Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (55 page)

“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.”

As they waited for the elevator, Ryan turned to look more closely at him. “You don’t look so hot. Aren’t you feeling okay?” A sudden thought sobered her. “Detective Craig isn’t…?”

“No. He’s fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night. And I just spent three hours getting hauled over the coals.”

Her indignation caused sparks in her eyes. “What for?”

“Because we’re taking too long to solve these bloody murders!” The elevator door opened and he hurried forward. “Now are you coming or do you want to stand around here wasting more time? And don’t even mention driving. I’m not in the mood!”

They found both Peter and Bart at the Martin apartment. Peter answered the door. He looked completely done in. No wonder, Manziuk thought a few minutes later after Mrs. Jensen had given him the third degree about their search for the murderer.

“Is there a place we could talk?” he asked Peter finally.

Peter led Manziuk and Ryan into a small study. Mrs. Jensen seemed to think that if this had anything to do with her daughter, she should come, too, but Ryan stood in her way and said, “That’ll be all for now, Mrs. Jensen. We’ll call you if we have any questions.”

As soon as the door was shut, Peter said to Ryan, “I’m impressed. She actually listened to you. She always used to act as though she was a little afraid of me, but that’s gone now.”

“You look terrible,” Ryan said. “Can’t you get rid of them?”

“As soon as the funeral is over, they’re out of here even if I have to hire bouncers.”

“Mr. Martin,” Manziuk said, “we have some questions we need to ask you. Your third wife, I believe her name was Genevieve, had red hair?”

“That’s right. So what?” He looked from Manziuk to Ryan.

“Can you give me any idea what you were doing on these nights?” Manziuk held out a paper.

Peter took it. “Not off the top of my head. Is it important?”

“Very.”

“I’ll get my appointment book.” He went out and came back a moment later with a small computerized datebook. “It should be here. At least the ones this year.” He pushed buttons and stared at the small screen. “Well,” he said at last, “I don’t have anything specific. I worked a bit late on February eighth, but the other two nights I was home here with Jillian. But I guess she can’t vouch for me. I don’t know about the one in October, but I may have a record of it at my office.” He looked up. “Can you tell me why these dates are important?”