The Drowning Pool (34 page)

The house was large with plush carpeting, expensive furnishings. It looked as if there were at least five bedrooms up here, each with a private bath, but they seemed deserted at first. Then she noticed a small room set off from the others. Kim walked in, aware that someone else was there. A blond woman was sitting on a velvet sofa with her feet on a hassock watching television. She didn’t seem to hear Kim come in at first, which gave her an opportunity to study the woman. Kim thought she was around forty. Although her clothes were well-tailored, there was an aura of neglect about her.

“Mrs. Page?” she asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle the woman.

The woman looked up, puzzled; hazy blue-gray eyes found her own. “I’m sorry, who are you? Was I supposed to expect you?”

She removed her cap. “I’m Kim Reynolds, an academic librarian who works at the humanities library at the university. I came here today to talk to you on behalf of Lieutenant Gardner of the Webster Township Police. He brought me because he found it difficult to get in to talk with you.”

For some reason, the woman didn’t register surprise. “Georgio doesn’t like me to talk to strangers,” she said dully. Kim thought Mrs. Page might be on some form of meds.

“I can understand that, since he has such a lovely wife.” Kim hoped that wasn’t pouring it on too thick, but Mrs. Page actually seemed pleased, offering a wide if somewhat vacant smile.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” she asked, a confused expression on her face.

Why indeed? Kim knew she didn’t have the experience and expertise at interrogation Mike had achieved. He knew just what to ask. Mike spoke with authority. They didn’t call him
the psychologist
for nothing.

Kim took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. She needed to have more confidence in her own abilities. After all, she might not be a law enforcement officer, but she had plenty of experience framing reference questions. That was an art in itself, asking questions of people to determine what they really needed and wanted to know. And she was very good at it. Being a good reference librarian wasn’t all that different from being a perceptive detective, she reasoned. In both occupations, you had to put the pieces together to solve a puzzle. You needed to ask the right questions if you were ever to find the right answers. With that mental pep talk, Kim was able to relax a bit.

“The man your husband introduced to you, Richard Bradshaw? He’s dead. Was he a friend of your husband?”

“Friend? I don’t know.”

“He died under strange circumstances, and we need help finding out what happened. I thought you might know something that could help.”

Mrs. Page looked upset; Kim’s instincts told her that the woman did know something. Short lashes fluttered over her distracted eyes. “I can’t talk to you. Georgio wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s for his sake. People are thinking bad things about him. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I want to watch television,” she said.

“Our talk won’t take very long.”

Kim glanced around the room, trying to get a handle on the woman. Nothing extraordinary: bookshelves mostly filled with romance paperbacks, a sewing machine and some gilt-framed photos. Prominently displayed were pictures of a young boy.

“Your son?” she asked pointing. “A handsome child. You must be proud of him.”

Mrs. Page looked away, a pained expression on her face.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something to upset you?”

Mrs. Page turned back and Kim saw the well of sorrow that lay deep inside her. “You couldn’t know. The little boy in that photo was my son. He died shortly after that picture was taken.”

Kim hated to use personal grief as a device for pumping information, but she knew it couldn’t be helped. “Was he an only child?”

Mrs. Page lowered her eyes, nodding miserably.

“I’m not a parent myself, but I can understand how painful it was for you to lose him. My mother lost her younger sister when she was a girl. She had leukemia. It was terrible for the entire family especially my grandmother.”

“At least with illness, it’s something that can’t be helped not some stupid, pointless accident.” There was undisguised bitterness in her voice.

So her son had died in an accident. Kim walked to the window and looked out, trying to decide what to ask next. How was she to reach this woman who isolated herself from life, wallowing in a world of grief and pain? Kim looked out at the backyard. Something about it didn’t look right. There was a concave area of dirt where nothing grew. All around, there were plants and shrubs beautifully landscaped and maintained. Why would nothing grow in that large center area? And then she had a vivid flash of insight. She saw the past. She had a clear image of what happened. There had been a drowning pool.

Kim turned seeking confirmation. “Mrs. Page, what used to be in that empty area out behind your house?”

