The Drowning Pool (8 page)

“We’re still on duty,” Gardner replied.

“Well, I’ll just pour myself one. All this talk made me damn thirsty.”

Bert was already on her feet, quickly following Gardner out to the terrace. The beauty of the view immediately struck her. The terrace faced out on a huge, landscaped courtyard.

“Very nice here,” she commented to Mrs. Walling, who was resting her well-tanned legs on a stool.

“I find it relaxing to sit out by myself when I come home from work.” She spoke in a low monotone and avoided looking at either of them.

“Do you mind answering a few questions for us?” Gardner asked.

She yawned softly, almost deliberately. “No, but I doubt I know anything that could help your investigation.”

“Let us make that decision. Your husband mentioned the fact that you know April Nevins.”

“I know her but we’re not close friends.” Her manner remained distant.

“And Cheryl McNeill?”

“She’s also an acquaintance.”

“You do, however, know some of the more intimate details concerning their relationship to Mr. Bradshaw?”

“Neither one ever tried to conceal anything.” Joan Walling gave the impression that the conversation bored her, but Bert decided that might be a careful pose. She sensed wariness beneath the disinterested facade.

“Do you know if Ms. McNeill made up with Bradshaw after the incident at the pool?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“And he promised to marry her?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Did you speak to Bradshaw at any time after that? If so, did he confirm the story?”

“I didn’t see him, so I really don’t know.”

“What about Miss Nevins? Did Bradshaw break off with her after the pool incident?”

“They had a fight. I’m not exactly certain who did the breaking off. Probably it was a mutual thing. But I know it didn’t end on a friendly note. April was bitter.”

“Did she say why?”

“I told you everything I know.”

Her coldness didn’t deter Gardner; he kept after her. “Was Bradshaw seeing any other women besides those two?”

“None that I’m aware of, but then I don’t qualify as an expert on the life and times of Richard Bradshaw.”

“Do you think Bradshaw might have confided that kind of information to your husband?”

“Hardly. Martin is a blabbermouth. Rick was only open with people when it suited his purpose. I’ll admit we were both curious, but Rick kept his personal affairs pretty much to himself. Unlike my husband, he was discreet. I consider that sensible, don’t you?”

“Mrs. Walling, your husband mentioned being in debt. To your knowledge, did he ever borrow money from Mr. Bradshaw?”

She sat up straight in her chair, posture stiffening visibly.

“No, he didn’t owe Rick anything. I’m the one he always pesters for money. I think there’s something I ought to explain about my husband, since he does tend to give people distorted impressions. When we first married, I paid some of the outstanding bills. For example, I took care of the phone bill and had the line re-opened. Also, the utilities were in arrears. Martin’s salary is quite satisfactory. He doesn’t have to be in debt. He’s just totally irresponsible with money. He claims I’m stingy, but the truth is, he’s extravagant.”

“Extravagant in what respect?”

She was reluctant to answer, but Gardner wouldn’t let up. God, the guy was a regular pit bull!

“For instance, does he like to visit Atlantic City or the track?”

Mrs. Walling eyed Gardner sharply. “He doesn’t have a gambling problem, if that’s what you’re implying. Sure, he might play a little too much when he’s down there, but that’s typical of most people.”

Loses money he can’t afford to lose, Bert thought to herself. Walling’s financial situation opened all kinds of speculation. Money was always a strong motive for murder, maybe even more compelling than passion. Joan Walling looked nervous now, as if realizing that she’d told them too much.

“Could you go? I’m very tired. I really don’t have anything more to tell you about Rick.”

As they proceeded back through the apartment, Martin Walling grabbed Gardner’s arm with his fat, sweaty hand.

“I don’t want you getting a bad impression of me and Joan or thinking that we don’t get along. What I mean is, we have these little spats from time to time. I’ll take her out to dinner and she’ll forgive me. I know I shouldn’t dig her about being cheap, but it’s been eating at me. You understand how it is, don’t you? Anyway, I hope you find out who murdered Rick. He was one hell of a guy. And if I can be of any further help to you, just let me know.” He shook Gardner’s hand in a final effusive gesture.

