The Drowning Pool (2 page)

“Would you happen to know the names of any of Bradshaw’s friends?”

“I’m trying to think of them. Well, I suppose one really does stand out. The last few weeks he was with a woman named April Nevins. No one could help noticing them. They were awfully friendly for such a public place.”

“How so?”

“Well, it was her fault more than his. She wears the skimpiest bikinis imaginable. And she didn’t seem to mind at all when Mr. Bradshaw put his hands on her. One day, the woman he lives with showed up here while the two of them were cavorting in the pool. Seeing all that kissing and touching must have set her off. She made quite a fuss. Luckily, it was late in the day and there weren’t many people around.”

“Would it have made much difference?” Bert St. Croix asked, voice and eyes switchblade sharp.

“This is not a swinging singles establishment. We’re family-oriented, and we have a large clientele of retired people who can afford gracious suburban living. Why, some people come all the way from New York City just for membership in our golf club. Everything here is first-rate.”

“But there are young tenants as well?” Gardner probed.

“Oh, yes, mostly young married couples with two salary checks coming in.”

“And Bradshaw, was he friendly with any of these young couples?”

“Yes, the Wallings and the Scofields. I saw him with them all the time.”

“Were either of those two couples around last evening?”

“You’ll have to ask Sonny. I left at four.”

“We’ll do that. Thank you, Ms. Rhoades. Like I said, we may have a few more questions tomorrow.”

She looked less than pleased as she stalked away.

“I think it’s a crock,” St. Croix said. “If this kid Sonny locked up after everyone else left, how did Bradshaw get in?”

“For that matter, why did he want to get in?” Gardner let out a yawn. “We’ll find out more tomorrow. As for tonight, or what’s left of it, I’m too tired to do anymore thinking.”

“Right. You old geezers need your rest.”

“Just refer to me as experienced,” he responded dryly.

“Experience is over-rated. Frankly, I don’t know what I could learn from you.”

“Maybe just one thing—you can’t ever afford to think you know it all. I never stop learning, and I’ve had some very unusual teachers along the way.”

St. Croix smiled at him tolerantly and left. He ground down on his back teeth. No, it wasn’t going to be easy working with her.

* * * *

“So what do you think?’ Mike asked Kim on the drive back to her apartment.

“I don’t think Mr. Bradshaw died in the pool. I don’t think he drowned in it.”

He glanced over at her. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “Just intuition I guess. I looked at the pool and I didn’t sense death in it. Does that sound weird?”

“Not to me.”

She was pensive. “I suppose police detection is a lot like reference work.”

“How so?”

She turned her head to one side, considering her words. “People bring you a problem and you need to find the solution. It’s kind of like putting the parts of a puzzle together to get a complete picture.”

“So you plan on helping me with this particular puzzle? You have vacation time this week, don’t you?” he asked.

“I do indeed. The university is pretty much shut down. Most summer school classes are over. We’re informally on hiatus. Ma wants me to visit her in Florida, but I thought I’d wait and fly down over the winter semester break. I’ll have a week off then too.”

“Maybe you could spend some of the week with the girls and me,” he said.

She glanced over at him questioningly. “You still want to bother with me?”

He pulled up in front of her building and shut off the engine. “Ms. Reynolds, you underestimate my feelings for you. I have every intention of courting you.”

She smiled at him. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. See, I’m a real old-fashioned kind of guy. And I don’t give up easy when I want something. As it happens, I want you bad.” With that, he pulled her into his arms and planted a sound, smacking kiss on her lips.

As she observed later, it was no ordinary kiss. He took her mouth like a conquering warrior, then he groaned and shuddered as she returned his passion. She felt dizzy with need for him. But then suddenly, he was pulling away. Her skin still tingled from his touch.

“Much as I regret it, I have to go. We’ll take up where we left off very soon,” he said. “The girls are alone. Evie may be fourteen and old enough to baby-sit for Jean, but it’s getting late. I’m sure they’re both asleep—it’s just that I worry.”

“Of course, I understand.” And she did. Mike Gardner was a responsible parent. It was one of the things she found so attractive about him—that and the fact that he was a studly hunk.

