“Was she having financial trouble?” Manziuk asked. “I know she was going to go to Ryerson. Did she have enough money?”
“She had a scholarship and a student loan, plus what she was saving this summer and what I could manage. It was going to be tight. The problem was how she was going to get back and forth. She would have liked to have a car, but we couldn’t afford one.”
“Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Winston. You rest now and don’t worry about the house. Mrs. Brodie can manage, I’m sure.”
To his surprise, Mrs. Winston agreed. “Oh, yes, she’ll do fine. She’s a better cook than I am, and I pride myself on my cooking.”
A few minutes later, Manziuk and Ryan sat in the study and once more looked at the list of people in the house.
“Who do you want to talk with first?” Ryan asked.
Manziuk was about to answer when there was a knock on the door of the study and it immediately opened. Douglass Fischer stood there. “Do you have a minute?” Fischer asked as he walked in, followed by George Brodie and a haggard Peter Martin. “Have you seen the morning papers?”
“I try not to read them,” Manziuk said.
“You try not to read them?” Douglass echoed in disbelief. “Well, you might have a look at these. Our names are splashed across the front page! Look at this. ‘Wife of Prominent Lawyer Strangled at House Party.’ And then it goes on to name the firm and give details. How did they find out all this? Why do they have to write it up the way they do? It’s indecent!”
“You think murder should be decent and orderly?”
THIRTEEN
Douglass had the grace to blush. “They don’t have to write it up like this. It names everyone in the house.”
“These things have a way of happening,” Manziuk said.
“Did you talk to the press?”
“No. And neither did any of the other police members on the case. That I can guarantee.”
“I’d like to know who it was.”
“Does it really make any difference?” Peter asked wearily. “We knew the press would have a ball with this, so let’s try to ignore it and get on with finding out who did it. Maybe if we can solve it, the press won’t hound us.”
Douglass snorted. “Solve it? Instead of solving Jillian’s death, we’ve got another one on our hands. It’s going to be like a circus around here.”
“Don’t get us wrong, Inspector,” George Brodie said. “We’re very concerned about what’s happened here. But we do have our firm to think of. This kind of publicity is going to do a great deal of damage to our reputation. We want to know what we can do to help—to see that it gets solved as quickly as possible.”
Manziuk took up the suggestion at once. “Sounds good to me. The thing that will help me the most is to talk to some people again.”
George sighed. “Who would you like first?”
“It’s only noon and it’s already been a long day,” Peter Martin remarked as soon as his partners had left the room.
“Yes, I’m sure it has,” Manziuk said.
“Jillian’s family is going to meet me at my apartment at four. That’s if it’s okay with you.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. But I do need to search your apartment and any safety deposit boxes of your wife’s.”
“And you want my signed permission?”
“Unless you want us to have to go to the work of getting a search warrant. We have to check her things. You’re a lawyer. You know that.”
“And you’re hoping you’ll find she has a diary and she wrote down that I was threatening her. Isn’t that what you mean?”
“Not only a diary. She may have received threatening letters. There are a dozen things we might find.”
Peter made a quick movement with his hand as though pushing Manziuk away. “Oh, all right. I know I didn’t do it, so I have nothing to hide. And I don’t care who it is, I want him punished.” He took the papers, signed them, and gave them back to Ryan, who took them out to give to Waite, who in turn would hand them over to Ford.
“Mr. Martin, there are some things I need to clarify. Did you know Ms. Reimer lied in order to get here this weekend?”
Peter looked steadily at his questioner. “She told me last night.”
“Does this concern you?”
“I suppose in light of Jillian’s death, it looks highly suspicious. But I don’t believe strangling someone would be quite in Hildy’s line.”
“You told me before that she is a very controlled person. And your wife’s murder wasn’t a momentary act of passion. It appears to have been planned. As does the death of Crystal Winston,” he added.
“You must be mistaken.”
“No, Mr. Martin, I don’t believe I am mistaken.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Not conclusive yet. The bodies are being autopsied this afternoon. But I certainly have some things which are quite suggestive.”
“Even if it was a planned murder, I don’t think you can suspect Hildy.”
“Mr. Martin, I’d suspect my own mother if she’d been in this house this weekend.”
Silenced, Peter Martin sagged back into his chair. “Go on,” he said after a moment.
“Tell me about the relationship between your wife and her sister.”
“It was good. Jillian gave her things—clothes, money a few times. She helped out her whole family.”
“How?”
“Money, mostly.”
“Were they in need?”
“Well, with five daughters… And her father isn’t the most… Well, he drinks a little too much, and now and then he loses his job. He’s a good worker when he’s sober, though.”
“Does the family benefit through Mrs. Martin’s death?”
He shook his head. “Just the opposite. The money she gave them was mine. She had none in her own name. Not to my knowledge, anyway.”
“So her death cuts off a source of more financial help rather than increasing the gains?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you have insurance on your wife?”
Peter’s voice immediately took on more than a hint of anger, “No, I did not! I don’t stand to gain by her death in any way, Inspector. In fact, as far as I’m aware, no one does.”
