"Er, fairly well, I suppose."
"How long have they-look, I'd really like to come to your office and ask these questions. In about two hours? Can you arrange to be there at, say, eleven-thirty?"
"Well, I have a meeting, but-well, of course, yes, I'll be here."
"Where is your office, sir?"
Riverside gave him an address on Clayton Road.
"Can you give me a landmark, sir? I'm sort of new in town?"
He gave him two landmarks, the Cheshire Inn-which was either a hotel or a restaurant, Keough wasn't sure which-and a huge Amoco gas sign.
"It's the biggest double-sided, free-standing gas sign in the country," Riverside added.
"I see."
"We're across the street."
"I'm sure I'll be able to find you, then. Thank you, Mr. Riverside. I'll see you at eleven-thirty."
Keough hung up, pleased that he had found someone to talk to about William Sanders so soon, and so easily. He intended to push his luck later, though. After lunch he intended to start calling the long distance numbers, choosing to do it then because of the time differences involved.
He didn't have time to talk with Brady Sanders before his meeting with Riverside, so he looked at some of the paperwork that was on his desk.
A couple of incidents from earlier in the week were represented, both occurring before he was even on the job. They'd been held for him, though, because there had been no one else to refer them to. One was an assault case, where the victim had ended up going to the hospital with a head injury that was serious, but not life threatening. He wondered what kind of reception he'd get from the family showing up at the hospital four days after the fact.
The second incident was a burglary, and he felt sure that all he'd have to do was the same thing Haywood had done the day before, talk to the people, soothe them, and assure them that the police were on the case.
He decided to take care of the latter before seeing Riverside, and the former on the way back. After that he'd go downtown to wherever they were holding little Brady Sanders and see if the child could answer any of his questions.
12
He spent about twenty minutes talking to the woman who had been burglarized. Her husband was at work, but she assured Keough that the home was her responsibility.
Her husband brought home the check and she dispersed it as was necessary.
"I know it sounds like an old-fashioned relationship," she said, protectively, "but it works for us."
She offered him coffee, which he accepted, and while he drank it he assured her the police would do their best to get her belongings back. She said that the police officer who had responded to her call told her to make a list, and she handed that list to Keough. He told her he would attach it to her report.
Before leaving the station house he had gotten directions to Clayton Road, near the Cheshire Inn. The desk officer told him that all he had to do was pull out of the station parking lot, turn right on Big Bend and take it to Clayton.
Eight minutes later the address he wanted was just about a hundred feet further on his left, a house with yellow shingles and green trim. The Amoco sign was further up the block, on the right, past the Cheshire Inn. He parked in front of it. The one shingle that wasn't yellow had the name of the company on it: First Choice Realty.
He walked to the door. There was a handwritten sign on a small piece of cardboard that said, "Ring and walk in."
He did and found himself in a small waiting room with chairs and magazines. To his right was a window, like in a doctor's office, only there was no glass separating him from the woman who stood behind it.
"Yes?" she asked. "Can I help you?" She had been seated at a desk but stood up to ask the question. She was young, in her early thirties, and very attractive. She had long brown hair, large, luminous eyes, a pretty mouth, and a long, lovely neck.
"Yes, my name is Detective Keough." He showed her his ID. "I called about speaking with Mr. Riverside."
"Of course," she said. "I'll tell him you're here."
"Just a minute," he said, stopping her before she could pick up the phone. "Are you Miss Bonny?"
"That's right."
"We spoke on the phone, also."
"Yes."
"Can you tell me anything about Mr. Sanders?"
"L-like what?" she asked, nervously.
"Well, what kind of guy he is? How well you knew him?"
"We work in the same place, that's all," she said, growing even more nervous. It was pretty clear to Keough that something had been going on, maybe a crush, perhaps even an office romance. He decided to leave it for later.
"Okay," he said, "you can ring Mr. Riverside now."
She nodded, picked up the phone, buzzed Riverside, and announced Keough.
"It's just through that door at the top of the stairs," she said, hanging up.
"Thank you."
He went through the doorway she indicated, directly across from the entrance, and saw the stairway. There were a couple of small offices behind the stairs, but he didn't see anyone in them. He went up the stairs and they wound around once before he got to the second floor. He was facing a large office and there was a man standing in the doorway.
"Detective Keough?"
"That's right."
The man put out his hand. He was about forty-five, very tall and thin, pale-skinned and sickly looking, but his handshake was very firm.
"I'm Carl Riverside, Detective," he said. "Please, come in."
They both entered the room. Riverside went behind his large oak desk, and Keough sat in a chair across from him.
"I hope I can help you," Riverside said.
"How long has William Sanders worked here, sir?" Keough asked, taking out a small notebook.
"Er, can you tell me something of what's happened, Detective Keough?"
"Not much, Mr. Riverside," Keough said. "It's an ongoing investigation."
