The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

Evie’s mouth puckered as if she’d been sucking on a sour lemon. Then she walked away.

  “It’ll be okay with her,” Kim said. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel less guilty about leaving.”

  Kim shook her head. “No. Honor bright. You’re a good dad. Evie will figure that out. She’s a smart girl.” Kim hugged Gardner.

  He gave Kim one last regretful look and took off. He drove his own car to Sonny Blake’s house, listening to police calls on the way. He called himself all kinds of a fool for letting Bert go after Scofield alone; it was just asking for trouble. She should be coming back to Sonny’s house with him. The business with Scofield could have been allowed to cool for a while. He should have handled it better.

  Sonny’s house looked even more dilapidated in the daytime. The sight depressed him as he rang the doorbell. As before, Sonny’s mother came to the door, but this time, she opened it no farther than a crack.

  “Oh, you again.” Annoyance at his presence was undisguised by her manner of speech.

  “May I come in?”

  “Did that big black woman come back with you?” She looked at him through the faintly down-turned corners of her washed-out blue eyes.

  “At the moment, Detective St. Croix is on another assignment.”

  “All right, I guess you can come in.” She grudgingly opened the front door. “She was real pushy. My son decided to call your office and complain about her.”

  “Because she’s African-American?”

  “No, she was rude too. She talks nasty, real tough.”

  “Don’t expect a police detective to act sweet as strawberry jam while investigating a homicide.”

  She began wringing her hands as she had done on the previous evening. “There’s no excuse for bad manners.”

  “Please tell Sonny I’ve come to talk with him.”

  “He ain’t here no more.”

  Gardner felt as if he’d been dealt a severe body blow. “I thought we agreed last night that you would keep him here until we had a chance to talk.”

  “He’s grown now—nearly grown, anyhow. I can’t keep him where he don’t want to be.”

  “You realize his lack of cooperation makes him look guilty.”

  “Guilty of what? Not murder!” Her pale eyes widened.

  “Complicity, at any rate.” He managed to keep his voice cool and steady.

  “Sonny would never do anything wrong, except things that wicked whore might have forced on him.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Well, how should I know!”

  “You had a family conference. Did you decide whether or not Sonny should have a lawyer?”

  “He didn’t want one. Told us all to keep out of it, said he was going to tell everything he knew. But first he had to find something, something that would prove he wasn’t guilty of murder.” She paused to rub her sweating palms against the flowered housedress she wore.

  “Go on. What else did he say?”

  “I already told you every word.”

  “Not quite. Where did he say he was going?”

  “He don’t tell me everything. Just said he was going out.”

  Gardner knew enough to ask first, because without a warrant he was violating the law, but Bert’s attitudes seemed to be rubbing off on him. Gardner quickly walked upstairs and glanced around. There were three small bedrooms and a bath. None of the rooms were occupied. Old wallpaper was peeling in a room that had Webster High banners and football clippings hanging. The bed was unmade, so he was reasonably certain that Sonny had slept there.

  Mrs. Blake followed him. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking around.” He glanced at the high school awards and letters for athletics. There were no clues as to where the boy might have gone. “You’re certain he didn’t say where he was going?”

  “I already told you he didn’t.”

  Gardner walked back downstairs and glanced through the rest of the house with Mrs. Blake following. “Your other sons didn’t press him for an explanation?”

  “He wouldn’t give any.”

  “Did Sonny ever mention Richard Bradshaw to you?”

  “Once maybe. I think he said that the harlot was dropping him for a slick, city fella, a fancy dresser with lots of money to spend. I told him it was for the best, but Sonny, he got real huffy and never confided in me again.”

  Gardner was about to leave when the phone rang. Its loud reverberation pierced the air with menace.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and walked swiftly back toward the front parlor.

  Gardner watched her reach for the telephone that rested on a small, white table near the foyer. He glanced around the room, taking it all in. The wallpaper in the living room was an old-fashioned rose pattern, and like that upstairs, it had begun to fade and peel. Apparently nothing had changed or improved in the domicile in many years. He could hear the woman’s anxious voice with clarity.

  “Where are you now? There’s a policeman waiting to see you. Yes, same one as last night. Please come home.” For a few brief moments, she listened intently. Gardner was already beside her. “I don’t care about that. I’m worried.” There was another pause as she listened. “Keep away from that whore. I’m frightened for you.”

  Gardner took the phone, which she surrendered reluctantly. “Sonny, this is Lieutenant Gardner. Why didn’t you stay at home?”

  “There’s something I have to find.” The boy sounded near panic.

  “Let me help you. I’m terrific at finding things. It’s my life’s work. Where are you now? I’ll pick you up and we’ll look together.”

  There was a hesitation he didn’t like at all. “I gotta go alone.”

  “No, you don’t. Pick a place and I’ll meet you.” Gardner did his best not to sound impatient.

  “Okay. April’s apartment in a half hour.”

  “Are you there now?”

  “I was before, but she wasn’t there, and I couldn’t figure how to get in.”

  “Is that where your ‘something’ is located? Did you leave it there?”

  “No more questions. Not now.”

  “All right, but definitely later. Half an hour. I’ll be there. Don’t forget. I’ll help you.”

