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

by J. A. Menzies

  “Thank you. I’ll remember your advice. But I also believe God will take care of me no matter who might try to harm me.”

  “Believe in God,” he said, “but watch your back just the same.”

  She went out and Manziuk turned to go back to his chair.

  “Cold-blooded piece,” said Ryan.

  “You think so?”

  “She finds a murdered lady one day, and she’s as cool as a cucumber the next.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, she identified the clothes. Hildy Reimer was also pretty sure these were the ones. Recognized the insignia on the shirt.”

  Ten minutes later, Ryan brought Shauna Jensen to the study. The girl was wearing normal glasses and Manziuk could clearly see the bruising under her left eye. Her hair was unkempt and her naked face pale. Her clothes were untidy, too, as though she’d thrown on the first blouse and skirt that came to hand. She slumped into the chair across from Manziuk and stared at the floor.

  “Just a couple of questions, Ms. Jensen,” Manziuk said. “I know this isn’t easy for you, so I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

  She shrugged her right shoulder.

  “Last night, when did you go to bed?”

  “Ask Lorry,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear the words. “She’d know. I was too out of it.”

  “You were distraught because of your sister’s death?”

  “I guess.”

  “So much that you didn’t notice the time?”

  “I wasn’t in the least thinking about the time!” Her voice grew in volume. “Would you have been caring what time it was when your sister had been murdered like that?” Her eyes came up to meet his. “I said to ask Lorry. She was looking after me. She’s the only one here who cares how I feel.”

  “I’m glad you had Ms. Preston’s assistance. Are you feeling better today?”

  She had become much more animated. “Another girl is murdered and you think I should be feeling better? How do you know I’m not next?”

  “Well, I certainly hope no one is next. I hope—”

  “Well, you didn’t do anything to help Crystal, did you? I heard your policeman was asleep.”

  “Drugged, not asleep.”

  She made a face. “Same thing. He wasn’t watching like he should have been. You shouldn’t make us stay here. I want to go home.”

  “I believe Mr. Martin is taking you to his apartment later today, where your parents will meet you.”

  She sat up straight and her eyes grew large. “My parents? Coming today? Oh, no!”

  “Naturally, they’d want to—”

  “I won’t go back there! I won’t, I tell you! I’m never going back there! They can’t make me!” She was breathing hard. Now she paused and looked appealingly into Manziuk’s eyes. “Can they?” she breathed.

  FIFTEEN

  No one can make you go anywhere,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. “You’re old enough to decide what you do with your life.”

  “They don’t think so.” Shauna turned to face Ryan. “They all think I’m stupid. That I couldn’t manage by myself.”

  “You’re over twenty-one,” Ryan said. “That means you’re an adult. No one else can tell you where you have to live or what you have to do.”

  “At the same time—” Manziuk’s eyes were on Ryan “— you have been through a shock and you may well need your family to care for you until you recover.”

  Shauna swiveled back to stare at him. “You don’t understand at all, do you? You’ve never had people tell you you weren’t capable of doing what you wanted to do. You’ve never had them go on and on at you until you didn’t know yourself what you wanted. Well, I’ve just escaped and I’m not going back.”

  “Good for you,” Ryan said, her eyes meeting Manziuk’s without apology.

  “What is it that you want to do?” Manziuk asked, his voice far more gentle than might have been expected.

  “I want to study art!” Her voice was defiant, her eyes darting from Ryan to Manziuk and back as if daring either of them to laugh at her. “I want to illustrate books for children.”

  “That’s a tough field,” Manziuk said.

  “Don’t worry. I know.” Her tone was bitter. “And I’m not smart enough to cope, and I’m not forceful enough to get myself known, and I’m not good enough to do it anyway. I know. My family has told me. Every time I ever mentioned it.”

  “What makes you think you can do it now when you haven’t felt confident enough before?” Ryan asked.

  “Because I just realized Jillian’s been lying to me all my life,” Shauna said simply. “How do I know all of my family haven’t been lying, too? Every month I hand over nearly all my money from working in the library. I’ll bet that’s why they don’t want me to go away!”

  Manziuk had no answer for this, so he changed the subject. “Did you leave your room after midnight last night?”

  “I slept very soundly from before that till late this morning.”

  “Is there anything you haven’t told us that might help us discover the killer of your sister or Crystal Winston?”

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  “If you think of anything, let us know.”

  She nodded. “May I go now?”

  “Yes.”

  She almost ran to the door.

  “She’s in fine fettle,” Manziuk said.

  “She’s stretched tight.”

  “You didn’t exactly help with your ‘You’re an adult, you can do what you want’ bit.”

  Ryan frowned. “Why shouldn’t she study art? Ford thought she was good.”

  “We’re cops. We don’t give personal advice to witnesses or suspects.”

  “Right. Like suggesting that Anne Fischer get counseling.”

  “I suggested she get counseling; I didn’t try to counsel her myself!”

  She merely looked at him.

