Текст книги "She's Not There"

Автор книги: Marla Madison

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

37             

At 7:00 a.m. Saturday, Eddie Wysecki woke with a start when his doorbell buzzed. The half-eaten bowl of greasy popcorn on his lap overturned, landing bottom-up on the floor. He’d fallen asleep in the recliner the night before and as he struggled to get out of the overstuffed chair without stepping on the mess, nausea swept through him. Not sure if his stomach objected to the buttered popcorn or all the mugs of beer he’d ingested the night before, he swore as he struggled to get to the door.

Through the peephole he saw two men wearing clothing ominously formal for a Saturday morning. Fuck, cops. The contents of his intestines rolled. The dog lady must have given the cops his license number. But, shit! What could she have said to make them show up at his door at this ungodly hour? Parking on the side of the road wasn’t a crime, but he’d have to give a reason for being there. What could he say?

The doorbell rang again, followed by two sharp knocks. Eddie opened the door.

“Edward Wysecki?”

“Yeah.” They flashed their badges and IDs. Detectives. Everything in his intestines liquefied.

“We need to ask you a few questions. Do you mind if we come in?”

When he nodded, the men barged inside, introducing themselves as Waukesha detectives Greg Zabel and Max Feinstein. Christ, Jewish cops now? Bad enough they’d started letting women into their ranks. His digestive system in turmoil, Eddie clenched and asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen this morning?”

The younger guy, Zabel, said, “Someone reported seeing your car last night on Larkspur Drive outside of Waukesha.”

His insides churned; his ass was about to spew. He had to get to the john.

The dick went on, “Sorry. I have that wrong. They saw your car parked there on Thursday night, and last night, at about the same time both nights.”

Eddie interrupted before the guy could say another word. Without waiting for their approval, he excused himself and bolted down the hall to the bathroom. In his urgency, he didn’t notice Max Feinstein quietly following him to make sure the bathroom had no windows.

As Eddie relieved his wringing intestines, he had a few minutes to think about what to say to the cops. The old bat couldn’t prove he was there. He’d just have to deny it, wouldn’t he? But no, she’d given them his license number, so he was seriously fucked. He had to find a way to buy himself time to get out of town. It wouldn’t take long; he had money stashed and a fake ID that had cost him three weeks’ profits.

He couldn’t deny he’d been there, but what could he tell them to get them to leave and give him enough time to bolt?

It came to him. The Peacock woman. She’d be his cover.

After they left Eddie’s apartment, the detectives didn’t speak until they got to the car. Greg Zabel had sensed Wysecki’s nervousness. When he’d gotten a whiff of the man’s disgusting breath and seen the popcorn on the floor, it hadn’t taken any great detection skill to see the guy had slept in the stained recliner. The scene didn’t seem to fit a guy who’d committed murder the night before, but he’d seen stranger things in his ten years as a homicide detective. The guy had definitely been edgy.

Greg started the car. “That guy looked green.”

“Shit, did you get a whiff of his breath?” Max settled his wide girth into the stiff seat of the unmarked. “We have to talk to this Peacock chick. Name like that, must be a spade.”

After three years partnering with the man, Greg had grown immune to his partner’s racial slurs. “If she backs up his story, it doesn’t necessarily get him off hook.”

38             

When Maggie’s phone rang Saturday morning, she rolled over. But she’d awakened enough to remember the events of the night before. She and David had words on the way home last night—they weren’t in agreement about withholding the group’s activities from the Waukesha detectives. David, willing to stick his neck out because of the abuse in his family history, insisted on giving the group their twenty-four hours, unlike Maggie, who regretted giving them any time. Their relationship, still in its early stages, had yet to be tested by a difference of opinion on the job, at least one causing a rift. They hadn’t parted on the friendliest of terms.

When the phone stopped ringing, then immediately repeated its wailing, Maggie picked up. It was her boss, and she could tell by his raised voice, he wasn’t happy.

“I hear you barged in on that murder in Waukesha last night.”

Already a reprimand? “I can explain.”

“Forget it! You know a Teal Peacock? One of those ‘guests’ staying at the Schindler place?”