“What?” She seemed startled. “We don’t talk about it.”

Kim knew without being told. Her special awareness was putting visions into her brain, horrible visions she wished would stop. Kim put her hands to her head and swayed slightly.

“You had a pool back there, a beautiful pool. Did he drown in your swimming pool?”

Mrs. Page’s mouth dropped in surprise. “How did you know?”

“I saw it. His spirit is still here. He’s suffering. You must go back there and place your hands deep into the earth. I know it won’t be easy, but he needs you. Otherwise, he can’t go into the light. His spirit won’t cross over to the other side where he’s meant to go. Only you can help him.”

Mrs. Page’s head tilted to one side in a look of appraisal. “You’re not pretending, are you?”

“No. I try not to see, believe me. It’s too painful.”

“You say he’s still there?”

Kim nodded. “His ghost or spirit. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know that he’s dead. He needs you to tell him, to sooth him, to let him go. You must do it for his sake.”

Mrs. Page grasped Kim’s hand sobbing. “You know, don’t you? You have a sensitive look. Not many people understand, and even fewer care. My little boy drowned in our swimming pool—my husband’s pool, I should say. My baby sneaked away that morning long before anyone else in the house was awake. He always wanted to do whatever his father did. He knew that he was forbidden in the deep end of the pool, but his daddy always swam there, so he wanted to as well. It’s been a few years now, but the nightmare remains.” Her mouth quivered.

In her mind’s eye, Kim had a vision of Richard Bradshaw’s body floating face down in the La Reine Gardens pool. She tried to shake it.

“I don’t know why I told you about it. I never talk to anyone about it except my doctor.” Mrs. Page dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“It’s all right. I understand,” Kim said sympathetically.

“Yes, I believe you really do.” Mrs. Page was staring at the boy’s picture again. “I made Georgio fill in the pool. I couldn’t look at it anymore. He thought that I was trying to punish him. Swimming is his favorite recreation. I suppose I was blaming him for what happened.”

So that was why Page had built such a magnificent pool in his apartment complex. He’d been trying to compensate for the one he was deprived of at home. Kim wondered if the special pride he took in the swim club had perhaps served as a release from guilt feelings.

“Mrs. Page, you were aware that your husband enjoyed swimming at La Reine Gardens?”

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the child’s picture.

“Did you ever accompany him for an evening swim?”

“I hate swimming pools!”

“Do you know any of the people your husband met at La Reine Gardens? Did you ever meet Richard Bradshaw for instance?”

Her face began to color and she again seemed agitated. “That awful man? I’m sure Georgio didn’t know him very well.”

“But you had dinner with him once, didn’t you? What did he talk about with you and your husband?”

“I think you better go now. I shouldn’t have talked to you. My husband wouldn’t like it.”

How could she get the woman to open up? “Mrs. Page, before I leave, I just want to tell you I believe your husband had some involvement with Bradshaw. You know the man was murdered, don’t you? Since Lieutenant Gardner questioned your husband about it, he’s been warned that his job is in jeopardy. His family was threatened. Someone warned me on the telephone that if he didn’t stop investigating your husband, I too might be killed. What happened to your son was a tragic accident, but if any harm should come to Lieutenant Gardner’s children, you can be sure it won’t be the result of any accident.”

Kim saw that she had reached Mrs. Page; a small tic pulsated in her left eye. Kim viewed her with keen anticipation, hopeful that Mrs. Page would provide the information they desperately needed.

* * * *

Bert was growing impatient; it seemed like the waiting had gone on forever. Maybe Gardner and Kim Reynolds were in trouble. She should get in there and see what was happening. The wall had a smooth stone surface, which made it difficult to firmly grasp. It was also higher than she’d first estimated. Good that she worked out whenever she had the chance. Karate and jogging kept her in top condition. Besides, physical activity was the best antidote for depression. She knew she could climb over it.

