The Drowning Pool (7 page)

* * * *

She and Gardner met the Wallings that evening and proceeded to examine two more of the puzzle parts. It was strange how Gardner’s analogy seemed to stick in her mind. Bert didn’t want to like or respect the guy, but she had to concede, however grudgingly, there was something about the older cop that another professional couldn’t help but admire.

Martin Walling greeted them warmly, if not over-enthusiastically, with a sweaty handshake. He was fat and short—several inches shorter than his wife. His ruddy complexion implied that he might make an agreeable drinking companion, and it seemed like there was more hair in his mustache then on his head.

“We want to help the cops all we can,” Walling said. “Rick was a good friend of ours. The damn bastard that murdered him ought to be strung up by the balls.” He quickly turned to his wife. “Sorry, honey. I know I shouldn’t talk that way in front of you, but I feel very strongly about this.”

His wife’s expression seemed either indifferent or just detached.

“How long did you know Mr. Bradshaw?” Gardner asked.

“Ever since he came east.”

“And Mrs. Walling?” Gardner turned to the lady, but it was her husband who answered.

“Joan’s known him for maybe five months. Right, honey?”

Mrs. Walling glanced from Bert to Gardner with suspicious eyes. “I suppose,” she replied. Her bored, indifferent expression made Bert wonder.

“Say, would you folks like a drink or something?”

“No thanks, Mr. Walling,” Gardner said. “Could we just sit down and talk for a few minutes?”

“Sure thing, I’ll just turn up the air-conditioning. I’m sweltering. Since both Joan and I go to work every day, no one’s around, so Joan says it’s more sensible to keep the cooler off until we get home. Keeps the electricity bills down.”

“You’re a practical woman, Mrs. Walling,” Gardner said with an easy smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek.

“Very practical,” Walling responded, and turned down the thermostat.

Bert was struck by the vulgarity of the room’s decor. She was no interior decorator, but the garish reds and purples dominating the color scheme were a little bit much, even by her uncritical standards.

Walling observed her looking around. “Place is something, isn’t it? Bet you couldn’t help noticing my favorite painting, right? Do you like it?” Walling pointed to an oil painting of a half-naked Spanish dancer on a background of black velvet set in a heavily gilded baroque frame. “Those gypsy gals really know how to turn a man on. Every time I look at it, I get horny.” Walling winked at Gardner, who did not bother to respond. “Yeah, that picture really set me back a bundle. Hell, it’s an original. I spent a fortune decorating this room, and you know what? Joan hates it! She says it’s loud and tasteless. What do you folks think?”

Joan Walling went up a notch in Bert’s opinion.

“Did Mrs.Walling have input in making the selections?” Gardner inquired.

“After my first wife and I split, I moved out and rented this apartment. When Joan and I got married, she was still living at home with her folks. Imagine that? So naturally she moved into my place. I can’t afford to redecorate just now, but any time Joan wants to do it herself from her salary, she can go right ahead.”

Mrs. Walling shot a sharp look of annoyance toward her husband, which didn’t seem to disturb him in the slightest. Clearly his skin was thicker than a rhino; maybe his brain as well. He just kept right on talking. “I can’t get Joan to part with a cent of her earnings. She won’t even buy decent clothes for herself. She earns more than I do, but all she does is squirrel her money away. Myself, I believe in women’s rights. A woman shouldn’t depend on a man to support her. I admire a liberated woman. I think it would be just fine if a woman wanted to support me.”

“Be quiet, Martin! You’re making an ass out of yourself. The police didn’t come here to discuss our personal lives.” She turned to Gardner. “You’ll have to excuse Martin. He tends to ramble on aimlessly. He also exaggerates everything. That’s the way salesmen are. They love to talk and tell stories. He suffers from diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain.” She glared at her husband, but he chose to ignore her.

“All that complaining about me being in debt,” he continued. “I guess I figured I’d needle you a little in return. Anybody who’s been soaked for child support the way I have deserves some sympathy. My ex-wife was a rotten bitch. She really took me to the cleaners. We only had one kid and he’s seven. She can work while he’s in school, but will she? Hell, no! Rather drive the nails into my hide.”

