Death in the Secret Garden (7 page)

‘Yes, on her birthday,' Bea answered.

‘How did you stand it? How did you find the strength to go on?'

‘I don't really know, Margaret,' Bea said. ‘You just go on because … Because you have to.'

‘Perhaps it's like the old saying that time heals all wounds.'

‘It never gets better. You just don't think of it quite so often.'

‘You heard where he died, didn't you?' All traces of prior tears disappeared as the governor leaned toward Bea conspiratorially. ‘The Millrace Inn. The owner told the paramedics that Bill drove his car into their parking lot and said he didn't feel well. They escorted him upstairs to one of their rooms. He went before a doctor could arrive.'

‘I think I did hear that on the news,' Bea answered, thinking that the statement was not a complete lie.

‘I wonder what he was doing in that part of the state? It's not even near his own district. The inn is near your home, isn't it?'

‘It's directly across the river from Nutmeg Hill,' Bea answered.

‘Interesting. We go back a long way together, don't we, Bea?'

‘A long way, Margaret.'

‘You were one of my first supporters when I ran for statewide office.'

‘I've always had faith in you.'

‘I'm the first Jewish woman governor, Bea.'

‘You were a logical choice after we had our first Jewish governor and our first woman governor.'

‘I'm the first Jewish woman governor, Bea. I didn't get this far by being dumb. You don't win elections in a state like Connecticut without being a pragmatic politician with a ton of survival savvy.'

‘You've always been a survivor, Margaret,' Bea said. ‘That's why you'll eventually get over Bill.'

‘Oh, I expect I will. Of course, I'll always miss the rat,' the governor said. ‘Did you know he lived in the Watergate while Congress was in session? He ate in a restaurant near there called Blinkers. You know the kind of place. Young flirty waitresses who wear short-shorts real tight. His regular waitress was a nubile twenty-year-old called Bambi. Evidently Bambi was personally responsible for delivering Blinkers' venison to Bill's apartment. When I investigated, I found out that Blinkers doesn't even have takeout. It would seem that Bambi was his appetizer, entrée, and dessert.'

‘Margaret, you'll only make yourself more upset.'

‘Of course, I'm even more unhappy when I consider that when Bill died he was—as they would say down in the pool hall—in the saddle. Which is rather fitting since that's the way he would have wanted to go.'

‘Drop it, Margaret.'

‘Oh, I've known about his sex games for years. For several reasons I chose to ignore them. There are certain things I needed from my marriage and discretion was one of them. For the most part he tried to be discreet. However, there is a major question that is troublesome. Who was Bill with when he so rapidly departed us? Now, the Bambis of this world don't bother me. They are non-threatening fluff. They aren't my competition. A woman of substance and intelligence would be a different matter. A woman of accomplishment would be very threatening to me.'

‘It could have been like they said. He felt ill and pulled over to—'

‘Don't be condescending, Beatrice! That inn was a favorite trysting place for Bill Tallman when he was in your section of the state. I've known that for a year. You live right across the river, don't you?'

‘I just said that I did, Governor. You've been to my home half a dozen times. You know where I live. I'm not altogether certain that I'm comfortable with the direction of this conversation.'

‘I'm not interested in your comfort. I also know that you had a luncheon reservation at the inn the day Bill died. Now isn't that another coincidence?'

Bea stood. ‘Let me explain.'

The governor also stood, her grief replaced by anger. ‘You will explain nothing. Bill always joked that he'd have you one day. He said he'd get by your airhead husband and conquer Miss Liberal Arts. I obtained a copy of the paramedics' report. It states that an M. Maresca and a B. Wentworth were present with the body when they arrived. How neat, Beatrice. I'm glad for his sake that you joined him on his last ride, but I'm not glad for you, Senator. My hurt for that raunchy rat will be replaced by my hatred for you. I will see you ruined. As you well know, I have a lot of ammunition and power to accomplish that end. Think about that today, tomorrow, and the next day. Now, get the hell out of my office before I call my state troopers.'

