Acid Bath

by Nancy Herndon

  “The hell I was. What are you talkin’ about? Me an’ the cowgirl? Don’t ever let Concepcion hear you say that. Anyway, it was Escobedo who was taken with Daguerre. He asked me this morning if I thought she’d go out with someone shorter than she was. So just watch what you say around my wife.”

  “Hey, Leo, I was just kidding. Concepcion’s not really mad at you, is she?”

  “Nah. It’s just that she turned up not pregnant for the zillionth time.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, go to a doctor and find out why.”

  “She did. No reason.”

  “So you go.”

  “Jeez, Elena, do you know what they’re going to expect me to do?”

  “Sure.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “A quarter says I do.”

  “Done.”

  “Jack off in a paper cup.”

  Leo groaned and handed her the quarter. “Don’t tell me you and Frank wanted to have a kid, and he had to — “

  “Frank didn’t even want a dog unless it could sniff out drugs and was at least moderately vicious — that’s except for the time he wanted me to quit the force and couldn’t think of any way to talk me into it unless he got me pregnant. The s.o.b.”

  “Which means you’re still pissed, huh? Is that in general? Or about your house?”

  “Both. And especially with Beltran. I hope someone trashes his house,” she muttered. “Then he’ll see how easy it is to get over it.”

  “Face it, kiddo. If your mother was over at Providence Memorial being given the last rites by the bishop, Beltran would have made you bust Sarah Tolland. He figured he was teaching you a lesson.”

  “I know it. I guess I should be glad he didn’t hear about our night on the town.”

  “Yeah. Think positive. He’s really riding the tails of the guys investigating the break-in at your place.”

  “He probably thinks they’ll find Sarah’s prints.”

  “Right. He looks for Sarah’s and finds Frank’s.”

  Elena shook her head. “Frank wouldn’t leave prints. I’m not even sure he’s mean enough to slash my mother’s upholstery, not when I haven’t done anything spectacular to set him off.”

  “What then? Random break-in?”

  “With that message? And nothing stolen? I realize I don’t have much, but ordinary thieves would have taken the TV and the hi-fi stuff instead of destroying them. My money’s on the Bonaventuras. Fernie’s asking around.”

  “Jeez, honey, I hope you’re wrong. Fat Joe Bonaventura’s probably got more high-paid thugs on his payroll than we have cops in the whole city. You seen Beltran since we arrested your buddy?”

  Elena shook her head. “You know we don’t have that great a case. Makes me wonder whether Beltran really did push for Sarah’s arrest to teach me a lesson about getting involved with suspects.”

  “I was kidding about that. Beltran just wants this mess off the books — fast.” Leo leaned back in his chair, his face serious, and said, “Basically the man’s got a soft spot for you, Elena. If he’d had a daughter instead of four worthless sons, you’d be his choice.”

  “Oh, right. He’s gonna hold up my promotion. Bring me before a review board. Real fatherly.”

  “So, some fathers are hard-nosed. Stay out of it, babe. You’re in enough hot water for being friends with a ferocious, cold-blooded poet-whapper. If it weren’t for our brilliant police work, she’d probably have gone on killing poets for years — decades — “

  “Oh, shut up.” Elena grinned at the idea of Sarah Tolland, serial poet-killer. Leo was such an endearing fool. “Sarah’s no more guilty than you are.”

  “Well, I’m not much on poetry. If I was actually forced to listen to some, I might snuff the poet.”

  “For two weeks I’ve been feeling bad because I thought maybe she killed him,” said Elena, “but did you see the expression on her face when she heard about the bones in the tub? She didn’t kill anyone.”

  Thirty-one

  * * *

  Friday, May 29, 11:15 A.M.

  Sarah had a meeting with her lawyer at mid-morning. She had authorized her bank to deposit twenty thousand dollars with the bonding company and had put up stocks and bonds as collateral to cover the rest, using her inheritance from her father to finance her release, which Oliver Formalee assured her would occur by noon. Much to her surprise, Karl Bonnard had come to visit her the night before, offering to co-sign her bond with his house as collateral. Of course, Sarah had refused to let him do that, but she considered the offer extraordinarily kind and felt conscience-stricken that she hadn’t liked the man better over the three years of their association.

