Acid Bath

by Nancy Herndon

  Elena, realizing that he was trying to get at her, replied, “You’re saying you managed to turn Sarah, a heterosexual woman, into a lesbian?”

  “People’s sexual preferences are not at issue here,” said Leo before the confrontation disintegrated into a brawl. He appeared to be on the verge of laughter.

  “The answer is no, I don’t think it was Bimmie,” said Gus, evidently having thought better of needling Elena. “She wouldn’t have killed the wrong person, and she wouldn’t have had enough money to hire a hit man.”

  “Who else?”

  “Well, I may have had fleeting relationships with some of the other volleyball players.”

  “Why was Margreaves wearing your volleyball ring?”

  “He wasn’t. He had his own,” said Gus. “Howard was the assistant coach.”

  “Well, hell,” muttered Elena. “No one told us that. We might have thought twice about identifying the corpse as you. Who else?”

  McGlenlevie named several young poetesses.

  “Isn’t the university pissed about your getting it on with the students?” asked Leo.

  Gus looked surprised. “It’s not as if they’re children. They’re all women — young, but women. Except for Sarah, of course. Perhaps some of her charm for me,” he mused, “was that she wasn’t so young. She never giggled, for instance. I must visit her and apologize for — “

  “I wouldn’t,” said Elena hastily. “Sarah’s in a delicate emotional state. Being accused of your murder, when you were alive — “

  “You mean you think she might kill me because — “

  “No, of course not. I just think you might find her very — irritable. Besides, she’s got a headache.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” muttered Gus.

  “She’s concussed, you — “ Elena bit back an expletive and said, “Let’s get back to a list of your women friends. And we’d like, along with them, a list of boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, husbands, ex-husbands.”

  “Oh, well, they’re almost all single,” said Gus. He named several other young women.

  “And you have no idea about their previous emotional entanglements?” He didn’t. Glancing at her notes, Elena pounced. “You said almost all single. Were you having relationships with any married women?”

  “One,” Gus admitted.

  “And that was . . . ?”

  “Mary Ellen Bonnard.”

  Elena swallowed. “What’s her husband’s name?”

  “Ah — Karl. He’s a member of Sarah’s department.”

  Elena’s mind went blank with shock. The silence stretched until Leo, glancing at her curiously, filled it. “Did Professor Bonnard know about the relationship?”

  “Mary Ellen would never have told him.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about her relationship with her husband?” Elena prompted.

  “God, yes,” said Gus. “Endlessly. He was a perfectionist, criticized everything she did. His harassment — verbal, you understand — eventually drove her into the arms of one of those lunatic-fringe religious sects. Then the marriage deteriorated even further. Yet the poor woman, when I gave a talk to her book discussion group — they’d elected to read Erotica In Reeboks, my best-selling — “

  “Yes, yes, we know about your book.”

  Gus’s face lit up. “You’ve read my book? Wonderful, isn’t it?”

  Elena and Leo glanced at one another. Neither one of them had read the book.

  “Well, we met over punch and cookies after my talk,” Gus resumed. “She was a pleasant woman — lyrical breasts. Her breasts are a sonnet in themselves.”

  Leo and Elena scowled at him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “At any rate, after the reception, she couldn’t get her car started, so I offered her a ride, and one thing led to another.”

  “How long did the affair last?”

  “Actually, we were still seeing one another when I left. Her husband was always out on Tuesdays. Some boring activity. Bowling. Who knows?”

  Elena doubted that Karl Bonnard was a bowler, but the rest of it — about him driving his wife crazy with criticism — could that be true? Of course, it could; he’d said himself that Elena probably sympathized with his wife, which was just what she’d been doing, thinking no wonder the woman left him. By reading her thoughts, he’d disarmed her. And then he’d said something about the person you loved turning into an unpleasant stranger, and she, like a dummy, had thought, Right on! That’s what Frank did. What Karl Bonnard had never said was that his wife had been having an affair with McGlenlevie.

  What have I been doing? she asked herself. Getting mixed up with two suspects in this case. Sarah, then Karl. And she had another date with Karl tomorrow night. Well, she’d damn well keep it. She’d save questioning Bonnard for a time when he was off guard.

  No, wait a minute. Would Bonnard have killed the wrong man? She searched her memory and remembered Bonnard saying, “I’ve never actually met McGlenlevie.” So he might have.

