Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (37 page)

Douglass looked anything but sweaty as he followed Ryan into the study. He was wearing a golf shirt and navy pants, and he looked very much in control as he sat down, set both forearms on the arms of his chair, and crossed his ankles.

“Just a couple of questions, Mr. Fischer.”

“Fire away, Inspector.”

“Does your wife have a career, Mr. Fischer?”

Douglass frowned. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Most likely not.” Manziuk leaned back comfortably in his chair. “Call it curiosity.”

“As I told you yesterday, Anne has trouble with her nerves. Migraines, trouble adjusting to her age, and the kids getting older. I don’t believe she could handle anything else right now.”

“So she has a lot of time on her hands?”

“On the contrary, she’s been very active. Parents’ groups, charity work, and looking after the house and kids. Always something up.”

“And you wouldn’t say she has any trouble dealing with her lifestyle?”

“Just a few minor health problems.” He leaned forward. “None of which, Inspector, have anything to do with Jillian’s or the Winston girl’s murders, and therefore none of which are really any of your business.”

“How long has she had a drinking problem?”

“What?”

“I said—”

“Never mind, I heard you. She does not have what you call a drinking problem.”

“Then the bottle is yours?”

“And just what bottle are we talking about?”

“The empty one in the back of your closet.”

“It might have been there for weeks.”

“No, it wasn’t. Constable Ford talked with Mrs. Winston and her daughter yesterday. They were horrified when he suggested the closet hadn’t been cleaned before your arrival. They said it was completely empty and had been vacuumed that morning. So, I repeat, Mr. Fischer. Are you aware your wife has a drinking problem?”

Douglass stared at the empty floor between their chairs for a moment. “She takes a few drinks,” he said finally. “She doesn’t have a ‘problem.’”

“That may be. For now, I just want to know whether the bottle was hers.”

“Well, it wasn’t mine and I didn’t even know it was there. I never saw her with a drink.” Apparently to himself, he added, “I rarely do.”

“It’s none of my business, Mr. Fischer, but you might want to consider getting help for your wife. Some kind of counseling, maybe.”

Douglass spoke through clenched teeth. “And you might want to consider that you’re here to find a murderer, not to interfere in the lives of innocent people.”

Ryan’s mouth opened and she began to protest, but Manziuk silenced her with a look. “Quite right, Mr. Fischer,” he said easily, “so we need to talk about the note you taped under a drawer in the bureau.”

Douglass swallowed twice before saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Then I’ll ask your wife.”

“No!” Douglass shouted. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”

“The note appeared to be directed to Jillian Martin. Did you write it?”

Head down, Douglass mumbled, “No.”

“Were you going to deliver it?”

“No.”

“She gave it to you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you have it?”

Douglass sat straight now and wiped his forehead with one large hand. He swallowed again. He fingered the suddenly tight collar of his shirt.

“I’m waiting,” Manziuk urged.

Douglass shifted in his chair. “You’re going to think there’s more to it than there is,” he said.

“Mr. Fischer, as a lawyer, you ought to know that the worst thing you can do is lie to the police.”

Douglass sighed. “All right. But I sure hope you don’t go off half-cocked over this.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I decided to go to my room a little before three-thirty. As I was coming out of the games room, I heard Jillian’s voice. She had stopped on the stairs to talk to Ellen. I didn’t want to bump into her, so I waited. When I’d heard her come down and go through the other hall, I went upstairs. I had left Peter in the bar, so I knew their room would be empty. I knocked quietly, and when no one answered, I went in. I was looking for something. That note was in Jillian’s jewel case. I took it and got out.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Mr. Fischer, I have some people on their way right now to search Mrs. Martin’s apartment. Do you want to wait until we’ve finished?”

Douglass wiped his face with his hand. “Oh, never mind the threats. I know when I’m beaten.”

“I’ll ask you again. What were you looking for?”

“She had some things of mine. A note from the hotel clerk. A copy of the register. And a copy of the receipt. To make a long story short, she was blackmailing me.”

FOURTEEN

Had you and Jillian Martin been having an affair?” Manziuk asked.

Douglass Fischer laughed bitterly. “Not with that viper.”

“So what did she have on you?”

His voice was strong and clear now. “I made one lousy mistake. One! It was a business trip. I was sick and tired of Anne and her so-called headaches and her whining—so I took my secretary along with me on the weekend. It was just that once, I swear. And I—well, I feel bad. Believe me, I’d never do anything like it again. If only Anne…” He bent his head.

“How did Jillian Martin get hold of the items?”

His head snapped back up. “If I only knew! But I don’t! Out of the blue, she phoned me and told me all about the weekend. She sent me copies of the three items and offered to destroy the originals. For a price.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“You paid it?”

“Of course I paid it. What else could I have done! She was my partner’s wife!”

“Did you get the items back?”