Lyon leaned against the police cruiser as a deeply thoughtful Rocco carefully paced the perimeters of the used-car lot. He walked with a lowered head as if expecting to discover the footprints of some prehistoric predator. The car radio cackled. Rocco waved. It was an obvious gesture that signaled for someone to answer the call.

Lyon slid behind the wheel and snicked the hand mike from its clip on the dashboard. ‘Murphysville One,' he answered before he pressed the receive button.

‘Tell the chief that Judge Styles had another one out at the supermarket parking lot. Over and out.'

‘Styles had another something or other at the supermarket,' Lyon yelled over at Rocco, who was slouched against the office trailer.

Rocco pounded a fist into a palm. ‘Damn! And it's important that we hit Eddy's house while the lab guys are doing their thing.'

‘As a matter of curiosity, what has the judge had another of?' Lyon asked. ‘I've always thought he was a harmless old man.'

‘He's got a short-term memory of about ten seconds,' Rocco answered. ‘The judge has reached a point where he makes Spook sound like an oracle of clarity. However, the good judge does not live in a tree house, but in that Victorian gingerbread monstrosity behind the green where he is zealously guarded by a stubborn daughter. Which still might be OK if he wasn't in the mid stages of Alzheimer's and still in possession of a valid driver's license. I've talked to the daughter, but she refuses to admit anything is wrong. She won't do anything about it. She doesn't understand that the judge is a traffic menace as he tools that ancient Lincoln around town. One of these fine mornings he's going to lose control and run down a bunch of kids waiting for a school bus. This is the final time! I'm going to yank his driver's license one way or the other. You're going to have to go out to Eddy's house and talk to the wife.'

Lyon shook his head. ‘I'm not getting involved any further.'

‘All you have to do is interview Eddy's wife—what's her name?'

‘Mildred. If you're too busy, turn the case over to the state police.'

Rocco glared. ‘The commander of the local state barracks would be in charge.'

‘So, that keeps everything in the family. Captain Norbert is your brother-in-law.'

‘You know what a horse's ass Norbie is. I will never give jurisdiction to that martinet. Besides, you've got a finely tuned criminalist mind.'

‘You have a whole police department to call on.'

‘Jamie Martin is the only cop I could rotate on to this assignment and his results would boggle your mind.'

‘May I remind you that I am not a sworn police officer?'

‘You're still a town constable.'

‘That was done years ago as sort of an honorary thing.'

Rocco raised Lyon's right hand. ‘Puff! You are now sworn. That makes you an official—unpaid, mind you—member of the Murphysville Police Department. I'll drop you off at the Rashish house on my way to beard the judge.'

Later, Lyon sat on the couch before the coffee table in the Rashish living room. Mildred sat across from him in a wide easy chair. She smiled with a menagerie of teeth that seemed to be more than the normal complement. A loud thump from the upstairs front bedroom startled him. He knew that the state forensic team had obtained the necessary legal documents and also had Mildred's permission for the search, but it still reeked of a gross invasion of privacy and a violation of a family's most intimate space.

Mildred Rashish seemed extremely self-possessed. She was fortyish, with bright hair-salon blonde hair divided by a slender streak of silver grey. She wore an expensive, tailored but incongruous for a recent widow, red pants suit which accentuated a full-figured body.

Lyon smiled across the coffee table as another series of thumps sounded along the upstairs hall. He knew the team was now testing for hidden locations within the walls. ‘I'm sorry about this, Mildred. There are certain procedures that must be followed.'

‘I'm surprised they want to search the victim's house,' she replied in a well-modulated voice. ‘I'm aware that under different circumstances even the wife might be considered a suspect, but everyone knows that Lister Anderson killed Eddy in the car lot.'

‘That's a fact,' Lyon replied. ‘I believe the search has to do with the death of Miss Anderson earlier that day.'

Her eyes flickered nearly imperceptibly.

Lyon was well aware of Mildred's reputation. She was the top salesperson in the Seven Sisters Real Estate Agency. The other agents referred to her as ‘superlady' to her face and ‘the shark of Murphysville' behind her back. Her lack of popularity stemmed from a compulsive need to steal prospects and listings from other brokers whenever possible. Once she had a live prospect, of her own or stolen variety, she engaged in a feeding frenzy equal to any school of predators. She would close a deal even if it turned out to be a one hundred percent financed mobile home with a split commission marketed through multiple listings.