  In contrast to Shauna, Ellen Brodie sat up straight in the chair, her eyes on Manziuk, her body language expectant. She wanted to help. She wanted to rid this house of the blot staining it.

  “Mrs. Brodie, I need to know where you were from midnight last night until five this morning.”

  “I was in my room, Inspector. Shortly after midnight, I went to sleep and I didn’t awaken until after almost eight.”

  “And your husband?”

  “He was with me, of course. Except he got up at six-thirty, as always.”

  “If you were asleep, how do you know he was there?”

  “I’m a light sleeper. I hear George get up every morning. I keep a book by my bed to read when he wakes me up.”

  “So if your husband had left the room during the night, you would know?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “And he did not?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Thank you. These questions must be asked. Now, Mrs. Brodie, can you tell me anything about yesterday or this morning? Anything unusual? Something someone said or did?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. Except of course the policeman who had been drugged. That’s very puzzling, don’t you think? Someone must have wanted him out of the way very badly to do something like that.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Whatever Crystal Winston knew was damaging to someone. She had to be silenced.”

  Ellen shivered.

  “I’d bet anything her murderer arranged to talk with her, maybe even to pay her something, all the time planning to kill her. And the murderer could strike again. That’s why, if there is anything you haven’t told us, it’s risky to keep silent.”

  She thought for a moment. “You’re correct, Inspector. I will tell you, but I do hope it is meaningless.” She leaned forward. “Bart and Shauna told you they didn’t come back until after four yesterday. But that isn’t true. I saw them from the kitchen window just before I went upstairs.”

  “That was at three-thirty?”

  “About then. I’d just stopped in to talk to Mrs. Winston for a minute to check
on supper, and as I was leaving, I happened to glance out of the window and see them coming toward the house. I noticed them particularly because they seemed to be arguing. But that’s all I saw.”

  “Could Mrs. Winston have seen them, too?”

  Ellen thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “She was stirring a sauce on the stove. She’d never have left it. ”

  “Was anyone else in the kitchen?”

  “Just Crystal.”

  “Could she have looked out the window?”

  Again, Ellen had to stop and think, obviously picturing the scene she was describing. “She could have. Now, mind, I don’t know if she did. But she was walking about preparing to peel potatoes, and she might have looked out the window.” Ellen leaned towards him. “But that doesn’t mean either Bart or Shauna murdered Jillian.”

  “If they didn’t,” he said, “they have nothing to fear.”

  Bart Brodie looked anything but afraid when he entered the room a few minutes later. In fact, he looked bored. “So, we play Ring Around the Rosy some more, do we, Inspector?”

  “I prefer Truth or Consequences,” Ryan retorted.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Manziuk glared at his partner, and she bent her head to take notes. “It means, the time has come for you to tell the truth. As in, for example, what time you came back from your walk yesterday afternoon. You and Shauna Jensen seem to have been half an hour premature in returning.”

  Bart laughed. “Is that all? Inspector, I haven’t the slightest idea why she did that. Lied, I mean. You talked to her first, and she whispered to me that she’d said we came back after four. It was only polite for me to give you the same story, but naturally I thought someone must have observed us. I was quite surprised when you didn’t question the time yesterday.”

  “There were several things I didn’t question yesterday,” Manziuk replied dryly. “What caused the argument?”

  Bart raised his eyebrows. “You must have your little spies everywhere. How nice for you.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “As you might have guessed had you put your mind to it, we were discussing Shauna’s life, or rather, her lack of one.”

  “You were arguing.”

  “We interpreted some things differently. I told her she was a stupid imbecile. She didn’t like my choice of words. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think she liked anything about me.”

  “Did she eventually see things your way?”

  “She ran into the house.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “My apartment above the garage.”

  “So the truth is neither of you has an alibi for the time Jillian Martin was killed?”

  “Actually, Shauna came up to my apartment about twenty minutes later. She’d been crying. Came to apologize. Said I was right, that Jillian had no business treating her the way she did. She didn’t act or sound like somebody who’d just murdered her sister.”

  “You know what she’d sound like if she had?”

  Bart grinned. “I suppose not.”

  “Was Jillian Martin blackmailing you?” Manziuk asked.

  Bart appeared to be genuinely taken aback. “Was she what?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “We’d never even met before this weekend, and I was completely unaware of her very existence.”

  “So you had no motive for killing her?”

  “None whatsoever. And no, I didn’t kill her because she was nasty to her sister, either. Nor did Shauna request me to do it for her. No Lady Macbeth she. Besides, it wasn’t Jillian’s fault that Shauna was so gullible.” His voice took on a more serious note. “Are you serious about blackmail?”

  “Have you spoken to Shauna since yesterday at supper?”

  “Last night. Briefly.” He studied the floor. There was silence until he suddenly looked up. “Oh,” he said in surprise, “you want to know what we said, don’t you?”

  “Were you still arguing?”

