The Drowning Pool (3 page)

“Do either of you know who owns this knife?”

“It’s mine,” Sonny said, his lips drawn thin.

“Where do you usually keep it?”

“Right here in the utility room.”

“In plain view?”

“Well, sure, it has to be handy. I need a blade sometimes, ’cause of the maintenance work.”

Gardner couldn’t think of any more questions to ask for the moment so he let them go. Besides, the glare from Sonny’s teeth was hard to take even in a dark room.

On the brief drive to Richard Bradshaw’s apartment, Bert began to talk. “It must have been a man. A woman couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

Bert shot him a disapproving look. “You saw the size of that Bradshaw guy. Must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, and he was easily over six feet tall.”

“Six feet two,” Gardner corrected.

“And you think a woman could have carried or even dragged him to the pool from that utility room?”

“An especially strong woman.” He thought fleetingly of Martha Rhoades and her physical characteristics. “I’ve seen some women body builders who were amazingly strong. And then, of course, a woman might have a male accomplice, or it could have been two women acting together.”

“Wacko theories. Nine times out of ten it’s the obvious choice that’s right.”

“So you think it was Sonny?”

“That’s right, I do.”

“What was his motive?”

“How the hell should I know right off? They say around headquarters that you got some special kind of insight into people. I think maybe you’re over-rated.”

Gardner trusted his instincts; they told him Bert’s hostility was directed at the world in general, not himself in particular. Whatever was troubling her, and something definitely was, she needed to talk it out—still, that couldn’t be hurried or forced.

St. Croix rang the bell to the Bradshaw apartment and then waited with impatience.

“Who is it?” a woman’s soft voice wafted through the door.

“Police,” Bert called out in a throaty voice.

The door was opened by a willowy brunette whose age Gardner estimated to be around twenty-five. She was wearing a blue halter and matching shorts. Her tall, slender model’s figure radiated elegance and style rather than sex appeal. Something about her made Gardner think of his daughter Evie, who had a similar natural grace and poise. He politely introduced Bert and himself, explaining that they wanted to talk to her about Richard Bradshaw. She agreed to speak to them only after he told her that Bradshaw was dead. She stood immobile, completely expressionless. The color drained from her face like wine escaping a shattered decanter.

“It’s all over then,” she muttered, more to herself than them. Her eyes met his. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you both to leave.” She seemed preoccupied, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. There were no tears in her eyes; her expression was guarded, not at all what he would expect.

“As a matter of fact,” he said gently, “there are a few things we need to discuss with you.”

“Am I supposed to be able to help you in some way?”

“Just a few minutes of your time.”

She led them into a large, expensively furnished living room. It had all the glamour of a fashion showroom and was just as impersonal. Pushing back a long chestnut mane of hair, she seated herself on a carved, Mediterranean chair. He and St. Croix located themselves on an avocado, crushed velvet sofa. The thick, matching wall-to-wall carpeting felt incredibly soft under his feet. Bradshaw had obviously been a man of expensive tastes and had the means to indulge them.

“You’re listed at the rental office as Mrs. Bradshaw. Is that your legal name?”

“No, it’s not. Rick and I weren’t married.” She met his gaze in a direct, bold manner, defying him to comment or snicker. “That was just so we wouldn’t raise any eyebrows when we took the apartment.”

“Your name then?”

“Cheryl McNeill—
Ms.
Cheryl McNeill.”

“The questions I have to ask, some of them will tend to be personal, Ms. McNeill. I hope you understand.”

“No, not really. What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’re asking me any questions at all. I don’t know anything about Rick’s death. You seem to know a lot more than I do. I ought to be the one asking questions.”

“Sure, go ahead.” His tone was sympathetic. If the young woman knew nothing about Bradshaw’s death, then this experience was at best difficult for her.

“Was he in an automobile accident?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. He did enjoy driving fast and taking chances. Rick could be reckless, wild at times. He felt it made life more exciting. He didn’t like anything that was too predictable. It was part of his charm and his charisma. He always stirred up excitement around him.”