"I didn't, uh, see anything in the newspaper today."
"We haven't released anything to the papers," Keough said. "I'll just need you to answer some questions."
"Surely."
Keough hated when people said that.
"How long did he work here?"
"He's been here five years."
"Coming from where?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "Out of town, I think. I was not the one who hired him."
"I see. Would that be in his personnel file?"
"Why, yes."
"Could we get a copy of that up here?"
"Of course. I'll ask Miss Bonny to bring it up." He picked up the phone, buzzed downstairs and asked for the file.
"She'll be up shortly."
"That's fine. Uh, how long has Miss Bonny worked here?"
"Miss Bonny?" The man looked puzzled. "What does she have to do with-"
"She's very attractive."
"Yes, I suppose she is," Riverside said. "She's, uh, been with us about eighteen months."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
"Did you hire her?"
"As a matter of fact, I did."
"And did she work with Mr. Sanders?"
"She works with everyone in the office, at one time or another."
"I see. I assume she's single?"
"Look here," Riverside said, "I thought you were here about Bill Sanders?"
"I am," Keough said, "but like I said, Miss Bonny is very attractive."
"I don't think you should, uh, well-yes, as a matter of fact, I do believe she is single."
"Did she and Bill Sanders have something going?"
"I don't believe Miss Bonny would be, uh, seeing a married man."
As if on cue Miss Bonny appeared at the door. She stopped short, as if realizing she was the subject of their conversation.
Keough saw that her body matched her face. She was what he called not skinny. She was well built, with full breasts and solid legs and thighs, and she probably never spent time in a gym. She was certainly not built for a
modeling runway, but bedrooms probably came to the minds of most men who saw her.
"Just give me the file, Miss Bonny, and you can go back to work."
"Yes sir."
Both Keough and Riverside watched her as she crossed the room, handed Riverside the file, and then walked out, again.
"What about Sanders?"
"What about him?"
"Does he go right home, or does he stop at a bar? Pick up a girl?"
"I don't know, Detective Keough."
"What about in the office?" Keough asked. "If not with Miss Bonny, maybe one of the other girls?"
"We only have two female employees in the office," Riverside said, "and Nora Downes has been married for thirty years."
"What about customers? Female customers?"
Riverside hesitated and Keough knew he had something.
"Sanders did-does very well with our female customers."
"I see."
"I'm not saying he sleeps with them to sell them houses."
"I understand."
"I'm just saying that he is charming. We usually let him handle the women who come in alone."
"So that was his specialty?"
"Inasmuch as he has one, yes."
"What about his overall sales record?"
Riverside shook his head.
"Not good," Riverside said. "He doesn't sell well to men, or to couples."
"Why has he worked here five years, then?"
"As I said before, Detective Keough," Riverside said, "I do not hire, and I do not fire."
"Aha," Keough said, "then who does?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Bentley."
"And who are Mr. and Mrs. Bentley?"
"They own this company."
"I think I see," Keough said, but just to make sure he asked, "How old are Mr. and Mrs. Bentley?"
"Jason Bentley is sixty-two," Riverside said, "and Cynthia Bentley-his second wife-is thirty-eight."
"I see," Keough said, standing up. "Would either of the Bentleys be here right now?"
"No," Riverside said. "Mr. Bentley rarely comes in."
"And Mrs. Bentley?"
"She is usually here, just not today. She, uh, is pretty much in charge of the day-to-day operations of the office."
"And what is your job?"
"I'm the manager."
"Mr. Riverside," Keough said, "I get the feeling you don't like Bill Sanders."
"Not very much, no."
"And his co-workers?"
"I can't think of anyone who actually likes Sanders," Riverside said, "except…"
"Except Mrs. Bentley?"
Riverside nodded.
"Can I get a look at Sanders' desk?"
"Of course," Riverside said, reaching for the phone. "I'll tell Miss Bonny to show it to you."
"Thanks for your time, Mr. Riverside," Keough said, standing and shaking the man's hand. "I'll see myself out."
13
When Keough got back downstairs he approached Miss Bonny's window.
"Mr. Riverside said you'd show me Bill Sanders' desk." Her head had been bowed and at the sound of his voice she jerked it up and stared at him. Her eyes looked red, as if she'd been crying or, at least, holding tears back.
"Of course," she said. "This way."
She came around from behind her window and walked him back to the steps and to one of the offices he had seen beneath them earlier. There were two desks in the office. She walked to the one near the window and touched it.
"This is his," she said, her hand lingering. More and more Keough was getting the feeling that if there wasn't something going on between Sanders and Miss Bonny, she wished there was.
"Thank you," he said, moving around behind the desk. She didn't leave and he looked at her.
"I-I think I should stay."
Keough smiled at her and said, "Fine."
He went through the desk drawers and didn't find anything unusual for an office.
