A Murderer Among Us Read online

  “What does it matter what I’ve been doing? I called the police to report that someone vandalized my car.”

  Unperturbed, Lieutenant Detective Solomon Molina looked up from his note taking. He was good looking, Lydia noted. Dark rather than fair. Nice, even features set off by a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. She judged him to be a few years younger than her fifty-eight years.

  “We have reason to believe your car was involved in a serious accident involving a pedestrian.”

  Ice water coursed through her veins, momentarily rendering her incapable of speech. “Oh, how awful!” Images flitted across her mind, turning her horror to fury.

  “I think I know who’s responsible, Lieutenant, though I’m shocked that even he would harm an innocent person to get back at me.” She swallowed. “Was the pedestrian badly injured? Will he or she be all right?”

  “Who do you think took your car, Mrs. Krause?”

  “Warren Mannes, a convicted embezzler. Last night in the clubhouse, my neighbor introduced him as Marshall Weill. When Peg said he was the homeowners’ association’s financial advisor, I told him I knew who he was and expressed my outrage that he was handling other people’s money.”

  “Did this exchange take place in public?”

  Lydia paused, recalling the shocked expressions on residents’ faces, the awful exchange with Mannes’s wife before she fled to the ladies’ room. “Oh, it was very public.”

  “Were you angry?”

  “Furious. The thief stole the life savings of several of his clients. I didn’t want a repeat at Twin Lakes.”

  Molina’s green eyes, bright as emeralds, studied her. “Were you or someone close to you one of his victims?”

  Lydia grimaced. “My youngest sister, Allison.”

  He nodded, his face softening with compassion. “You have my sympathy.”

  Lydia looked away so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. Taking Allison’s money had been the least of it. The unscrupulous predator had seduced her sister then threw her away like a used condom. Depressed by Mannes’s rejection, the last in a series of failed relationships, Allison had swallowed all the pills in her medicine cabinet and ended her life at thirty-eight.

  “How do you think Mannes or Weill managed to drive your car?”

  Lydia dreaded having to explain her stupidity. “I left it in the driveway, the key magnetically affixed to the underside of the fender. I thought it was safe, here in a gated community. Anyway, I intended to park it in the garage when I came home last night. Only I didn’t come home until just now.”

  “Where were you, Mrs. Krause?”

  “I spent the night at a neighbor’s house because she’d taken ill.” Lydia described her encounter with Barbara in the ladies’ room.

  “How very kind of you, Mrs. Krause.”

  Was he commiserating with her? Mocking her? Lydia couldn’t be certain what he intended as his remarkable green eyes fixed on her like tines piercing her soul. The effect was sobering but somewhat exciting, as these days men gave her as much attention as a piece of furniture.

  “Especially since Mrs. Taylor can’t be a close friend of yours,” he continued in a reasonable tone. “You moved to Twin Lakes less than a month ago.”

  “What does that matter? Last night she needed looking after.” Lydia glared at Molina. “It was the decent, humane thing to do.”

  He ignored her implication that he was a heartless bastard and asked, “Did you get much sleep last night?”

  “Very little.”

  “What time did you leave Mrs. Taylor’s house this morning?”

  Lydia twirled a strand of curly hair as she thought. “Almost ten-thirty.”

  “You arrived home when?”

  “About seven minutes later. I saw the damage to my car and called nine-one-one.”

  “Did you meet anyone as you walked home from Mrs. Taylor’s house?”

  “I don’t think so. Oh, yes—I passed Sally Marcus speed walking just before I turned down Nissaquage Boulevard. I know she saw me, though—”

  “Though?” he prompted.

  Lydia felt her face grow warm. “She looked the other way.”

  He jotted down what Lydia had told him then asked, “See anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “And why would Mrs. Marcus choose not to greet you?”

  “She’s a board member. I assume she resents me for outing someone she’s worked with on Twin Lakes business.”

  He wrote in his notepad, then said, “We’ll see what Mrs. Marcus has to say.”

  Lydia stiffened. Lieutenant Molina was treating her as a suspect! She gave a nervous laugh. “Why? Do you think I’m lying? That I ran down a pedestrian last night, left the car in the driveway, then called the police?”

  He shrugged. “Why would you do that, Mrs. Krause?”

  Lydia had had enough. “Who is this person I’m supposed to have hit? Is he young? Old? A man or a woman?”

  When he didn’t answer, she glowered at him. “I have every right to know since my car was involved.”

  His cell phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Lydia watched him stride through the dining room to hunch over his cell phone in the far corner of the living room—a trim, well-built man just under six feet, who carried himself as though he hadn’t a fear in the world. He stood beside Family, her favorite of Izzy’s large sculptures. One of his less abstract works, it represented four figures meant to be their family when the girls were young. The detective spoke for some time, too softly for her to make out the words. Then it was his turn to answer—two yeses and a no.

  He ended the call, glanced at his notebook and punched in a phone number. Was he calling Sally Marcus, whom she barely knew? Barbara? Lydia’s heart thundered as she wondered just exactly when her Lexus had been taken and used to run someone down. Did this happen in Twin Lakes? Was the person dead? Lydia prayed the victim wasn’t a child. Her breath came in gasps as her anxiety grew intolerable. She had to know what was happening.