“In what other ways was he reckless?”

Her nostrils flared and her cheeks flushed. “With women, always with women.”

“How do you mean?” He was more than a little surprised by her candor.

Cheryl McNeill stood up and paced the velvet carpeting.

“Rick was insatiable. No one woman could satisfy him for very long. He had to keep on proving his virility, always the need for new conquests.”

Gardner noticed that she was no longer meeting his eyes, not even momentarily. He sensed that he was touching on a very raw nerve. At any moment, she would likely stop being cooperative altogether if he didn’t in some way make this easier for her.

“Would it be all right if Mr. Bradshaw’s belongings were examined? Nothing will be disturbed.”

She nodded her head. He gave Bert a meaningful look and she rose and walked toward the bedrooms.

“What was your arrangement with Bradshaw?” With St. Croix gone, an aura of intimacy was established, and Cheryl seemed less tense.

“Our arrangement? That’s a quaint way to put it. We lived together, as so many couples do.”

“Just that?”

“Well, not exactly. Rick didn’t want me to work. He paid me the equivalent of my old salary.”

“To stay here?”

“To behave like a wife in every way. He liked nice things surrounding him. And weird as this might sound, he loved my cooking. I’m something of a gourmet chef.”

“Would you have preferred it if he offered to marry you?”

She sat down again, this time as if she were suddenly very weary. “Not at first, but we’ve been together almost a year. I won’t lie about it. I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. I don’t think of myself as a kept woman. That sort of thing went out with zoot suits. I dislike chauvinism in any form. When it all started, Rick said he wanted it this way because he’d been burned once before. He was afraid of remarrying. He figured we could live together like we were married but there wouldn’t be any demands or formal commitment. If I wanted to date someone else, even bring him here to the apartment, then I could. The same was true for him. Rick rented this apartment with that in mind. Two bedrooms, two complete bathrooms.”

“And has it worked out?”

“For him—definitely.”

“But not for you?”

She bit down on her lower lip again. “I haven’t wanted to date anyone else.”

“Did he bring anyone here?”

She nodded, the long mane of brown hair falling forward like a melting mound of rich, Swiss chocolate. “During the time I went home to visit my family in San Diego, he had another woman here. I could smell her cheap perfume on the pillow.”

“How did it make you feel?”

She viewed him with a pensive stare. “You want me to say that I was jealous? Well, I was. But I didn’t even ask him about it. I didn’t have the right.” Her eyes met his again, level and direct. “I think the situation was changing though.”

He raised his brow and waited for her to continue. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her tension all too evident.

“Last month he neglected me completely. Didn’t show up for days at a time. When he was here, he barely spoke to me. I knew he had to be sleeping with someone else. Rick always had sex with me at least once a day until then. Occasionally, someone phoned, but when I answered, the person hung up.”

“Never a voice?”

“Not ever.”

“Did you plan a confrontation with Bradshaw?”

“I thought I’d wait it out, but I couldn’t.”

“Something happened at the pool?”

Her face began to redden. She stood up and began pacing again. He thought her a private sort of person and this must be proving difficult for her; yet she seemed to want to talk to him.

“You know about that incident? That nosy-body lifeguard at the pool told you, didn’t she? No need to tell me. Rick used to make fun of the way she would eavesdrop and then throw disapproving glances at him as if she considered herself so morally superior.”

Gardner changed the subject. “Did you go to the pool looking for Bradshaw that day?”

“Yes. He’d dropped by the apartment after work to pick up a bathing suit and towel as he often did. Then he left.”

“You didn’t suggest going with him?”

“No, I rarely go to the pool. Rick preferred going alone anyway. I made my mind up to follow him there on impulse. I was bored and lonely. I thought it might help our relationship if I joined him for a swim.”

“What happened at the pool?”

“I think you already know. Besides, I’m answering too many questions.” Her tone was becoming noticeably wary; her luminous brown eyes burned with what must have been painful memories.

“Forgive me, Ms. McNeill, but someone murdered your friend yesterday. We do need information. These are not idle questions.”

