The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

He stroked her cheek. “Having you there was great support as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’re very good at interrogating people.”

  “Think so?”

  “See, there you go, answering with a question.”

  He ran his hands down her arms, then along the sides of her breasts and Kim shivered. “For my next question I’ll ask how you like being touched by me.”

  “I’m willing to work with you on your technique.”

  He kissed her throat. “Good to know.” He unbuttoned the front of her blouse and kissed the valley between her breasts. The next thing she knew, her bra was unfastened and she was naked to the waist. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

  His mouth found her right nipple and sucked hard as his thumb and forefinger traced an erotic outline around her left nipple. The lower portion of her body was beginning to weep for him. She felt him growing aroused and hard beneath her.

  “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

  “Is that what you think of me?” His hands continued their sweet torture.

  “It’s how Lady Caroline Lamb described Lord Byron, another seducer of women.”

  He smiled at her, a wicked, sexy smile that made her heart beat wildly. “In all fairness, I only intend to seduce one woman, that being you. That Byron description might better fit Richard Bradshaw.”

  He pushed her down on the cushions and removed her shoes. Her skirt and panties seemed to disappear as if by magic. “Lay, lady, lay,” he insinuated into her ear. His own clothes came next. She watched through half-closed lids as he ever so slowly removed his shirt, shorts and boxers, kicking off sneakers and socks.

  “You have a great body,” she said, admiring his well-muscled arms and lean, hard abs. His erection looked enormous. He was more than ready for her.

  “You have a strong effect on me,” he said, noting where her gaze was focused. “You could say I find conversation with you uplifting.”

  She found herself blushing but had little chance to feel embarrassed. He joined her again on the couch, his mouth fastening once more on her breast. His right leg moved between her own legs, parting them. His fingers found and touched the spot between her legs where she was most sensitive, most needy for his touch.

  “I want you so badly,” he said.

  Kim couldn’t manage a coherent thought after that. And she didn’t want to: Everything was passion and pleasure between them.

  * * * *

  Gardner let Bert do the driving because he was preoccupied. Joan Walling’s confession, dramatic as it was, had offered only a partial explanation of what happened the night Bradshaw died.

  “I like your kids,” Bert was saying.

  “You’d make a decent mother,” he said. “You’ve got a way with children.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to find out.”

  He caught the look of pain Bert couldn’t manage to hide. “You never know in life. Do you have much family? You never mention anyone.” She’d been a closed book on the subject, which made him wonder.

  “My father took off right after I was born. Guess he didn’t want to be burdened with responsibility. My mother never got involved with another man after that. She worked two jobs to support us as best she could. She passed away several years ago.”

  “You’re a New Yorker?”

  “Brooklyn, born and raised. Graduated Prospect Heights High School where you were either West Indian or African-American. I didn’t fit in with either group since my mother came from the Islands and my father was an American black, product of a bi-racial marriage. I was a mutt, a hybrid. I didn’t belong.” Bert’s face changed expression as if she feared becoming too close, too personally involved. “So what makes you think there’s something wrong with Joan Walling’s confession?”

  If Bert wanted to change the subject, he’d let her. “Joan didn’t cover all the bases. But maybe we can get it straight when we talk to her again.”

  When Captain Nash saw them, his look of surprise was quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

  “What the hell are you guys doing here? You’re off-duty today.”

  “Something we have to check out,” Gardner said. With Nash, a terse reply was best.

  “If it has anything to do with the Bradshaw case, forget it.”

  “As a matter of fact, it does.”

  Nash turned red; the nose that looked as if a steam-roller might have gone over it a few times flailed at the nostrils.

  “What’s going on here? We’re finished with that. Everybody’s happy with the way you handled things.”

  “Who’s everybody?” Gardner studied the captain’s face.

  Nash looked away. “Hey, you know.”

  “No, I don’t think I do,” Gardner said evenly.

  “Look, do you need to have diagrams drawn for you? Important people in this town don’t want you making waves. They’re satisfied, so leave it alone. Case closed.”

  Gardner didn’t like the threatening undercurrent. It was like a whirlpool ready to suck him under. “There are still questions that need answers.”

  “Mike, you’re no rookie. You know goddamn well small town politics can get ugly. A fella sticks his hand in the john, it might come out covered in crap.”

  “The way it is now, the case will be thrown out. We don’t have enough hard evidence.” Gardner walked past Nash and went to his desk where Bert joined him.

  “What next?” she asked.

  “We’ve got to get hold of Fitzpatrick and double check Bradshaw’s autopsy report.”

  Gardner had the report itself spread out in front of him. What he sought was confirmation. Luckily, he got through to Herb without much trouble.

  “What’s up, Mike?”

  “I’m not clear on the Bradshaw autopsy report. If you recall the pathology findings, the head wound was not listed as the cause of death.”

  “Can’t this wait? I’ve got other work.”

  “It’s important, Herb.”

  “All right then. The head injury was serious but it didn’t kill him.”

  “The knife wound?”

  “Fatal.”

  “You can be sure?”