  Was he the jealous sort? Any man would be if he knew his wife was unfaithful. But Bonnard didn’t know. At least, Gus didn’t think so. Surely Elena would have sensed it if Bonnard were the killer. She’d been dating the man, for God’s sake! She took a deep breath. She’d screwed up again, got mixed up a second time with a suspect, but not with a killer. She was pretty sure of that. And she’d turn the connection with Bonnard to her advantage. If he had killed Margreaves, which she doubted, she’d sure as hell find out tomorrow night.

  “Well, if that’s it on the girlfriends,” Leo was saying, “maybe you can tell us something about Margreaves. Do you know anyone who would have wanted to kill him?”

  “I wish I did,” said Gus fervently. “Unfortunately, he seemed to be a dull fellow. Although he admired the example I set with women — what man wouldn’t? — he never followed it.”

  “Why would he want to?” Elena demanded. “You act like you’ve never heard of safe sex.”

  “I like spontaneity,” said Gus.

  “Spontaneity is another word for AIDS,” muttered Leo.

  “Well, there’s nothing like a bit of danger to — “

  “You were telling us about Margreaves,” Elena snapped. Frank had said something like that to her once, trying to talk her out of insisting that he be tested. Frank had loved danger; he was happiest living on the edge, undercover and hanging out with a bunch of low-life drug runners who’d kill him in a minute if they found out who he was. It turned him on. If he came home with bullet holes in his clothes, the first thing he wanted from her was sex. Elena sighed. She could cope with danger; it was part of her job, but she certainly didn’t court it.

  “I think Howard had a fiancée back in — New Jersey or somewhere,” said McGlenlevie.

  “Why didn’t we find any of his stuff in your apartment?” Leo asked.

  “Well, poor Howard. The university was very stingy about providing funds for him. He had a lease on some hovel in an unacceptable part of town, and he had very few possessions. I suppose he might have left them there. Howard was pathetically grateful when I asked if he’d like to occupy my apartment while I was out of town.”

  “What about his personal life?”

  “Who knows? His poetry was admirable, fascinating Freudian imagery. His childhood must have been unusual. And of course, he was a good-looking fellow. As you say, he looked a bit like me.” Both officers scowled at McGlenlevie, who hastened to add, “I must have a home address for him somewhere. He’d have had university benefits, so Personnel would have information on him.”

  “Would you know anything about his teeth, Mr. McGlenlevie?” asked Leo.

  “His teeth?” Gus looked astonished. “He had some. Why would I — “

  “How about the name of his dentist?”

  “I don’t know any dentists — much less his. Why do you care about his teeth?”

  “That’s what we’ve got left. Teeth and bones. Did he have a bone disease?”

  Gus shrugged,
obviously at a loss. Elena remembered Sarah insisting that Gus had perfect teeth. Jesus, they should have listened.

  “We can identify remains from dental charts,” said Leo impatiently. “But not with your help, I guess. Elena, anything else you want to ask?”

  Elena realized that she’d said very little once she learned that McGlenlevie had been involved with Karl Bonnard’s wife. What had Bonnard said about his wife? That she was out of town on a religious retreat. Elena had a really frightening thought that involved how much unslaked lime had been taken out of the E.E. storeroom — three boxes — and a recollection that the delivery man seen Sunday night had two on his dolly, which left one unaccounted for. Had Bonnard killed his wife and then used the last box of unslaked lime to — well, one box wouldn’t do it, but he might have buried her in the back yard and then thrown the last box in on top of her to hurry decomposition. Or he might have used one box the night he killed Margreaves and then returned with two to hasten the dissolution of the body.

  No, it was unlikely, very unlikely, that Karl had killed the poet at all. There was no more reason to suspect him than the Bonaventuras, except that someone had tinkered with the university computers to make Sarah look guilty. But of course, if you wanted to kill McGlenlevie and pin it on someone else, Sarah was the obvious candidate. Could the Bonaventuras have got into the computer? Well, why not? Maggie Daguerre said anyone could. No doubt the mob was as high tech as any other corporate group these days. On the other hand, Karl was right there at the university, in a department that dealt with computers. Except that he didn’t know Gus — Oh hell!

  “Mr. McGlenlevie, I guess that’s it,” said Leo. “But please don’t leave town without — “

  “Forget it,” cried Gus. “Someone in Los Santos wants to kill me. I’m heading back to the wilderness.”

  “You’re an important witness. You can’t leave.”

  “I’m an important poet. Do you want to be responsible for the untimely demise of a possible Nobel prize winner?”

