A Clean Kill by Leslie Glass Page A

struck her the most was that Wayne Wilson had invited Mike and her to his party a few months ago. Now he acted as if they were friends and expected them to overlook the fact that he was a suspect. She had to nip this little hubris in the bud. Murder suspects were not friends. She lifted her chin to give Minnow the heads-up. I'll take care of this. He nodded slowly and tipped back on his heel to give her the lead.
"Mr. Wilson. Would you step into the library with me for a moment?" She hadn't seen the whole house yet but figured he had a library. An office, something.
"Of course. Follow me."
Wayne went up the stairs without a second glance. She could see in his back that being in control meant a great deal to him. Outside in the gym, his wife's body was" being photographed, videotaped, examined by someone from the medical examiner's office, and slowly prepared for removal. He had given up trying to see her in situ. He was moving on. At the top of the marble stairs he entered an octagonal room filled with books. The sun streamed in from a leaded bay window that completed three of the eight sides. It was noon.
April felt the power of the room with its unusual bright orange Oriental carpet, unusual windows, leather desk, armchairs, and computer hooked up to a large-screen "TV. Wayne sat down in his desk chair and leaned forward.
"She was only thirty-four, a beautiful, wonderful woman. A terrific mother to our boys," he said heatedly, riding up the roller coaster of emotion again.
April nodded. Of course she was. The dead were either saints or devils. She was beginning to think Maddy had to have been a saint to put up with him. Or maybe a devil for wanting him in the first place, but it wasn't her call and it didn't matter one. way or the other.
"This is why I asked you up here. I want to get this over and done with right now. Get everything on the table," Wayne said, ignoring the fact that it had been April's idea to find a private place to talk.
April wished she had a tape recorder with her. She had a feeling this was going to be a good one. Wayne's expression was open. She knew his type. He was a liar who deeply believed he told only the truth.
"I'm a man. Once in a while I fucked other women. It didn't mean anything. Maddy was my wife, the woman I loved." He looked to her for the reactions he was used to getting: understanding, applause for the performance, pity. Whatever.
"I'll need their names," April replied stoutly. Out came the notebook. Wayne stared at her as she wrote player.
"What?" He sounded startled.
April brushed her fingers against the buttery leather on the back of the closest club chair. "The names of your girlfriends," she prompted.
"Wait a minute. They're not girlfriends. You're not listening to anything I said. I thought we were friends. Don't go cop on me," he said in an injured tone.
"Mr. Wilson, just give me a moment to tell you how this works. And then we'll have everything squared away."
"Just a minute—"
"I know this is very painful for you, but friendship doesn't enter into police work,' ' April said firmly, cutting him off. "It's the same for everybody. What's going to happen here is this. You better look for another place to stay for a few days. We'11 be going through this house, looking at your wife's things, her notes, her telephone calls, her appointment list. Her friends, her employees—all the people who knew and worked with her will be interviewed. In addition, we'll put everyone in this household under a microscope. It's not optional."
He shook his head. "But this isn't necessary. I can tell you everything you need to know."
"Well, maybe, but maybe not. Did she know everything about you? Did she know about your girlfriends?"
His face hardened. "That's not the point."
"We're going to catch her killer. Trust me on that. You can help us by letting us do our job."
"Well, that's exactly what I'm trying to do," he said benignly. "Help you do your job."
"Good, then we'll get along fine. By the way,