His voice continued to be bitter. “Oh, yes, I got them. But two months later, I found out she had kept copies and she wanted another twenty-five thousand. I paid it, but I told her that was all. I said I’d tell Peter if she tried to get more money out of me.”

“And?”

“And last week she asked for more. Another twenty-five.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I didn’t have it and I wouldn’t pay. She told me Anne would be delighted to see the items.” One hand ruffled his formerly well-groomed hair. “You’ve seen Anne. You know how jealous she is and how unstable. It would—I don’t know what it would do to her. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. I mean, we don’t have much of a marriage. But I would hate it if it was me who put her around the bend. And there are the kids to think of. God knows I’ve been a lousy husband and a lousy father, but I couldn’t add this to the rest.”

“So you were going to pay?”

“I was stalling. Trying to scare her. Telling her I’d go to Peter. Bluffing that Anne wouldn’t care. But Jillian knew better. I went to search the room on the faint hope she’d brought the things with her. And when I found that note, I thought maybe I could use it to silence her. Threaten to show it to Peter. Get her to leave me alone. But I never even once thought of murdering her. Though I guess the truth is I’d like to thank whoever did. And I half hope he gets away with it.”

“What time did you leave the Martins’ room?”

“I must have been there about ten minutes. I kept praying Peter wouldn’t come up. I have no idea what I would have said to him. Maybe the truth. And maybe he would have believed me and stopped her. I don’t know.”

“You went to your room after that?”

“I swear I did. And Anne was there, sound asleep, as I said.”

Manziuk stared at him for a few minutes. When Douglass added nothing else, Manziuk asked, “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“About eleven-fifteen. Anne stayed downstairs for a change instead of going straight to her room. I think she was afraid to be alone. But the evening was pretty difficult. We talked for a while up in our room, but we were asleep by midnight.”

“And you slept soundly?”

“Yes,” he said. Then he changed his mind. “Well, I woke up once—about three. I went back to sleep about ten minutes later.”

“Did your wife wake up then, too?”

“No. She had taken a sleeping pill. She slept through.”

“All right. I’ll need to talk with your wife now.”

An anguished cry came from Douglass’s lips. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

“About the blackmail? Not unless I have to.”

“I’ve told you everything,” Anne Fischer said a few minutes later. She crossed her ankles and smoothed the skirt of her pink and green floral sleeveless dress. Her brown hair, which was not quite shoulder-length, was loose, held by two green barrettes, and she looked more relaxed than Manziuk had yet seen her.

“Tell me about the brandy bottle in your closet,” he said.

She clasped her hands and her face took on a wary look. “I don’t have any idea what you are talking about.”

“Your room was spotless when you moved into it. I have a witness who would swear to that in court. So where did the bottle come from?”

“I have no idea. Ask Douglass.”

“I did ask him. He denies touching it. And our fingerprint department bears him out.”

“You checked it for fingerprints? Why?” She had lost her superior edge and sounded frightened.

“Do you want to tell me about it, or would you rather I told you what I think?”

One hand smoothed her hair as she looked away from Manziuk and then back to him. “I’m not interested in what you think. Anyway, why shouldn’t I have a drink if I want to? I’m over twenty-one. Just because the rest of them drink at the bar and I prefer to do it in my room, what business is it of yours?”

“Was that what Jillian Martin had on you?”

“What?”

“Did she know about your drinking?”

“Of course not,” Anne scoffed. “She was the wife of Douglass’s partner. She wasn’t a friend. Not,” she said defiantly, “that I care who knows. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“We’re aware that Mrs. Martin wasn’t opposed to a little blackmail.”

There was no surprise at the direction the interrogation was taking. “I suppose she left a notebook or something?”

Manziuk waited for her to continue.

When she didn’t volunteer anything, Ryan said, “Every victim’s nightmare.”

Anne smoothed her skirt. “What?” she asked absently.

“You feel intense relief knowing your persecutor is dead. But you spend hours agonizing about who will find the incriminating documents.”

“There were no documents,” Anne replied. She quickly back-pedaled. “Jillian wasn’t blackmailing me.”

“Very well. So what
was
she doing?” Manziuk asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You had to have some reason for disliking her as much as you obviously did. What had she done?”

“I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” She was twisting her wedding rings now, her hands moving rhythmically, automatically.

“No, you don’t. But it would speed up the investigation if I could eliminate you as a suspect.”

She stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if I know the truth, I can often put the puzzle together and get the right answer. If I don’t know the truth, I’m apt to suspect the wrong person, the one who’s holding out on me, for instance.”

“If I told you the truth, you’d think I killed her, and I didn’t.”

“Why is it,” Manziuk asked wearily, “that everyone in this house seems to think I arrest people for being honest?”

“Well, it looks bad. And I have no proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“She was threatening to take Douglass away from me.” Anne’s eyes filled with tears.

“I see.”

“I don’t,” Ryan said.

“She—this is all so demeaning. She and Douglass were having an affair. I begged her to stop, to let him go, but she refused.