Текст книги "She's Not There"
Автор книги: Marla Madison
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
65
Shortly after ten Monday morning, TJ’s cell phone rang as she was about to leave her apartment. She didn’t recognize the number on the small screen.
A deep male voice asked, “TJ?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know me. My name is Jon Engel; I’m a friend of Jeff Denison.”
“Sure, Jeff talks about you.”
“This is probably nothing to get worried about, but—“
That spooky feeling crept up the back of her neck. “Probably nothing to worry about,” usually turned out to be something for which the word worry was an understatement.
“Jeff’s supervisor called me because Jeff didn’t come into work today and didn’t call in. They tried his parents first, but I think they’re out of town. I know you’re a good friend of his, so I thought maybe you’d know why he isn’t at work. It’s not like Jeff to be a no-show without calling.”
It isn’t. “No idea. I haven’t talked to him today.”
“I hope you don’t mind my calling; I looked up the number of your security business. I’m getting worried; he’s not answering either his cell or his landline. Maybe I should go over to his house and see if he’s there.”
Rivulets of fear trickled through her. “Do you have a key?”
“No. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I’m about twenty minutes away from Brookfield. I’ll drive over and check it out.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
TJ closed the phone and rushed out the door.
It took her longer than she’d counted on to get to Brookfield. Getting out of downtown Milwaukee quickly was hopeless during winter. Stacked snow, heavy traffic, and road closures turned the area into a maze. Her fear for Jeff niggled at her, while visions of them together on New Year’s filled her thoughts. She didn’t know what the two of them were all about; she just knew that right now she needed him in her life. When she finally pulled up at Jeff’s townhouse, an extended-cab pickup sat parked in the driveway. A tall red-haired man approached her as she got out of her car.
He held out his hand. “You must be TJ. I’m Jon Engel. Did you bring a key?”
“Nah. I have other resources.”
He shuffled from foot to foot in the frigid air and watched as TJ pulled out a small leather case. She selected a tiny silver tool and began working the lock on the front door. It didn’t take long until it opened; she’d warned Jeff his security was pitifully inadequate.
Jon Engel frowned. “Maybe we should wait.”
“For what?”
“I think we should call the police. His car is in the garage. He could be injured—or sick.”
“Has he told you what we’ve been workin’ on?”
Engel froze in place. “You think something’s happened to him because of that?”
TJ read concern in his face, but nothing would keep her from entering the house. “I’m goin’ in.”
She stopped in the opened doorway. “Wait here. If this place turns out to be a crime scene, the fewer people in here the better.”
TJ edged into the foyer, letting the front door swing shut behind her. “Jeff? Jeff?”
The palpable silence drew her into the living room. An all too familiar smell permeated the warmth of the room, its presence in Jeff’s home a terrifying message of doom. TJ’s throat constricted as she entered the room, which appeared to be in order. She glanced at the recliner she’d slept in only two nights ago, the one she’d vacated to share her bed with Jeff. The memory of their lovemaking failed to dispel her fear.
She looked up to see the body of a man hanging suspended by the neck from the railing of the loft, the body dressed in Jeff’s clothes. TJ felt like she’d been hit in the stomach by a cannonball. Her knees buckled as she screamed, “No!”
It was too late for paramedics; Jeff’s face was the color of winter twilight. Silent tears poured down her face as she collapsed to her knees, struggling to remind herself to respect the room as a crime scene. When her legs would support her again, she walked, sobbing, back into the winter air.
Jon Engel took her in his arms, drawing her away from the door.
She managed to croak, “Jeff’s dead,” then sobbed against his chest, fighting nausea, berating herself for not preventing Jeff’s murder. She wanted to scream out the name—James Wilson.
She hadn’t thought Wilson realized her suspicions. But what if he’d seen her following him? If he had, then Jeff’s death rested on her.
Jon trembled against her, struggling to stay in control of his emotions. She had to get a grip on hers.
She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I have to call Maggie. She’s a detective we’ve been working with. And the Brookfield guys, too.” Her fingers fumbled for her cell phone, while her every instinct wanted her back in the house, searching for evidence.
After the calls, she said, “Jon, don’t judge me for this, but I have to go back in.” She quickly explained it appeared Jeff had committed suicide. Before he could protest, she said, “I know he didn’t. Don’t know how much he’s told you, but we’ve all been in danger. I know he’s been murdered, but the police might not see it that way. I have to know if he—or someone else—left a note.”
Jon handed her a handkerchief. “Whatever you think. I’ll wait here for you.”
