The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “Go away, whoever you are. I’m busy.”

  “Police, Miss Nevins, we want to ask you some questions concerning the death of Richard Bradshaw.” Gardner’s statement was clear and concise. He was well-spoken; she would grant him that. He was different from most of the cops she knew in many ways, more of a gentleman, better-mannered.

  “Come back some other time.” The voice sounded irritated.

  Bert spoke up. “If we have to come back, you’ll be answering questions at police headquarters.” That got results; the door opened a crack.

  “Look, I can’t see anybody right now,” the woman said. “I’m not feeling good. Come back later.”

  “We need to see you, and it has to be now,” Bert insisted.

  “Get a warrant then.” She started to shut the door, but Bert gave it a quick heave with her shoulder and walked inside. Gardner quickly followed.

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Nevins shouted.

  “We aren’t here to give you a hard time,” Gardner said in a conciliatory, soothing manner. “We just want the answers to a few questions.”

  Bert could tell from the way Gardner glanced at her that he was not exactly thrilled with her methods. She shrugged; getting results was what mattered. She began looking around the apartment, which was in the nature of a studio or efficiency. The room they were in served as both bedroom and living room. A convertible sofa was pulled out, and had obviously been occupied at the time of their arrival.

  The room was messy, clothes scattered, newspapers and magazines thrown around, accumulations of dust on the furniture. Smells of stale tobacco and burnt coffee permeated the atmosphere, offending her nostrils. Slovenly bitch, this April Nevins.

  Her eyes shifted to the woman. She wore a gossamer thin, close-fitting vermilion negligee and nothing underneath. The full swell and hardened nipples of her breasts were clearly defined by the negligee that came open as she moved, revealing firm, well-tanned thighs. She glanced over at Gardner and was amused by the fact that he appeared uncomfortable.

  “Look, I can’t help you. I hardly knew the guy.”

  “We got a different impression,” Bert said, keeping her tone flat.

  “From who?”

  April Nevins was shorter than Cheryl McNeill and definitely more voluptuous. Her well-rounded body was that of a woman, not a girl. Bert judged her to be at least thirty—although carefully made up, she could have passed for younger. Tousled, light brown hair was sun-streaked with blond, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors. Looking away from her, Bert caught sight of some articles of interest lying on the floor. The first was a condom, the second a pair of men’s briefs. She called Gardner’s attention to both.

  “Now how do you suppose jockey shorts ended up lying on your floor? They don’t look much like something you’d wear.”

  Most women would have blushed in embarrassment, but not April Nevins. “Sonny, I think you better come out here.”

  The bathroom door opened and Sonny, with nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his torso, walked into the room. His face was very red. Bert tossed him the underwear and then the other clothes she found nearby.

  “Get dressed. Then we’ll talk,” Gardner said.

  The boy took the clothing back to the bathroom without uttering a single word.

  “Okay, what did you want to ask me?” April’s voice was too loud and shrill. It grated.

  Bert didn’t speak, waiting for Gardner to take the lead. This was really his show; she was just along for the ride, at least for the time being.

  “Let’s sit down,” Gardner said. Again the soothing voice. He was trying to get the woman to relax. Good strategy, she decided, but not likely to work under the circumstances.

  The woman seated herself on the edge of the convertible couch while Gardner moved a coffee cup off the nearest chair. Then April Nevins picked up a half-used pack of cigarettes from an end table and lit one.

  “How long did you know Bradshaw?”

  “Only a couple of months.”

  “Were you intimate with him during that period of time?”

  The Nevins woman took several vigorous puffs on her cigarette, then rubbed it out with ferocity into an already overflowing ashtray. “We only slept together a few times, that’s all. I dropped him the day after his live-in-maid caused a scene at the pool club.”

  “Wasn’t it the other way around?” Gardner asked.

  “You think he dropped me? That wouldn’t make sense. I had good reason for dumping him, not the reverse.”

