The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “How did you know?”

  “Cop instinct,” he told her. “I still think I ought to shoot him.”

  “And I still think that isn’t funny.”

  “So you told him you’re my sex slave and he needs to hit the road?”

  “I did no such thing. He took me out to lunch to welcome me back.”

  She heard him mutter something under his breath. She probably should have been annoyed.

  But instead, she was smiling to herself. It was kind of amazing having two sexy, attractive men interested in her. Definitely a novelty worth savoring.

  “I have an invitation to extend to you. It’s really a favor. I want you to join me at the swim club tomorrow evening about seven p.m. It involves the murder investigation. Can you do it?”

  She hesitated, remembering Don Bernard’s admonishment. “I don’t think I would be very helpful to you.”

  “I respect your insights. I think you might pick up on things other people would miss.”

  She was puzzled and asked for an explanation. After he’d finished talking and explaining, she was thoughtful.

  “Kim, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m just wondering what you’ll be able to find out.”

  “Do you know any of those people?”

  She frowned thoughtfully. “I might have seen them around. I don’t go to the swim club often, but I did join this summer. I have to be honest with you. I still don’t think I can be of any use in this situation.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that? You have a unique sensibility, a kind of sixth sense. And La Reine Gardens is your home turf.”

  “You just want to show off how good you are at your job,” she teased.

  “You got me there. I’m out to impress you by any means possible, fair or foul. It’s all part of my diabolical plan to win you.” Even the inflection of his voice was sexy.

  She made up her mind. “If you really want me there, then I’ll come.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  She caressed the phone. “One thing, Mike, you don’t need to impress me. I’m already impressed.” She preferred he didn’t know just how much.

  * * * *

  Gardner arrived with Bert St. Croix at the swim club around six-thirty in the evening. They were not the first ones there: the Wallings and Scofields sat near casements of flowers where long shadows protected them from the fading sunlight. The moon would soon be rising, a crescent that would give little illumination to the coming night. Lights, camera, action, Gardner thought.

  Puffing vigorously on a long cigar, Martin Walling sat slightly apart from the two women. Bill Scofield, dressed in tennis whites, looked ready to pose for a magazine commercial. The only thing missing was the little alligator on his shirt. When Scofield saw them, he went over and sat protectively close to his wife. Gardner found some irony in that.

  The Scofields gave the impression of the perfect all-American couple. Louise was elegantly dressed in a sleeveless blouse of green silk with white linen slacks. The blouse emphasized her huge eyes and brought attention to her striking beauty. Only the cast on her left arm and some bruises were reminders of her recent ordeal.

  Joan Walling looked even plainer sitting beside Louise Scofield, and yet there was a quickness and intelligence in her face that Gardner could not ignore. They all appeared nervous and unhappy, which didn’t much surprise him. Bill Scofield stood up as he and Bert approached the two couples.

  “I don’t understand why you wanted us to come here, Lieutenant.”

  Gardner gave no real answer except to say it would all be explained in due time. Then he looked around for Martha Rhoades. He found her in the office and stuck his head in. “When everyone gets here, I’d like you to join us.”

  “Me?” she asked in alarm.

  “Yes. I think you can help.”

  “Of course, if I’m needed,” she replied dutifully.

  Cheryl McNeill came a few minutes later. She was just as attractive as he remembered. Her long, silky brown hair was swept up elaborately in a braided crown on top of her head, and she wore form-fitting shorts that showed her willowy figure to advantage. He wondered if she had modeled at one time, because she carried herself extremely well. He could picture her on the catwalk.

  “I’m not late, am I?” Cheryl asked. Her clear brown eyes scanned the group with interest.

  “Right on time. Why don’t you join the others?”

  She glanced at them disdainfully. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather walk around until you need me.”

  “Certainly.” He watched her walk away, head high, back straight, regal bearing.

  “They’re all here except April Nevins,” Bert said. “Maybe she forgot and went to work instead.”

