The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “Did you resist Detective St. Croix when she tried to bring you in for questioning?”

  “I guess I tried to hit her. It’s all kind of a blur. When I got home from the hospital, I was in a bad way, really upset. I had a few drinks. Then she showed up.” Scofield pointed an arched, accusing finger in Bert’s direction. “Acted haughty and hard-nosed, insinuating I deliberately tried to hurt Lou. Provoked me.”

  “Don’t ask the Lieutenant to waste any sympathy on you, not when your wife’s lying unconscious in the hospital and you put her there.” Bert glared at Scofield with such violent intensity that Scofield drew back involuntarily.

  “I never meant to hit her. It was an accident. I’ve smashed my fist into the wall dozens of times when I was angry just so I wouldn’t touch her. You have to believe me. I’d never hurt her on purpose. I don’t hit women.”

  “Is that so?” Bert gave him a meaningful look.

  Coffee sloshed onto the hardwood table.

  “What about that adultery business? You were going to murder your wife and anyone you caught her with? Wasn’t that what you told us?” Bert accused.

  “All right, I felt she deserved to be punished.”

  Bert stood over him. “So you tried to kill her?”

  “No, only to frighten her. She deserved that.”

  “Easy,” Gardner said.

  “Keep her out of my face, Lieutenant.”

  “You didn’t even care enough to hang around the hospital to find out if she was all right?”

  “Why did you go home?” Gardner asked evenly.

  “They told me she had a concussion, but I couldn’t see her until the morning. They wouldn’t allow me in. The doctor kept urging me to leave. They were looking at me funny. If the doctor said that her condition was serious, I would have stayed regardless. But there wasn’t much point in me just hanging around cluttering up the place. I couldn’t do her any good, so I left.”

  “You said you meant to punish your wife, Mr. Scofield. Did you intend to punish Bradshaw as well?” Gardner studied the man carefully.

  “He’s dead. I can’t do anything to him.”

  Gardner leaned toward Scofield and spoke quietly. “Did you kill Bradshaw? You can tell us, Bill. We want to know all about it. We can make it easier for you.” Gardner’s voice was friendly, personal.

  “He deserved to die, but I didn’t do it. I swear it.”

  “All right. That will be it for now. We’ll have someone drive you home. But we’ll want to see you again tomorrow, after we’ve had an opportunity to talk to your wife. You’ll be at the hospital in the morning?”

  “Of course, I will.”

  Gardner carefully kept himself between Bert and Scofield until they were outside the interrogation room and Scofield was claimed by a patrolman.

  “I’m going to phone the hospital and check on Mrs. Scofield’s condition,” Gardner said.

  He waited patiently and finally got through to the resident on duty. When he replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned to Bert, she looked at him with keen anticipation. “Mrs. Scofield’s going to be okay. She’s got a mild concussion and a broken arm. She regained consciousness a little while ago. The fall left her bruised and shaken, but there’s nothing really serious. I left instructions that Scofield not be allowed near his wife unless we’re there with him. We’ll have her story first. I don’t want him getting a chance at her.”

  Bert nodded approval, looking satisfied. There was one piece of information that Gardner decided not to share with Bert: Louise Scofield had lost her baby.

  * * * *

  Gardner turned to Bert. “Let’s get going. I want to head over to Nevins’ apartment.”

  Outside of headquarters, the sky had become dark. Storm clouds swelled above them. He admired the flowers that had been planted in the center of the square. The buildings of the municipal complex flanked the square as if to offer protection to its frail beauty. There really wasn’t much natural beauty in Webster Township, but at least they didn’t have the remaining factories and refineries spewing pollution like North Jersey did. Of course, illegal dumpers had managed to do quite a job on some of the wooded areas, turning them into chemical cesspools. It would take years more of cleaning to redevelop some of the toxic dump sites.

