The Drowning Pool (23 page)

The waste of human life disturbed Gardner deeply. As a policeman, he knew something that the average citizen was spared—the agony suffered by the victims of crime and their families. It was an ugly, unpleasant knowledge he did not dwell upon. But he knew his job involved an obligation to the victims. They came in all sexes, ages, races and religions. Crime, like sickness and death, was egalitarian.

He guessed the do-gooders were right when they declared that criminals were also victims, but was that supposed to wipe out personal responsibility? He never accepted the notion that criminals were mere victims of bad environment. One killer had even blamed a murder he’d committed on “lousy luck.” Gardner wouldn’t buy that. People were always looking for cop-outs: do what you want then give excuses when you get caught. Blame everyone and everything. Killers never took personal responsibility for their own actions. He might not have liked Bradshaw as a person, but his own duty was clear: Bradshaw’s killer must be found. And now there was Sonny’s death as well, clearly connected. He owed the boy something.

* * * *

Back at headquarters, Gardner phoned the hospital first to find out if Mrs. Scofield had been released and learned that she would be allowed to leave the hospital on the following morning.

“Wish we didn’t have to bother her,” Bert said.

“She’s part of it,” Gardner responded.

Bert shook her head in a gesture of denial. “I don’t think she killed Bradshaw, and she couldn’t have murdered Sonny.”

* * * *

They divided up the calls between them. Everyone was at home except for April Nevins, and Bert located her at the Galaxy Lounge. As they finished, Captain Nash came toward Gardner.

“You and Croix in my office now. Someone wants to talk to you.” The Captain looked tense and irritable, making Gardner suspect that they were on his shit list again.

“Mr. Page, this is Lieutenant Gardner. He’s in charge of the Bradshaw case.”

Gardner considered Page thoughtfully. The land developer had the look of a shrewd businessman. He was middle-aged, average-looking, with olive skin, brown eyes and black hair, oily enough to skid on. He wore a blue summer suit that looked conservative but expensive. Gardner judged his height to be about five foot seven, maybe even shorter since he was obviously wearing lifts in his shoes. Page looked in good physical condition, not the kind of man who was content to sit still behind a desk for very long, but no one would have guessed from his appearance alone that he was the richest and most influential person living in Webster Township.

“Mr. Page would like to know, Mike, how we’re coming along with the investigation on the Bradshaw case. He’s here to get a first-hand report. I’ll just let you talk.” Nash hastily left them alone, shutting his office door behind him.

Gardner realized that he’d been put on the defensive, but he wasn’t about to respond too quickly. He intended to turn the situation around if he could. Sure enough, when Gardner made no effort to speak and sat simply staring at Page, the builder became uneasy and started squirming in his chair.

“What’s going on with this Bradshaw investigation?” he demanded finally, his voice like gravel.

“Nothing much to tell at the moment. We will be allowing the club to reopen day after tomorrow.” He assumed that’s what the builder was most concerned about. He had no intention of telling Page anything relevant to the case.

“About time the place reopened,” Page grumbled in a raspy voice. “This damned murder happened on my property. It makes me look bad. I got a right to be informed of what you’re doing to solve the crime.”

“The homicide is getting our full and careful attention.” Gardner’s tone was placating. “We just don’t have anything to report right at this moment.”

“Does that mean the murder will go unsolved?”

Was it possible? Gardner thought he detected a certain degree of guarded hopefulness in Page’s question; it puzzled him. He studied Page speculatively. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We have some very strong leads. It’s just that we can’t talk about them as yet. You can appreciate that, I’m sure.”

Page fidgeted noticeably. “Listen,” the builder said in a voice that was suddenly almost a whisper. “I know what you guys make a year. This case is important to me. I’ll give you a nice healthy early Christmas bonus if you report back to me personally on what you find out. Just give me a rundown on everything you uncover.”

“As it happens, I don’t spend a lot on Christmas,” Gardner said, “so I won’t be needing your money.”

“Hey, everybody cuts himself a piece of the pie when it’s offered. You wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”

“I’m on a diet. I’m definitely off pie.”