“You think I had something to do with it?” Her eyes widened.

“We believe he was killed at the pool club. That’s why we want to trace his movements when he was there. Again, what happened that prior day?”

“All right,” she responded in a reluctant voice. “When I got to the pool, he was there but not alone. He and some virtually naked woman were splashing around and laughing together in the center of the pool. He was disgustingly familiar with her. I would never have let him treat me that way in public.”

That struck Gardner as being true. Cheryl McNeill was young and attractive, but there was something of a ladylike reserve about her.

“I was angry, but still under control. When Rick saw me, he got out of the pool. Then he started mumbling some words to the effect that I was following him around and spying on his activities. He could be terribly insensitive and cruel at times, a total bastard. I suppose that’s when I started shouting. I didn’t mean to. I was just so furious. I told him that I was going back to California permanently. I never have liked the East Coast and I hate living in New Jersey. God, the pollution makes L.A. seem like the Garden of Eden! Anyway, I guess I might have called him a few choice names. I started to leave but he came after me and began apologizing. He said he wanted to take me out to dinner that night, someplace intimate and private where we could talk things out. I refused to discuss it with him and left immediately.”

“Did you forgive him?”

“Eventually. He came back to the apartment soon after I did. He told me the woman I’d seen him with was just a slut who meant nothing to him. When I strongly suggested he was lying, he claimed he really loved me. Then he said he’d prove it was true. He was going to marry me. He said he wouldn’t let me go back to California alone. He was very passionate and I really believed him. Rick insisted that he just needed a few days to tidy up his affairs. He said he was through with other women. I promised to be patient and didn’t ask any questions. I honestly believe he meant to make a clean start.”

If she were lying, she was very good at it because she convinced him. “You came with Mr. Bradshaw from California. Did you know his wife out there?”

“No. I met him while the divorce was becoming final.”

“What caused their break-up?”

Cheryl lowered her eyes; long, silky lashes hid their expression. “He said she was frigid. He didn’t know until after they were married because he respected her demand to keep herself pure until their wedding night. It turned out that she was an ice queen. I guess the experience was what made him so bitter and cynical about women. Rick felt she’d made a fool out of him. That was one reason he decided never to remarry without a trial period.”

“And you believed what he told you?”

“I wanted to. Rick was such a fantastic salesman. By profession, he was a sales executive, a very successful one. That’s why they brought him out here: to improve the organization of the corporation in the East. He’d smile at you and you’d believe whatever he said.”

“Did you hate him?”

The question didn’t seem to throw her. “You can’t love someone without hating him a little sometimes. But I really did believe Rick when he said he loved me and was going to marry me.”

“Do you happen to know the name of the woman you saw him with in the pool?”

“April Nevins—at least that’s who Joan Walling said she was.”

“You know the Wallings?”

“Yes. Rick was Martin Walling’s boss. In addition to working for the same company, they seemed to have a lot in common.”

“For instance?”

“Like Rick, Martin was divorced. He and Joan have only been married around six months.”

“How did Bradshaw and Walling get along?”

“Just as you’d expect, very well. Of course, they were both salesman, so it’s hard to separate appearance from reality. But I always thought that Martin admired Rick very much.”

“Are you and Mrs. Walling friends?”

“Not really, but they’ve had us over and we’ve reciprocated.”

“Do you remember how Mrs. Walling happened to mention Miss Nevins?”

“She was at the pool the day I blew up. Joan witnessed the whole scene. I guess she called to dig around for information. Anyway, she dropped by the next evening.”

“By herself?”

“Yes. She and Martin don’t seem to spend much time together.”

“Unusual for newlyweds, isn’t it?”

“Not if you know Joan and Martin. He belongs to a lot of organizations and things, claims it’s important for business. Mostly men’s groups. And Joan’s quite independent. Mostly keeps to herself. In fact, before that evening, I never realized she was the nosy type. They’re very different people, she and Martin, but then they do say opposites attract, don’t they?”