The Killing Edge (16 page)

The phone had been disconnected.

She ran through the house, careened off a wall in the hall and fumbled with the front door. Leaving it open behind her, she scrabbled at the door of the car, threw herself inside and locked the doors. She inserted the key in the ignition flooded the engine, and tried again.

The car backed quickly out of the drive, went into a skid and swerved in a semicricle across the road and the engine died again. She groped with the ignition, started the car, and plowed into a snowbank. The rear wheels made a frantic whirring sound as they lost traction.

Someone was moaning and she knew it was herself.

Stop! Think! Keep this up and the car will be hopelessly mired in the snow. Shove it into first, then quickly into reverse … that did it. It skipped out of the snow bank. She threw the gears into forward and sped from the horror she had witnessed.

“I bet you had a great meal,” Katherine said as she hid her TV dinner chicken leg under a napkin and picked at the peas.

“A club sandwich. L.C. had to leave.”

“You ought to marry her,” Chris mumbled through a mouthful of chicken as he surreptitiously flipped Remley's drum stick from under the napkin onto his own tray.

“Tell her that.”

“I will,” the boy said in a barely understandable tone.

The pounding on the front door startled them. Will eased himself from the kitchen table with a frown. “I wish they'd call headquarters like they're supposed to when they have a problem. I'm coming,” he called and went to the door.

L.C.'s hands were clenching the small railing on the front stoop as he stared into her stricken face.

“What in God's name is wrong?”

“… by the dock … underneath … tied to a support.”

He put his arms around her and led her into the house. “We'll get you something dry.”

L.C. stood near the bench by the dock as the police scuba diver adjusted the straps of his tanks and spit into his face mask. Will hunched over the dock and peered into the water. “I can't see anything down there, but it's supposed to be underneath about right here.”

“Right,” the diver said as he made final adjustments to his equipment and stepped off the pier.

Will stood motionless for a few minutes watching the trail of bubbles, and then slapped his arms toward off the biting cold. “Way I see it,” he said to the other three officers standing by the edge of the dock, “A drain empties warmer water into the cover near the dock and keeps the ice from freezing thick.”

“Makes sense.”

They stood quietly for a few more minutes before Will went over to where L.C. huddled on the bench. “What could you make out?”

“Not much, really. Only that it was a man, tied with what looked like wire to a beam.”

“The face?”

She grimaced. “I think it had been down there a long time. I couldn't tell.”

He sat next to her and put his arms over her shoulders. “It must have been a terrible experience for you?”

Excitement replaced her drained feelings. “It all fits, Will. Mauve was skating, came to the dock as I did, fell in and saw what I saw. Someone had to kill her because of what she had seen. Which explains why her clothes were in the dryer—to hide the fact that she'd been in the water.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

The diver broke surface, reached for the ladder and clambered to the pier. Will jogged over to him as the diver removed his face mask. “Well?”

“The tide's come in.”

“For Christ's sake, I know that. What about the body?”

“Like I said, Chief, the tide's coming in, wouldn't or couldn't float away in this amount of time.”

“So?”

“Like I'm saying. There's nothing down there. The usual junk, bottles and crap like that, but no body. No body at all.”

Chapter Ten

The next morning Will Barnes sat sullenly in the kitchen at the table in his small ranch house and contemplated a protracted life of continence. He finished a third cup of coffee and tried to avoid thinking about last night's events at the dock.

As the scuba diver had lumbered off to change in the relative Warmth of the van, the other police officers had looked at Will questioningly, then turned, almost in unison, to stare at L.C. on the nearby bench.

They had gathered their equipment without further orders and backed their cruisers away from the Bridger house.

L.C. had walked to the edge of the dock. “It was there,” she had said, in a low voice.

He had led her to the car where she sat silently in the corner during the drive back to his house. Katherine seemed to sense the anguish in the adult woman, and had led L.C. to her bedroom where she fell into a deep sleep.

He considered himself a pragmatic person who evolved his life through logical structure. He ran the department with sound fiscal policy, tried to be fair to the men, and still provide maximum police services to the people of Lantern City. He often thought he was too practical. The mental picture of his dead wife had turned to a dreamy shadow without form, substance or clarity. As his wife faded, so had his feelings for L.C. increased.

The phone rang. It was Pat Pasquale in Hartford. “We picked up Stanley Peckham last night.”

“Who'd he beat up this time?”

“We've got him on more than assault this time. He gave a ride to a teenage hitch-hiker, beat her and started to rape her when we grabbed him. If we hadn't had him under surveillance he might have killed the kid.”

“It was only a matter of time until you caught him,” Will said as he twirled the dregs in his coffee cup.

“There's more to it than that, Will. Half an hour ago we made a deal with him and he admitted two more rapes.” There was a pause on the phone. “One took place the night of the killing in Lantern City.”

“He could be fishing for an alibi. A rape charge is still better than murder.”

“We don't think so. He knew details that were never released to the newspapers, and we're getting I.D.s from the victims on him.”

“Which is why he couldn't reasonably explain his actions for the night.”

“Right. But we've nailed him now. Thanks for putting us on to the creep.”

“Think nothing of it, Pat,” Will said as he hung up.

The bedroom door opened and L.C., wearing one of Katherine's shortie nightgowns, came out of the room rubbing her eyes. “I thought I heard the phone. What time is it?”

“Oh, my God,” Will said as he watched her come down the hall and swish the empty coffee pot.

“Do I look that bad?”

“Christ, no! You really shouldn't do this to me, you know.”

She turned to him ingenuously. “Do what?”

“Forget it. I'll make more coffee. That was Pat on the phone. Your friend, Stanley, was picked up on another charge and admits to a rape attack the night of the murder.”

“Are they positive?”

