Текст книги "She's Not There"
Автор книги: Marla Madison
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
13
The weather turned cold and drizzly. By evening, the snow threatening to fall on the city of Pewaukee only managed to mesh with rain, forming a thick sleet.
Shannon had been in the office all day with papers spread across the conference room table, organizing Earl’s real estate transactions before he left in mid-November to spend the winter months in Florida.
Not long after taking a quick dinner break, she heard the wind beating at the walls of the old building, howling softly, eerily insistent. She shivered, wishing Lisa was working tonight. Just as she moved a stack of folders to the file-cabinet, she heard a noise coming from Lisa’s office. She put down the files and went for the Taser she carried in her purse.
Weapon in hand, she opened the door to Lisa’s office. Nothing appeared amiss. Through the large bay window, she saw the oak trees straining against the wind, a stygian scene highlighted by the dim light in the parking lot. The wind must have tossed something against the building. Spooked, but not enough to curtail her progress, she went back to her work.
It was still sleeting a half hour later when Shannon left the building. Though not easily frightened, she was glad she’d parked on the street so she could avoid the parking lot. Grateful the nearly deserted streets had been salted, she scraped at the ice buildup on her windshield until she’d removed just enough to see out.
Secure in her locked vehicle, she drove into the parking area behind the building. Her blood froze when she saw a shadowy form moving through the oak trees. It vanished so quickly she wondered if she’d really seen it.
She turned the car around, making sure everything was in order as her headlights lit up the building’s rear entrance. Nothing looked out of place. She decided it couldn’t hurt to drop in at the police station on her way out of town. She knew most of the Pewaukee police from seeing them in the deli across the street. She’d tell them what happened and ask if they would check the place during the night.
14
Six years earlier
She’s the one—the woman of my dreams—the one woman I can trust. Allyson.
Intrigued by the anonymity and simplicity of meeting women online, he found her in a chat room for singles. They’d exchanged emails for weeks before their first meeting late at night in a small coffee shop. Thrilled when Allyson turned out to be as lovely as the picture she’d sent, he suspected his own good looks put her off—she’d been nervous and shy the entire time they’d been together.
Two more such meetings ensued, both under the cover of night, both in out-of-the-way places. He decided not to pressure her for more; the right time for them to be together would come soon enough.
He’d wait.
The next time she wanted him to meet late at night, he asked if she was married.
”I’m not. But there is something I have to tell you. I’m going to my class reunion Saturday. If you can pick me up after the dance Saturday night, we can spend some time together and I’ll explain everything.”
Anticipating an intimate evening with her, he sloughed off her mysterious words and booked a hotel suite near the college. He imagined her in bed with him and could almost feel her silken skin against his; hear her crying out his name when he made love to her.
But another, darker, image kept imposing itself over the bedroom scene—an exciting image, enticingly wicked. He couldn’t wait to be with her.
15
Friday morning when Lisa arrived at the office, Shannon stood waiting for her at the door with a cup of coffee. “I thought about calling you when I got home last night, but you said you were going out, so I waited until this morning to tell you the news.”
“Tell me what?”
“We had an intruder last night!” Shannon’s dark eyes sparkled with excitement.
“An intruder?”
“Sure seemed like it.” Shannon repeated what she’d seen and heard the night before.
“You must have been terrified. Did you call the police?”
“No, but I went to the station, and Stan was there. He promised he’d have whoever was on patrol last night check out our building every time they passed through town.” She paused, breathless. “He said we needed a security system.”
Lisa snorted. “For what? No one keeps money here and neither of our computers are anything a thief would want.”
“Yeah, I told him that.”
Frowning, Lisa looked around the room. “You’ve succeeded in spooking me. Now I’m seeing things that look out of place.” She glanced over at her file cabinets. Top-of-the line, they were equipped with an ultra-secure lock system, and appeared untouched. But some of her things looked out of order.
“Are you sure? Do you want me to call Stan?”
“No, I’m not sure, and don’t call Stan yet. Wouldn’t the lock be broken or something if someone had gotten in?”
Shannon’s pale complexion turned white. “Oh my god! What if when I thought I heard something, it wasn’t someone trying to get in but someone already in, leaving?”
“The door looks all right, and it’s still locked, so that couldn’t have happened.”
“But it could have,” Shannon argued, her voice rising an octave. “That door has the kind of lock you can lock on your way out.”
“Maybe you were just spooked by the wind.”
