Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (35 page)

“So no one was guarding the house last night?”

“That’s what it looks like, sir.”

“Any idea how he was drugged?”

“There were three possible means. His own thermos of coffee, which was still full. He said he never drank any of it. Also, there was an empty tea cup and a glass of what I think is Coke. It had about a third of the drink left. I’ve sent them all off to be analyzed.”

“Good work.” Manziuk addressed George Brodie. “I’m afraid I’ll need to use your study again.”

“Do you mean we have to go through the whole thing again?” Douglass Fischer asked. “All the questions, just like yesterday?”

A beeping sound interrupted him. Manziuk’s hand dove into the pocket of his trench coat and brought out a small pager. He stopped the noise, then stared at the screen as if trying to decide what to do with it. After a moment, he spoke to George Brodie. “I have a call to make first. But then I’ll want to speak with each of you. I was coming to talk with you again, anyway. I have some questions based on what we’ve discovered so far.”

“Never fear,” Bart said, “we love to answer questions. What could give us more pleasure than assisting the police in their investigation?” He waited a moment. “Oh, by the way, Inspector, we’re very impressed by what we’ve seen of the police thus far. Do you realize if your cop had done his job this wouldn’t have happened?”

Manziuk ignored him. “Where is Mrs. Winston?” he asked George.

Kendall answered. “Mom took her to her room. She was pretty upset.”

“Yes, I would expect so,” Manziuk said. “Nevertheless, I’d like to see her if I may. Could you ask your mother if that’s possible?”

“I suppose so.” Kendall got up and walked into the house.

“Rather callous, don’t you think?” Bart said. “The woman just lost her only daughter and you want to ask her questions!”

“It’s my job,” Manziuk growled. He got up and walked a short distance away before pulling a cell phone from his pocket and choosing a number.

Five minutes later, Ryan followed Manziuk through the kitchen toward the housekeeper’s room. Mrs. Winston had agreed to see them, but only if she could remain lying down for the ordeal.

Indeed, the woman looked as though she couldn’t have walked five feet. Her hair was disheveled, her face red and swollen, her hands clasped on her bosom as if in supplication.

Ellen Brodie was sitting on a small chair beside the bed. She, too, was teary-eyed and frail-looking.

Manziuk stood above the bed and placed his big hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder. “Mrs. Winston, I can’t tell you how sorry I am this happened.”

“She was a good girl, Inspector. She never hurt anybody.”

Manziuk nodded. Ellen Brodie slipped away and Manziuk settled his bulk on the small chair.

“What happened, Inspector? They said she was stabbed. Was—was that—all?”

“She wasn’t sexually assaulted, Mrs. Winston. She was stabbed with a kitchen knife.”

“Did she suffer?” The words came out in gasps.

“She likely didn’t feel anything. I think it happened very fast.”

“I wouldn’t want her to have suffered.”

“No.”

“She was going to go to Ryerson, you know. Wanted to be a journalist. You know, work for a newspaper. Her teachers all said she wrote so well. And now—”

Manziuk said nothing.

“She was all I had. Her father died seven years ago. It’s been just her and me.” Her face dissolved in tears. “Now I’m all alone. What am I going to do?”

“I know it’s hard to talk about, Mrs. Winston. But do you have any idea who could have done this?”

“Who would want to hurt her? She never hurt anybody. Never!”

“My thought is that she may have been killed because she knew something about Mrs. Martin’s death. Did she say anything to you that could give us a clue?”

She shook her head slowly back and forth.

“Did she tell you anything about what she heard or saw?”

“Well, just about the Fischers fighting a lot. And the Martins, too. And about finding Miss Shauna’s dress all torn. But she had no idea who killed Mrs. Martin.”

“When did you see Crystal last?”

“She went downstairs to her room about eleven last night. Maybe a little before. That’s the last time I saw her.” Her voice became a whisper. “The last time I’ll ever see her.”

“And this morning? Tell me what happened.”

She told him about Crystal’s failure to appear, her own search of the house, finding the policeman asleep, and going to the garage.

“Did you have reason to think Crystal would be with Bart Brodie?”

She shook her head forcefully. “No. It was my last hope that she might be there. I was so scared. And I was right to be scared, wasn’t I?” Her eyes stared at him accusingly.

“Yes, Mrs. Winston. You were right.”

“How did she seem last night?” Ryan asked from where she was standing behind Manziuk’s chair. “Was she happy, unhappy, thoughtful, sad?”

“She was closer to happy than not. In fact, I said something to her about it not being fitting that she should be smiling in a house where there’d been a murder. And she laughed at me and told me that pretense wasn’t in these days. That’s exactly what she said. I said it wasn’t pretending to respect the dead. And she said something I didn’t quite catch. Something about one man’s tragedy being another man’s comedy. I told her to be quiet and do her work.” The woman’s voice stopped on a mournful note. “Now I’d give anything to see her smile again.”

“Was she having financial trouble?” Manziuk asked. “I know she was going to go to Ryerson. Did she have enough money?”

“She had a scholarship and a student loan, plus what she was saving this summer and what I could manage. It was going to be tight. The problem was how she was going to get back and forth. She would have liked to have a car, but we couldn’t afford one.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Winston. You rest now and don’t worry about the house. Mrs. Brodie can manage, I’m sure.”

To his surprise, Mrs. Winston agreed. “Oh, yes, she’ll do fine. She’s a better cook than I am, and I pride myself on my cooking.”

A few minutes later, Manziuk and Ryan sat in the study and once more looked at the list of people in the house.

“Who do you want to talk with first?” Ryan asked.