  Leo and Elena exchanged glances. The budget year ended in August; the overtime money was gone, and they were operating on a special appropriation from the city council. Fat chance they’d get Beltran or Captain Stollinger to offer protection for Angus McGlenlevie, poet in peril. “Why don’t you get a friend to move in with you? Murderers don’t like witnesses.”

  Angus looked distressed. “Well, there’s Sarah, but she might not agree.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Elena dryly.

  “There’s always Bimmie, I guess.” He couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic.

  Elena almost laughed aloud. “You can set the date for your wedding, and she’ll move in.”

  “I could at least offer to talk about a date,” he muttered.

  “When she’s at work,” warned Leo, “stick around the university where there are lots of people.”

  “This is going to ruin my love life,” said Gus mournfully. They had all risen, making ready to leave the interrogation room. “Unless I can invite women in — but that’s it! Instead of knuckling under to Bimmie, all I have to do is invite a different girl each — “

  Before Gus could finish, Beltran barreled into the room. “Hold it.”

  Gus looked alarmed at the sight of the stocky, grizzle-haired police lieutenant.

  “What’s the matter with you people?” he said to Leo and Elena. “There was no forced entry at that apartment. We need to know who had keys.”

  Elena’s heart sank. If Sarah had had a key to the apartment, it was marginally possible that she used it and killed Margreaves by mistake while his back was turned. “So who had keys?” she asked Gus with a belligerence that made him back up a step.

  “Ah — I did. Margreaves, of course. And — Bimmie had a key. That’s it.”

  “The hell it is. Lili Bonaventura had a key.”

  “Oh yes, Lili, right. Lili had a key.”

  “And Mary Ellen Bonnard?”

  “Right. I forgot Mary Ellen.”

  “Any of those other coeds?” asked Leo.

  “No, none of the others.”

  “Any previous lady friends who had them and forgot to give them back or who could have had copies made?”

  Gus shook his head slowly but looked alarmed.

  “Think about it. Once it gets into the paper that you’re not dead, someone with a key could try again.”

  “I’ll have the lock changed,” said Gus.

  “That won’t tell us who got into your apartment and murdered Margreaves. What about Sarah Tolland?” asked Beltran.

  “Sarah?”

  “Well, you said she might have committed the murder — even though it was Margreaves who died. Did Sarah Tolland have a key?”

  Still harping on Sarah, Elena thought. He can’t stand to be wrong.

  “No,” said McGlenlevie.

  “Oh, come on now, Mr. McGlenlevie. You were friendly enough to go to your ex-wife’s house for dinner after the divorce.”

  “He invited himself,” said Elena. “Isn’t that right, Gus?”

  “You didn’t give Sarah Tolland a key?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any way she could have got one?”

  “Look, we lived at her place while we were married. I only got my own apartment after the divorce. Sarah was so mad at me, she wouldn’t have wanted a key.” McGlenlevie scratched his beard. “I guess I owe her an apology. Oh, shit. After being arrested, she’s not going to take it very graciously, but I see what you’re getting at. She wouldn’t have snuck up behind Margreaves unless she thought it was me, and if he answered the door, he’d have been facing her. Oh boy. Do I get police protection or not? Even if Sarah didn’t try to kill me, she may want to now. I mean that’s a stiff-necked woman. She was never willing to cut me even a little slack. Couple of little slips — girlwise — and . . . ”

  Elena couldn’t believe he referred to his extramarital activities as a couple of little slips. According to Sarah, his girls were bombarding the apartment with calls. He was hopping in and out of beds all over campus, and he wanted Sarah to cut him a little slack?

  “Have someone stay with you,” advised Leo again, “and change your lock.”

  Beltran agreed, glaring at McGlenlevie. Elena put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. Beltran was a family man. He didn’t approve of promiscuity in either sex.

  “But who will I ask? What if Bimmie’s the one who tried to kill me?”

  “You just told us she wouldn’t do it.”

  “Mr. McGlenlevie,” said Beltran, “if no one knows that you’re back in town; in fact, if no one knows that you’re alive, there won’t be another attempt on your life.”

  “Right,” said Angus. “I’ll hide out in my apartment until you’ve caught the criminal.”

  “Sounds like the safe thing to me.”

  McGlenlevie’s face lit up. “I can order out for Chinese and finish my book — Rapture on the Rapids.”

  “That’s what you now want to call your male-bonding book?” asked Elena, deciding to see how the great woman chaser would take a counter-suggestion of homosexuality. “Watch what you write,” she cautioned. “You know those critics. They see all kinds of things that aren’t there. They might figure you’re gay.”