The Killing Edge (6 page)

Five years ago the Bridgers had only recently arrived in town. Raleigh, a minor officer at a large Hartford bank, had been recruited by Wadsworth Strickland and brought to Lantern City. She thought back to what she knew of Raleigh.

Evidently there wasn't any money on his side of the family, as she knew he had been a scholarship student at Trinity. Immediately after graduation he had gone to work as a bank trainee. His natural abilities and looks had stood him well in a banking career, and eventually he had met and married Mauve.

She had never known the dead woman well. Their life styles were so different that they had only occasional social contact. She knew that Mauve's father had been an extremely successful bond salesman, and that the dead woman had attended that type of boarding school and junior college where the girls majored in athletics and sexual innuendo.

There must have been turmoil and disappointment in their life when Wadsworth Strickland indicated to the board of directors of the bank that he wanted his son to be president. There had also been rumors about the marriage as Herb had indicated, but then again there were always rumors concerning attractive couples who lived on the point.

A hand shook her shoulder and she awakened with a start. The uneasy dream of a man chasing her through the snow with an upraised ice skate was still vivid and real.

She looked up at Will bending over her. “What time is it?”

“Two. We're through for tonight. Come on and I'll take you home.”

Will flipped the car keys toward her and let her slide into the driver's seat. He leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “I'm beat, and tomorrow's going to be a hell of a day.”

“Raincheck on that brandy?”

“No, I could use a nightcap.”

She drove carefully and competently, applying the brakes when necessary, in an easy pedal action so as not to skid in the deepening snow. In ten minutes they pulled into her parking area at the apartment.

Lantern City Harbor Condominiums had been built three years earlier, and she had been one of the first to buy a unit with a choice view of the water. Outside of the countless hours of work at the agency and garage, it had been the first positive action she had taken after Frank's death.

L.C. gave Will a poke in the ribs. “I've got some Four Star that's been hibernating in the cupboard.”

“You talked me into it.”

They rode silently in the elevator, and he leaned against the hall wall as she fumbled for her door keys.

The apartment consisted of two bedrooms, a bath and a half, kitchen, dining area and long living room with a spectacular view of the water. Although the rooms were tastefully furnished, the lack of personal objects gave it an aura of impermanence. It was simply a place for her to sleep, while waking hours were spent at work, or in summer weather on the Sound in her day sailer.

Will sank on the couch, kicked off his shoes and planted his feet on the coffee table.

“Hurry with the brandy.”

“In a second.” L.C. threw her jacket over a chair and hurried to the kitchen. It took only moments to locate the brandy pushed to the rear of the cupboard and to rinse two dusty brandy snifters. She poured them each half full and returned to the living room.

“I'm going to change, be back in a sec. You can take your pants off.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“That's an offer to sew your trousers.”

He gave her a long look. “I'll be ready.”

She softly closed the bedroom door and stripped off her clothes until she stood naked in the center of the room. She ran her hands over the slightly rounded protrusion of her stomach and down over the long sheen of her legs broken only by the scar on her thigh. Exception for the accident, the years had been kind to her physically. She still had the body of a young woman.

She laughed aloud at what she had decided.

It had been five years, and now there had been a full year dating Will … although they hardly seemed like formal dates, but meetings between two lonely friends who enjoyed each other's company. The sexuality was there, it had always been present in his looks, his jesting remarks, and his attempts to make love to her. He had tried, in gentle ways that retreated quickly if she showed the slightest resistence.

Her self-imposed continence had been born out of senseless deaths, and perhaps it should end fittingly on the night of another senseless death.

Yes, if would be so.

She rummaged through the bottom drawer of the small dresser until she found the red peignoir that had never been worn. She selected matching bikini panties and decided not to wear a brassiere.

There was a dull but not unpleasant ache in her lower stomach and her hands began to tremble. She went into the bathroom and dabbed a small amount of perfume behind her ears. As she looked in the mirror an apparition of Eddie Bennett leaned against the doorway and stared insolently at her. She put the perfume back in the medicine chest and slammed the door to break the hazy fantasy.

It would be an act of love, and it would cleanse them of the horror they had witnessed at the Bridger house.

She opened the bedroom door and saw that he had stretched out on the couch with his pants neatly folded on a nearby chair. She walked softly over toward him and knelt on the floor.

Will Barnes was in a deep sleep. With a bemused shake of her head, L.C. crossed the room, sat down and began to mend his trousers.

Chapter Four

The alarm went off at seven.

L.C. awoke to find herself clutching a pillow tight against her chest. She pummeled the pillow in frustration a moment and then reached across to the bedside clock to click off the alarm. She felt chilly, and realized that somehow during the night she had squirmed out of the peignoir. She clasped her hands over her bare breasts and ironically smiled. Five years to make a decision and then …

There was a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. “You awake, L.C.?”

“I'll be right out, Will.”

“I found some instant coffee and made two cups. Can I come in?”

She laughed. “Why not?” As the door opened she hastily pulled the sheet around her neck and lay back on the pillow.

Will handed her a cup of coffee and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to hold the sheet against her neck with her chin and hold the coffee cup at the same time.

“Of course you know that under the laws of this state, two people who occupy the same domicile for an entire night are presumed to have.”

“How little the law knows,” she replied with a small laugh. “You fell asleep on me.”

“I'm sorry, I was really beat. I drank the brandy, and then when you didn't come back I thought I'd close my eyes for a minute—and that was it.”

“I took a while because I had decided something.”

He ran his hand over her hip. “Oh, what's that?”

“That 710 needs a new voltage meter.”

“Jesus!” He stood and spilled coffee over his fingers. “Are you telling me that you're thinking of voltage meters when I thought you had decided that if I hadn't fallen asleep …”

“I'll need a ride to the shop.”

