The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  On that note of irony, Nash hung up on him. Some good had come out of evil after all, Gardner decided. At least, they would be able to finish their investigation of the Bradshaw case without further interference. As to finding out who had actually blown up the mayor’s car, that would remain an unsolved crime with Chief Morgan promising to make every effort to find the perpetrator—which was like having the fox oversee the hen house.

  * * * *

  Bert St. Croix arrived back at her small furnished apartment that evening tired and hungry. She’d stopped to pick up a few groceries. The refrigerator was embarrassingly lacking in basic dietary essentials. Living alone, she ate most of her meals out with the exception of breakfast, which generally consisted of cold cereal and a cup of instant coffee. This morning, she’d discovered herself to be out of milk and had poured orange juice over the corn flakes, an experiment she did not care to repeat.

  The tiny flat wasn’t much to speak of, but she was rarely there except to sleep. She didn’t feel comfortable here the way she had in New York where you could walk outside at any hour and see people and life going on around you. It seemed like people just sat mesmerized in front of their television sets at night in the suburbs. She had to ask herself for the hundredth time if she wasn’t making a mistake working and living in New Jersey. Maybe when the hurt was less she’d return to the city. Right now, she couldn’t stop missing Alva or thinking about her. She put the eggs into the refrigerator and thought how careful Alva always was with them. In her whole life, Bert doubted Alva had ever broken a single egg, but then her life hadn’t been very long, had it?

  Bert went to bed early, wishing she weren’t alone. She knew Gardner would listen if she wanted to talk about it, yet somehow she couldn’t. Gardner was okay and so was his family, but seeing their warmth and closeness made Bert feel her loss all the more deeply.

  Even Gardner wouldn’t understand what she’d done, what she’d had to do. But the nightmares wouldn’t go away. There was a knock at the door and she got up to answer it. What happened next was violent and unexpected. Two men were pushing her back into the apartment. For just a moment, she was caught off-balance and someone grabbed her arms with painful force. She was enervated by the pain rather than frightened. The shooting sensation in her arms made the adrenaline start to flow. Her heart pumped fast and hard. Her body tensed, she came back at one of her attackers with a sharp karate-style kick to the groin which sent the man sprawling to the floor. The second attacker grabbed her from behind and Bert brought back her elbow, jabbing him in the gut. There was a deep groan as he fell to his knees. She got to her gun before either of them could recover.

  She trained the weapon with an air of menace. “Okay, talk to me,” she said to the first punk who seemed to be recovering.

  Both men stared at her, transfixed by fear. She decided they were semi-professional muscle who knew enough to stay still when a gun was fixed on them. Neither man spoke.

  “I want to know what the hell you’re doing here. Do I have to shoot off pieces of you to get that information? Maybe make you permanent members of the sopranos?”

  The older and heavier of the two men spoke. “We’re just here to deliver a message.”

  “Which is?”

  “Some people resent you harassing honest citizens.”

  “And just who are these honest citizens?”

  “You gonna run us in?” Small eyes like those of a rodent moved around nervously under bushy brows.

  “Depends on what you tell me.”

  The younger punk gave the older one a questioning look. The older man raised his beetle brows in uncertainty. Bert noticed that the simian appearance belied a certain cunning, animal intelligence as he began speaking for both of them.

  “We don’t know who sent us here. We got this phone call and the man says our pay will arrive in the mail. Just deliver the message so it’ll be remembered.”

  “No idea who called you?”

  “That’s right, lady. I just listened, is all. The man never left a name. You might say we’re naive, trusting souls. People hear about our service by word of mouth. We depend on referral and our good reputation. We don’t advertise in Ladies Home Journal or Good Housekeeping. We weren’t gonna hurt you much. No hard feelings, right?”

  She gave the ape man and his friend each a hard shove in the direction of the door. “If I ever catch you around here again, you’ll wish I had brought you in. Now get out.”

  The two men scrambled. Bert locked the door and holstered her weapon. She turned the air-conditioning up high. It had all of a sudden become very warm in the apartment, and the younger punk had worn a cloying aftershave lotion that lingered.

  She’d just managed to calm down when there was another knock at the door. This time she pulled her revolver before opening up. April Nevins stood before her, stared at the drawn weapon and blinked.

  “Do you greet all your callers this way?”

  “Let’s just say I try to discourage unwelcome visitors.”

  “Well, I can see where you’d scare the hell out of the Avon lady. May I come in?” she asked. “You planning to go on an elephant hunt? That gun sure looks like it could handle one.”

  Bert holstered her weapon. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m off tonight,” April said, as if that explained everything.

  “So?” Bert realized she sounded as irritated as she felt.

  “Hot night. Got something cold to drink?”

  “All right, you can have a drink and then be on your way. Juice okay?”

  “Sure, whatever you’ve got.”

  April was dressed in a raincoat, one of those lightweight beige affairs styled like a trench coat. Her mane of highlighted honey hair hung in loose and casual curls, undulating as she followed Bert into the kitchen area. “Can’t say much for your decorator even if you are a damn sight neater than I am.”

