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

  “Nick needs to get to a doctor,” Lorry said. She’d been standing impatiently beside Nick while he talked to Manziuk.

  “Put him in the ambulance, then. Anybody else injured? How about you?”

  “I expect I have a few bruises, but no more.” She rubbed her neck. “And Aaron is going to be okay. Fortunately, George only knocked him out with the gun. He’s groggy, but it could have been a lot worse. God sent Nick and Kendall just in time.”

  Manziuk shrugged. “Let a doctor make sure you’re okay.”

  Nick, Aaron, and Lorry were duly loaded into the ambulance and driven away. Dave Spalding was assured that the police themselves would see that Lorry got back safely.

  Manziuk and Ryan got into their car and sat for a moment looking at each other. “That was close,” Ryan said.

  “Too close. We should have had her guarded.”

  “She wasn’t alone.”

  “The other kid didn’t know he was there as her bodyguard.”

  “They shouldn’t have stayed so late.”

  “You’re right there. When Dave got home and discovered Lorry was still at the office, he phoned to tell her to stay put until he got here. When no one answered the phone, he ran out to meet them and was in time to help Kendall subdue George.”

  “She was lucky,” Ryan said.

  “I never really thought he’d go after her.”

  “Do you think killing Jillian and Crystal might have snapped something? They were the first ones he killed that he knew.”

  “Crystal for sure. I expect he feels pretty bad about that. Assuming he has any feelings left at all.”

  “Will he get off on insanity?”

  “There’s a chance.”

  “Poor Mrs. Brodie.”

  Manziuk nodded. “It’s going to be hard. But I think she’ll survive. Kendall is going to have a harder time, I think. I hope he has the sense to hang on to that other young woman. She looked like a winner to me.”

  One of the other officers came up. He was holding out a small plastic bag. “Is this evidence, sir? It was in the stolen car.”

  Manziuk took it. Inside the bag was a credit card belonging to Nick Donovan. “I expect George was going to leave it there to give us a nice, neat case.”

  “Don’t you love it when the good guys win?” Ryan asked.

  Special Constable Benson was waiting for them when they got to the station. He beamed as he grabbed both their hands and congratulated them. “This is terrific,” he said. “The public loves a solution like this. Everything wrapped up neatly and tied with a bow. Caught in the act. No “ifs,” “ands,” or “buts.” You two are going to be the toast of the town. The mayor’s already phoned. He wants to give you a special commendation. And the commissioner’s office called. She’s out of town tonight, but she’ll be back tomorrow and she’ll definitely want to express her gratitude. You’ve made my day! Now give me all the dirt so I can address the media. I’ve got a press conference scheduled in half an hour.”

  The sun was creeping along the horizon, casting long shadows on the ground, when Lorry and Nick arrived back at the Spaldings’ house, courtesy of a police car. Aaron was being kept overnight in case of a concussion.

  Nick had been fortunate. The bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the arm, missing the bone completely, and would heal with no ill effects. The officer would have driven Nick home, but Lorry insisted on taking care of him. He followed her inside the house and let her help him up the stairs to her room.

  “You sleep here,” she said. “I’ll use the couch downstairs.”

  “No. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Nick, for once in your life, do what you’re told.”

  He sank onto the bed. “Oh, man, this hurts.”

  She took off his shoes, then went for a glass of water to give him one of the pain pills the doctor had sent along after Nick refused to stay at the hospital any longer.

  “I can’t believe this,” Nick said as Lorry gave him the water. “George Brodie killing not only Jillian and Crystal, but four other girls he didn’t even know. Not to mention trying to kill you. I just can’t believe it!”

  He took the pill and then Lorry covered him with a quilt. She picked up a few things and started to leave.

  “Lorry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember what you said that time? How anyone is capable of murder because we’re all human? I thought you were crazy. But you were right. I never would have believed George Brodie was capable of murder. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’m not sure I’d believe it yet.”

  She said nothing.

  He raised his head. “Lorry, what makes you so different from other people?”

  She sat on a chair near the bed. “My faith, I guess. I really believe God is in charge and he looks after me.”

  “But tonight, Kendall and I rescued you from George.”

  “Who do you think gave you the idea that I was in danger?”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  Peter Martin was at his desk by nine the next morning. He would have to leave in a couple of hours for the funeral at one, but he’d had to get out of the house. Fortunately, Jillian’s family would be leaving the next morning. He would have to go, too, of course, since the body was being taken back to her childhood home for burial. But he’d drive by himself. Shauna was going with Bart, so she’d be okay.

  He nodded good morning to his secretary. She was even prettier than usual today. Another new dress helped. But it was the glow on her face that he really noticed. She looked—radiant was the only word for it. Did she already know what he was thinking?

  The only question was whether he should wait until next week, after everything had settled down, or call her in right now and ask her to book a restaurant for a business lunch for just the two of them. For Friday, maybe. That would be appropriate.

  He had his finger ready to buzz her when the intercom went.

  “Mr. Fischer wishes to speak with you, Mr. Martin.”

