The Drowning Pool by Jacqueline Seewald Page B

got a theory like that is practically confessing to murder.”
    Gardner had doubts. “Would he actually be that foolish if he’d killed Bradshaw?” Gardner started the engine.
    “Why not? Plenty of psychos do exactly that. He could be a typical nut case. And who ever said killers were smart?”
    “We’ll have to handle him differently.”
    Bert glanced at him, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “You think I came on too strong with him? I don’t think you were strong enough. I didn’t care one bit for the way he treated his wife.”
    “Neither did I. The scenario reminds me a lot of Othello .”
    “Shakespeare?”
    “Exactly. Let’s say Scofield is our Othello, an abnormally jealous husband. How did those doubts enter his mind? It had to be more than mere innuendo on Bradshaw’s part. And if he’d actually caught his wife with Bradshaw, then both would be dead. No, something is missing here. Where’s our Iago? Somewhere Iago lurks, feeding our Othello’s suspicions. We have to find out who this individual is. Something tells me it’s an important missing part in our puzzle.” As he told Bert, since he’d been seeing Kim, he started reading some of the classics, hoping they’d have more in common. Shakespeare did understand human nature. Shakespeare might have been a good cop himself.
    “We ought to take Scofield down to headquarters for further questioning. That’ll shake him up. I could apply some pressure.”
    “What kind of pressure? You don’t need an assault charge brought against you.”
    Bert frowned at him. “I didn’t say anything about getting physical. Although, people like Scofield, all they understand is force. Personal fear, that’s what they respond to. I learned a long time ago, with certain kinds of people, there’s no appealing to their conscience or better instincts because they don’t have any. With the Scofields of this world, fear and intimidation most often turn the trick.”
    Gardner took Bert’s cynicism in stride. “That could be true. But we’re still going to have to use restraint. You can’t tell us from the bad guys if we start manhandling suspects.”
    “Thank you for that enlightening lesson.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    “Know what? I think from what we’ve learned about Bradshaw, he was a miserable jerk who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. Whoever did him should probably get a reward, not a prison sentence. Why go after him? Why care? There are too many crimes that shouldn’t go unpunished. Why waste our valuable time on this one?”
    Gardner was thoughtful. “Maybe because we’ve sworn to uphold the law. Murder is murder, even if we don’t personally like the vic. Doing our job right, that’s what matters. We don’t have the right to serve as judge and executioner.”
    Bert’s face wore a troubled, pained expression. Gardner asked himself again: what was eating at St. Croix? He still had no answers.
     

EIGHT
     
    Gardner hated to admit it, but the Bradshaw case was beginning to bother him. What should have been a simple, straightforward investigation was becoming complicated by the unpleasant nature of the victim, the fact that Bradshaw had caused disturbances in the lives of a number of people. Obviously, someone had hoped the upsets would end with Bradshaw’s death, but in reality, it was just the beginning. He knew that Bert was right about one thing. The situation between Scofield and his wife was unhealthy. He suspected, just as Bert did, that Scofield had the potential to erupt into violence and abuse his wife at any time. Certainly, their visit had intensified the tension in that situation. He told himself he shouldn’t feel any sense of responsibility but felt it just the same.
    He had difficulty sleeping that night, something rare for him. As soon as he came on duty the next afternoon, he made a phone call. Bert, already at her desk, observed and listened silently.
    Mrs. Scofield answered the phone as he hoped she would, and he