The Killing Edge (13 page)

“I suppose this means that you don't love me anymore.”

“Oh, get out. Go lubricate a chassis or something.”

“Yes, sir.” He walked out the door and then stuck his head back in. “You want to chain me in the service area, or do I get the honor system?”

“Tell them they're all going to lose the pool,” she yelled at the door as it closed.

The laughter within her died as she shook her head at the incorrigible service manager. Her life was becoming far more complicated than she wished. Five years of obsessive work broken only by the thrill of driving fast cars had been replaced by murder, a man who admired her and whom she might love, and an impossible fantasy over another man. “Oh, boy,” she said aloud and briefly considered retreating into a grease pit.

“Chief Barnes is here to see you,” Jane Ellen's strained voice said over the intercom.

Will slammed the door as he entered and she winced and thought of the grease pit again. “I have a few words for you,” he said.

“You'll have to form a line to the right.”

His tone changed as he became more solicitous. “What's the matter? You look … odd.”

“It's been an odd couple of days.”

“I'll bet it has. I thought you might like to know that Pat called me from Hartford and filled me in. Your large bouncer friend was released from custody early this morning. When he went back to his room he fell down the stairs … twice.”

The past day's frustrations welled to the surface. “That's nice, Will. That's really nice. And just how does someone fall down a flight of stairs twice?”

“Use your imagination.”

“I don't care for what I'm imagining.”

“For Christ's sake, L.C. I'm a cop, and Pat was one of your father's oldest friends. What do you expect to happen when some joker smacks you around and rips off your clothes? He didn't do anything more, did he?”

“No.”

“That joker has a history of beating up women. Maybe now he'll think twice.”

“Did it ever occur to you that Mauve Bridger was beaten before being brutally murdered? And that Stanley Peckham was fired from a job because he tried to make out with her?”

“Forget it.”

“I won't forget it.”

She turned rigid and stepped away as he put his arms around her. “What's the matter?”

“I don't like what you had done to that man.”

“He's a slob and you're my fiance.”

“What did you say?”

“My fiance.”

“Since when?”

“Since just now. Come on, L.C. The kids need you, I need you. It's time for both of us to stop this interminable period of mourning. Get your head out from under car hoods and live like an ordinary person.”

“I appreciate you, Will. Sometimes I love you, but you don't know where it's at.”

His anger returned. “I sure in hell know it isn't running over God's creation looking for killers in dives like the Hot Line. I thought your craving for excitement was over when you stopped racing.”

“I didn't stop, I was stopped. I can't drive properly with my leg.”

“Then quit trying to make it up by looking into police business.”

“I don't notice anyone else looking anywhere.”

“You were wrong.”

“How come?”

“Pat checked it out. On the night of the murder Stanley Peckham clocked in for work at 8:22. He couldn't have gotten from Lantern City to Hartford in time.”

“Oh,” She sat down desolately. “Then you still think it was Raleigh?”

“As a matter of fact, I'm not so sure. Pathology came in with reports that shows the sperm doesn't match. If Mauve had relations that day, it wasn't with Raleigh. However, I'm not ruling out the possibility that he found out she was playing around and that's why he knocked her off.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Run background on Mauve Bridger, make a check on known sex offenders, anything else I can think of. O.K., will that satisfy you?”

“It's a start.”

“How about dinner tonight at my house? The kids would love to see you.”

“I'm dead, but I'll try. Can I call you later?”

“Sure. But try, will you, hon?”

She leaned back in the chair when he left and closed her eyes. Stanley seemed to be ruled out. All the effort of yesterday had been futile. Or had it. Stanley said he'd been fired because the owner of the boat was involved with Mauve also. She pulled the rumpled photograph from her pocket. She'd forgotten to tell Will about it, but that could be done tonight.

L.C. dialed the Coast Guard.