  She was about to interrupt Lieutenant Molina’s conversation and insist he answer her questions, when he returned to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you, Mrs. Krause. You must have things to do. I’m afraid your car will be impounded for several days while the crime lab people run various tests. Whoever drove it struck a pedestrian. We’ve yet to determine if the death was an accident or murder.”

  Death! Murder! Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. “How awful! Who was killed, Lieutenant?”

  “Claire Weill. According to her husband, she was taking her usual run right outside the Twin Lakes community. A young fellow on his way to work spotted the body on the side of the road. He called from his cell phone. An ambulance and a police car went out immediately. The body was still warm, so death must have occurred shortly before he arrived.”

  Lydia sank back against the kitchen chair. She had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “Claire Weill, Marshall Weill’s wife,” she said wondrously, as if speaking the woman’s name would help her comprehend the fact of her death. “When did he find her?”

  “Eight-twelve this morning.”

  “Oh.” The sound came out as a moan.

  “Did you know Mrs. Weill?”

  Lydia shook her head. Though she made every effort to speak calmly, her voice came out an octave higher than normal.

  “No. She came over to our table while I was talking to her husband.” The blood rushed to Lydia’s cheeks as she recalled the short, pudgy woman in elegant clothes, her stiffly sprayed hairdo bobbing like a helmet during their heated exchange. “Claire Weill lashed out at me, and I’m afraid I lost my cool.”

  “What exactly did you say to her?”

  “She accused me of bursting her bubble of happiness, and I told her to put the blame where it belonged, on her husband. That fueled her anger even more. She said I’d ruined their lives and should do them a favor and die.”

  “And?” Molina prodded.


  Lydia frowned. “I reminded her that her husband had ruined the lives of many people by stealing their life savings and—I can’t remember what else I said.”

  Detective Molina turned pages and read, “And someone should put an end to you, you stupid cow.”

  So he’d known all along! Lydia’s ears burned with shame. “It was stupid of me, but I had to expose Mannes before he duped more people out of their money. Then hearing his wife blame me for telling people what kind of man they’d asked to be their financial advisor—it made me see red.”

  Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that!

  “How is it that you knew about Mr. Weill’s criminal past and no one else at Twin Lakes did?”

  “He was tried in Chicago six years ago. My sister Samantha is an assistant DA there. I watched part of the trial.” For Allison’s sake.

  “Seeing him here on Long Island must have been a shock.”

  “Oh, it was.” She added wryly, “I’m usually the calmer-downer, Detective Molina. The voice of reason. I regret having lost my cool last night. I should have gone about it differently.”

  “How so?” he asked, curious.

  “I should have informed the Board of Directors, had them inform the community instead of confronting Warren Mannes at a Twin Lakes event.”

  Molina gave her a half smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. You probably would have ended up with the same results.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Regardless of how you presented the facts, some residents would have been outraged on Weill’s behalf. His wife might still have attacked you verbally.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I felt morally obliged to expose that man. I never considered the fallout that would follow.”

  Detective Molina appeared deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “It’s quite a puzzle we have: two women, both Twin Lakes residents, argue in public. The following morning, one woman’s dead, struck down by the vehicle of the other.”

  Lydia’s hand flew to her pounding heart. “I didn’t kill Claire Weill! Why should I? Besides, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to use my own car!”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “That might be considered a stroke of genius.”

  Lydia gasped. This detective managed to twist whatever she said into a damning statement.

  “And you left the ignition key magnetized to the car,” he went on casually as if they were discussing the weather, “accessible to anyone.”

  “Anyone” included her. Lydia felt the blood rush to her ears.

  “Mrs. Taylor vouches for you,” Molina murmured. “She claims she was up most of the night and that you tended to her each time she awoke.” He allowed a small smile to brighten his face. “She places you somewhere between Mother Teresa and an angel.”

  Lydia brushed the compliment aside. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Now his eyes appeared darker—light brown with flecks of green. Of course! They were hazel, not green, and changed color according to his mood.

  “Despite her good intentions, Mrs. Taylor can’t account for your actions when she finally slept—from about five-thirty until a few minutes before nine.”

  So, she was a suspect.

  “What about the guard on duty at the gatehouse? Didn’t he notice my car coming or going?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What do you do next?”

  Her question caught him by surprise, but he covered it quickly. “We continue to question everyone who knew Claire Weill.”

  “I suppose you’ll focus on people who live at Twin Lakes, since they had easy access to my car.”

  “Who knew of your habit of leaving your key under the fender?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I found the magnetic key chain about ten days ago when I was unpacking. Anyone might have noticed where I put the key whenever I parked near the clubhouse. Or no one.”

  Lydia bit her lip, wishing the last three words hadn’t slipped out. “Never offer information,” Samantha always said. Not that Lydia had ever needed such advice before today.

  Molina shrugged as though her last comment were of no importance. “It’s a common if unwise practice to leave a car key where you did. It’s like leaving a house key under a planter. Actually, some people can start up a car without a key, though that’s getting more and more difficult, with all the safety features they’re installing.”