  “The blow to the head would have rendered the victim unconscious for an indefinite period of time. Certainly he had a concussion. There might even have been some degree of neurological impairment from inter-cranial pressure, but the blow wasn’t massive enough to kill him, at least not immediately. I don’t recall all the details though.”

  “The head wound was definitely inflicted first?”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you, Mike.” Fitzpatrick sounded exasperated.

  “And about the time…”

  “What is this?” the lab man interrupted. “For Christ sake, we’ve been all through this before.”

  “Just bear with me for a couple of minutes. You gave us the time of death as being anywhere between six and nine p.m. Was it ever narrowed down further? Could it have been any later?”

  Fitzpatrick sighed impatiently at the other end. “Look, Mike, you know damn well that Lester Jarvis isn’t all that competent at his job. If his brother-in-law wasn’t such a wheel in the county, that prick would never have become forensic pathologist in charge of performing all the autopsies for the M.E.’s office.”

  “So what you’re saying is we can’t rely on time of death as being accurate.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “I was hoping for something more, something that was overlooked.”

  “We were as thorough as we could be.”

  “How could you be sure, for example, that he wasn’t drowned?”

  “No water in the lungs. That was the first thing Jarvis established. Although his lungs were in such bad shape that was the only thing not wrong with them.”

  “How’s that?” Gardner asked with interest, his initial disappointment diminishing.

  “The guy was unquestionably on his way to lung cancer, but I guess tha
t doesn’t help you very much, does it?”

  “You can never tell.” He thanked Fitzpatrick and ended the conversation, then turned to Bert. “Things don’t feel right. Remember what Mrs. Walling said she used as a weapon?”

  “Sure, a baseball bat,” Bert said.

  “Al Capone used a bat to good effect for murder but apparently Mrs. Walling isn’t in his league, if you’ll pardon my bad pun.”

  “So she stabbed him afterwards.”

  “But she already thought he was dead. We never made public the actual details regarding Bradshaw’s death. She just kept on thinking that she killed him and acted accordingly.”

  “By going on to kill Sonny who’d know her alibi was a lie.”

  “I’m not certain she did kill Sonny. Remember, she acted in a fit of passionate rage. Killing Sonny would have taken an act of premeditation. Besides, I’m not sure she had the opportunity even if she did have the motive.”

  “So I guess we’ll have to see the lady again and talk to her,” Bert concluded.

  “Yeah, that’s about right.”

  * * * *

  Mrs. Walling’s lawyer was less than thrilled about being bothered on short notice, but Gardner had suggested him to represent both Mr. and Mrs. Walling, and he was appreciative of the business thrown his way. Not that Mat Simmons really needed the work; he was the shrewdest and best-connected criminal lawyer in the county. However, Gardner felt he ought to suggest the best since he promised to be fair to Mrs. Walling.

  The jail itself was a depressing place. Like other county facilities, it was usually the first place a person was sent after he or she was arraigned. Although far from the worst in the state, it was not a place pictured in travel brochures.

  The ominous brick building, set off in a field without fence or sign to identify it, had been built in l934 as a Depression era WPA project. It was a massive, solid, gloomy facility. The woman’s section was in need of paint, Gardner noted. The barred windows were bare, and the sooty brick unadorned. The long line of steel cages left no doubt that this was indeed a place of incarceration.

  Joan Walling appeared before them looking more gray than tan. There was a weary expression on her face and when she saw who was visiting her, she became agitated.

  “I have nothing more to say to either one of you. You can talk to him from now on.” She pointed at her attorney.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Walling. Lieutenant Gardner thinks it may help your case if you cooperate.” Simmons spoke in smooth tones.

  “How are you going to help me?” She let out a sullen, bitter laugh.

  “You said that you hit Mr. Bradshaw on the back of the head with a baseball bat and then left, believing he was dead. Had you ever seen a corpse before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you go back later to use the knife on him or did you stab him right after using the bat?” He waited tensely for her response.

  She looked up at him in surprise. “What knife?”

  “Didn’t you stab Mr. Bradshaw with a knife?”

  “No, never. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked at him as if waiting for an explanation, but he wasn’t about to give her one.

  “We’ll be talking to you again very soon.”

  Simmons walked with them and smiled when Gardner thanked him for his help, his mouth a display of dazzling, capped teeth. Handsome bastard. Good courtroom image. These days, it didn’t hurt a trial lawyer to look like a movie actor.

  “So you think we’ll be able to do business with the prosecutor on this?”

  “I think so. How’d it go with her husband?”

  “We’ll make a deal. He has something to offer: the names of the others involved in those robberies. He’s not looking at much time. In fact, I can probably get him probation.”

  “The guy’s a creep,” Bert said with disgust.

  “Justice is blind,” Simmons said with a cynical smile.

  “You said it!”

  Simmons left them in the parking lot and Gardner took a breath of the warm, summer breeze.

  “So you don’t think Joan killed Bradshaw after all?” Bert sounded let down.

  “How does it look to you?”

