The Killing Edge (5 page)

“That's nice.”

“She seems to think so.”

“Isn't what you're doing against the new court rulings?”

“I'm not recording anything. I came to the Strickland house to phone headquarters and just happened to overhear.” He screwed the phone back together and hung up. “Now, that is interesting. The two of them were bundling tonight, but he doesn't want to bring her into it if he can avoid it.”

“Please tell me what's going on.”

“I'll fill you in later. I want to talk to Herb a minute.”

They found Herb Strickland in the sunroom slumped in a large wicker chair between two rows of pigs.

“I don't think Dad would have liked all this,” he said.

“Mr. Strickland, can you tell me if you heard or saw anything unusual over at the Bridger house tonight?” Will asked in a soft voice.

“Can't say that I did. Let me think now. I left the bank a little after five, arrived home, and worked with the pigs for awhile.”

“Pigs?”

“The collection,” Herb said with a wave of his hand toward the shelves lining the room. “They have to be dusted every day, and some of the metal ones need polish. After that I made myself a little dinner. I didn't hear anything.”

“What time did you eat?”

“Oh, seven-thirty, perhaps a little after. I had a cocktail, broiled myself a steak and made a salad. With Toby in Florida, I have to do those things myself.”

“And you didn't hear or see anything?”

“Nothing unusual. No yells, screams, or anything like that. I did see Mrs. Bridger for a moment.”

“You did?” Will leaned forward on the ottoman he was sitting on.

“I was eating in the breakfast nook, that's at the back of the house, and when the light went on at the dock I looked out and saw her ice skating. Both houses share the same dock.”

“And that was after seven?”

“Around half past. I didn't put any particular significance to it, Mauve often went skating on the estuary. I finished my meal and picked up the kitchen, so I didn't see her leave the ice.”

“Anything else?”

“No, not until all the cars came.”

“What cars?”

“The police cars. And then I saw L.C. running through the snow and almost getting hit by the snowplow, and I went out to see if anything was the matter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Strickland. Would you mind if I talked to Mr. Bridger and his attorney in the study?”

“Of course not.”

With a slap on his knees, Will rose and walked from the room.

“It's a terrible thing,” Herb said.

“What did you mean earlier about the Bridger marriage?” L.C. asked.

“I wouldn't want to spread gossip at a time like this, L.C. It wouldn't be appropriate. But there were rumors that they weren't getting along too well, and of course Raleigh was under a great deal of pressure over the shopping center.”

“A loan he made for the bank?”

“No. I mean when he purchased the center for his own personal investment.”

“The one at the Route 99 junction?”

“That's it. Seemed like an excellent purchase when he sunk every dime he had into the thing, but then the whole real estate market went bad and his major tenant broke their lease. He's got a lemon.”

“I've passed it, it's half vacant.”

“It will probably go under,” Herb said as he picked up and began to polish a piggy bank.

Noah Washington and Raleigh Bridger were huddled in a corner of the small study talking in whispers. They looked up as Will entered. Will sat at the desk, fumbled in his breast pocket for a pad, and then methodically searched the desk for a writing implement. His movements were purposely slow and cumbersome. A sidelong glance at Noah Washington, whose face reflected annoyance, indicated that the calculated effect was working. With a slight grunt, the small attorney reached over the desk and handed Will a gold fountain pen.

“I suppose you want some sort of statement from my client?”

Will's eyes widened. “Client, Noah? I hadn't realized that we were at that point. I'm just a small town police officer, a woman has been murdered, and I thought the three of us could talk things over. Right, Raleigh?”

Raleigh glanced at Noah and then back to Will. “I'm ready to make a statement.”

“As to your activities this evening.”

“What else are you interested in?”

“Very well. Let's proceed. Now, I want to get all the details correct. You worked overtime at the bank, and then left about …”

“No.”

