Authors: J. A. Menzies
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Her reply was scornful. “He didn’t divorce me; I divorced him.”
“I take it that was because of the next young lady, Genevieve, whom he then married?”
“No. It was because he was a very poor husband and a lousy father. It wasn’t until six months after our divorce was final that he married Genevieve. She was an exotic dancer and aspiring actress. That lasted a little over a year. It was some time later that he married Jillian.”
Manziuk thought for a moment. “So you were simply curious as to how this marriage was going?”
“That’s right.”
“And how was it going?”
For a second, she looked off-balance. Then she visibly regained her poise. “Reasonably well. They both seemed satisfied.”
“No more divorces for him?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But it would be amicable. Perhaps in a few years.”
“Mr. Martin has a short attention span, has he?”
She gave him the hint of a smile. “You know that old saying about the grass always being greener!”
“Did he mind your being here?”
“Apparently not. I hadn’t intended to say anything about the past, but after Jillian made sure everyone knew, he acknowledged me with good humor.”
“Did you and Mrs. Martin know each other?”
“We’d never met. She said she recognized me from seeing my picture.”
“Was she angry about your coming here?”
“She didn’t seem upset,” she said dryly.
“What was your opinion of Jillian Martin?”
She considered for a minute. “She was pretty, of course. Young. And a gold-digger.” She shrugged. “I really didn’t know her.”
“Do you know of any reason for someone to want to kill her?”
“No, of course not. There have been a number of murders of young women in the city during the last year. I assumed this was done by the same person.”
“Perhaps,” said Manziuk in an off-handed tone. “But it may have been someone she knew. Mr. Martin, for instance.”
Up to this point, Hildy had been very self-controlled. But now her hands clenched the arms of the chair and her eyes blazed with anger. “That’s ridiculous! Surely you’re not such idiots as that! Or are you out to make headlines by sensational speculations? If you are, you’ll soon find a libel suit on your doorstep.”
Manziuk retained his relaxed manner. “So you don’t think Mr. Martin could have killed his wife?”
She glared at him. “What possible reason could he have? If he wanted to get rid of her, he could just divorce her.”
“Quite right,” said Manziuk. “Just one more question. What did you do after lunch today?”
“After lunch? Oh. You want my alibi.”
“If you don’t mind.”
Her face lost its flush and she visibly relaxed. “I’ll do my best. I came down for brunch about a quarter after twelve. I sat at a patio table with Kendall and Bart and Nick. I was mostly talking to Nick about skiing. Then Lorry arrived. She’d been at church. Since I’d finished eating, I moved over to talk with Ellen.”
“Who else was around then?”
“I think Jillian was reading a magazine in a lounge chair. And Peter was swimming. I remember because he was yelling at Kendall and Nick about something. I don’t remember seeing anyone else.”
“About how long were you talking to Ellen?”
“Maybe half an hour. Maybe longer. Then George came out and persuaded Kendall and me to join him and Douglass in a snooker game. We played for perhaps an hour, maybe longer.” She shrugged. “I’m not that good at judging time.”
“That’s all right.” Manziuk sat there looking sleepy “We just want an idea. Where did you go next?”
“I had some lemonade on the patio with Ellen. Most of the people were there.”
“Including Jillian?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what time it was?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. After the drinks, what did you do?”
“I decided to go for a walk out front where it was quiet. You know, just to be able to think. I sat and watched the fountain for a while, and walked around the drive. I know it was four o’clock when I came back into the house, because the clock in the front hall was striking. I went to my room to comb my hair, and as I came downstairs I heard people shouting. They had just found Jillian’s body.”
“So you were out front for about half an hour, say?”
“I think so.”
“Did you see anyone else while you were there?”
Hildy shook her head. “For a while I heard someone playing the piano in the music room. Just in the background, you know. Very good. The person playing, I mean. I didn’t recognize the music, though, and I didn’t actually see anyone.” She paused. “When did the murder take place?”
“We don’t know exactly. Jillian seems to have been seen at about three-thirty. So some time between then and four, I would guess.”
“So I have no alibi. But you people always say to tell the truth, don’t you?”
Manziuk shifted his weight to get up. “Always,” he said with a hint of a smile. He went to the door and opened it.
As she stood up, he thought of another question. “You have just the one child?”
She stiffened noticeably. Her voice lost its animation and became flat and mechanical. “Yes. A boy. His name is Stephen.”
“He’s in your custody?”
“Yes.”
“Does his father see him often?”
“No.” Her voice was like steel.
“You’ve been married just the once?”
“Yes.”
“And the name Reimer?”
“My maiden name.” Dark eyes flashed.
“You work?”
“I’m a personnel consultant with a national company.”
“Good pay?”
“Very.”
“Does Mr. Martin pay support?”
“Not a cent. I don’t want his money.”
“All right. Thanks for your time. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”
He shut the door behind her and turned to look at Ryan. His mouth was stern, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Well? What do you think of the ex-wife?”
“I didn’t think I was supposed to have an opinion.”
He stared at her.
She shrugged. “This is my first case, remember?”
“What’s the matter, did I hurt your feelings?”
“No.” Cheeks burning, she looked at the notes she had made.
“I asked what you thought of Hildy Reimer. Or don’t you have an opinion?”
“I think she’s one smart lady. The type you’d expect to see in an important job. Career woman.”
“Got pretty nervy when I asked about her kid.”
“Could have scratched your eyes out, as they say.”
“Think she’d hesitate to lie to the police?” he asked with a raised brow.