Lt. Oliver Williams, U.S.C.G., called her back just before noon. L.C. was in the shop immersed in an interesting electrical problem on a 74 Caddy when Jane Ellen paged her to the phone. She took the call in the parts room, temporarily usurping Eddie's place at the small desk. She noticed that he'd mounted a sampler over the desk next to the calendar. ‘Happiness is—fast cars, easy women, and beer on the side.' She shook her head.

“L.C., Ollie Williams,” the bright voice said cheerily. “Your boat is registered to a Hallman Warren out of Long Island.”

She wrote the name on a scratch pad. “I know a Hal Warren who lives in Lantern City.”

“He might, but his boat lives on Long Island. Hey, I have box seats for the New England Whalers hockey team tonight. We could grab a steak and make a night of it.”

“That's nice,” L.C. said absently as she wrote 79 Bentley under Hal Warren's name.

“Pick you up at six?”

“How's Cynthia, Ollie?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “She's fine. Out visiting her folks in Iowa this week.”

“That's what I thought. Keep the home fires burning, and thanks for the information.”

“Maybe another time, huh?”

“Maybe.” The connection was broken. She looked down at the name on the pad. She had met Hal Warren and his wife, Dore, a few times at large parties, and had serviced their cars for years. She tried to picture the couple. They lived in a large house on the far end of the point overlooking the Sound, and they were quite wealthy. Hal had some sort of independent income and didn't hold a job. He was a handsome man of the old school, tall with a small moustache. Dore was a fading blond. L.C. found a rumpled telephone directory in the center drawer of the desk, located Warren's number and dialed.

“The number you have dialed has been changed to an unlisted number.”

“Oh, come on. I'm busy.”

“The listing may not be given out. If you have any questions, I shall refer you to my supervisor.”

“Look. It's been a terrible morning. In fact, yesterday wasn't so hot either. I've got to have that number.”

“I am sorry. If you wish to speak to my supervisor …”

L.C. slammed down the receiver and left the garage by the side door. She slid the Ferrari out of the lot and drove toward the point.

The Warren house was the largest on the point. It perched on a white sea wall that hung over the water. L.C. turned into the drive and stopped by the door.

The nose of a Bentley was squashed against the side of the house between two snow-covered bushes beside the door. Whoever had driven the car last hadn't turned when the drive did. She rang the bell and shook her head, estimating the front end body work at $900.

The door was opened by a uniformed maid with an English accent. “If you've come for the auto, the keys are in the ignition.”

“Mrs. Warren, please,” L.C. said and shivered. She had come off without her jacket.

“Mrs. Warren is indisposed. You may send your billing to the trust department of the bank.”

“Tell her it's L.C. Converse, and may I please come in? It's cold out here.” She stepped through the door and stood in the vestibule. The maid gave her a sharp sidelong look and disappeared to the inner recesses of the house.

Eventually she was led the length of the house to a long room with numerous windows overlooking the water. It must be called the game room, she thought, observing the pool table, card table, and paneling. Against the far wall were a leather covered bar and a large trophy case.

Dore Warren sat at the bar with a drink in front of her. Her profusion of blond hair was piled on top of her head, but several strands straggled across her cheeks. She was a large woman, close to six feet tall, and built in proportion. As she neared forty, her hips had filled and stretched the tight pants she wore. Her eyes were slightly out of focus as L.C. approached, and she spoke with the careful enunciation of the near drunk.

“Nice of you to drop in, L.C. Now, I knew that jump suits were the ‘in' thing, but coveralls, and that quaint embroidery …”

L.C. blushed. “I came from work and didn't change. I tried to call you, Dore, but the phone is unlisted.”

“Yes, isn't it?”

“I dropped over to invite you and Hal to a small party I'm having next week. A few friends and interesting people.”

“Won't you have a drink? I don't usually drink so early in the day unless it's a special occasion, and luckily I have a lot of special occasions. Today we're celebrating the end of the snow storm. Isn't that nice?” She poured a stiff drink from a bottle of bourbon, and delicately plunked in an ice cube from a silver bucket. “I do believe the bourbon is finished, but we have most anything else. We always have lots of everything else.”

