Текст книги "She's Not There"
Автор книги: Marla Madison
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
9
Eric Schindler, the former Dr. Schindler, obstetric surgeon, sat in his office, one of the few places he indulged in his favorite cigars. Owner of Kristy’s Classics now, Eric enjoyed working with the old cars, but today thoughts of his former career plagued him. Maybe it was time—time to explore a re-emergence. He could make a few calls and see if anything had changed. Or call TJ, ask her if she’d heard anything new on his case.
His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his reverie. He opened the phone.
“Hey you, what’s happenin’?”
“Not much. To what do I owe the honor?”
TJ said, “Well, you haven’t bugged me in a while, so I thought I’d call and catch up.”
“You’re right, I haven’t. But you never call to ‘catch up.’ What’s on your mind?”
“Need to talk to you about somethin’. You gonna be around tomorrow?”
“You can’t tell me what this is about?”
“Long story. Can’t be told as well on the phone.”
“If you have time tomorrow I’ll pick you up and we’ll go somewhere for lunch. A great ‘53 Corvette just came in today, and I need to take it for a drive. I know you love Vettes. We could take it out to Port Washington.”
“Sounds good, Doc. How is the old car business going?”
Kristy’s Classics, a Milwaukee area classic car dealer and showroom, had been a favorite hangout for him since his father had brought him there as a young boy. He heard the business had been struggling to survive, and when the dealership came up for sale, he’d jumped at the opportunity. He’d been at loose ends with his medical career on hold.
“The old car business is doing fine. Sure you won’t give me a hint of what’s on your mind?”
“Sorry, Doc. Have to run now, so it’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
Eric suspected TJ’s need to talk to him could only have something to do with his wife’s disappearance. Kayla. Obsession was the only word to describe what he’d felt for his wife. A model when they met, she’d never accepted that her career didn’t hit the big-time. Brandy stingers, discovered on a skiing trip in Vail, became her method of coping with her disappointment.
After nearly two years in prison, where dwelling on it was all he had to do with his time, Eric finally understood their relationship hadn’t been healthy for either of them. When TJ accused him of not being able to let go of Kayla’s memory, she’d told him he would always compare other women to Kayla. He’d let her think what she wanted, although Eric believed his inability to stay with a relationship had more to do with how he’d lost his wife.
The next day Eric came home from his outing with TJ unsure which excited him more, TJ’s ‘plan’ or the actual involvement of another person, Lisa Rayburn, even if it meant setting aside his ongoing dislike of therapists.
After all these years, maybe he would find out what had really happened to Kayla. Someone had abducted her; nothing else made sense.
It sickened him to know there was another missing woman, possibly many. TJ wouldn’t give up the husband’s name when Eric suggested he talk to the man. The guy’s name wouldn’t be too hard to find though; he’d simply have to go to the online newspaper archives.
It took only minutes on the paper’s website to find the reference to the missing woman, and he quickly found Jeff Denison’s phone number listed in the phone book. Risking TJ’s wrath, Eric dialed the number.
Jeff Denison answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“My name is Eric Schindler. You don’t know me, but I was arrested five years ago for killing my wife. You might remember—the story ran in the papers off and on for years. Anyway, I got out on an appeal after two years. I didn’t kill my wife, Mr. Denison.”
He knew Denison didn’t really know TJ, but wanted to give his call some validity. “A mutual friend told me about your situation—a friend who believes neither of us had anything to do with our wives’ disappearances. I’m calling because your circumstances now are so much like mine were that I thought I could give you the benefit of my experience.”
Still not giving Denison a chance to speak, Eric asked, “Would you like to meet for a drink sometime?”
Denison quickly said, “Sure, how about tonight?”
Eric hadn’t expected that. But if Jeff Denison were anywhere near as troubled as Eric had been, he would want to meet right away. Eric remembered all those miserable nights he spent alone: drinking, staring at the TV, and agonizing about Kayla.
He invited Denison to Kristie’s and lit up his last cigar of the day.
When Jeff Denison arrived at the dealership, Eric gave him a tour of the cars on the showroom floor, their glossy appeal brightening Jeff’s face. After they’d made the rounds, Eric took him into the conference room and offered him a beer.