Manziuk was sitting with his elbows on the arms of his chair, the fingers of his hands interlocked. He looked down at his thumbs for a second, then looked at Peter. “On the contrary, Mr. Martin. I believe you do benefit.”
“What?” Peter’s voice rose to a high pitch. “What are you insinuating?”
“According to the bank books in your wife’s purse, in the last six months, she invested over one hundred thousand dollars in stocks. Unless she left a will to the contrary, you, as her husband, would be the beneficiary.”
Peter frowned. “How much did you say?”
“One hundred and fifteen thousand to be exact.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You weren’t aware of this?”
“No. I paid her bills. And I gave her about two thousand in cash each month. There’s no way she could have saved that much money!”
“She also had a bank account with just under twenty thousand in it. The bank account goes back several years and shows some fairly large deposits and withdrawals.”
Unless Peter was a very accomplished actor, Manziuk believed he was genuinely puzzled. “I really don’t know what to say. Are you sure about this?”
“We’re sorry to have to break it to you this way, Mr. Martin,” Manziuk said.
“No, no, it’s all right. There must be a logical explanation for this. We’ll find it.”
“I hope so. Now, getting back to Shauna Jensen. Didn’t it occur to you that your wife was violent with her sister?”
Peter sat straight up. “What are you talking about?”
“When Mrs. Martin struck her Saturday night and tore the new dress she was wearing, didn’t you consider that excessive?”
“Jillian had
a temper. She didn’t mean anything.”
“Did she ever strike you?” Ryan shot back at him.
“No, of course not.”
Ryan wasn’t finished. “I see. She preferred someone who was weaker.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Manziuk quelled Ryan with an annoyed glare. “What did you mean, Mr. Martin?”
“Well, she just—oh, when you put it like that, you’re right!” Peter’s hands clenched. “She had no business getting so upset with Shauna. But I didn’t know she’d struck her.” He looked at Ryan. “Did she really?”
“It looks that way,” Manziuk said gently.
“I don’t know what to say.” He stood and walked over to stare into the fireplace. “What do you want me to say?” His voice rose. “That I married a shrew who only wanted my money? Or that I was rapidly growing to hate her? That it was only a matter of time till I got rid of her?” He spun around. “But not like this! Never like this.” He placed both hands on the back of a chair and grasped it tightly. “How can I get this across to you? You never knew her. She was so beautiful. Golden. Delicate. So fragile. So—perfect is the only word I can find. She made me feel like the luckiest man in the world. It was only after we were married that I began to realize it was all an act. That underneath she was cold and vindictive. And scheming. Always scheming to get her own way. I don’t think she ever had a single thought for anyone but herself. She used people. So I decided I’d be the same. I’d use her. I wanted her for what was on the outside, so I kept her happy and she kept up her act with me.” He sighed. “But, of course, it couldn’t last. You can only live a lie so long. I’d already started thinking that I’d have to do something.”
“You said she was vindictive. How would she have taken it if you’d divorced her?”
He shuddered. “I don’t know. She might have fought me. But we did have a prenuptial agreement. I got burned last time: I took measures to make sure I wouldn’t get burned again. But even so, she could have made it very messy.”
“Are you having an affair with anyone?”
“No, I’m not.” He looked directly into Manziuk’s eyes. “But I won’t deny I’ve been thinking about it this last month. You need a woman who cares about you.”
“And Ms. Reimer’s being here wasn’t planned?”
“I swear I had no idea she was coming. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her standing there.”
“You’ve talked to her since yesterday?”
Peter hesitated. “A little.”
“She told me that she wanted to see how your marriage was going. I’m inclined to think she must have had a better reason than that. What do you think?”
Peter looked at the floor.
“Would you like to tell me her reason?”
“No, Inspector. I think you’d better ask her yourself. Then perhaps you’ll understand why I’m feeling very low today. And not nearly as upset as I was with Jillian’s murderer. In fact, I’m beginning to think he may have done me a big favor.”
“Two more questions, Mr. Martin. Have you anything to add about Nick Donovan? Did your wife say anything to you about him? Anything at all?”
“No. Nothing. Only that Kendall’s friend was good-looking and seemed to be interested in Lorry Preston. I think that annoyed her. She liked good-looking men to be interested in her.”
“So Bart’s interest in Shauna would have annoyed her?”
Peter’s voice was dry. “Any man’s interest in any other woman would have hit her the same way, Inspector. She thrived on male attention.”
“One last question. Where were you between midnight and five this morning?”
“I was in bed sleeping.”
“Were you alone?”
“I was.”
“Did you have any trouble sleeping?”
“No, I didn’t. I fortified myself with several drinks, but I think I would have slept even without them. Yesterday was exhausting.”
“What time did you go upstairs?”
“Shortly after eleven-thirty. I had some calls to make. It was a very strained evening. I could have gone straight to bed, but after I talked with Hildy I sat in the bar with Bart and we hoisted a few. Not much of a good time. We barely spoke.”