“Lisa, you haven’t got a real complicated lock on that door. I bet I could open it with a screwdriver and a credit card.”
Shannon had a point. Lisa hadn’t worried about security because she didn’t keep any valuables on the premises, but her files were another matter. “All right, but forget calling Stan. Nothing’s missing. Call a locksmith and have the locks changed to something more secure. It was probably just a kid from the neighborhood out for a thrill, but it feels intrusive.”
Shannon persisted. “There’s a good locksmith close by and I’ll call him right away, but we still have to tell the police. And you have to be sure nothing is missing. You know, the prowler could already have been in there when I came in. I had some errands to do so I left for a while about five. I stopped to eat and got back here about six-thirty. He could have gotten in while I was gone. I’m glad I had my Taser with me. I’m calling Stan.”
Shannon had purchased a Taser through an Internet dealer. Lisa had warned her about the illegality of carrying it and was waiting for Shannon to point out its usefulness now that here had been an intruder in the office.
“Okay, call Stan, but try to get the locksmith here sometime after two.”
By the time Stan, a fiftyish, rather rotund police officer with thinning gray hair, arrived at the office, Lisa was sure they hadn’t taken anything, but someone had been in her office.
After hearing their story and carefully inspecting the premises, Stan said, “Whoever broke in was probably looking for cash. When he didn’t find any, he ran out when he heard someone else in the building.”
“We called a locksmith to have stronger locks put on, “Shannon offered.
“Good. We’ll keep a close eye on your building for the time being. Call us if anything else happens.”
Stan, visibly taken with Shannon and obviously trying to placate their fears, advised them to park on the street when they worked after dark. To Lisa’s relief, his cell phone buzzed, and he left before her first client arrived.
At noon Lisa and Shannon rewarded themselves with lunch at a lovely inn on the other side of the lake. Over the special of the day, a red pepper and sausage soup served with fresh, warm popovers and spinach salad, Lisa told Shannon about the group and what they hoped to accomplish. As Lisa expected, Shannon was eager to help with the online research.
She said, “You’ll get to go out on interviews with one of those guys that were in the office. Which one, the nerdy one or the older, dark, mysterious-looking guy?”
“This won’t be a social event, Shannon. I’m going with Eric Schindler, and on a personal level, I don’t really care for the man.”
“Who knows, he might turn out to be a real nice guy.”
“He isn’t. He’s arrogant and annoying. Not to mention the fact that he spent time in jail for murdering his wife. And even worse, he smokes cigars.”
“Are you afraid to be alone with him?”
“No. He’s irritating, not threatening. TJ has spent a lot of time with him and is convinced he’s innocent. I trust her judgment. For now.”
“Have you heard from Tyler?”
Lisa was trying to forget about Tyler, but it was difficult, especially on sleepless nights. “Tyler isn’t up for discussion. Back on the subject at hand, we’re meeting Sunday morning to go over what we accomplish in Saturday’s interviews. If you have anything for us that soon, let me know.”
Shannon nodded. “I have to go into the office tomorrow for a closing, and when I’m done I can get started. Just let me know what you need.”
The locksmith arrived promptly at two. Lisa was working on a client’s file when the scream of the locksmith’s power drill masked the entry of a visitor. She looked up to see James Wilson standing in front of her desk. Startled at his presence, Lisa jerked back in her chair, reflexes on alert. “You frightened me.”
“Sorry about that. I got your call this morning and I decided to drop in since I was going to be in the area.”
Lisa had forgotten she called him before coming into the office that morning and wished she’d prepared for her talk with him. He wasn’t someone she wanted to reveal her hand to, merely wanted to maneuver information from.
“Have a seat, Mr. Wilson. I’d offer you coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t usually keep it going after lunch.”
He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, casually draping one long leg over the other knee. “No need for coffee. And call me James.”
James Wilson’s good looks and his surprising drop-in put her on edge. Lisa wasn’t sure whether her unease came from her libido’s response to him or if she just didn’t like him. The division between attraction and repulsion could be as narrow as the one between love and hate. He was engaged, she reminded herself—to the police chief’s daughter.
She’d limit her explanation to what had taken place at the center’s meeting. He’d find out about it soon enough. “I wanted to let you know I talked to Amanda Hawkins from the Center in Oconomowoc about the increase in missing women. She hadn’t been aware of it yet but moved forward with it and met with the heads of the other women’s centers in Milwaukee and Waukesha County. They’re all concerned. Unfortunately, the most they can do is caution women on developing new relationships.”