The beefy paw did not extend to Bert, as if maybe Walling thought the darkness of her hand was caused by dirt that might just rub off on him. Prejudice took many forms, subtle and otherwise. Bert knew most of them well, but then wasn’t she just as prejudiced against the Wallings of this world? She wasn’t about to beat up on herself over it though. Walling deserved it. But she knew this was a form of rationalization. Prejudice didn’t need to be logical and rarely was.

SIX

Back at headquarters, Gardner began discussing the case with Bert St. Croix, fully aware she had barely spoken at all during his questioning of the Wallings.

“What do you think of Martin Walling?”

“Not much. He’s a slob, but I notice he never got around to lighting up that cigar.”

He smiled at Bert’s observation. “True. A small penance to pay for the fact that he humiliated his wife in front us.”

Bert nodded in agreement. “He’s got a very low opinion of women in general. You notice he didn’t talk to me, only to you. Then again, being a woman of color gave me a second strike.”

Gardner decided it was safer to change the subject. “Did you think they were telling the truth?”

“Hard to say. In spite of the fact that ol’ Martin’s got a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth, just like his wife said, I wouldn’t trust him to speak the truth any more than a snake oil salesman.”

“And his wife?”

“She was playing it close. Can’t say that I really care much either.” Bert’s eyes were dark and unfathomable.

“What worm’s eating on you?”

She didn’t answer him right away. Gardner understood instinctively that they’d arrived at a moment where St. Croix had to decide whether or not to trust him, and clearly, it wasn’t an easy decision for her to make.

“The whole case stinks. I hate it. All we do is talk. No action, no doing anything real. It’s like being buried alive.”

“Not exactly like New York, is it?”

“I’m used to being where there’s excitement, things happening. That’s my lifestyle. I’m out of my element here, and I feel damned useless. In New York, I felt like something was being accomplished, even if most of what I did proved futile in the long run. Even when I was scared and gone beyond my limits, the adrenalin rush made me feel real. At least, I was alive. I don’t find any challenge for me here. I don’t belong.” She ran her hand over braided hair as dark as a raven’s wing. “How could I expect you to understand? In all your life, have you ever had to shoot another man?”

“I served in the military. I’ve also been a policeman in the inner city, and yes, I’ve been forced to take several lives. Does that make me less of a wimp and more of a good cop in your eyes?”

She looked away, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Maybe some of the things I’ve seen and done have brutalized me, but I know I can’t take this sitting still very well. Don’t get me wrong. I know there are all kinds of ways to be a cop. I just wasn’t cut out to be a clerk and sit around typing out petty reports.”

“They also serve who only stand and wait.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Milton—now there was a fellow who could see without eyesight.”

“I didn’t know you were a literary scholar too,” she said in an amused tone of voice.

He shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “It’s Kim’s influence. She’s got me into reading some classics.”

Bert gave him a knowing smile.

“Look, we don’t always work on homicide cases around here. Usually, if there is one, it’s assigned to me. But like you said, this is just a small town police force. We handle everything. We also cover a lot of physical area, since there’s no teeming mass of people. A lot of the terrain is still farmland and forest, looking no different than it did fifty or a hundred years ago. So we don’t have the kind of violence and excitement that comes from policing an area of concentrated population. But things do happen around here, and your kind of police person is needed. Why don’t you give it a fair chance and try not to get too restless or impatient. Not yet anyway. This can work out for you. You couldn’t have been very happy in New York or you wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

A look of pain passed over her face. “It’s the memories that were killing me.” She didn’t seem willing to elaborate and Gardner had no desire to push. He respected the right to privacy. Whatever made Bert St. Croix so angry and restless was her own business as long as it didn’t interfere with her judgment on the job.

“We’re going to make a breakthrough on this case soon. I can feel it. Things aren’t as placid as they seem. It’s like that pool we found Bradshaw floating in. On the surface it’s clean, peaceful. But just get close enough, look down into the depths, and you can see the murky residue of slime undulating. We’re getting deeper into it all the time, and the truth is just waiting to be located.”

