The Drowning Pool Read online

  “All that complaining about me being in debt,” he continued. “I guess I figured I’d needle you a little in return. Anybody who’s been soaked for child support the way I have deserves some sympathy. My ex-wife was a rotten bitch. She really took me to the cleaners. We only had one kid and he’s seven. She can work while he’s in school, but will she? Hell, no! Rather drive the nails into my hide.”

  There was an uneasy silence and Gardner looked uncomfortable. Bert wasn’t too thrilled herself. Walling made her feel like puking.

  “Mrs. Walling, what kind of work are you engaged in?” Gardner turned his steady gray eyes in her direction.

  “I’m a systems analyst.”

  Bert studied the woman. She was unexceptional in height and build, maybe five-five with a medium frame. The plainness of her face was underscored by a sharp chin. Her lips were thin and her nostrils seemed pinched. There was no sparkle to her hazel eyes. If she wasn’t homely, then she was close to it. The fact that she was reticent to speak made Bert think she had an introverted personality. Then again, she seemed to be weighing every response as if making certain she wasn’t giving anything away, in direct contrast to her husband, who was too blunt with his comments. Bert found herself neither liking nor trusting either of them. Then again, in police work, it was best to be short on trust. She’d learned long ago that lying and distortion come as easily to people as eating and drinking.

  “You have a responsible job,” Gardner said.

  “Joan’s a very responsible person,” Martin interjected, digging into his wife again with mockery in his voice.

  “One of us has to be responsible, dear,” she returned, dripping acid.

  Bert shot a significant look in Gardner’s direction. The Wallings were clearly past the honeymoon stage.

  “It would help us if you could get back to discussing Richard Bradshaw.”

  “Sure, Lieutenant, what do you want to know?”

  “You worked with Bradshaw. Tell us about that.”

  “Martin worked for him, not with him,” Mrs. Walling said.

  Walling threw his wife a killing look. “We worked for the same outfit. In fact, it was me who suggested these apartments to him. See, we hit it off right away. Our relationship was always as much social as it was business.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Well, he was just a great guy to work with, really nice and easy-going. Nobody had a sharper mind.”

  “In what capacity did the two of you work together? Did he supervise you closely?”

  “He was my boss in theory, but he wasn’t standing over me. I’m a district sales manager. I’m on the road a lot, working with different salesmen, checking over accounts. Rick was put in charge of the entire east coast operation, all the managers. That meant that he was out on the road a lot too. But he had an office in New York at company headquarters.”

  “What kind of company are we talking about?”

  “Pharmaceutical. You know, drugs.”

  Bert raised her brows with interest but said nothing. Big money, deep pockets.

  “Could we have the name of your company and the address of the main office?”

  “Sure. I’ll get you guys a business card.” Walling checked a desk drawer and came back with a white card that had Marcom elaborately embossed on it.

  “Who was Bradshaw’s boss?”

  “Fella named Briscoe. He’s the regional sales manager.”

  “I thought that was Bradshaw’s job.”

  Walling seemed momentarily flustered. Bert picked up on it and noticed that Gardner had as well.

  “Did I say he was? Sorry, I must have given you the wrong impression. Briscoe can explain things better. That is, if you can ever get through to him. He’s always either out of the office or busy in a conference. You know how executives are.”

  Actually, she didn’t know, and was certain she never would.

  “Did Mr. Bradshaw have any business or personal enemies that you know about?”

  “Rick? Impossible! He was one terrific guy. Charm and class all the way. Everybody liked him, even Joan. Right, honey?”

  “He was more interesting than your other friends,” she agreed in a detached tone of voice.

  “Interesting doesn’t hope to cover it. Christ, did he ever know how to score with the ladies. What a stud!” Walling’s smile was an envious leer.

  “I have some questions about a few of those ladies.”

  “Shoot, Lieutenant, I’ll enjoy answering. Say, would you like a cigar?”

