Copp On Fire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp, Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton Read Free Book Online Page A

straight with me, then the whole setup could have been for the purpose of disinformation—confusion. That would be the only reason I'm in it. Just because it made no sense. Helter-skelter. The only other reasoning that makes sense to me is to take it back to square one and say that an honest man came to me with an honest problem and I was trying to help him solve it."
    Abe provided a sour smile. "That would solve your problem, wouldn't it. But as I've said, the pieces don't match. In that scenario how do we account for the four murders since the bombings?"
    "Two games in play? Wiseman, or whoever, came to me to help set up the one game. But he was too late. While he was trying to get his play going, the other game overtook him and knocked him out of play."
    "Wiseman or whoever . . ."
    "Yes. Someone came to me and said that he was being ripped off. He wanted information that would help him to fight back. Before he could use the information I provided he was taken out of play. The others would have been killed whether or not I'd been out there taking pictures. Which leaves me clean. I performed a proper service for a proper client. I just happened to get caught in the crossfire."
    "Makes some sense," Johnson said. "And that's the way I've been trying to read it."
    "So why isn't County reading it that way?"
    "It's more intriguing the other way," he said. "I had a meeting this morning with the department brass and two councilmen. Everyone's upset by the press attention. No one, surprise, surprise, wants to come out with egg on the face. The political implications...well, you know, there are a lot of aspirations in various quarters that reach a way beyond this city. Nobody wants to look like a fool, Joe. And this case already has caught the attention of the whole country. This might have to be the last friendly meeting between you and me, so—"
    "Don't you dump on me, Abe."
    "You must realize why I've bent so far backward to avoid that very thing, Joe."
    I tried to read that bland cop-face. So okay, he'd brought it up. "How is she?" I asked him.
    "She's fine," he said quietly. "No hard feelings toward you, for what it's worth."
    "That's nice. But there was no reason for hard feelings either way. We made a mistake. We corrected it. It was never a happy marriage, Abe. I hope she's happy now."
    "She is, we are. Two kids. One black and one white."
    "Fair enough," I said. "Police colors."
    He turned serious. "I'll do what I can for you, Joe, but you should know that there are limits. If I see you going down, you have to know that I intend to stand clear. Too much to lose. I'm not like you, I've got—"
    "I know." I put down ten bucks to cover my part of the check, stood up. "You're already too close, Abe." I stuck out my hand. "Thanks for trying."
    I received an envelope instead of a handshake—an envelope and a wink. I put the envelope in a pocket and sent the wink back to him as I stepped away.
    He said, "Take care."
    I waved without looking back and went on out.
    Nice guy, and that was my opinion even before I opened the envelope.
     
    I had a complete abstract of Abe Johnson's investigation—names and addresses of all the victims, places of employment, a thumbnail history of Wiseman and his record at United Talents, of Moore and Melissa Franklin—plus a set of 35mm negatives processed from my videotape.
    I went into a one-hour photo shop and ordered four-by-five-inch prints of the fourteen negatives, then studied the abstract while waiting for the prints. There was some interesting stuff. Wiseman had a wife living in San Marino; they'd been legally separated for two years and she'd recently filed for divorce. Moore had come to United Talents with Wiseman and had been married to Melissa Franklin at the time. Melissa had divorced Moore less than a year later and immediately married a screenwriter named Charles Franklin—status of that marriage not clear.
    It was beginning to sound like a soap.
    The photo guy was very upset over