The Drowning Pool (28 page)

“Damn, we haven’t really finished with the case, have we?” Bert put down her fork in disgust.

“Let’s just say we haven’t seen the last of the pool club,” Gardner said.

“I have a feeling no matter what Martha Rhoades does to it, that pool will never be really clean again.” Bert observed.

“The worst part is that your names aren’t mentioned once in the newspaper article. I don’t understand it.” Evie’s face wore a glum expression.

“Don’t let it bother you, honey. We’re not mentioned because neither of us had anything to do with releasing the story.”

“Because the case isn’t solved?” Gary ventured.

Gardner chewed thoughtfully on a barbecued drumstick and enjoyed the charcoal flavor in spite of the fact it would probably give him cancer one day. Captain Nash had decided that the Bradshaw case was closed with the arrest of Joan Walling. But as far as he was concerned, there were too many loose ends and too many unanswered questions. He was far from satisfied. Gardner pushed his plate away.

“Joan Walling believes she killed Bradshaw, but I’m not fully convinced. Neither is Bert. We really need to get more of the facts straight.”

He glanced at the newspaper lying on the table and found himself caught by an article that had received a less prominent location.

“According to this, Mayor Ryan has officially accused the chief of corruption, taking pay-offs and bribes. It says the chief countered by stating the accusations were all political in nature because they’re in different parties. He says that Ryan is trying to get rid of him and put his own man in office.”

“Who’s telling the truth?” Bert asked.

“Both and neither,” Gardner said with a shrug. “This town has a history of corruption, and I don’t think anyone will ever change it no matter how hard they try. It’s really a state-wide problem. Every politico has deep pockets. That’s why things remain second-rate.”

“It seems to me, we should all be trying to make things better,” Bert said with a deep frown.

“Spoken like an idealist.”

She was studying him. “I never figured you for a cynic.”

“Just a realist.”

Bert shook her head. “Eventually, you’ll be forced to take sides.”

“I hope not. I live and work in this town and my kids go to school here.”

“All the more reason for you to want it clean. You ought to run for public office or something.”

“I’m no politician.”

“You speak with an air of authority.”

“Are you suggesting I’m too full of myself?”

“Maybe just full of potato salad,” Bert said with a grin.

Kim joined them at that moment. Gardner welcomed her with a warm smile. The conversation had become too intense. He needed a change in direction. He hadn’t meant to discuss the murder investigation with his family. He was going against his own firm principles.

* * * *

Kim studied the group of people before her and smiled. She realized how much she wanted to be with them, especially Mike.

“We started without you,” Mike said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Rush hour traffic was terrible tonight.” Just the sight of him helped Kim’s nerves relax.

“Well, I’m glad you made it.”

She slipped off her suit jacket, folded it neatly and placed it on an empty chair, then joined the others on the redwood benches that faced the large rectangular table. There was a red-checkered cloth and the table practically groaned with plenty of picnic style food.

“Please help yourself,” Evie said. “The cooler has a good selection. So choose whatever drink you’d like as well.”

“You’re a perfect hostess,” Kim said with a friendly smile.

Evie looked pleased. Was the girl finally warming to her?

“We were talking about the newspaper article on Dad’s case,” Jean told her as Kim opened a diet ice tea.

“I saw it at work today.”

“Did you see how they didn’t mention Dad?” Evie asked.

“I did notice it.” She turned a questioning look on Mike, who merely shrugged.

“I told them no comment. I wasn’t ready to share any details. Captain Nash thought otherwise.”

The dinner was a pleasant one; a real change for her, feeling like a member of a family. She knew Mike had invited her for that very reason. He wanted her to see what she was missing. All part of his less-than-subtle campaign of courting her. She smiled to herself, not minding the least little bit.

Bert St. Croix also seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d relaxed, kicked back, was drinking a beer. Kim sensed that the outwardly tough police detective was a sensitive woman, one who’d suffered a great deal in her life.