  Blast it! Why did Douglass have to want to do business now? He hadn’t even seen fit to come into work the day before, and now, on the day of Jillian’s funeral, he wanted to talk!

  Douglass walked in. “Have you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Misty Pauling from the Toronto News just called me. They’ve arrested George Brodie!”

  Peter half-jumped out of his chair. “What?”

  “He’s being arraigned right now!”

  “George? That’s impossible!”

  “He killed Jillian and Crystal. But that’s not all. George killed all those other girls who were strangled this year. They caught him last night trying to kill another one.”

  Peter felt as though the floor had suddenly exploded, leaving a gaping hole at his feet. He sank back into his chair. “What will we do?” he asked. “George is the senior partner. What will happen to the firm?”

  “The firm?” Douglass curled his lip. “You’re worried about the firm?”

  “Aren’t you? We’re going to lose clients in droves. We have to do something fast. Who’s the best criminal lawyer we can get? We have to hire him right away. Maybe we can leak a story about the cops’ being mistaken. Maybe it should be stronger. What do you think? The cops have it in for us? Is that better?”

  “Count me out, Peter,” Douglass said dryly.

  “You’re kidding, right? If the two of us work together we can salvage something from this.”

  Douglass sighed. “Right now, I’m much more interested in salvaging my family. We’re putting our house on the market and moving out of the city. I’ll start a small practice. We feel it will be better for us to get out of the rat race. I’m afraid you’re on your own, Peter. Good luck.”

  Douglass walked out.

  Peter remained seated at his desk for several minutes. Okay, so it was left to him to call the shots. Well, he was up to it.

  On the other hand, maybe it would be better to let George go. Aft
er all, it was his wife George had killed.

  Did he need George? No way. He could take over the firm, squeeze flesh, do what was necessary. He relaxed.

  Where had he been? Oh, yes, about to arrange a meeting with his secretary.

  He buzzed. “Miss Parker, could you step in, please?”

  As she walked in, Peter sighed. She really was a picture.

  But before he could speak, she said, “Mr. Martin, I’m afraid there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “You’ve heard about the arrests?”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Fischer told Miss Kayne.”

  “I see. Well, don’t worry about that. I have another idea I wanted to discuss with you. One I think—”

  “Mr. Martin, excuse me for interrupting. But with Mr. Brodie gone and Mr. Fischer leaving, both Mrs. Estmanoth and Miss Kayne will be free. Before you speak to them, I thought I should give my notice.”

  “Notice?” Peter echoed the word mechanically. What was the woman up to? Was she so sure of him—?

  “Yes, Mr. Martin. I was going to tell you yesterday, but with everything happening I decided to wait.” She blushed. “I’m getting married. To Dr. Anderson.” Seeing Peter’s blank stare, she added, “Fourth floor. He’s a psychiatrist. We met in the elevator a few months ago. I knew at once that we were meant for each other. He took a little convincing.” She giggled. “But not much.”

  Jillian’s funeral took place that afternoon. It was a hot July day, with bright sunlight and not a cloud in sight.

  Hildy was there, dressed in a navy blue suit with a matching hat and veil, looking as well-groomed and capable as ever. She sat where she could see Peter. She noticed the new lines on his face, the grim set to his mouth. And behind the veil, her eyes grew misty. But her determination increased. This was the last time she would see Peter. She would concentrate on making a home for Stephen. That’s what was important now. If only the boy weren’t such a picture of the man.

  Douglass and Anne sat together, her hand in his. They had an appointment the following morning with a marriage counselor Manziuk had recommended. Anne had also agreed to visit a local AA group.

  Bart was there, with Shauna at his side. They were at a distance from her family, who were incensed by the thought that Shauna was with a relative of the man who had killed their beloved daughter.

  Ellen had spent an hour closeted with Bart early that morning. He’d agreed to move in with her until the house could be sold and another bought in Cabbagetown where Ellen’s friends lived. Bart would be paid a monthly salary to act as her assistant and advisor and protect her from the media during the trial.

  Shauna had told Bart that she was going to New York in September for one year of art school, but that she would consider marrying him the following summer if he did a good job for Ellen, stopped smoking and drinking, and took an art appreciation course so he didn’t keep calling her pen and ink drawings scribbles. He was holding out for one drink per day and no more nagging, but every time he looked at her dancing brown eyes or her trim figure in the bright new clothes, he lost a little more of his resolve.

  Ellen and Kendall were there. Ellen looked her normal self, though somewhat older and very tired. Kendall looked as though he was sleepwalking. It would be some time before he’d come to terms with what had happened to his father or be able to decide what he was going to do with his life. Fortunately, he had plenty of support. Marilyn Garrett was in the middle of the two Brodies, an arm around each of them. Her slight frame seemed to support both of them, and to be quite capable of going on that way.

  Nick and Lorry sat on Kendall’s other side. Nick’s right arm was wrapped in bandages and anchored with a sling. His left arm was around Lorry’s waist. She’d written to Dean to tell him not to wait for her. And Nick had an appointment in the morning to lease a vacant building near the mission office. Dave was overjoyed with the thought of an in-house legal advisor.

