The Bone House Part 10

'She almost died,' Troy protested.

'I know. She almost died. Poor Glory, she's screwed up because of the fire. Well, f.u.c.k her.' Tresa bit her lip, knowing she'd gone too far.

It had always been that way between the two sisters. Sometimes you didn't know they loved each other because of all the bitterness and jealousy. Troy watched tears slip down Tresa's face, which she wiped away with her s.h.i.+rt. He felt like crying too, but he hadn't been able to squeeze out any tears since he heard the news. He was just numb. And guilty.

He saw Glory's mom storm into the foyer. When she got angry, you didn't want to be in the firing line with Mrs Fischer, because she had a temper. He cringed to see her, because he knew what she would say. Their eyes met, and he could feel all of her grief and rage unloading silently on him across the room. Before he could say anything or explain, she gestured to Tresa and opened her arms. Tresa ran to her, and the two of them embraced and sobbed together. A minute earlier, Tresa had been bitter about Glory; now, she moaned into her mother's shoulder as they shared the loss.

Delia stroked Tresa's red hair. Troy sat there, ignored. It was probably better that way, with her not looking at him. Eventually, though, Glory's mom detached herself and told Tresa to get her a gla.s.s of water. Delia Fischer waited until Tresa was gone, and then she descended on Troy.

He climbed to his feet, and the tears finally came. 'Mrs Fischer, listen, I-'

'Don't make excuses with me, Troy,' Delia said, practically spitting at him. 'You promised me, didn't you? What did you say? You said you'd protect her. You said I didn't need to worry.'

'I know, it's just that I didn't - I mean, Glory didn't come back -'

Troy's voice cracked. He hated himself for being weak. He hated himself for having failed her.

'You knew that pervert, that rapist, was right here at the resort, and you left Glory alone? Are you crazy?'

'Tresa says she doesn't think that Bradley would have done this,' Troy protested meekly.

'Tresa? What the h.e.l.l do I care what Tresa thinks about Mark Bradley? That man brainwashed her into his bed. I know men like him. I know what they do to teenage girls. This is about you, Troy. I trusted you. I trusted you. I trusted you. You told me you'd protect my baby, and she's dead. You let her die.' You told me you'd protect my baby, and she's dead. You let her die.'

For a husky kid, Troy felt himself getting smaller and smaller, until he thought he could shrink into the tiniest hole in the earth and disappear. 'I'm so sorry, Mrs Fischer,' he pleaded. 'Really.'

Glory's mom slapped him. Her fingers clapped against his cheek so hard that he stumbled backward. His hand flew to his face, which stung like he'd been attacked by wasps. He opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, and he had nothing to say to her at all.

'Your father's right about you,' Mrs Fischer sneered. 'You are completely f.u.c.king useless.'

She turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving him alone and in tears. Troy sank on to the bench again and covered his face in his hands. He thought about Glory, and he realized that everyone was right. Mrs Fischer was right. His dad was right. He'd had a chance to prove himself, and he'd failed.

He really was useless.

Chapter Twelve.

Cab found Mark Bradley inside the interview room, along with a rotund older man who sported a lion's mane of curly gray hair and a devilishly pointed goatee. He was impeccably dressed in a gray suit with a b.u.t.toned vest and a pink tie. As Cab entered, the older man jumped to his feet with a spry bounce, hopped round the wooden table, and extended a hand. Cab shook it and felt his finger bones groaning under the man's iron grip.

'Archibald Gale,' the attorney announced. 'I don't believe we've had the pleasure before, Detective Bolton.'

Cab sat down and studied the man's eyes, which twinkled behind tiny owlish gla.s.ses. 'Meeting a lawyer really isn't my idea of pleasure, Mr Gale.'

'Ah, you're funny, Detective. I like that.'

'Are you new to Florida, Mr Gale? I thought I knew all the local criminal attorneys.' Cab said the word 'criminal' with a small smile directed at Mark Bradley.

'I've just begun wintering here. My other home is in Duluth, Minnesota.'

'I'm not familiar with that area,' Cab admitted.

'It's a beautiful place, but we've had an unusually high murder rate in recent years. That's a mixed blessing if you're a lawyer.' Gale put an arm around the shoulder of the well-built man seated beside him, whose face was smoky with caged anger. 'Detective Bolton, this is Mark Bradley.'

'Mr Bradley, I didn't recognize you without the shower going.' Cab smiled, and Bradley shot him a look of naked resentment.