“About as long as she’d hesitate to step on a cockroach.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” He took several strides around the room, and she was reminded of a prisoner pacing his cell. Manziuk dwarfed the study, making it seem too small, too stuffy, and too confining. “Well,” he said at last. “We’ve seen them all. Now the hard part begins.”
There was a knock on the door. Constable Carnaby entered. “Mrs. Brodie wondered if they may go ahead with supper now that you’ve talked to everyone.”
“Certainly.”
“She also wondered if you would like a tray in here. Nothing fancy, she said. Just a cold supper.”
“As befitting the circumstances,” Manziuk said. “Yes, that would be fine. I’d like to talk with Ford now, too. See if he’s finished inside. If he is, you can tell the people they are free to go around the house. But I’d like them to stay inside.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell Special Constable Ford you’re ready for him.”
When they were alone, Ryan said, “Who do you think did it?”
“I rather think we don’t know the half of what’s been going on here. Why don’t you start by going over their stories and figuring out where each of them say they were between when Mrs. Martin was last seen and when the body was found? That should prove interesting.”
Ryan bent to her task.
There was a light tap at the door before it opened to let Ford in. He was only 5’ 10” but was as sturdy as a redwood and could have played the heavy in any movie. To go with his stature, his voice was brusque and low, and a long scar ran across his left cheek. The kind of man a person would think twice before talking back to.
He sank into the empty armchair and looked at Manziuk. “Well, we don’t have much. We’ve fingerprinted the girl’s room. Not much hope. Masses of prints. But we’ll check them out. Only thing of interest was this.” He handed Manziuk a scrap of paper. “Two sets of prints, one of them likely hers. We’re working on identifying the others.”
Manziuk opened it. There were a few typewritten lines.
Jillian Darling,
You may think it’s all over and finished between us, but you’re wrong. You can’t play games with me. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you said you loved me and wanted to marry me once, and I know you meant it. I still want you and I will have you. I won’t let anything or anyone come between us. Nothing will stop me. I’m not afraid of what will happen. And you should
The paper was torn and there was no signature.
ELEVEN
Interesting,” Manziuk said as he passed it to Ryan, who read it and then began hunting through her notes.
“Where did you find it?” Manziuk asked.
“That’s the strange thing. In the Fischers’ room,” Ford said.
“Fischers’?”
“Yes, sir. Taped to the bottom of a drawer in the bureau.”
“Well, that’s certainly going to take some explaining,” Manziuk muttered. “Anything else?”
“Not too much of interest.” Ford opened a small worn notebook. “I’ll give you a general idea. Peter and Jillian Martin. A lot of women’s clothing. Expensive and very feminine. Lots of lace and ruffles. Much more than you’d need for one weekend. Expensive jewelry. Lots of cosmetics and such. Just a few men’s things. Blood pressure tablets in the nightstand. His. Prescribed four months ago.”
Manziuk nodded.
“Hildy Reimer has a picture of a young boy on her dresser. Nice, expensive tailored clothes, some jewelry, cosmetics, not much else. Except for a gun hidden in a pocket of her suitcase.”
“A what?” Manziuk asked in astonishment.
“A Browning .22 target pistol to be exact.”
“Now what on earth is she doing with that?”
Ford and Ryan both looked at him.
“Okay,” Manziuk said, “we’ll have to ask her later. Go on.”
“Kendall Brodie, room barer than you’d expect. Apparently he doesn’t actually live here. A lot of car magazines. Also a number of trophies for debating and public speaking. Some law books. Clothes. Toiletries. Things from earlier years. Nothing that looked unusual.
“Nick Donovan is sharing the room. Just clothes and toilet items. Nothing personal except a couple of Dean Koontz paperbacks.
“George and Ellen Brodie. Large room. Decorated very nicely. Flowers everywhere. Clothes, personal items, a lot of pictures of people. Knickknacks. Not much of interest. Some mild sleeping pills. Hers. She got them about three months ago. Bottle is half-empty. And some pills for an ulcer. His. A month old.
“Douglass and Anne Fischer. Clothes and toilet items. Not a lot. Normal things. Tylenol 3 with codeine, Seconal tablets, and an ice pack. The note I showed you. And one other item of interest—an empty brandy bottle in the back of the closet, behind a suitcase. We took prints.
“Shauna Jensen. Clothes of the same style as her sister’s. One torn dress lying on the floor of her side of the closet. Looks like it was a sharp dress. A sketch pad with some pretty good drawings under her pillow. Also a brochure from an art school. And a suitcase with some clothes in it lying open on the floor. Nothing fancy. A few toiletries and makeup items. Lot of Kleenex in her wastebasket. Offhand, I’d say she or her roommate shed quite a few tears. And one A pair of glasses that had been broken in two across the nose piece.
“Lorry Preston is in the same room. One empty suitcase. One full, unopened. Mostly clothes. Some hanging, too. Not expensive. Not too fancy. Jeans and such. Dresses and skirts without labels. Looked hand sewn but well-made. Toiletries and makeup, but not much. A Bible and other religious books, some music books, and a diary. Apparently she feels an interest in someone she met this weekend, and it bothers her. There seems to be someone back home she’s not sure whether to marry or not.
“That leaves Bart Brodie. He’s in an apartment above the garage. Interesting. Some very expensive items. Also some very cheap ones. Several books of poetry. Browning seems to be a favorite. Some copies of somewhat, ah, explicit magazines.” He looked at Ryan when he said this. “Two hundred dollars in a wallet with his clothes. A couple of bottles of Scotch and two glasses. Same label as the Scotch in the house. Also same glasses. A packet of business letters about some kind of scheme for selling condos in Florida. Looks like it went bust.