Nick was playing cards on the patio with Kendall. As Ryan came up, she saw Nick spread his hand on the table and say, “Gin.” His voice was anything but excited.
“Inspector Manziuk would like to speak with you again, Mr. Donovan.”
“Oh, Lord,” Nick complained, “already?”
“Afraid so.”
“Can I grab a drink first? Something to keep my knees from shaking?”
Remembering Manziuk’s suggestion that she could take her time, Ryan nodded. “If you think it will help.”
“You’re wonderful,” Nick declared as he crossed to the bar and poured a drink. “My favorite cop. Usually they just glare at me as they write out the speeding tickets. But I guess you’re way beyond that, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got it,” Ryan replied.
“Aren’t you a bit young to be a detective? You don’t look more than my age.”
“I’ve got a few years on you, but yes, I am young to be a detective, not to mention being a woman.”
“I was careful not to mention that,” Nick said. “I’m well aware of all the politically incorrect things we shouldn’t say. That’s why I haven’t noticed that you’re black, either.”
“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” she said dryly. “Inspector Manziuk is waiting. If you’ve fortified your nerves, Mr. Donovan?
“Mustn’t keep the good inspector waiting.”
Manziuk was still on the phone. “Okay, tell him I’ll try to get over this evening. And tell him not to worry. Sure, I miss him, but he doesn’t need to think I can’t do the job without him to nag at me.… Okay.… Take care, Arlie.”
Ryan wondered why Manziuk had been making what appeared to be a personal call, but decided it was none of her business.
“Here I am,” Nick said cheerfully as he sat in the chair he had used yesterday. “Ready for the third degree.”
Ryan took her place behind the desk and prepared to take notes.
“So, Nick,” Manziuk said as he made himself comfortable in the chair, “how’s it going?”
“I can’t say this has been one of my favorite weekends.”
“Nick, I need to know what clothes you were wearing yesterday.”
“You need to know what clothes I was wearing?”
“Yes.”
“You mean in the afternoon, don’t you? When Jillian was murdered?”
“That’s right.”
“You saw me. I was wearing a pair of white shorts and a red T-shirt.”
“Thank you. Would you mind giving me the clothes before I leave?”
“You can have them.” Nick leaned forward. “Look, Inspector, it doesn’t take a genius to know where your mind is going. But I had no reason to kill her. I hadn’t even seen her for almost four years.”
Manziuk opened his notebook and took out the copy he’d made of the note that had been found taped to the bottom of the drawer in the Fischer’s bedroom. “This looks like a pretty good motive to me.”
Nick read it, then handed it back. “Where did you get this?”
“The question is, did you write it?”
“No.”
“You’ll forgive me if I think it sounds pretty appropriate given the circumstances.”
“Look, I don’t know if somebody is trying to frame me or if this is all a coincidence, but I didn’t write that note and I didn’t kill her.”
“The note was typed in this house on the typewriter right over there.” He pointed to the Selectric typewriter sitting on the small table in the corner.
“Not by me. I told you everything there is to tell.”
“How about last night? Where were you from midnight on?”
“Kendall and I went upstairs at about a quarter past twelve or so. I was awake for a while. Kendall went to sleep right away.”
“How long would you say you were awake?
“I don’t know. ’Till two-thirty at least.”
“Why?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Could it be because I was in a house where there had been a murder? Or maybe it was because I have a lot of other things to think about. Like what I’m going to do with my life.”
“What made you think about the future?” Manziuk asked.
Nick’s voice suddenly became more serious. “Jillian’s death, I guess. I realized you never know when it’ll come. I suppose I started to seriously wonder for the first time if I was making a mistake turning down the job offer. You know the routine: is this how I want to be remembered? Is this my contribution to mankind?”
“Did you see or hear anything that would help us? Crystal Winston died somewhere between midnight and three a.m.
“All I can tell you is that neither Kendall nor I did it.”
“All right, Mr. Donovan. If you could give those clothes to Detective Ryan… and we’ll need your fingerprints, too.”
“Yeah, sure.” He strode out of the room.
As if knowing the timing was perfect, Manziuk’s phone rang. “Munsen,” he said.
While he listened, Ryan paced back and forth around the room.
After five minutes and a couple of questions, he hung up.
“That was the preliminary autopsy report on Jillian Martin. Munsen must have raced back to do it. We won’t have the test results for a while, but there’s no doubt she was strangled. Not with the rope from George Brodie’s robe. Munsen thinks the garden cord looks about right. There were a few fibers on her neck, and some under her nails, too. Other than the bruises on her neck and a crushed hyoid bone, both caused by the cord, there’s nothing of interest.
“There’s not much of anything else. She looks to have showered not long before going out. No foreign hairs. And no fibers, either. It’s as if whoever strangled her did it without actually touching her.”
“Could that have happened?”
“Let’s try it,” Manziuk said.
“What?”