“Wise ass, huh? Well, you’ll be sorry. I’ll have a word with your superiors.”

“Then I’d be forced to go public with the fact that you tried to bribe a public servant.”

“Make it ten large apiece. How’s that for an offer?”

Gardner exchanged a meaningful look with Bert then shook his head adamantly.

“I get it—you thieves want me to up the offer!”

“Up yours,” Bert responded with an appropriate gesture. “Put your offer where the sun don’t shine.”

Page rose to his feet, his face drained of color.

“Just take it easy,” Gardner said. “Detective St. Croix may lack subtlety, but she is correct in implying that your offer does not interest us.”

Bert stood over the man, looming ominously. “You weren’t getting the message.”

“We’ll be gathering together all the people who were involved with Mr. Bradshaw. It’s scheduled for tomorrow evening at the swim club. Maybe you would like to join us? Then you could get your information first-hand. And it won’t cost you a dime.”

Page curtly refused and abruptly left the office. Gardner glanced at his partner. He could tell by the questioning expression on Bert’s face that she was having similar suspicions regarding Page. The builder’s concern seemed to go far beyond business. There was nothing to directly connect Page to the case. Still, Gardner was left with nagging doubts, wondering if he could have maneuvered Page into coming to the pool club the next evening had he been a little more clever.

“What he’s so afraid of?” Bert mirrored his own thoughts.

“Does make a person wonder,” Gardner agreed.

FOURTEEN

Kim had just arrived home when her telephone rang in the apartment.

“How was your first day back?” Mike asked. She’d know that deep baritone voice anywhere. It always served to send a rush of excitement through her.

“It was fine.”

“You see Bernard?”

“How did you know?”

“Cop instinct,” he told her. “I still think I ought to shoot him.”

“And I still think that isn’t funny.”

“So you told him you’re my sex slave and he needs to hit the road?”

“I did no such thing. He took me out to lunch to welcome me back.”

She heard him mutter something under his breath. She probably should have been annoyed.

But instead, she was smiling to herself. It was kind of amazing having two sexy, attractive men interested in her. Definitely a novelty worth savoring.

“I have an invitation to extend to you. It’s really a favor. I want you to join me at the swim club tomorrow evening about seven p.m. It involves the murder investigation. Can you do it?”

She hesitated, remembering Don Bernard’s admonishment. “I don’t think I would be very helpful to you.”

“I respect your insights. I think you might pick up on things other people would miss.”

She was puzzled and asked for an explanation. After he’d finished talking and explaining, she was thoughtful.

“Kim, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m just wondering what you’ll be able to find out.”

“Do you know any of those people?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “I might have seen them around. I don’t go to the swim club often, but I did join this summer. I have to be honest with you. I still don’t think I can be of any use in this situation.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that? You have a unique sensibility, a kind of sixth sense. And La Reine Gardens is your home turf.”

“You just want to show off how good you are at your job,” she teased.

“You got me there. I’m out to impress you by any means possible, fair or foul. It’s all part of my diabolical plan to win you.” Even the inflection of his voice was sexy.

She made up her mind. “If you really want me there, then I’ll come.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

She caressed the phone. “One thing, Mike, you don’t need to impress me. I’m already impressed.” She preferred he didn’t know just how much.

* * * *

Gardner arrived with Bert St. Croix at the swim club around six-thirty in the evening. They were not the first ones there: the Wallings and Scofields sat near casements of flowers where long shadows protected them from the fading sunlight. The moon would soon be rising, a crescent that would give little illumination to the coming night.
Lights, camera, action
, Gardner thought.

Puffing vigorously on a long cigar, Martin Walling sat slightly apart from the two women. Bill Scofield, dressed in tennis whites, looked ready to pose for a magazine commercial. The only thing missing was the little alligator on his shirt. When Scofield saw them, he went over and sat protectively close to his wife. Gardner found some irony in that.

The Scofields gave the impression of the perfect all-American couple. Louise was elegantly dressed in a sleeveless blouse of green silk with white linen slacks. The blouse emphasized her huge eyes and brought attention to her striking beauty. Only the cast on her left arm and some bruises were reminders of her recent ordeal.