  Gardner responded negatively. It would figure that someone like Walling would smoke cigars; Bert always associated cigars with fat, bald men, wannabes with no taste or common sense. Walling fit the stereotype perfectly.

  “Well, I think I’ll have one.”

  Mrs. Walling let out an agonized groan. “Thinking about it is as far as you get,” she said, showing some real spirit for the first time. “That hideous smell never leaves once you’ve smoked one of those things.”

  “Joan doesn’t approve of drinking or smoking. Regular Puritan. Sometimes I wish I were a bachelor again. Hell, I got screwed twice. Big dummy, that’s me. Guess I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to remarry. You got me on the rebound, honey.”

  Mrs. Walling stood up, her face red to the hairline. “Well, I certainly didn’t get any kind of bargain, Martin.”

  That was for certain.

  “You were over thirty and lucky to get me.” Walling seemed much more composed than his wife.

  She walked away with quick strides through the dining area and opened a sliding glass door that led out to a terrace. She betrayed her anger by slamming the door in a forceful manner.

  “Do you and your wife quarrel often, Mr. Walling?”

  “Now and then, like everybody. You know how it is. We’re still newlyweds.” He grinned through nicotine-stained teeth that gave him an almost sinister look. “We need time to adjust to each other. Joan’s got a heart like one of her computers. She doesn’t lose her temper much, mostly just ices over when she’s angry. She doesn’t understand that most of us aren’t as pure and free from vice as she is.”

  “No vices?” Gardner probed.

  “Well, she fucks pretty good. I mean, you know how important that is. And she wasn’t no virgin when I met her either, in spite of living with her folks.”

  Bert found it hard resisting the temptation to stuff Walling’s cigar down his throat.

  “I was playing the field. She invited herself up to my apartment, bold as brass. When a woman like her acts that way right off, I get uneasy. So I told her that I didn’t want to get serious with anyone for a while. But she decided to stay for the weekend. Joan can be very aggressive when she wants something. She set out to change my mind and she did a real job.” Martin flashed his leering smile, displaying pinkish white gums against crooked, yellowing teeth.

  “Did you know Richard Bradshaw’s women friends? Would any of them have reason to kill him?” Gardner’s tone was neutral, non-judgmental. How did he manage it?

  “Rick was such a popular fella. He really turned the broads on. Handsome son-of-a-bitch. But he played it cool. He wasn’t dumb like me. Rick didn’t rush into a second marriage.”

  Bert found it increasingly difficult not to betray her visceral reaction to Walling. She couldn’t tell about Gardner because he was good at keeping his cool, but she had an idea that Gardner felt the same way. She also realized that Walling wasn’t aware of their reaction to him; he was too obtuse an asshole.

  “Did any of Bradshaw’s former women friends dislike him?”

  “Probably, but that doesn’t mean they’d kill him. I figure it was likely some mugger or drug addict.”

  Gardner ignored the comment. “Do you know Cheryl McNeill?”

  “Sure, Rick brought her over a couple of times and we went out with them once. Stuck-up bitch. She puts on airs. Wants everyone to think she’s a real lady. Never even laughed at any of my jokes, like they were too vulgar for he
r refined tastes. Shit, even Joan laughs at my jokes sometimes. Just to give you an idea of the kind of deadhead she is, Rick and her had some kind of fight at the pool club. He was supposed to come here that evening—I don’t know which broad he planned to bring. Anyway, he calls up and says he can’t make it. I could hear her yapping in the background: ‘don’t ask them to go out with us. I can’t stand that big blob of protoplasm.’ She didn’t care whether I heard her or not.”

  “Did they patch things up?”

  Walling shrugged. “I don’t know. Joan might. I didn’t get to talk with him after that. Like I said, I’m on the road a lot. I was away for a few days around that time.”

  “Do you know April Nevins?”

  “Who doesn’t?” The leering smile returned to Walling’s lips.

  “What’s your impression of her?”