He accepted one and asked, “What made you call me?”
“I thought you might need some moral support.”
When the other man said nothing, Eric asked, “Have the cops had you under the bright lights yet?”
“Not really. They still think Jamie left me. I know that’s not what happened. She wouldn’t just run off—not for this long, anyway, and not tell anyone.”
Eric thought Jeff looked choked up. Nervous that the other man might actually cry in front of him, Eric gave him time to collect himself.
After a minute, with a grimace, Jeff went on. “My wife and I have a 911 call on record. I didn’t get charged with anything, and Jamie told them I hadn’t hurt her. I’ll never forgive myself for frightening her enough to make the call. She did get hurt, but it was because I grabbed her arm. When she pulled away from me, she lost her balance and fell on a corner of the granite counter. She broke a rib. When they questioned me after she disappeared, they were looking at me like something that crawled out from under a rock.”
“Have you called an attorney or put one on retainer?”
“No. Like I said, the police think she left me.”
Denison was being pathetically naïve. “Do what you like, but it might be a good idea to have an attorney lined up.” He didn’t want to push; he’d let Denison think it over. “You know, in a way our cases are similar.”
“They are?”
“My wife and I had a 911 call on record too. But I never laid a hand on her. And they thought she left me, too–at first.” Eric wondered just how much to tell the guy. So far, he liked him. Denison appeared sincere, or was Eric the one being naïve, thinking he could assume the man’s innocence based on one brief meeting?
He considered the similarities in Kayla and Jamie Denison’s disappearances too similar to be a coincidence. Eric decided to tell Jeff everything. TJ would be angry he jumped the gun, but he’d deal with the consequences later.
“Jeff, if you’re feeling anything like I was, you’d do anything you could to find out what happened to your wife . . .’’ Eric began telling Jeff about Lisa and TJ’s plan.
When he’d finished, Jeff looked like he’d been hit in the stomach with a battering ram. “If there is a killer, it means Jamie won’t ever come back; she’s out there somewhere, hurt, maybe dead.” Jeff paled.
Eric suggested ordering some food, relieved the other man agreed.
After Eric ordered takeout, Jeff asked, “So, these women are going to try to find this killer?”
Eric said, “No, they want to find evidence that there is a killer. Force the police to do their job and find the guy.”
“Why is now any different?”
“Now they have statistics proving something is going on with these women.”
“You said you intend to persuade them to let you in on it?”
“That’s another reason I wanted to talk to you. I figured you’d want to help and I thought if the two of us approached them, it would be more convincing. And think about it, two women interviewing abusers, possibly murderers? I’d sleep better at night knowing they weren’t out there alone.”
Jeff sighed. “This therapist. There’s something you don’t know about her.”
“What’s that?”
“Lisa Rayburn was the one seeing Jamie before she disappeared. I called her and pleaded with her to take me on as a client. She finally agreed.”
Eric nearly choked on the unlit cigar he held in his mouth. “That’s perfect. How could she say no?”
10
Seven years earlier
The night with Nicole replayed in his mind like an old phonograph record. He’d stayed at her apartment until nearly four in the morning before he dared to take her body from the building. While he waited, he’d removed every trace of himself, anything that could possibly link him to her.
For months he’d watched the papers, never finding anything about a missing woman named Nicole. She must have been the kind of person everyone expected would just take off one day. He was home free.
Unsure whether he would feel compelled to such an extreme measure of retaliation again, he nonetheless found great pleasure in remembering every detail of their evening without dwelling on the conflicting emotions the memory aroused in him. That he’d go unpunished made it even sweeter.
He remembered her fondly. In a recurring daydream, she kissed him good-bye as he left her apartment, making him promise to call her the next day. The real ending to their encounter always popped up at the end, exciting him far more than the imagined good-bye scene.
11
When Lisa entered the waiting area to invite Jeff Denison in for his next appointment, she couldn’t hide her surprise at seeing another man sitting next to him.
Jeff stood. “Lisa, I’d like you to meet Eric Schindler,”
Lisa ushered the men into her office. She remembered the name Eric Schindler and realized he must be TJ’s ‘Doc.’ Why would he be here with Jeff?