“E.S.P.?”

Gardner smiled. “Call it cop’s instinct. Want to make a call?”

“What call’s that?”

“To Bradshaw’s boss at Marcom Pharmaceuticals.”

“Sure, if you trust me to do the talking.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She took the card Gardner handed her. “You might as well listen in.”

Gardner nodded his head in agreement. He thought he felt the tension lessening between them. He wondered if he could keep things moving in that direction. Bert was beginning to open up to him, and that was a good sign. As she dialed the New York phone number, Gardner picked up on the extension. At the other end of the connection, a young woman’s voice answered wearily. Bert asked for Briscoe.

“The offices are closed for the day,” the receptionist said. Gardner glanced at his watch. He’d forgotten that it was well past six. Still, some executives did work late. Bert must have been thinking similarly because she identified herself and told the woman to ring through. On the fourth ring, a man picked up the phone and it turned out to be Briscoe.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “I don’t usually stay here this late but we had an important conference.”

“Concerning Mr. Bradshaw?”

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. He won’t be easy to replace.”

“We’re conducting an investigation into Mr. Bradshaw’s death and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“I was just leaving,” Briscoe responded in a tired voice. “I don’t think we ought to discuss this matter over the phone. Why don’t you make an appointment with my secretary and come by the office one day this week.”

Gardner made a note of the man’s reluctance to talk. But Bert wasn’t buying it; she kept after Briscoe.

“The questions are pretty standard. They’ll only take a few minutes. I’d rather not waste the time traveling back and forth to the city unless it’s absolutely necessary. Tell you what, if you aren’t sure of my identity, just phone back to Webster Township Police Headquarters and ask for Detective Bert St. Croix.”

There was a deep sigh at the other end of the line. “No, I guess it’s all right. What do you want to know anyway?”

“Why did Bradshaw come east?”

“We needed him here. He was good at his job. Certain districts haven’t been functioning properly. Profits are down. We thought Bradshaw could shore things up for us, make some useful recommendations, that sort of thing.”

“And did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Was he finished with the assignment at the time of his death?”

There was a long pause. “Not entirely.”

“What about Martin Walling’s district? Were his profits down?”

“Things weren’t going well for Martin lately, even though he has a solid area. But Bradshaw hadn’t made any suggestions concerning him yet. Of course, I’ve known Martin for years and I’m well aware of his problem.”

“Which is?”

“His divorce, naturally. It drained his energy and concentration for quite a time. We’re hoping that the situation will improve now that he’s remarried. Bradshaw informed us that Martin’s new wife is very ambitious for his advancement. She ought to prove a good influence.”

“Walling have any other problems?”

Another reluctant pause. “There was something else. We’ve had thefts from our warehouses in Martin’s district. Some valuable drug shipments were stolen. As a result, delivery dates were set back and a few clients cancelled their orders with us in favor of other companies. It’s a highly competitive business.”

“Were the thieves ever caught?”

“No. the police told us that the robberies were well executed. Professional jobs, they said.”

Bert threw a meaningful glance at Gardner, indicating that she thought Walling was looking more in the nature of a likely suspect all the time.

“Did Bradshaw have any enemies you were aware of?”

“None. He was well liked. The fact is, we’re really sorry about losing him around here. He was one of our best. Clever mind, charming personality, a salesman’s salesman. He knew the business from every aspect. Was there anything else?”

“No, that’s it, Mr. Briscoe, but we may have to contact you again.”

“Feel free—just don’t call me this late in the day next time.”

The line went dead and Bert hung up.

“What do you think?”

Gardner met her gaze. “You were very good. Handled him just right. As for Walling, I agree with what you’re thinking. He may very well have fingered those jobs. It’s obvious he needed money.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “His first wife was making demands and his second disappointed him.”

“Joan Walling’s not exactly a benevolent benefactor. Still, I don’t know how easy it would be to connect Martin with the thefts.” Gardner didn’t want to get side-tracked.