Acid Bath

by Nancy Herndon

  She knew Beltran. Only positive proof that someone else had killed Gus would change his mind. And she didn’t have it. Even tonight’s vandalism couldn’t be tied to the Bonaventuras. If they’d done it, they’d be too professional to leave fingerprints, just as there was no evidence of forced entry. Elena was sure the Bonaventuras could get into any house they wanted, but then so could Frank, and he’d know enough not to leave prints.

  “Ah, Detective Jarvis — “ The young patrolman interrupted her thoughts. “Your ex-husband is outside. He wants to — “

  “Arrest him,” Elena snarled. “He’s been playing games for months. No matter what the message says.” She nodded her head toward the mirror. “He could have done it. He’s a narc. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the kid, backing up.

  How long had he been out of the academy?” she wondered. Two weeks?

  Some fun drunk, she thought bitterly when everyone had gone — the burglary detective on night duty, the I.D. & R. people taking pictures and dusting for prints. Tomorrow she’d feel worse than she did today, and tomorrow she’d have to — Elena gulped back tears again. No use to think about Sarah. Elena trailed into her bedroom, which was untouched. Why? she wondered. Did the Bonaventuras respect a lady’s bedroom? Did Frank think he could get into her bed if he left it intact? She stripped down to her underwear, didn’t bother with nightclothes, and slept with her gun under her pillow, just in case someone came back to trash the rest of the house.

  Just before sleep overcame her, Elena remembered Karl Bonnard talking about women “losing it.” Could tonight’s interrogation have tipped Sarah over the edge? Could the chaos in the living room — No, that was crazy. For one thing, “bitch” probably wasn’t in Sarah’s vocabulary. For another, how could Sarah have known that Elena wouldn’t be home? Anyway, Sarah was under surveillance until the warrant came through. No one could accuse her of vandalism, just murder.

  Twenty-seven

  * * *

  Thursday, May 28, 11:03 A.M.

  “Colin, welcome to Herbert Hobart.” Sarah rose from her desk to shake his hand, hoping hers wasn’t clammy. She’d been terrified all morning that the police would come for her. Maybe the fact that they hadn’t, meant they weren’t going to. Maybe they’d found the murderer. Oh God, she hoped so. Here was Colin looking so handsome, intelligent, and likable, and how was she to concentrate on his visit?

  Sarah couldn’t believe this was happening to her. It was like those morning nightmares that were interrupted by the alarm before they got too awful. However, this one seemed determined to drag on past its time. She took a deep breath and smiled at Colin. “I’ve — ah — registered you at the Camino Real — downtown, which should be pleasant if — if you’re fond of mildly historic places.” Get hold of yourself, Sarah. She clenched her teeth hard and concentrated on serenity.

  “Just so they have hard beds,” Colin replied, smiling and holding her hand a second or two longer than necessary.

  Sarah waved him to a chair and returned to hers, tucking into her purse the name and telephone number of a criminal attorney which she’d just got from her lawyer. “Have you had a chance to look over the H.H.U. brochure?” she asked.

  “Yes, very impressive, except that it doesn’t mention the average S.A.T. score.”

  “We try to look at each student as an individual,” said Sarah dryly, feeling better as she settled into her role as job interviewer.

  “That low, is it?”

  “It’s about 950,” she admitted. “As I said, we have the money to hire post-docs, and some of our students are actually very bright.”

  “Which means their reason for coming here was . . . ?”

  “Looking for plush living and a good time. Getting kicked out somewhere else. Not for cheating; we don’t take cheaters. But if they’re rich enough, we’ll accept the intelligent but excessively — ah — lecherous, or — mischievous.”

  “O.K., I get the picture. Just how much money is there for postdoctoral fellows? And what are the chances for a graduate program in the near future?”

  “It’s been discussed, but not implemented. Maybe you’d like to see our equipment. It’s more impressive than the student body, although there’s one thing you can say for them. They’re well-dressed.”

  “And well-housed, and well-served. I didn’t miss that bit about the best maid-to-student ratio in the country.”

  As they rose to leave the office, Sarah remarked, “You must have left in the middle of the night to get here before noon.”

  “I don’t sleep much anyway.” He opened the door for Sarah, and they confronted Elena Jarvis and Leo Weizell.

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face.

  Elena, looking rather haggard, glanced at Colin, and Leo said, in a very formal tone, “Dr. Tolland, we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Angus McGlenlevie.”

  From the corner of her eye Sarah saw Colin Stuart’s mouth drop open.

  Elena read Sarah her rights while Leo took out the handcuffs. “You have the right to remain silent . . . ”

  It was all going too fast, and she’d been taken by surprise, after all. Panic-stricken, Sarah glanced at her secretary’s desk. Dear God, Virginia was out. Pulling away from the handcuffs, she opened her purse to retrieve the slip of paper. Detective Weizell grabbed her hand, his grip rough and forceful, as if she’d threatened him.