  “I got something to do first. Then I’ll go back there.”

  The line went dead.

  “He says he’s okay. Do you think he really is?” She was wringing her hands again.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Gardner walked to the front door.

  Once he was outside and back in his car, he sat for a moment, thinking out what his course of action should be. No point waiting. He started his dependable Ford and drove directly to La Reine Gardens. Although it was only a fifteen-minute drive, the time passed very slowly. He wanted to drive by April Nevins’ apartment at least once, just to see if anyone was around. No, the area looked deserted. He parked in the vicinity, a block up the street, where he had a good view of the apartment but was unlikely to be noticed.

  Half an hour came and went. Still no sign of Sonny Blake. He began to grow irritated. Police work always meant lots of waiting around for things to happen, but he hated surveillance and always would. He walked up to the apartment, rang the doorbell; when no one answered, he tried looking through the front window. The apartment appeared to be dark and unoccupied. He wondered where April Nevins was. There was no sign of either her or the boy. He went back to the car and waited another twenty minutes. The fact that Sonny had not shown up was a bad sign.

  Gardner came out of his reflections, realizing there was a call for him.

  “Urgent you report to headquarters,” the dispatcher said in a nasal voice.

  “I’m on something important.”

  “Captain Nash wants you on the double.”

  Gardner decided on one more tour of the block before he would consider leaving the development. He drove slowly, keeping a look-out for the tall, tow-headed y
outh, but the area was still deserted. When he circled for the second time, there was no sign of anyone in or near Nevins’ apartment. He swung his car around into the main street of the development, then entered the steady stream of highway traffic past Burger King, driving faster than he ordinarily would. He was obeying the captain’s order less than enthusiastically, convinced that leaving La Reine Gardens now was a serious error. Sometimes he had a clear intuition about things, and this was one of those times. He was certain something had gone very wrong, dead certain. He sensed evil hovering in the thick summer air.

  TEN

  When Bert St. Croix arrived at County Regional, she immediately checked on Louise Scofield. At first, no one would tell her very much. All she could find out was that Mrs. Scofield was in stable condition. No, the doctor who treated her was not available; Bert would have to return another time. It was also too soon for visitors. She thought the blue-haired nurse was an old crone with a serious attitude problem but refrained from telling her so. Gardner would have been impressed by her self-control.

  Assured that Mrs. Scofield really was all right, Bert turned her attention to Mr. Scofield. But she struck out there as well, because Scofield had already gone home. All the way over to the Scofield apartment, Bert kept thinking about Louise. Gardner was right when he said the element of objectivity was lacking. Louise Scofield reminded her of Alva. It had nothing to do with looks, because Alva’s appearance was nothing like this white woman. No, it was something that went deeper. There was a soulfulness, a sensitivity about Louise Scofield that reminded her of Alva. In her mind’s eye, she could picture Alva even now; skin like coffee lightened by cream, brown eyes soft as velvet, a smile that lit the cold chamber of Bert’s heart.

  Alva. Giving, loving, gentle and kind but with an inner strength. Alva, dressed in her starched nurse’s uniform. Then Bert remembered how she’d last seen Alva with the crimson stain of her blood coloring that fine white uniform. She felt the anger rise in her all over again. People like Alva needed to be protected. But she hadn’t been able to protect her friend. If the justice system could just be changed. Everyone worrying about the perp; no one giving a damn about the vic. Christ, it was so damn frustrating!

  Of course, Louise Scofield wasn’t Alva; she didn’t have Alva’s strength of character, but there was a gentleness about her. She didn’t deserve a husband who terrorized or beat her. Someone had to protect her. It was time to handle things her way, time to make Scofield understand how he should be treating his wife. Women had to care about each other, had to watch out for their sisters.

  Bert knocked several times before Scofield answered the door. He stood before her hollow-eyed, a glass of Southern Comfort in one hand.

  “Come to arrest me?” Scofield had a stupid grin on his face and his breath reeked like a distillery.

  “I’d like you to come down to headquarters and answer a few questions about what happened today.” She kept her tone as unemotional as possible, but it wasn’t easy.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  She pushed him off-balance then pinned Scofield’s arm behind his back. “You’re coming with me.”

  Scofield dropped his drink on the rug. “The hell I am! Woman or not, I’ll kick you out if you don’t go away and leave me alone!”

  The words were slurred and Bert understood that she was dealing with a drunk, but still, it was very hard not to lose it.

  “You’re coming with me,” she repeated.

  Scofield tried to shove her toward the door. She was prepared, moving out of his reach. Frustrated, Scofield charged at her. She brought up her fist and punched Scofield right in his face. The blow landed with a hard sound. Bert realized that her knuckles had been further bruised, but somehow it seemed worth it. She thought that would be the end of it, but Scofield wasn’t satisfied. When he realized his nose was bleeding, enraged, he half-charged, half-staggered toward her. Bert felt forced to land another punishing blow, karate style to the rib cage. There was a nasty thud as Scofield landed on his knees gasping for breath.

  “That’s it,” Bert said, regaining her composure. “It’s over, man. We’ll talk at headquarters.”

