The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “And she was satisfied?”

  “With that part of it anyway.”

  “Was something else bothering her?”

  “She asked if I phoned Rick the night before. I told her I didn’t. But you could see that she was convinced he was still seeing another woman. Personally, I don’t think he had any intention of marrying her.”

  “Was this just intuition on your part, or are you basing it on something concrete?”

  April ran her fingers through her hair. “I really don’t like talking about this. It was something Rick told me when he was blasted. A few months ago, Cheryl became pregnant. She expected Rick to marry her then, but instead he arranged for her to have an abortion. She went through with it like he wanted. It seems to me if he ever had any intention of marrying her, that would have been the time.”

  “Never know when it comes to people,” Gardner said, his expression pensive.

  She began to fidget. “I haven’t caused her any trouble? Right?”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Gardner said.

  Bert couldn’t help wondering whether April had offered the information to draw some of the suspicion away from herself. Regardless, Cheryl McNeill might have had more of a motive for murder than they’d realized. Bert made a mental note to check out the abortion story. A verification could prove significant. Cheryl might have hidden her resentment and waited to get even with Bradshaw. Bert knew from personal experience that unexpressed anger could fester like an open sore.

  “When you told Ms. McNeill you weren’t the other woman in Bradshaw’s life, what exactly did she say?” Gardner moved his questions smoothly back to key information.

  “I think she would have liked it if I told her I was still seeing Rick. Then she would have had it out with me right then and there, but she believed me when I told her our brief fling was definitely over.”

  “Did you speculate with her as to the identity of this other woman?”

  April looked away from them. “I didn’t know anything, and I’m not a gossip.”

  “Did you think the other woman might have been Louise Scofield?”

  Bert flashed a reproachful look in Gardner’s direction.

  “She’s a real nice person,” April said, mirroring Bert’s own thoughts. “I’d hate to think she was mixed up with a creep like Rick.”

  “But you do think she might have become involved with him?”

  She nibbled nervously at her lower lip. “Anyone could see that Rick was crazy about her.”

  “Does anyone include Bill Scofield?”

  She nodded her head miserably. “Especially Bill. He was very jealous of the way Rick acted toward her. Rick would rush over to sit and talk with Louise the minute she arrived at the pool. He’d give her compliments, which wasn’t like him at all. Bill was furious, but he didn’t know how to handle it because Rick was so smooth. He kept making Bill look dumb in front of Lou.”

  “Did this go on from the beginning of the summer?”

  “I’m not sure. I think so.”

  “Could Bradshaw have been interested in starting trouble between Mr. and Mrs. Scofield? Possibly he found it amusing.”

  “I suppose. Rick considered Lou a challenge, maybe because Bill was always very devoted to Lou, watching over her.”

  “Abnormally devoted?”

  “More than most husbands I’ve seen let’s say. I thought it was very romantic. But Joan said that she personally couldn’t stand the idea of a man hovering over her like that. Joan’s very independent. She does as she pleases. The truth is, Bill would probably keep Lou locked in a chastity belt if they hadn’t gone out of fashion after the Middle Ages.”

  “Have Louise or Joan ever visited your apartment?”

  “Sure, they both have. I’m in walking distance from the pool club and sometimes I invite people in after we’ve been over there for a while, especially on my days off.”

  “Were they here in the week preceding Bradshaw’s death?”

  “I guess so.” She bit her ragged fingernails as if trying to remember. “Yeah, Joan was suggesting that we all go away together for the Labor Day weekend but we never made any serious plans.”

  “I see. Did Martin Walling or Bill Scofield ever drop by?”

  “No, Bill was never here, though he did phone when Lou was by, checking up on her I suppose. Martin was here once.”

  “What reason did he have for coming by?”

  April glanced at Bert then lowered her eyes. “Martin Walling has two interests in life: food and sex, in that order. He’s a perfect pig.”

  “And what was your reaction to his proposition?”

  “I told him to go to hell. I don’t sleep with married men, and Joan’s a friend. Besides, that fat slob makes my flesh crawl. I don’t need to get into bed with every man I meet. Believe me, I’m not on an ego trip, and I’m not a nympho.”

  “Walling hit hard on you?”

  “Let me put it this way, if he had Rick’s good looks and easy charm, Martin Walling would try to hit on every woman he met.”

  “Wasn’t that what Bradshaw did?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Her face became icy as a glacier. Gardner picked up on that and changed the line of his questioning. “About Ms. McNeill’s state of mind when she visited you, did she say anything specifically that would indicate she didn’t really expect Bradshaw to marry her?”

  April hesitated. “I guess not. I mean, we both agreed that Rick couldn’t be trusted. That was all. She’s not an open person the way I am.”

  Gardner thanked April for her cooperation and started toward the door. April placed her hand on Bert’s arm as if to detain her. “You don’t think I killed Rick, do you?” Her eyes were open wide, imploring an encouraging response.

  Bert felt put upon. She didn’t want to think April could have killed Bradshaw, but she sensed if provoked enough, April was certainly capable.

  “How am I supposed to answer that?”

  “Straight out.”

