Reconcilable Differences Page 7

  He picked up a phone, said a few words into it, and then hung up. “I’ve arranged for your transportation back to D.C. Agent Cassidy, will you see Mrs. Manning to the lobby?”

  Once she and Dave were in the elevator, Trish let her disgruntlement be known.

  “Will you kindly explain what bringing me way out here has accomplished, that couldn’t have been done by telephone?”

  “This makes your story official, Mrs. Manning,” he said.

  She didn’t know what was more exasperating: his officiousness or his continuing to call her Mrs. Manning.

  “For God’s sake, Dave, will you stop addressing me as if we’re strangers,” she riled in frustration.

  “We are strangers, Mrs. Manning.”

  The elevator door swished open and they stepped into the lobby. Outside a black limousine pulled up, and Dave opened the door for her. Trish climbed in and he closed the door.

  He didn’t say goodbye.

  She fumed about it all the way home. The man was acting like a petulant child. No matter how bitter one might be, there’s no excuse for not offering a civil goodbye. Even the limo driver did that, and he didn’t even know her!

  Trish changed into shorts and a halter and took Ayevol outside to exercise him. She tossed a Frisbee to him until the dog had had enough and went back to his favorite pastime—sniffing at the grass and flowers.

  Trish sat down on a bench. Her mind was still struggling with disturbing thoughts.

  “You know, Ayevol, it all boils down to the problem of men,” she said to the dog, who had settled down at her feet.

  “With the exception of you, sweetheart, the male animal is the most immature and confusing creature on earth. They complicate and usually foul up even the simplest acts of daily existence.

  “Take my experience with them as an example. Now Deb and I are two females who have been friends since childhood. Our relationship is true and tried. No question about it, we’ll be friends for life. Agree?”

  She looked down at the dog for reassurance. Ayevol’s adoring stare gave her the assurance she sought.

  “Now let’s analyze the men in my life. My father. He knows I love him dearly, that I respect him and am proud of him. Yet, he insists upon continuing to try and dominate and control me. And in doing so he’s succeeded in driving me away and complicating both our lives.

  “Lets look at Robert Manning, the man I married. Handsome, charming—could probably be successful at anything he chose to be. So he chose to become a moral degenerate—and there’s no question he’s very successful at it.

  “But why did he choose that? Because somehow and someway men have to complicate their lives by challenging themselves. No matter what they sink to. Agree?”

  Once again she sought and received assurance from the dog. This time in the form of a wagging tail.

  “Now, Ayevol, let’s analyze those two CIA officials this morning. They already knew the answers to the questions they asked me. So why did they ask them? Why did they drag me way out to Langley, Virginia?

  “I’ll tell you why. Because men have to play games. Whether it’s resorting to subterfuge or passing a football, men have to be the captain of the team, and usually at the expense of the women whose lives are complicated by their actions.

  “Which brings me to the issue of Dave Cassidy.”

  At the mention of Dave’s name, Ayevol jumped to his feet and began wagging his rear end so vigorously that it threatened to detach.

  “Calm down, sweetheart. I know you’re very fond of him. Which, I might add, reflects a certain degree of blind devotion on your part that can only lead to a complication in your life.

  “Mr. Phi Betta Kappa is supposedly an intelligent man. At least that is what all his diplomas would indicate. Educated, yes. But intelligent? No. You know why? It takes common sense to be intelligent. He’s complicated his life by abandoning common sense and acting like an overgrown, pouting child.”

  She jumped to her feet. “A big kid who doesn’t even have the courtesy to say good-bye.”

  “I’ll get it,” she yelled to Julie when the doorbell rang a short time later. She opened the door and two men stood there. Neither man bore even a remote resemblance to Jerry Orbach, but she had watched enough Law and Order episodes to recognize a plainclothes detective when she saw one.

  “May I help you?”

  They flashed their shields. “Ma’am, I’m Detective MacPherson and this is my partner, Detective Brady. We were told we could find a Patricia Manning here.”

  “I’m Patricia Manning. What do you want?”

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news, ma’am.”

  Her heart began pounding in her chest. “Has something happened to my father?”

  “May we come in, ma’am?” MacPherson said.

  Trish stepped aside and they stepped in. “Please, what is it? Is my father okay?”

  MacPherson shook his head. “This concerns your husband, Robert Manning.”

  Trish felt overwhelmed with relief. She took a deep breath to try and slow her breathing. “What has he done now?”

  The two detectives exchanged glances. “When was the last time you saw or spoke to your husband, Mrs. Manning?”

  “The day before yesterday at the airport.”

  “So you had no contact with him yesterday?”

  “No. We don’t live together. Robert and I recently divorced.”

  “Was it an amicable divorce, Mrs. Manning?”

  “Anything but,” she replied candidly.

  The two detectives exchanged meaningful glances again. It was such a male thing that she wanted to scream with impatience.

  “Just what is this all about, Detective? If some woman has filed a complaint against him, hooray for her. But it is no concern of mine, so kindly keep me out of it.”

  “No, ma’am, that’s not why we’re here,” MacPherson said. “Mrs. Manning, we would like you to come with us to the morgue. We have a body that has tentatively been identified as Robert Manning. We would like you to make an official identification.”