  “A real nice piece of ass. Rick brought her over once. We had some drinks together. She was real lively, not a dull broad like Cheryl. She and Rick really put away the booze. And she laughed at my jokes. I don’t think I took my eyes off her the entire time. She was wearing this skimpy black dress with nothing underneath. What a bod!” Walling let out an appreciative sigh.

  “Did you ever see her socially? That is, not in Bradshaw’s company?”

  “Only at the pool. Don’t get me wrong. I’m human, but when my first wife and I weren’t hitting it off so good, I started visiting pros. A guy has to get it somewhere, right? Except that only caused me more trouble. I picked up a nasty case. It sobered me fast. I mean, it could have been something more serious, even deadly, if you catch my drift. I got real careful after that. The way I see it, April is an easy lay, just begging for it. I’m keeping away from the kind that sees too much action. Rick even told me he was using rubbers whenever he slept with her.”

  Bert could tell by the expression on Gardner’s face that he’d taken all he could stand of Martin Walling for the present. Personally, she was grateful she hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Walling. I would like to speak with your wife now.”

  “Go right ahead. You sure I can’t get you a drink? Some nice cold beer maybe?”

  “We’re still on duty,” Gardner replied.

  “Well, I’ll just pour myself one. All this talk made me damn thirsty.”

  Bert was already on her feet, quickly following Gardner out to the terrace. The beauty of the view immediately struck her. The terrace faced out on a huge, landscaped courtyard.

  “Very nice here,” she commented to Mrs. Walling, who was resting her well-tanned legs on a stool.

  “I find it relaxing to sit out by myself when I come home from work.” She spoke in a low monotone and avoided looking at either of them.

  “Do you mind answering a few questions for us?” Gardner asked.

  She yawned softly, almost deliberately. “No, but I doubt I know anything that could help your investigation.”

  “Let us make that decision. Your husband mentioned the fact that you know April Nevins.”

  “I know her but we’re not close friends.” Her manner remained distant.

  “And Cheryl McNeill?”

  “She’s also an acquaintance.”

  “You do, however, know some of the more intimate details concerning their relationship to Mr. Bradshaw?”

  “Neither one ever tried to conceal anything.” Joan Walling gave the impression that the conversation bored her, but Bert decided that might be a careful pose. She sensed wariness beneath the disinterested facade.

  “Do you know if Ms. McNeill made up with Bradshaw after the incident at the pool?”

  “Yes, as far as I know.”

  “And he promised to marry her?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “Did you speak to Bradshaw at any time after that? If so, did he confirm the story?”

  “I didn’t see him, so I really don’t know.”

  “What about Miss Nevins? Did Bradshaw break off with her after the pool incident?”

  “They had a fight. I’m not exactly certain who did the breaking off. Probably it was a mutual thing. But I know it didn’t end on a friendly note. April was bitter.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “I told you everything I know.”

  Her coldness didn’t deter Gardner; he kept after her. “Was Bradshaw seeing any other women besides those two?”

  “None that I’m aware of, but then I don’t qualify as an expert on the life and times of Richard Bradshaw.”

  “Do you think Bradshaw might have confided that kind of information to your husband?”

  “Hardly. Martin is a blabbermouth. Rick was only open with people when it suited his purpose. I’ll admit we were both curious, but Rick kept his personal affairs pretty much to himself. Unlike my husband, he was discreet. I consider that sensible, don’t you?”

  “Mrs. Walling, your husband mentioned being in debt. To your knowledge, did he ever borrow money from Mr. Bradshaw?”

  She sat up straight in her chair, posture stiffening visibly.

  “No, he didn’t owe Rick anything. I’m the one he always pesters for money. I think there’s something I ought to explain about my husband, since he does tend to give people distorted impressions. When we first married, I paid some of the outstanding bills. For example, I took care of the phone bill and had the line re-opened. Also, the utilities were in arrears. Martin’s salary is quite satisfactory. He doesn’t have to be in debt. He’s just totally irresponsible with money. He claims I’m stingy, but the truth is, he’s extravagant.”