Schindler, about an inch shorter than Jeff, was broader, built as solidly as a wrestler. His face revealed nothing as he took a chair next to Jeff in front of Lisa’s desk. She thought she detected an odor of cigar smoke on him, a smell she hated only slightly less than the skunk spray Phanny brought in the house with her after meeting up with one of the little critters.
Jeff said, “I apologize for springing this on you. Eric’s told me about TJ and what you two are planning. I’d like to use my session today for the three of us to talk.”
She did feel like she’d had something sprung on her. “We can do that, Jeff, but first I’d like to talk to you alone.”
Eric left the room.
She asked, “Why didn’t you call me about this before just showing up with Eric Schindler?”
“You’re right. I should have. But Eric told me about you and TJ—what you’re doing. If there’s anything I can possibly do to find Jamie, I need to do it. I was afraid you’d say no.”
Irritated, but more at Schindler, who she was certain had orchestrated the ambush, she said, “Jeff, I understand why you feel that way, but it’s not my decision to make. You should have asked TJ, not me. And I’m sorry, but finding your wife is not what this is about.”
“But it could lead to that,” he argued.
Under other circumstances, Lisa might have seen his assertiveness as positive.
Jeff said, “Eric did talk to TJ. She’ll be here in about half an hour, but Eric wanted to talk to you first.”
At least TJ would be on hand to deal with the situation. “All right,” she said, “bring him in.”
Eric came back in with his hands in his pockets, wearing a subtle smile. Schindler, in his fifties, had a compelling rather than handsome face and his black, coarse hair had only a few streaks of gray. He looked uncomfortable. He took a seat next to Jeff. “I wanted to meet you as soon as TJ told me about you, but I was afraid you might refuse to talk to me. The rise in missing women is horrifying, but it’s given Jeff and myself hope. We want to find answers.”
Aware of the sincerity in his plea, she said, “I’m not surprised that either of you would want to take part. But I have reservations about getting anyone else involved.”
Eric sat back. “If I can’t be actively involved, maybe there are other ways I can help. TJ won’t go back on my payroll; she said this is something she wants to do. If nothing else I’d like to pay any necessary expenses.”
The man could be persuasive; she’d give him that. He appeared confident and in control. A little too slick? He’d been a doctor after all; maybe it was just his built-in professional smoothness coming through. Or arrogance.
When she didn’t speak, he continued, “Jeff and I want to help in any way we can.”
Jeff nodded, looking relieved to have someone else plead his case.
Eric met her gaze. “I’m perceived by many people as just another wife-murderer who got off on a legal loophole. I’d like to get out from under that stigma. I want whoever is responsible for abducting my wife to pay for it.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “I’m curious why you had to see me without TJ.”
He leaned toward her. “Two reasons. First, I wanted to plead my case with you. Beg, if necessary.” His smile eased his rugged features. “The second is my concern about the two of you meeting with men who are known abusers and maybe even murderers. I’d be more comfortable if we could go with you, but I know TJ is going to object. She perceives herself as perfectly capable of taking care of both of you. I’m afraid if I were to voice my concern, she’d be insulted.”
“How do you know I’m not insulted?”
His eyes narrowed, as if contemplating her comment.
She said quickly, “We both know how TJ would react to that. As for me, I guess I hadn’t thought about the safety issue yet. Considering TJ’s background, I’m not sure your fears are necessary.”
“You’re right. And I apologize if I’ve offended you. Or TJ. Maybe I’m being old-fashioned. Or chauvinistic?” He looked at Lisa from under heavy, dark brows.
Her mind raced, trying to decide what it would mean for these two men to be part of their search. It would certainly be a positive for Jeff, desperate to play a role in finding his wife. He’d have to be willing to continue his therapy with someone else, of course. But there was something about Eric. Something that put her off.
The door opened and TJ entered the room. “Hey guys, what’s happenin’?”
TJ sat at her desk, gazing out the windows. Her ninth floor apartment east of downtown Milwaukee didn’t have a lake view, but she loved the glitter of the city’s lights after dark. She’d take this over the endless steel blue of Lake Michigan anytime.