'Detective, we're here as a courtesy,' Gale interjected. 'I hope we'll all be polite.'

'It's just that I'm anxious to hear Mr Bradley speak,' Cab went on. 'Whenever I'm around him, he seems to have other people talking for him.'

'This was a mistake,' Bradley said, getting out of the chair.

Gale put a gentle hand on his shoulder and eased him back into his seat. 'Don't worry, Mark. Let's just focus on the unfortunate business at hand and provide whatever information we can.'

Bradley didn't hide his impatience. Instinctively, as a result, Cab proceeded slowly. He pushed back his chair, crossed his long legs, and picked up a yellow pad of handwritten notes. Under the guise of reviewing them, he studied Mark Bradley over the top of the pad. Bradley wore a red, collared polo s.h.i.+rt and tan dress slacks. He had the easy, unconscious grace of an athlete when he moved and looked like a man who was comfortable in his own skin. He was attractive, but not in a Hollywood way like Cab or in the macho way that some athletes exuded. He was simply good-looking without thinking about it. His brown hair was cut short without much care. He wouldn't have been caught dead with an earring or a gold chain or cologne. His fore head and nose were so pink with sunburn that he may as well have said: I like the sun. Screw cancer.

'You look familiar, Mr Bradley,' Cab told him. 'Do I know you from somewhere?'

'I was on the PGA tour for a few years in my twenties,' Bradley replied.

'Really? Why did you give it up?'

'I injured ligaments in my shoulder in a car accident about eight years ago. It doesn't restrict my day-to-day activities, but I no longer have the precision I need to be a pro.'

'I'm sorry to hear it,' Cab said. 'Why go from golf to teaching? I a.s.sume you could coach or give lessons or something along those lines. You'd make a lot more money, wouldn't you?'

'I was a professional golfer, Detective. When you've done that, the idea of helping fifty-something investment bankers go from a thirty- six to a twenty-eight handicap doesn't sound too attractive.'

'And teaching?'

'I like working with kids. I like the flexibility of having my summers off. You may not think there are athletes who enjoy painting on the beach or talking about Henry Fielding or Chaucer, but you know what? Some of us do.'

Without changing the expression on his face, Cab struck like a snake. 'Tresa Fischer ended all of that for you, though, didn't she?'

He saw Gale's hand lightly cover Bradley's wrist, as if to send his client a message. Stay calm. Stay calm.

'That wasn't Tresa's fault,' Bradley said.

'Whose fault was it?'

'I'm not sure it was anybody's fault. If you're a male teacher these days, people have a bias to believe just about anything bad that gets said about you. It doesn't matter whether it's true.'

'That must be infuriating. I mean, first you lose one career, then another. I'd be p.i.s.sed off at somebody.'

Gale leaned forward. 'Excuse me, Detective, but this doesn't seem to have a lot to do with your investigation.'

'I'm interested in your client's state of mind, Mr Gale. I think if I were in his shoes, I'd be angry at how I was treated.'

'I was,' Bradley admitted before his lawyer could stop him. 'I am. But that has nothing to do with Tresa or Glory.'

'Did you have a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p with Tresa Fischer?' Cab asked, watching Bradley's face.

'No.'

'What about Glory Fischer?'

'No.'

'Have you ever had s.e.x with a girl under eighteen?'

Bradley c.o.c.ked his head. 'What, in my life? Do you want to know when I lost my virginity? Do you want to know everybody I dated in high school?'

'I think we'll skip that question, Detective,' Gale interjected.

'I'm suggesting that athletes and teachers both have to deal with underage girls, Mr Bradley,' Cab went on. 'You've had girls making pa.s.ses at you your whole life. You've had girls trying to manipulate you. Come on, it must happen all the time. It has to feed your ego.'

'I'm married to a mature, beautiful, independent woman who's a h.e.l.l of a lot smarter than I am,' Bradley retorted. 'That feeds my ego.' feeds my ego.'

Cab pursed his lips in surprise. He hadn't expected that response, and it sounded sincere. However, he'd known some accomplished liars in his life. Starting with a girl in Barcelona named Vivian Frost.

'Many athletes look at women with contempt, Mr Bradley. You figure if they don't respect themselves, why should you?'

'I wanted something more meaningful, Detective, and I found it. I hope you're as lucky as I am.'

'Well, here's my problem. Glory Fischer is dead. You lost your job, and you're pretty much hated in the community where you live, al because of the Fischer family. You had a room overlooking the beach where Glory was killed. Those are big coincidences.'