  “The place came furnished.” Why did she feel she had to explain anything to April Nevins? “How did you find out where I live?”

  “From the information operator.” April smiled as though she were very pleased with herself.

  “They don’t give out addresses.”

  “I know, but I have a method for getting them. I don’t ask for the address. I give the name of the person, then I give a made-up address and ask if I gave the right one. They usually say no and mention the correct address. It doesn’t always work, but it did this time.”

  “Pretty slick. Maybe I should arrest you for lying to the phone company.”

  “Is it a crime?” April asked, all innocence.

  “What do you want here?”

  “I feel we could be friends.”

  Bert poured April a glass of orange juice. “Drink up. Then haul your ass out of here. We’re not finished with the Bradshaw investigation.”

  “I thought it was all settled.” April frowned uneasily.

  “Wouldn’t matter. You and I have nothing in common.”

  After April Nevins was gone, the scent of her lingered. Distractedly, Bert sat down on a kitchen chair and drank orange juice from the glass April had used.

  EIGHTEEN

  Mike Gardner woke up early the next morning. Dawn was breaking outside his bedroom window. He lay very still and listened to the birds sing out their welcome to the new day. A gray light filtered through the slightly crooked curtains. The inside of the house was silent. For a moment, he had the sensation of being completely alone. Then he recalled how he’d managed to convince Kim to stay over last night. He reached over, found the small of Kim’s back and began to gently massage her. As she stirred, she moved from her stomach to her back and then went back into what appeared to be a deep sleep. More than anything, he wanted to make love to her again, but now was not the right time. There were promises to keep.

  He slipped out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. It was going to be a busy day. Even though he’d bought an extra day or two from Captain Nash, the Bradshaw case would have to be
solved with alacrity. Otherwise, Page and the chief would find a way to stop him. He was impatient to get started and went through his morning routine with unusual haste. He wasn’t kidding himself; his job was on the line, as well as the comfortable life he’d built for himself and his family. It could all be destroyed like the crushing of an eggshell. Nevertheless, if George Page was a murderer, he was going to find the hard evidence to prove it, and he wasn’t going to back down.

  He kissed Kim goodbye on the forehead and her eyelids fluttered open.

  “You going now?” Her voice was slurred with sleep.

  “Yeah, I have to leave.”

  “I wish you didn’t.” She placed her arms around his neck. “You smell so good, so manly.”

  “Funny what a shave and shower can do for a guy.”

  “It sure is.” She gave him a kiss he wouldn’t forget the rest of the day.

  “You’re making it hard for me.”

  He looked downward suggestively. “Don’t I wish,” Kim said with a sigh and a smile.

  * * * *

  It was some hours later when he presented Cheryl McNeill with a search warrant. She let them into her apartment less than eagerly.

  “I’m through answering your questions. I’m going to get a lawyer so you’ll have to stop bothering me.” She hugged her arms around her body as if searching for security.

  “That’s your right. We’re not here to arrest you. We had this warrant issued to search the premises because we feel there’s probable cause. You’ve been holding out on us.”

  They walked past her. Only with the greatest persistence, and the fact that he’d once helped Judge Barnett with his son when the boy was rebelling against parental authority and wrecked the Judge’s Mercedes, had Gardner managed to get a warrant issued for probable cause so quickly.

  Bert began in the bedrooms where she’d been before. Gardner searched the living room. A large, delicately carved secretary sat in one corner of the room. That seemed to be the perfect place to begin, although he wasn’t certain what he was looking for, just anything that might connect Bradshaw to Page. He was careful not to upset the papers he found. When he got to the middle drawer, he found it locked.

  “Please give me the key,” he said to Cheryl McNeill.

  She’d been watching his progress with an intent gaze. “I don’t have it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it belonged to Rick.” She spoke in a nervous, halting voice, and he was certain that she was lying.

  “Shame to break open the lock. That’s a beautiful piece of furniture. Expensive antique, isn’t it? Probably wouldn’t be worth much after I splinter the wood.”

  She bit down on her lower lip as if trying to make a painful decision.

  “All right,” she said grudgingly. The slim brunette walked to a large bookcase and reached into a Lenox vase. “Here,” she thrust the key at him.

  He took it, opened the drawer, found some financial statements, bank books and stock certificates, and discovered Bradshaw had been very comfortable financially. No surprise there. One bank book was solely in the name of Cheryl McNeill. There were a few small deposits made on a regular basis, then one very recently in the sum of $20,000. The deposit was made two days after Bradshaw’s death. Gardner’s hand tightened around the bank book.

  “Where did you get the sum of money you last deposited?”

  Her eyes hardened. “I earned it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “An accomplice to murder is as guilty as the murderer.”

  The blood drained from her face. “I had nothing whatever to do with Rick’s death.”

  “Shall I tell you what I think? Someone is paying you to keep your mouth shut. That person has serious cash. Did George Page pay you to keep quiet about his connection with Bradshaw? If so, you better tell me now because I’m going to find out anyway.”