“And you thought I needed to know this, why?”
Her attraction to him downshifted to ire. “I believe when I talked to you at the station, I mentioned I would be taking this up with the centers, and I wanted you to know I’d followed through.”
He shrugged. “Ms. Rayburn, I shouldn’t have to tell you that as far as the Milwaukee Police Department is concerned, that changes nothing. There still is no hard evidence of a crime—not enough for us to employ our scant resources to it considering the budgetary problems we’re facing.”
Lisa fought back her frustration. “Mr. Wilson, you alluded to knowing about a group that assists abused women in relocating. It would be helpful for the centers to know if one does exist and is affecting the statistics. Anything you can tell us could make a difference.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know any more today than I did when we talked. We heard about it from a reliable source, which of course I cannot reveal.”
Lisa studied him carefully as he talked, undecided whether he was lying or just not telling her the whole story. The fact she couldn’t tell made her uncomfortable; her inner radar for deception rarely let her down.
She got nothing helpful from the rest of the stilted conversation and when he walked out the door, she expelled a rush of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in during his visit.
After dinner, Lisa left the house with Phanny, keeping their walk restricted to well-lit areas. She hadn’t admitted it to Shannon, but the break-in rattled her.
Eric Schindler and James Wilson were on her mind—both exasperating men. No wonder she preferred younger men; they hadn’t lived long enough to develop any kind of high-and-mighty attitude.
Lisa considered Eric Schindler. She remembered TJ saying he was still hung up on his wife even though it had been years since the woman disappeared. She had only TJ’s instincts to substantiate he wasn’t a murderer. But what did a murderer look like? Or act like? Would a guilty man be working this hard to find out what happened to his wife?
Lisa had agreed to work with him, so she’d have to set aside any reservations. Put up with his irksome manner and disgusting cigar smell.
16
Saturday morning, Lisa arrived at the diner to meet Eric. She’d spent more time than usual on her appearance. Her hair, newly shaded by Roland to a soft ash-blonde with pale platinum and golden blonde highlights, fell to her shoulders in loosely curved layers. The gray slacks and white Irish knit sweater she wore complemented her figure. She donned a pair of mid-heeled boots, high enough to be fashionable but not too difficult to walk in.
She looked damn good. She’d seen a photo of Eric’s wife, the woman’s beauty startling. Lisa suspected it’s what had intimidated her into fussing over her appearance.
Waiting for her at a table near the back, Eric had a newspaper opened in front of him. He wore jeans and a white shirt with thin blue stripes covered by a pale blue sweater that contrasted with his dark hair. When she joined him, she noticed the scent of his pleasant, woodsy cologne—must not have had his first cigar of the day. A waitress hurried over to pour her coffee, asking if they wanted breakfast. They ordered omelets with side orders of pancakes.
Lisa brought out their list and told him she’d made three appointments for the day and explained she planned on using her book on abused women as a cover story for interviewing the friends and relatives of the missing women. The book, a textbook for clinicians on treating abused women, had been in the planning stages for nearly a year.
“I’ve enlisted Shannon’s help. She’s the assistant to the attorney in the office next to mine. She’s good at computer research and is going to look up the women’s spouses and boyfriends to see if any of them are currently in jail.”
“I suppose if any of them are, they’ll need to be interviewed, too.” He sipped his coffee. “I should probably be the one to do it. I think they’d open up to me because of my background.”
He’d started making decisions already. “That may be true, but we’ll need to discuss it with the others when we meet tomorrow.”
“You’re right. I already irritated TJ when I insisted the two of you not do interviews without Jeff or me. She thinks of this as her project, you know. I do like to humor her. Although I can’t deny it’ll be hard for me to sit back and act like a worker-bee.”
Lisa had to respect his openness. “You’re right about TJ, but I’m sympathetic to her resistance regarding our agreement of never going out alone. I made these appointments Thursday night. One of the women I called lives close to me in Oconomowoc. She’s eager to talk. It’s hard not to just run over there and meet with her right away. We have an appointment with her at one.”
“Good. That’ll give us time to devour all this food we ordered.”
As if on cue, the food arrived, and they tucked into it with no more talk of missing women, jailed spouses, or interviews.
Lisa rode with Eric in the old fifty-two Cadillac that had been his father’s.