  A few minutes after they got on the highway, rain began to beat down on the roof of the car with a steady drumbeat. April Nevins’ apartment still showed no signs of occupancy. Gardner rang the bell, knocked on the front door with no response, only silence. Drew Mitchell was staked out half a block from the apartment. It was raining too heavily to talk outside. Gardner and Bert slipped into the unmarked vehicle, Gardner in front with Mitchell, Bert in the rear.

  “Anything?” Gardner asked.

  Drew shook his head. He was a big, burly cop who looked uncomfortable jammed behind the wheel of the compact vehicle. “No one’s come or gone from the apartment since I’ve been around.” He spoke in a monotone as if the assignment were one he found particularly boring.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve been parked here by these woods for half an hour easy.”

  Gardner studied the wooded acreage that paralleled the apartments. “See anyone answering the boy’s description in or near the woods?”

  “Nobody. I’ve been watching. Believe me, he didn’t show, and in this rain, I don’t think he will.”

  Gardner felt let down. He knew the other detective well enough to be satisfied with his competency. Still, he had misgivings. There was definitely something wrong. Somehow he’d missed Sonny; maybe the boy had come when he went back to headquarters. But why hadn’t he waited? Gardner’s sense of foreboding chilled him more thoroughly than his rain-soaked jacket.

  “I want you to stay here anyway, just in case he turns up later. I’ll see that you’re relieved soon.”

  * * * *

  “What now?” Bert asked as they walked back to their own car.

  “Stake-out Sonny’s home as well. Put a bulletin out on him. We want the boy picked up as soon as possible.”

  Gardner started the car and the engine hesitated slightly, as if to complain. I don’t like being out in this miserable weather any better than you do, Gardner thought, as if to send a telepathic message. The steady, hypnotic sound of the windshield wipers pushing back the rain was like a heartbeat struggling for survival. It caused him again to ponder what might have happened to Sonny Blake.

  “I’m beginning to think we’re giving Sonny too much credit. Truth is, there’s just as good a chance that Scofield murdered Bradshaw in a jealous rage.”

  Gardner wasn’t convinced and told Bert so.

  “It could be Sonny found Bradshaw’s body and somehow got the dumb notion into his head that his girlfriend killed the guy. Scofield is something else altogether. For instance, why didn’t he complain to Nash about me hitting him? He could have made a big fuss.”

  “You’re going to say he didn’t because he knew that he deserved it. You think he was feeling guilty.”

  “Sure, what else?” Bert gave him a hard look.

  “Probably right, but his guilt was caused by his wife’s condition, not Bradshaw’s death.”

  “And doesn’t one relate to the other?”

  “Without proof, I’m not convinced. Granted, Scofield is a viable suspect, but we’ll have to interrogate him a lot more to get beyond mere speculation. Also, it’s pretty humiliating for most men to get into a physical altercation with a female, let alone get beaten. I think he was too embarrassed to complain.”

  “Serves him right,” she said with grim satisfaction.

  Gardner concentrated on the road as the downpour intensified; it was coming down as a perfect sheet of water and, even with the windshield wipers and defroster going full blast, visibility was poor. He felt as if they were in a tropical rain forest.

  “Mike.”

  Gardner shot a glance at Bert; it was the first time he could remember her calling him by his first
name.

  “I guess I owe you for getting me off the hook with Nash. I appreciate the way you stood up for me.”

  “Skip it. You don’t have to eat eggshells around me. Like Nash said, we’re a team. I accept half the responsibility in everything that goes down.” He looked over at Bert again and noticed a momentary smile flicker.

  “Hope I didn’t cost you Sonny. You think he showed before Mitchell got there?”

  “Maybe, or he might not have come after all.” Gardner didn’t think that was the case, but there wasn’t any point in making Bert feel rotten. Besides, anything could have happened to Sonny. Somewhere, a murderer was freely roaming. There was no telling who could be the next victim. Disheartened, Gardner decided the opportunity for an easy solution to the Bradshaw case had vanished along with the golden-haired lifeguard.

