Brian McDonald’s ex-wife was Sandy Goddard and I remembered her all right from our first visit with her days before. Amazon-big, a figure that didn’t quit, very nice looking all ways around. She was still hanging on as a real peach at her age, looking very good, even into her forties. Not bad at all. I didn’t mind this part of the job.
Since Beth had left me I’d been lonely and horny and that’s no way for any man to go through life. I figured for once I’d got the better assignment here, at least it was the most pleasant, even though Goddard had admitted to us she was a lesbian. She had no interest in men but at least she seemed to be a pleasant person. Certainly an interesting woman to be around. Not that I was like Grant. I didn’t expect anything, other than a decent conversation with her. Which was okay by me. Goddard seemed to be a far better person than her replacement in McDonald’s sordid life—that cold and nasty bitch, Milly. I figured, let Grant talk to Milly all he liked. He was welcomed to her and her cold attitude. I got a chill just thinking about that one.
I had called ahead and Goddard buzzed me up to her apartment. The building and her rooms weren’t much to look at, but she sure was. Charlie Grant and I had been here a few days before. Her place was the same sparse environment, not much furniture, just a couch and one recliner surrounding a glass-topped coffee table. No entertainment center, no TV, but there was a small wet bar against the far wall. I guess she couldn’t afford much, just the essentials. Then again, maybe she didn’t need or want anything else.
“Detective Hollow,” Goddard said, and a brief smile came to her face as she let me into her apartment. She was dressed in a tight pair of slacks with a halter top that didn’t hide her female assets at all. I gulped nervously, this was going to be a lot more difficult than I had first thought. I realized I’d have to keep my libido in check, focus on the job at hand, and remember there was no possibility of anything coming of this whatsoever. She was a lesbian after all, so the only thing sexually that could come of this was frustration. Well, I’d been married to Beth for years, so I was used to sexual frustration.
“Hello, Ms. Goddard,” I said returning her smile. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“You can call me Sandy,” she said, and there was that mild smile again, as she lead me into the living room and over to the couch. “Drink?”
“No, I’d better not. Not while on duty.”
She laughed rather gaily, and I though, well now, how apropos is that?
“So where’s your partner?”
“He’s working another part of the case.”
“So he won’t be coming here?” she asked. Did I see a glint in her eye?
“No.”
“That’s good, because I don’t like him. If you don’t mind me saying it, he’s a real asshole.”
I laughed out loud, rather surprised by my spontaneity but enjoying this bit of mirth at Grant’s expense. She joined in with me, with a deep throaty laugh that told me she’d had a lot of practice and enjoyed being joyful. It was nice. It was also the first good laugh I’d had in days, weeks, maybe months.
“You have a nice laugh, detective, do you know that?” she offered, there was that wan smile again. “You like to laugh, don’t you?”
“Yeah, when I can find something to laugh about.”
“But you don’t laugh nearly enough, not like you should. Why is that, Detective Hollow?” she asked me, and I felt something tighten deep within me, tugging at my heart. Was it sadness? Loneliness? Life’s realization of all that had been lost?
I looked at her carefully, she looked so nice as she stood there over me with that wan smile, but I began to wonder. What game was she playing? Was she coming on to me? Was she even playing any game at all? I shrugged, probably not. My thoughts went back to what she had said about Grant; that he was an asshole. I smiled, “You know, you’re right about Grant.”
“How could you work with such a moron?”
“Let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy, but the brass partnered us together so he and I have no choice. If it’s any consolation, Grant dislikes me as much as I dislike him.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that, detective,” then she finished mixing herself a drink and plopped herself down next to me on the couch. She was close, not touching me, but close. I could feel the heat off her body; I could smell the light scent of her perfume. She looked at me and smiled.
“You can call me Sandy,” she said, adding, “and Detective Hollow sounds so formal. What is your first name?”
“Bentley.”
She laughed, “Well, that’s certainly….”
“My friends call me Ben,” I offered quickly.
“Ben, yes, I like that. That’s a lot better. Okay, Ben, it’s good to see you again. What can I do for you?”
I switched into full cop mode, all serious, “Just a few questions.”
“About Brian?” she asked, which seemed odd to me because whatever else would I be there to ask her about?
