The thing was he could never be sure Fran wouldn't get all involved in one of her causes, leaving little room for him and the kids, Since Cynthia, the youngest of their three, had gone to junior high, Fran had thrown herself into one cause, one march, one protest after another. At first he didn't mind, because he knew Fran was bored at home and needed something. But then she seemed to get obsessive about it, and everything else, like housework and cooking dinner, went all to hell.
When he'd finally said something Fran got furious and called him a chauvinist, telling him to make his own damn dinner. And then the name-calling accelerated, and it turned into one of the worst fights they'd ever had. But that was nothing compared to the time she was arrested protesting the nuclear plant in Shoreham.
Hell, he didn't think the damn thing should be there either, but a police chief couldn't go around expressing his private views and neither should a police chief's wife. And he'd told her that.
She'd said, 'Then maybe I just won't be a police chief's wife.'
He'd said, 'What the hell's that supposed to mean?'
'You don't understand English, Waldo?'
'What I understand is that you're making my life a misery.'
'Is that so?'
'Yeah, it is.'
'You can leave any time you want, you know. If you're so miserable, why don't you just move out?'
He had actually felt frightened. Fran had never said anything like that before. Even so he couldn't stop himself from saying, 'Maybe I will.'
'Fine. When?'
'Now.' He'd stood there, unable to move or say anything more.
Then she said, 'So? What are you waiting for?'
He'd marched upstairs then, pulled a suitcase from the top of the closet, knocking a bunch of boxes on the floor, slammed it on the bed, and depressed the catches. Shaking with rage and maybe a little fear, he was standing over the open empty suitcase when she came up behind him and put her arms around his waist.
'This is dumb,' she said.
He'd felt so relieved that he'd immediately turned around and grabbed her in his arms. They'd made love then, long and luxuriously, and ended up feeling even closer than they'd felt before the Shoreham deal. Neither of them had mentioned the incident again until the following Thursday.
Thursday was the day the Seaville Gazette came out. And there she was, smack on the front page, being hauled away by two bulls toward a paddy wagon. The fight started all over again, but this time no one spoke of moving out. It had taken almost three weeks for things to cool down between them, and finally Fran promised she wouldn't do anything again that might embarrass him. And she hadn't.
Mark Griffing was another story. It seemed to Hallock that whenever he could, Griffing printed anything that would put Hallock in a bad light. The antagonism between them had begun almost from the first month Griffing had owned the paper.
Hallock had gone to see Griffing to ask him not to print the victims' names in items he culled from the police blotter. The previous owners had agreed with that policy. Griffing had insisted Hallock was trying to impose censorship and he'd have none of it; he wasn't going to be under anybody's thumb. Hallock tried to point out that printing the names of burglary victims might encourage potential thieves. But Griffing wouldn't budge. From then on it had been open warfare between them. He expected Griffing to have a field day with this murder.
'Hey there, Chief.'
Hallock turned to see his detective. 'Hey there, Charlie.'
Charlie Copin was a good man. He was thirty-five years old and had been with Hallock seven years. Four inches shorter than Hallock's six feet, he weighed about twenty pounds more. Copin wore a lightweight tan suit, white shirt, brown tie and brown oxfords. He was a pleasant-looking guy who smiled a lot and made you feel he was content, easy.
'Taking the air?' Copin asked.
'Yeah. And thinking.'
''Bout the Danowski woman?'
Hallock nodded.
Copin said, 'I been thinking, too. I been thinking maybe she was screwing somebody over here, ya know, and Danowski found out. Or maybe the somebody over here got tired of her. But whatever, Seaville's connected somehow. I mean, think about it. Who's gonna kill a woman in East Hampton, then take an hour driving to Seaville, 'cause sure as shit he didn't take no ferries over here with a body in the car, then risk everything putting that body in a pool. I mean, what for? 'Less you got a good reason, ya know? 'Less that pool has some significance.'
'I've been thinking along the same lines, Charlie.'
'Ya think it's possible Gildersleeve was banging this woman?'
'Can't feature him doing it with anyone, but who knows? Still, he wouldn't put her in his own pool, would he?'
'You mean because it would incriminate him?'
'Right.'
'But, see, that's just it. That's what he'd count on, that we'd think that. See, who wouldn't say, why should a man kill a woman, then put her in his own pool? He'd just be counting on that. See what I'm trying to bring out, Chief?'
'I do, Charlie. But I don't know. Gildersleeve's a mean son of a bitch but he's not dumb. He'd know we'd think of that sooner or later, and look how soon you thought of it. But how about this? The Danowski woman's sleeping with Gildersleeve and Danowski finds out, kills her, and dumps her in the pool.'
'I thought of that. It's a possibility. Wanna have a coffee?'
'Sure.'
The two men walked off the dock, crossed the wide parking area, and went down the sidewalk past the police station, Roseanne's Dress Shop, and Alberton's Hardware, to the corner of Center and Main and the Paradise Luncheonette.
The Paradise had been built fifty years before and hadn't been touched since, except for an occasional paint job. The style was art deco, with wooden booths and silvered mirrors. The same man built the movie theater.
Copin and Hallock said hello to almost everybody in the place and took a booth near the back so they could keep talking in private. Vivian, the waitress, brought them each a coffee and Danish without waiting for their order. Hallock's coffee was black, Copin's light.
Hallock said, 'Then again, it might be somebody else who was banging the Danowski woman and had a grudge against Gildersleeve,' just as though there'd been no break in the conversation.
'But who?'
'That's where you got to do some work, Charlie.'
Copin smiled because Hallock was always kidding him about being lazy, even though he didn't really believe it.
'Well, if I have to, Chief,' he said, putting on a face.
Hallock said, 'It's those cuts that worry me, Charlie.'
'I know what ya mean. Think it is an A?'
Hallock nodded. 'Sure looks like it.'
'So what's it mean? A for Adulteress or A for Number One?' Copin bit off a piece of Danish.
'Or something else we got no way of knowing. Haven't had a whole lot of experience with murderers, but I've done some reading, just in case, you know, in case of the eventuality. There's practically no way to know what's in a killer's mind, the way he thinks. Maybe a psychiatrist could, but not us. So those cuts could mean almost anything.'
'I see what you mean. But let's just say, for the hell of it, let's just say that it is an A and it means Number One. Then we maybe got a serial murderer on our hands, right?' Copin lit a cigarette and blew out the match with a puff of smoke.
'Could be. And unless we get him now, we got real trouble. But let's not jump to conclusions, okay?'
'Right.'
'I want you to get over to East Hampton and run this thing down, Charlie. You got to talk to Gloria Danowski's