“Not well, but yes, I know her.”

“Thought you might,” he said sarcastically. “Schindler’s neighbor gave Waukesha the license number of a car with a guy in it that happened to be parked across from the place about the same time this woman bought it. Turns out he’s some barkeep from West Allis, Eddie Wysecki. He told them the reason he’d been there is he suspects his girlfriend—this Peacock woman—of cheating on him and was keeping tabs on her. Waukesha hasn’t been able to get in touch with her to confirm his story. Anyway, I know this is your day off, but they’re shorthanded, so I’m sending you over there for the day. After you get in touch with Peacock.”

“You want me to work Waukesha?” It was unheard of—they never crossed boundaries. She decided not to question it further since at least he wasn’t reaming her out about being at Schindler’s the night before.

“They’re in a bind because two detectives were in an accident yesterday and are still in the hospital. Find this Peacock broad and get over there.”

Maggie told him she would report to Waukesha right away and would call David too if he wanted. He wanted.

She knew exactly why TJ’s cell phone was off but had no clue about a boyfriend from West Allis. Lisa had told her TJ was seeing an MPD detective, but it didn’t mean there weren’t a few wannabes hanging around.

She called David and told him she’d pick him up on her way to Waukesha, then tried Jeff’s phone as she pulled on her clothes. “Jeff, is TJ with you? Her phone’s not on.”

“Yeah, she’s right here. You caught us between meetings; we’re at Dunkin Donuts having coffee.” She heard him say, “Maggie,” followed by the sound of the phone changing hands.

TJ asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Waukesha got a report of a suspicious car with a man sitting it, parked across the street from Eric’s last night and Thursday night. The guy’s name is Eddie Wysecki; he owns a bar in West Allis. They talked to him this morning and he claims he’s been seeing you. Says he’s worried you’re cheating on him, so he was trying to find out what you’re up to. Do you know him?”

“Shit, no, I never heard of the asshole. Never been in a bar in West Allis—that town is a shithole.”

“That’s what I thought—about Wysecki, not West Allis. Damn. He had to know his story wouldn’t check out, so he must have wanted to stall us. He’s probably in the wind by now.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake, why did they leave the guy alone?”

“I guess because they really didn’t have anything on him. And remember what day this is.”

“Well, it ain’t my fuckin’ birthday!” TJ’s language grew increasingly colorful as her anger escalated.

Maggie was in too big a hurry to pacify TJ. “David and I are assigned to the investigation. For today, anyway, because it’s the first weekend of deer hunting season. You must remember what it was like when you were a cop.”

“Yeah right. Ten long days of cluster-fuck.”

TJ closed the phone and handed it back to Jeff. He’d been admiring the way her sweater hugged her body—and how her amazing blue eyes flashed when she was angry. She’d been so good to him last night. It was hard to meld the woman who’d held him until he fell asleep with this person next to him slinging smut. “You eat with that mouth?”

She gave him a dark look and ordered two more donuts.

39             

 

Just beginning to break a sweat, he fought to keep from dropping the 125 pound weight he was pressing when he heard the announcement on the morning news. The woman in the woods—she wasn’t Lisa Rayburn. He’d fucked up. Who the hell was Danielle Ventura and what was she doing in the woods?

He hated it when he failed to accomplish something he’d set out to do, but he dared not act again so soon. Schindler’s house would be as secure as Fort Knox now. It would be impossible to get to Rayburn. If he was lucky, she and her band of followers would figure out she was the real target and back the hell off.

The scene in the woods had stoked an urge to resume his hobby. He needed an outlet, but it couldn’t be Rayburn.

He would have to choose carefully.

40             

Maggie and David met Zabel and Feinstein at the Waukesha station, where the four of them went over the details of the case while they drank charred, police-station coffee out of Styrofoam cups and waited for the search warrants on Wysecki’s bar and apartment. Wysecki was still nowhere to be found.

When the warrants came in, the other officers asked which one they wanted. Surprised at being given a choice, Maggie and David ended up at Wysecki’s bar.

