The Killing Edge (7 page)

With a brusque movement she reached for the phone and dialed police headquarters.

“Lantern City Police, Officer Wilkie,” the curt voice answered.

“Chief Barnes, please.”

“The chief is in conference. Can anyone else help you?”

“This is L.C. Converse, and I'd like the chief to …” The connection was put through to Will before she finished her message. The gossip must have already made the rounds.

There were four reporters in the building and a television remote unit in the parking lot when Will got to headquarters. He strode past the desk, waved at the reporters, and told them he'd make a statement in fifteen minutes.

In his office at the corner of the building, coffee was waiting on the desk next to the prior shift's patrol reports. He began to leaf through the reports and sip the coffee when the phone rang.

“Barnes.”

“Two favors, Will?” L.C. asked. “One—can you come to my place for dinner at eight?”

“Done.”

“And, Will, tonight, don't fall asleep.”

The line clicked dead and Will hung up with a broad smile.

By 9:20 Will Barnes had been through the routine matters on his desk, put out a pickup order for Wally McNulty, made a noncommittal statement to the reporters and was on his way to the Lantern City Savings Bank.

The bank's founder, Wadsworth Strickland, had decided against following modern dictates, and maintained the building's decor in the same manner as when it had been built, forty years earlier. It was a monolithic building with a Grecian motif. A high vaulted ceiling, complete with murals, domed the banking floor. The tellers lined up behind a marble counter topped with filigreed iron work, while the executive offices were spoked off to the side.

The president's office was a darkly paneled affair with a large working fireplace. An oil portrait of Wadsworth Strickland hung over the mantel. The painting of the tall, stern man dominated the room.

As Will entered, Herb Strickland rose from the heavy oaken deck placed to the side of the fireplace and extended his hand. “It hasn't been so long, Chief Barnes.”

“I want to thank you for letting us use your place last night.”

“I was glad to be even a small aid. If there's anything else I can do, please say so. I can still hardly believe the whole thing happened.”

Will sat in a high backed chair in front of the desk. “Perhaps you can help. That is if you aren't too busy?”

Herb waved his hand across the empty desk and laughed. “Dad used to say that running a savings bank was the easiest job in the world. All you needed was a good operations officer and a good loan officer with a low handicap on the golf course. I've got Poston in operations and Raleigh in loans. At least I think I have Raleigh in loans.”

“What do you mean?”

“He called me a few minutes ago and said he'd like a leave of absence until this whole matter was cleared up. Surely, you don't suspect …”

“We don't suspect anyone at present, Mr. Strickland. However, I could use your help in two areas.”

“What can I do?” Herb asked as he leaned forward.

“I'd like to talk to Sandra Devonshire in one of your conference rooms, and I'd appreciate detailed background on Raleigh's financial position.”

“I thought you said you didn't suspect …”

“Purely routine.”

“I can certainly help you with your first request.” He mumbled a few words into his intercom. “Miss Devonshire will be with you in a few minutes. However, Raleigh's financial situation is of course confidential.”

“I can get a court order.”

“Yes, I suppose you can.” He tented his fingers and turned to look up at his father's portrait. “Raleigh does have a large loan with the bank. It's ticklish since we aren't supposed to make loans to officers. It was a temporary thing, and as long as he clears it from the books by June, the matter is closed.”

“Can he do that?”

“He's taken everything he has and put it in that shopping center. He'll have to sell the center, at a loss, and make good on his obligations. It will destroy his equity position, but of course he'll still have his salary.”

“I think I'd like a statement to that effect.”

“Of course. It's unfortunate, and Dad always warned me about these things.”

“What's that?”

“A banker is a warden for others, beware of the man who indulges himself. Dad was good at sayings like that. Miss Devonshire should be in the conference room by now.”

She sat at the long mahogany table with her legs outstretched. Will was surprised at her appearance. He thought that banks didn't allow their employees to dress like that. Although in her case there weren't many places to put all she had. As he shut the door she turned toward him with a sulky and defiant sexuality.

“You wanted to see me?” It was a little girl voice.

“I'm Chief Barnes. I have a few questions.”

“I heard about Mrs. Bridger. Raleigh called me.” She seemed to slither deeper into the chair.

The aura of sexuality about the young woman across the table brought L.C.'s image to his mind. It also explained how Raleigh might have gotten involved. Daily contact with Miss Devonshire, with a marriage that was the least bit rocky, and many men would be tempted.

“What do you want from me?”

“You're having an affair with Mr. Bridger.”

Her eyes didn't change. “I am his secretary. We work closely together and that makes people talk.”

“Mr. Bridger says he was with you at your apartment last night. Is that true?”

She looked down at her nails before replying. “I could get in trouble if I don't tell the truth.” It was more of a statement than question.

“We have ways of checking.”

“We had a drink after work.”

“And then went to your apartment?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“We went to the Seaside Motel. That's where we go every Friday. They keep a room for us.”

“I see. And how long have these little office parties been going on?”

“About six months.”

“Has he ever said he was in love with you?”

Her look was a combination of shock that changed to defiant pride. She tossed her hair. “Yes.”

“How long were you together last night?”

“He left about 7:30 or after.”

That tied in with Raleigh's initial story of the near accident outside the liquor store, and fit into what the store owner had said. “Did he say anything about his wife, Mauve Bridger?”

“Last night?”

“Anytime?”

“That they were going to get a divorce, that he was sick and tired of her, and she wasn't anything like I was, if you know what I mean?”

That opened an area that Will had no intention of exploring. “Did he say when he was getting a divorce?”

“Well, not exactly. He used to tell me that when he was with me he couldn't think of anyone else.”