  “Robert is dead? What happened? Was it an accident?”

  “No, ma’am. It was a homicide.”

  “A homicide!” The news was so startling she began to tremble. She moved to a chair and sat down. “How did…when?” She suddenly became incoherent and couldn’t form a sentence.

  MacPherson leaned down. “Would you like a glass of water, Mrs. Manning?”

  “No. I’m fine. Just give me a few more seconds to catch my breath, then I’ll change and come with you.”

  She got up and they followed her into the kitchen.

  “Julie, see if these detectives would like some refreshment while I go up and change. I’ll only be a minute,” she said and hurried up to her room.

  Trish felt numb as she stared at Robert Manning. This all seemed surreal. Unbelievable. His mouth was free of its normal smirk. The closed lids of his eyes shrouded the sardonic gleam that usually flashed in their depths. Death had vanquished them all. Funny, he looked so at peace. As if he would waken soon. Trish nodded to the medical examiner and he pulled the sheet over Robert’s face again.

  She turned her head and glanced at the two detectives who were standing nearby watching her intently. What were they expecting? That she would break out in tears? Weep hysterically? She was too numb to do either—even if she had felt the need to weep.

  The whole thing was ironic. After two years of wanting this man out of her life, an unknown assailant had ended Robert’s life less than a week after she had finally accomplished that goal.

  Ironic. Surreal. Unbelievable.

  She turned and walked away.

  Another place without an elevator!

  Wally paused at the foot of the staircase and eyed the stairway like a condemned man about to mount the steps of the gallows. With the exception of riding from one spot to another, he and Brady had been on their feet since the call came in at four that morning. And the extra forty pounds he wa
s carrying around sure weren’t doing his feet any good. His dogs were hot and aching, and his stomach was doing the growling for them. Now it was past seven o’clock, he’d missed another home-cooked supper and Betty was sure to chew his ass off when he got home.

  Wally reached for the railing and started to climb slowly up the stairs. At least this time it was only one flight. He and Brady were getting too old for the job. Six more weeks ’til retirement, and then no more doughnuts, eating on the run—and no more stairs. Just lazing, fishing and home-cooked meals. He and Betty might even get in some of that traveling they’d talked about doing for the past thirty years.

  The man who opened the door to his knock had a tall, well-proportioned body. That was the first thing he checked out now on men. With a quick glance, Wally could see the flesh under the knit shirt was solid muscle. He could only hope this Cassidy wouldn’t give them a hard time and they’d end up having to wrestle the guy into cuffs.

  How in hell does a guy keep himself in that condition anyway? he thought enviously. Come retirement, he was going to start working out and get back into shape.

  Wally flashed his badge. “David Cassidy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective MacPherson and this is Detective Brady. We have some questions to ask you, sir. May we come in?”

  Cassidy stepped aside and closed the door when they entered. “So, what can I do for you, detectives?”

  Wally prided himself on first impressions. After thirty years on the force he could tell guilt or innocence by people’s reaction to his mere presence. A twitch, blink or tone of voice usually gave a guy away. This guy seemed on the square.

  “Mr. Cassidy, are you acquainted with a Patricia Manning?”

  Cassidy’s instant look of distress was more of an answer than his words.

  “Did something happen to her?”

  “According to a witness, Mrs. Manning was seen leaving your apartment about seven o’clock last night. Is that true?”

  “What is this all about?” Cassidy asked.

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Now how about you answering my question? What is this all about?”

  “It’s about a murder.”

  The look of alarm appeared in Cassidy’s eyes again. “Murder? Trish was murdered?”

  “Trish?”

  “Patricia Manning,” Cassidy said.

  “No, Mrs. Manning is alive and healthy. It’s Mr. Manning who’s the victim. His body was found in an alley this morning. His throat had been cut.”

  “Manning!” Cassidy walked over to a chair and sat down. He appeared to be genuinely shocked. Either the guy had nothing to do with the killing, or he was a damn good actor.

  “Hard to believe you hadn’t heard about it.”

  The man was lost in thought. He snapped back to attention. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Wally said. “It’s been on the tube and radio all day.” He walked over and turned on the TV. “’Pears like your TV’s working just fine.” He snapped it off.

  “I haven’t played the radio or TV,” Cassidy said.

  “What about newspapers? The talk’s all over town.”

  “I’ve been in Virginia on business all day. I just got home when you guys showed up. Of course, you know that already. I saw you two sitting in your car when I came in.”

  “You a cop?” Wally asked.

  “No, but that Crown Vic you were parked in was a dead giveaway. I’ve seen a lot of you guys in the business I’m in.”

  “And what kind of business would that be?”

  “That definitely is none of your business,” Cassidy said.

  “Mr. Cassidy, did you leave here after seven o’clock last night?” Wally asked.

  “No, once I came home, I stayed in the rest of the evening.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  With a derisive snort, Cassidy said, “Perhaps the same person who saw Mrs. Manning leave here.”

  “So you’re not denying she was here?”

  “No. She was here for about fifteen minutes.”