  Formalee, a slender man in his middle years with gray hair and eyes, wearing a gray suit and tie, had already sent an associate to the District Attorney’s office to look at the police and case files. “This D.A.’s more open with information than most,” he told Sarah and pointed out that he’d begin by calling into question the identification of the remains.

  Sarah nodded. “They asked me about dentists and fillings. Gus didn’t have either.”

  Formalee made a note. “They have computer evidence that this unslaked lime was rerouted on the evening of May first around nine o’clock, but they can’t tie that absolutely to you.”

  Sarah nodded. “In fact, I can probably account for my time that night. I think I was giving a speech, but I’d have to check my calendar.”

  “They have it. I’ll send my associate back for the information. Then they say your address in Boston was deleted.”

  Before he could check his notes for the date, Sarah pointed out that she’d come back to town early. “So the deletion means nothing.”

  Formalee agreed. “Then there’s the snail thing, but it’s not very impressive. The detective didn’t take it seriously enough to pursue the case at the time, and I doubt they can get it admitted at trial.”

  Sarah was relieved that he wasn’t going to ask her about the snail.

  “Various people think you had reason to kill him, but that hardly means you did. The most damaging piece of evidence relates to your presence at the scene of the crime.”

  “I’ve never been in his apartment.”

  Formalee’s eyes narrowed. “They found your fingerprints there.”

  “That’s impossible!” cried Sarah, her heart starting to race.

  “On a framed photograph.”

  “But — “ How could that be? “A photograph of what?”

  “I don’t know, but I suppose I can find out. The point is, they have evidence that you were there, although you’ve told them you never were. That looks bad.”

  “The wedding picture!” said Sarah. “When we were dividing up the property, he asked who got the wedding picture, and I handed it to him. But — but surely, it must have been dusted since then. It’s been forever.”

  Formalee frowned. “Weak. I’ll have to see if he had a maid. How rigorous she was about cleaning. The fingerprints can hurt us. The jury will think you wiped off other prints and forgot those.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  Colin Stuart met her on the first floor after the interminable bonding-out process. Sarah was amazed at how many times they checked to be sure they were really releasing Sarah Tolland and not some other person. They checked her face against the photos, her fingerprints; they asked questions only she could answer. They checked out every single item they’d taken from her during booking, including three bobby pins from her handbag. It took so long, she was trembling with weariness and hunger by the time she emerged on the first floor and saw Colin waiting for her. And she was touched by his support. The man hardly knew her, yet he’d visited her last night and come again this afternoon.

  “Did Karl take good care of you yesterday?” Sarah asked, trying to resume a mantle of professional dignity as they walked across the lobby.

  “Actually, last night at dinner,” said Stuart, “he seemed more interested in what
I could do for him than what he could do for me. Yesterday afternoon he was in a big hurry to see the dean. He interrupted the tour every ten minutes to try again for an appointment.” Stuart held the door for her, and they went down the ramp to the street. “Once he got one, he turned me over to someone in Physics, who was pretty surprised to find himself recruiting for E.E.” Stuart took her arm as they stopped at the street corner for the traffic light. “I suppose he could be serious about wanting to free you to defend yourself, but I’m usually suspicious of people who advance their own interests while claiming to be doing the loser a favor.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bonnard suggesting to the dean that he be appointed chair, whether or not you got out on bail.”

  “But he offered to put his house up as collateral so I could get out.”

  “Did you accept?” asked Stuart, looking puzzled.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well, your secretary was in a flat-out fury about his conversation with the dean. She was going to call you about it, but I gather she didn’t get through.”

  Sarah sighed. Virginia had probably expected to make the call to Sarah’s apartment. Maybe you couldn’t call people in jail. Probably not. And Bonnard. Offering to co-sign her bond while he was going after her job.

  “Bonnard probably knows you well enough to know you wouldn’t accept the offer. I wouldn’t be too grateful to him if I were you.”

  “What did the dean say?” she asked, overcome with a sense of bleak premonition. Already this was interfering with the most important thing in her life, her career.

  “Nothing, I gather. He’s thinking it over. Bonnard got quite defensive at dinner last night when I asked him about it. He hadn’t counted on the dean’s secretary passing the news to your secretary.”

  “Then he should have known better. The secretaries’ grapevine knows everything. The English Department secretary probably knows who killed Gus,” Sarah added bitterly. They had walked along Overland and now took an elevator to the seventh floor of the county courthouse parking garage.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” said Colin. “Virginia gave me your car keys so I could pick you up.”