  “Okay, no bullshit then. At this point, I don’t know who killed Bradshaw or why. We’re just talking to people, trying to fill in on his background.” Bert turned to Gardner. “Am I speaking for both of us, Lieutenant?”

  Gardner nodded his head. April looked much more at ease as she showed them out. She grasped Bert’s hand momentarily as if she didn’t want to let her go.

  “Hey, it’ll be okay,” she told April. “All anyone has to do is tell the truth and they got nothing to worry about.”

  As they left the apartment and began walking down the street to the car, Bert had the feeling that April’s eyes were following her from the front window. She didn’t want to believe that April murdered Bradshaw. It had to be someone else. For a moment, she resented Gardner’s emotional detachment and thought there was a suggestion of smug superiority in it.

  “What was that business about Louise Scofield?” she lashed out. “You’re not putting her on the list of suspects?”

  “I know you’re sympathetic to both Louise and April, but we can’t let personal feelings get in the way of professional judgment.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Psychologist. Happens where people are concerned, I have gut instincts just the way you do and they’re not often wrong.”

  Gardner obviously wasn’t interested in a confrontation. “The pool club isn’t far from here,” he said. “Why don’t we take a walk? Maybe it’s time we had another little chat with Miss Rhoades.”

  “What makes you think she’s at the pool?”

  “A dedicated person like her? Where else would she be?”

  * * * *

  Gardner turned out to be right. They found Martha Rhoades sitting in her office, her German shepherd obediently by her side.

  “I was going to phone you, Lieutenant. You saved me the bother. When are we allowed to open again? The members are quite unhappy. Mr. Page, the owner of the club, even came down here personally to ask questions. Naturally, I couldn’t tell him a thing. I suggested that he contact you. Mr. B
radshaw really did make quite a nuisance of himself.” She enunciated the final statement with what struck Bert as a surprising degree of antagonism. Did Martha have some strong, personal reason for her intense hostility toward the man?

  “How would the day after tomorrow suit you as a re-opening date?”

  “I have your word on that?”

  “You have—unless someone else is found murdered in the pool during the interim.”

  She offered an indulgent smile. “That’s hardly likely.”

  “We have a few more questions to ask you.”

  “Certainly. I’ll be glad to help.”

  “How many keys are there to the utility room?”

  “Just four. Each of us has one.”

  “Only four?”

  “Precisely what I said.” Her voice was stern and patronizing, treating Gardner as if he were one of her less intellectually gifted students.

  “Suppose one of your employees lost a set of keys? What procedure would be followed?”

  “They would report it to me, naturally, and I would loan them the spare set.”

  “Then, in reality, there are five sets of keys.”

  This time, she gave Gardner a supercilious smile. “Didn’t I say that?”

  “No, you didn’t. Did Sonny happen to borrow the spare set of keys?”

  She gave him a deep, puzzled frown. “Why should he?”

  Gardner ignored the severity of her voice. “He never mentioned losing his pool keys?”

  She sighed in a manner that indicated she was losing patience. Her lips were as tight as her short-cropped curls.

  “Really, Lieutenant, I don’t wish to be rude, but your questions are ridiculous, petty and redundant.”

  Gardner seemed to have cultivated a shell as hard as a mollusk, which protected him from the abusive remarks people often inflicted on policemen. He ignored the woman’s petulance.

  “Sometimes getting facts and evidence together in a case like this involves attention to details. Just bear with me, okay? Did either of the other two lifeguards, or you, for that matter, mislay those keys?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  “Then may I please see the spare set of keys?”

  “Of course, I keep them right here.” She opened her top desk drawer and began searching around. When she didn’t find the keys, she methodically went through the other drawers. “I can’t seem to find them,” she finally admitted.

  “Do you generally keep your desk open or locked?”

  “During the day it’s open, but I lock it when I leave. When members bring guests, the money they’re charged is kept in the drawer, so I’m very careful.”

  “Is anything else missing?” Gardner kept at her in a dogged manner.

  “No, just the keys.”

  “Did Sonny ever borrow your keys?”

  She gave the matter some thought. “Yes, he did. One day, he forgot his own and said he needed mine to lock up in the evening, but he returned them promptly the very next morning.”

  “Did you ever see the spare set after that?”

  “I had no reason to check.”

  “If you saw that particular set of keys, could you tell them apart from the other ones?”

  “From all but my own. You see, I placed my keys and the spare set on identical rings. The others were responsible for supplying their own. Naturally, each one was different.”

  Gardner thanked Miss Rhoades for her help, which seemed to please her.

  “I do my best to fulfill the obligations of a responsible citizen,” she responded in a pompous manner Bert found irritating.

  They departed as the sun was setting through the trees, dancing on the aqua waters of the pool. Bert couldn’t help thinking it was the perfect time for taking a swim. She let out a deep sigh.

  “You think Sonny was looking for his pool keys at April Nevins’ apartment?”

  “Seems more than likely.” Gardner said as they walked back to the car.

  “And that’s why Sonny figured April killed Bradshaw. He remembered leaving the keys there. He must have thought she took them, made a date with Bradshaw, let herself into the utility room, and killed him there.”