  “What is your relationship with Mrs. Manning?”

  “I think I know where this is going, Detective. Am I or Mrs. Manning a suspect?”

  “Statistically speaking, Mr. Cassidy, the wife or her lover are always good prospects.”

  “And what makes you think I’m her lover?”

  “A hot-looking broad like her, handsome stud like you. It wouldn’t be the first time. How long have you known her?”

  “Seven years. We were once engaged, had an argument and I left town. Didn’t see or talk to her again until a couple of days ago when we met by accident.”

  “And you ‘got that old feeling,’” Brady said. He smirked at Cassidy. “Right, pal?”

  “So you can speak, Detective Brady. I’d begun to doubt it. But you’re wrong, pal. We didn’t part as friends last night any more than we did six years ago.”

  “You saying the two of you quarreled last night?” Wally said. “What about?”

  “I didn’t say we quarreled. And what we talked about is our business.”

  “Not anymore. It became ours when her husband ended up in an alley with his throat cut.”

  “You mind if we look around your place?”

  “Yeah. It’s not for rent.”

  “We can always come back later with a warrant, smart ass,” Brady said.

  “You need grounds to get a warrant, officer.”

  It was clear to Wally that they’d gotten all they were going to get out of Cassidy. He’d cooperated until now, but the guy had just put on the gloves and wasn’t going to take any more shoving.

  “Let’s go,” Wally said. “We’ll continue this discussion at the station.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not at this time. We’d like to get a complete statement from you, though.”

  When Cassidy walked over and picked up the phone, Wally quickly added, “We don’t have time for this. Tell your lawyer to meet you at the precinct.”

  “I’m not calling my lawyer. Ask the operator for Secretary General Jeff Baker or Deputy Secretary Mike Bishop. Preferably Bishop.” He dialed a number and then handed Wally the telephone.

  After several minutes of talking to Mike Bishop, Wally hung up.

  “All right, Mr. Cassidy. We won’t take you in. But we want you to come into the station and sign a statement within the next twenty-four hours. I don’t care what agency you’re with. Let’s go, Joe.”

  “What the hell was that all about?” Joe asked when they returned to the car.

  “Cassidy’s a fed. Works for the CIA. Manning was under suspicion with them.”

  “More reason to think Cassidy whacked him,” Joe said. “Especially if he’s got the hots for the guy’s wife.”

  “I think he was up-front with us. Seems like a pretty decent guy. Not the kind who would commit murder.”

  “What are you talking about? Those CIA guys are always knocking off people.”

  “He’s in some special ops squad. They go in and rescue hostages and situations like that. Naw, my guess is that he’s not the one who killed Manning.”

  “Then that makes the wife the prime suspect. She’s one cold cookie. You notice the woman didn’t shed a tear when she identified her husband’s body. And she had no alibi for what she was doing last night either. Then we find out from the lady across the hall that the not-so-grieving widow had been with him.”

  “I know, but my gut feeling is that the wife was telling us the truth, too.”

  “My money’s on the wife. Remember that movie with Barbara Stanwyck where she talked Fred MacMurray into bumping off her husband for the insurance money?”

  “Double Indemnity.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Same thing. She’s probably carrying a policy on him big enough to pay off the national debt. She’s too hot-looking for him to be cheating on her, and that body is too
good a playground to mess up with a fist. So it’s definitely her. She probably did it for money. And you know as well as I do that most murders are committed by someone who knows the victim.”

  “That’s true, but you still need to keep an open mind, Joe.”

  “Open mind? If you figure that broad ain’t guilty, I think you kept yours open too long and your brains fell out. And I bet you a bag of doughnuts the boyfriend’s in on it, too. With Cassidy’s size and build it would be a cakewalk for him to take out Manning. He’s even trained to do that kind of thing.”

  “That doesn’t mean he did it. I figure the two logical suspects had nothing to do with the killing. But they’re both lying about one thing.”

  “That he’s not banging her,” Joe said.

  “No, I don’t think he is.” Then with a wry grin added, “At least for now. But I think they both lied when they implied they don’t love each other.”

  Joe shook his head and merged onto the Beltway. “Geez, Wally, I can’t believe it. Thirty years on the force and you still keep hoping for happy endings. Now I know what to get you for Christmas, partner—a book of fairy tales.”

  Wally chuckled. “Nothing’s wrong with ‘they lived happily ever after.’”

  “Yeah, right. On the insurance money.”

  Chapter 6

  Arms folded across her chest, Trish prowled her room like a caged animal. Thank God her father and Julie were there to ensure her the privacy she needed.

  From the time she’d returned home from identifying Robert’s body, the telephone had rung incessantly and there’d been a steady stream of the media at the door.

  Some of the photographers were even as bold as to prowl around the outside of the house hoping to snap a picture of Manning’s widow. Many in the press corps were well aware of Robert’s past peccadilloes, and no doubt a number of juicy tidbits would be added to the evening news.

  Trish had always been a darling of the press. Her volunteer work and the many charity fund-raisers she had chaired had always been covered with glowing references or pictures of her. And out of respect to her, they had kept the marital problems between her and Robert out of print.