Mangiapane started the engine. “Off to see Dulcinea?”
Tully smiled. “Yeah, Dulcinea. Know where they live?”
“In Troy. I looked it up before we got started.”
“Good man.”
Mangiapane would take Telegraph Road north, then cut east on Square Lake. “He seemed kind of open, didn’t you think, Zoo?”
“That the impression you got? Yeah, I guess he did volunteer a lot of information for somebody who’s under suspicion. But when you think about it, it’s all stuff we’re probably gonna get from the other people we talk to.”
“Maybe the stuff that went on in Carson’s house. But how about what was going on with his wife and the bishop?”
“Yeah, how about that? Going over what he said, there’s the fracas at Carson’s. All the guests heard what he said to Diego. Even when they went in the other room, Carson was there. And I’d be surprised if at least some of the guests didn’t hear him through the closed door. He was pissed and he was likely yelling.
“Then there’s that bit about him and his wife and his wife and Diego. Remember he said that a number of people, even some gossip columnists, were in on that. It figures: The Shells are society. They’re in the spotlight. If their marriage is on the rocks, people know. And people talk. And the bishop was popular with those society women. Mrs. Shell was a member of that group. Whadya wanna bet that some of those dames knew what was goin’ on. Hell, they probably wanted to trade places with her. So we’re gonna get some info about Shell and his wife, and the wife and the bishop, from a lot of people.
“And, we’re on our way to interview the wife. Shell knew we would. He knows what she’s gonna tell us.
“What this comes down to is that Shell wanted to tell us first what we were gonna learn anyway. That way he appears open and aboveboard. A nice, frank guy who certainly wouldn’t kill anybody.
“Manj, right after we get done with Mrs. Shell, I want you to start checking this guy out. Use as many of the team as you need. By this time, the guys must know whether they’re gonna get anything from the streets.
“If I were Mr. Shell, I’d start hoping that barkeep’s got a real good memory.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was not a pretentious house. But considering the neighborhood, the address, and the 48098 zip code, it probably went for about $500,000. Frankly, Tully had expected more from the Shells’ conspicuous consumerism. Perhaps more was coming.
The snow, somewhat deeper here this far north of Detroit, lay in neat rectangles, squares and other geometric shapes demarcated by crisply clean driveways, walkways, and streets.
Mangiapane pulled into the Shells’ driveway. One of the fringe benefits of riding with Manj, mused Tully, was that he knew his way around the city and its environs as well as or better than any cab driver. You not only never got lost riding with the sergeant, you got to your destination as quickly as possible.
They were met at the door by a maid in black dress and white apron. Tully displayed his badge and identified himself and his companion. The maid, displaying neither surprise nor awe, led them to a drawing room, where she announced them to a woman seated in a white deeply upholstered chair near the window. A white robe covered her from shoulder to ankle. Her complexion was a dusky tan. Though her eyes were obscured by shaded glasses, it was obvious she was the woman in the photograph on Mike Shell’s desk.
Tully introduced himself and Mangiapane. She acknowledged that she was Maria Shell, wife of Michael.
They declined her offer of coffee or tea. The maid was dismissed.
Mangiapane flipped open his notepad and prepared once again to record the session.
“You are aware of Bishop Diego’s death?” Tully asked.
Maria Shell nodded slowly. Despite the dark glasses, Tully could tell there was puffiness about her eyes. She seemed composed, but barely. He guessed she’d been crying.
“Why are you here?” She spoke softly and deliberately with no trace of accent.
“We just visited your husband.”
Tully expected a reaction, but Maria Shell appeared to be waiting for more explanation for their presence in her home.
“The bishop was murdered sometime between the hours of 4:00 and 6:00 yesterday afternoon. Your husband had angry words with him shortly before that time.”
“You think my husband killed Ramon?”
Tully, startled that she had used the bishop’s given name, quickly recovered. “We’re just conducting an investigation now. We haven’t accused anyone. Did you know about the altercation between your husband and the bishop?”
She nodded. “A friend told me.”
“You didn’t accompany your husband to the party.”
“I seldom do.”
“I would have thought that since the bishop was going …”
“He must have made up his mind at the last moment,” she interrupted. “I didn’t know he would be at the Carsons.’ In any case, I wouldn’t have gone with my husband. We seldom go anywhere together.” She paused. “What did you say those times were?”
“The bishop’s murder? Between 4:00 and 6:00.”
“My husband’s outburst?”
“Sometime between 2:30 and 3:00.”
“Michael was not home at all yesterday afternoon or evening. He didn’t come home until approximately 10:00 last night.”
Interesting.
One corner of her mouth turned up. She shrugged. “Did he … suffer … much?”
The question derailed Tully. It seemed related to nothing. “Your husband?”
“No!” Her tone indicated she couldn’t have cared less if her husband had been hanged, drawn, and quartered. “Ramon.”
“Oh. ‘Suffered’?” Tully had not given the matter any thought. But the answer was not difficult, nor did he have to bend the truth. “No, I don’t think so. I think death came instantly. If death wasn’t instantaneous, he was at least unconscious and died in that condition.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. She made no move to brush it away. It was a poignant moment, and Tully paused, almost in memoriam to the bishop and the evident affection Mrs. Shell had for him.
“Your husband stated that your marriage for quite some time has been … I think his words were, ‘on thin ice.’”
Her generous lips pulled tight. “How would he know?”
“Beg pardon?”
“He was seldom here. Business
She made a disparaging sound. “If it hadn’t been for Bishop Diego, my marriage to Michael would have ended.”
Apparently, thought Tully, Maria had some mechanism, perhaps subconscious, that dictated whether she used the bishop’s given name or his title. It might be important to understand this choice. “Your marriage ‘would have ended’?”
“I’ll be frank with you, Lieutenant: If Ramon had shown the slightest interest, I would have left Michael in a minute to be with him!”
Tully was willing to reconsider Diego’s power to mesmerize. Quite a statement! And to the police … “One of