  “Good heavens, she must like you!”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Just unusual,” Sarah murmured as she started her BMW and began the slow, circular roll to the pay booth on the first floor. “Do you know anything else about Bonnard and the dean?”

  “Bonnard says he’s doing it for your sake, because you’ll need to devote your time and resources to a strong defense. I gather he suggested that you be given a leave of absence.”

  Bonnard had said nothing about any of this to her. Had that omission been a kindness? Or an attempt to grab her job before she could protect herself? Colin leaned across and paid the parking fee because the jail had returned her money in check form instead of cash. She shook her head at the impression all of this must be making on him.

  Initially she had felt sadness over Gus’s death. Now, as her troubles multiplied, she felt the old anger reviving. What the devil had he done to get himself killed, and why did the messes in his life have to spill over into hers? Divorce was supposed to prevent that.

  “I’m sorry Karl treated you so cavalierly,” she said to Colin. “I just don’t understand him.”

  “It’s pretty simple. He wants your job.”

  “Well, we both applied for the chairmanship initially,” she mused. “Although he’s never said anything to indicate that he resented my being chosen.”

  “Given the kind of man he is, he must have been and probably still is resentful.”

  “What sort of man do you take him to be?” Sarah asked.

  “Arrogant.”

  That’s what Virginia said once — that Karl Bonnard was an arrogant stuffed shirt.

  “How about it?”

  Sarah turned to Colin, unsure of what he was asking.

  “Lunch,” he prompted.

  “Are you sure you want to be seen with a person accused of murder?” She asked the question with a smile, but behind her question lay the fear that he might prefer to have her decline. Maybe he was counting on it, as Karl Bonnard had counted on her refusing his offer to co-sign her bond. She stopped at a traffic light and turned to study Colin’s face.

  He grinned and replied, “Maybe I’m one of those people who get off on violence and sensationalist court cases.” Sarah’s smile died. “Bad joke, huh? I’d still like to take you to lunch.”

  Sarah, who hadn’t really eaten anything since breakfast the day before, accepted. But she’d pay; she had credit cards even if she didn’t have cash.

  Thirty-two

  * * *

  Friday, May 29, 3 P.M.

  “It boils down to whether you think I killed Gus,” said Sarah. “Do you?” She felt too grim and too anxious to put the question more tactfully to the dean.

  “Well, I’ve certainly felt like killing him a time or two myself,” said the dean wryly, “but, no, I don’t think you killed McGlenlevie.”

  “And I am, as they say, innocent until proven guilty, which puts the question of my competence to continue as department chair right back into your court.” Sarah had made the appointment with Dean Neil Brumbaugh as soon as she got back from lunch with Colin. “If it’s any help, I anticipate no problems in carrying on — no matter what Karl Bonnard would like you to believe.”

  “Now, Sarah, Karl tells me he brought the matter up out of concern for you and for the department,” the dean pointed out mildly.

  If that was true, why hadn’t he told her when he came to the jail offering to co-sign her bond? “More likely he wants to be chair and sees my problems as an unexpected stroke of luck,” said Sarah. She was more inclined to believe Colin about Bonnard’s motives than any self-serving explanations Bonnard offered to cover his tracks. “My lawyer tells me the District Attorney’s office could refuse to prosecute or the grand jury could refuse to indict. But Karl went after my job before I’ve even been indicted. If that isn’t opportunism, I don’t know what is.”

  The dean appeared to be pondering her statement. Then he nodded. “I rather imagine you’re right about that,” Brumbaugh agreed. “What’s your assessment of his administrative skills?”

  “Good grief, Neil, are you asking me to recommend my own replacement?”

  “No, Sarah. Not at all, and I do realize how resentful Karl has been ever since he found out he wasn’t going to be chair.”

  “He has?”

  “He complained bitterly when your appointment was announced. Even threatened not to come here. As I remember, he had doubts about a woman’s ability to carry out administrative duties.”

  “I never knew that.” Karl was a good actor, she thought. Maybe that’s why he’d always made her uneasy. “I hope you’re not going to give him the position.”

  “Well, I’m getting pressure from Harley. You know how much he worries about the university’s image. If he could, he’d make you disappear, but I think in this case I’ll have to ignore him — “

  “Thank you, Neil.”