  Her hands tugged at her hair as if reaching for a security blanket. For a moment, he was sure he had her.

  “I don’t think the bank account proves anything,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m not discussing it, not without a lawyer.”

  “We’ll leave. But for now, we’re holding on to this. It could be evidence.” He ignored her protests and signaled Bert.

  Standing outside the apartment beside their car, he conferred with St. Croix.

  “I doubt any personal checks are involved in that little transaction, and the McNeill girl is scared shitless, so she’s not gonna talk.”

  He knew Bert was right. It had been a small victory at best.

  “I bet she’s on the phone right now tipping Page off to what happened.”

  “Good, I hope so. Maybe he’ll be upset enough to make a mistake.”

  Bert scowled at him. “What kind of mistake? Like arranging a permanent accident for both of us?”

  “He might just settle for getting us fired.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “You really think it’s a lost cause, don’t you?”

  “People like Page with money and influence do whatever they want. I think you’re dreaming if you think you can catch him.” Bert scowled at him.

  “I told you I’m a realist. I don’t tilt at windmills.”

  “I think the sonofabitch might be planning something nasty.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gardner said. “I have to stay alive, otherwise my daughters would kill me.”

  Bert smiled and some of the tension that had crept into her face eased. “We know Page had opportunity since he had a key to the club and sometimes came during the evening hours. But why would he kill Bradshaw? There doesn’t seem to be any motive.”

  “If I could answer that, I’d stop being a policeman, make a few million in the stock market and retire. We’ve got to look for more information. I can make a supposition though. If Bradshaw came around to consciousness, you have to figure he was in a pretty foul mood. He’d sustained a serious head injury and had to be in pain. If Page found him, they could have quarreled.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m not certain, but that’s what we still need to find out.”

  “Neither Cheryl nor Page will tell us anything.”

  “Someone else must know. In fact, I’ve got an intuition about who that might be. The man is vulnerable. It’s just a matter of finding his Achilles heel.”

  “Well, he does have a bad temper,” Bert said. “If he loses it, he might lose control of his judgment as well.”

  “All we have to do is set up the right situation, and we can count on him making a mistake.”

  She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re not planning to set yourself up as a target?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Bert told him about her experience with the two hoods on the previous night. “They were nothing but cheap labor. Still, I don’t like it. You better keep your eyes open too.”

  “We’ll wind this case up within the next few days,” Gardner said in a determined voice. “I don’t fancy walking around wearing a bullet-proof vest for the rest of my life. It would ruin the debonair image I’ve cultivated.” He gave her a wide grin.

  “If you say so.”

  As Gardner surveyed the architecture of the municipal building, he thought the dark brown oblong resembled nothing so much as a dismal prison—or a school. He’d always connected the two in his own mind. It was only when he took college courses that he began to enjoy school. But then, the municipal building did house the court and police headquarters and was not meant to stimulate aesthetic appreciation.

  Captain Nash scrupulously avoided them. But no new assignments were thrust at them either.

  “I’ve thought of a way of connecting Bradshaw and Page. Though probably it’s a long-shot not likely to pay off.”

  “I’m into long-shots,” Bert said.

  “I’d like to find out if anyone saw Page and Bradshaw together. We can get pictures of both men from
the newspaper morgue. My guess is if they did have more than a passing acquaintance, they must have spent some time socializing together. Maybe a drink or a meal was shared, probably somewhere not far from the club.”

  Frown lines creased Bert’s forehead. “We might as well check it out. There aren’t that many places around here.”

  The pictures were obtained; a list was made up, and then divided between the two of them. Four places for each of them to visit. By the time Gardner had finished his half that evening without any success, he was feeling discouraged and thinking that his hunch hadn’t been so terrific after all. If the two men had met socially, they could just as easily have gone to a different town.

  He wanted to hear Kim’s voice, just to let her know that he was thinking about her. He waited patiently while the telephone rang five times before it was picked up. Kim’s ‘hello’ didn’t sound right, as though she were nervous or upset about something. He immediately asked what was wrong. When she hesitated, he pressed her about it.

  “Mike, I had this peculiar call earlier. I really don’t want to bother you about it.” She seemed reluctant to continue.

  “Go on, what kind of call?” he urged.

  “A stranger’s voice. He talked crazy. Said to tell my boyfriend that he better drop the Bradshaw case quick or he was going to end up a very lonely man. I didn’t like the sound of it.”

  “It’s just some nut. Don’t worry about it.” He tried to make his voice sound reassuring.

  “But how would anyone know about us, and Mike, my phone number isn’t even listed. It scares me!”

  “I’m winding up the investigation soon. I’m sorry about the phone call. Try not to let it get to you.”

  She let out a deep sigh at the end of the line.

  “Really, sweetheart, it’s going to be fine.”

  “It better be. Otherwise, I plan on haunting you for the rest of your unnatural life.”

  “Is that a promise?

  “You bet.”

  He laughed and then quietly told her that he loved her. “Why don’t you pack a bag and plan on staying over for a few days? The girls will be pleased.”