  The funeral went on. Jillian Martin’s uncalled-for death was mourned, as was her short life. No mention was made of her true character. Peter was consoled as the grieving husband. Her family was mentioned. Then it was over, and Manziuk and Ryan were walking back to the car.

  “Inspector?” Ellen Brodie was with a woman about her age, whom Manziuk had noticed come in toward the end of the service. An attractive older woman with reddish-gold hair and a gentle face.

  Manziuk stepped forward. “Mrs. Brodie. Is this your cousin?”

  “Yes, this is Patricia, Lorry’s mom. She’s going to stay for a few weeks while we settle what has to be done. All the arrangements about the law firm and the lawyers and so much. I’ve never had to deal with business matters. George always treated me like I was made of china. But I guess I’ll have to do some things now.

  “Glory-Ann—that’s Mrs. Winston, you know—and I will find a place in our old neighborhood. After what George did to Crystal, I have to take care of her. And we’ll be all right. It may seem a strange arrangement, but we’ve both lost someone we love through this, you see.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wanted you to know that I don’t hold any grudge. I know some people do. As if it were all the fault of the police. But I don’t. You were only doing your job. I’m just glad Lorry wasn’t hurt. If I’d ever thought he’d do anything like that—or those other girls—I still can’t believe what he did. It’s just—just awful. And so unlike anything he’d ever done before. He’s always talked about being so proud of his mother, but the doctors say he really hated her—that he blamed her because his father was weak. It’s so puzzling how the human mind works, isn’t it, Inspector?”

  Epilogue

  For now we see through a glass, darkly;

  But then face to face;

  Now I know in part;

  But then shall I know even

  as I am known.

  —PAUL: 1st Letter to the Corinthians, 13:12

  Got your report done?” Manziuk asked Ryan two days later.

  “You must be joking. I’ll likely be at it till midnight.”

  “Well, let’s hope no one decides to bump anyone off today.”

  “Do you have yours done?” she asked.

  “You must be joking,” he deadpanned.

  A smile touching her lips, and she moved into the room. “You know, I used to be terrified of you.”

  “You should be,” he said, still without expression.

  She sat sideways on the corner of his desk, her eyes on him.

  He winced.

  She jumped off. “Sorry,” she said. “That’s a bad habit of mine.”

  “I yelled at you for doing that before, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. I’m sorry. I guess you don’t like informality.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that Woody sits—sat—there a lot.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “How is Detective Sergeant Craig coming along?”

  “He seems to be doing fine. Except he’ll have to take early retirement. But as soon as he’s recovered from the bypass, he should be able to go fishing and take a world cruise and do a few other things he’s talked about.”

  “You’ll miss him.”

  “Yes.”

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  “He was a good cop,” Manziuk said.

  She diffidently moved some papers. A marble rolled along the desk and dropped to the floor.

  She stooped to pick it up. “Did we ever find out how this got into Kendall’s car?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? When they opened the safe in George Brodie’s office, they found three objects that made no sense. Turned out one belonged to each of the women he’d killed. He must have picked up the marble to put with his collection and somehow lost it in the car. When Forensics went over the car, they found clear evidence George had used it at some time, and the only opportunity he had was the day he picked it up from the dealer. And, of course, it was that night the Matheson girl was murdered. And George just coolly gave the
car to Kendall the next day.”

  “He was getting pretty sure of himself.”

  “He was beginning to think he was invincible, I guess. Otherwise, he’d never have murdered Jillian the way he did. But Crystal was the real problem; he couldn’t strangle her the way he had the others because she had a knife. And really, he didn’t want to kill her. I think that made him more vulnerable. The truth is, if not for this weekend, and Nick’s habit of picking up small objects, who knows if we’d ever have caught him. Though I think we would have eventually. Murderers always get too cocky.”

  Ryan thought for a moment. “In my psych class, we were told most serial killers want to be found.”

  “Could be. I just wish we could find them before they start out murdering in the first place.”

  “So the case should be open and shut?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a fancy lawyer who’ll find all kinds of ways to get around the evidence. But they’re doing DNA tests on the cord he used to attack Lorry Preston, which by the way was a spare computer cord he kept at the office, and they think they’ll be able to prove it was used on the other women. I think a jury will come up with the right verdict.”

  “Yes, but he’s insane.”

  “That’s tricky. Did he know what he was doing? Yes. He had a very sharp mind. Was he rational? No. But are murderers ever completely rational?”

  “What bothers me most is the total waste. He killed women he didn’t even know, apparently because he hated his mother. Maybe if at some point he’d talked to somebody—a psychiatrist, a priest, even a friend—about his early life, they would have uncovered his irrational hatred and recognized that his mind was becoming confused, and he could have been treated.”

  “But he’d have had to ask for the treatment. If he’d never broken a law, there’s no way anyone could have known he needed it.”

  “You’re saying we have other people out there just like him, living more or less normal lives, but hiding all kinds of resentment and jealousy and hatred, and there’s no way we can identify them and keep them from killing one day?”