Lyon wondered what type of sales negotiations might have occurred in that upstairs bedroom. When ‘pay here every week Eddy' bedded with ‘the shark of Murphysville', who did what? He let the thought drop, but it was an interesting speculation.

‘You had better explain what the authorities think about the relationship between Eddy and the Anderson girl,' Mildred said.

‘There has been some information disclosed that would seem to point toward a possible romantic involvement.'

Mildred snorted. ‘Eddy wasn't romantic about anything except percentage deals in his favor. What you mean is that they think he was screwing her? I knew that. I mean, I hope they don't think Eddy killed her over that kind of fun and games.'

‘Often the heart of police work is ruling out suspects.'

‘He's dead. For God's sake, why don't they leave him alone?'

‘You knew that they were involved?'

‘He was always involved with some other woman, or in this case, girl. Why do you think I took my opportunity to get even?'

‘How's that?' Lyon asked.

‘I had my own affairs.'

‘You don't have to go into those things, Mildred. I don't think Rocco is interested in your private matters.'

‘Better it is out in the open and that you understand my reasons. I don't want to end up as a suspect in the Anderson girl's killing because some boob cop thinks I wanted to protect my marriage.'

‘Then you're telling me you had an open marriage?'

‘Not quite. His end was open, my end was secret. He didn't know what I was doing, but I did and that was enough to satisfy my getting even.'

Lyon didn't care to dwell on the morality of this relationship, but it would be worth noting in his summation to Rocco. On an end table to his right was a group photograph in a gold frame. It caught his eye and he picked it up. It was a photograph of two dozen men sitting on low bleachers. They were young men wearing shiny helmet liners and starched army fatigues. All the field jackets had a First Cavalry patch on the shoulder.

‘Is this a picture of Eddy's army unit?' Lyon asked.

‘First mobile air assholes,' she answered. ‘It gave them a good excuse to have a monthly reunion at the Murphysville VFW club and all get falling-down drunk. It gave Eddy a sales pitch to every Viet Nam vet in town.' She began to imitate her husband's sing-song sales pitch. ‘As a fellow grunt from Nam, would I cheat you? No sirree bob. A pittance every week and I'll put you in traffic.' She finished with a short bitter laugh. ‘Almost as bad as my handy man's special, a house pitch for a falling-down shack.'

‘Do you know where his gun is?'

‘I made him keep it at the lot. It's probably somewhere in that hole he calls an office.'

‘It's not.'

She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe he threw it in on a truck deal.'

If it were here the forensic team will find it, Lyon thought as he looked back at the photograph of serious young soldiers. A third of the men in the picture were dead six months after it was taken. The picture might or might not be significant, since the army's method of individual replacements meant that thousands of men were rotated through the First Cavalry Division.

The case was probably over. Eddy had an affair with Boots Anderson. They argued and he shot her. He probably disposed of the weapon by chucking it in the river. Girl's father kills Eddy and it's all over. Maybe.

Five

‘It's too early,' the mild voice behind him said.

The shot glass clattered into the bar sink where its contents seeped through the drain. Although he had served in two wars—including three Viet Nam tours—was a holder of a bronze star, a purple heart, and a combat infantryman badge, Sarge Renfroe was frightened by Rocco Herbert.

‘What's your night action these days?' Rocco asked.

‘Yuppie singles,' the former master-sergeant replied. It had been Sarge's initial intention to open a sports bar catering to serious drinkers. That had worked for a time until the local fiberboard factory closed. The dip in the working man's crowd had been replaced when the bar was discovered by the gay group. After three months the gays had disappeared as mysteriously as they had arrived.

Topless was next. Once again business boomed until complaints forced Rocco to declare an edict. ‘Booze or boobs' had been the police chief's choice. Sarge would not be allowed to retain his liquor license if drinks were served by naked women. To Sarge this was no choice. Boobs went.