Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (28 page)

“Certainly,” Manziuk agreed, ignoring the fact that his own almost eighteen-year-old son was restricted to borrowing the family car one night per week. “Now, I wonder, Mrs. Fischer. You look like an observant person. Do you think you can help us out by giving us some of your observations about the weekend?”

“Well, I’ll try,” she said, but her tone hinted at vagueness.

“For instance, did you notice anything unusual at lunch or after?”

She settled back in the chair, obviously going over the day in her mind. “No,” she said at last, regretfully, “I don’t think so. I had a dreadful headache after lunch. Migraine. I went up to my room and slept a good deal of the time. So difficult to come for a weekend and then feel just terrible. I’d have stayed home, but Douglass thought we should make an appearance. Now I’m sure he wishes we’d stayed home.” She shrugged.

“Now, I have to get this straight for the records. You ate lunch on the terrace with the others?”

She nodded.

“And you went upstairs at about what time?”

“Right after lunch. About one, I’d think.”

“Were you alone?”

“I suppose the maid has told you. No. Douglass was there, too. We actually had a bit of an argument. You see, he never gets sick himself. When I said I had a headache, he thought I should make an effort to forget about it.” She spat out the words. “I was, needless to say, upset by that. It’s not as if I want to feel that way.” She paused for a moment, as if experiencing the anger again. “Anyway, we argued for a while, twenty minutes, maybe. Which of course only made my headache worse. Then he left and I went to sleep. I didn’t wake up until much later. After four. Douglass was in the room sitting in a chair reading some papers. When I woke up, he said he was sorry for what he’d said before, and we talked for a while. Then George knocked on the door and told us about Jillian.”

“I see. Did you notice anything during lunch or the rest of the weekend that might help us?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think so. Perhaps someone followed her here. Someone from her past. Or perhaps she was involved with someone other than Peter. I should think there must be lots of men you could question.”

“You don’t feel she was faithful to her husband?”

Anne snorted in a very unladylike manner and crossed her ankles. “Her? She didn’t know the meaning of the word. She was out for any man she could get.”

“Had she shown interest in Mr. Fischer?”

“Douglass?” Anne sat back further into her chair and crossed her arms. “He’s a happily married man,” she said with an air of finality.

“So she’s never said anything to him, maybe flirted a bit?”

“Likely she did,” Anne said bitterly, “but it takes two to tango.”

“So you didn’t have any cause to feel, shall we say, a little jealous of Mrs. Martin?”

“Jealous?” Her voice became shrill. “Of that—that—! Never!” She lowered her voice and spoke appealingly to Manziuk. “Look, I didn’t like her because she didn’t belong where she was. Peter Martin may be a good lawyer, but he’s not much for his choice in women. Give him a pretty face and a good figure and he doesn’t seem to care about anything else. I think it’s a shame. I don’t know much about Hildy, but at least she had the brains to divorce him. He’s a disgrace to the law firm. Bringing in twenty-year-olds to flaunt themselves in our faces! He’s as big a fool as she was!” She finished her speech and sat staring at Manziuk, daring him to argue.

Mildly, he said, “I see. Yes, it would be frustrating to accept her as an equal. Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Fischer. Would you ask your husband to step in now for a minute?”

Without another word, she rose and made her exit.

Douglass Fischer entered the room and, after taking his time looking around, sat in the chair indicated. He made himself comfortable, crossed his legs, and waited expectantly for the first question.

Manziuk eyed him. A big man, heavy-set, though neither as tall nor as heavy as Manziuk himself. Brown hair, beginning to recede at the sides. Strong, square hands. Square face. Keen eyes. The type to inspire confidence in clients. Not a man to be rattled easily, yet there was something. A slight tic on the left side of his mouth. He was nervous then. Just a little.

“Well, Mr. Fischer, I’m sure you know it’s routine to question all people present when a murder is committed. Just a few things we need to know.”

“Yes, certainly.” The voice was brusque, matter-of-fact.

“Now, the first thing we need is your whereabouts from about lunch on. Can you do your best to remember for us?”

“I’ve already gone over it in my mind. Anne and I ate lunch together and went up to our room immediately after. I thought she should try to be more sociable. She convinced me she needed to lie down for a while, so I went downstairs and joined a few others in a game of billiards. It must have been close to two.

“We were there quite a while, maybe an hour and a half, and then I decided to go upstairs and see if Anne wanted to come down. When I got to the room, I found her asleep. I decided not to waken her. I had brought a file of things from work, so I sat down to read through that. I planned to get Anne to go down with me when she woke up. But she had barely awakened when George came and told us about Jillian. We both went downstairs after that.”

“Did you notice anything that might be useful to us?”

“I didn’t notice anything suspicious, if that’s what you mean. Just a group of normal people enjoying a weekend together. Surely you don’t think that one of us murdered Jillian. If it really was murder.”

“Oh, it was murder all right. And there’s a good chance it was one of your normal people.”