Gary asked a question to the group in general. “Do you think all murderers are crazy?”

Kim bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “I think anyone who consciously plans the murder of another human being has to be mad.”

Bert looked stricken. Why should her comment upset Bert that way? Kim was puzzled.

“Sometimes, the taking of a life is necessary,” Bert said with emphasis.

* * * *

When dinner was over, Gary asked if he could take Evie out for a drive.

“How late?”

Gary swallowed hard. “Just an hour or so, sir.”

Mike looked at his watch. “All right. But first you’ll have to drop Jean off at her friend’s house. She has a sleepover tonight.”

Bert said goodnight and left when the kids did.

“I’ll clean up,” Kim said.

Mike grabbed her hand. “I don’t think so. I have other plans for you.”

“You do?”

“I definitely do.”

Mike pulled her into his arms and kissed her lips with a smacking sound. He tasted of beer and burgers and something else, an indefinable masculine essence that she found irresistible. Mike led her into the living room, sat down on the couch, pulling her on to his lap. She settled against him, her head pressed against his chest, enjoying the feel of his body, the solid beating of his heart. The strong lines of his face were softened in the glow of lamp light.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more of a help to you the other day dealing with your suspects. I didn’t contribute much.”

He stroked her cheek. “Having you there was great support as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re very good at interrogating people.”

“Think so?”

“See, there you go, answering with a question.”

He ran his hands down her arms, then along the sides of her breasts and Kim shivered. “For my next question I’ll ask how you like being touched by me.”

“I’m willing to work with you on your technique.”

He kissed her throat. “Good to know.” He unbuttoned the front of her blouse and kissed the valley between her breasts. The next thing she knew, her bra was unfastened and she was naked to the waist. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

His mouth found her right nipple and sucked hard as his thumb and forefinger traced an erotic outline around her left nipple. The lower portion of her body was beginning to weep for him. She felt him growing aroused and hard beneath her.

“Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Is that what you think of me?” His hands continued their sweet torture.

“It’s how Lady Caroline Lamb described Lord Byron, another seducer of women.”

He smiled at her, a wicked, sexy smile that made her heart beat wildly. “In all fairness, I only intend to seduce one woman, that being you. That Byron description might better fit Richard Bradshaw.”

He pushed her down on the cushions and removed her shoes. Her skirt and panties seemed to disappear as if by magic. “Lay, lady, lay,” he insinuated into her ear. His own clothes came next. She watched through half-closed lids as he ever so slowly removed his shirt, shorts and boxers, kicking off sneakers and socks.

“You have a great body,” she said, admiring his well-muscled arms and lean, hard abs. His erection looked enormous. He was more than ready for her.

“You have a strong effect on me,” he said, noting where her gaze was focused. “You could say I find conversation with you uplifting.”

She found herself blushing but had little chance to feel embarrassed. He joined her again on the couch, his mouth fastening once more on her breast. His right leg moved between her own legs, parting them. His fingers found and touched the spot between her legs where she was most sensitive, most needy for his touch.

“I want you so badly,” he said.

Kim couldn’t manage a coherent thought after that. And she didn’t want to: Everything was passion and pleasure between them.

* * * *

Gardner let Bert do the driving because he was preoccupied. Joan Walling’s confession, dramatic as it was, had offered only a partial explanation of what happened the night Bradshaw died.

“I like your kids,” Bert was saying.

“You’d make a decent mother,” he said. “You’ve got a way with children.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to find out.”

He caught the look of pain Bert couldn’t manage to hide. “You never know in life. Do you have much family? You never mention anyone.” She’d been a closed book on the subject, which made him wonder.

“My father took off right after I was born. Guess he didn’t want to be burdened with responsibility. My mother never got involved with another man after that. She worked two jobs to support us as best she could. She passed away several years ago.”

“You’re a New Yorker?”