The bar was in a blue-collar neighborhood of aging, two-family duplexes and taverns on nearly every corner. Two West Allis uniforms stood sentry, and informed them that Wysecki hadn’t shown. His bartender pulled up a moment later. A tall, stoop-shouldered man in his seventies, he hurried to the door and held it open for them.

The place smelled overwhelmingly of stale beer, but the floors and the surface of the bar were spotless. An ancient manual cash register stood open and empty. The bartender explained that he’d taken the receipts the night before and dropped them in the night deposit after closing.

In the back of the building was a tiny, unisex bathroom across a short hallway from a combination office and storeroom. A stained, wooden desk piled high with papers, receipts, advertisements, and an overflowing ashtray took up most of the room. The rest was piled to the ceiling with cases of beer, soda, and kegs. On the wall behind the desk hung the ubiquitous girlie-calendar.

A door at the back of the room, nearly hidden by a stack of old signs, opened to a cellar reeking of mildew. David called the bartender in and asked what they used the cellar for.

“Not much. The vendors don’t like hauling deliveries downstairs for a small account. Just a buncha’ old junk down there.”

After moving the signs aside, Maggie and David made their way down sagging wooden steps lit by a single light bulb suspended from the cobwebbed ceiling.

Maggie wrinkled her nose at the musty odor. “Probably hasn’t been used in years. Should I go to the car for flashlights?”

“No, I think there’s another light. Let’s see if it works.” David turned on a hanging bulb in the middle of the room. The bartender had been right—the cellar was filled with junk. Mostly old bar stools, their stuffing oozing out like hernias. And enough beer signs to be a collector’s dream except for the rust and mold marring their surfaces.

Maggie hated old basements; they tended to be ripe with disgusting things like spiders and rats. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No, we’d better go through everything. I’ll finish here if you’d rather wait upstairs.” He poked through a stack of old cardboard boxes filled with ancient, yellowing papers from the business.

“Man, it’s stuffy down here,” complained Maggie. She couldn’t wait to get out of the cave-like cellar. “David, stop a minute. Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Your nose must be plugged. I’m getting a whiff of a really nasty odor. Something died and it smells like it’s still here.”

David walked to the back of the room. “Yeah, I’m getting it now.” He walked closer to an area behind the furnace and pushed aside a stack of boxes. “This metal door in the wall is for an old coal chute. Let me see if I can get it open.” He tugged on the metal handle, stumbling when it opened easily in his hand.

An undeniable odor of death wafted from the dark interior. Human or animal? It remained to be determined since there wasn’t enough light to see inside the opening. Maggie’s face scrunched up in revulsion as the smell diffused toward them through the doorway. The blackness beyond the opening was absolute, the odor palpable.

“I’ll go up for the flashlights and make sure the bartender stays put,” Maggie offered.

“All right. Bring the Vicks, too. Have those patrolmen find out if there’s anyone from the Medical Examiner’s office who hasn’t gone deer hunting.”

When Lisa and Jeff returned to the house Saturday, there was still a patrol car parked at the curb, and the security guard’s car sat next to the garage. Quickly deemed ”robo-cop” by TJ, the guard circled the grounds and house at regular intervals, effectively protecting the residents from the media.

TJ arrived next, her arms full of Chinese takeout. The rich, spicy odor of ginger and soy filled the room as they busied themselves getting out napkins and plates. A call from Maggie interrupted the preparations. Lisa put the phone on speaker.

Maggie told them about the suspect, Eddie Wysecki. “We haven’t found him yet, but he may be your killer. We searched his bar and found an old coal chute in the cellar. We found the bodies of three women inside. This will be a field day for the media and take you folks out of the spotlight.”

“Do you think they’ll find more bodies?” Lisa asked.

“They’re still looking. If he’s your killer, he’ll have more bodies stashed somewhere else. Three wouldn’t account for the stats on missing women.”

Lisa, disappointed, rubbed the back of her neck. “No, they wouldn’t.” She’d been hoping with this discovery, it would all be over. But a second killer?

“Do you know who any of them are?” Jeff asked.

“No. And identification could take some time.”

TJ asked, “Do they know if he’s the one who killed Danielle?”

