Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (52 page)

“Do you deny that?” Ryan asked.

Nick shook his head. “No. That’s what happened. But I didn’t put anything in the glass except the contents of a can of Coke.”

“You should have given him the can,” Manziuk said.

“I thought he’d want ice.”

“So you put ice into the glass?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you have an alternative suggestion as to how Officer Fellowes was given the sleeping medicine?”

“Is that what it was?”

“It was Seconal, fairly high strength. The same thing Mrs. Fischer had in her room. She can’t be sure, but she thinks some of her pills were gone. It wouldn’t have been difficult for someone to see the bottle lying on her nightstand and borrow a few tablets.”

Nick’s voice broke, betraying him. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do any of it. I know it sounds damning the way you put it and I expect you’ll get a conviction, but I still didn’t do it.” He shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Ryan asked.

“I’ll say ‘not guilty’ when you take me before the judge, but I don’t expect it will do me any good.”

“All right. Ryan, take him downstairs and book him.”

Nick pulled himself to his feet. His hand shook as he held it toward Manziuk. “Manziuk, look at me!”

The Inspector complied.

“Do I really look that stupid? If I’d done it, would I have given him the drink so openly? Left my prints on the typewriter? Written the note in the first place? Look, I know I’m no angel, and I may have done some stupid things, but surely even you can see I wouldn’t have done this! I might as well have left you a confession and signed my name to it!”

“What were you typing?” Manziuk asked, interested.

“A letter for Kendall. He’d been asked if he would consider working with a legal aid agency, and he had to let them know he wasn’t interested.”

“Why were you doing it?”

“I do all his typing. He’s lousy. Like he’s got ten thumbs. He told me what to say. He was supposed to have his reply in on Friday. I had forgotten about it. I did it on Ellen’s typewriter because Kendall said there was no printer here. I thought it would be fun to see how well I could type on it.”

“Why were you annoyed when Lorry Preston came in?”

“Not because I was typing a threatening note! I was—embarrassed. Oh, what the heck! I wanted her to think I was this macho guy, and here I am typing away like some nerd. And I’d been thinking about her at the same time. And suddenly she was in the room. I felt stupid. That’s all, I swear.”

“Jillian Martin meant nothing to you?”

“Nothing.”

Ryan interjected, “I find that a little hard to believe.”

“Believe it! Look, Inspector, if you’d asked me what I thought about love at first sight, I’d have laughed in your face. I didn’t even believe in love. I mean, real love. Overnight love with consenting adults I believed in. But if anyone had told me I’d be thinking about chucking my skiing and going off to the slum area to try to help street kids who need legal aid, I’d have—well, you get the idea.”

“So you’re thinking of applying for the position Kendall had been offered?”

“Considering it.”

“Good story,” Manziuk said. “Maybe it was typing the letter for Kendall that gave you the idea of typing a note to Jillian.”

“Manziuk!”

“Take him down and book him as a material witness.”

“You can’t!”

“If I were you, I’d go peacefully. The middle of a police station isn’t a good place to pick a fight.”

“Manziuk, you’re making a huge mistake. I didn’t do it!”

“Then how did the Seconal get into the glass of the Coke you gave Officer Fellowes? Was anyone else around?”

Nick shook his head. “No.” He walked across the room and stood looking at the picture on the wall. An eagle soaring through the air. A mouse racing along the ground below.

Manziuk’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Donovan? I’m waiting.”

“I know,” Nick mumbled.

“You don’t have an answer, do you?”

“I put ice cubes into a clean glass. I opened a can of Coke and poured it into the glass. I didn’t add anything else.”

“Or perhaps you can tell me about this?”

Nick turned. Manziuk was holding up a picture of a chain of flowers. Nick walked closer and took the picture from him. “My mother taught me how to make these. I haven’t made one for years.”

“Did you ever make one for Jillian?”

“Yes, I did.” He paused and stared at Manziuk. “Did you find one of these?”

“Beside her.”

“I didn’t make this one. But I did teach Jillian how to make them. She could have done it while she was waiting for me.”

“While she was waiting for you in the Japanese garden. But you were in the rose garden. Why?”

“I guess I went to the wrong garden.”

“You seem to have made quite a few mistakes this weekend, Nick. Can you tell me why you were in the wrong garden? Or perhaps, where you really were?”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want to call a lawyer?”

Nick walked over to the window and stood looking out for a long time.

Ryan opened her mouth once, but Manziuk shook his head violently. Although she gave him an annoyed look, she didn’t say anything.

At last, Nick turned to face them. There was moisture in his eyes, and his voice shook. “I guess maybe you’d better go ahead and book me. You don’t have much choice.”

“Who are you protecting?” Ryan asked bluntly.

That shook him a little. But he quickly answered, “Nobody.”

“Then why won’t you tell us the truth?”

Nick smiled ironically. “Is this where I plead the fifth?”

Thirty minutes later, Ryan returned with a list of the contents of Nick Donovan’s pockets and a report that he was duly booked and had offered no resistance.