“Yes, Brian,” I said softly. Was it getting hot in her apartment, or was it just her? Was the air conditioning working right? I looked over at the vent. Yes, it was still blowing cold air into the room. It was late afternoon and a fairly warm day, but it seemed to be getting warmer by the minute.
“Maybe I’ll take that drink now,” I said with a smile.
“…Sandy?” she prompted.
“Ah, maybe I’ll take that drink now, Sandy.”
She smiled back at me rather delightfully, I thought, which seemed odd. She said, “Well, that’s better.”
Then she stood up and walked over to the bar. When she got up I watched her move, the sway and shape of her body. Man, she was all woman, female poetry in motion, and she knew it and flaunted it. What a shame she was not only out of my league but not even interested in my gender. Oh well, my bad luck. I watched her joyfully anyway, enjoying the view. I think she knew I was looking at her. It probably got her ego going. I didn’t mind, it got me going too.
“What will you have, Ben?”
“Oh, gin and tonic, light on the gin, with ice if you have it, please.”
She fixed the drink and brought it over to me with a sly wink. I sighed, what did that wink mean? Probably nothing. Then she handed me the glass and sat down next to me. Did I miss something or was she sitting closer to me now than she had before?
“I hope you like the drink.”
“I’m sure I will.” I took a sip. “Yes, that hits the spot.”
“Good. So what do you want to talk to me about, Ben?”
Every time she spoke now she said my name, she smiled at me, then moved closer to me. Nothing overly blatant, you understand, just mild teasing, but she came a little bit closer each time.
We were touching now. I could feel the heat off her body, drink in the scent of her perfume and I could feel myself becoming aroused. That was not good. I mean, it was good, but it shouldn’t be happening. Stuff like that never happens to me. I mean, I was on police business—a damn murder case no less, of which I reminded myself her ex-husband had been the victim. Here I was falling for one of the witnesses—and one I could never have. Oh, she was a fine tease, I’ll give her that, but it was all just so damn frustrating. She was a lesbian, so she was off limits to me, a waste of my time. Grant had been right after all.
She moved closer, somehow, and said, “I like you, Ben, you know that?”
I looked into her eyes and she was smiling at me softly. Her hand suddenly rested on my knee. It did not move. Neither did I.
I looked back at her, a bit surprised. “Ah, Sandy…Ms. Goddard…are you…are you coming on to me?” Even as I uttered the words I felt like a fool, allowing my fantasies to get the better of me with her teasing. I was immediately sorry that I had let the cat out of the bag about my own feelings towards her. I was acting like a real moron. Like Grant, or worse! I awaited the inevitable reply, some suitably sarcastic and biting retort, probably with the word ‘pathetic’ in it. I felt suddenly sad, and very lonely. Well, I deserved it. What she said next really did shock me and it had me fumbling for a reply.
“And what if I am, Ben?” she said plainly, her hand still upon my knee, her eyes looking into my own, her mouth slightly open and the red moist lips barely inches from my own.
“But you’re…a lesbian!” I blurted, like some damn schoolboy.
She just laughed, “If you must know the truth, I’m not a very good lesbian, Ben. Maybe I’m just a part-timer.”
“Part-timer? What does that mean? Is there such a thing?”
“I sour on men like Brian and move onto women, but then I sour on women and always come back to men when I find one that interests me,” she said, her hand moving up my leg as my lips moved onto hers. “It gets so boring. I’d like to find a man I can have something meaningful with. Can you be that man, Ben?”
I was in a trance, confused but delighted. Stuff just happens like that sometimes—but never to me. Whoever would have thought it, certainly not I. Not Bentley Hollow. I bent down to kiss her and her lips met mine. We tussled on the couch for a while, undressing each other and then we made our way into her bedroom down the hall.
It was a busy afternoon let me tell you. It had been months since Beth had left me, with no one in between, so it had been a long stretch for me to go without. I had a lot of pent-up feelings to release and it appeared Sandy felt the same way. We released each other wonderfully.
“You know, I haven’t been with a man since Brian,” she told me before we really got down to serious lovemaking. “Please be gentle with me.”
I laughed and she gave me a pouting look back. It was lovely.
“You be gentle with me, I haven’t been with a woman since my wife left me months ago—and even then we didn’t—you know—for a long time.”
