A Match Made for Murder Iona Whishaw (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📖

The weapon we are looking for is, based on the bullets recovered, possibly an automatic.”

“Get it sewn up.” Galloway turned back into his office.

“Sir,” said Martinez to his back. He watched the door close and contemplated presenting an angry Galloway with the news he suspected Griffin had a plant in the station. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t keep it to himself. They’d all need to be on guard from now on.

“What?” Galloway shouted at Martinez’s knock.

Martinez pushed open the door and stood almost at attention in the doorway. “Sir, I think there’s something I should talk to you about.”

“Well, get in here and talk. I don’t have all day. And shut the bloody door.”

Wondering why Galloway was so perpetually in a temper, Martinez began. “It’s about my notes, sir. I’ve looked everywhere, and I am convinced I have not mislaid them. The fact is that without those notes, Griffin will get away with all the things we know he’s doing. I’m wondering, sir, if there is someone here, on the inside, who has taken them, someone in the pocket of Griffin himself.” There. He’d said it.

Galloway leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him on the desk. “That’s a serious accusation, Martinez. And pretty convenient for you. Do you have someone in mind?”

“No, sir. But if there is someone on the take, it would mean serious consequences for the department. We already know Griffin has moved money through his restaurant and out through other businesses. If we don’t get a conviction, it means a criminal is effectively in charge of this town.”

Galloway stood up with a swiftness that unnerved Martinez. He put his hands in his pockets and turned away, looking out the window. He swung around, marched to the door, and looked through his window at the floor of the station. “You’re telling me you think someone out there is a quisling.”

“It’s the only explanation, sir.”

“And I suppose you have someone in mind?”

Martinez hesitated. If he said someone’s name, he would be breaking the biggest rule of policing: don’t betray your fellow cops. But he was a sergeant now. And if there was someone on the take, he couldn’t keep his suspicions from his boss. He owed that much to Galloway. “I wonder about someone on the night shift, sir. There would be opportunity to go through desks and files.”

Galloway looked out his window onto the shop floor. “Bevan? Cooper? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“I know nothing against either of them, sir. But I am certain now it is the only explanation for the disappearance of my notes.”

“You mean, besides your incompetence? Well, we’d better keep an eye on them, hadn’t we?”

“I told you already. I had no idea my husband had bought a gun. He had taken over his father’s company. Perhaps he thought he needed protection.” Ivy Renwick was exhausted because she had not slept well, and her pale skin showed the deep shadows under her eyes. “How long are you intending to keep me here?”

“You will be arraigned this morning, ma’am. As will Edward Renwick.”

She turned to her lawyer. “They have nothing on me. I didn’t even know about that gun. I want you to get me out of here. I have enough for whatever bail they demand.”

Davis, who had little enthusiasm for the project of defending any Renwick, asked, “And Edward Renwick?”

Ivy flinched and looked irritated. “I have nothing to do with him. He can rot here for all I care.”

Martinez made a mental note of this exchange. A new idea had presented itself. He was quite certain that Ivy Renwick and her brother-in-law had been lovers, but her absolute dismissal of him since they had been arrested made him wonder if she, in fact, was innocent, and suspected Edward of having shot her husband. Perhaps a dead husband was not useful to her. It certainly could be to the brother-in-law if the board of their company was inclined to push for a man to be in charge of the company rather than the dead man’s wife. His brief acquaintance with the two of them suggested Ivy was far more competent than her hard-drinking brother-in-law, but in his experience, men generally didn’t want to put women in charge of things.

Galloway sat down and leaned back in his chair. The overhead fan turned lazily above him, moving the warm air in an unsatisfactory manner. Muttering an oath, he reached for his cigarettes and lit up. He watched the smoke whirling slowly, giving shape to the movement of air. His dissatisfaction at the moment was not centred on Martinez and the Griffin problem. It was with his wife. He hadn’t been wrong, he knew that much. He’d been very clear with her about babies. He couldn’t bear the thought of a squalling baby. He’d given her everything she could want, and why not? He loved her. So why had she done it? She knew he didn’t want her figure ruined. He’d have to go back to the hospital and make it all okay. Say he was sorry and, of course, forgive her. The nurse had told him she’d lost the baby. She’d be upset about that. He’d have to make that right. He would take her on a nice vacation. She’d like that. She could buy a new wardrobe for it.

He stubbed out his cigarette and looked at his watch. He’d go to the hospital later in the evening. Or tomorrow. Give her a little more time. He didn’t look forward to it. He hated hospitals. In the meantime, he had much bigger problems. With this murder at the Santa Cruz Inn and Martinez stumbling about, he’d begun to suspect the whole business of Griffin might be harder to deal with than he thought.

Chicago, 1928

Megan O’Shay stood in front of the long mirror in the rooming house where she lived with her parents and her three brothers. She was wearing a long silk slip, and