Manziuk was about to answer when there was a knock on the door of the study and it immediately opened. Douglass Fischer stood there. “Do you have a minute?” Fischer asked as he walked in, followed by George Brodie and a haggard Peter Martin. “Have you seen the morning papers?”

“I try not to read them,” Manziuk said.

“You try not to read them?” Douglass echoed in disbelief. “Well, you might have a look at these. Our names are splashed across the front page! Look at this. ‘Wife of Prominent Lawyer Strangled at House Party.’ And then it goes on to name the firm and give details. How did they find out all this? Why do they have to write it up the way they do? It’s indecent!”

“You think murder should be decent and orderly?”

THIRTEEN

Douglass had the grace to blush. “They don’t have to write it up like this. It names everyone in the house.”

“These things have a way of happening,” Manziuk said.

“Did you talk to the press?”

“No. And neither did any of the other police members on the case. That I can guarantee.”

“I’d like to know who it was.”

“Does it really make any difference?” Peter asked wearily. “We knew the press would have a ball with this, so let’s try to ignore it and get on with finding out who did it. Maybe if we can solve it, the press won’t hound us.”

Douglass snorted. “Solve it? Instead of solving Jillian’s death, we’ve got another one on our hands. It’s going to be like a circus around here.”

“Don’t get us wrong, Inspector,” George Brodie said. “We’re very concerned about what’s happened here. But we do have our firm to think of. This kind of publicity is going to do a great deal of damage to our reputation. We want to know what we can do to help—to see that it gets solved as quickly as possible.”

Manziuk took up the suggestion at once. “Sounds good to me. The thing that will help me the most is to talk to some people again.”

George sighed. “Who would you like first?”

“It’s only noon and it’s already been a long day,” Peter Martin remarked as soon as his partners had left the room.

“Yes, I’m sure it has,” Manziuk said.

“Jillian’s family is going to meet me at my apartment at four. That’s if it’s okay with you.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. But I do need to search your apartment and any safety deposit boxes of your wife’s.”

“And you want my signed permission?”

“Unless you want us to have to go to the work of getting a search warrant. We have to check her things. You’re a lawyer. You know that.”

“And you’re hoping you’ll find she has a diary and she wrote down that I was threatening her. Isn’t that what you mean?”

“Not only a diary. She may have received threatening letters. There are a dozen things we might find.”

Peter made a quick movement with his hand as though pushing Manziuk away. “Oh, all right. I know I didn’t do it, so I have nothing to hide. And I don’t care who it is, I want him punished.” He took the papers, signed them, and gave them back to Ryan, who took them out to give to Waite, who in turn would hand them over to Ford.

“Mr. Martin, there are some things I need to clarify. Did you know Ms. Reimer lied in order to get here this weekend?”

Peter looked steadily at his questioner. “She told me last night.”

“Does this concern you?”

“I suppose in light of Jillian’s death, it looks highly suspicious. But I don’t believe strangling someone would be quite in Hildy’s line.”

“You told me before that she is a very controlled person. And your wife’s murder wasn’t a momentary act of passion. It appears to have been planned. As does the death of Crystal Winston,” he added.

“You must be mistaken.”

“No, Mr. Martin, I don’t believe I am mistaken.”

“Do you have proof?”

“Not conclusive yet. The bodies are being autopsied this afternoon. But I certainly have some things which are quite suggestive.”

“Even if it was a planned murder, I don’t think you can suspect Hildy.”

“Mr. Martin, I’d suspect my own mother if she’d been in this house this weekend.”

Silenced, Peter Martin sagged back into his chair. “Go on,” he said after a moment.

“Tell me about the relationship between your wife and her sister.”

“It was good. Jillian gave her things—clothes, money a few times. She helped out her whole family.”

“How?”

“Money, mostly.”

“Were they in need?”

“Well, with five daughters… And her father isn’t the most… Well, he drinks a little too much, and now and then he loses his job. He’s a good worker when he’s sober, though.”

“Does the family benefit through Mrs. Martin’s death?”

He shook his head. “Just the opposite. The money she gave them was mine. She had none in her own name. Not to my knowledge, anyway.”

“So her death cuts off a source of more financial help rather than increasing the gains?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you have insurance on your wife?”

Peter’s voice immediately took on more than a hint of anger, “No, I did not! I don’t stand to gain by her death in any way, Inspector. In fact, as far as I’m aware, no one does.”

Manziuk was sitting with his elbows on the arms of his chair, the fingers of his hands interlocked. He looked down at his thumbs for a second, then looked at Peter. “On the contrary, Mr. Martin. I believe you do benefit.”

“What?” Peter’s voice rose to a high pitch. “What are you insinuating?”

“According to the bank books in your wife’s purse, in the last six months, she invested over one hundred thousand dollars in stocks. Unless she left a will to the contrary, you, as her husband, would be the beneficiary.”

Peter frowned. “How much did you say?”

“One hundred and fifteen thousand to be exact.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You weren’t aware of this?”

“No. I paid her bills. And I gave her about two thousand in cash each month. There’s no way she could have saved that much money!”

“She also had a bank account with just under twenty thousand in it. The bank account goes back several years and shows some fairly large deposits and withdrawals.”

Unless Peter was a very accomplished actor, Manziuk believed he was genuinely puzzled. “I really don’t know what to say. Are you sure about this?”

“We’re sorry to have to break it to you this way, Mr. Martin,” Manziuk said.

“No, no, it’s all right. There must be a logical explanation for this. We’ll find it.”

“I hope so. Now, getting back to Shauna Jensen. Didn’t it occur to you that your wife was violent with her sister?”