“You typed it?”
“Yes. Mom asked me where I had been for so long, but I’m such a lousy typist I had to redo it about five times. I told Mom I’d had some calls to make.”
“And you typed a personal note like that?” asked Ryan.
“I’m a lousy typist, but my handwriting is even worse. Everybody is always telling me they can’t read what I write. The last thing I wanted was for Jillian not to be able to read the note. So I typed it to make it as clear as possible.”
“What did you do with the first attempts?”
“I burned them in the fireplace. I wanted to make sure no one else saw them.”
Ryan moved closer. “You said she tore it into two pieces. We only found one. What happened to the other half—the half with the signature?”
“That was weird. After she threw the pieces down, she got a funny look on her face.” He bent his head and took a deep breath before looking up again. “I don’t know if I can explain it. She was looking at me—almost like she was daring me to do something about it. Then when I just stood there staring at her, she looked down, just her eyes, without moving her head, as if she was reconsidering what she’d done. Not that she was sorry she hadn’t read it—something else. Then suddenly she dove down and grabbed the piece closest to her. I reacted instinctively and grabbed the other piece before she could get it. She glared at me—like she would have fought me for it, but just then Hildy’s door opened and she started to come into the hallway, so Jillian put the one piece in her pocket and took off.”
“What did you do with the piece you had?”
“I tore it into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I felt like a fool.”
“Did you feel Jillian was playing games—that she was playing with you?”
“I didn’t know what was going on. I was completely at sea.”
“So she wouldn’t talk to you or read your note?”
“By Sunday, I was getting desperate. Then just after lunch I saw her come up to Nick and more or less throw herself at him and kiss him. I couldn’t believe it! He just pushed her away, and she went into her room. She was laughing. I was furious with Nick. That’s when he told me he’d known her before and that she was trying to get him to meet her, and I saw my chance.”
“Did you tell Nick the truth?”
“Not then.”
“So you followed her to the garden?”
“Not immediately. Mom was coming upstairs, so I talked to her for a few minutes. I didn’t mind if Jillian had to wait. I wanted her to think Nick wasn’t coming so she’d be fed up with him. And then I thought I’d better check to make sure she hadn’t gone to the rose garden anyway. But I saw Nick, and he was alone. So then I went to meet her.” His gaze fixed on Manziuk’s face. “Here’s the part you aren’t going to believe. When I got there, she was dead. Lying on the grass, just like you saw.”
“What did you do?”
“I ran up to her and—” His voice broke. “I saw she was dead. It must have happened just moments before I got there. In fact, I looked around, thinking I’d see whoever it was running away. But I didn’t see anyone.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“I don’t think so, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do. It seemed so surreal. Then I realized I had to get the police, so I hurried back to the house. I knew Dad was in his study, so I went there.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you made up a story about being with him the whole time?”
“Before, just after Jillian had gone downstairs, Mom had come up. I was still in the hall, so I told her I was going to look for a book. She said it was likely in Dad’s study. So Dad said to just expand on that. Say I’d gone down to the study and we’d talked while he finished sending his e-mail.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d be sure to think I was guilty, and I wasn’t.”
“Was it your dad’s idea for you to take Lorry to the garden and ‘discover’ the body?”
“Yes.” He shuddered. “I didn’t want to go back there, but he said I had to, because we needed to get the police on it right away. So I went and got Lorry, and then we saw Nick. You don’t know how relieved I was when he said he’d come with us. I offered to let them go alone, but they wanted me to come, too, so I thought I’d better. I thought it might look funny if I didn’t go.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” He looked straight into Manziuk’s eyes. “That’s it. I know Nick didn’t do it. He was in the rose garden, like he said.”
“Could anyone have overheard you telling Jillian to go to the Japanese garden?”
“We were in the hallway outside several bedrooms. I suppose someone could have heard us.”
“You’re ready to swear that this story is true?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t like lying to you before. But I didn’t kill her, and I knew you’d think I did.”
“When did you tell Nick the truth?”
“Sunday night. After we went up to go to bed. I told you I was asleep, but we talked for a long time. At least an hour.”
“And what did Nick say?”
“He told me I was a total idiot, but that I was right to let you think I hadn’t known her. He said it would just complicate things and lead you on a wild goose chase. But I didn’t know you’d think he did it. I thought it would just help you concentrate on finding the real killer.”
“We still have no explanation for the Seconal’s being in the Coke Nick gave Officer Fellowes,” Ryan interjected.
“Nick didn’t give anybody Seconal,” Kendall said with conviction.
“Okay, why don’t the two of you go get Nick and let him know what you’ve told me. See if he has anything to add,” Manziuk said.
When Ryan and Kendall Brodie had gone, Manziuk sat staring at the picture on his wall. The eagle had great eyes. It could see little mice scurrying on the ground far below.
Sometimes Manziuk felt like that eagle, trying to see the one key detail that was buried among all the masses of facts or observations they had. And that one detail was often like a key that opened the door to making all the facts fit together.