He pushed the chair from the typewriter desk toward her. “Sit down and pretend you’re watching something.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but complied.
“I’m not going to actually strangle you,” he said. “Just in case you wondered. Hold up your arms.”
She did as he asked, now totally puzzled.
Manziuk slipped a piece of rope around her chest, just under the armpits. “Okay, put your arms down.” He pulled the two ends of the cord together and twisted.
“Ouch!”
“See. I’m not touching you at all. The chair back holds you in place. I’ve got the ends twisted around each other, and that gives me all the leverage I need. I can just tighten the rope and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“How nice.”
“It could have been forethought,” he said, “or it could have been luck. I guess we’ll know which when we find out who did it.” He released the rope and she rubbed the area under her arms.
“I think it was Nick Donovan,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“You’re not convinced?”
“I don’t like it when things fall into place. Nick Donovan isn’t stupid. Why would he write a note that we could find?”
“Everyone makes a mistake.”
“I know. But one unsigned note that sounds as though it might have come from a certain person isn’t exactly admissible evidence. Not all alone, anyway.”
“But if he is guilty…”
“Crystal Winston’s death becomes my fault. Is that what you’re thinking? Because I had the note yesterday and I chose not to act on it?”
“It’s possible.”
“You’re right. It is possible. And that’s one of the things that makes this job difficult. Second guessing. Never knowing if your decision might have saved or taken a life.”
“Could you have arrested him yesterday?”
“I didn’t have the autopsy results. He denies writing the note. We don’t have the murder weapon. Nothing concrete.”
“If he is the murderer, he might give
you the wrong clothes.”
“Then get the clothes from him. Put them in plastic bags. And get a couple of people to identify them. Douglass Fischer. George Brodie. Somebody objective. And tell Lorry Preston I want to talk to her. I want an impartial observer. She’s about the only one who I’m reasonably sure didn’t do it.”
As Ryan moved toward the door, he said, “What really bothers me is that there was no trace of the killer on her dress. Our serial killer strangles people without leaving anything of himself. No traceable fibers, no hairs, nothing. I don’t like this. It muddies everything up.”
“You think there might be a connection?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to think.”
Ryan couldn’t find Lorry downstairs. Finally, she went to the patio, where Kendall was sitting alone.
“Where’s Nick?” he asked when he saw her.
“Do you know where Lorry Preston is?” she countered.
“Likely in her room. She and Shauna have been there most of the day.”
“Could you show me?”
He stood and she followed him into the house and up the stairs. They met Nick on his way down with a bundle of clothes.
“Where are you going?” Nick asked.
“She wants Lorry,” Kendall replied. “Don’t ask me why. I suppose they think she did it.”
His voice sounding annoyed, Nick said, “That isn’t funny.”
Kendall turned to look at the policewoman behind him. “What’s with him?”
“Maybe he doesn’t like jokes about murder.”
Ryan accepted the clothes and put them into two bags she’d picked up from one of Ford’s men. “Shoes, too,” she ordered.
“Sorry.” Nick turned to go back upstairs. The others followed. After getting and bagging the shoes, Ryan had Kendall take her to Lorry’s room.
“I wish I knew what’s going on,” he complained before rapping on the bedroom door.
“Thanks for coming back to talk, Miss Preston,” Manziuk said in a fatherly voice. “I know this must be difficult for you.”
“I’m okay. It’s been hard on everyone, but especially Mr. Martin and Mrs. Winston.”
“Yes. Just a couple of questions. What was Nick Donovan wearing yesterday afternoon when you went for the walk with him and Kendall?”
She looked at him as if she thought he’d lost his mind. “What was he wearing?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure. Does it matter?” When he nodded, she said, “We saw him coming from the rose garden. Oh, yes. He had on white shorts and a red knit shirt. And sandals, I think. And he had on sunglasses.”
“Would these be the shorts and shirt?” He held them up.
“Yes, I think so.” Her voice was clearly puzzled. “Does it matter?”
“Maybe not. So, you think these are the clothes?”
“Well, I can’t be certain, but I believe so. There was a small logo on the shirt—a crest. Yes, that’s it.”
“Just as a matter of record, what were you wearing?”
“A teal sundress and beige sandals.”
“Thank you. That’s blue, isn’t it?”
“Blue-green.”
“And Kendall?”
“He had on gray shorts and a striped shirt. Pink and white and gray.”
“Was he wearing sandals?”
“I don’t think so. I think he had moccasins or loafers. Something like that.”
“Okay. Enough about clothes. Miss Preston, would it surprise you to learn that Nick Donovan was once romantically involved with Jillian Martin?”
“Jillian and Nick?” She seemed to be working to fit the two names together. “Yes, I guess it would. Neither of them mentioned it.”
Manziuk thought she had lost some color.
“Would you be surprised to know that Nick Donovan is our prime suspect?”
This time her face definitely lost some color. “You think Nick killed them?”