  As she cuffed Scofield and led him to the car, she thought this had been something of a victory. She hadn’t really hurt Scofield the way she could have. Guys like him disgusted her. What right did the bastard have to mistreat his woman? She wanted to protect them all, every one of them, all the good, beautiful, sensitive, caring people. She viewed the drunk in front of her with contempt, and grimly asked herself again: how was she going to live the rest of her life without a friend like Alva?

  * * * *

  At headquarters, Gardner knocked once and walked directly into Nash’s office. He wasn’t planning to waste any time. Finding Sonny was too important. The Captain was pacing the tiny room like a caged lion that hadn’t been fed recently. The way Nash looked at him, Gardner had the feeling that he was the delivery of raw meat. Sitting in front of the worn, wooden desk was Bert, eyes fixed uneasily on the floor.

  “Something wrong, Captain?” he asked warily.

  “You could say that.” His eyes flashed electricity. “Your partner. I want restraints on her. Did you tell her to pick up Scofield by herself?”

  “I did.” He would have to be the calm eye in the center of a hurricane.

  “Damn it, how could you be so stupid? You were supposed to be with her, work as a team until further notice. This Amazon thinks she’s still in the ghettoes of New York dealing with homeless derelicts.” Nash glowered at Bert, looking as fierce and intimidating as a bull charging at a matador’s red cape.

  Gardner braced himself. “What went wrong?”

  “Want the whole list? I damn well would like you to hear it.” Nash continued to pace the room. “First, I took a call from one Eric Blake, who was furious because he claimed St. Croix harassed his mother. Said the poor woman was near mental collapse because St. Croix was hounding her. Said Croix pushed her way into their family home and when asked to leave, got into a physical altercation with him and his brothers. You, of course, weren’t with her then either, were you?”

  “Those guys assaulted me, not the other way around. I came to pick up Sonny Blake for questioning. We have reason to believe he was an accomplice in the Bradshaw homicide. His brothers were obstructing justice. Believe me, I got the worst of it, outnumbered the way I was, and I did not draw my weapon. If anything, I used restraint.”

  Gardner was pleased at the way Bert stood up for herself. The Captain seemed to calm down a little.

  “Okay, that’s all right. That means the department is protected there. By the way, I did stick up for you when I spoke to Blake. I always do that for my people, but what I say privately is something else. That was why I called you in, Mike, before I even knew about Scofield. Now let’s talk about that incident.”

  “What about it?” Bert said, her forehead wrinkling as she took a defensive stance.

  Nash smashed his fist down on the desk. “Jesus Christ, just take a look at the guy!”

  “He swung on me first. Ask him yourself.”

  “Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. He was intoxicated, stinking drunk. You used undue force. The guy looks like he was flattened by a steamroller. I expect my detectives to use their brains before their fists.”

  “I didn’t beat on him for kicks. You weren’t there, Captain, so how can you judge?”

  “My football coach used to say that assholes and excuses have one thing in common: they both stink.”

  Gardner could see that Bert was close to losing her temper. “In case you forgot, neither Bert nor I is technically on duty today. We’re giving up our free time voluntarily to solve this homicide as quickly as possible. If Detective St. Croix is guilty of anything, it’s being conscientious.”

  Nothing pleased the captain more than cops working extra hours, but Gardner wasn’t through applying balm yet.

  “I trust Bert. If she says it took force to sub
due Scofield and get him down here for questioning, I believe it. Scofield has a violent temper. I can testify to that.”

  “All right, I accept what you say. But I better not get any more reasons to suspect you of abusing and manhandling suspects. Got that?”

  Bert stared back moodily but didn’t respond, and Nash appeared placated. Gardner took that as a cue to move toward the door.

  “Wait a minute! Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to look for Sonny Blake.”

  “That can wait. I want you to question Scofield first. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Bert can do that.”

  “No, she can’t. Not by herself anyway. I thought it was settled. You and Croix work together.”

  “Then send someone over to wait by April Nevins’ apartment. Sonny was supposed to show up there. He’s got important information.”

  “All right, I’ll see to it. Satisfied?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to be. One thing. I want a good man.”

  “All our people are good. Drew Mitchell is here. I’ll send him.”

  “All right, but if Blake isn’t around, I want Mitch to sit in his car and wait.”

  Very rapidly, Gardner followed Nash out to find Drew Mitchell. From the precise description he furnished, even an untrained observer would have little difficulty identifying Sonny.

  “Got it.” Mitch practically yawned in his face. So why did he still feel so uneasy?

  Bert joined him in the small interrogation room where Scofield sat impatiently, smoking a cigarette. The suspect seemed relieved to see him with Bert. He stood up as they entered, but Gardner motioned him to sit down again. Gardner surveyed Scofield and observed that the man did look battered. His lower lip was puffy, almost ink-blue in color, and there was dried blood around his nose.

  “Grind it out,” Bert said. “No smoking allowed here. You know that. Poison yourself if you like when you’re alone, but the rest of us don’t want to breathe that crap.”

  Scofield did as he was told. The fight seemed to be totally out of him. He took a few gulps from a foam cup of the rot-gut squad room coffee someone had provided for him. His hand trembled slightly.