'Wrong,' Bradley snapped. He ticked off his responses on his fingers. 'The Fischer family did not fire me. The princ.i.p.al and the school district did. I bear no ill will at all toward Tresa or her mother, and certainly not toward Glory. It's no coincidence at all that I'm at the same hotel as Tresa, because she's a dancer, and my wife coaches dance. As for my hotel room, half the rooms in the building overlook the beach.'

'But you were out on the beach last night, weren't you?' Cab asked. 'You met Glory Fischer there.'

Gale jumped in quickly before Bradley could say a word. 'Sorry, Detective, that topic is off limits.'

'Excuse me?'

'Mr Bradley will not answer your questions about where he was overnight,' Gale informed him sharply. 'I've instructed him to say nothing. We're not saying he went out on the beach, we're not saying' he didn't. We're not saying he met Glory, we're not saying he didn't. No info. No answers. Nothing.'

'In other words, he was out there,' Cab retorted.

'In other words, if you think he was out there, then you better be prepared to prove it,' Gale said. 'We're not going to do your work for you.'

'We have a witness who saw him.'

Gale wasn't fooled. 'Good for you, Detective. If you have a witness, you trot him out. In the meantime, Mr Bradley isn't answering any questions about his actions last night. The most important thing is that Mark did not kill Glory Fischer.'

'If he was out there, then he may know something that can help our investigation,' Cab reminded him. He looked at Mark Bradley.

'Did you think about that, Mr Bradley? A girl is dead. If you didn't kill her, someone else did. If you're the kind of man you say you are, then I'd think you would feel a moral obligation to tell us anything you saw.'

Cab saw a genuine conflict in Bradley's face. The man wanted to talk. Or maybe Bradley thought he was smart enough to deflect suspicion by appearing cooperative. It didn't matter. Gale shut it down.

'We're done, Detective,' the lawyer announced. 'Obviously, if Mark knew anything that would be relevant and important to your investigation, I would have advised him to share that information with you. You can conclude from his silence on this matter that he doesn't.'

'Neither of you is in a position to make that call,' Cab told him. 'Mr Bradley, if you saw Glory Fischer on the beach and you did not not kill her, then you can give us a time at which we know she was alive. That will help us pinpoint the time of death.' kill her, then you can give us a time at which we know she was alive. That will help us pinpoint the time of death.'

Bradley glanced at Gale, who shook his head.

'Give me some help here, Mr Bradley,' Cab insisted. 'I think you're a man who stands up and does the right thing.'

Gale got out of his chair and reached for Bradley's arm. 'Let's go.'

Bradley remained seated, staring calmly at Cab. 'Theoretically,' he began.

'Mark, stop stop.'

'Theoretically,' Bradley continued, ignoring his attorney, 'on nights when I can't sleep, I sometimes get up and clear my head around two thirty in the morning. But if I do, I'm usually back by a few minutes after three.'

'Did you do that last night?' Cab asked. 'Did you arrange to meet Glory?'

'No, I didn't.'

'But you did see her on the beach.'

'That's it, Detective,' Gale interrupted. 'Mark, we're going. Now. Come on.'

Bradley got to his feet, still staring at Cab. He was sending him a message, and it was obvious to Cab that his suspicions were correct. Mark Bradley had been with Glory Fischer in the middle of the night.

'I'm going to send a police officer to your hotel room to make sure nothing is removed. Based on your responses today, I'm sure we'll be able to get a search warrant.'

'My responses?' Bradley asked.

'I think a judge will conclude what you and I both know to be true. You left your room last night. You met Glory Fischer.'

'Mr Bradley isn't changing his travel plans to accommodate your fis.h.i.+ng expedition,' Gale told Cab. 'Tomorrow, he and his wife are going home to Door County.'

'Running away won't get you off the hook, Mr Bradley,' Cab said.

'I never run away,' Bradley snapped.

'I'm glad, because I may just follow you back to Wisconsin. If you won't talk to me, I'm sure there are people who will.'

Gale smiled at him and steered Bradley toward the door. 'If you go, enjoy the view, Detective. Just don't have any conversations with Mr Bradley. I'm sure you know that anything he tells you wouldn't be admissible, now that he's represented by counsel.'

'Of course.' Cab added, 'Tell me one other thing, Mr Bradley.'

Bradley stopped and looked at Cab suspiciously. 'What?'