“I thought perhaps you and Hal …”

“You haven't heard? You must be the only one in town who hasn't. I thought it was common knowledge.”

“I don't understand.”

“Why, we're separated. The inestimable Hallman Warren has removed himself from our mutual bed and board, although I think he left the bed part a while ago.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Have a little drink. I hate drinking alone. Luckily, I don't hate it too much.”

“A martini would be nice.”

“Yes, wouldn't it.” The large blond stepped carefully down from the bar stool, and with one hand trailing along the edge of the bar, walked behind it and began to mix an extra large martini. “I can't seem to find the goddamn olives. He probably took them with him.”

L.C. sat on a stool. “That's all right. I really should have realized about Hal, but I saw his boat at the marina last summer. Now that I think of it, it was registered out-of-state.”

“He returned for a few weeks to wind up his affairs, so to speak. And believe me, affairs are something he had plenty of.”

“Perhaps you could come alone.”

Dore raised her glass. “Here's to coming alone.”

“Where's Hal now?”

“I wish he was in a coffin, but the last I heard he had an apartment somewhere in Manhattan and keeps his floating harem out on the Island. We don't have much contact, the checks come every month from the bank, and our lawyers talk a lot.”

L.C. tried to laugh. “It seems that half my friends are divorced these days.”

“I'll drink to that too.”

“I saw your car outside.”

“I wanted to park it in the dining room, but the walls were too thick.”

L.C. slid off the stool and walked over to examine the trophy case. There seemed to be twenty or thirty skating trophies in the name of Schwaglen. “Schwaglen?”

“My maiden name.”

“I didn't know you were a skater, Dore.”

“One of my many attributes. I went to the Olympics, you know. Placed tenth in figure when I was only sixteen. They said I'd be a gold medal winner someday if I kept going.… I kept going all right—I kept growing. Fat figure skaters don't win gold medals.”

“You're built in proportion.”

“And what proportions. I turned professional and went into the Ice Capades. I played a duck.”

“A duck?”

“A big duck. One of those things that fits over your head and body and you look out through two holes in the neck. Too bad Hal came along. They said they might let me be the Yeti because my legs were so strong. That's how I met Hal. He was a veritable ice-door Johnny, said he wanted to get in bed with someone with legs as strong as mine. They're still strong, feel them.” She came out from behind the bar and placed one leg up on a stool rung. “Give it a punch.”

“A punch?”

“Still hard as a rock.”

L.C. felt the corded and hard thigh muscles of the large woman. “They are.”

“I still keep in shape, or at least I used to.” She sat down and tried to focus on L.C. “You're a widow, so you know what it's like.”

“You get used to being alone.”

“Do you? It's been eight months since he left, and I'm not used to it. That's why I ran the car into the wall Monday night. I'd been asked out, and that doesn't happen too often these days, to the Brewers' for cocktails. Marcia Brewer thought that I had a thing for her husband and told me as much. They all think I have a thing for their men, and the men are as bad. Because I like a drink and am getting a divorce, they think I'm available for fun and games. Maybe they aren't so far wrong. One day I'm going to find a live one, and gone I'll be.”

“I've had a little of the fun and games bit,” L.C. replied remembering the call from the Coast Guard Lieutenant, and also that Monday was the night of Mauve's murder. “It was snowing so hard that night, I can understand about the car. You were lucky to get home at all.”

The big blond shrugged. “I wouldn't know. I don't remember.”

“You heard about Mauve?”

“That bitch. It was only a question of time until her husband found out.”

“You mean that she played around?”

“She invented the term. Just like her to get caught two weeks before I needed her in court. She was the corespondent, you know.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Caught the two of them on the boat last spring. They hadn't even bothered to take it away from the marina. I walked in the stateroom, and there they were.”