Wrath in the Blood

by Ronald Watkins

  “Fuck me, big man! Fuck me!!” she said as she rocked her hips then began to whimper in a sound she knew Swensen would take to be an orgasm. This whipped him into final ecstasy and with a deep moan he climaxed, grabbing her hips to pull her down as he shoved himself deeply into her. “Oh baby!” he cried out. “Yes!!”

  Iverson continued rocking her pelvis until she was certain he was drained then she leaned down over him, her breasts resting against his chest. “Oh baby,” he said. “Oh baby, that was fantastic.”

  It was nearing the lunch hour when Kosack asked Dinelli, “Have you ever seen Jack Swensen violent?”

  “You mean actually hit someone?”

  “Not necessarily. Any incident of violent behavior.”

  “He's a very controlled man so you can understand how shocked I was several months ago when he threw a tantrum over nothing. He stood in the office screaming at the top of his voice. He smashed one of the telephones on the floor.”

  “What was it about?”

  “He and Miss Iverson had been huddled for hours in his office. I think he was angry with her for something. I know she left the office the moment he blew up. Afterwards he was very apologetic but at the time it was genuinely frightening.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe he and Iverson were plotting together at any time? You mentioned earlier hearing her say if he wouldn't do something then she would.”

  Dinelli considered the question before answering. “Not plotting like you might think. They seemed to argue about something a great deal. She can be very persistent. At the time I thought she was trying to talk him into a divorce. Now...”

  “Now what?”

  Those eyes stared directly into his. “Now Mrs. Swensen's dead.”

  Half an hour later Kosack closed his notebook and thanked Dinelli again for her cooperation.

  “Is Mr. Swensen going to be arrested?” she wanted to know as they walked to the doorway.

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “Have you found Mrs. Swensen yet?” Her voice broke.

  “No. She is presumed to be dead, but we have no body. Sometimes you never find one.”

  “I understand that you have to have... a body... to charge someone with murder?”

  “No. It's always best because it makes prosecution that much more difficult without one, but there are many cases where a body is never discovered because it has been carefully disposed of or destroyed beyond recovery. I have just one more question Miss Dinelli.”

  “I'm awfully tired.” She looked it, having seemed to age 10 years in the past two hours.

  “Why have you stayed here with all that has been going on? You don't strike me as the kind of person who would want to work around... well, sin.”

  “You're right of course. But the world is a wicked place. Where would I go?”

  “There are better places for someone like you.”

  “I suppose. If Mr. Swensen is arrested I'll likely have to look anyway.”

  They shook hands at the door then Kosack climbed into his unmarked police car, turned on the engine and sat there for several moments. He had been a policeman nearly 30 years and had learned to observe many things that were often unspoken. Even so he could not be certain of the observation he had formed. He eased the car into gear and headed for the freeway.

  Paula Dinelli had once been, and probably still was, in love with Jack Swensen. And if that were true, he wondered what she really thought of Leah Swensen.

  ~

  When Iverson heard Swensen start his shower she pulled on a night gown and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She couldn't manage much of any meal but bacon and eggs was within her ability and it was Swensen's favorite breakfast. She lit a cigarette and worked the spatula as she smoked. She could hear the shower still running and placed two pieces of bread in the toaster, ready to drop them once she announced breakfast was ready. The rich aroma of coffee now mixed with bacon filled the kitchen.

  The doorbell rang. When she opened the door there stood Tom Kosack. “Hello, detective,” she said. Her flimsy night-gown had come open and she moved to close it without really covering anything. His eyes caught the flash of round flesh, a portion of a turgid nipple, and from her rose the distinctive odor of recent sex mingled with fresh perfume and cigarette smoke.

  “I wondered if you might have a few minutes for some questions, Miss Iverson.”

  “Jodi.” She looked over her shoulder into her living room hesitantly. “Sure,” she said finally. “Why not? You're in time for breakfast. Would you like bacon and eggs, juice, coffee?”

  “Thanks, I've eaten. Coffee, black, would be nice.”

  “I'll be right back, then I'll get your coffee.”

  The shower stopped and Kosack heard the murmur of voices but could not make out what was being said. Iverson's husky whisper was intermixed with a male voice.

  Inside the bedroom Swensen whispered angrily, “You did what?”

  “What difference does it make, Jack? He already knows about us. You had to go somewhere when they locked you out of your house. If I sent him away he'd just wonder what was up and wait outside to see who left. He probably came to check up on you anyway.”

  Swensen swore.

  She patted him on the chest lightly. “Just be sure to dress before you come out and try to be nice when you do. Don't you think you've made enough mistakes already?”

  In the kitchen Iverson poured two cups of coffee and called Kosack over to her breakfast table. “You're sure about break-fast? I just finished making it and there's plenty. Eggs are about all I can handle.”

  “Absolutely. The coffee's great. I take it you have company.”

  “Yeah. It's Jack. He needed somewhere to stay for a few days, but then you know about that.”

  Kosack waited as he sipped the coffee and Iverson was content to let him as she buttered toast and dished herself a portion of eggs and three strips of bacon. Finally Swensen came out of the bedroom and greeted the detective in much the same way he might approach a rattlesnake. “Breakfast is ready,” Iverson said sweetly.

