The Drowning Pool by Jacqueline Seewald Page B

inability to change things. At least police work gave her a sense of purpose.
    * * * *
     
    She and Gardner met the Wallings that evening and proceeded to examine two more of the puzzle parts. It was strange how Gardner’s analogy seemed to stick in her mind. Bert didn’t want to like or respect the guy, but she had to concede, however grudgingly, there was something about the older cop that another professional couldn’t help but admire.
    Martin Walling greeted them warmly, if not over-enthusiastically, with a sweaty handshake. He was fat and short—several inches shorter than his wife. His ruddy complexion implied that he might make an agreeable drinking companion, and it seemed like there was more hair in his mustache then on his head.
    “We want to help the cops all we can,” Walling said. “Rick was a good friend of ours. The damn bastard that murdered him ought to be strung up by the balls.” He quickly turned to his wife. “Sorry, honey. I know I shouldn’t talk that way in front of you, but I feel very strongly about this.”
    His wife’s expression seemed either indifferent or just detached.
    “How long did you know Mr. Bradshaw?” Gardner asked.
    “Ever since he came east.”
    “And Mrs. Walling?” Gardner turned to the lady, but it was her husband who answered.
    “Joan’s known him for maybe five months. Right, honey?”
    Mrs. Walling glanced from Bert to Gardner with suspicious eyes. “I suppose,” she replied. Her bored, indifferent expression made Bert wonder.
    “Say, would you folks like a drink or something?”
    “No thanks, Mr. Walling,” Gardner said. “Could we just sit down and talk for a few minutes?”
    “Sure thing, I’ll just turn up the air-conditioning. I’m sweltering. Since both Joan and I go to work every day, no one’s around, so Joan says it’s more sensible to keep the cooler off until we get home. Keeps the electricity bills down.”
    “You’re a practical woman, Mrs. Walling,” Gardner said with an easy smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek.
    “Very practical,” Walling responded, and turned down the thermostat.
    Bert was struck by the vulgarity of the room’s decor. She was no interior decorator, but the garish reds and purples dominating the color scheme were a little bit much, even by her uncritical standards.
    Walling observed her looking around. “Place is something, isn’t it? Bet you couldn’t help noticing my favorite painting, right? Do you like it?” Walling pointed to an oil painting of a half-naked Spanish dancer on a background of black velvet set in a heavily gilded baroque frame. “Those gypsy gals really know how to turn a man on. Every time I look at it, I get horny.” Walling winked at Gardner, who did not bother to respond. “Yeah, that picture really set me back a bundle. Hell, it’s an original. I spent a fortune decorating this room, and you know what? Joan hates it! She says it’s loud and tasteless. What do you folks think?”
    Joan Walling went up a notch in Bert’s opinion.
    “Did Mrs.Walling have input in making the selections?” Gardner inquired.
    “After my first wife and I split, I moved out and rented this apartment. When Joan and I got married, she was still living at home with her folks. Imagine that? So naturally she moved into my place. I can’t afford to redecorate just now, but any time Joan wants to do it herself from her salary, she can go right ahead.”
    Mrs. Walling shot a sharp look of annoyance toward her husband, which didn’t seem to disturb him in the slightest. Clearly his skin was thicker than a rhino; maybe his brain as well. He just kept right on talking. “I can’t get Joan to part with a cent of her earnings. She won’t even buy decent clothes for herself. She earns more than I do, but all she does is squirrel her money away. Myself, I believe in women’s rights. A woman shouldn’t depend on a man to support her. I admire a liberated woman. I think it would be just fine if a