  “What reason?” Bert interjected.

  Nevins whirled, gold-edged hair swirling around her face. “It’s damn personal!”

  “We’re not voyeurs, Miss Nevins,” Gardner said. “But it is necessary for us to know. Otherwise, we might end up arresting the wrong person.”

  Her hands were shaking as she lit up another cigarette. Bert would have liked to rip it out of her hand and crush it, but she kept her cool.

  “If you must know, for all his big talk and smooth manners, Rick Bradshaw was pretty lousy in the sack. He’d come here, drink off enough of my good Scotch to get loaded and then grope around in bed. He’d satisfy himself and then pass out. I tolerated it a few times and then got fed up. Oh, he took me to some fancy places, but that wasn’t enough. I can always find men who’ll take me out, and I can always get men who want to screw me. But I don’t sell my services. I expect to get as much enjoyment out of having sex as the man does. Otherwise, I don’t want anything to do with him. Do I make myself clear?” She tossed her tawny mane. “Rick Bradshaw had a very selfish attitude. He was strictly a taker, a user.”

  Sonny came back into the room and April Nevins abruptly stopped talking. Gardner turned and faced him.

  “You pretended you barely knew Miss Nevins, why?”

  “I thought you’d get the wrong kind of idea about me.”

  “Or the right one,” Bert said.

  “Did you think we’d suspect you of killing Bradshaw out of jealousy?” Gardner was scrutinizing the kid with care.

  Sonny wasn’t meeting their gaze. Bert reminded herself it was Sonny’s knife that had been used to kill Bradshaw.

  “Look, I already told you I broke with Rick. Sonny had no reason for being jealous.” April Nevins ran her hand through the gold-crested hair.

  Bert wondered how truthful she was. April wasn’t easy to read.

  “All right, you can go,” Gardner said to the lifeguard. ““But we’ll want to talk to you again.”

  Bert did not miss the meaningful look the youth shot at April Nevins. As to what it meant, she had no idea. These weren’t her kind of people. She watched the lifeguard leave with an abrupt, almost clumsy stride.

  “How involved are you with the boy?” Gardner asked with a directness that surprised Bert.

  April Nevins looked away from them. “Sonny knows I like my freedom, and he’s too young to get seriously involved with anyone. But sexually, we’re very compatible. Look, I know what you’re thinking. How come a woman of thirty-two is sleeping with a boy of nineteen? Well, it’s simple. He’s got a beautiful body and he knows how to use it to gratify a woman’s needs as well as his own. That’s more than I can say for lots of older men.” Her face was screwed into an intense, militant expression. “Frankly, it isn’t any of your damn business! We’re not hurting anybody, and what we do is private.”

  Bert thought April Nevins was talking straight. But then again, who could tell? Lying to cops was as typically American as slurping beer at a ballgame.

  Gardner gave April time to calm down, and then he continued with his questions. “When did you and Sonny first become intimate?”

  “I met him at the beginning of the summer when the pool opened Memorial Day. We hit it off right away. I was thinking of taking some swimming lessons at the time. That’s how it got started.”

  “And eventually you dropped him for Bradshaw?” Gardner suggested.

  “Just for a few weeks. But I didn’t
actually drop him. I just couldn’t conveniently see both of them at once. Rick seemed more interesting at first. Sonny wasn’t jealous. If you want to know the truth, Rick was the jealous one, although he had no right to be.”

  “Why was that?”

  She took a few more puffs of her cigarette and flicked the ashes at the tray. “Rick was immature for his age. He had very shallow feelings. Using other people to feed his ego seemed to be a pattern with him. While he was seeing a woman, she had to be completely under his spell. He couldn’t stand to have it any other way.”

  “And Sonny was different?”

  “Sonny’s okay. Dumb but decent. He wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone.”

  “And Rick would?”

