The Drowning Pool (19 page)

“I’ll do anything you say. I promise I will.”

“Mr. Scofield, would you be willing to see a psychiatrist?” Mike kept his tone calm and paternal. Kim admired his restraint.

“I’m not a lunatic.” Scofield’s face burned scarlet.

“No one’s saying you are, but your mind is troubled. Talking things out with a qualified person could help you.”

“I tell you, there’s nothing wrong with me!”

Louise turned and faced him. “What about the way you behaved that evening we went out with Joan and Martin?”

“What evening? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“About two months ago when you tried to punch a total stranger whose only mistake was to look at me. Don’t you remember? We were at the Galaxy Lounge.”

“Just looking at you? He was flirting with you, or trying to. And you obviously didn’t hear the remark he made as he passed our table. No man would allow his wife to be talked about that way.”

“The truth is, you lose your temper too easily.”

“Damn it, you’re unfair; I only try to protect what’s mine.”

“I belong to myself, Bill. I’m not a possession. You don’t own me.”

“Lou, I’ll do whatever you want, even see a shrink if you’ll stay with me. For God’s sake, I’d do anything for you.” Scofield’s voice betrayed fear and vulnerability. He seemed overwhelmed by passion.

Kim was surprised to observe that Lou’s fine features were, in comparison, unrelenting and controlled. “I’ll try to forgive you. That’s the best I can do for now. Please don’t ask any more of me. Emotionally, I’m numb.”

“Why don’t we let her rest?” Mike suggested, leading Scofield toward the door. “You can discuss getting counseling another time.”

The man was suffering; that was obvious, and he appeared emotionally exhausted. Louise no longer seemed quite as helpless and vulnerable. Kim was aware that a subtle reversal of roles had somehow occurred. Was there another side to Mrs. Scofied she hadn’t realized existed?

A sudden disconcerting thought struck Kim. No one had ever considered Louise Scofield as a possible suspect in the Bradshaw homicide. They had responded to her emotionally rather than rationally. A shrewd murderess might well feign such a pose. It was conceivable that a distraught Louise Scofield could have murdered Bradshaw when he threatened to expose their affair to her husband. With Bradshaw dead, she would be able to convince her husband the relationship never existed. Bradshaw, after all, would be in no position to confirm or deny anything. Scofield would end up apologizing to his wife, just as he had done.

Bradshaw’s death at the hands of Louise Scofield was, of course, not likely, and at best, a distant possibility, a decidedly unpleasant one. No, of the two, Mr. Scofield was the more likely to be guilty of murder. Yet, she couldn’t shake the fact that Bradshaw had been bragging to Scofield about having an affair with a married woman. The implication had clearly been that Louise Scofield was that woman. Kim decided to keep this conjecture to herself for the present. Sharing it with Mike didn’t seem sensible until there was more than theory to rely on. And there was no tangible evidence against Mrs. Scofield.

“Mr. and Mrs. Scofield, we have no more questions for either of you at the present time, but please keep yourselves available.”

Mike walked Scofield out into the hospital corridor. Kim was thinking that something was missing. The Scofields had not told Mike everything. They knew more. She sensed it, felt it in nearly a tangible way, as one held a grapefruit.

Bert St. Croix looked from Mr. Scofield to Mike. “How is she?”

“Mrs. Scofield will be fine. She’s already stronger.”

She saw Bert breathe a sigh of relief, then look back at Scofield and glower. “I’ll walk you out to the parking lot,” she said.

Scofield eyed Bert’s imposing figure. “Lieutenant, keep her away from me.”

“Just a few words,” Bert said, and took Scofield by the arm, steering him down the corridor.

“What do you think she’s going to do?” Kim asked Mike. Bert’s anger had come at Scofield in waves.

“Come on.” Mike took her by the hand as they hurried after Bert and Scofield “I’m hoping Bert won’t do anything stupid.” They caught up to the detective in the parking lot as Scofield was driving away.

“I hope you had the common sense to keep your hands off him this time.”

Bert gave Mike a satisfied smile. “I’m loaded with common sense.”