“We’ve both been ill-treated in love, Ben,” she stated. “Now is our turn to make up for it.”
I kissed her hard, I guess she was right.
* * * * * * *
An hour or so later we were both pretty well spent. She was lying naked upon the sheets, dead to the world, but looking very satisfied. I had to smile, I felt pretty good myself. Hollow, you old dog, you still got it.
I was up now, butt naked, getting out of the bed because of a call coming in on my cell. I’d set the phone to vibrate and thrown it to the floor and forgot all about it while Sandy and I had got down to the business of lovemaking. Now I noticed it was humming at me wildly demanding a response. I shook my head annoyed at the interruption, then quickly picked up my cell phone from the pile of my clothes—I was, after all, still on a case.
I quickly went into the living room so as not to disturb Sandy. She was sleeping dreamily like she didn’t have a care in the world. She looked so damn pretty.
“Hollow? Hollow, you there?” The voice at the other end of the phone barked rapidly, impatient.
I sighed, “Yeah, Grant, what do you want?”
“Been trying to call you for the last hour. You had your phone off?”
“No,” I lied. “I must be in a dead zone.”
“Yeah, dead zone, my ass. Where the hell are you?”
“The ex-wife’s place. So what do you want?” I said trying to hold my patience. I was standing in Sandy’s living room stark naked, talking low so as not to wake her as I talked to my moron partner. I wondered what Grant wanted now.
“Listen, Hollow, I went to see the wife like we planned. She’s dead. I found her shot twice. Looks like it was done early this morning. The crime scene guys and the Captain are on their way over. You’d better make a beeline here, pronto!” Grant ordered.
Milly McDonald dead? Murdered? I shook my head to clear it, trying to think this through.
“Okay, Grant, thanks for the heads-up,” I said grateful to my idiot partner as I tried to absorb the shock of this new development in the case and what it might mean.
I shook my head and shut the phone. I had to get dressed and out of there fast, but I didn’t want to wake Sandy. Not just yet. I remember how she looked in bed, so peaceful in her lust-induced slumber, so lovely in her lush nakedness.
I walked out of the living room and down the hall to go back into her bedroom to get my clothes and get dressed. On the way I had to take a leak so I looked for the bathroom. I opened the first closed door off that hallway, but it wasn’t the bathroom just another bedroom—a room I’d never been in before. Then I froze. The room was surrounded by wooden shelves on all four walls and upon those shelves were books. A lot of books. Books everywhere!
I was stunned. I looked inside amazed and then walked around the room looking at all the volumes of what looked like expensive first editions. It was a relatively small grouping of books, but it looked like primo stuff. Some pretty old and nice condition editions, I assumed all were first editions.
I was intrigued, but initially, that was all I felt. After all, Sandy had been married to a major book dealer for years, she was also an intelligent, educated woman, so it was quite natural, maybe even essential, that she would have books in her place. Maybe even a lot of books.
Then I saw it!
The thick binder laying on the middle of the desktop all by itself. I could hardly have missed it. It was the same description as Brian McDonald’s missing Value Book. I walked over slowly, nervously, well aware of just what it might mean if this was in fact McDonald’s missing book. Could it be?
Nah, I told myself. No, it had to be a coincidence. Maybe Sandy had her own record book, maybe she’d even taken the idea from her former husband? Hadn’t Spears told me all serious dealers and collectors had such a book or kept such records? That made sense. That had to be it, I thought. That would be normal, not a coincidence—but a little voice inside me told me it was otherwise. What it told me I just didn’t want to believe.
Even as I opened the binder and read what was written there I knew the truth of it all now.
I was startled by the voice that came from behind me.
“So you found it, Ben,” Sandy said bluntly, and I turned to see her standing there totally nude, her lovely ripe body framed in the doorway, a gun in her hand leveled right at me.
I signed, deflated with disappointment more than fear, not knowing how to react, so I asked the obvious question, “You killed Brian?”
“Yes, I did, Ben, and I also shot that bitch Milly. The world’s a better place without her. I should get a medal for that one, let me tell you. You’ll hear about Milly soon. I’m sure it will make the news.”
