whatever that court is."

"Do you like him?"

"The judge? How could I not like the judge? He's a great man."

Gertie
did not live in. She had a family in Ontario, worked a regular eight to five, forty hour week, and Judith had given her the rest of the day off after my arrival. I got the idea that she was anxious to leave.
 
She showed me around the main level and pointed out the bar, the refrigerator loaded with goodies, fresh pot of coffee, the game room.

"Judith said you'd make yourself at home," she told me. "So if you don't need me for anything ..."

I shooed her out, moved my car into the garage as soon as she drove away, and went back inside for an unguided tour.

I could not find Judith's imprint anywhere except in the master bedroom. It looked like her in there.
 
The rest of the house looked like a judge's house.
 
I got the idea that Judith merely slept there.

The bookshelves in the library were lined with law books, the desk in the adjoining study was massive but served no currently useful purpose except as support for a telephone and a leather desk set, all the drawers totally bare.

I found myself wondering what the judge had in mind for this place. Retirement home?
 
He had no clothing there or any other personal items. The upkeep, with housekeeper

and all, must be tremendous. Granted, it would be a long commute into L.A. but...

Another smaller desk was in Judith's bedroom and I struck some
paydirt
there.
 
Her telephone was one of the hi-tech automatic type with frequently-called phone numbers stored in memory for single-digit dialing. One of the stored numbers was for "Dad—Office"—another, "Dad-Condo."

I glanced at the clock and punched in Dad—Office.
 
A female voice responded on the first ring: "Judge White's chambers."

I said, "This is Joe
Copp
.
 
I'm a friend of Judith's.
 
Tell him I'm on the line."

The judge came on line almost immediately and in a rich baritone great for the bench. "What can I do for you, Mr.
Copp
?"

I told him, "There's probably not much God himself can do for me right now, Your Honor, but I think there's a great deal you can do for your daughter.
 
Did she call you today?"

"Yes.
 
We spoke a short while ago. I have reassured her. We both appreciate your interest and concern but it is misdirected in this instance.
 
Judith is in no danger whatever. If you will send me a bill, I will see that you are adequately compensated for your time."

I could not believe my ears.

I asked him, "Are you aware that five members of Judith's cast were murdered last night?"

He told me, "I have spoken at some length with the sheriff of San Bernardino county.
 
Yes, I am quite aware of the tragedies.
 
But the culprits are behind bars and I have been assured that my daughter is in no danger whatever."

I said, "Your Honor ... the men who are behind bars

are two deputy marshals who are working out of your court. I can't believe that—"

      
"Yes, I know all about that."

      
"Then you'd best pull your head out of your ass, sir, and—"

      
"Mr.
Copp
! I appreciate what you're trying to do but I must make it quite clear to you that your interference is neither needed, warranted nor desired. The matter is totally in hand.
 
Do you understand me?"

      
I replied, "No, Your Honor, I guess I just don't understand. If all the culprits are behind bars, how come there's an APB out on me at this very moment?"

      
"From San Bernardino county?"

      
"Yes, sir."

      
"Ill take care of that."

      
"You will?"

      
"Of course I will. Now go home, Mr.
Copp
, get some well-deserved rest, and send me a bill when you've figured it all out."

      
At that, the judge hung up on me. He hadn't been exactly hostile. Call it benignly authoritative.

      
Send him a bill, eh?

      
For what? Figure it all out? Okay. How about ten grand apiece for two false arrests?
 
Another ten grand for assault on my body, say five grand each for two gun ambushes, twenty grand for false imprisonment and a hundred grand for involving me with the tragic remains of five viciously murdered kids.

      
Send the judge a bill?

      
I gazed around at Judith's bedroom, saw a vision of her kneeling naked on the big bed, shaking her butt and taunting me with hotly demanding eyes.