  She shrugged uneasily. “Rick liked hurting people; he was sadistic.” She turned and faced Gardner. “Look, Sonny couldn’t have done anything to Rick. It wasn’t his way. Besides, Sonny and I have nothing more than a physical relationship. No emotional commitment.”

  It occurred to Bert that the woman was making it sound too simple. She had the feeling April was just trying to protect the kid.

  “Miss Nevins, did Bradshaw ever discuss his views on marriage with you?”

  “Yeah, sure, once when he was drunk. Not that he was talking about marrying me. No man’s ever seriously considered marrying me.” She paused reflectively. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I did a long time ago, but that’s over. A woman’s better off on her own and independent anyway.”

  The white woman struck an empathetic feeling in Bert. They had nothing in common, but Bert could sense when another human being had been deeply hurt.

  “What exactly did Bradshaw say about marriage?” Gardner was good at keeping people from digressing and getting back to the heart of the matter, she granted him that.

  “Rick said he’d never get married again. He couldn’t be faithful to any woman for very long.”

  “Did he happen to discuss his relationship to Ms. McNeill with you?”

  “Only once. He said she was trying to get him to marry her and he was about ready to dump her.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “The day after she made that scene at the pool. I remember because it was right after that I told him I didn’t want him coming around here anymore.”

  “A week ago?”

  She thought for a moment. “Less I think. I don’t know. I’m not the kind of person who keeps track of time. I’m generally late wherever I go. I don’t even wear a watch.” She stared off into space, her expression pensive. “I did feel sorry for her though.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve gotten to the point where I can recognize men who use women selfishly. Rick was one. A definite womanizer.”

  “Did you hate him?”

  “Hell, no, and I didn’t kill him either! He was just a creep, and I didn’t want anything more to do with him.” She looked from Gardner to Bert. “Listen, could you leave now? I got to go to work. I need to get dressed.”

  “Certainly. Just one last thing. Do you know if Bradshaw was seeing any other woman?”

  “Knowing Rick, I wouldn’t doubt it. But he didn’t tell me anything, so I can’t give you any information.”

  It was twilight. The air had grown cooler and less humid by the time they left April Nevins’ place. Of course, her apartment faced woodlands that bordered the development on two sides.

  “We’re getting conflicting stories from Bradshaw’s two lady friends. Which one do you think is lying?” Bert was curious to hear Gardner’s analysis of the questioning.

  “It could be that they’re both telling the truth as they know it. Maybe it was Bradshaw who did the lying, told each woman something different. What’s your take on this? Got some woman’s intuition to offer?”

  “More likely he told the Nevins woman the truth,” she said.

  “Could be.”

  Bert was aware Gardner’s nickname around headquarters was the psychologist. It was used in a respectful manner from what she could see; it suited Gardner. The man had a talent for interrogation. He asked questions in a non-judgmental way that got people to open up to him. But it was more than that. There was a sympathetic quality that encouraged the sharing of confidences. Most of the good cops she’d known used intimidation tactics during questioning. Personally, she wasn’t above scaring the crap out of people when a confession was called for or information needed to be solicited. Gardner’s approach was different, and she had to wonder at it. Still, he did have a way with people.

  “A case like this is like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Each suspect furnishes a different piece of that puzzle. Then we’ve got to examine them critically to see how they fit together. Naturally, the complete picture is going to look very different from the individual pieces.”

  “The whole is equal to more than the sum of the parts?” she said.

  “Exactly. No single point of view will be free from distortion. Even a person who believes he’s telling the whole truth is bound to be partially inaccurate.”

  “Sounds good in theory,” she said.

  “But?”

  Their eyes met.

  “I’m a practical person, and I live in the real world. You’re spouting theory at me. You talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?”

  “What if I said I can walk the talk?” His eyes twinkled.

  She wondered if he took anything very seriously. “I’ll have to wait and see.”

  “You just do that,” he said with an easy smile. “So now it’s time for my lamb chop story.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “You will. There’s this little old lady who goes to the store to buy lamb chops.”