  “No, thanks,” Swensen answered, starting to perspire. “I've got...to go.”

  “Your house was released back to you this morning, Jack,” Kosack said. “We let your lawyer know late yesterday.” He pulled one of his business cards from his wallet and wrote on the back. “This is the name and telephone number of a local company that specializes in cleaning up crime scenes. You can use anyone you want, of course, but these guys do it all the time.”

  “I appreciate that. Jodi, could I talk to you for moment?”

  Jodi met Kosack's eyes and sighed. “Sure. I'll be right back detective.” When she was next to Swensen she said, “Quit acting so suspiciously. It's not helping.”

  “Those guys didn't grill you all night like they did me.” His manner changed abruptly. “Come over tonight, O.K.?”

  “I don't know, Jack. This whole thing is ...”

  “Please.”

  “If you can get it cleaned up today, all right. Otherwise you spend the night here, O.K.?”

  “All right,” he grinned, “but I've got the Jacuzzi.” He looked at Kosack. “We'll talk later, Jodi.” Then to Kosack in a louder voice, “Nice to see you.”

  “Sure thing,” Kosack said, waving lightly from the table more amused than he dared let on. He had not been entirely surprised to find Swensen here but was still amazed.

  Iverson asked Kosack once again if he was certain he didn't want breakfast, then sat at the table and ate as they spoke.

  “I'd like you to close your nightgown,” he said.

  “You don't like the view?” she said as she halfheartedly belted the gown closed.

  “I'm sure you have a lovely body, but that's not why I'm here.”

  “Why are you here, detective?” She forked scrambled eggs into her mouth with a flash of tiny teeth.

  “I'd like to know where you were on Sunday, especially Sunday night and early Monday morn
ing.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Do I need a lawyer for this?”

  “Any time you think you need a lawyer you probably do.”

  She bit into a piece of toast. “I don't think I need a lawyer. Ask away, detective.”

  NINE

  The drive from central Phoenix north to Carefree took nearly an hour. The two lane road undulated across the desert, dipping into small arroyos, then running across flat expanses before dipping again. The land was more developed than Goodnight remembered since the last time he had driven this way and nearly every plot was posted for sale. The town was situated between two small ranges of rocky hills. Following instructions he slowed when he saw the cluster of oversized rocks beneath the hills near the Boulders resort to his right, then turned up a narrow paved road.

  Goodnight spotted the house from the cats, lounging like a pride on the porch and front lawn of the 50's style ranch house which was nearly buttressed against the hill. A quick glance said there were six but he suspected he'd find just as many lurking in shadows if he made the effort. Adrian Lyon greeted him at the door wearing black tights and oversized costume jewelry. Her dark eyes were heavily painted. She suggested fresh lemonade over her kitchen table which Goodnight said suited him just fine. The back of the house was a studio of some type but he couldn't tell what kind from where he walked.

  Lyon was approaching 40, slim with long, dark brown hair and gestured with excessive animation. She reminded Good-night of an aging hippie, though she was a bit too young for the part. She chain smoked slender cigarettes she placed in an elegant ebony holder as she stroked a Siamese curled on her lap. He removed an Arturo Fuente Petite Corona cigar from his pocket and asked how she felt about cigar smoke. “Go ahead. My father smoked cigars.” As he lit up Goodnight commented on how lovely the setting was for her home.

  “Yes, I just love living out here. It's the only thing worthwhile I took from my first marriage. As you saw driving up though the city is slowly reaching us in our little oasis.”

  “I want to thank you for meeting with me. As I told you over the telephone, I work for the insurance companies that insured the life of Leah Swensen.”

  “Why did you go to all this trouble to find me? The president of Cats R Us made it sound urgent we speak. As I said, I've already met with the police and told them everything I know.”

  “I think your president was caught up in the moment. I'm not a police officer and have nothing to do with the official investigation. At this point they aren't sharing their findings with me nor would I expect them to. I'm here because there's the possibility that Jack Swensen may try to collect on the life insurance and one of the companies has asked for a report on which they can base at least a temporary denial until the police investigation is complete. Of course if he's charged then convicted with the crime he wouldn't be paid, the money would go to her sister so it's not a question of trying to avoid making any payment at all. How did you meet Leah Swensen?” he began, lighting his cigar and pleased for once to be able to smoke on the job.

  “We shared a love of cats. You probably noticed my brood outside. I can't seem to turn them away. I've got four show cats inside in addition to those. You have a cat, don't you?”

  “Yes. A tom who adopted me.”

  “I could tell. Tobi here can smell him. Look at her nose going a mile a minute.” She bent down and rubbed her own nose across the top of the cat's head. “They are wonderful, aren't they? Leah and I belonged to Cats R Us, but then you know that. It's a local club for pedigree cats and it's where we met. Several times a year we show them and give awards, things like that. Of course it's really just an excuse to show off our sweeties.”

  “What kind of cat did Leah have?”