“There’s some reason to think that.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said after a moment. “You weren’t there when we found Jillian. Nick was the one who discovered she was dead. He couldn’t have faked it.”
“He couldn’t have faked what?”
“His astonishment. He was very upset. I thought so at the time. It sounds crazy, because anyone would have been upset at finding her like that. But if they’d been close once, that would explain it.”
“So you think he was surprised by her death?”
“I’m sure he was.”
“And I’m sure that given the need, Mr. Nick Donovan could do a very fine job of acting.”
Her large green eyes stared at him. Slowly, she nodded.
“Miss Preston, do you want us to find the murderer?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“No matter who it is?”
“Yes.” Her reply was firm.
“Will you give me some help?”
She stared at him. “But I don’t know anything!”
“You are the one person in this house who is reasonably objective. You’ve never met most of these people before this weekend. You don’t even know your relatives well. But you’ve been here the whole time. I’m restricted to what I can learn from people who may be lying or trying to cover up. You were here. You’ve seen them as they ate supper or played a game of pool or tennis. Do you get what I mean?”
“I think so. But I really haven’t noticed anything.”
“Okay. We’ll leave it for now. How is Shauna Jensen?”
“I think what happened Saturday did something to her. She’d never before questioned Jillian’s wisdom. And when Bart talked her into getting the dress and changing her hair and makeup and everything, she realized Jillian had been, at best, wrong. And then Jillian’s anger—Shauna didn’t understand. It was as if Jillian was angry because Shauna had taken the attention from her. And Shauna wasn’t sure how to deal with it. I think she’s dealing with a lot of guilt and confusion and anger.”
“She hasn’t said anything to you that leads you to believe she could have been angry enough to kill her sister?”
“Nothing like that. She’s very mixed up. As I said, it’s almost as if a spell had been broken, as though she’d just wakened from an enchanted sleep, and now she isn’t sure how to evaluate the past or what to do next.”
“Has she told you about her drawing?” Manziuk asked.
“Drawing?”
“Yes. She has a book of sketches in the room. According to Forensics, they’re quite good. And there’s a brochure from an art school. Looks like she was thinking about taking lessons.”
Lorry shook her head. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
“Could be she was getting ready to sprout her wings before this weekend.”
“So you think she might have planned this? To kill Jillian so she would be free of her?”
“It’s within the realm of possibility.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Perhaps you aren’t looking at it the way I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“It has to be one of the people in this house.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “It has to be?”
“Yes,” he said. “So if you notice anything, or if you remember anything, tell me or one of the officers who will be here.”
She nodded.
“And don’t forget.”
Her eyes locked on his. “You think Crystal knew something.”
“I do.”
“Something she didn’t tell you.”
“And now she never will.”
“If I know anything, it’s something I don’t know I know.”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“What about Bart Brodie?” Ryan interjected. “Has he been in contact with Shauna Jensen since supper last night?
Lorry shook her head. “She’s been in her room all morning. I took her a tray with tea and some sandwiches at about eleven o’clock. Crystal’s death
has really shaken her.”
“What about last night?”
“I think they may have talked for a little while right after supper. I don’t know what it was about, but Shauna said something to me later about how some people couldn’t be trusted. I’m not sure, but my impression was that she was talking about Bart.”
“Okay,” said Manziuk. “One last question. Where were you last night between midnight and five this morning?”
She thought for a minute. “I came up about fifteen minutes after midnight. Shauna was sound asleep. I wasn’t feeling tired for some reason.” She hesitated. “To be honest, the whole thing sort of got to me. I had a hard time going to sleep. I finally decided the best thing to do was just pray for everyone here.”
He nodded. “That put you to sleep?”
She smiled. “No, but I felt better afterwards.”
“So what time did you go to sleep?”
“The last time I looked at my watch it was twenty-five after two.”
“So you could swear on oath that Shauna didn’t leave the room up until then?”
“She was sound asleep.”
“And you didn’t hear anything? The sound of a door? Footsteps in the hall or on the stairs?”
She shivered. “No. I didn’t.”
“Okay. Thank you, Miss Preston. This has been a very hard time for you. The events may come back to you often. Especially finding the body. You may want to talk to a professional. We can make arrangements at the station.”
“Thank you very much, Inspector, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
He escorted her to the door.
He put his hand on the doorknob, but paused without turning it. “Miss Preston?”
“Yes?”
“I think this is probably very far fetched. But there is a slight chance Mrs. Martin’s murder may be connected to a series of four murders we’ve had in this city. All of the young women, who were about your age, had red hair.”
Lorry’s hand moved upward. “You think…?”
“No, not really. Jillian Martin’s hair was blonde, not red. But whether it’s the same person or not, you still have red hair. So take good care of yourself. You may be at risk here in this house; you’re definitely at risk when you leave here and go downtown. Don’t go out on the streets by yourself at night. Even in the daytime, it’s risky for you to be alone until we catch this person.”
Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Page 26