Bert wasn’t even breathing hard when she reached the other side of the wall. There were plenty of trees and shrubs to serve as cover. She kept low, well hidden, and glanced around. The white panel truck was at the front of the house, but there was no sign of Gardner. He had to be in the house. She was wondering which way to approach the house when a sudden rustling in the underbrush caught her attention. She heard the unmistakable growl of a dog ready to attack. Automatically, she reached for her service revolver as the dog lunged and ripped at her sleeve. Then another animal came at her, steel sharp jaws and teeth clamping down on her gun hand, the agonizing pain forcing her to release her hold on the weapon. Damn! She should have remembered about the dogs and tried something like bringing raw meat doctored with tranquilizers. She’d seen it work in a movie once. But this was no Hollywood jive, although at the moment, she wished it were.

“Okay, boys, that’s enough. Down, back to the garage!”

Sunlight arabesqued crazily off the gun barrel that was pointed at her chest. Still, she was relieved to see the two large Dobermans retreat. She was also aware of the throbbing pain in her hand.

“What are you doing here?” the guard demanded.

She brought up her leg and kicked the automatic from the man’s hand. When the weapon landed on the grass, she lunged for it with her left hand and almost had it when a second man kicked it away. Bert looked up and saw this new turkey also had a gun in his hand, a Magnum from the look of it. It was the bastard from the house, the big dude with the beak nose. She brought herself up only part of the way using her head as a battering ram, butting into the big man’s gut.

“Bitch!” he cried with a breathless sound.

Bert felt steel against her back. The sonofabitch had recovered much too fast. Should’ve kicked him harder.

TWENTY

Gardner was about to claim Kim. He figured she’d used as much time as was wise. The butler had left him a while ago, and that made him uneasy. It was time to get out. As he approached the stairs that led up from the basement, Gardner heard a commotion in the hall above. He hurried upstairs and was surprised to see Bert. Lurch shoved her, a Colt .357 Magnum in his hand. Gardner saw the man who controlled the guard dogs also carried a weapon. Bert’s hand was bleeding; it was a nasty, gaping wound. Mrs. Page came hurrying down from upstairs. Kim was behind her.

“Victor, what’s going on here?”

“Please don’t get upset. Sam found this black broad watching the house, Mrs. Page. She was on the grounds and the dogs attacked her. Sam put in a call to your husband. He’ll be here in a few minutes. He’s only over at the golf course.”

“Who is she?”

“A cop, but don’t worry, Mr. Page’ll know what to do.” Victor focused on Gardner as if seeing him for the first time. “I forgot about this guy; the exterminator’s assistant giving you any trouble?”

She cast a guilty glance at Gardner. “I think he’s a policeman too.”

The man’s countenance darkened; the eagle was ready to peck his eyes out. “Cops!” He spat out the word like a profanity. “You got no right sneaking around here without warrants. You’re screwed.”

“Please, just get them out of the house. Make them go away,” Mrs. Page said, and dismissed them with a nervous but queenly wave of her hand. She hurried back up the stairs.

Kim came to stand beside him. She looked very pale. Gardner wished he could reassure her. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Gardner said, and eased toward the front door, signaling Kim and Bert to follow his lead.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, asshole?”

“Mrs. Page told you to let us go.”

Victor shoved the barrel of his big gun against Gardner’s temple. “Mr. Page pays us, and he says you stay until he comes. So don’t move or I’ll have to off a few intruders.”

They were obliged to stand in the main hall like delinquents caught writing graffiti on the schoolyard wall, waiting for the principal to haul them into his office for punishment. An indeterminate amount of time passed, in which the silence became nerve shattering. Gardner balled his hands into fists. He barely felt the fingernails dig into his palms. He was angry with himself, furious that he’d put both Kim and Bert in danger. He’d acted stupidly. His plan had been foolish. He could see that now. He knew he’d have to keep calm and in control. He loved Kim and he had an obligation to protect her from harm.

Finally, the front door opened and George Page stalked into the house. Page stood in the foyer staring at them with blood in his eye.

“You ruined a damned good game of golf,” Page said.

“Then it wasn’t a total loss,” Gardner replied.

“Wise ass!” Victor glowered. “We caught these cops snooping around.”