"Coughlin."
"Coughlin? Dead?"
"Very."
"They said `shooting.'
"I just got here myself, but looks like he took it in the temple."
Kathy raised her voice as she looked around. "Anyone hear a shot?" No one answered.
"Probably used a suppressor, anyway," she said.
As Kathy joined Nick who was leaning over the body from the passenger side, David drifted off into the elevated wooded area opposite the gate, surmising the killer had sniped from a dense cover there rather than from the bluish shell of a budding psychiatric building on a higher landing fifty yards away. For six months, crews had worked the equipment in forty-hour weeks but the diesels and jackhammers were silent on weekends.
He examined for footprints and, damning the rain for melting the snow among the bushes, felt his knee buckle as he threaded his way up the ice-crusted slope. On a small ridge behind an oak, he spotted a rubber object sprouting through some wet leaves and used a handkerchief to pick it up; it was a rubber nipple from a baby bottle. Two feet away, he found a single cartridge casing resting against a heap of cartons, planks and mortar discarded from the construction site. He placed them into separate envelopes which he took from his breast pocket.
David returned to the oak tree and inspected the bushes on either side of it. He stood there for a moment, proud of collecting evidence but frustrated by the turn of events. Another murder to foul things up. Coughlin didn't do the first job? Is this a diversion killing or the second in a payback plan? Spritz? Or some enemy we haven't met, yet. Two murderers? Coughlin threatened Tanarkle pretty good. And, what about the police. This botches that up: there goes my leeway.
He walked left to a gentler slope and returned to the car. He tried to disguise the look of anguish he felt in his face. "I had a premonition," he said to Nick.
"That Coughlin would be killed?"
"No, that he'd be the one who would kill again." Nick flashed a superior grin. "Well," he said, "at least you got the character right."
The statement didn't resonate well with David and he sensed Kathy noticed. She motioned him aside. "You all right?" she said. "You seem wounded. Forget it, that's just his brand of humor."
"Ha-ha, laugh a minute," David said. "But, that's not it. That over there-I guess it's kinda…you know…jolted my confidence." He curled his lip in disgust as he nodded toward Coughlin's body.
"Well, it shouldn't. It should just double everyone's responsibility, that's all."
She moved closer to him and whispered, "David, you've done all the right things. It's not your fault the guy killed again-plus … "
"Yeah, I know," he replied, stepping on her words. He thought he'd finally licked his habit of cutting people off in conversation. "Look, you all carry on. I'm going to walk it off for awhile. I'll be back."
He started to turn but then reached into his pocket and handed Kathy the envelopes. "Here's your suppressor," he said. "It's pretty crude. Plus a spent casing." He pointed toward the bank of woods. "I found them up there by the big tree."
David slouched off like a kicked dog and headed for the Hole. He'd had setbacks in the past and walks like this, all brief but therapeutic. So, by the time he reached Belle's desk, he had decided on at least the preamble to a necessary new resolve. He left a note on her desk for Monday morning:
"Belle-you've read the papers or we've already talked if you called me. Don't book any more house calls. We'll play it week by week. D."
He returned to the others, coming first upon Sparky who was overseeing the technician taking photographs. "Here we go again, Spark," David said. "Same as before I can check with you later?"
"Absolutely. I'll be around all weekend, I'm afraid." David felt a strong hand on his shoulder. It was Foster's. "David, this is lunacy! You realize we're ruined? Why couldn't he have been shot in his own goddamned parking lot?"
"Nothing like healthy sorrow," David said but-reconsidering-winked. He saw Nick talking to a group of security men and jotting down notes in his own notepad. Kathy was half inside the back of the car inspecting the floor with a flashlight.
David spoke to her, his voice carrying an edge of resignation. "Kath, I've seen enough for now and Sparky said it'll be okay for me to check with him later. We're still on for tonight, right?"