  “He was a Scottish Fold. Very beautiful, quite rare, with a wonderful disposition. She called him Scottie. Who has him now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Someone nice I hope. If you run across him and the people don't seem enthusiastic please let me know. I'd be very happy to give him a home.” She took a long pull on her cigarette. “You probably aren't interested in this, but her cat was how I first knew she was having trouble in her marriage. I take it that's where we're going with this?”

  “How was that?”

  “I'm divorced. Twice. I like cats for company. I find them better than most men I meet. But they are after all just pets. Leah was very attached to Scottie. She had a special carrying case, very expensive. She adored her cat. Treated him as if he were her child. I see a lot of it. When women lose love in their life they look for it somewhere else. Some find it in food and get fat, others take a lover. Still others I see get very attached to their cats. You'd have to have seen it like I have to recognize it, but I was pretty sure there was trouble on the home front.” The telephone rang. “Excuse me.”

  While she took the call Goodnight moved so he could look into her work area. Lots of heavy, oversized wooden tables, plenty of windows. It might have been a wood shop. “What exactly is it you do?” he asked when Lyon returned.

  She smiled. “I'm a sculptor. If you hadn't called to set up an appointment you'd have found me elbow deep in clay.”

  “What do you sculpt?”

  “Can't you guess? I thought you were a detective? Cats. They're quite popular. You've probably seen some of my work in stores and not realized it.”

  “Aah. Did Leah Swensen give you any reason to think she was afraid of her husband?”

  “It was earlier this winter. We were at a cat show. Leah was a quiet woman, difficult to know, but very sharp and quite interesting once you got her talking. She was very well read. That day she was obviously upset. I say obvious though I doubt anyone who didn't know her would have noticed. She was a very controlled personality. I thought she might like to talk so I suggested we have an early dinner or coffee, something like that.”

  Lyon recounted how she had slowly drawn out of Leah Swensen a story of spousal abuse. “Had you ever previously seen marks on her?”

  “No. I was quite shocked at what she told me, but this day and age women are used to learning things like this about each other. I personally would never stand for such treatment but so many women do.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  The question brought Lyon up short. “Of course. Why would Leah make something like that up? She was holding her side I remember. She was telling me that her husband was careful never to hit her in the face and she placed her hand to her side like this.” Lyon touched her ribs on the right side, balancing her cigarette holder between her lips as she did.

  “You're certain she held her right side?”

  Lyon looked startled. “Let me think. Yes, just like this. Is it important?”

  “I don't know. Jack Swensen's probably left handed. Go on.”

  “I told her to call the police, to leave the bastard. She said she was in love and was certain they could work it out. She said she thought he was seeing someone but I didn't press it. I was more concerned he might...” Lyon stopped, extracted her cigarette, and nervously removed a fresh cigarette from its pack, inserted it into her holder then lit it.

  “You were concerned about what?”

  She spoke from behind a cloud of fresh cigarette smoke. “I was concerned he might kill her. That seemed a lot more important than any girlfriend he might have.”

  ~

  Ruth Morrison placed the crime scene police lock into her car, glanced at her watch and decided that Kathleen Ruman was probably up at this hour. She rang the doorbell several times then waited long moments before Ruman opened the door looking very bleary eyed. But her makeup was in place and she was dressed in a skimpy two piece swim suit so she hadn't just climbed out of bed.

  “Oh! Come in. I was just having a drink. Would you like one?”

  “No, nothing. I have just a few more questions.”

  “All right. I'm not doing anything,” she said somewhat reluctantly.

  Kathleen Ruman was a slender, delicate woman with
longer than average dark hair pulled back on her head, and a pretty, child-like face. She appeared to be about 40, but apparently lived in the sun and her skin was baked the color of old pennies that made her look closer to 50. She was tentative, like a bird approaching an unknown feeder.

  The house had a peculiarly sterile smell to it that troubled Morrison. It was as if no one lived here. After refilling her glass Ruman slipped on Jackie O sunglasses then led the detective onto her patio which overlooked a manicured lawn and vast swimming pool. Ruman lay back in the sun while Morrison sat nearby in the shade but the heat bounced to her from the exposed concrete. She pulled her sunglasses out of her purse. Ruman lit a cigarette with unsteady hands then took a sip from her glass.

  “I told you everything I remember last time.” Her voice was disconcertingly high pitched.

  “It's standard procedure to interview everyone more than once. New questions come up, memories are refreshed.”

  Ruman laughed. “Not mine. I never remember anything. Ask my ex and any of his children.” She took another sip of her wine cooler.

  Morrison reviewed first the questions she had asked before. Ruman said she had never spoken to Jack Swensen and barely knew his wife. She repeated their backyard conversation in which Leah had said she thought her husband was plotting to kill her with someone from his office.

  “Did she say with who?”

  “No. I'm sorry.”

  “Do you recall any better when that conversation took place?”

  “Not too long ago, but the days all seem to blend together. I'm sorry I'm not much help.”

  “You're doing fine. Did anything about the conversation strike you as odd?”

  “It wasn't your normal chit chat, that's for sure. When I used to go to lunch sometimes my friends would talk about killing their cheating husbands, but it was always a joke. At least I thought it was. This was not like that. She behaved – very upset about it.”

  “Anything else?”