“Sure. Can we leave by eight? I want to make a quick stop on the way to Headquarters.”

“I'll leap out of bed as soon as you're back in the living room.”

“I can rustle up some breakfast.”

“You're handy around the house.”

“Sure,” Will said sullenly as he went out and slammed the door.

After dressing, she went to the dining area to find that he had set the table, perked real coffee and had set two places of bacon and eggs. “Still mad?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Tell me about the Bridger thing. Any leads?”

Will poked at his egg in a desultory manner. “I'm afraid so, and they point toward Raleigh.” In succinct, almost official form, he ran through the details of Raleigh's deceptions, lies and backtracking. The affair with Sandra Devonshire coupled with the possibility of relief from financial problems through Mauve's large insurance policy gave Raleigh an excellent motive for the crime. “I'll have to verify a lot of stuff first, but at this point it looks lousy. Maybe forensic or medical will turn up something new.”

The snow was a foot deep and still coming down. Will shook his head when he found the car. Sometime during the night the snowplows had passed, and in their inimical way had piled a bank over four feet high immediately behind his car.

“Christ, it'll take me an hour to dig out.”

“You had better call someone.”

He glanced at her. “Great, just great.”

Patrolman Mike D'Agostinio hummed under his breath and smiled as L.C. and Will climbed into the back of the patrol car.

“Where to, Chief?”

“22 Seaway Avenue first, and then we'll take Mrs. Converse to the car agency.”

“Yes, sir.” He threw the car into gear.

L.C. could see the patrolman leering at her in the rear view mirror. They both knew that there was already gossip about their relationship, and now the station locker room would be filled with D'Agostinio's tale of how he picked up the chief at eight in the morning, at the Converse apartment. Under the law it was assumed that … and everyone would.

“Who's at 22 Seaway?”

“Harry Epstein who owns the Silo Liquor Store on Forum Street.”

“Do you know where everyone in town lives?”

“Almost.”

He was in the Epstein house a scant five minutes before returning and slamming into the seat next to the driver. “Get going,” he snapped.

“What did he say?”

“One of the regulars was in the store just before closing last night. Went out and came back in a few minutes to buy another bottle. It fits with Raleigh's original story.”

“Do you know the name of the customer?”

“Wally McNulty. Been trying to drink the town dry for years. Has a room over Hubbard's Grill. I'll have him picked up this morning and find out what he knows about Raleigh Bridger.

L.C. sat back lost in thought. God, he was a good man, a stable, fair man. She wondered if she were ready to love him, to help with his children, fulfill his needs—and her own.

The cruiser swerved past the service station and stopped in front of the showroom. She saw that the plowing had been inadequate, and that would be the first item on today's agenda. She leaned in the car's front window and gave Will a buss on the cheek as Mike D'Agostinio smiled knowingly.

It was 8:30 when L.C. opened the showroom door and went inside. It was the first morning in months that she'd been so late, and she hurried to the service area expecting to find the mechanics engaged in an extended coffee break.

The garage was filled with a din of tools wielded by silent mechanics who seemed to be working faster than usual. The bays were filled with cars. The Datsun she'd checked out the previous evening had been repaired and moved outside. The whole interior seemed cleaner and more orderly than it had been the day before.

She felt a small surge of disappointment, but reconciled herself with the thought that a full time service manager could obviously manage far better than she could with her other duties. Through the open parts room door she saw Eddie Bennett, clipboard in hand, taking inventory. She stopped before the service blackboard mounted over the air compressor and examined the listed repair orders.

At the far right of the board a new column in a strange handwriting had been added. It was entitled “F Day” in large letters written with red chalk, with a descending column of numbers with names next to each number.

She examined the column with puzzlement and then called to Eddie, “What's the pool?”

He poked his head out the parts room door. “F Day. The day I get the boot. I put up five hundred that say I make it a month. The buys are covering me. Lots of action down after the first week.”

“I suppose it's better than basketball. Get somebody to replow the front apron.”

“Yes, sir. By the way, I've checked out the parts room and I'd like to order some items.”

“Bring a purchase order to my office when you know what you need.”

He must have gotten here by dawn to have accomplished so much, she thought as she returned to her office and slipped out of her slacks and pulled on white coveralls. As she opened the bathroom door she saw him at the chair in front of the desk, his leg over the arm, looking at her through the rolled up parts requisition.

“Do you approve?” she asked as she sat at her desk.

“Absolutely.”

“Then let's see the purchase order.” He handed the paper across the desk. She frowned as she spread out the curled edges and tried to concentrate on the list of parts. Last night's events nagged the rim of her concentration, and she forced them away with the thought of the wrecked Sunbeam, its engine pushed off the mounts, waiting on rack one. It was something she could really get into later in the day.

“I'll have the engine mounts fixed on that Sunbeam today,” he said.

“O.K.”

He came around the corner of the desk and bent over the purchase order with one hand resting casually on her shoulder. “I think we ought to reorganize the parts you carry in inventory. It will save money in the long run.”

“Perhaps you're right.” Her hands began to tremble as she felt his presence and the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. “Let me check your list against the inventory control cards. I'll get back to you later in the day.”

He smiled and offered a stick of gum. “You're the boss.”

He sauntered from the office. She twitched her shoulder to drive away the lingering imprint of his hand, and noticed that her palms were slightly damp and still clutching the requisition form. “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud to the silent trophies.

Thoughts like that were disloyal to Will. She tried to dismiss them by thinking of him. He would be at headquarters by now, would have a cup of coffee on the corner of his desk, and would be going through last night's patrol reports before getting on with the Bridger investigation.