Kim wondered if it made her superficial that she found him so physically attractive. Mike Gardner was a tall, dark-haired man with rock hard abs and a powerful build, broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. She couldn’t imagine why Detective St. Croix had referred to him as old. Mike was only in his late thirties. Of course, to a woman like the detective, who was likely in her middle twenties, he might appear mature. But Kim suspected Detective St. Croix was baiting him, being deliberately antagonistic. Kim had to wonder about the detective’s motives. But she had enough of her own problems to deal with.

She and Mike exchanged a final kiss and parted at her door. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

“Count on it.”

“I certainly will,” she said with a smile. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, but for some reason, she didn’t feel the slightest bit tired. Mike had a strange effect on her.

Kim wished her feelings for Mike weren’t so confused and uncertain. Did he want more from her than she could ever give him?

TWO

Before returning to La Reine Gardens the next day, Gardner began going over lab findings. The basic facts were deceivingly simple and could be concisely summarized. Richard Bradshaw, male Caucasian, somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five years of age, was found floating in the pool fully clothed. He had received a hard blow to the head. However, the victim’s death was caused by a stab wound, a lethal puncture just above the sixth thoracic vertebra. The murder weapon was most likely a knife, judging from the nature of the wound. Estimated time of death, somewhere between six and nine p.m. of the previous evening.

“They haven’t pinned down the exact time of death,” St. Croix noted critically. “And there’s nothing here as to where the guy was killed. You think the killer concealed the body somewhere, then came back after everyone was gone and dumped the vic?”

“Real possibility,” Gardner agreed, “but I’m keeping an open mind. Right now, I’ve got no opinions.”

The swim club looked different in the light of day, as though nothing sinister could possibly have occurred there. Cushiony chaises and rustic redwood tables shaded by yellow and white umbrellas beckoned for occupants. Finely cultivated flowers and shrubs grew from decorative brick encasements. The tennis courts glistened smartly in the smoldering August sun. The pool itself was seductively inviting; the water very clear, more aqua than the pictures he’d seen of the Mediterranean. Gardner, already sweating through his shirt in the tropical forest heat and humidity, wished he could heed the siren’s call, just jump in and feel the cooling waters wash over him. He turned regretfully away.

Ms. Rhoades and her staff were waiting for them. There were still police technicians on the premises continuing with their clinical investigation. Otherwise the place was deserted. Ms. Rhoades began by introducing her helpers. There was an anorexically thin girl named Beth whom she introduced first, patting the girl’s hand in a friendly gesture. Then there were two male lifeguards, both young, not yet out of their teens. The taller of the two was blond and muscular. He looked as if he belonged on the California surfer scene rather than a pool club in New Jersey. The other boy was dark and much slighter in build. His manner toward Ms. Rhoades was deferential, and although he didn’t look much like a lifeguard, Gardner saw that he would be the kind of worker she would prefer.

“You’re Sonny?” Gardner asked, not waiting for Ms. Rhoades to continue with what was an unnecessarily long-winded introduction of the taller lifeguard.

“I am,” the light-haired youth said. He stepped forward and flashed a near blinding smile.

The teeth were so perfect that Gardner wondered fleetingly if they were capped. “You close up yesterday?”

“I close every day.”

“What time?”

“About eight in the evening.”

“Anyone still here?”

“Nobody.”

“Did you know Mr. Bradshaw?”

Sonny nodded his head but didn’t speak.

“Was he here yesterday?”

“If he was, I didn’t see him.”

“What about you?” Gardner turned to the other lifeguards and glanced quickly at each in turn, but their response was also in the negative. He looked back at Sonny. “Did Bradshaw come here often?”

“Almost every evening,” the youth said. “See, children aren’t allowed after five, so all the mothers leave then. The place is practically deserted on weekday evenings. Just a few of the same people show. Some retired folks who don’t like using the club when kids are around and younger people who get home from work late.”

Gardner studied the boy. His manner of speech, the broad, open smile implied honesty and straightforwardness. Still, Gardner was wary; he’d been a cop too long not to know that appearances are often deceiving.