There was an uneasy silence and Gardner looked uncomfortable. Bert wasn’t too thrilled herself. Walling made her feel like puking.

“Mrs. Walling, what kind of work are you engaged in?” Gardner turned his steady gray eyes in her direction.

“I’m a systems analyst.”

Bert studied the woman. She was unexceptional in height and build, maybe five-five with a medium frame. The plainness of her face was underscored by a sharp chin. Her lips were thin and her nostrils seemed pinched. There was no sparkle to her hazel eyes. If she wasn’t homely, then she was close to it. The fact that she was reticent to speak made Bert think she had an introverted personality. Then again, she seemed to be weighing every response as if making certain she wasn’t giving anything away, in direct contrast to her husband, who was too blunt with his comments. Bert found herself neither liking nor trusting either of them. Then again, in police work, it was best to be short on trust. She’d learned long ago that lying and distortion come as easily to people as eating and drinking.

“You have a responsible job,” Gardner said.

“Joan’s a very responsible person,” Martin interjected, digging into his wife again with mockery in his voice.

“One of us has to be responsible, dear,” she returned, dripping acid.

Bert shot a significant look in Gardner’s direction. The Wallings were clearly past the honeymoon stage.

“It would help us if you could get back to discussing Richard Bradshaw.”

“Sure, Lieutenant, what do you want to know?”

“You worked with Bradshaw. Tell us about that.”

“Martin worked
for
him, not with him,” Mrs. Walling said.

Walling threw his wife a killing look. “We worked for the same outfit. In fact, it was me who suggested these apartments to him. See, we hit it off right away. Our relationship was always as much social as it was business.”

“Why was that?”

“Well, he was just a great guy to work with, really nice and easy-going. Nobody had a sharper mind.”

“In what capacity did the two of you work together? Did he supervise you closely?”

“He was my boss in theory, but he wasn’t standing over me. I’m a district sales manager. I’m on the road a lot, working with different salesmen, checking over accounts. Rick was put in charge of the entire east coast operation, all the managers. That meant that he was out on the road a lot too. But he had an office in New York at company headquarters.”

“What kind of company are we talking about?”

“Pharmaceutical. You know, drugs.”

Bert raised her brows with interest but said nothing. Big money, deep pockets.

“Could we have the name of your company and the address of the main office?”

“Sure. I’ll get you guys a business card.” Walling checked a desk drawer and came back with a white card that had
Marcom
elaborately embossed on it.

“Who was Bradshaw’s boss?”

“Fella named Briscoe. He’s the regional sales manager.”

“I thought that was Bradshaw’s job.”

Walling seemed momentarily flustered. Bert picked up on it and noticed that Gardner had as well.

“Did I say he was? Sorry, I must have given you the wrong impression. Briscoe can explain things better. That is, if you can ever get through to him. He’s always either out of the office or busy in a conference. You know how executives are.”

Actually, she didn’t know, and was certain she never would.

“Did Mr. Bradshaw have any business or personal enemies that you know about?”

“Rick? Impossible! He was one terrific guy. Charm and class all the way. Everybody liked him, even Joan. Right, honey?”

“He was more interesting than your other friends,” she agreed in a detached tone of voice.

“Interesting doesn’t hope to cover it. Christ, did he ever know how to score with the ladies. What a stud!” Walling’s smile was an envious leer.

“I have some questions about a few of those ladies.”

“Shoot, Lieutenant, I’ll enjoy answering. Say, would you like a cigar?”

Gardner responded negatively. It would figure that someone like Walling would smoke cigars; Bert always associated cigars with fat, bald men, wannabes with no taste or common sense. Walling fit the stereotype perfectly.

“Well, I think I’ll have one.”

Mrs. Walling let out an agonized groan. “Thinking about it is as far as you get,” she said, showing some real spirit for the first time. “That hideous smell never leaves once you’ve smoked one of those things.”

“Joan doesn’t approve of drinking or smoking. Regular Puritan. Sometimes I wish I were a bachelor again. Hell, I got screwed twice. Big dummy, that’s me. Guess I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to remarry. You got me on the rebound, honey.”

Mrs. Walling stood up, her face red to the hairline. “Well, I certainly didn’t get any kind of bargain, Martin.”

That was for certain.