But this case wasn’t coming together. Everything they discovered led to more confusion.
What was it that was nagging at him? Something at the back of his mind. And why did he keep thinking about the other murders? Because he had spent so much time on them and they were still unsolved? Because Lorry Preston had red hair?
But that was irrelevant, unless of course she happened to be the next redhead the murderer ran across. He hoped she’d take heed of the warning he’d given her. Many women with red hair were now wearing hats or dying their hair just in case.
But that wasn’t it. There was something else. Something in the back of his mind.
He put aside the report from Ford and glanced through Officer Fellowes’ statement. How else could the drug have been administered? How else except by Nick?
Idly he picked up the list of Nick’s possessions when he was arrested:
package of matches with two gone
wallet with credit cards and $180.00
driver’s license
small plastic package of Kleenex
$3.24 in loose change
keys on a chain with a skier
paper with a single phone number
cat’s eye
half-empty roll of breath mints
pen with a local chiropractor’s logo
appointment card from the same chiropractor
The phone number had turned out to be the one for the mission Lorry Preston was working with for the summer.
The chiropractor he visited occasionally to keep his back in line for skiing.
There was nothing else of interest. What on earth was a cat’s eye? And why would Nick have one in his pocket? And why did that seem to trigger bells in his brain?
>
The door opened, and Ryan, Kendall, and Nick walked in. Nick was holding a plastic bag filled with odds and ends.
“Good, you’ve got your possessions,” Manziuk said without preamble.
“What?” Nick stared.
“The bag. Put them on the desk. verything in your pockets.”
Nick did as he was asked, looking at Manziuk as if he thought the other man had lost his mind.
There it was. Some people might call it a cat’s eye. He called it a marble. It was quite large and swirled with gold and blue. That was the detail that had been buried in his mind, just beyond reach. He’d seen it before. Back in George Brodie’s office when he’d first interviewed Nick. Nick had been rolling it in his fingers. But it hadn’t registered on Manziuk at the time.
Manziuk’s voice was stern and cold. “Okay, Nick, I have to ask you one more time if you want to be represented by counsel.”
TWENTY
Even Ryan stared at Manziuk in surprise.
“You just had them release me,” Nick said, obviously bewildered.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“We’ve already gone over this.” Nick looked at Kendall. “I don’t get it. I thought you said you told him.”
“What’s this?” Manziuk held up the marble.
“What?”
“It’s a marble. It was in your pocket. Why?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing it before.”
“Is that right? Well, let me tell you that’s not good enough. These marbles are unique. They’re extra large. Specially made for an experiment with autistic children. Easier to hang on to than regular marbles. There were twenty-four of them. And one was missing. So I know where it came from. And I think I know how you got it.”
Nick stared at him. “Well, you know more than I do. I don’t have a clue where it came from. I’ll go further than that. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
“Nick, you’re about to be booked on six counts of murder. The game—”
“I came here and told you the truth!” Kendall exploded. “He didn’t kill Jillian or Crystal! Why are you badgering him? And what are you talking about? Six counts of murder?”
“Sit down! He knows what I’m talking about. All those women, Nick. Why did you do it?”
“You’re crazy!”
It was Ryan’s turn to protest, “Inspector, are you sure?”
“Did Jillian find out, Nick? Was she blackmailing you?”
Nick’s face was slowly turning red. “You’re crazy!”
Manziuk jumped up and stepped menacingly toward Nick. “You smile and almost persuade me you couldn’t possibly be the killer, and all the time this is sitting in your pocket, laughing at me. I ought to—”
“Inspector!” Ryan’s voice was sharp, in command. “Don’t you think you need to make dead certain of this?”
Manziuk stood silently, looking at Nick. The younger man was staring straight at him, with not so much fear showing in his face as confusion. Maybe… Manziuk stepped back and took a deep breath. “All right. Why don’t we all sit down?” They found chairs. “Okay, Nick, let’s look at this rationally. Did your mother have red hair?”
“Did my—? What are you talking about?”
“Did your mother have red hair?”
“My mother has dark brown hair. You might even call it black. I expect she has some gray, too, but only her hairdresser knows for sure.”
“Do you have an alibi for any of these evenings?” Manziuk scrambled through his notebook and held out a page of it.
Nick shook his head. “I don’t keep track of everything I do.”
Kendall was staring at the dates. “Wait a minute. The last date. May second. Yes. Yes, he does have an alibi. One of our professors gave a dinner party, and Nick and I were both there. We had dates, too. I took Marilyn and Nick took Candace. We were there from seven until one and it was after two when Nick and I got back to our apartment. We didn’t leave it again that night.”
“Whose car did you take?”
“Nick’s. I didn’t have mine then. I mean, I’d sold my old one, and Dad gave me the Porsche the next day. It was my graduation present.”
