The Drowning Pool Read Free Page A

unnecessarily long-winded introduction of the taller lifeguard.
    “I am,” the light-haired youth said. He stepped forward and flashed a near blinding smile.
    The teeth were so perfect that Gardner wondered fleetingly if they were capped. “You close up yesterday?”
    “I close every day.”
    “What time?”
    “About eight in the evening.”
    “Anyone still here?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Did you know Mr. Bradshaw?”
    Sonny nodded his head but didn’t speak.
    “Was he here yesterday?”
    “If he was, I didn’t see him.”
    “What about you?” Gardner turned to the other lifeguards and glanced quickly at each in turn, but their response was also in the negative. He looked back at Sonny. “Did Bradshaw come here often?”
    “Almost every evening,” the youth said. “See, children aren’t allowed after five, so all the mothers leave then. The place is practically deserted on weekday evenings. Just a few of the same people show. Some retired folks who don’t like using the club when kids are around and younger people who get home from work late.”
    Gardner studied the boy. His manner of speech, the broad, open smile implied honesty and straightforwardness. Still, Gardner was wary; he’d been a cop too long not to know that appearances are often deceiving.
    “Were any of Mr. Bradshaw’s friends here yesterday after five?”
    Sonny scratched his tow-head thoughtfully. His eyes were small and dull in contrast to the dazzling porcelain smile. “Yeah, there was Miss Nevins, Mrs. Walling and Mrs. Scofield. They were all sitting together. Mr. Walling and Mr. Scofield, they came by later.”
    “Did they come together?”
    “No. Mr. Scofield came first and practiced on the tennis court. Mr. Walling showed up later.”
    “Is it possible that Mr. Bradshaw might have come and you didn’t see him?”
    “Not likely. Of course, I was busy part of the time, picking up trash around the pool, putting away chaises, like that.” He looked about furtively and seemed relieved to observe that Ms. Rhoades was occupied elsewhere for the moment, giving orders to the rest of her staff much the way Napoleon would have done with his field officers. “See, it’s like this,” Sonny said in a soft, confidential tone of voice, “some guys I know dropped by wanting to shoot a few hoops. So we went outside for a while.” He indicated a small, concrete court outside the fence.
    “Weren’t you supposed to be watching the pool?” St. Croix asked pointedly.
    Sonny’s face turned red. “Well, yeah, sure, but there wasn’t nobody in danger of drowning and these guys are friends. And I gotta keep in condition. Next year I start college on an athletic scholarship.”
    Gardner noted the youth’s thick neck and bulging biceps. Football player, he decided.
    “You lift weights?” St. Croix probed.
    Sonny’s wary look indicated that he did.
    “How much you press?”
    “Usually two-hundred and ten, about fifteen pounds more than I weigh, but I intend to bring that up—and I don’t use steroids.” There was definite pride in the voice.
    “I guess the girls around here are impressed,” Gardner said in an easy, friendly manner.
    Sonny relaxed perceptibly. “The young ones maybe, but it’s real hard to figure women.”
    Gardner was well-coordinated and appreciated athletic skills in others.
    “How well did you know Bradshaw?”
    “Hardly at all.”
    “And his friends? Ms. Nevins, for instance?”
    “I just knew them all by sight ’cause they were regulars, but I don’t know anything about them. I was pretty much invisible to those people. You know how it is.”
    “Mike!” Gardner turned around and saw Herb Fitzpatrick from the lab coming toward him. “We found something in the utility room.”
    Quickly, he and St. Croix followed.
    “What have you got?”
    The police technician pointed to the floor. The room was dark in spite of the glow of one naked light bulb, and it took Gardner a few moments to adjust his eyes. At