A Winter Kill by Vicki Delany Read Free Book Online Page B

mystery. He would have got mad and bashed her brains in.”
    He swung his chair back around to face me. “That’s true, Nicole. You think this boy Jason killed her. Why?”
    â€œShe was pregnant. He got her pregnant.”
    â€œHappens all the time. No reason to kill her.”
    â€œI know that. See, sir, I don’t think Jason killed her. I think he was in love with her. I saw his face at the cemetery. He gave her that ring, the one with the blue stone. Sure, it was just a cheap thing, but it meant something to both of them. Someone else killed her. Because Jason was in love with her.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œI don’t know. I thought I’d mention it, that’s all.”
    He gave me a tight smile. “Thank you, Nicole. You’ve given me something to think about.” He looked at his watch. “It’s not too late to make a call.” He got to his feet. “You can drive me.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œI want to talk to Jason Fitzpatrick again. Sounds like he lied when he said he hardly knew Maureen. I wonder what else he might have lied about.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    T he Fitzpatricks lived on Highway 33, heading east toward the Glenora Ferry. The long winding driveway passed big oak trees. The lawn was a wide expanse of untouched snow running down to the lake. The small harbor was dark, but lights twinkled from houses on the opposite shore. It was still snowing as I pulled up in front of a large modern house. All wood and glass.
    Plenty of money.
    I rang the doorbell. It was opened by an attractive woman in her forties. It was after nine o’clock, but she was dressed in a tailored suit, stockings and pumps, and nice jewelry. Her makeup was perfect. Her blond hair was expensively cut and colored.
    â€œMay I help you?” she asked. Her words were slightly slurred. I suspected she’d been drinking.
    Sergeant Malan introduced us and showed his id. He said he wanted to speak to her son, Jason.
    She blinked in confusion but opened the door. The house smelled of furniture polish and the woman’s expensive perfume. A man came out of a side door. He carried a crystal glass half full of a smoky brown liquid and cubes of fresh ice.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” Brian Fitzpatrick asked.
    â€œI’m Sergeant Paul Malan. I’m investigating the death of Maureen Grey and would like to speak to your son, Jason. I believe Jason knew the dead girl.”
    Fitzpatrick’s eyes flicked across my face. He didn’t recognize me from the funeral this afternoon. “Jason went to the same school as Maureen. So did a lot of kids. Are you planning on paying a nighttime visit to them all?”
    â€œIs Jason at home?” Malan asked.
    â€œYes, I’m here.” The boy stood at the top of the basement stairs. He was dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a PEDH T-shirt. A towel was tossed over his broad shoulders. His hair was wet and his shirt was damp. He was breathing heavily. He’d been working out.
    His eyes widened when he saw me, but he said nothing.
    â€œI want to talk to you about Maureen Grey,” Malan asked. “May we have a seat?”
    â€œCome in, please,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said.
    â€œNo,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said at the same time. “Go back to your program, Leslie,” he told his wife. “I’ll handle this.”
    The woman nodded and slipped down the hall. A door opened and I could hear the sound of a tv. Then the door shut and all was quiet.
    Malan turned to the boy. “Jason, when I interviewed you at school you said you didn’t know Maureen Grey other than as someone you saw around.”
    â€œYeah.” The boy glanced at his father out of the corner of his eyes.
    â€œIs that true?” Malan asked.
    â€œIf my son said it, then it’s true,” Fitzpatrick said. “Now, it’s getting late and Jason has school tomorrow. He’s in grade twelve, and we have hopes of a