She’d been ticked-off earlier by Eric’s rush to talk to Jeff and Lisa without her, but the end result satisfied her. He’d made a more convincing argument to Lisa than she could have, forcing her to admit that she and Lisa would need all the help they could get. Eric’s safety concerns were a different matter. Well-intended but unnecessary. Demeaning even. Eric knew she could take care of herself, but she’d let it go. Only results mattered.
Lisa’s point made sense. She and TJ had professional interviewing skills, so going out separately, each accompanied by one of the men, would get a lot more accomplished.
They agreed to keep the investigation to themselves as much as possible. From TJ’s point of view, they had to keep it from the MPD for now. The last thing she wanted was for Richard Conlin to find out—at least until the search bore fruit. She had no doubt it would.
The next morning Lisa met Amanda Hawkins at the Women’s Center in Oconomowoc. They shared small talk over a cup of coffee before Amanda handed Lisa a folder containing the list of names Lisa had asked for.
“I reviewed the statistics before I met with the directors of all the centers. Your grad student did an excellent job; I couldn’t fault her work. I don’t know if she told you she used to be an intern here. I had to have a talk with her before she left. Her extreme shyness makes her a poor candidate for counseling. That’s probably what kept her from coming to us with what she found.
“The meeting went surprisingly well. The powers-that-be are behind you one hundred percent.”
Relieved, Lisa said, “I can’t thank you and the others enough. This file will be an immense help in finding out what’s causing the disappearances.” She accepted the folder. “I was afraid you might have gotten some resistance.”
Amanda said, “You have to remember we’re a group of women who’ve had a lot of experience with abuse. Some of us even have first-hand experience, unfortunately.
“The centers are going to revise the pamphlet they hand out to women, adding a section cautioning them about new relationships and acquaintances. It’s been long overdue for a rewrite, and now they’re going to rush it to print. That’s as far as they’re willing to go right now.”
Lisa couldn’t have asked for more from the centers. “That’s wonderful.”
Amanda’s smile faded. “Right now there’s no certainty what we need to warn women about. But from the reaction in the room, they’ll have no reservations about putting out a more explicit warning if and when you learn more.”
Lisa met TJ for lunch in a McDonald’s near the bank where TJ worked. They were discouraged to see the list contained 48 names.
TJ griped, “Man, I hope some of these ladies are back home by now. I know Rollie won’t have many we can cross off.”
“Are we still meeting him tomorrow night?”
Obviously, TJ had something else on her mind. Her usual snappy talk was absent and her infectious smile missing. “I got some bad news today. Charles Morgan, Rollie’s partner, is in the hospital. He got mugged the other night outside their place and he’s real messed up. Rollie’s out of his head, not sure he’ll be up to meeting us. Don’t think he’s left the hospital since it happened.”
“My God, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Talked to him this mornin’. Don’t know when we’ll be able to meet with him.”
Lisa hated to start without Roland’s input. “TJ, why don’t we go to him? We could meet him at the hospital cafeteria, give him some moral support and maybe bring him some decent food.”
TJ took a bite of the cheeseburger she’d set aside. “You’re right. Might be good for him to see us.” She grinned. “Let’s bring chicken soup.”
12
Saint Mary’s Hospital sat on a small bluff above Lake Michigan, just east of downtown Milwaukee. Late Thursday afternoon Lisa met TJ outside the hospital cafeteria. They bought sodas and walked over to a table where Roland sat reading a newspaper.
When he looked up, Lisa’s heart went out to him. Dressed in a loose sweatshirt over old jeans, he looked nothing like the animated man with the flashing smile she’d met on Saturday. His eyes not only had dark circles under them, they held the aching look of someone fearing they could lose a loved one.
“I promised to do this, so let’s get it done. I want to get back upstairs. Charles is still critical.”
When TJ put her arms around him, he clung to her, tears streaming down his face. “How could this have happened? He’s always so careful!”
TJ asked, “Did they catch the guy?”
Roland’s expression hardened. “No. And they probably never will. You know how the cops feel about us.”
TJ sighed, sympathetic. “I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out.”