  Was he trying to make her feel better or was he pretending? Did he want to put her at her ease so she’d confess?

  Reggie sauntered into the kitchen. He rubbed his tawny body against her legs, purring loudly.

  “Excuse me. I have to feed my cat.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” Lieutenant Molina bent down to stroke Reggie’s back. To Lydia’s immense surprise, the cat rolled over and waited to have his belly rubbed.

  “He doesn’t do that with anyone but me!” she exclaimed, ashamed of the note of injured pride that had crept into her voice.

  “I have three of my own,” Molina said.

  She’d no sooner set a plate of treats down on Reggie’s placemat when her phone rang.

  “Lyddie, it’s me,” her sister said. “What’s up? I’m due in court in five minutes but your message frightened me. You sounded absolutely frantic.”

  Lydia eyed Molina as he headed for the living room corner he favored, already deep in conversation on his cell phone. She drew in a breath and began. “Warren Mannes is living here at Twin Lakes. He’s changed his name, and he’s the HOA’s financial advisor.”

  “In which case he’s breaking the law and a condition of his early release. He lost his license to advise and handle another party’s finances for ten years and a day. He can reapply, of course, but not for four years.”

  “Sammy, listen to me!”

  Detective Molina turned from his own conversation and eyed her curiously. Lydia lowered her voice and explained why Detective Molina was questioning her.

  “Oh, Lydia, how awful! Don’t say another word to this cop. I have a friend in Manhattan—a brilliant criminal lawyer. Take his number and call him ASAP.”

  “Okay.” She reached for a pen and pad. “Shoot.” Too late, she realized that wasn’t the best expression to use, given the circumstances, but Molina was talking too intently into his cell phone to look her way.

  Samantha rattled off the name and number. “Jack’s a good friend from law school. Call him any time. They must be a bunch of fools if they think you could do anything like vehicular homicide.”

  Lydia sighed. “I can’t help thinking she’s dead because I spilled the beans about her husband’s past. Mannes is handling some residents’ portfolios, too. Could be he’s been skimming money, and the victim decided to pay him back.”

  “I doubt anyone would go after his wife for his thievery. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why did the murderer use my car? Even if he noticed I kept the key under the fender, he took a chance being seen.”

  “Oh, Lyddie, you’re not doing that again!”

  “Believe me, I’m tossing that magnet key chain in the garbage—as soon as the police finish checking it for fingerprints.”

  “But it explains why he took your car.”

  “Which makes me feel guilty.” Lydia sighed deeply. “Any way you look at it, I helped cause that poor woman’s demise.”

  “You didn’t, Lyddie! Get a hold of yourself!”

  “The only way I can get a hold of myself is to find out who killed her.” Lydia gave a snort of disgust. “Suspect Number One is always the husband. In this case, for good reason. Mannes is a thief and a runaround.”

  “Leave the investigating to the police. Promise me you won’t get involved!”

  “I’ll just talk to residents. Learn what I can about the Mannes/Weills.” She glanced at Detective Molina still on his cell phone. “I bet I can find out more than some male cop trying to sniff out secrets.”

  “Don’t, Lyddie! Asking questions
is dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I love you more than anyone in the world!”

  “Nothing will happen to me,” Lydia said firmly, touched by her sister’s unusual burst of emotion.

  “Keep your doors locked and don’t go anywhere alone in the dark.”

  “I’ll be careful. Speak to you soon.”

  She hung up as Detective Molina returned to the kitchen. Talking to Samantha had bolstered her confidence and enabled her to ask what she’d been dreading to put into words.

  “Are you considering me a suspect, Lieutenant Molina?”

  Molina raised his eyebrows. “How can I answer that, Mrs. Krause? We’ve yet to determine whether this was a hit-and-run or an intentional murder. If it was, in fact, your car that struck Mrs. Weill.” He shrugged. “But if this case turns out to be a homicide, you had a motive of sorts, the weapon, and an alibi a good prosecuting attorney could rip to shreds.”

  “Well!” Lydia exclaimed, her confidence evaporating like raindrops on a hot summer day.

  He nodded to her. “That’s it for now. Thank you for your cooperation. I’d like to know you’ll be available the next few days. In case I have more questions.”

  “I’ll be here. You took my car, remember?” she said, trying for levity.

  “So we did.” He turned to leave.

  “By the way, that was my sister on the phone. She told me Mannes lost his investment advisor’s license when he went to prison. He’s violating that with impunity.”

  “It sure sounds that way.” Molina pulled out his notepad and wrote a few lines. When he was finished, he said, “Good-bye, Mrs. Krause. We’ll be in touch.”

  Fatigue washed over her like a giant wave. Lydia went into her bedroom. She longed to crawl under the covers and sleep the day away. But she couldn’t. She had to make sense of what was happening. Claire Weill had been killed, accidentally or on purpose. And if it proved to be murder, Detective Molina had made it clear that she was a suspect.

  Who killed Claire Weill? As an executive, Lydia had become adept at finding solutions to complex problems. Solving a murder couldn’t be that different, could it? What she needed were facts, information. Who hated Claire? Who hated her husband? Who wanted Claire dead? Did Warren/Marshall do it?