  “Extravagant in what respect?”

  She was reluctant to answer, but Gardner wouldn’t let up. God, the guy was a regular pit bull!

  “For instance, does he like to visit Atlantic City or the track?”

  Mrs. Walling eyed Gardner sharply. “He doesn’t have a gambling problem, if that’s what you’re implying. Sure, he might play a little too much when he’s down there, but that’s typical of most people.”

  Loses money he can’t afford to lose, Bert thought to herself. Walling’s financial situation opened all kinds of speculation. Money was always a strong motive for murder, maybe even more compelling than passion. Joan Walling looked nervous now, as if realizing that she’d told them too much.

  “Could you go? I’m very tired. I really don’t have anything more to tell you about Rick.”

  As they proceeded back through the apartment, Martin Walling grabbed Gardner’s arm with his fat, sweaty hand.

  “I don’t want you getting a bad impression of me and Joan or thinking that we don’t get along. What I mean is, we have these little spats from time to time. I’ll take her out to dinner and she’ll forgive me. I know I shouldn’t dig her about being cheap, but it’s been eating at me. You understand how it is, don’t you? Anyway, I hope you find out who murdered Rick. He was one hell of a guy. And if I can be of any further help to you, just let me know.” He shook Gardner’s hand in a final effusive gesture.

  The beefy paw did not extend to Bert, as if maybe Walling thought the darkness of her hand was caused by dirt that might just rub off on him. Prejudice took many forms, subtle and otherwise. Bert knew most of them well, but then wasn’t she just as prejudiced against the Wallings of this world? She wasn’t about to beat up on herself over it though. Walling deserved it. But she knew this was a form of rationalization. Prejudice didn’t need to be logical and rarely was.

  SIX

  Back at headquarters, Gardner began discussing the case with Bert St. Croix, fully aware she had barely spoken at all during his questioning of the Wallings.

  “What do you think of Martin Walling?”

  “Not much. He’s a slob, but I notice he never got around to lighting up that cigar.”

  He smiled at Bert’s observation. “True. A small penance to pay for the fact that he humiliated his wife in front us.”

  Bert nodded in agreement. “He’s got a very low opinion of women in general. You notice he didn’t talk
to me, only to you. Then again, being a woman of color gave me a second strike.”

  Gardner decided it was safer to change the subject. “Did you think they were telling the truth?”

  “Hard to say. In spite of the fact that ol’ Martin’s got a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth, just like his wife said, I wouldn’t trust him to speak the truth any more than a snake oil salesman.”

  “And his wife?”

  “She was playing it close. Can’t say that I really care much either.” Bert’s eyes were dark and unfathomable.

  “What worm’s eating on you?”

  She didn’t answer him right away. Gardner understood instinctively that they’d arrived at a moment where St. Croix had to decide whether or not to trust him, and clearly, it wasn’t an easy decision for her to make.

  “The whole case stinks. I hate it. All we do is talk. No action, no doing anything real. It’s like being buried alive.”

  “Not exactly like New York, is it?”

  “I’m used to being where there’s excitement, things happening. That’s my lifestyle. I’m out of my element here, and I feel damned useless. In New York, I felt like something was being accomplished, even if most of what I did proved futile in the long run. Even when I was scared and gone beyond my limits, the adrenalin rush made me feel real. At least, I was alive. I don’t find any challenge for me here. I don’t belong.” She ran her hand over braided hair as dark as a raven’s wing. “How could I expect you to understand? In all your life, have you ever had to shoot another man?”

  “I served in the military. I’ve also been a policeman in the inner city, and yes, I’ve been forced to take several lives. Does that make me less of a wimp and more of a good cop in your eyes?”

  She looked away, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Maybe some of the things I’ve seen and done have brutalized me, but I know I can’t take this sitting still very well. Don’t get me wrong. I know there are all kinds of ways to be a cop. I just wasn’t cut out to be a clerk and sit around typing out petty reports.”

  “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

  “Sounds familiar.”