  “I doubt it. She said she’d get tonight off, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she did. They all look so straight. It’s hard to believe one of them could be a murderer.”

  “Might be none of them.” He couldn’t help wishing George Page were here tonight. He had a feeling about the man, a hunch, that Page was somehow involved.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Gardner said with a touch of amusement.

  April Nevins made her entrance at seven. Martha Rhoades appeared outraged while the others gawked, except for Joan Walling who merely looked on indifferently. Dressed in a black wet-look string bikini, April’s well-endowed body was a sight to behold. Gardner signaled Cheryl McNeill; the group assembled together, clustered around the Scofields. Gardner couldn’t help thinking that Bradshaw would have appreciated this get-together in his honor.

  He was just about to phone Kim on her cell phone to make sure she hadn’t forgotten, when she appeared.

  “Were you thinking about me?” She gave him a warm smile that practically melted his bones. Her demure appearance might not excite many other men’s lust in contrast to April Nevins, but he knew better than anyone how really beautiful and hot she was. Kim Reynolds was a master of disguise. Lucky for him he had x-ray vision.

  “Why don’t we seat ourselves in a circle?” Gardner suggested in a deceptively pleasant manner.

  The chairs were re-arranged easily since they were lightweight plastic. Kim sat to his right, while Bert seated herself to his left. Everyone focused on Gardner. “Thank you all for helping us with our investigation.”

  Gardner was suddenly aware that Bert’s attention was drawn behind him. He stood up and turned around. Mrs. Blake was standing there.

  “I came like you asked.”

  “Thank you, did you bring it?”

  “The ones that belong to the pool? Yes, I got them right here.” She fumbled around in her purse, finally removing a metal ring with some keys on it.

  Gardner took them from her. “Ms. Rhoades, whose keys are these?” He held them up.

  “It’s the spare set. As I told you, my keys are on an identical ring.”

  “Could you be so kind as to get yours?”

  “Now?” Her narrow lips tightened.

  “Yes, we’ll wait.”

  In the tense silence that ensued, Gardner observed the unmarked car he’d requested as a back-up positioned on the street outside the club. Drew Mitchell and another detective, whom he knew to be Chief Morgan’s nephew, were looking very bored, slouched down in a black sedan.

  Miss Rhoades returned, holding out a set of keys.

  “You are right; these do appear to be identical.” Gardner turned to the others. “Just so we all understand what this is about, I’d like to point out to you that whoever murdered Mr. Bradshaw apparently had Sonny’s set of keys and probably still does.” He looked sharply from one person to the other, but saw no unusual reactions. He turned to Mrs. Blake. “Thank you for coming. I realize how difficult this is for you.”

  Her watery blue eyes blinked in confusion. “That’s all? I don’t understand. You said by bringing those keys I’d be helping you find out what happen
ed to my boy. Aren’t you going to arrest somebody?” Mrs. Blake seemed to be working herself up.

  He didn’t respond. The truth was, he’d half-expected her to make some sort of a scene; she was the sort of person who responded to stress and adversity with outbursts of angst and tears.

  “One of them killed my boy!” She pointed an accusing finger at the group in general. “Sonny was meant to be a farmer just like generations before him. When the developers first came, they got folks like us who wasn’t making a decent living off the land to sell their farms for next to nothing. Then they built lots of them houses and apartments. More city people came out here. Their children cluttered our schools so they had to build more schools and then they raised our taxes. Our way of life was destroyed. City people. Scum, I hate you all! You corrupted my boy with your sinful ways.”

  Everyone looked away, avoiding her malevolent gaze, but Mrs. Blake was determined to continue her diatribe. “It’s her fault most of all. Tramp, whore, slut! I hope they hang you. Your life for his, like it says in the Bible.” Mrs. Blake had turned her attention to April Nevins. The older woman was trembling. “Look at the way she dresses, exposing her flesh like that! It’s indecent and sinful! How can you seduce young boys, harlot? Where’s your conscience?” She raised her hand as if to strike April across the face.