“I don't understand, Raleigh. You told me a few minutes ago that you were working at the bank, you weren't sure what time your secretary left, and then you got home …”

“He said no,” Noah said sharply.

“Then where was he?”

“I was upset about some personal matters and left the bank about 5:30 or maybe 5:45. I wanted a drink before I went home. I drove down to the End of the Pier and stayed there until 8:20 or after.”

“End of the Pier,” Will repeated as he laboriously wrote in the pad and underlined the name of the restaurant where he and L.C. had dinner earlier in the evening. “They have terrific lobster there.”

“I only drank.”

“You weren't there, Raleigh.”

“What?”

“Wait a minute, Will,” Noah snapped. “I don't care for this type of accusatory interrogation.”

“This isn't an interrogation, Counselor. This is a brief statement from the murdered woman's husband. I want to know where in hell he was this evening.”

“It's not germane.”

“Crap!”

“Now wait a goddamn minute!”

“No, damn it, Noah. Advise your client, as I assume you have, that a simple statement of his activities is not prejudicial nor does it necessarily implicate him in any manner.”

“Small town cop, my foot,” Raleigh said and turned away from them.

“You're calling my client a liar. I resent that and will instruct him to refuse to answer any further questions.”

“You do that, Noah. But before you do, let me tell you that his first statement to me indicated that he was working at the bank tonight. We have proof from the security alarm people that he wasn't. He's now had time to consider that. A moment ago he informed me that he was in a restaurant at the same time Laura Converse and I were. And he wasn't there, Noah.”

“You were at the End of the Pier?”

“With my date, until after nine.”

Noah put his hand on Raleigh's knee. “Raleigh, the man only wants a simple statement. A lie can only hurt you. As your attorney, I strongly advise you to make a straightforward statement.”

“I don't want other people involved.”

“Like it or not she is involved.”

Raleigh was agitated as he paced the room. “People won't understand.”

“For the present, it's not necessary that anyone outside of this room know any of this,” Will said. “I can't make that a firm commitment for the complete future, but I'll try.”

Raleigh looked at the two men expectantly and seemed to make a decision. He spoke in a torrent of words. “I was with Sandy. Sandra Devonshire. We were at the restaurant for a few minutes. We had one drink and then left. I drove her home and stayed until way after eight.”

“The Devonshire girl who works at the bank?”

“Yes. She's my secretary.”

“Where does she live?”

“In the Fairlawn apartments off Forum Street.”

“Are you having an affair with Miss Devonshire?”

“That's none of your business.”

Will nodded. “Perhaps. Now earlier, you told me that you almost hit a man as you drove home.”

“That was untrue.”

“Oh?”

“I said that because of my bloody nose. I hit it on the car as I got out. I thought it would look bad if I had blood on me.”

“I see. Then you did not have a near accident with anyone?”

“No. I drove straight home.”

“And arrived at what time?”

“About a quarter to nine. I walked in and saw … found Mauve and I called Noah right away. A few minutes later, after I had composed myself, I called the police.”

“I see.”

“A simple enough statement,” Noah said. “Obviously a man in Mr. Bridger's position doesn't want the slightest hint of scandal concerning Miss Devonshire. Even if it was perfectly innocent, on the face of it there is a certain tone.”

“I'll grant that,” Will said.

“At this point, you must agree that we have been most cooperative. Now, I want my client to see a medical doctor. He is upset to the point of a complete breakdown and needs attention as soon as possible.”

“Was your wife insured, Raleigh?”

“See here, Will. I told you he's ill.”

“Yes or no?” Will's voice was low and matter of fact.

“Yes she was. I believe there is a $250,000 policy outstanding. It was taken out years ago by her father, and we always kept it up. It was term with no cash value, and so I never borrowed on it.”

“Then you have been borrowing recently?”

“That's it.” Noah stood up and pushed Raleigh toward the door. “Unless you have a reason, and there's no legal reason I can conceive of, I'm taking my client to his physician.”