“You were over thirty and lucky to get me.” Walling seemed much more composed than his wife.

She walked away with quick strides through the dining area and opened a sliding glass door that led out to a terrace. She betrayed her anger by slamming the door in a forceful manner.

“Do you and your wife quarrel often, Mr. Walling?”

“Now and then, like everybody. You know how it is. We’re still newlyweds.” He grinned through nicotine-stained teeth that gave him an almost sinister look. “We need time to adjust to each other. Joan’s got a heart like one of her computers. She doesn’t lose her temper much, mostly just ices over when she’s angry. She doesn’t understand that most of us aren’t as pure and free from vice as she is.”

“No vices?” Gardner probed.

“Well, she fucks pretty good. I mean, you know how important that is. And she wasn’t no virgin when I met her either, in spite of living with her folks.”

Bert found it hard resisting the temptation to stuff Walling’s cigar down his throat.

“I was playing the field. She invited herself up to my apartment, bold as brass. When a woman like her acts that way right off, I get uneasy. So I told her that I didn’t want to get serious with anyone for a while. But she decided to stay for the weekend. Joan can be very aggressive when she wants something. She set out to change my mind and she did a real job.” Martin flashed his leering smile, displaying pinkish white gums against crooked, yellowing teeth.

“Did you know Richard Bradshaw’s women friends? Would any of them have reason to kill him?” Gardner’s tone was neutral, non-judgmental. How did he manage it?

“Rick was such a popular fella. He really turned the broads on. Handsome son-of-a-bitch. But he played it cool. He wasn’t dumb like me. Rick didn’t rush into a second marriage.”

Bert found it increasingly difficult not to betray her visceral reaction to Walling. She couldn’t tell about Gardner because he was good at keeping his cool, but she had an idea that Gardner felt the same way. She also realized that Walling wasn’t aware of their reaction to him; he was too obtuse an asshole.

“Did any of Bradshaw’s former women friends dislike him?”

“Probably, but that doesn’t mean they’d kill him. I figure it was likely some mugger or drug addict.”

Gardner ignored the comment. “Do you know Cheryl McNeill?”

“Sure, Rick brought her over a couple of times and we went out with them once. Stuck-up bitch. She puts on airs. Wants everyone to think she’s a real lady. Never even laughed at any of my jokes, like they were too vulgar for her refined tastes. Shit, even Joan laughs at my jokes sometimes. Just to give you an idea of the kind of deadhead she is, Rick and her had some kind of fight at the pool club. He was supposed to come here that evening—I don’t know which broad he planned to bring. Anyway, he calls up and says he can’t make it. I could hear her yapping in the background: ‘don’t ask them to go out with us. I can’t stand that big blob of protoplasm.’ She didn’t care whether I heard her or not.”

“Did they patch things up?”

Walling shrugged. “I don’t know. Joan might. I didn’t get to talk with him after that. Like I said, I’m on the road a lot. I was away for a few days around that time.”

“Do you know April Nevins?”

“Who doesn’t?” The leering smile returned to Walling’s lips.

“What’s your impression of her?”

“A real nice piece of ass. Rick brought her over once. We had some drinks together. She was real lively, not a dull broad like Cheryl. She and Rick really put away the booze. And she laughed at my jokes. I don’t think I took my eyes off her the entire time. She was wearing this skimpy black dress with nothing underneath. What a bod!” Walling let out an appreciative sigh.

“Did you ever see her socially? That is, not in Bradshaw’s company?”

“Only at the pool. Don’t get me wrong. I’m human, but when my first wife and I weren’t hitting it off so good, I started visiting pros. A guy has to get it somewhere, right? Except that only caused me more trouble. I picked up a nasty case. It sobered me fast. I mean, it could have been something more serious, even deadly, if you catch my drift. I got real careful after that. The way I see it, April is an easy lay, just begging for it. I’m keeping away from the kind that sees too much action. Rick even told me he was using rubbers whenever he slept with her.”

Bert could tell by the expression on Gardner’s face that he’d taken all he could stand of Martin Walling for the present. Personally, she was grateful she hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

“Thank you, Mr. Walling. I would like to speak with your wife now.”

“Go right ahead. You sure I can’t get you a drink? Some nice cold beer maybe?”