“His car was seen in the area two nights running. Everything points to him, but we don’t have a motive.”

After they ended the call, TJ said, “We’re off the hook. Won’t matter if this Wysecki isn’t our guy. The cops will put it all on him whether they find more bodies or not.”

41             

 

The security guard sat quietly in the back seat as Jeff drove to a late-night appointment, an extra safeguard insisted on by Lisa since there was still a squad stationed in front of the house. The address, on a street southwest of downtown Milwaukee, was in a neighborhood past its prime—if it ever had one. Now mostly Hispanic and transient, the houses were shabby and ill-kept, a far cry from its beginnings as an oasis for Polish immigrants. Known as a high crime area, the guard asked why the need to go there so late.

“We gotta go when we gotta go,” said TJ, offering no explanation. “Hope this dude shows.”

Jeff asked, “What’s his name?”

TJ turned on the reading light to get a look at the note Lisa had given her. “The guy is Raoul Lopez. This says he’s a friend of the missing woman’s brother and the only person Lisa could reach. Note says don’t expect much of this one.” She turned off the light. “Great. A wild goose chase in a crappy neighborhood. Way to ruin a Saturday night.”

Because of the late interview, TJ had been forced to tell Richard she already had plans with her sister. She hadn’t told him just what those plans were, but promised to meet him the next day. He hadn’t sounded upset with her, but she could tell he was getting suspicious.

At their destination, a dark street lined with aged, two-family homes, TJ and Jeff walked up to a worn-out duplex, its siding painted a hideously brilliant shade of blue. No lights appeared in the lower flat as they walked around the side of the house to the entrance of the upper where they’d seen a faint light coming from the front window.

With no operable lighting on the stairs leading to the upper flat, they had to rely on the small flashlight TJ carried. At the top of the stairs, TJ knocked on the door. No one answered. They hadn’t seen Raoul enter, so he might already be inside. She spoke the man’s name loudly, knocked again, and tried the door. It wasn’t locked.

“Maybe we’d better get the guard,” said Jeff before TJ could open the door any further.

“Nah, it’s okay, nobody’s here.” But she handed him the flashlight and pulled out her gun as she walked through the door. “Or maybe not,” she whispered.

A dim light from a TV broke the darkness as the sound of a laugh track came from a small living room to the right of the kitchen where TJ and Jeff stood next to a yellow, Formica-topped table.

TJ called, “Hello, anyone home? We’re here to meet Raoul.”

No answer. They edged carefully into the living room. Still holding the gun, TJ reached over and turned on a lamp perched on a packing carton next to a ratty sofa. In its dim light they saw a small child, maybe four or five years old, curled up on the sofa, knees bent up to the chin, staring at them with fearful, dark eyes. TJ couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. The kid wore blue jeans and an oversized sweatshirt; its dark hair covered most of his or her face.

Jeff squatted down to make himself eye level with the child. “What’s your name?”

The child didn’t answer, just stared up at them through dark, stringy hair, something gripped tightly under its arm, as if trying to keep it hidden from them.

“Can I see what you have?” Jeff asked softly. Clutching it with both hands, the child reluctantly pulled out a baby doll wearing a tattered pink dress.

He sat down next to her. “She’s real pretty. What’s her name?” The girl hugged the doll to her chest, silent.

TJ left the room to make sure the child was the only occupant of the apartment. The kitchen’s cupboards were empty and the refrigerator held nothing but a few cans of beer. The only edible thing TJ found was a package of elbow macaroni. An open garbage can overflowed and the table in the middle of the room sat under a layer of grime and fast food wrappers. A look in the two small bedrooms revealed more squalor: the beds unmade, sheets gray and unwashed. Some moron had left the kid alone in this cesspool.

TJ walked back to the sofa where Jeff offered the girl a granola bar. The child reached for the bar slowly, her gaze never leaving Jeff. She looked as if she feared he might snatch it away from her.

Jeff looked up at TJ while the girl ripped open the pitiful offering. “We have to get her out of here. Someone left this poor kid alone with no food and the door unlocked, for God’s sake!” His face was stiff with anger.