She emerged and, after scanning his face, shook the beam of light on it. She turned off the light and inched closer to whisper, "C'mon, darling, snap out of it. This is what happens if we have a killer out there with a planned agenda. And, yes, I'll be over after I finish here and freshen up. We can cover what we have so far and I can watch you you-know-what."
"What?"
"Tie one on. Right?"
David didn't react.
"Right?" she repeated, sticking the flashlight against his solar plexus and twisting it.
David doubled over in mock distress and, forcing a smile, said, "If you insist."
That afternoon, David stepped onto his small front porch to check the weather. The rain had stopped but the aroma was damp and the air was so heavy on his arms, it felt like sleeves.
Twenty minutes later, he climbed out of the shower as the phone rang. It was Belle,
"David," she said, her voice raised a notch, "I know about Coughlin. It's all over the news. But before that, you've got to hear this. It can't wait till Monday. At first I thought it could but the more I thought of it-you know I wouldn't call unless it was important and so I figured …"
"All right, already! Calm clown. What have you got?"
"You know my old lunch girls at the hospital-the E.R. gang?"
"Yes."
"One of them just called. Cindy. I don't know how she found out, but if she says something's true, it's true. Alton Foster and Betty Tanarkle have had something going for months, if not years. Can you believe it?"
"She said that?"
"Yes. And she's pretty certain Ted knows about it " "Well, I'll be a son-of-a … how about Nora? Does she know?"
"Cindy can't be sure."
David thought out loud into the phone. "Why that old duck. No wonder he never wanted to leave here. Taking all that crap from Bugles."
"What's she see in him, anyway?" Belle asked.
"Power? Some physical quirk? People are funny." He deliberated, oblivious to Belle's next question until she repeated it.
"You still there?" she said.
"Yeah, I'm-uh-I'm still here. This blows my mind. This absolutely blows my mind."
"It couldn't possibly tie in with the murders, could it?"
"I don't know." David shook his head. "Unless we say Foster's our man-and that's remote to begin with-and that he knocked off Bugles because he knew about the relationship, and Coughlin because of their rivalry." He spoke as if he were addressing himself. "Those are pretty big leaps."
"Do you think there'll be more?"
The question jerked David off his line of thought. "You mean murders?" He knew what she meant. "Yes."
While David speculated, he heard breathing at the other end and was conscious of his own. "Give me your opinion," he said. "If you hadn't just heard about Foster and Betty, would you still ask the question?"
"Probably yes. It's been on my mind. There's a wacko around here, that's for sure."
"And my gut tells me Time is our enemy. That's my answer, Belle."
Before hanging up, he mentioned the note he had left on her desk, indicated that on Monday they would touch base on the particulars of Coughlin's murder, and asked to be kept current on the Foster/Tanarlde liaison.
It was five-thirty. David had tossed off a drink and anticipated Kathy's arrival. Another glass in hand, he stepped eagerly to the computer, names flashing in his mind, applying to each the customary trilogy of "Motive-Opportunity-Means." He opened the "MURDERS" file dated Tuesday, January 13, reviewed its contents, and then sat back to sort out which new kernels to enter this time.
He knew he had "snapped out of it," as Kathy had implored, because he could s
mell the cologne from his face and feel the sweatshirt against his skin. Either that or it's the Manhattan, he told himself, although he was reluctant to be included among those he had heard could think more clearly after a drink or two. He typed:
Saturday, January 17 MURDERS, continued-
Everett Coughlin-sniper bullet at parking gate. No witnesses. Single shot to temple.
Killer had to know time of lecture. Casing found in woods.
Who wanted him dead?
Victor Spritz:? still on mission bec. loss of EMS contract.
Ted Tanarkle: Coughlin threatened him royally.
New wrinkle: Betty Tanarkle romantically linked to Foster. Ted knows.
Have feeling killings not over. Better guard Foster.
Spritz and Tanarkle both have motives.
Keep Bernie Bugles in mind-not sure why, yet. Pawnshop dealer sold pair of daggers to? woman in disguise.