  “I’m getting my lawyer’s name and address,” she said, “not a weapon.” He took the purse away from her. “In the zip pocket,” she said anxiously. Surely they wouldn’t keep her from contacting a lawyer? She couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

  Detective Weizell ran the short zipper and fished out the note that read “From the desk of Sarah Tolland,” then the name and telephone number in her neat, legible script. Sarah turned to Colin Stuart and, not meeting his eyes, murmured, “I’m terribly sorry about this, but could you call the number on that slip of paper, explain the situation to the lawyer, and ask him to meet me — where are we going, Detective Weizell?” Sarah couldn’t bear to look at Elena. She hoped her sometime friend had spent as bad a night as her face indicated.

  “Headquarters at Five Points,” Elena replied.

  Sarah didn’t acknowledge her by look or voice. “Ask him to meet me at Police Headquarters at Five Points,” she said to Colin.

  “What the hell is the situation?” asked Colin, looking completely dumbfounded.

  “I’m being arrested for the murder of my ex-husband, a crime I didn’t commit.” Sarah raised her chin, controlled the tendency of her lips to tremble, and widened her eyes at the corners because she knew that controlled tears. She also knew how she looked — cool and calm. People were always telling her that. “How can you be so calm, Sarah, when the lab is in a shambles?” “You have no feelings, Sarah. Here John may die, and you’re as cool as ice.” Much they knew, she thought bitterly.

  “In fact, the murder probably occurred while I was sitting in the hotel cocktail lounge in Chicago with you,” she continued to Colin Stuart, “or while I was giving my paper — who knows? They don’t seem to.” She shot a resentful glance at Leo and Elena. How could they do this? They had to know she wouldn’t kill Gus. Elena, at least, had to. Maybe Elena looked so terrible because she did know but had been overruled by a superior. On the other hand, maybe she was hung over. Maybe last night she’d been out celebrating the upcoming arrest.

  “Anyway, could you make the call? Virginia ought to be back any minute. Have her contact Karl Bonnard, and he’ll take over your visit.” By that time Sarah was in handcuffs and leaving the office. They were delayed only momentarily by Virginia’s arrival in the doorway.

  “What in the world?” she exclaimed, looking from Sarah’s face to the detectives.

  “I’ve been arrested. Get hold of Karl,” Sarah instructed. “Have him take over the schedule I’ve set up for Dr. Stuart. Dr. Stuart has the telephone number of a lawyer. Perhaps you could make
that call for me, Virginia. No use embarrassing our guest any more than necessary.” See Mother, Sarah thought, even in handcuffs I’ve taken care of all the social amenities.

  “Sarah, we have to go now,” said Elena, and they went.

  Twenty-eight

  * * *

  Thursday, May 28, 11:20 A.M.

  “If you’re hoping for a confession, you won’t get one because I did not kill Angus,” said Sarah as Leo put his hand on her head and ushered her into the caged back seat of the car. Ordinarily they would have taken her to headquarters for interrogation first, but she told them pointedly that she would say nothing further without her lawyer present. Students on the sidewalk stared as the car pulled away from the building.

  Leo drove directly downtown to the Los Santos County Detention Facility, parked across the street, and they walked Sarah down the ramp into the cage where they would have parked if they’d had a violent prisoner under arrest instead of Sarah. Handcuffed behind her back, looking much less controlled, Sarah complained that her lawyer would not know where she was, since she had, on their assurance, left a message that she would be at Police Headquarters.

  “It was your choice to go directly to jail, ma’am,” said Leo. He was taking his gun from its holster and depositing it in a lock box.

  “None of this was my choice,” she cried.

  “We’ll call Five Points to tell them where you are,” said Elena soothingly. She kept her back turned and divested herself of her own firearm, unable to watch as Sarah’s nerves frayed.

  Then they took her inside to the jail magistrate, where the bailiff instructed her to stand on the brass plate in front of the bench after she’d sat waiting impatiently on a chair to the side while bail-reduction hearings were conducted in a small courtroom crowded with prisoners, attorneys, A.D.A.’s, security personnel, and witnesses.

  When the judge started to advise Sarah of her rights, she told him stiffly that she had already been Mirandized.

  “Don’t interrupt me, madam,” said the magistrate. “There are other rights you may not know about,” and he went on to mention a bond-reduction hearing.

  Sarah said, “Good. I’ll certainly want one of those.”

  The judge nodded. “The state is entitled to three days’ notice on homicide cases, so you can wait the three days — “

  “In jail?” she asked, horrified.