“Einstein once said common sense is not so common. Who am I to argue with genius?”

“Obviously, you don’t have a high trust level. The fact is, I only gave him a little warning.”

“Which was?”

“Let’s just say he’ll think twice before laying a hand on his wife again.”

Looking at Bert St. Croix’s grim expression, Kim fully believed it. Kim instinctively liked the black policewoman. The demeanor might be fierce, but Kim sensed genuine compassion and generosity of spirit present in Bert. Kim also recognized something else. Like herself, Bert had suffered. They were kindred spirits.

TWELVE

Monday afternoon, Gardner was already at his desk when Bert came on duty. Bert watched him taking notes on what appeared to her to be official written reports.

“More paperwork?” she asked in disgust.

“Not exactly. These are the police reports on those Marcom warehouse robberies.”

“Anything interesting?”

“I’d say so. Apparently, Walling’s company had him covering quite a big chunk of territory. Altogether, there were three robberies and three different police departments involved. Believe it or not, no one’s ever bothered to collate info.”

“Hard to believe.”

“I guess it never seemed worth their time.”

“Cases still open?”

“Do birds fly.”

“So you’re going over the reports. Find anything?” Funny how Gardner’s enthusiasm kind of rubbed off on her. There was something about the guy that made her feel as if Gardner were okay. Still, it wouldn’t be smart to trust him too far.

Too much was in a state of flux in her life. True, she’d taken this job, but it was just to get away from everything that tortured her. She didn’t want to commit to anyone or anything right now. It would have been okay to talk to someone about Alva. But how could anyone else understand? Gardner might not be judgmental, but if she told the guy what had gone down—no, she couldn’t. No way! He’d think she was some kind of nut case. Probably, he already did. She might be able to talk to his girlfriend though. She liked Kim Reynolds. There was something about the woman, like she’d suffered through her own personal torments and had compassion for others.

Gardner was examining the reports carefully. “Each job was slick, professional, very clean. They knew just when no one would be around. Nobody saw them and nobody got hurt.”

“Real neat. Jobs had to be pulled by the same people. Any other pharma companies hit with the same M.O.?”

“I had it run through the system—believe it or not we hicks do know something about computers. Only Marcom has had this dubious experience.”

“So the jobs had an inside man.”

“Has to be. Highly marketable drugs in large quantities were in the warehouses at the time of each robbery. These thieves are very good, too clever, in fact.”

“So I guess it’s time we have another talk with Walling.”

Gardner put his head between his hands thoughtfully. It seemed to her that this cop looked more like a high school math teacher or maybe an accountant, dressed as he was in a conservative gray suit, white shirt and dark tie. But if a person were sharp and looked closer, they’d notice the chiseled features and the hard body of a strong man who commanded respect. Bert was learning not to underestimate him.

“I’d like to see if we can dig up more on Walling’s connection with the robberies before we tip him that we’re on to him. If we don’t have anything but our suspicions, he can laugh in our faces. I’d rather hit him hard, catch him by surprise, and that means getting concrete evidence.”

“You think his wife knows?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, but she keeps a tight lid on, too shrewd to give us anything on Walling, no matter how she might feel about him.”

Bert had to agree. “So we’re going out to the warehouses.”

“One of them anyway. It’s about an hour’s drive from here. We’re not likely to uncover anything the North Ridge Police haven’t already found. On the other hand, they didn’t know about Martin Walling. Could be our questions will be a little different from theirs.”

“Anything on Sonny today?”

A shadow crossed Gardner’s face. That was a sore point for both of them. “He hasn’t turned up. No one’s found a trace of him. Seems he hasn’t contacted anybody, not April Nevins if we can believe her, not his mother or brothers.”

She saw the look of dejection on Gardner’s face deepen. “Hey, the kid’ll probably turn up in the next couple of hours.” She could only hope her optimism was warranted.

“I checked with Martha Rhoades at the pool club. Sonny was supposed to be in on Friday but he never showed, not then, not since.”

“So you think something’s definitely wrong.”

“Let’s just say there’s a creepy sensation running down my spine. I usually trust my instincts. They’re seldom wrong.”