Concerned about my credibility but will plow ahead-unless gendarmes crowd me out.
David heard a key in the door. Kathy strolled in and removed a redingote.
"It's nice out, now," she said.
He rose slowly from his chair, admiring her lavender skintight pants as she pulled out a hanger from the hall closet. He was at her side before the coat was hung. David pulled her close and, running his hand over her backside and tugging on the pants, said, "And what's with these, may I ask?"
"I figured you needed it. Complaining?"
"Complain? No, oh no. You look great, you smell great, and, here, let me check." He kissed her firmly on the lips and smacked his own. "And you taste great."
Kathy slapped him on the shoulder and said, "What am I, a dinner entree?" She rubbed the lipstick from his lips with the corner of a tissue. He kissed her as before, only longer.
Breathless, she said, "What's that all about?" She rubbed his lips again.
"We wouldn't want to waste a whole tissue, would we?" he said, leaving for the cramped kitchen to pour her a glass of wine. Only when she was at home with him did he look through narrow doorways and realize he could see a slice of every room. Yet, there was something erotically symbolic in the constriction of those four spaces, adding, he imagined, to the intimacy he and Kathy shared. He hoped a larger spread later in their marriage would not signify the ho-hum he had heard so much about.
She sat in an easy chair, one leg tucked under. He retreated to the sofa and stretched his legs over the coffee table. He wished he had remembered to light a fire.
"The mayor called," she said.
David swallowed hard. "I suppose he wanted to know what in hell's going on."
"That and what are we doing about it."
"And?"
"And I told him someone's on the loose probably carrying out a vendetta, and that we're working on it as hard as we can."
"He let it go at that?"
"Sort of. He said people around town were getting impatient."
"Impatient? After only four days?"
"That's what I told him. He got real apologetic said he was only doing his job."
"Did he ask about me?"
"No, but I mentioned you were assisting in the investigation. He said `good'-that he'd heard about you. See, you even have political support, David, so chill out. Another murder's no reflection on you personally-or any others if they happen."
"Any others? God, help us."
"As long as we're doing what has to be done-either you or us."
"What's that mean?"
"We collaborate-no different from before. We have the legal responsibilities but you, de facto, run the show still." Kathy got up and joined David on the sofa. "Do you hear that?" she said, tweaking his cheek, "Still."
He shrunk back and shot her a conspiratorial wink. "Do you know what would relieve me even more? If, in the future, you informed people we're doing things in parallel."
"I can live with that," she said.
"How about Nick?"
"How about him?"
"Can he live with that, or does he prefer I step aside?"
"Now you're being ridiculous. You misunderstood that remark this morning," she said. "We need your help. And, what's more, he likes you more than you think."
"Be still my heat." David had been taking a sip a sentence. He pinched the back of his hand and looked up to catch Kathy's critical squint.
"Now what are you up to›" she asked.
"I can feel it fine, so I need another Manhattan."
"You’re incredible. But here, fill mine, too."
David returned from the kitchen, balancing two dripping glasses. He sniffed Kathy's Chardonnay like a connoisseur and said, "Not bad at all," and handed it to her. He took a long draw of his, assumed a judicial expression and said, "Also not bad." He spilled some of his drink on his trousers as he sunk into the couch.
"Now then," he said, "you want to hear the corker of all corkers?"
"Sure, one more drink and I won't mind anything. We should have been munching, too."
Kathy's reaction to the revelation from Belle was, "You mean Betty Tanarkle is Foster's paramour?"
"You got it."
"But what's she…?"
"I know: what's she see in him? That's the going question."
They had their usual discussion about whether to eat in or out and settled on grilled ham and cheese sandwiches which David triumphantly prepared. Afterward, he said, Instead of reviewing what's happened to date, look here-see what I've summarized." He let her to the computer in the den and they read the screen together.
"That says it all," Kathy commented. They moved into the kitchen and he saw her linger by the sink of used dishes and promised himself he would keep more current from that point on. At the table, she took one of two chairs and, while David stood flipping through pages of his notepad, she said, "Your `better guard Foster' statement? I agree with that."