Manziuk was on the phone, but he quickly ended the conversation when he saw Ryan.

“So?” he said. “Not very happy?”

“Do you think he did it?”

“I’m inclined to doubt. But that may be because he’s so likable. As a matter of fact, a lot of murderers are very likable.”

“But if he isn’t guilty, who is? Peter Martin?”

“I could make a case for him. Or for Hildy Reimer, although I can’t see her framing Nick. Or for Bart Brodie, though we still have no proven motive. Or for the Fischers, but while they may be guilty of a lot of foolishness, I don’t believe either of them is a murderer. Then we have Kendall and George Brodie. If Nick is protecting someone, it would be Kendall. Nick says he was awake and Kendall was asleep while Crystal was killed. If Nick isn’t the murderer, he could be giving Kendall an alibi. But George and Kendall were together when Jillian was killed.

“Could there be two murderers?”

“I sincerely hope not.” Manziuk sighed. “But we can’t rule it out. Maybe Nick killed Jillian, and then Kendall killed Crystal to protect him.”

“How would we ever prove that?” Ryan asked.

“A confession would be nice.”

“Yeah, right.” She thought for a moment. “What about Peter Martin? Have we ruled him out?”

“I don’t see how he could have drugged Fellowes.”

“So it has to be Nick Donovan?”

“It seems that way. And if by any chance it isn’t, holding him might make the real murderer relax and make a mistake.”

“So we wait?”

“We wait. And we continue to sift every bit of information we have.”

She turned to leave. “Oh, did you want this?”

“What is it?”

“The list of the contents of Nick Donovan’s possessions when he was booked.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Okay, put it on the desk. I’ll look at it later. I want to have a talk with Ford. See if there’s anything Forensics could have missed.”

Ellen was busy in the kitchen. George would be home soon and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. She’d cooked all his favorite foods.

She added a hot cup of tea to a supper tray and carried it in to her housekeeper. It had been a long day for Mrs. Winston. She’d been by turns hysterical, weeping, tired, querulous about making funeral arrangements, and worried about what was going to happen to her. She’d taken it into her head that George would fire her because of what had happened, and Ellen had used a good deal of her remaining energy to persuade her housekeeper that George would do no such thing.

Right now, Mrs. Winston was relatively calm. She’d been crying again, but she wasn’t anguished as she’d been earlier. More like shock, Ellen thought. Crying, but not quite knowing why.

Ellen helped her sit up in bed and made sure the tray was in the right spot.

“I’m shivering. That air conditioning makes it so cold when you aren’t working.”

After three tries, Ellen found the right sweater. She had to move the tray to help Mrs. Winston get the sweater on. Then she arranged the tray again. “Just call when you’ve finished. Or if you need anything. I’m getting George’s supper ready, so I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Her housekeeper nodded.

“Would you like the TV on?”

“Yes. It might take my mind off things.”

Ellen found the remote, turned the TV on, and left the control at Mrs. Winston’s right hand.

She went back to the kitchen, found one of the cups she’d kept from their old set of dishes, and poured some tea for herself. She was about to sit down when the phone rang.

“Ellen?”

“Yes, George.”

“How is everything?”

“Not too bad. We’re having the funeral Friday. Jillian’s is Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you on your way home?”

“Doesn’t look like it. I’ve got a lot of work here. And since I’ll be going to the two funerals, I thought maybe I should work late so I can keep on top of things. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You aren’t afraid of being alone there, are you?”

“No, of course not. I’ll make sure the gates are locked. And the doors.”

“The police could send someone over if you were worried. Goodness knows we pay enough taxes.”

“That’s silly. There’s nothing for me to worry about.”

“Speaking of that, Kendall just got a call from Nick. He’s been arrested.”

She jumped. “Nick?”

“From what he told Kendall, sounds like a pretty strong case. I’m sure glad Nick hadn’t joined the firm. If he had, the press would be twice as bad. Anyway, with him arrested, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Don’t wait up for me. I have my keys.”

She hung up the receiver and sat for a long time staring through the patio doors. All thoughts of the food cooling on the counter were gone. She didn’t hear Mrs. Winston calling for her to come get the tray. “Oh, Nick,” she said at last, shaking her head. “Not you.”

In his office, George pulled out a file and began reading through the notes his law clerk had made. He’d had his secretary order up a ham on rye and a bagel with cream cheese. As he read, he ate. But after a while, the words blurred. He went over to the water machine and poured a glass of water. Two pills went down. That would help his ulcer.

So they’d arrested Nick. When Kendall had called to let him know, George had at first felt relief that the case had been solved and then anguish at what the arrest would mean. George had already phoned Bradley and Pattison to make sure Nick had the best defense possible.

George considered the trial. He wondered what evidence the police had. Likely circumstantial. Bradley and Pattison were the best. They’d get Nick off, all right. But it would be messy. They’d all be called as witnesses. And the press would have a field day. George’s feeling of impending doom sank onto him. He’d been so hopeful that when the police made the arrest, it would be over. But of course, this was only the beginning of the next act. And there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it.