  * * * *

  Gardner arrived back at his home at seven in the evening. Kim was waiting for him.

  “Evie’s date is coming at eight, or so she informed me. You have time for something to eat. Would you like coffee and a sandwich?”

  “Just coffee,” he said, “if you’ll join me.”

  The caffeine restored his drained energy. Kim placed a bowl of tapioca pudding in front of him; never having cared for the stuff, he pushed it away. He could tell she was surveying him.

  “You ought to change your clothes. You look soaked.”

  “I am,” he replied with a wry smile.

  “Where are the boys?”

  Kim sat down at the kitchen table with him. “Your brother came by and picked them up about an hour ago. He’s very nice. Looks a lot like you.”

  “I hope the babysitting wasn’t too much of a chore for you,” he said. He felt the need to apologize.

  “I didn’t mind. I like children.”

  “That’s good to know.” Their eyes met, but then she looked quickly away.

  “The rain really cooled things down,” she said, pouring him another cup of coffee. “How about some chocolate cake? I spent all last night baking it.”

  He laughed, enjoying her attempt at levity. “Sure, you did.”

  “Okay, Mr. Policeman, you force me to confess. I bought it at the bakery. What gave me away?”

  “Cop’s intuition. That and the bakery box with the pink string tied around, which didn’t hurt either.”

  “Evie says that you work too hard and the department doesn’t deserve you.”

  He didn’t bother to respond, just drank his coffee slowly. This was old ground, and he didn’t much care to tread over it again. Evie had picked up that idea from her mother. In his mind, he replayed the last time Evelyn had harangued him about his work. She’d wanted him to quit the force.

  “The people who live in this town are so apathetic. Nobody appreciates a good, honest policeman. You get so little for your trouble—not recognition, not appreciation, not wealth or power. If you were in industry or business, at least they’d pay you properly for your sacrifices and all the extra time you put in. Look at your old friend Tony. How many years did he give to the force? Twenty-five? Thirty? What did he have to show for it? And who besides you cared when he left?”

  “True about life in general,” he’d told her. “No one’s missed for very long; nobody’s indispensable. We can all be replaced. It’s a sad fact of life, but then again, maybe that’s just the way it should be. Makes mortality a little less painful.”

  “But what’s the point of it?”

  “The point is that I like what I do. As far as money, let’s face it, we’re conditioned to a certain life style. We’ve never had much money so we know how to manage without it. But if there’s ever anything you want that you don’t have, go out and buy it with my blessings. Whatever I’ve got is equally yours. Besides, there’s no reason we have to ever think poor or feel small. That’s all a matter of mind. There’s plenty of wealthy people who feel poor. As long as we’ve got enough and no one in this house ever goes hungry, I’m satisfied.”

  “My husband the philosopher. I’ve been thinking I might like to get a job, go back to work. Everyone works these days. I’m a dinosaur. I’m the only woman I know who still stays at home. It’s not like I have small children anymore.”

  He’d leaned over and kissed her forehead. “If that’s what you really want, but don’t do it for the money. We don’t need the money. That’s not so important. Just do it if you think it’ll make you happy and less restless.”

  He’d meant that and hoped she understood how he felt. Evelyn had been awfully moody, and he thought it had something to do with the fact that she was bored at home. She donated time to the P.T.A. and the local hospital, but that wasn’t enough. With the children getting older and becoming independent, she probably needed something more challenging. He just didn’t want her taking on more than she could handle. Too many women thought that if they didn’t work outside the home, they weren’t worth anything. He thought that was wrong, but he also knew that his beliefs went against popular opinion. Still, she needed to feel good about herself; if a job would do that, then he supported it. Too bad things hadn’t worked out better. Over and done with. He wouldn’t dwell on it.

  He let out a deep sigh and turned back to Kim. His relationship with Evelyn was in the past. Hopefully, Kim would be his future. “Where are the girls?”

  “Evie’s getting ready for her date. Jean’s upstairs with her.”