“That's very complimentary,” Will replied and wondered if she realized she was putting Raleigh's neck under the guillotine, or was it some perverse pride that made her want the tawdry affair out in the open. “Did Mrs. Bridger know about your relationship with Raleigh?”

Her eyes turned opaque. “Know?”

“Did Raleigh ever mention that he'd discussed you with his wife, or had she found out about the affair some way?”

“Did she keep a diary or something?”

Will wondered why God so often put limited minds in beautiful bodies. “There are ways to find out, Sandra. It's usually best, in cases such as this, to be completely truthful. That way, nothing can happen to you.”

He sensed that he had made some sort of impression on her. The blankness faded from her eyes and was replaced with a feigned innocence. “She called me at work the day before yesterday and said she'd had us followed.”

“I see.” Verifiable, Will thought. There would be records of bills, payments of some sort to a private detective. On the other hand, if the accusation followed the usual pattern, it was merely an astute guess on Mauve's part. “What else did she say?”

“The bitch. She said that I had better look for another job, out of town, and if I ever saw her husband again she'd … she'd …”

“What?”

“Cut my guts out. That's what she said in that finishing school accent of hers. She said she'd cut my guts out and never even raised her voice like the last one that called me.”

“Last who?”

“Mr. Detwilder's wife out at the branch. When I was his secretary she got the same idea and made me leave. But they transferred me to the main office. They always do that. They all think I'm screwing their husbands. If they were any good at all in the sack their husbands wouldn't be interested.”

“You have a point there, Sandra. Now, I'd like you to come to the station on your lunch hour and make a formal statement of exactly what you've told me. Ask for Sergeant Wilcox. Will you do that for me?”

“If I have to.”

“You do.”

“Mr. Barnes, what about Raleigh? He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?”

“I don't know, Sandra. I really don't know.”

At 10:15 Raleigh and Noah Washington were sitting uneasily on the ancient leather couch along the wall in Will's office. The stenographer sat primly before the desk with her transcription machine on a small portable table.

“Before any statement is taken, Will, I want it read into the record that my client is under a doctor's care and is suffering extreme anxiety and other nervous disorders due to his recent experience.”

“We'll note that, Noah. I also think we ought to clear the air of a few other items. Now, Raleigh, you state that you returned home about 8:45 and called your attorney almost immediately and then the police at 9:05.”

“That sounds about right.”

“And you didn't pass by the Silo Liquor Store a few minutes before its closing at eight?”

“I couldn't have and arrived home at 8:45. The store's only a five or eight minute drive from my house.”

“Even in the snow?”

“Even in the snow.”

Will flipped the intercom. “Send in Mr. McNulty.”

As if he had been poised by the office door, Wally McNulty immediately entered. He wore soiled work pants, an old army overcoat of indeterminate age, and a week's stubble of beard. He stopped in the center of the room and looked slowly around until his gaze focused on the couch where Raleigh sat.

“That's him,” he said as his bony finger pointed toward Raleigh. “That's the guy who almost knocked me off outside the liquor store last night. I took a swing at him, a real good haymaker that connected.”

“And he gave you five dollars?”

“You bet your sweet ass he did,” Wally said and then put a grimy hand to his mouth as he looked at the stenographer.

“What in hell is this?” Noah jumped to his feet and raised himself to his full five-foot height. “If this is some sort of lineup for identification, you know it's illegal.”

“I thought your client might appreciate a chance to change his story before it was put in the record.”

Noah turned to Raleigh. “If you got home earlier, I advise you to tell the truth.”

“Miss Devonshire says that you left the motel around 7:30 or 7:45.”

The short attorney hunched forward with a hand clasped to his forehead. “Chief, if you don't mind? I'd like a conference with my client.”

“We're not trying to do any railroading, Noah. I only want a straightforward statement. Ten minutes long enough?”

“Thank you.”

Will gestured to Wally and the stenographer to follow him from the room. He decided to give them fifteen minutes and used the time to take a formal statement from Wally.

“You couldn't let me have five, could you, Chief? I been pretty helpful, right.”

“No, I couldn't, Wally. How would that look in court if they said I gave you money.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. You know, I wouldn't have taken a swing at the guy if I hadn't been upset thinkin' over Louis. In the winter, Louis and I always used to go to the hospital for the AA treatment. Six weeks of good food and a warm bed. I wouldn't have been wandering around in the snow.”

“What happened to Louis?”

“He just took off one day. Said he had an offer for a crash someplace in the South. Last I heard of him.”

Will glanced out the window at the falling snow. “I think your buddy had the right idea. Suppose I have someone drive you over to the hospital for the treatment program?”

“Won't be no fun without Louis, but maybe it's better than fighting the weather.”

Will signaled for an officer to take the wino over to the hospital and returned to his office. “Ready now?”

“Raleigh is ready to make a truthful statement.”

“Fine.” Will gestured to the stenographer and then quickly mumbled the necessary introductions. “We're ready. If you will identify yourself for the record, Raleigh.”

“My name is Raleigh Farnsworth Bridger. I am thirty-seven years old and live at 233 Point Drive, Lantern City. I am employed as Vice President and Chief Loan Officer of the Lantern City Savings Bank. On the night in question, I left the bank at five o'clock and met my secretary, Miss Sandra Devonshire, at the End of the Pier restaurant. We had one cocktail at the bar and left the restaurant. Wait. I think I should say that Miss Devonshire had been doing a great deal of personal work for me, correspondence and record keeping for a shopping center I own. The drink was only a small measure of my esteem for the …”

Will held up his hand and cocked his little finger. The stenographer instantly stopped. “Will you please tell your client that all statements are checked and rechecked against other statements.”

“It is noted,” Noah replied.

“For God's sake,” Raleigh said as he jumped up from the couch. “So I'd been banging her for six months. What difference does it make?”