“Grant just called me about it, he found her body an hour ago,” I told her, hardly noticing her nudity now, or my own. It was almost ludicrous, me standing there totally buck naked in a room full of rare books while a lovely “part-time” lesbian I’d just made love to stood totally naked before me—the gun in her hand leveled at me was the only sobering equation in that crazy scene.
“So what now?” I asked, my eyes drifting from the lovely nakedness of her firm bounteous breasts, over to the moistness of her womanhood, and then locking on that damn gun she had pointed at me.
“I don’t know, Ben,” she said plainly. I could see genuine sadness in her features, maybe even a tear of regret streaming down her cheek. “Why the hell did you have to snoop around? Why the hell did you come in here? I had the door closed, you shouldn’t have opened it.”
“I was looking for the bathroom,” I said lamely.
She laughed lightly, smiled delightfully at that. “Men!”
I said, “Sandy, are you going to kill me too? You know you won’t get away with this now.”
“I know that, Ben.”
“Why don’t you give me the gun?”
She pointed it at me hard then, fire came into her eyes, “No. I have to think about this. I have to think….”
I tried another tack. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Brian, and why did you write that message on his desk, ‘Book Collector’s, Go to Hell!’?”
She moved the gun so it centered on my heart, not a good sign.
“He not only cheated on me with other women, which was bad enough, I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was that he cheated me out of my father’s books in the divorce settlement.”
“You father’s books?” I blurted not understanding what she was telling me and showing it in my face.
She smiled indulgently, explained, “When we were married I brought my father’s books to the marriage which were combined with Brian’s. My father had a very valuable collection and I inherited them upon his death.”
“But you told Grant and me you didn’t collect anything, especially books!”
She smiled sweetly, “I lied, Ben. A woman’s provocative. I didn’t have to tell you and that other detective my personal business.”
“So Brian screwed you in the divorce settlement?”
“Yes and no. He wanted all the books so he gave me the house and some cash. At the time it seemed like a good deal—all I was giving up was my father’s musty old books. Who cared about them? Certainly not I, at the time,” she admitted sadly. “Then I found out just how much they were worth. Brian built his business on the books he stole from me. My father’s books. I know I gave them up, I know I should have been more knowledgeable about their value—but he was my husband, Ben. I trusted him. When he told me they were not worth all that much I believed him. They were just dad’s old books, to me. At that time I never took an interest in books or the book business.”
“I see.”
“I trusted Brian. He should have let me know their true value and given me a fair price for them, instead he had all that information locked away in his damn secret Value Book. Then during the divorce he gave me a settlement that looked generous, as long as he kept all the books. The books were all that he ever really wanted. It wasn‘t fair. I wanted them back.”
“So he not only stole from you. I heard he stole from everyone. You know that he stole from some university libraries and their special collections also?”
“The bastard!”
“Then why do Milly McDonald?” I asked carefully. We were standing there stark naked, but any sexual interest had long since diminished and been lost. The gun she held pointed at me I now realized was probably the very weapon she had used to murder McDonald’s wife bare hours earlier that morning.
“That greedy bitch! If I wasn’t going to allow Brian to get away with keeping all my father’s—now my—rare and valuable books, there was no way in hell I was going to let Milly get them all. I knew about the divorce, so I knew I had to act fast before the books were split up. That would make things too difficult. I had to act while they were all in one place. Milly was not a good and trusting soul like me, Ben. She would have made sure she got half the books, probably the better half, if I knew her like I thought I did. I had no choice but to act before that happened.”
“Give me the gun, Sandy,” I said firmly.
She just laughed, “You look so funny there, Ben, totally naked, with your shriveled little pishee and all.”
I allowed a wan grin, what could I say about that?
“Ben. I’m so sorry.” Then she added softly, “I guess I made a mess out of everything.”
All I saw now were her hard eyes looking at me and the barrel of that gun pointed straight at my heart.
“You don’t want to do this, Sandy,” I pleaded, trying to hide the fear I felt and the desperation in my voice. “You don’t want to kill me. You’ll never get away with it.”
“I know that,” she replied softly, like she was already in a far away place and it was our last goodbye. She gave me a sad little smile, “I’ll miss you, Ben, I really will. I just want you to know that. But what I wrote is true, book collectors do go to hell, sometimes.”
She looked at me firmly, eye to eye. I could see the determination in her now. It was scary. I knew she had made a hard decision to cut her loses and that it was coming to fruition very soon.