TJ entered the house. It’s only a crime scene. It’s only a crime scene. The repeated mantra kept her focused while she bent her head down, scanning the room for a note. Nothing. She hurried into Jeff’s office. The room was immaculate, but his laptop was open. She tapped the return with a fingernail and a Word screen opened. It was there—the note.
To my family and friends,
I’m sorry to leave you this way. I can no longer live with my guilt. Believe me, this is the best thing. TJ, I’ll miss you. Please try to understand.
Jeff
TJ knew that the note’s brevity would give it credulity with the police. They would assume the guilt he referred to would be an admission he’d done something to Jamie. But TJ knew Jeff would never have left a note on his computer. To him, computers were machines; he wasn’t a gamer, an emailer, or social-site user. The electronic note had to have been Wilson’s idea.
As she turned to leave the room she saw the open door to the guest room where only two nights ago they’d made love, slept together, and discussed the future. She could feel his arms around her as they’d been the night before, see his golden brown eyes searching hers for shared feelings. God, she had to get out of here. She couldn’t be in the house when the law arrived. Somehow, she’d have to convince them to test his keyboard for residue from rubber gloves. The bastard would have been way too careful to leave a print.
66
Lisa excused herself when Shannon tapped on her door, certain it wouldn’t be good news; Shannon had never interrupted her while she was with a client.
Shannon, her face tear-stained, pulled her into the conference room. “TJ just called. It’s Jeff—he’s dead. It looks like suicide.”
After the initial shock, Lisa’s first thought was, suicide—no way. But he could have slipped into a depression if his guilt about Jamie and his attraction to TJ pulled him over the edge. Or maybe that was just easier to imagine than the alternative—an alternative Lisa could have prevented if she hadn’t convinced TJ to give the police time before the two of them intervened. She wanted to scream and throw things, at the very least sit in a corner and cry. But Lisa had to stay calm. Hysteria and grief would have to wait. “TJ found him?”
“Yes, but a friend of Jeff’s was with her. She says she’s staying until the police leave. Maggie and David are there too.”
“I have to go to her. I’ll end this session and cancel the rest of my appointments.”
“I’ll make the calls for you. Go ahead and leave.”
Lisa took out her phone as she drove to Brookfield. She normally didn’t use her phone while driving, but there were calls that couldn’t wait. She called Eric first and told him the little she knew about what happened. “I’m headed there now.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Her next call was to Robert Bernstein. Since starting their interviews, Jeff had been in therapy with Bernstein. His answering service picked up and she left a message, explaining it was an emergency.
Five minutes later, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the number, she pulled into a parking lot to take Bernstein’s call.
“Lisa? What’s wrong?”
“Jeff Denison is dead.”
“Good God! I’m so sorry.”
“I have to talk to you about it—call it a consult if you need to, but trust me—it’s important.” She waited while Bernstein considered her request.
“I have about twenty minutes between clients at one o’clock, if that’s enough time.”
“That’s perfect. What I need from you won’t take long.”
Filled with a sadness quickly evolving to rage, Lisa moved back into traffic, all her instincts screaming Jeff had not killed himself. That monster James Wilson had to be projecting his madness on them again. On TJ. He’d screwed up once when he attacked TJ at the Mexican restaurant—actually, screwed up twice including Danielle Ventura.
He probably wanted to punish them for putting his freedom at risk. They’d been mistaken in thinking the pressure would be off them once the police opened an investigation.
Police cars filled Jeff’s street; an emergency vehicle sat in the driveway. TJ, Maggie, and a tall man wearing wire-rimmed glasses stood next to the van. The three stood close to each other, red-eyed and clutching to-go cups of coffee.
She rushed over to TJ. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” She took her in her arms. Lisa felt hot tears travel down her cheeks and turn icy in the frigid air. She whispered, “You don’t think he did this, do you?”
With her lips against Lisa’s ear, TJ rasped, “I know he didn’t,” and broke the embrace.
They had to talk before Eric arrived—and without Maggie and Jon.
TJ introduced Jon to Lisa. He held out his hand, smiling sadly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I wish we weren’t meeting because of this.”
TJ said, “Jon agreed to stay with me till you got here. He’s going to try to get in touch with Jeff’s parents. They’re on a cruise somewhere.”
Jon left, promising to keep in touch and let them know what he found out about Jeff’s parents. They’d need to make arrangements for a service. TJ didn’t tell him there would need to be an autopsy, and if they found anything suspicious, it would be days before the coroner released his body to the family. That bad news could wait.
