Murray paused to drink a glass of water. When he spoke again, his voice was dry, sunk at the back of his throat.
“V. I. Warshawski was a dogged and intrepid investigator. She followed Miles Wuchnik’s trail and she discovered Xavier Jurgens. When V.I. started talking to Xavier, Xavier’s girlfriend panicked and went to see the killer’s lawyer. This lawyer was the man they’d worked with, the man who’d actually given Xavier the cash for the Camaro in exchange for killing Miles Wuchnik.
“When the lawyer reported the girlfriend’s panicked visit to the killer, our man was cool. He laughed—he was riding on the big roller coaster, the one where you play God and decide who shall live and who shall die.
“The killer told Xavier he needed some antipsychotic drugs from the Ruhetal pharmacy, and Xavier, in exchange for a bonus, agreed to meet him near the cemetery with the drugs.
“One of the Carmilla club girls had dropped her cell phone the night of Wuchnik’s murder. The killer had picked it up that night, but it didn’t have any way for him to identify its owner. However, he was alarmed when he saw that whoever owned it, she’d photographed him. He decided on a bold throw of the dice: he would get rid of Salanter’s granddaughter. She was the girls’ ringleader; if the others realized Arielle Salanter had been murdered, well, they’d be very circumspect about anything they said or published about their night in the cemetery. So he lured Arielle to the cemetery with a bogus text message, got Xavier there, filled them both with antipsychotic drugs, and left them to die in the shiny new Camaro Xavier had bought.”
The monitors again showed police evidence photos, this time of Xavier Jurgens in his Camaro.
“But all this time, the killer worried about Tommy Glover’s photo. Remember that? The evidence that Miles Wuchnik had taken from Tommy’s room? The killer ransacked Wuchnik’s home and car, he stole Leydon Ashford’s computer and went through her papers, but the photo was nowhere to be found. After another break—who found the picture? And what did it prove?”
“What a crock of shit,” Lawlor snapped. “And why are you in my studio space? A retard has a photo on his wall and this gets a lawyer and a private eye bent out of shape? Come on, Ryerson, you can do better.”
“I’ll try, Wade, I’ll try.” Murray waved from the set.
After the commercials, Murray brought out Iva Wuchnik. She was belligerent; she thought V. I. Warshawski had behaved like a common thug, coming into her home, taking apart her precious photo of her dead brother.
“If she got killed, I’m not surprised. She probably got someone else really steamed, someone big enough to teach her a lesson.”
“Yes, it looks as though she did get someone else thoroughly steamed. But when she took your brother’s photo apart, what did she find, Ms. Wuchnik?”
“A newspaper, an old newspaper that my brother had sent me for safekeeping. He said it was dynamite and that it would make our fortunes, but he died before he could explain why. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Warshawski woman was behind—”
“Take a look at the monitor to your right, Ms. Wuchnik,” Murray interrupted. “Does that look like the same clipping your brother gave you to keep safe?”
Everyone craned their necks to look at Tommy Glover, grinning in the midst of the Tampier Lake volunteer fire department, with his arms around Good Dog Trey.
Iva Wuchnik grudgingly allowed as how it was the same photo, as far as she could recollect.
“And what did the article say?” Murray said.
“I don’t know—it was something about a fire they put out. What difference does it make?”
Murray gave an odd smile. “We have an expert here in the studio who can explain that.”
Everyone watched a white-haired man limp onto the set, heard him introduce himself as Eddie Chez, heard him explain that the picture was taken of his volunteer firefighters after they’d put out a garage fire in Tampier Lake Township on July 6, twenty-seven years ago.
“And what’s so special about that fire? Or really about that date? For that, we’ll turn to our final guest.”
A woman emerged from the wings. She moved slowly, as if walking were not easy for her. A large hat shrouded her eyes and nose, but when she spoke, her voice was strong and clear.
“The photo shows that Tommy Glover was with Mr. Chez, putting out a fire, at the same time that Wade Lawlor was strangling his sister, Magda.”
The murmur in the audience grew to an uproar: “What did she say?” “The fireman killed Wade’s sister?” “Wade killed his sister? No way!” “Gosh, whoever that is, I hope she’s got a lot of money, he’s going to sue, for sure.”
Murray let the noise build for a moment or two, then brought the room back to silence. “How do you know that, ma’am?”