  Bert quickly sprang to restrain her. “Time to go home now.”

  “Let me be! She’s responsible for Sonny’s death. Sonny told me about her. Aren’t you going to arrest her?”

  April was livid. “You lunatic, I never killed anyone. Your son had some marbles missing, just like you. And he had plenty of experience with women before he ever met me. Your kid was far from innocent.”

  “Liar!” Mrs. Blake screamed out hysterically. Then tears began to flow down her faded cheeks. She sobbed convulsively and clung to Gardner for support.

  “Keep her away from me, Lieutenant. I swear, I’m not responsible for what happens if you don’t.” April rushed off in the direction of the ladies’ restroom.

  “Detective, would you escort Mrs. Blake out?” He turned back to Sonny’s mother. “We’ll have you driven home.”

  “No, my daughter-in-law is waiting in her car for me.”

  Kim got to her feet. “I’ll walk you to your car.” Mrs. Blake seemed to respond better to Kim, to her innate kindness. In any case, she allowed Kim to take her arm, then rested heavily on her as they walked toward the gate.

  “Poor woman,” Gardner overheard Louise Scofield mumble softly to no one in particular. Cheryl McNeill stood up and resumed her restless pacing. Martin Walling continued to puff ferociously on his cigar. Only his wife seemed calm, composed, almost totally detached. Gardner walked over to the water fountain and took a long, cool drink. He was at some distance from the others, but could hear the hushed undercurrent of conversation. He wondered if anything of significance was being said.

  Bert joined him. She brought her mouth down and drank deeply from the fountain. “Water’s icy cold. I suppose you had some reason for setting that up?” Her facial muscles were taut. “In your own way, you’re tougher than I am.”

  “No one felt much grief over Bradshaw’s death. I don’t think any one of them really cares whether or not his murderer is ever caught. But in Sonny’s case, there should be some sorrow or guilt. A possible killer was brought face to face with Mrs. Blake’s suffering which occurred as a direct result of the boy’s murder. I’m hoping that it will have some psychological effect, no matter how minimal.”

  “Psych out the killer? I wonder.”

  “I’m not convinced either death was premeditated.”

  “Sonny’s death might have been accidental,” Bert agreed.

  “Right. The motive must have been fear, panic. My thinking is that if we can upset the murderer enough, he or she will give something away.”

  “Right now, it seems we’re long on motive and short on evidence.”

  April Nevins reappeared. Gardner could see that her eyes were slightly red and puffy. Nevertheless, she walked erect, head raised high, tossing her mane of tawny hair defiantly.

  “Ms. Nevins, you provide magnificent scenery, but it might prove a distraction for the male element; do you have something you could wear over your bathing suit?”

  She removed a lacy black shift from her bag and put it on without comment. Gardner was very much aware that Louise, Cheryl and April were all beautiful women, each in her own way. If his ex-wife were here, without a doubt, she’d have made some cutting comment to the effect that she understood why he was so wrapped up in his work.

  It occurred to him the common denominator in Bradshaw’s attraction to each of these women was not actually their beauty, striking as it was. Most men desired a particular type of woman. Over and over, they selected women from the same mold. Some men liked their women dominant, others submissive. Most men were drawn to physical attractiveness, some to intellect, charm or wealth. The list of possibilities was innumerable. Bradshaw obviously admired beauty in his women. But more importantly, he looked for variety. Gardner saw Bradshaw as a man who was edgy and easily bored. Therefore, he always looked for the unusual—possibly even the bizarre? He would also crave admiration from women as well, since the man obviously had a major ego. Gardner was convinced that understanding Bradshaw’s relationships with women was somehow essential to solving the case.

  “Lieutenant, I really don’t think my wife should be subjected to this.”

  Bill Scofield broke Gardner’s train of thought, bringing him back to the situation at hand. Gardner was aware that Scofield’s short fuse might present a problem; he resolved to handle him cautiously.