I shuddered, tightly closed my eyes and waited. Then I heard the shot. The single report seemed to last a lifetime and it reverberated throughout the small room, echoing off all the shelves filled so tightly with so many books.
I stood there frozen, in panic and astonishment. Then I opened my eyes and saw Sandy’s lush body fall to the floor with a hard thump, the pistol dropping from her limp fingers. Blood spurted from a wound in her temple.
“Sandy!” I shouted. “Sandy! No!”
She looked at me strangely as I ran over to her and cradled her head in my arms, the blood madly gushing like a stream over our bodies. Her eyes looked blank, dull, I knew she was slipping away. Then she suddenly focused on me for an instant and a brief smile came to her lips, “Ben…I do like you…,” she whispered, “and I guess you do care.”
“Yes, I do,” I spoke softly, between my tears. “Sandy? Sandy!”
I cried as she died there in my arms. I lay there with her for hours, the two of us naked, wrapped together with her blood all over our bodies. I hardly noticed it. I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to do. My police training wanted to kick in—I know what I should have done—but I just couldn’t do it.
I cried a lot that night and I let myself sleep in her dead arms.
* * * * * * *
They found us early the next morning. They came for me when I never showed at the McDonald house. Charlie Grant was the first one to come into the room and see us, then Captain Wallace and the crime scene team.
I vaguely remember seeing Grant looking down at us with shock, then an evil twisted leer came to his face when he saw our nakedness.
“My God, Hollow, where the hell are your clothes?” Grant said looking at my nakedness and then grinning. “What the hell you do, man, fuck her to death!”
The crime scene team took their photos, then one of them helped me up from Sandy’s body. Then they took more photos of her alone. One of the guys dropped a towel over me and then sat me in a chair.
I looked at Charlie Grant with rage and unabashed hatred. This partnership was about to end—right now—the hard way.
Charlie Grant came over to me, a sly, wicked grin on his face.
“So tell me, what was she like?”
I stood up from my chair and suddenly hit Grant with a brick-hard fist straight into his face. It was a pile-driver blow that must have broken his nose—blood was spurting everywhere from his face—he rolled over and cried like a baby.
“This partnership is over!” I shouted, closing the subject forever.
I looked at Captain Wallace, he’d witnessed the entire scene, as well as all the crime scene techs. I was in the shit now. I realized this had not been such a good career move but it felt so damn good I didn’t care just then.
“You’ll find Brian McDonald’s missing Value Book on her desk there. It proves Sandy Goddard was the killer of Brian McDonald, her gun will match the bullets that killed Milly McDonald also.”
Then, still stark naked, I calmly walked out of the room and down the hall into Sandy’s bedroom. I gathered my clothes. I ignored the blood on me. It was Sandy’s blood. It was the only thing I had left from her now. As I got dressed Captain Wallace came into the bedroom.
He looked at me for a long moment in utter shock. I looked back hard, daring him to speak. Finally he did.
“This is a real mess, Hollow,” he told me, not without some sympathy, but I could see he had a job to do and no nonsense could be allowed now. “You found the killer and closed the case, which is good. You did a good job, but your methods are damn irregular….”
“You mean sleeping with a witness?”
“Sleeping with the murderer, Hollow,” he corrected me with a sharp stare.
I thought it was a minor point to remind Wallace that at the time we had begun to make love Sandy had only been a witness, so I said nothing. I’d never thought of her as a suspect and certainly not a murderer.
Wallace looked at me grimly, shook his head sadly and continued, “When this gets out, and it will, Hollow, it will cause all kinds of unpleasantness in the media for me, and for the department. I think it might be best….”
“Don’t worry yourself about it, Captain,” I said as I put on my pants and tucked in my shirt. “I’ve got the time, I’m putting in my papers. I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
“That might be best, Hollow,” he said with a deep sigh of relief, and just a hint of regret.
“I know it will be,” I replied and walked out of the bedroom, leaving him standing there alone. On the way out I shouted back to him, “You need me for anything, you know how to reach me. You’ll have a written statement from me in a couple of days. Now, I’m going home. I’ve had enough. Enough of Charlie Grant, enough of you, enough of this damn department, and enough of being a cop.”