Maggie said, “I’m going to go in and find David. They haven’t told us much yet, and I haven’t been in since the tech crew arrived. TJ, why don’t you and Lisa sit in the car where it’s warm?”
Attempting to avoid the attention of the media, TJ and Lisa walked quickly to Lisa’s car. Lisa cranked up the heat. “I don’t think Jeff would do this either, but we have to consider the possibility.”
Nostrils flaring, TJ nearly shouted. “No! We won’t consider it.” She paused a moment. “There’s something I haven’t told you. New Year’s Eve—we slept together. And before you ask, no he wasn’t feeling all guilty. We talked about it, about us, and you know how I hate that. He was happy about everything.”
Lisa asked, “Your talk—what did you say to him?”
TJ shot her a dark look. “I didn’t tell him he was just another fuck if that’s what you’re thinking. We agreed to take things slow. We were gonna see a movie tonight, and . . .” she choked on her words and pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket.
“I’m only saying we need to be sure.”
TJ wiped her eyes. “Being sure don’t change anything. We still have to get Wilson. He did this.”
Lisa pulled a small box of tissues from the glove compartment. She took one out and handed it to TJ just as Eric pulled up in front of them and got into the back seat of Lisa’s car.
He reached over and put his hands on TJ’s shoulders. “I know Jeff wouldn’t do this.”
TJ turned to him. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” she said bitterly.
“Come home with me. I’ll give you something to calm you down and you can stay as long as you like. Lisa, I think you should come back too. And bring Shannon. I don’t like this. If we’re right about Jeff, we’re all still in danger.”
TJ acquiesced. “Okay, but we can’t leave here until we know if they’ve found anything. Gotta make sure they don’t just put this off as a suicide. I called Richard. He and his partner are going to be here any time now—talk some sense into these Brookfield cops if Maggie and David can’t.”
Eric’s suggestion that they move back in with him had given Lisa her out. “Eric, if you can stay with TJ, I’ll pick up Shannon. We’ll pack up and come out tonight.”
Lisa hurried to Bernstein’s office. As she drove, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. Shannon.
“Lisa, all your appointments are taken care of for tomorrow and Wednesday. Your two Wednesday morning clients said they would skip this week and see you the same time next week.”
“I appreciate that Shannon, thanks. Eric wants us to stay at his place again. You, too. If Jeff didn’t kill himself, then all of us are still at risk. I couldn’t argue—we’ll be safer there.” Moving back into Eric’s estate would complicate things for her, but Lisa would have to make the best of it, work it to her advantage.
“How is TJ? Is there anything I can do?”
“She’s fine for now—Eric is with her.”
“I can finish up here and leave pretty quick. Should we go to your place now to get some things, then go to Eric’s together?”
“No, I have some errands to do first. I’m getting a terrible headache. It feels like a migraine and it’s going to be a bad one, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t know you got migraines.”
Lisa hated to lie, but this one was necessary. “I haven’t had one in years. All this is just too much; my body’s telling me to slow down. After I’m done running around, I’m going to go home and lie down for a couple hours. That’s the only thing that works. I’ll meet you at Eric’s later.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to be alone?”
“It’ll only be for a few hours. I’ll be fine. You go ahead to Eric’s. Don’t take Phanny with you; she’ll be my protector. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be there. I’ll call you before I leave home.” Lisa feared she was over-explaining, but Shannon had no reason to suspect the lie.
Lisa walked into the Bernstein’s waiting room two minutes past their scheduled time. His eyes looked sympathetic, but she couldn’t let him make this about her. She took a seat and said, “They think he committed suicide. You know what I’m going to ask you.”
“Of course. You want my opinion on whether Jeff could have been suicidal.” Noticing his reddened eyes, Lisa realized she’d been selfish in her haste to find answers—he was feeling the pain of Jeff’s suicide, too.
He continued, “The answer is no, I don’t think he was at all suicidal. But you know quite well what we see on the surface doesn’t always tell the entire story about a person’s mental state. Our clients don’t always tell us everything.”
“True enough. But there’s something you don’t know. He and TJ slept together New Year’s Eve. I’m concerned he may have felt guilty.”
Bernstein’s forehead creased. “Lisa, Jeff was wrought with guilt after his wife disappeared, and as you’re aware, on the verge of a serious depression. His work with your group, and the friendships that came with it, pulled him out of it. In my opinion, he was past the stage of obsessive guilt.” He sat back in his chair, studying her.
“Most of our time together was spent examining his relationship with Jamie. I believe they were both trying to be the person the other wanted them to be and as a result, found themselves uncomfortable with their relationship. They tried to make it work, but it never had a chance.”