  “Let me guess: would this be the same little old lady who went to the concert?”

  “How did you guess? Anyway, she asks the butcher how much the lamb chops cost and he tells her. She complains that the store down the block is selling them two bucks cheaper per pound. So the butcher says, ‘Lady, why don’t you buy your meat there?’ She tells him the other store is out of lamb chops. So he says: ‘if we were out of lamb chops, we could sell them just as cheap, maybe even cheaper.’”

  Bert rolled her eyes. “I suppose there’s some point to the story?”

  “Did I make you smile for a minute? Did I relieve your type-A angst momentarily?”

  “I repeat, does the story have a point in the context of the crime we’re investigating?”

  “Maybe, then again maybe not.”

  She let out a deep sigh. “You think Rick the prick was out of lamb chops?”

  He gave her a non-committal shrug. “Let’s say from what we’ve learned about our victim, he wasn’t the kind to offer what he advertised. You know how angry some shoppers get when an advertised product doesn’t exist.”

  “Angry enough to kill?”

  “You never know about people,” he said with another shrug.

  FOUR

  Kim was ready when Mike came by that evening. He looked so handsome, his dark hair falling in waves over his forehead, his lean, muscular build emphasized by a close-fitting blue knit shirt and jeans that hugged his hard body in all the right places.

  “You look great yourself,” he said with a smile.

  She found herself blushing. He’d read her mind.

  His two daughters were in the backseat of the car.

  “Hi, Ms. Reynolds,” Jean said with a sunny smile. “I’m glad you’re coming with us.”

  “Please call me Kim,” she said. “And I was happy to be invited.”

  Kim noticed that Evie didn’t acknowledge her. The older girl transmitted a general air of disdain. Well, what could Kim expect? Evie was a teenager, probably eager to demonstrate her independence and growing maturity. Jean, by contrast, was a fair-haired ten-year-old with a friendly, outgoing personality. Evie was guarded and reserved, careful and cautious. Kim understood all about that. As a teenager, she too had been old beyond her years. It wasn’t su
rprising that Evie might have trust issues and be wary around women. Kim knew that Mike’s wife had left him and the girls several years ago. Evelyn Gardner had not just divorced her husband; she’d divorced herself from the entire family. Still, Kim conceded, it was easier to warm to Jean.

  “Well, ladies, what’s it going to be? Italian, Chinese, Mexican or plain old American?”

  “I like them all,” Jean said.

  “And it shows,” Evie remarked, looking pointedly at her little sister’s chubby figure.

  “Yeah? Not everyone needs to look anorexic like you,” Jean countered.

  “Enough of that,” Mike said, his tone firm. “Kim, why don’t you decide?”

  “I’m really not fussy about food,” she said, feeling uncomfortable with three sets of gray eyes focused on her. “Where do you usually like to eat?”

  Mike drove to a restaurant that served buffet style, had a casual, relaxed atmosphere and was suited to families. Kim thought it was a perfect choice.

  “So how is your murder investigation going?” Kim asked as she munched on salad greens.

  “Yeah, Dad, what’s going on?” Jean’s enthusiasm was emphasized by her punctuating the air with a French fry speared on a fork.

  “Sorry, but it isn’t suitable dinner conversation.”

  The girls groaned in unison.

  “He doesn’t like telling us about his work,” Jean confided.

  “You treat us like babies,” Evie agreed.

  Mike cleared his throat. “So Kim, what did you do today?”

  She understood that he wanted to change the subject and responded accordingly. “My day was pretty dull I’m afraid.”

  * * * *

  After dinner, Mike let the girls rent a film on DVD. And with her tacit approval, Mike took Kim back to his place with them.

  “I like your house,” she said, looking around. “It has a homey, lived in look.”

  “A polite way of saying it’s not very neat,” he said with a wry smile.

  “It’s great,” she assured him, and she meant it.