“Thank you, Mr. Martin. That will be all for now.”
“They’re doing an autopsy?”
“Yes, it’s necessary.”
“I know. Hard to think about, though. No matter what she was like inside,” he said simply, “outside, she was perfection.”
When Martin had gone, Manziuk paced the floor.
“Do you want me to get Ms. Reimer?” Ryan asked.
“Just a minute.” He kept pacing. “Man, I hate this.”
“Hate what?”
“All this…” His hand swept the room. “This poison. All the things that come out in a case like this. You can never take people at face value. There’s always something—deep, dark secrets that come to light—alcoholism, abuse, affairs, drugs, you name it. Most of it has nothing to do with the crime we’re investigating, but after a while, you get sick of it. Here’s a pretty young woman. On the surface she’s got everything she could want: a husband who’s a popular lawyer, enough money, looks, everything she needs, and what do we find out? She’s abusing her sister, she’s got money that can’t be accounted for, and her husband calls her cold and selfish and scheming. What a job we have, eh? Spending our lives trying to dig up the worst about people!”
Ryan took her time responding. “I know a lot of people hide things. But some don’t, surely. There are innocent people, too.”
“Sure.”
She waited.
“Go get Ms. Reimer,” he said at last.
She hurried out and after a few minutes found Hildy in the day room. Peter was with her.
“I guess it’s your turn to be grilled,” he said as Ryan entered the room. “Scream if you need help, and I’ll send Nick and Kendall in to rescue you. I’m too old for that.”
Ryan looked at him closely. His face was white and his lips had a blue tinge. Remembering the blood pressure medicine Ident had noted, she asked quickly, “Mr. Martin, are you all right? You aren’t having any chest pains, are you?”
“What’s this?” Hildy demanded of Peter. “Have you had chest pains?”
“Nothing serious. And, no, I don’t have any now. I just feel tired, that’s all.”
“Have you had heart trouble?” Hildy’s voice was brisk.
“My blood pressure was a bit high, that’s all. Now go talk to the police before you get me upset and I keel over right in front of you.”
“That isn’t funny, Peter.”
Ryan’s voice was impassive. “If you’ll come with me, Ms. Reimer, it won’t take long.”
Hildy followed Ryan to the study and sat facing Manziuk, who had returned to his chair. “What more do you need to know, Inspector?”
“The truth about why you came here. And why you were carrying a gun.”
“The gun was in my suitcase.”
“Why was it here at all?”
“It has nothing to do with the murder.”
“I prefer to decide that for myself.”
She sighed. “If I tell you, you’re going to think I killed her. And I didn’t!”
“I’m not a judge and jury. Just a cop trying to do his job. Do you know how many people have lied to me in the past?”
She looked down and pursed her lips. “Quite a few, I guess.”
“Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. And I didn’t throw any of them in jail unless I was completely convinced they were guilty.”
She clasped her hands around one knee. “Okay. I give up. I came here to see Jillian because I was tired of dealing with her by phone and by innuendo. I brought the gun so I could use it to threaten her.”
“Why?”
“She was trying to blackmail me.”
“What did she have on you?”
“Nothing.”
“The
n how—”
“Maybe it isn’t blackmail. I don’t know the terminology. But she was threatening my son.”
“How?”
“She was Peter’s wife. Stephen is Peter’s son. She told me she was going to persuade Peter that I was an unfit mother and that Peter should have custody. Then she was going to send Stephen to the worst boarding school she could find!”
“And what did she want?”
Hildy stood up and walked to the fireplace, an exact repetition of what Peter had done earlier. She stared at the unlit logs for a moment. Then she turned. “She wanted fifty thousand dollars.”
“And you couldn’t get it?”
“I’d already given her twenty-five thousand.”
“I see.”
“It was never going to end. Stephen is young. What kind of things would she do in the future?” She sighed in exasperation. “Oh, I knew Peter would likely divorce her at some point, or at least try. But it could be years.”
“Why not tell Mr. Martin what his wife was doing?”
“I thought of that, but I wasn’t sure he’d believe me. From what little I knew, he seemed to be crazy about her. Either he wouldn’t believe me or he would be terribly hurt.”
“This is your ex-husband we’re talking about? Why would it bother you if he found out what his new wife was like? I’d think you’d be pleased to tell him the truth.”
She looked away. “I’m not vindictive.”
“No?”
“No,” she said.
“Did you talk to her?”
“On Sunday afternoon, I found her alone in her room and I told her that I would kill her if she didn’t stop her threats. I showed her the gun. She was very angry, but she wasn’t foolish. I think she knew I was serious.”
“And were you?”
She turned away. “I was very angry. But, no, I wouldn’t have killed her. I have a son to think about. I was planning to take Stephen and go away. Change our identities. If you don’t believe me, I can show you what I’ve done. Sold my condo as of the end of the month. Transferred money to a bank account in another name and sent out resumes to get a job out west. They’re all in the name Annette Williams.”
Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Page 24