  “You and your wife are involved in this.”

  Scofield’s sapphire eyes hardened to glittering brilliance. “You know damn well Lou was just released from the hospital this morning. Hearing a bunch of insults and dirty accusations tossed back and forth won’t do her any good, and it won’t help you find out who killed Bradshaw. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

  Gardner reflected that Scofield would have made a respectable Rhett Butler.

  Louise reached out and put her pale, slender hand gently on her husband’s muscled, tan bicep. “Bill, it’s all right. I can take it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “You’re too fragile for this. I want to take you home.”

  “We have to stay,” she replied calmly. Then she turned to Gardner. “I haven’t murdered anyone. I’m not afraid to be here.”

  “It seems your wife has made her own decision.”

  “This is stupid,” Scofield said angrily.

  “You haven’t any special reason for opposing it, do you? Is there a possibility that you’ve been holding back information or covering up to protect someone?”

  “Of course not!”

  Gardner watched him intently as did Bert.

  “We’re only here to talk.” Gardner used a reassuring tone of voice.

  “Could you please put out that foul-smelling cigar?” Cheryl said to Martin Walling, who was sitting to her right.

  “Free country, isn’t it?”

  “If you don’t put that thing out, I’m going to throw up all over you.”

  He gave her a dirty look, was about to say something, but thought better of it and finally tossed his cigar to the ground and stomped it out. As he stepped on it, Martha Rhoades let out a small but very audible gasp.

  “Smoking is not allowed here,” she said addressing the group in general. Her chilling gaze rested on Walling. She bent down and picked the offending item off the ground ever so carefully as if it were a poisonous snake, then placed it in a trash container with emphasis. “Evil creature,” she muttered audibly.

  Kim quietly rejoined the group, exchanging a troubled look with Gardner. Sometimes he could read exactly what she was thinking, but at the moment, there was too much happening for him to directly focus on her.

  Gardner could feel the tension stirring in the summer air. “There are a f
ew questions I didn’t get to ask you at the hospital, some points that need clarifying,” he said addressing Scofield again.

  “Like what?” Scofield asked irritably.

  Gardner continued in a calm, polite voice that nevertheless conveyed authority. “You were vague about what started your belief that Bradshaw was having an affair with your wife. It’s very important, vital, in fact, that you tell us everything.”

  Scofield’s hand tightened on the arm of the chair so that his knuckles whitened. “In front of everyone?”

  “Especially in front of them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Tell us the truth.” Gardner gave Scofield a hard look.

  Scofield lowered his eyes and acquiesced grudgingly. “There was an evening when Lou said she was going shopping with her friend. I didn’t want her to go so I made a fuss over it. But she wouldn’t back down, acted like her life depended on it. That just wasn’t like her. She always yielded when I insisted.”

  “There must have been more to it.”

  “I neglected to mention it occurred on the same day Bradshaw told me that he was seeing a married woman, someone I knew quite well. He also mentioned he would be seeing her that evening.”

  “That was the evening I went to the doctor to find out if I was pregnant,” Lou said, her voice oddly detached and distanced.

  “For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you just tell me?” Scofield turned an anguished look on his wife. “We never used to keep secrets from each other.”

  She sighed deeply as a sudden breeze mussed her auburn tresses. “I wasn’t sure what your reaction would be. How many times did you tell me you thought it was wrong to bring children into our terrible world? I thought I’d better be sure I was pregnant before I told you anything. I was afraid of making you angry at me.”

  “What else was there?” Gardner pressed.

  “That’s all there was to it. Okay?”

  He knew that Scofield was holding back, hiding something, and wondered if it were particularly damaging. “It’s not okay. You’re not being straight with us.”

  The final rays of sunlight glinted off Scofield’s sandy hair. He stood straight and tall looking like a vengeful Nordic god. “It has no bearing on the case, Lieutenant.”