“It sure looks like Sonny was the murderer’s accomplice. He did admit to putting Bradshaw’s body in the pool. Could be he was in a state of panic and figured to get as far away from here as possible.”

“Maybe. Anyhow, we’ve got a stake-out round the clock on April Nevins’ place and the mother’s house. Of course, if he phoned, we won’t know. There’s no wiretap. I couldn’t justify it.”

She knew what he meant; wiretaps were only for serial killings, major drug busts, high profile criminal cases. Bradshaw’s homicide was strictly small change in the scheme of things, just like this nothing little town itself.

“I’d like to know what Sonny thought April Nevins has that belongs to him,” Gardner said.

“If we had him here right now, he’d only lie to us anyway.”

The drive to North Ridge was relaxing; the sun was already going down, red and round on the horizon, drawing toward it the long shadows of late afternoon. The winding country road took them through cultivated farmlands. North Ridge was a suburb composed mostly of farms and expensive residential tracts. Unlike Webster Township, there were no garden apartments out here; not even elegant ones were permitted. It was zoned for houses on no less than two acres of land.

As they drove, Bert observed the differences between the old, stately Victorian homes and the showy, new development houses. She didn’t even consider which she’d personally prefer because she could never afford either. It was a far cry from the teeming city, all this open well-tended land, all these expensive homes. She had a sense of being in alien territory.

The warehouse was not near any houses. It was off the main road and isolated from the town as if anything smacking of commercialism should be hidden since it was a source of shame. As they drove near, Bert noticed large trucks in the process of being loaded. They parked their car and quickly found the manager’s office.

“I’ve already been questioned about the robbery,” the irritated manager told them after the introductions were completed.

“We’re aware of that, but we were hoping there was some information you could give us that the North Ridge Police don’t already know.”

“Like what?” The manager was wiry, but with a whining quality to his voice that Bert found annoying.

“How is it that the thieves managed to come and go when no one was around?”

“Luck, I guess. Our security man had just stepped out for a sandwich. By the time he came back, they’d disappeared. Needless to say, our man brings all his food with him nowadays. Another slip and he’s out on his ass.”

“Mighty slick trick, getting in and out before he got back.”

“Kind of like magic,” Bert agreed.

The manager narrowed his eyes.

“Is your security guard around?”

“Not until later.”

“Then I’d like his home address,” Gardner said.

The manager went over to a large file cabinet. “You ought to know he’s been questioned already, just like I was.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gardner waited as the manager wrote out the information for him. “One last thing, do you happen to know Martin Walling?”

“District sales? Sure, he’s here now and then to check on shipping orders, see how things are going.”

“Has he been here since the robbery?”

The manager chewed thoughtfully on the tip of his pen. “Guess not. Don’t remember him coming lately.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

“How should I know?”

“It’s important,” Gardner persisted. “A month before the robbery? A week? Maybe you could check your records or something.”

Gardner wasn’t willing to let go. His tone was smooth and courteous, but he was like a pit bull clamping his jaw down on prey. You really couldn’t judge by appearance, Bert supposed. Gardner was outwardly laid back, easy-going, but caught up in a case, he was focused and intense.

“Okay, maybe it was two weeks, maybe even three,” the manager finally allowed.

“Maybe right before the robbery?”

“It could have been a week,” the manager conceded.

Gardner politely thanked him and they left. Locating the security guard’s place turned out to be difficult since he lived in an old bungalow, little more than a shack off a bumpy road no wider than a driveway. It was also a good half-hour farther south.

Roy Gunther was a hermit. He lived alone under primitive conditions. Bert heard dogs growling inside as she knocked at the door. When it was opened, an old man came out, followed by three mongrels. She judged Gunther to be close to seventy. His grizzled white hair and bent posture made him look even older. Gunther scowled at them as Gardner made introductions. The old guy looked ready to growl just like his dogs.

“Well, what do you want with me?” The voice was gruff as she’d expected.

“We understand you were on duty the night the Marcom warehouse was robbed.”

“What if I was?”

She sensed fear in the man. She could smell it. What was he scared of?