“I’ll need the full names and addresses of the two women and your professor.”
Ryan spoke up again, “Are you sure this marble is what you think it is? That there couldn’t be others?”
“So sure, I—” Manziuk forced himself to speak slowly. “Look, I’ve got four young women dead with no apparent reason. Wouldn’t you want to grab the guy who did it?”
“Of course,” Ryan said.
Kendall and Nick both stared.
Ryan turned to Nick. “If you aren’t the killer, where did you get this marble?”
Kendall answered. “He picks things up all the time. Even in class, he’s likely to be making a paper airplane out of his notes. It’s as if his hands can’t be idle. Half the time he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.”
Manziuk stood up. “Well, this time he’s going to remember. The two of you can just sit here until you do!” Manziuk left them there and went out to find Ford.
An hour later, Manziuk was back in his office. Nick Donovan and Kendall Brodie both had indisputable alibis for the murder of Cerise Matheson on May 2nd. And all Nick could tell them about the marble was that he must have picked it up somewhere. Reluctantly, Manziuk sent them both home. Then he told Ryan she may as well get some sleep.
“And you?” she countered. “I’m not going until you do.”
Reluctantly, he called it a day. Maybe he’d be able to think more clearly after a few hours of sleep.
But Manziuk didn’t sleep much that night. Loretta had been to the hospital with Arlie to visit Woody. Seldon had been there, too. Seldon was just talking about ordinary stuff, but apparently Woody had asked point blank if this was the end of his career, and Seldon’s face had given the answer. Woody had decided there was no point in the doctors’ saving his life if he wasn’t going to be allowed back on the force.
Arlie, Loretta, and Seldon had spent half an hour trying to convince him life still could be worth living, with him getting more upset all the time, and then Michael, the Manziuks’ seventeen-year-old son, had come into the room and walked over to Woody’s bed and said, “Uncle Woody, what would I ever do without you?” And Woody had begun to cry and everything was okay again.
After hearing all that, it was hard to sleep. Between thoughts of Woody and wondering what his family would do if he weren’t around, his brain was busy trying to figure out a solution for all six murders. He figured he got about three hours’ sleep all night.
Beside him, Loretta, as usual, slept like a log. “Clear conscience.” That was what he always said.
Manziuk was at his desk by eight.
They were back to square one with no apparent next move. Well, maybe not that bad. He had the marble, which Ford said was identical.
There was a note from Benson lying front and center on the desk, and another almost identical one from Seldon. What was all this about releasing Nick Donovan? Did he think they were running a circus? Was he about to make a real arrest? How soon? The public was anxious. The police chief was anxious. The commissioner was anxious. The mayor was anxious. What was he doing? And would he come to see them as soon as he got in?
Manziuk sat and stared at the notes, his mind far away. Had Nick picked up the marble? Or had it been planted on him? And if so, by whom? Bart Brodie was the obvious choice. He could have committed both murders at the Brodies’. And he was the right type for a serial killer. A drifter and a leech. But they had no evidence to connect Bart to Jillian. Unless he was simply insane and killed when he got the chance.
Who else? Peter Martin? Opportunity, yes. And he seemed to have a love/hate relationship with women. Douglass Fischer? He gave the impression of a man under control, but a man whose control was about to snap. He was capable of murder. George Brodie? He had lied for Kendall. But he’d been in his
office sending e-mail when Jillian was killed, and with his wife when Crystal was killed. And somehow, he didn’t seem the type to do anything irrational.
What about the women? Hildy Reimer? Not if he knew anything about character. She could have killed Jillian Martin as a lioness would kill to protect her cub. She might have killed Crystal out of fear. But not the four women who had died needlessly. That was the work of a man. Ditto Anne Fischer and Ellen Brodie and Shauna Jensen. No, it had to be one of the men. Bart, Peter, or Douglass.
They’d had a psychiatrist do an analysis after the third murder. He’d told them to look for someone who’d been rejected by a woman with red hair—possibly a mother, a girlfriend, an idol, another family member or close friend.
“About time you showed up,” he snapped at Ryan as she came in. “Get the background checks on everybody in this case. I have to go make some public relations calls. And then go through the reports. Maybe there’s something we’ve missed.”
When Manziuk came back three hours later, Ryan was bleary-eyed but pleased.
“What have you got?” he asked.
“First of all, Nick Donovan had the marble in his pocket Sunday. It’s in Ford’s list as one of his possessions. It was in his pants pocket along with his loose change. Second, no one in Douglass Fischer’s background had red hair. At least, no one we know about. But Peter Martin’s third wife, the one who took him for a lot of money, had red hair. And I think Bart Brodie’s mother might have, too.”
“What do you mean, you think?”
“Her name was Francine, but she was known as Carrots,” she said with a smug smile.
He turned toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” She scrambled to grab her notebook and purse.
“I put a tail on Bart before he left the Brodie house. Let’s find out where his travels have taken him.”
Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Page 36