“Thanks, TJ. But in all honesty, it was late when it happened. The street is dark along that part of the block. Charles didn’t see who attacked him because they came at him from behind.”
Lisa served the hot chicken noodle soup and put out a bag of biscuits. The three of them ate in silence.
When Roland finished eating, he said, “Thanks, I actually feel better now.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, show me what you brought.”
He pored over the names on the two sheets. “It's funny. I wouldn’t have had to worry about this at all.”
"What do you mean?”
“I had qualms about telling you which women I helped. Some of them are on this list, but there are some I happen to know aren't missing. The dates they went missing are next to their names and I know I’ve seen a few of these women since then. So I’ll draw lines through them too, and you won’t have any way of knowing which ones I helped out and which ones I’ve seen around.” He took a few minutes to peruse the list and handed it back to Lisa.
Lisa looked it over. “This leaves us with 39 names to check out. It’s good of you to take time out to do this, Roland. Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you and Charles.”
TJ turned to him. “Rollie, let me stay with Charles for a couple hours so you can go home and change. Maybe grab a nap.”
“Thanks, but I’m not going anywhere ‘til he’s out of danger. His brother and some of our friends are going to be here soon. Thanks for the offer, but don’t worry about me, I’ll have lots of support.”
“We’ll be prayin' for him.” TJ hugged him once more. After Lisa followed suit, they walked out of the cafeteria.
When they reached the parking lot, TJ asked, “Wanna go to Vinnie’s?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
Vinnie’s bar, located on the east side of downtown Milwaukee, catered to the working crowd during the week and the clubbers on the weekends; it had been a popular spot since the ‘60s.
A buffet bearing a huge spread of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres was displayed across from the bar. Lisa spotted TJ walking toward her carrying a plate heaped with its offerings. “You just ate.”
“Forgot to tell you—I got great metabolism—one of those folks who pisses off everyone else ‘cause they can eat anything they want.”
“That does piss me off,” Lisa muttered.
They carried drinks to a booth in the back. TJ raised her glass. “Here’s to catching the son-of-a-bitch.”
“I’ll drink to that. But keep in mind, you and I won’t be doing the catching.”
“Yeah, but I been thinkin’, and there’s something botherin’ me. Richard says any serial killer thing goin’ on is a fantasy of my overactive female imagination. But I can feel it in my gut—this ain’t some online thing like the cops are pushin’. If we was goin’ out on a limb, we’d have to ask, what would we find perched there?”
Lisa sipped her drink. “Just speculating, I’d wonder how he’s singling them out, finding abused women to prey on. Do you think it could be a cop?”
“Sure. Or someone who works for one of the centers, the police department or emergency services, or even a 911 operator. Or anyone with a police scanner.” She picked up a chicken wing, pointing it at Lisa. “Narrows it down to thousands.”
Lisa took out the two copies of the list. They divided the list with a minimum of squabbling, assigning half of the names to Lisa and Eric, and the other half to Jeff and TJ.
“Rollie didn’t narrow it down a whole lot,” TJ grumbled.
“Stay positive. There are nine fewer than we had before.”
TJ dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “Been thinkin’. What if Rollie’s not the only one helpin’ women out?”
Lisa took a deep breath. “I doubt it’s likely, but only because I haven’t gotten wind of even one in the area. Do you think it’s worth calling James Wilson? Feel him out on whether he knows more about it than he told me?”
TJ snickered. “Lotta women would like to feel him out. Least they would if he wasn’t such a prick.”
“Can’t hurt to try. I’ll give him a call.”
When TJ left Lisa in Vinnie’s parking lot, she walked across the street to her apartment. The building, nearly forty years old, had passed its prime; though no longer considered an elite address, it was still respectable and well maintained. Years back, after so many newer places sprang up on the east side, the managers started making tenants super offers on long-term rentals. TJ had negotiated a sweet ten-year deal.
As she walked into the apartment, she noticed a message on her landline from Jeff Denison. Crap. She’d promised to call and set up a time to meet him on Saturday, the first day of their interviews. Even though it made sense, the buddy system still irritated her, and she’d put off calling him. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
The phone rang so many times, TJ was about to hang up when he finally picked up. “Jeff?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice thick and a little breathless. Had he been sleeping?