  “In jail,” he replied. “Or you can bond out on the bail already set. If you pay cash, a bond-reduction hearing might be worth your while. You could get some of your money back before you stand trial — that’s providing I reduce the bond. If you use a corporate bond, which is to say a bail bondsman, you won’t get your money back, so a reduction hearing would be a waste of time. Now, if I may go on to other rights, madam.”

  Sarah interrupted him again when he listed an examining trial. “What’s that?” she asked.

  He squinted at her. “Examination of the evidence in case some judge wants to dismiss the charges.”

  “I want one of those,” said Sarah. “Since I didn’t kill Angus McGlenlevie, there’s bound to be a lack of evidence.”

  “It’s your right, madam,” said the judge, “although dismissal of charges is unusual, and of course, the police can recharge you. Also an examining trial is held only if you’re not indicted within thirty days. The District Attorney’s office will give your attorney access to their files anyway, so you’ll know what evidence they have against you.”

  “That should be instructional,” Sarah muttered bitterly. Her face set as she listened to the rest of what he had to say. Then Elena touched her elbow and guided her to Booking on the second floor, over blue floors molded with endless small circles, past blue doors, through a brown door on the right.

  “Damn,” Elena muttered under her breath when she saw how many arrestees there were to be processed. She motioned Sarah through an orange door and told her to wait there.

  “There are no chairs,” said Sarah, eyeing the other occupants of the room nervously. None of them looked even marginally respectable in comparison to Sarah’s conservative, well-groomed, suited figure.

  “It’s O.K. They’re all handcuffed,” Elena murmured.

  “So am I,” said Sarah, giving Elena an indignant look, then turning her back.

  Elena stood outside with Leo, thinking about how Sarah would take the booking procedure. She almost wished she didn’t have to stay. On the other hand, as upset as Sarah was, the presence of someone she knew might make the process a little easier for her. An hour passed before they could present Sarah at the property window, where her handcuffs were removed, her purse handed over by Leo, and all the contents inventoried. The sheriff’s officer told her to take off her jewelry, her high heels, even her suit jacket. She was asked if she had anything in her pockets and replied that her pockets were in the jacket. Sarah asked to have her eyeglasses returned, and the officer said, “You see those signs?” She looked at the red signs hanging beside the window. “Read them for me please, ma’am.”

  “Keep hands off counter.” “Officers must stay for the end of booking.”

  The officer nodded. “You don’t need the glasses,” and he listed them on the inventory and continued, “One yellow metal watch.”

  “Gold,” said Sarah.

  “Well, we don’t know that. One white metal ring with clear stones.”

  “Platinum and diamonds,” said Sarah.

  The officer finished listing her possessions. “Now ma’am, if you’ll step to the left side, put your hands against the wall and move your feet back and out, we have to do a search.”

  Sarah looked at him in horrified astonishment. Elena swallowed as a female officer was called from behind the long, dark red counter. Sarah had to be coached into the position and turned her head sharply, starting to move when the officer ran her hands up under Sarah’s skirt.

  “Face the wall, ma’am,” said the woman. “I’m almost through here.”

  Elena could see the muscles tensing in Sarah’s jaw. Then she was led to the right side of the property window and her small nyloned feet placed within the large outlines of feet painted on the floor. “Look at the jailbird, ma’am,” said the photographer and snapped the four-shot Polaroid which produced four small color photos of a wild-eyed Sarah in a businesslike blouse, every gray-blond hair in place. “Nice picture,” said the photographer. “If it’s any consolation, you don’t look like a murderer.” Sarah looked like a woman on the edge.

  Elena watched nervously as another sheriff’s officer turned Sarah away from the camera and walked her to the curve in the dark red counter where he rolled ink onto a pad that looked like black linoleum and pressed each of her fingers onto the inked surface, then onto the fingerprint form. “There you go, ma’am,” he said, and walked her toward a line of holding cells that faced the long, high counter.

  Elena stepped forward. “Maybe she could sit out here on the bench,” Elena suggested, having glanced at the four women in the holding cell. Several of them looked as if they might have murdered someone, one in self-defense if her battered condition was any indication.

  “Why, she want to make a phone call now?”

  “Why don’t you call your lawyer, Sarah,” said Elena.

  Panic flashed in Sarah’s eyes. “I can’t remember his name. If I call my regular lawyer, will that mean I can’t call the criminal lawyer later?”

  “No, of course not. Go ahead and make your call.” Sarah punched out the number on the wall phone between holding cells and then dropped down on the bench with the receiver pressed to her ear. Elena watched the alarm spread over her face. Evidently the lawyer was in court, and his secretary didn’t seem to know the name of the criminal attorney he had recommended. Sarah’s hands were shaking when she stood to hang up the wall phone.