"What kind of man is Mr. Sanders?" he asked while opening and closing drawers.
"He's… a very nice man."
"Was he well liked in the office?"
"I… don't know what you mean."
Yes, she did, but she didn't want to say anything against the man.
"I was just wondering if he got along with the other salespeople, the other office workers."
"I'm… sure I wouldn't know."
"Well, how about you?" He finished going through the drawers, stood up straight, and looked at her. She wanted to stick around, so he figured he'd put some pressure on her.
"I… don't know what you mean?"
"I mean, you're a very pretty woman, Miss Bonny," Keough said. "Did Mr. Sanders try anything with you?"
One hand drifted up to her throat.
"He's a married man, Mr… Detective."
"Married men have been known to fool around a bit, Miss Bonny," he said. "Do you think Bill Sanders fooled around?"
"I… I should get back to work."
"I'll be done here shortly," he said.
She nodded, turned, and left, moving as if she was under water.
The woman was either in love with Sanders, or they were lovers. Nothing else would explain her attitude toward Keough.
Keough sat behind the desk and started examining the top. There were odds and ends, pens and pencils, slips of paper with notes written on them. He examined each piece, but there didn't seem to be anything that would be helpful to him.
He turned his attention to the man's Rolodex. He didn't know what he was looking for, but figured he'd know it when he saw it. Unfortunately, he didn't see it.
He thought about stealing the Rolodex, but he still had Marian Sanders' home phone book. He decided simply to go with that.
He left the office and went back out to the waiting room, where Miss Bonny was sitting behind her desk with her head down, one hand to her forehead.
"Just thought I'd let you know I'm finished," Keough said startling her again.
"Oh!" Her eyes were still red, and wet.
"Miss Bonny, is there something I can do for you?" he asked, gently.
"I… no… well, yes… is Bill-Mr. Sanders-is he… dead?"
"I don't honestly know," he said. "Mr. and Mrs. Sanders are both missing."
"I see. And Brady?"
"He's safe."
"That's… good."
"Miss Bonny, is there something you'd like to tell me before I leave?"
"N-no," she said, stammering a bit, "nothing I c-can think of."
He grabbed a business card from the counter and turned it over. He wrote his name and the number at the station and handed it to her.
"If you decide there is something you want to tell me, please give me a call."
She accepted the card.
"What's your first name?"
"A-Angela."
"Maybe Bill Sanders will need a friend, Angela. If he should call you, it would be in his best interests for you to call me."
"I-I don't know-"
"Just keep my number, Angela," Keough said. "We'll talk again another time."
He left the young woman with a blank, somewhat stunned look on her face.
14
Before going back to the Richmond Heights station Keough stopped at Barnes Hospital to see the victim and family of the victim of the assault. Their name was Foster.
The hospital was on the fringe of the West End, which he hadn't realized, or he might have waited to hit it on his way home.
The family was rightfully incensed that it had taken the police so long to come and talk to them. Keough saw no need to take the blame for it. He explained that he had just received the case, although he did not tell them that this was only his second day as a St. Louis cop. That would not have instilled confidence in them.
He questioned the victim, who was seventeen, and found out who had assaulted him. He made his notes and assured the victim and the family that he would make an arrest as soon as possible. After that it would go to the courts.
"Ma'am?" He looked up at her from his notebook. Her round face was flushed and there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip.
"You mean we have to go to court?"
"When I make an arrest, yes, ma'am. Your son will have to testify against the boys who beat him up."
"I ain't gonna," the boy said.
"Shut up!" the father said.
"But… he told you who they was," the woman said. "Why does he have to go to court?"
"Because he's pressing charges, ma'am," Keough said. "Somebody has to press charges against these boys."
"Don't the police do that?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," Keough replied, "the victim has to do that."
The Foster family exchanged glances, uncertainty etched on all their faces.
Keough put away his notebook. The boy's injuries were painful, but not serious. In fact, he had no broken bones.
"Why don't you all talk about it and let me know what you want to do?" he suggested. He opened the notebook again and wrote down the phone number of the Richmond Heights station, which he had already memorized. He tore the number out and handed it to the wife.
"Give me a call."
"We'll do that," the woman said, crumpling the piece of paper in her damp palm.
Keough felt certain he would not hear from them again.
***
When Keough got back to the station Detective Haywood was sitting at his desk.
"Saw you signed in this morning," Haywood said. "I was wondering where you were."
"There were two cases on my desk," Keough said. "I went out and did interviews. I also talked to someone about that case yesterday."
"The kid's parents that disappeared?"
"Right."
"What'd you find?"
"Somebody to talk to about the husband," Keough said. "I found where he works and talked to his boss."
Keough related his conversation to Haywood, making it short. He also told him about Miss Bonny, and his feeling that Sanders was a player when it came to women.
In the Shadow of the Arch Page 5