"You also agree that Spritz or Tanaride could be after him?"
"You bet. Money and sex. Never fails. But I have a question." She rose abruptly. "Maybe two." She went over to the computer and scanned the screen which David had not cleared. "Yes, two."
"Shoot."
"Why would Tanarkle kill Bugles?"
"I'm not sure, except when I worked in Pathology they bounced off each other like bumper cars."
"And Bernie Bugles? I didn't get a chance to speak to him at the reception yesterday. Why's he listed?"
David sat and took his time to answer. He wrote BERNIE on his pad and underlined it three times. Then he circled it. He said slowly, "I don't know. But, then again, there aren't any explanations for intuition."
"Okay, so we watch over Foster," Kathy said. "No problem. I'll dig up a hard man."
"A hard man?"
"A bodyguard."
"Oh. But I think it should be discreet."
"I'll have him keep his distance. Should we let Foster in on it?"
"No. He'd probably scream bloody murder. He'd say if anyone found out, it might reflect badly on the hospital and the staff and all the fine people of the community and blah, blah, blah. Translation? The bottom line."
"Got it."
"Let's be clear on this, Kath. I've decided to do the guarding, myself."
"You?"
"Yeah, I think it’ll be less obvious."
"You're calling the shots." She said, with a peremptory gesture.
"Now, another thing. I'm calling Sparky tomorrow. He goes in Sundays, I assume"
Kathy emptied her coffee cup and played with his handle for a moment. "Darling," she said "do me a favor. You look tied. Take tomorrow off. Start Monday refreshed. Call him then. I'm sure he'll call you sooner if he finds anything startling."
"But Coughlin's autopsy. I should call Ted. Funny, contacting a suspect who maybe doing the post."
"Maybe an assistant will do it. But that can wait, too. What are they going to find? It's pretty obvious. There was no exit wound so the man has a bullet in his head. So Tanarkle has a bullet plus the casing you found up on that m
ound and, hopefully, he can pinpoint the weapon. It's got to be a rifle shot from eighty feet away-we did the measurement after you left. I'm telling you, it can wait till Monday."
David gave her a bewildered glance and said, "Tell you what. I'll do just what you say if you forget what I once asked you to do. Or did I? Wait a minute." He rubbed is decision scar. "I'd decided to beg off asking old friends the tough questions, like 'where were you when the murder took place'?"
Kathy returned the bewildered glance. "You lost me."
"I intended to ask you o do that-more as an authority, not as close as friends-you know. Did I ever discuss it with you?"
"Not that I can remember."
"Well, forget it anyway. This thing has ballooned and I'm in it for the duration, come hell or high water. And, if that's the case and it is, I'm asking any questions that need asking-of anyone-repeat-anyone who needs to be questioned."
Kathy stood and approached him from behind. She rocked on her embrace and said, "So there." Hand in hand, they walked into the bedroom.
It was the only room which reflected a flair and an attention to coordination which Kathy insisted on: terra cotta bedspread, mint green chaise lounge in jacquard fabric, celadon drapes with matching lampshades, and a blanket chest at the foot of the bed.
She pulled a quilt up tight around her while David slid off his Beretta Minx rig and placed it on the dresser next to Friday. He rolled in next to her and turned off the light. She flopped her arm over his body and, nearing sleep, whispered, "I'm so proud of you:"
Suddenly, he leaped out of bed. Kathy sprung up. "What's wrong?"
"I forgot something in the basement. Be right back."
Three minutes later, he made room on the dresser for a left ankle rig containing a Smith and Wesson snubby.
Long after Kathy had fallen asleep, David lay awake, his mind a pinball machine. He was glad, however, that he hadn't "tied one on" as Kathy had foreseen, because he might not now appreciate that, psychologically at least, he had gotten his second wind and that he was prepared for Monday morning.
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