“Were any of Mr. Bradshaw’s friends here yesterday after five?”

Sonny scratched his tow-head thoughtfully. His eyes were small and dull in contrast to the dazzling porcelain smile. “Yeah, there was Miss Nevins, Mrs. Walling and Mrs. Scofield. They were all sitting together. Mr. Walling and Mr. Scofield, they came by later.”

“Did they come together?”

“No. Mr. Scofield came first and practiced on the tennis court. Mr. Walling showed up later.”

“Is it possible that Mr. Bradshaw might have come and you didn’t see him?”

“Not likely. Of course, I was busy part of the time, picking up trash around the pool, putting away chaises, like that.” He looked about furtively and seemed relieved to observe that Ms. Rhoades was occupied elsewhere for the moment, giving orders to the rest of her staff much the way Napoleon would have done with his field officers. “See, it’s like this,” Sonny said in a soft, confidential tone of voice, “some guys I know dropped by wanting to shoot a few hoops. So we went outside for a while.” He indicated a small, concrete court outside the fence.

“Weren’t you supposed to be watching the pool?” St. Croix asked pointedly.

Sonny’s face turned red. “Well, yeah, sure, but there wasn’t nobody in danger of drowning and these guys are friends. And I gotta keep in condition. Next year I start college on an athletic scholarship.”

Gardner noted the youth’s thick neck and bulging biceps. Football player, he decided.

“You lift weights?” St. Croix probed.

Sonny’s wary look indicated that he did.

“How much you press?”

“Usually two-hundred and ten, about fifteen pounds more than I weigh, but I intend to bring that up—and I don’t use steroids.” There was definite pride in the voice.

“I guess the girls around here are impressed,” Gardner said in an easy, friendly manner.

Sonny relaxed perceptibly. “The young ones maybe, but it’s real hard to figure women.”

Gardner was well-coordinated and appreciated athletic skills in others.

“How well did you know Bradshaw?”

“Hardly at all.”

“And his friends? Ms. Nevins, for instance?”

“I just knew them all by sight ’cause they were regulars, but I don’t know anything about them. I was pretty much invisible to those people. You know how it is.”

“Mike!” Gardner turned around and saw Herb Fitzpatrick from the lab coming toward him. “We found something in the utility room.”

Quickly, he and St. Croix followed.

“What have you got?”

The police technician pointed to the floor. The room was dark in spite of the glow of one naked light bulb, and it took Gardner a few moments to adjust his eyes. At first, he observed nothing out of the ordinary. Then he saw a few dark brown spots on the floor and the back wall.

“We’ll check them against Bradshaw’s type. Someone washed up most of it. The victim’s wound would have caused profuse bleeding. There should be a lot more blood than this.”

“Assuming he was killed here,” St. Croix said with a slight note of skepticism.

“Oh, he was,” Fitzpatrick said. “I even think we’ve got the murder weapon.” The lab man carefully displayed a long-bladed, all-purpose knife.

“Where was it?”

“On the floor, over in that corner.” Fitzpatrick pointed to the darkest part of the room. Gardner noticed how clean the blade was.

“Find any prints?”

“I sincerely hope you mean that as a joke, Mike.”

If there were anything else, Fitz would find it. Except for an occasional drinking binge when his wife was out of town visiting her family, Fitz was competent—and having met the termagant, Gardner could readily understand why Fitz felt the need to celebrate her infrequent departures.

“I think we ought to bring Ms. Rhoades and Sonny in here.”

St. Croix remained silent but left immediately, only to return like a Mercurial messenger moments later with both parties in tow.

“How accessible is this storeroom?” Gardner asked Ms. Rhoades.

“Obviously, we keep it locked at all times. There are a lot of valuable pieces of equipment in here. Only staff have keys.” As Gardner scrutinized Martha Rhoades more closely, he decided her unattractiveness went beyond mere physical appearance; it had more to do with her attitude, which struck him as patronizing and overbearing.

“And the same key opens both doors?”

“Of course.”

Gardner looked around. One door led to the pool area, and the second led outside. If Bradshaw had been able to enter through this second door, no one in the pool area would have seen him.