  “No point writing a scenario until we know a little more. But with those keys lying around, anyone who dropped by April’s apartment could have seen them and taken them. You looked around her place. What did you notice?”

  “It’s a pigsty.”

  “Things could lie around there for days or weeks and go unnoticed. April might never have seen an unfamiliar set of keys.”

  Bert’s mind was working at a fevered pace. “But someone else who recognized the keys could have taken them.”

  “I have a feeling whoever killed Bradshaw made the mistake of keeping those keys.”

  “What makes you think that?” Bert wasn’t convinced. She wondered if Gardner wasn’t making too big a thing over Sonny’s lost keys.

  “Let’s say I’m the murderer. The smart thing would be to wipe all fingerprints off the keys and leave them in the utility room or just outside of it after the murder. I’m smart enough to wipe the prints off the murder weapon but I forget all about the keys. Maybe I absently drop them into a pocket or purse.”

  Bert had to admit that Gardner made sense, but she still didn’t think it meant much. “The murderer could have remembered about the keys later and ditched them somewhere.”

  “More than likely, but there’s always a chance that the keys will incriminate the killer.”

  “You want to search April’s apartment since we know what we’re looking for?”

  Gardner’s eyes were nearly charcoal in the fading light. “I have a hunch we wouldn’t find anything. Plus, it might tip off our murderer.”

  “If it’s not April after all.” Saying the words made her feel rotten; Bert didn’t want April to be the one. She tried to consider some of the other suspects in the Bradshaw case. “You think what April said about Cheryl McNeill is true?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it.” An alert intelligence showed on Gardner’s face. The elongated forehead wrinkled.

  “But the McNeill girl can’t be our murderer.”

  “Why not?” Gardner could be annoying.

  “Why wouldn’t she have killed him right there in the apartment?”

  “If it were a premeditated murder, she wouldn’t want to kill him there, would she? We’d have arrested her on the spot. Case closed.”

  “You think it was pre-planned?”

  “I have no idea,” Gardner conceded.

  “I want to make a good collar just as much as you, but all this shadow-boxing is getting to me.”

  * * * *

  They were back at headquarters when word came that Sonny Blake had been located. From the expression on Gardner’s face, Bert knew to expect the worst.

  THIRTEEN

  Kim was having a busy morning. It felt strange being back at work after a week of doing so little. In a way, it was a relief to be working again. She wouldn’t have to think about her life and where it was headed. Her feelings for Mike Gardner ran deep. Kim meant it when she told him that she loved him. But she still wasn’t convinced that their relationship could or should be a permanent one. They were such different people.

  Rita Mosler would be on duty at the reference desk with her most of the day. Rita was an old-timer and somewhat jaded by the job. People rarely went to Rita for help when they could ask Kim or one of the young grad students. Rita was just too sharp-tongued. Her caustic manner frightened students almost as much as her bony, arthritic fingers resembling bent twigs. Her customary expression was that of someone who’d recently swallowed a lemon whole.

  As luck would have it, Rita received a phone call from the Mad Movie Fan, as she referred to him. “Take it for me,” Rita said. “I can’t stand talking to that moron again. The man’s impossible.”

  Kim got on the line. The old man’s familiar shaky voice greeted her. As expected, he asked her to look up information for him, and she d
id so as he held on. This time, he wanted the cast list, director and producer of The Godfather.

  “No big thing,” Kim said to Rita after she’d finished with the call. “I Googled it in half a minute tops.”

  “He’s a pest. Calls every day with some silly question. We have more important things to do here. This is a university library.”

  Kim shrugged.

  “Oh, it’s nothing to you, Miss Magnanimous. After all, you just came back from vacation.”

  “Rita, aren’t you due to take some vacation time this month?” Kim hoped that was the case.

  Rita harrumphed. “I’m much too necessary around here to take time off.”

  “It really is slow right now. Why not take a cruise?” Kim suggested as she went about organizing the materials in the ready reference shelf under the main information desk.

  “A cruise? Why I’d get sea sick.”

  “They have medication to prevent that.”

  Rita harrumphed again, this time louder. “People get all kinds of stomach ailments on board ships. Much too dangerous.”

  “All right, what about going to the shore for a few days? Nothing like being near the ocean.”

  “I’m too old to sit in the hot sun and fry like an egg.”

  Kim was grateful when someone came to the desk.

  “So glad you’re back,” Don Bernard said, giving her one of his most ingratiating smiles.

  “So am I, I think.”

  He cast a sideways look at Rita and laughed. God, the man had a great laugh, deep and full of resonance. “You’re not sure? How can I convince you? I know, lunch today with me. There’s an elegant little bistro that just opened in walking distance.” Don focused on his watch. “And coincidentally, it’s just about lunchtime.”

  Kim glanced at her co-worker’s sour face. “I have to make certain it’s all right with Rita if I take first lunch.”

  Don turned the full force of his debonair charm on the dour woman. “Miss Mosler, you wouldn’t refuse me a chance to speak with another colleague, would you? I have some Shakespearean research I need to discuss with Ms. Reynolds. I know how truly understanding you are. I would consider it a favor.”