  “Same way,” she conceded. “But damn, that means we have to start all over again.”

  “Not exactly.”

  As they got into the car, Gardner couldn’t help thinking that the landscape in this area was bleak, even in summer. There was nothing much on either side of the highway except for some small, scrawny fir trees closely massed together. Somehow, the term Garden State did not seem quite applicable to this part of New Jersey.

  “We know that everyone left the pool by eight o’clock that evening. Sonny told us he locked up then. We have to work on the assumption that when Sonny closed the club for the night, everyone else had gone home and Bradshaw was lying unconscious in the equipment room.”

  Bert looked annoyed; the whites of her eyes glistened. “Do you know the implication of what you’re saying? According to that, none of those people could have killed Bradshaw. You’re saying he was locked in there and no one could get to him except Sonny, the Walling woman, Martha Rhoades or the other two lifeguards.”

  “I suppose that is the implication.”

  “Okay. We don’t think Joan had any reason to return. And except for Sonny, no one else might have a motive for touching Bradshaw. You think the kid killed him after all?”

  “Then who killed Sonny?”

  “We never asked Joan about him,” Bert said.

  “I don’t think we have to.”

  “But you can’t be sure. I just wish we were done with this case. It’s beginning to piss me off.”

  * * * *

  Back at headquarters, Gardner went to his desk and put in a phone call to the pool club. There were five or six rings before anyone picked up the receiver. It was the girl called Beth who finally answered, and she got Martha Rhoades for him.

  “I’m surprised to hear from you,” she said with irritation, “I thought everything was settled.”

  “There are still some more questions.”

  “We’re awfully busy today,” she said in a voice that would have made a walrus look for an overcoat. “I can’t tell you how many gum and candy wrappers we’ve picked up already. Little children have no manners, and these young mothers pay no attention to what their children do. It’s a disgrace.”

  “Yes, I understand. This will just take a moment of your time.”

  “What do you want to know?” She would never be accused of graciousness.

  “Are the spotlights left on at the pool after closing?”

  “No, never,” Miss Rhoades said. “A total waste of electricity. We have the pool lights on Tuesday night only. That’s our movie night. We call it Family Night because we only show films suitable for the entire family. I personally make the selections.”

  He ignored her unnecessary, self-serving comments. “Mr. Bradshaw wasn’t killed on a Tuesday night and the lights were on. You told us that was why you checked on the pool that night.”

  There was a significant pause at the other end of the wire. “I can’t explain it. The lights should not have been on. Sonny had strict instructions from me. To the best of my knowledge, he always did what he was told.”

  “Is there anyone else who has keys to the club?”

  “No, I’ve already told you that.”

  “What about the owner, Mr. Page?”

  There was another hesitation. “I suppose he might. He was the builder.”

  “Does he come around much?”

  “He is very fastidious where the complex is concerned. He pops in for brief visits now and then. Sometimes he plays golf at the course and then drops by for a swim. He always checks on the flowers. He likes to make certain they’re being watered properly. He was favorably impressed by the red and white petunias this year.”

  “Are his visits always in the daytime?”

  “I don’t know. Sonny d
id mention that Mr. Page occasionally dropped by for a swim in the evening.”

  “And left around closing time?”

  She did not seem eager to answer the question, as if she thought there might be something improper about it.

  “I couldn’t say,” she said finally in a guarded tone of voice. “Only Sonny would have known that.”

  Bert, who was listening in on the extension, shot Gardner a sharp look. Gardner nodded his head at her. His mind flashed with a clear understanding of what had been left unsaid.

  “Why didn’t you tell us before that Mr. Page had his own keys to the pool?”

  “I didn’t think of it.”

  He thought she was lying but supposed the reason behind it was loyalty to her employer. He decided to let the matter drop, satisfied to have found out that his hunch about the builder was correct.

  “Maybe we should have a word with Cheryl McNeill,” Gardner remarked after getting off the phone with Miss Rhoades. “We ought to find out if Page and Bradshaw knew each other.”

  “You think she’d know?”

  “Can’t say, but it’s worth a try.”

  Before they could leave, Drew Mitchell came over to them. He looked Bert up and down with an insulting stare.

  “I really like big women,” he said. “Especially big, black women. I hear they’re hot in bed.” He gave her what only could be described as a leer.

  “Get lost, before I report you for sexual harassment.” She folded her arms over her breasts and stood tall and straight.

  “Saving yourself for Gardner?”

  Her eyes glittered like shards of steel as she turned and stalked away.

  Mitchell turned to Gardner. “I was just kidding around with her. She’s got no sense of humor.”

  “Leave her alone, Mitch. Call it a friendly warning.”

  “Sure, Mike.” His smile was crooked. “I wouldn’t try to claim your territory. Hey, you see the article in the newspaper today about the mayor asking for an investigation of the chief?”

  Gardner indicated that he had.

  “The Chief’s really pissed. Nash told me the old man’s worried about the department getting a black eye in the public image. If nothing else, it’s bad for morale.”

  “So what’s he going to do about it?”