“Seen worse in my time.”

“Call Lisa. She’ll know what to do about her.”

TJ’s sympathy for the girl conflicted with her annoyance at having yet another distraction. “Go out and tell the guard what’s going on. Don’t want to have a problem if Raoul shows up. The bastard.” She sat next to the girl, wondering what to do next. She knew they couldn’t call Lisa. Lisa’s answer would have to follow procedure. And at midnight on a weekend before a holiday, TJ knew what would happen to the kid if they had to do things by the book.

Jeff came back in with Robo, aka Chad, in tow and asked, “What did Lisa say?”

TJ diverted the question. “Tell you about it later. We gotta get her out before Raoul shines around.”

The girl still wasn’t talking but had eaten the granola bar in record time. She stared at Jeff, silently asking for more food. He explained to her they had to leave and they would like it if she would come with them. He promised to get her something to eat, offering her his hand. The girl stayed put, burrowing further into the sofa.

TJ bent down to the girl’s level and whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened. She followed TJ, hand-in-hand, out to the car. Chad got behind the wheel. “I saw some activity down the block. We need to put some distance between us and this dump.”

TJ and Jeff got in the back with the girl. The car moved quickly from the curb.

TJ leaned over to Chad, “Take us to 27th and National.”

On the corner of 27th sat a brightly lit McDonald’s. TJ saw Jeff grin as he figured out what TJ had whispered in the kid’s ear.

“Pull in the drive-thru,” said TJ. “I’m cravin’ a Big Mac.”

They ordered food—Big Macs and sodas for the adults, and a cheeseburger, French fries and chocolate shake for the girl. TJ hoped the kid wouldn’t puke after eating all the greasy food. They drove away, the girl eager for the food TJ handed her. The fries went first. She’d eaten nearly half of it all before she fell asleep, the milkshake still clutched in her hands.

TJ looked down at her. “Wonder how Eric feels about kids?”

Eric, who’d just come in from Texas a few minutes earlier, sat at the island when TJ and Jeff walked in carrying the sleeping child. He looked up from his coffee, eyebrows raised in question.

TJ looked at Eric. “It’s a girl.”

His expression giving away nothing, he got up and studied the girl in Jeff’s arms. “About five years old. Neglected, right?”

“Someone left her alone in an unlocked apartment with no food. We found her there when we went to what we thought was going to be our appointment. Someone must have given us a phony address.”

“Put her in your room, TJ. The sofa opens into a bed and the linens are in the chest. I’ll look her over and you can get her settled. Then we’ll talk.”

Eric had a bottle of brandy on the counter when they came back into the kitchen. His expression looked grim. “All right. I’m a doctor if the kid needs medical attention and we have plenty of room here. If we’re able to help out a neglected kid, that feels like good news compared to everything else going on.”

TJ smiled, relieved. “Right, taking care of a kid will be good for us.”

He looked doubtful, his eyes dark. “Have you talked to Lisa about this?”

“Nah. Jeff wanted to, but I knew what she’d say. The kid would have been put in a group home, maybe even in detention temporarily until the system could find a foster.”

He raised the bottle and poured himself a generous drink, offering it to TJ and Jeff when he’d finished. “Technically, you’re kidnappers.” He wiped his face with his hands. “And the rest of us are aiding and abetting.”

An hour later when Lisa came downstairs to make tea, Eric was sitting on the couch, staring into a crackling fire. “You’re back.”

He acknowledged her presence with a weak smile.

She put water on to boil, then sat next to him. “Eric, we’re all so sorry about Danielle. We feel like we’re the ones who put her in harm’s way.”

“If I’d been honest with her from the start, she’d still be alive.”

“Eric, no one could have foreseen this. No one is to blame but the person who did this to her. We can’t forget that.”

He turned to her. “You know he meant it to be you. I can’t keep you safe anymore.”

“Keeping us safe isn’t your responsibility. You brought us to your home to protect us. It’s possible Danielle’s murder had nothing to do with us. Someone could have been after her—a stalker, maybe.”

He rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe the cops will get some answers for us.”

“You should try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”