“I try to take it out at least once a week,” he explained.
The car looked like new. Riding in it, Lisa felt like she’d drifted back in time and should have been wearing a full skirt fluffed with crinolines, topped by a perky, ducktail hairdo a la Doris Day.
They drove to the first address, located in an old section of Waukesha. It turned out to be an aging apartment building on a street lined with mature elm trees which had somehow escaped the Dutch Elm scourge.
After a jerky ride to the fourth floor in a tinny old elevator, they entered a dim corridor reeking of bacon, coffee and used diapers. The muffled sounds of voices, cartoons, and laughing children emanated from the thin walls.
Elaine Blume appeared hastily dressed in tan slacks and a white blouse. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, hung in a ponytail, and her sockless feet were shod in a pair of red moccasins. Her daughter, Colleen Hamill, had been missing for nearly three years.
“You must be Lisa,” she said, and asked them to have a seat. Like the rest of the apartment, the brown velveteen sofa they sat on appeared clean, but worn. The well-used furnishings looked like they had come with the apartment and barely survived all the years of tenant turnover.
Lisa introduced Eric and explained why they needed the information about her daughter. “What I have to ask you first is whether you’ve heard from your daughter since she went missing or if you know whether anyone else has.”
Eyes shiny with unshed tears, Elaine said, “It’s still hard to talk about. She and I were so close, and my life fell apart after she disappeared. Her father left me about a year later. Not that I blame him; I was depressed for a long time. But then he hired an expert divorce lawyer who made sure I ended up with nothing. I never saw it coming. Now I work second shift at the plastics plant down the street for ten dollars an hour and can barely pay the rent on this crummy apartment.” She pulled out a rumpled tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to me go on about my problems. No, I haven’t heard from Colleen, and . . .” she stopped for a few seconds to wipe her nose, “I know I would have if she was still alive.”
Feeling terrible about adding to the woman’s pain, Lisa asked, “Do you have any idea what could have happened to her?”
Elaine sniffed, drying her eyes. “Well, her husband was a horrid man, but I never thought he did anything to her like the police suggested. I knew he hit her sometimes, and she always forgave him. I don’t think he would have caused her any serious injuries, at least none bad enough to keep her from working. Colleen was his meal ticket. She worked as a dental hygienist and made good money. Joe worked construction and he always seemed happiest when he got laid off. I suspected he chose jobs that would be as temporary as possible. I never understood what she saw in him, but he could be charming when he wanted to be.”
“Elaine, do you know where Joe is now?” Eric asked.
“I haven’t heard from him in years. But I heard a rumor he’s living in Milwaukee with a divorcee and her two kids. She gets big alimony payments; that’s right up his alley.”
Lisa noted the source of the rumor and asked Elaine for a photo of her daughter.
“We won’t take up any more of your time.” Lisa handed Elaine her card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
They made an unscheduled stop in Elm Grove, an upscale area north of Brookfield. They turned onto a street lined with stately homes, not quite mansions, but brick and elegant, with mature trees and professional landscaping. The house they stopped at had a curved brick pathway leading to a heavy stone step in front of an oak door with windows of leaded glass.
A tall brunette wearing gray sweats opened the door to them. She panted, out of breath. “What can I do for you?”
Lisa said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for anyone who knows the whereabouts of Deanna Knowles.”
She exclaimed, “Whereabouts? I’m Deanna Knowles. Who’s looking for me?”
In an effort to finesse their way back to the car as quickly as possible, Lisa said, “I’m writing a book on women who’ve gone missing. Your name came up on our list. I’m sorry. There must have been a mistake.”
Deanna Knowles frowned, her mouth pressed into a straight line. A tense moment passed. “My husband and I had some problems in our marriage a couple years ago. I stayed with my sister in California for a few months while I decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I was gone for about two weeks before I called my husband.”
Eric and Lisa thanked her, apologized again for interrupting her workout, and returned to the car.
“One down,” Eric said, moving ahead of Lisa to open the car.
She turned to face him. “Not really. Did you notice her neck?”
“I didn’t. Women wearing sweats don’t have much appeal to the male eye. Sorry.”
Lisa gave him a sharp look. “She had a nearly healed bruise below her jaw line and another above her collarbone. There’s still a crack in that marriage.”
A few minutes of silence passed.
Eric asked, “We have an hour till the next appointment. Do you mind if we stop at the showroom? I’ll give you a free, three-dollar tour.”