“Brooklyn, born and raised. Graduated Prospect Heights High School where you were either West Indian or African-American. I didn’t fit in with either group since my mother came from the Islands and my father was an American black, product of a bi-racial marriage. I was a mutt, a hybrid. I didn’t belong.” Bert’s face changed expression as if she feared becoming too close, too personally involved. “So what makes you think there’s something wrong with Joan Walling’s confession?”

If Bert wanted to change the subject, he’d let her. “Joan didn’t cover all the bases. But maybe we can get it straight when we talk to her again.”

When Captain Nash saw them, his look of surprise was quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

“What the hell are you guys doing here? You’re off-duty today.”

“Something we have to check out,” Gardner said. With Nash, a terse reply was best.

“If it has anything to do with the Bradshaw case, forget it.”

“As a matter of fact, it does.”

Nash turned red; the nose that looked as if a steam-roller might have gone over it a few times flailed at the nostrils.

“What’s going on here? We’re finished with that. Everybody’s happy with the way you handled things.”

“Who’s everybody?” Gardner studied the captain’s face.

Nash looked away. “Hey, you know.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Gardner said evenly.

“Look, do you need to have diagrams drawn for you? Important people in this town don’t want you making waves. They’re satisfied, so leave it alone. Case closed.”

Gardner didn’t like the threatening undercurrent. It was like a whirlpool ready to suck him under. “There are still questions that need answers.”

“Mike, you’re no rookie. You know goddamn well small town politics can get ugly. A fella sticks his hand in the john, it might come out covered in crap.”

“The way it is now, the case will be thrown out. We don’t have enough hard evidence.” Gardner walked past Nash and went to his desk where Bert joined him.

“What next?” she asked.

“We’ve got to get hold of Fitzpatrick and double check Bradshaw’s autopsy report.”

Gardner had the report itself spread out in front of him. What he sought was confirmation. Luckily, he got through to Herb without much trouble.

“What’s up, Mike?”

“I’m not clear on the Bradshaw autopsy report. If you recall the pathology findings, the head wound was not listed as the cause of death.”

“Can’t this wait? I’ve got other work.”

“It’s important, Herb.”

“All right then. The head injury was serious but it didn’t kill him.”

“The knife wound?”

“Fatal.”

“You can be sure?”

“The blow to the head would have rendered the victim unconscious for an indefinite period of time. Certainly he had a concussion. There might even have been some degree of neurological impairment from inter-cranial pressure, but the blow wasn’t massive enough to kill him, at least not immediately. I don’t recall all the details though.”

“The head wound was definitely inflicted first?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you, Mike.” Fitzpatrick sounded exasperated.

“And about the time…”

“What is this?” the lab man interrupted. “For Christ sake, we’ve been all through this before.”

“Just bear with me for a couple of minutes. You gave us the time of death as being anywhere between six and nine p.m. Was it ever narrowed down further? Could it have been any later?”

Fitzpatrick sighed impatiently at the other end. “Look, Mike, you know damn well that Lester Jarvis isn’t all that competent at his job. If his brother-in-law wasn’t such a wheel in the county, that prick would never have become forensic pathologist in charge of performing all the autopsies for the M.E.’s office.”

“So what you’re saying is we can’t rely on time of death as being accurate.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I was hoping for something more, something that was overlooked.”

“We were as thorough as we could be.”

“How could you be sure, for example, that he wasn’t drowned?”

“No water in the lungs. That was the first thing Jarvis established. Although his lungs were in such bad shape that was the only thing not wrong with them.”

“How’s that?” Gardner asked with interest, his initial disappointment diminishing.

“The guy was unquestionably on his way to lung cancer, but I guess that doesn’t help you very much, does it?”

“You can never tell.” He thanked Fitzpatrick and ended the conversation, then turned to Bert. “Things don’t feel right. Remember what Mrs. Walling said she used as a weapon?”

“Sure, a baseball bat,” Bert said.

“Al Capone used a bat to good effect for murder but apparently Mrs. Walling isn’t in his league, if you’ll pardon my bad pun.”