“Well, I find that hard to accept.”

“Murder is never easy to accept.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Fischer conceded in his calm, soothing voice.

“Mr. Fischer, I have a rather awkward question to ask you. I hope you’ll think about it before you give an answer. Remember we can always check to verify things we are told.” Manziuk paused.

Fischer sat unmoving, waiting.

Manziuk went on. “We would like to know exactly what was the nature of your relationship with Mrs. Martin.”

Without hesitation or any apparent discomfort, Fischer replied, “There was no relationship. Mrs. Martin was no more or less to me than my partner’s wife. And I certainly hope you won’t suggest any such thing to Peter. He has enough to bear without false rumors.” He spoke earnestly. “I expect my wife suggested that to you. She seems to feel it’s natural for a man my age to fall for a young, attractive woman. She’s been going through a stage of insecurity lately and she hasn’t yet redefined her role. Once she’s accepted her age and found new interests, I think she’ll find it easier to accept the fact that I’m more interested in her than I would be in a younger woman.”

“Did you meet Jillian Martin by arrangement late Friday night?”

“What?” Douglass’s mouth dropped open for a brief second and he sat forward.

“Outside. You were seen talking to her.”

He shook his head. “No. You’ve got that wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Jillian and Bart had both been smoking a lot, and the air was musty. I went out to get some fresh air. Then I was going to come in and go up to bed. Jillian came out and we happened to meet. We talked about the house and the gardens. That’s all. It was perfectly innocent.”

“You hadn’t arranged to meet?”

Douglass crossed his knees. “Of course not. We were talking about the house, just like I said.”

“Do you feel your wife hated Jillian Martin?”

Fischer’s hand went to his hair, ruffling it. He uncrossed and recrossed his knees. Then he regained his calm. “Hated is a rather strong word, don’t you think? I believe she envied her for her youth and poise, and, of course, her beauty. But I don’t think she ‘hated’ her. Certainly not, as you may be hinting, enough to murder her. My wife’s struggle is against what Jillian represented—youth—and is solely within herself. I’m sure there was no personal animosity toward Jillian.”

“If you had to choose someone in the house as the most likely suspect, who would it be?”

“I’ll leave the speculation to you people. Criminal law was never my forte.”

“You have no suspicions?”

“None. I find it extremely difficult to believe that anyone in this house could be a murderer and I expect you will come to the same conclusion.”

“Who knows?” Manziuk said airily. “In mystery novels it’s usually the person you least suspect.”

“Then you’d better lock up young Lorry. I’m sure she would have the least reason.” Douglass sat forward again. “Look here, Inspector, you can’t seriously think anyone here has a motive for murder. I know what the normal reasons are: money, revenge, love. Well, she didn’t have money of her own, so that’s out. And the others are ridiculous. You’ll have Kendall murdering her because he didn’t want to join the law firm while she was Peter’s wife or Lorry killing her because she didn’t go to church. Look, she was just an ordinary young woman lucky enough to grab a rich and prominent husband. There’s no logical reason for one of us to murder her.”

“Then how do we explain the fact that she was murdered?”

“Maybe it was a tramp. What exactly do you have to go on?”

“At this point, not much. After Forensics is finished, hopefully, more.”

Fischer nodded and went out. His shoulders drooped.

Manziuk said to Constable Ryan. “Good lawyer, I bet.”

“Yes, but you threw him a few times. Do you think he’s lying about his relationship to Mrs. Martin?”

“Could be. He looked like I caught him off guard once or twice. I also thought some of his other answers were a bit too pat, like he’d rehearsed beforehand.”

“We’ve talked to everyone except Hildy Reimer.”

“Yes, I thought I’d save the ex-wife till last. Give her time to figure out a good reason for being here.”

Hildy Reimer, relaxed in a navy velour shorts outfit that showed off her more-than-adequate figure, placed both elbows on the armrests of her chair and waited for Inspector Manziuk’s first question.

“Now, Ms. Reimer— It is Ms., isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he said easily. “You’re a neighbor of the Brodies?”

“I live a couple of miles from here,” she said stiffly.

“But you know Mrs. Brodie fairly well?”

“We both belong to a horticulture club.”

“And you’re friends?” he persisted.

She looked away. “Not close friends.”

“But you felt free to ask if you could come here for the weekend when your apartment was being painted?”

Watching her closely, he saw a tinge of pink touch her cheeks. Her “yes” was quiet.

“Was your apartment being painted?” he asked casually. “We can easily check, you know.”

Hildy shifted in the chair. Finally she said, “No.”

Inspector Manziuk followed up. “Was it because your ex-husband was going to be here?”

She looked straight at him, the signs of discomfort gone. “Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“I wanted to see how he was doing with his new wife.” Her voice was calm and direct.

“And did he appreciate that? Or did you perhaps want to make him uncomfortable, get back at him for divorcing you?”