“Absolutely, or so Pat says.”

She sat at the table and pulled the short nightgown down as far as it would go. “Well, now that we know that there was another body out at the Bridgers', I'm not surprised.”

Will didn't answer and poured far too much coffee into the perculator. He ladled coffee back in the can and adjusted the flame on the burner.

“It's got to be Hal Warren,” L.C. continued.

“The killer or the body under the pier?” Will asked as he grimaced behind her back.

“Under the pier. Dore knew he was back in town and seeing Mauve Bridger. That explains the sex Mauve had that day. She bided her time, killed Hal and tied him under the pier and then killed Mauve.”

“Where did she hide a sixty-five foot boat, or is that with the body?”

“The boat? I don't know. Hey, what time is it?”

“It's after eight.”

“And you're still home?”

“Two reasons. I didn't want to leave you alone, and the Bridger funeral is at 9:30. I thought we'd go together.”

“Yes, that's right. You know, someone must have been watching me as I went through the Bridger house and then out on the ice. Can Dore Warren see over there from her house, say with a pair of binoculars?”

The coffee began to perk. Will turned the flame down and stood watching it a moment before turning to face L.C. “There wasn't any body,” he said softly. “You're upset, you fell through the ice and saw something—something that looked strange, but was probably a large fish or a tire. At that point your imagination ran away with you.”

“You've been taking psychology courses at the university again.”

“That was last year.”

“No, Will. I am not a neurotic woman who's in a quandary about going to bed with her fiance. I did see a man killed under my apartment window, and I did see a body under the pier.”

He slammed his fist on the table and rattled the cups. “Then damn it! Where the hell is it?”

“I don't know.”

He leaned across the table and tried to avoid looking at her breasts, clearly outlined through the sheer nightgown. “Please, listen to me. As far as I know, in the past several weeks we've had two missing persons in the area. A drunk named Louis who took off down South, and a fourteen year old teeny bopper that we tracked down yesterday in Boston. No one else is gone, L.C. Who the hell is down there?”

“I'm not sure, but it could have been Hal Warren.”

“And his boat?”

“I can't explain that.”

“Can you find something of Katherine's to wear? We have a funeral to attend.”

Uniformed chauffeurs were dusting slush off the hearse, flower car and lead limousine in front of the Lantern City Congregational Church. Will parked at the end of the entourage and walked with L.C. toward the church. A small knot of mourners had gathered at the entrance to the church. As they approached, Herb and Toby Strickland separated themselves from the group and walked toward them.

Herb's scowl deepened. “Chief Barnes, what was all that fuss in our back yard last night?”

“Still searching for evidence, Mr. Strickland.”

“I thought it was all over?”

“So did I,” Will said, “but we have to be careful. It won't happen again.” Will moved away from the group to talk to a police sergeant who had beckoned to him.

“Something you turned up, L.C.?” Toby asked.

“Something I thought I turned up,” she replied. “It turned out to be nothing.”

“It's very disconcerting to come home after dinner and find a backyard full of tramping policemen.”

The sound of the organ prelude reached those standing outside, and they began to move somberly into the sanctuary. Will rejoined L.C. and took her arm as they went inside immediately behind the Stricklands.

“I'm glad that at least I didn't spoil your meal,” L.C. said to Toby Strickland in an attempt at social amends.

“We had a good old fashioned New England lobster dinner,” Toby said. “That's one thing I missed in Florida. You just can't get proper lobster down there.”

“Then you went to the End of the Pier?”

The other woman nodded as the Stricklands moved into a pew midway down the church. They entered a pew opposite the Stricklands and sat on the aisle.

At the far end of the nave two caskets had been placed below the pulpit. The robed minister entered through a narrow door behind the choir stalls and crossed to the pulpit.

“Let us pray,” he began as heads bowed. The minister's monotone reverberated through the church as L.C. listened without hearing. She looked across the aisle to see Herb Strickland with head unbowed as he stared intently at the two coffins.

Herb's lips parted, his respiration seemed to increase, and his eyes never left the coffins. L.C. shook her head—the idea was-too ridiculous.

“We have come to inter two of our friends, husband and wife,” the minister continued as the eulogy rose and fell in a sing-song chant. L.C. turned toward Will who seemed intent on watching the ceiling. He looked down with a mock glare when she poked him in the ribs.

“Did you get something to eat last night?”

“Had two drinks and a club sandwich after you left the restaurant. Now shush.”

She tried to turn her attention back to the eulogy, but the presence of Herb Strickland across the aisle had become disconcerting. He was still enraptured with the two coffins. His body bent forward and his intent gaze never wavered.

“You must have seen the Stricklands come in the restaurant,” she whispered to Will.

“No,” he said softly.

A thin, angular man in a black suit who sat in the pew ahead turned and held his fingers to his lips. She plucked at Will's sleeve and he shook his head.

L.C. fell sideways and leaned the full weight of her body against Will. Alarmed, he turned and put his arm under her sagging weight. “What's the matter?” he asked. The angular man turned toward them again.

“I feel terribly faint … please take me out of here.”

With L.C. leaning against him, and his arms around her, Will escorted her from the church. Heads turned and nodded in sympathy as they passed. She straightened up on the steps outside.

“You needed air,” he said. “For a moment there I thought you were going to pass out.”

“I've never fainted in my life.”

“Then why the act?”

“Did you or did you not see the Stricklands at the End of the Pier last night?”

“I told you no. Now what is this?”

“I had to get out of there. I think we have the answer.”

“What in hell are you talking about?”

“How long were you in the restaurant?”

“For about an hour after you left. I had just gotten home when you came to the house.”

“Would you have noticed them if they were there?”

“Of course. Toby's been in Florida, and I would have stopped at their table to say hello.”

“Are you sure?”