They stood in the door as if waiting for a thundering reply from Will. Instead, Will walked slowly toward them. “I think that's a fine idea. But, Noah, as an officer of the court, I charge you with the responsibility of seeing that your client presents himself at my office by ten tomorrow morning.”

“He'll be there.”

Will stood in the center of the small study tapping Noah Washington's pen on his pad. There would be a lot to do in the morning: a talk with the liquor store owner, Sandy Devonshire should be interviewed, and it wouldn't hurt to get in-depth information on Raleigh's financial condition. He feared the direction in which the investigation was leading, and that didn't include dealing with the television and newspaper people in the morning.

“Wait just a damn minute!” It was patrolman Dave August's voice from the hall.

Will leaped for the door and was halfway down the hall when he realized the situation.

Dave was crouched by the door with drawn service revolver. He had the gun extended in text book fashion and aimed at Noah and Raleigh.

“They're trying to leave, Chief,” the voice croaked from the nervous officer.

“Oh, Jesus,” Will said half to himself. “It's all right, Dave. Mr. Bridger has permission to go with his attorney. By the way, Raleigh, we'll have to seal your house for a few days. If it's not too inconvenient, could you stay somewhere else?”

“He'll be at my place,” Noah growled as the two men angrily left the house.

“Dave, we haven't shot down an attorney and banker in Lantern City for a number of years.”

“The bastard gave me a shove.”

“Who?”

“The banker prick, wouldn't give me a mortgage loan last year either.”

The door flew open to admit a tall man wearing a long black cape with a vivid red lining. He stomped his feet in a quick one-two that was almost a parody of a dance step. Doctor Joseph Farley laughed in a high falsetto.

“In case they didn't tell you, Chief Barnes, the body is next door. Or maybe you don't like the sight of blood. “He cackled wildly.

“You have anything, Doc?”

“She's dead.”

“Jesus, that really helps.”

“The carotid artery has been severed causing an extreme loss of blood.”

“That occurred to me, Doctor. How about an educated guess as to the time of death?”

“Sometime between 7:30 and 8:30. We're taking the bag to the office now. I'll get you a full report in four or five days.”

“Four or five days? You're out of your mind.”

“Well, I'm busy too, you know.”

“Wait a minute, Farley. I want a report in my office by noon tomorrow. Understand?”

“I just happened to be on call tonight so you don't have to get huffy. I also have guests waiting for me at home.”

“Your guest is going to be on a slab in half an hour, and you had better goddamn well be bent over her doing your bit. Understand?”

“Well, I never …” With a swirl of his cape the doctor stormed from the house.

“Can we go home now?” L.C. asked from the couch in the living room.

Will turned to see her curled up on the sofa with her legs pulled under her slim body. “The forensic people must be over there by now. I have to check on a few more things.”

“Will.” She pulled him toward her and whispered in his ear. “You've got your striped boxer shorts on.” She covered a laugh as he glared and left the house.

In order to avoid further conversation concerning dear old dad, and to preclude a further pig tour, it seemed circumspect for her to lie back on the couch and close her eyes. She felt a blanket pulled gently over her, and then heard the soft pad of the bulky man leaving the room.

They would be taking Mauve Bridger to the ambulance, and then to wherever it was that Doctor Farley did his thing. Will and the state lab people would be combing the house, taking finger prints and a multitude of photographs.

She stared at the ceiling and thought about the Bridgers. The first time she had met Raleigh was that day in the old house when Will forced her to come downstairs. She had found Raleigh at the kitchen table with the agency's books and financial statements spread before him.

He had looked up and smiled boyishly. “You need immediate operating capital in order to survive, and I think I know how we can get it.”

She had numbly followed his tracings of possible secondary financing, remortgaging and establishing a line of credit with a commercial bank. The figures had tumbled and wavered before her until after an hour, clarity had returned, and she had pulled a chair closer to the table and begun to make notes.