Lisa thought his words made sense with what she knew about the couple. “But he and TJ didn’t have any more in common than Jeff and Jamie.”
“No, they didn’t. But they had developed something very special—a strong friendship. Would it have resulted in something lasting? Who knows? I don’t believe sleeping with her would have made Jeff feel so guilty he’d commit suicide.”
Lisa released a pent up breath. “I didn’t think so either.”
“Lisa, are you all right?”
“I’m upset about Jeff and what this means for the rest of us.” She felt him evaluating her response.
“I can see there’s more to it, Lisa. But if you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll respect your wishes. You know you can talk to me about anything. I want you to come and see me when you have time.”
She took his hand in hers when he walked over to her. “I’ll do that, Robert. Thank you.”
67
Eric had talked to Jeff on New Year’s Eve as they’d set things up for the party. Nothing in the conversation or Jeff’s demeanor had revealed a hint of depression. No, their killer wanted to punish them. Eric wanted to find the man and tear him apart. He felt helpless, but what could he do? He could only try to keep the rest of them safe.
Before they left Brookfield, Maggie joined Eric and TJ. “Richard Conlin’s here and he’s talking to the Brookfield guys about doing a more thorough search. They seem convinced Jeff killed his wife but never had enough evidence to arrest him for it. They see this as a guilt-ridden suicide, so they aren’t going to be easy to convince his death might be suspicious. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
When Eric and TJ got back to his place he put her in the guest room and gave her a sedative, refraining from telling her it was strong enough to put her out until morning. She needed the rest.
Teresa chattered in the background, mumbling TJ needed to eat first. Food, Teresa’s cure all, bubbled on the stove; she’d made a pot of chicken noodle soup. When Eric walked into the kitchen, Tina had just come in from the yard. God, he’d forgotten about the child. The smile on her face dimmed when she noticed the serious looks on their faces—and her mother’s tear-stained cheeks. Eric was grateful Teresa would be the one to explain Jeff’s death to her.
Shannon, who’d been staying with Lisa since she’d moved back home, had left for Eric’s by the time Lisa pulled into her driveway.
Phanny greeted Lisa with a wet kiss, but she shooed the dog away as she opened the thick, brown envelope TJ had handed her earlier. She spread its contents over the table, seeing TJ had plotted out every move Wilson made while she’d been watching him.
A germ of an idea had sprouted in Lisa’s mind after the night TJ showed her the file she had on James. What she saw on the pages in front of her proved her plan was doable.
A photo of James Wilson driving a snowmobile had been taken with a long-range lens. His sled appeared to be the latest and fastest, probably a custom model. TJ had documented his habit of whipping across the lake and the trails near his place on Lake Winnebago every day when he came home from work. Wilson commuted to his lake home from Milwaukee during the winter months, leaving his apartment in the city vacant.
Lisa studied the maps TJ printed out. Wilson’s home, fifteen miles north of Fond du Lac, sat on the east side of Lake Winnebago in an area sparsely populated with pricey homes. A snowmobile trail drifted past, webbing out from the eastern shore of the lake and branching out into the countryside. According to TJ’s notes, Wilson had a pattern of moving northeast from the lake, taking a trail that swung out into a wooded area near the marshlands.
He’ll be full of himself tonight; the fiend will be proud of what he’s done to us. Lisa hadn’t felt so much rage since Lawrence threatened to sue for custody of Paige.
With a few adaptations, the plan she’d devised for Lawrence would work just as well for Wilson. The bastard was sure to be racing his sled tonight.
Although she’d never loaded the snowmobiles by herself, it wouldn’t be impossible. She’d take them both. Two wouldn’t be as suspicious if anyone saw her in the area after the shooting. Paige usually helped her load them, but Lisa would manage alone. She could make it to his place in a little more than an hour providing her grandfather’s old truck started. A lot of maybes, unfortunately, but she couldn’t wait for certainties. This had to be done now, while TJ was with the others and had an ironclad alibi.
68
James Wilson couldn’t stay at work a minute longer once he knew that Jeff Denison’s death had hit the media. Elated, he headed north to his lake house, eager for the speed and release sledding gave him. The new, custom sled had been a great investment. He couldn’t get there fast enough to celebrate his victory by racing across Lake Winnebago.
The motor of the high-powered engine growling in the breeze, James pulled out onto the lake. He’d barely picked up speed when he realized there were so damn many ice-fishermen on the lake, whose shanties and trucks would encumber his ride.
Turning the sled, he pointed it in the direction of the trail.