  “I’ll see if we can’t talk before she goes out.”

  “It’s obvious she loves and respects you.” Kim’s dark brown eyes were warm as toast.

  “Not true. Evie blames me for her mother leaving us.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He knew Kim was being kind. “Believe me, it’s true.” He took Kim’s hand and held it.

  “They love you, but they tend to take you for granted because you’re always there for them. You do what needs to be done. I see that and I admire it.”

  “I think you’re pretty special too.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and she pressed her mouth against his in a brief but giving kiss. He smiled, mussing her hair.

  “You think Evie’s mad that I had to go in to work today?”

  “She said all you ever think about is police work. But I really don’t think she meant it.”

  Contrary to Evie’s opinion, he observed an iron-clad rule: off-duty he did not worry about work. It was just he sometimes considered himself on-duty when he might well be off. But he refused to take himself too seriously. That was his technique for keeping things in perspective. Maintaining a proper degree of objectivity was crucial. Stepping outside himself and being the impartial observer of life, the spectator sitting on the sidelines, he was able to analyze events, to develop insights. He refused to brood over the Bradshaw case. This evening he had family responsibilities, and that was what mattered most. He felt he had his priorities straight.

  He went upstairs and changed into comfortable, casual clothing, then knocked at his daughter’s bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” His older daughter’s voice reminded him of a flute.

  “Your father, last I heard. Can I come in?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  He opened the door and looked at her. Even without any make-up, Evie was very pretty. She was innocent-looking and would always appear younger than her years, possibly due to the small pug nose with freckles scattered over it. Her eyes, like his, were gray. They sparkled with smoky warmth. Jean sat cross-legged on the bed while Evie studied herself in the mirror over her dresser.

  “How was your shopping expedition?”

  “Very successful. I found just the right pair of jeans.”

  “Jean says you already have twenty pairs.”

  Evie shook her head. “She tends to exaggerate. Don’t you?” She nailed her sister with an accusing look.

  Jean lowered her head. “Think I’ll go watch T.V. for a while.” She left quickly, aware Evie was annoyed with her.

/>   Gardner sat down on the chair by her desk and watched as Evie combed out her medium length, shiny hair. Her face glowed with youthful enthusiasm and vitality. He could still remember when he felt like his daughter, full of the sense of possibility.

  “So how old is this boy?”

  “He’s going into his senior year.”

  “I suppose that means he’ll be driving?”

  Evie nodded her head and gave him an anxious look. “He’s a really safe driver.”

  “And you would know that because?”

  Evie bit down on her lower lip. “Everyone at camp says so. He’s the most responsible counselor.”

  “The kid’s what, seventeen? How long has he had his license?”

  “Don’t give me the third degree, Dad.”

  “Does he know you’re only fourteen? Does he know you’re going into your freshman year of high school?”

  Evie stood up, trembling. “Dad, please don’t ruin this for me. Go back to work again. That’s where you want to be anyway, isn’t it?” Evie started to cry, and Gardner took her into his arms and held her.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I just want to keep you safe. You’re my little girl and I worry about you.”

  Evie shook her head. “I’m growing up. Please don’t smother me.”

  He nodded. “All right. By the way, you were terrific today. Very mature. A big help with our company.”

  “Thanks for noticing,” she said, mollified. “Mom never thought I was very mature.”

  Gardner frowned. “Your mother did have a way of telling people what she thought. Her opinions were often negative. Doesn’t mean what she said was true. She won’t ever be asked to give a course in public relations. If she could have seen you today, she’d talk differently.”

  Evie lowered her eyes. “If you say so.”

  “Tell me one thing. Do you like the boy as much as the idea of going out on a date, or is it difficult to distinguish between the two at this point?”

  “Daddy!” She gave him a hurt look that made him regret his comment. “Gary really is nice.”

  At that moment, Kim called him downstairs. From the tone of her voice, he knew Evie’s date had arrived.