  “You know, I really think our conversation has nothing to do with you. We were neither planning another murder nor discussing how to hide evidence.” He looked innocently at Manziuk. “You really don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you?” His eyes focused on Ryan. “Must be highly tedious working with this man.” He sighed. “We were discussing her dependency on Jillian and the rest of her family. I feel sorry for the little beggar. I was trying to put a little backbone in her, and I was doing it in what you’d call reverse psychology. Telling her I thought she was right to play it safe, that sort of stuff. Boy, did she get mad.”

  “Thank you. Now, can you tell me where you were last night after midnight?”

  “Last night? Not the clearest one to pick. But I’ll try. I went to my apartment around midnight. At least, that’s what time I heard someone say it was. Ask Kendall; I believe he was my escort. A very nice bottle of my uncle’s Scotch kept me company after he left. I expect I fell asleep some time, but don’t ask me when. Mrs. Winston woke me this morning by unceremoniously banging at my door.”

  “Did you see or hear anything that could help us?”

  “Afraid not, Inspector.”

  “A young girl is dead, Mr. Brodie.”

  “Believe it or not, Inspector, if I knew anything that could help you, I wouldn’t hesitate to divulge it even if it involved my dearest Aunt Ellen. But I don’t know anything.”

  “Mr. Brodie, we’ve been checking on you. There are a few rather unsavory items in your past.”

  “Did any of them involve murder?”

  “No.”

  “Assault?”

  “No.”

  “Anything of a violent nature?”

  “Not physical. But embezzlement, forgery, and misrepresentation of oneself aren’t exactly devoid of violence. They harm people.”

  “You’re making me weep. Is there anything outstanding?”

  “No. But I can’t help wondering if Jillian Martin mightn’t have hired someone like you to help her. Or perhaps someone like you gave her the idea.”

  “Are you serious that she was blackmailing people?”

  “Dead serious, Mr. Brodie. I’m dead serious.” With that, Manziuk stood and walked to the door. “If you think of anything that could help us…”

  Bart stood up. “If I do, I’ll toddle right along to let you know.” He sauntered out of the room.

  “Well, he leaves a bad taste in the mouth,” Manziuk said.

  “Do you really think he could have been working with Jillian Martin?” Ryan asked.

  “Why not? There’s nothing to say one of them might not have found the other. Like to like.”

  “We’ve talked to everyone except Kendall and George Brodie.”

  “What time is it?”

  “After four.”

  “I wonder if Martin’s left yet.”

  As if on cue, there was a quick rap at the door. It was Peter Martin, together with George Brodie. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m wondering if I can go home, Inspector. Jillian’s family will be there now.”

  “Yes. No. Just give me one minute. Unless… Could I have your suitcases brought to you later?”

  Peter shrugged. “I guess so. Nothing in them I desperately need. And your boys have already seen everything at least twice.”

  “I’ll have them delivered later today. Oh, by the way. You said you went straight to your room yesterday at three-thirty. I have reason to wonder about that. Want to tell me the truth?”

  “I suppose someone saw me.”

  “Never mind. Where were you?”

  Peter Martin looked away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he turned back to face Manziuk. “All right, I went to Hildy’s room. She didn’t answer when I knocked. I wondered if she’d heard me, so I tried the door. It was open, so I went in. She wasn’t there.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  Peter licked his lips. “This is hard to explain. I stayed ab
out ten or fifteen minutes. There was a picture of my son Stephen on her nightstand. For some reason I can’t explain even to myself, I picked it up and sat on the bed staring at it for a long time. That’s all I did.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” Manziuk said.

  “Get him, Inspector.”

  “We will, Mr. Martin. You can bank on it. By the way, is Shauna Jensen going back with you?”

  “I certainly assumed so.”

  “Shauna seems to be opposed to going anywhere near her family right now.”

  Peter sighed. “That’s all I need. Okay. Thanks for the warning, Inspector.”

  “Good luck.”

  Ryan continued to stare at the door after Peter had gone out. After a moment, she said, “If that doesn’t beat all! Do you realize Douglass was going through Peter’s room while Peter was sitting in Hildy’s room and Hildy was walking around out front? Talk about musical chairs!”

  George Brodie was waiting in the hall. Manziuk went over to him. “Mr. Brodie, could you spare me a few minutes?”

  “Yes, certainly. Are you nearly finished with this? Several others are also wishing to leave.”

  “Let me make a call.” Manziuk returned to the study and, dialing the number of the morgue, asked for Munsen. “Anything on Crystal Winston yet?” he asked when the pathologist came on the line.

  “Two wounds. The first to the abdomen under the rib cage. As I suspected, the liver was pierced. The second to the heart. Either could have killed her. The combination of the two left nothing to chance.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A couple of curious things. Her right foot was quite bruised on the top of the instep and toes. Her left wrist was also bruised. And there was bruising around the neck. My best guess would be that someone stepped hard on her foot, grasped her around the throat with his left arm, and grasped her left wrist with his right hand. The knife was apparently held in her left hand, since hers are the only fingerprints on it. Whether she was originally holding the knife or it was forced into her hand I couldn’t say. My guess would be she had held it previously.”

  “Knowing she was going out to face a murderer, she may have taken it for protection.”