Joan Walling looked even plainer sitting beside Louise Scofield, and yet there was a quickness and intelligence in her face that Gardner could not ignore. They all appeared nervous and unhappy, which didn’t much surprise him. Bill Scofield stood up as he and Bert approached the two couples.

“I don’t understand why you wanted us to come here, Lieutenant.”

Gardner gave no real answer except to say it would all be explained in due time. Then he looked around for Martha Rhoades. He found her in the office and stuck his head in. “When everyone gets here, I’d like you to join us.”

“Me?” she asked in alarm.

“Yes. I think you can help.”

“Of course, if I’m needed,” she replied dutifully.

Cheryl McNeill came a few minutes later. She was just as attractive as he remembered. Her long, silky brown hair was swept up elaborately in a braided crown on top of her head, and she wore form-fitting shorts that showed her willowy figure to advantage. He wondered if she had modeled at one time, because she carried herself extremely well. He could picture her on the catwalk.

“I’m not late, am I?” Cheryl asked. Her clear brown eyes scanned the group with interest.

“Right on time. Why don’t you join the others?”

She glanced at them disdainfully. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather walk around until you need me.”

“Certainly.” He watched her walk away, head high, back straight, regal bearing.

“They’re all here except April Nevins,” Bert said. “Maybe she forgot and went to work instead.”

“I doubt it. She said she’d get tonight off, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did. They all look so straight. It’s hard to believe one of them could be a murderer.”

“Might be none of them.” He couldn’t help wishing George Page were here tonight. He had a feeling about the man, a hunch, that Page was somehow involved.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Gardner said with a touch of amusement.

April Nevins made her entrance at seven. Martha Rhoades appeared outraged while the others gawked, except for Joan Walling who merely looked on indifferently. Dressed in a black wet-look string bikini, April’s well-endowed body was a sight to behold. Gardner signaled Cheryl McNeill; the group assembled together, clustered around the Scofields. Gardner couldn’t help thinking that Bradshaw would have appreciated this get-together in his honor.

He was just about to phone Kim on her cell phone to make sure she hadn’t forgotten, when she appeared.

“Were you thinking about me?” She gave him a warm smile that practically melted his bones. Her demure appearance might not excite many other men’s lust in contrast to April Nevins, but he knew better than anyone how really beautiful and hot she was. Kim Reynolds was a master of disguise. Lucky for him he had x-ray vision.

“Why don’t we seat ourselves in a circle?” Gardner suggested in a deceptively pleasant manner.

The chairs were re-arranged easily since they were lightweight plastic. Kim sat to his right, while Bert seated herself to his left. Everyone focused on Gardner. “Thank you all for helping us with our investigation.”

Gardner was suddenly aware that Bert’s attention was drawn behind him. He stood up and turned around. Mrs. Blake was standing there.

“I came like you asked.”

“Thank you, did you bring it?”

“The ones that belong to the pool? Yes, I got them right here.” She fumbled around in her purse, finally removing a metal ring with some keys on it.

Gardner took them from her. “Ms. Rhoades, whose keys are these?” He held them up.

“It’s the spare set. As I told you, my keys are on an identical ring.”

“Could you be so kind as to get yours?”

“Now?” Her narrow lips tightened.

“Yes, we’ll wait.”

In the tense silence that ensued, Gardner observed the unmarked car he’d requested as a back-up positioned on the street outside the club. Drew Mitchell and another detective, whom he knew to be Chief Morgan’s nephew, were looking very bored, slouched down in a black sedan.

Miss Rhoades returned, holding out a set of keys.

“You are right; these do appear to be identical.” Gardner turned to the others. “Just so we all understand what this is about, I’d like to point out to you that whoever murdered Mr. Bradshaw apparently had Sonny’s set of keys and probably still does.” He looked sharply from one person to the other, but saw no unusual reactions. He turned to Mrs. Blake. “Thank you for coming. I realize how difficult this is for you.”