“This is TJ. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but been busy.”
“Can you hang on for a minute?”
She thought she heard him blow his nose. Damn. Was he crying?
“I’m back. Sorry for the interruption.” He sounded better, but nasal.
“No problem.”
TJ wasn’t quite sure what to say. Should she ask if he was okay? Lisa was the one who should be working with this guy.
“Just met with Lisa and we divided up the list. Gonna call a few tonight and see if I can get us some appointments lined up for Saturday. Most of ‘em will be in this part of town, so why don’t we meet somewhere ‘round here for coffee at about eight and go over the schedule?” She mentioned the name of a pancake place across the street.
He said, “I’ll be there. I could make some calls for you tonight, if you want to give me some numbers.” His voice sounded quivery and he asked her to hang on for a minute again. In no mood to play therapist to a grieving husband, TJ hoped he really was just getting a pen.
When he picked up the phone, his voice froglike, TJ sighed and said, “What’s your address, Jeff?”
After he gave her his Brookfield address, she was somewhat relieved. At least he lived close to the interstate. If she had to drive in this crappy weather, at least it would be on a salted highway. “Tell you what. I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes. We can get things set up for Saturday.”
The relief in his voice when he said he’d put on coffee and have the outside light on should have made TJ feel good about her offer. Instead, she felt a twinge of guilt. She understood the importance of his participation, but she still felt like she’d set herself up for a caretaking gig. Grudgingly, she put her coat back on and left her apartment before she could change her mind.
Jeff’s townhouse took up half of a large brick duplex on the edge of a cul-de-sac lined with stately homes. When she arrived at his door, he’d pulled himself together, but he’d obviously been crying.
She followed him into a pleasantly decorated living room furnished with soft, warm-brown leather furniture, beige shag carpeting, and bright red accent pieces strategically placed throughout the room. A floor-to-ceiling fireplace flanked with bookcases and a large entertainment center covered one wall. The bright fire crackling in the fireplace made the room warm and inviting.
They made calls, drank coffee, got some appointments set up for Saturday, and made a separate list with names of anyone who refused to make an appointment. Those were the people they would just drop in on if time permitted. Their calls ended on a high note when one of the “missing” women answered her sister’s phone. TJ crossed her off their list.
Jeff offered, “Would you like a glass of wine?”
Probably a stalling technique. He wasn’t ready to be alone. Well she’d known the risk. “Sure.”
Jeff was the first to break the silence as they drank their wine sitting in front of the fire. “You know, I was pretty upset when you called.”
TJ gulped a mouthful of wine. “Yeah, thought so. “
“Today at work someone started playing songs from the ‘60s and ‘70s. I like all kinds of music, and I was into it for a while.” He paused, looking down into his glass.
“One of them got to you.”
“I’d heard the song before, but it didn’t have any meaning for me until now. I think it’s from the ‘70s . It’s called ‘She’s Not There.’ Have you heard it?”
Recalling the lyrics, a tingle spread over her skin as she realized how well—or how creepy really—the song described Jeff’s situation. She said, “Yeah, by the Zombies.”
“The music was so haunting; the words sounded like they’d been written for me. By the time the song ended, I had to leave my desk and walk around for a few minutes. You know how a song keeps running through your mind when you don’t want it to.”
He put down his wine and took off his glasses. Staring into the fire, he rubbed his eyes. “Tonight the song came back to me and sent me into what Jamie used to call a pity party. I had a good start on it when you called.” He looked at her. “Thank you for coming over; it really helped.”
TJ, who didn’t do well with things like gratitude and compliments, said nothing. They finished their wine in comfortable silence. She stood to leave, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed his boyish good looks. His deep-set, gray eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were fringed with thick lashes. His curly, light-brown hair was neatly styled. He brought out what little maternal instinct she had—even though they were probably about the same age.
Jeff walked her to her car and helped scrape off the layer of ice on the windows.
Impulsively, she hugged him when he opened the door for her and said, “I’m sorry about your wife.”
He clung to her for a moment as she’d known he would, then pulled away and walked back toward the house.
