She's Not There (15 page)

Detectives Maggie Petersen and David Lassiter showed up soon after Lisa called Maggie, while what looked like the entire law enforcement population of southeastern Wisconsin gathered outside the house. Maggie and David exchanged glances after they’d been given the details of the night’s events.

Lisa said, “We feel terrible about this woman, but we have no idea if this could be related to what we’re doing.”

When they looked skeptical, she added, “We called you because we aren’t sure what to say to the police. We’re just going to tell them is that we’re houseguests.” She looked from one to the other for some sign of understanding.

David took a deep breath, a deep frown forcing his dark brows together. “Assuming that would pacify them for now, how are you going to explain the security guard?”

“We called the service and told them not to send him yet. When he comes later, it’ll look like a response to the murder.”

Maggie, her face unreadable, said, “That may be overkill. Waukesha is sure to station a car here.” She looked at David, who stood stiffly at her side, his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”

Looking over the room and its furnishings, he said, “Judging by the looks of this place, Eric’s a wealthy man, so it wouldn’t be a stretch that he’d act to protect his friends by hiring a guard, even with a police presence. But I’m not comfortable holding anything back that could help with the investigation of this woman’s murder.”

Maggie said, “You can tell the Waukesha police whatever you want, but if it turns out this murder is related to your investigation or ambiguous in any way, we won’t have a choice—we’ll have to contribute what we know. As officers of the law we can’t withhold anything that might be evidential.”

The detectives accepted their silence as agreement and went outside to make their presence known.

The relationships among the departments bordering Milwaukee were amicable. As a result, when Oconomowoc detectives Maggie Petersen and David Lassiter, explained to the other officers that they’d come over when Lisa, a friend of Maggie’s, had called them, no one objected to their presence.

As the body was carried away, the officer in charge, a short, burly detective from Waukesha PD, handed them a photo of the dead woman’s face. Neither of them recognized the woman.

TJ, who’d been allowed to remain behind the rope when one of the county sheriffs remembered her as a former Milwaukee cop, walked over to them, her rigid posture the only sign of her stress. The three of them stepped aside.

“Have they questioned you yet?” Maggie asked.

“No formal statement, but yeah, they asked me a few things. Told them I never saw the woman before and that we’re friends of Eric’s, staying here for a while.”

“We’ll give you twenty-four hours. If this isn’t wrapped up by then, we’ll have to share what we know about your interviews.”

TJ looked away. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

When the Waukesha police came into the house to take the group’s statements, they talked to TJ first in Eric’s office.

When it was Lisa’s turn and she was handed a photo of the dead woman, her face burned with recognition.
My god! It’s Danielle, the woman I met in Jeff’s showroom.

Seeing Lisa’s reaction, the Detective asked, “Is she someone you knew?”

“I met her briefly a couple weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“In the showroom at Kristie’s. I was there with Eric. She was looking at an expensive car; I don’t remember what kind.” Lisa took a deep breath, wondering if her suspicions had been right; this was the woman Eric was seeing. Since it was just that—female suspicion—she didn’t feel the need to share her thoughts. “Her name was Danielle. I can’t remember her last name, although Eric did introduce me to her. Sorry, I’m really upset, but I think it’ll come to me.”

The statements were brief since no one really knew the woman. They’d been in the house when she was murdered and heard nothing. It was clear the detectives thought the housing arrangement odd, but the group’s explanation seemed to placate them for the moment.

Except for a lone squad car parked in the drive, by 1:00 a.m. the police, sheriffs, and crime scene techs were gone, the only reminder of the night’s violence the bright yellow crime scene tape that circled the trees. The media presence had rushed back to their caves to report the sensational murder.

Jeff stood at the stove stirring the nearly forgotten chili when TJ walked into the kitchen. She bent over the pot, sniffing the spicy mixture, amazed to discover she was hungry.

Jeff turned to her. “We need to talk about the possibility that this woman’s murder is related to us.”        

“Possibility?” she scoffed. “You kiddin’ me?”

Frowning, he put down the spoon. “It’s possible there’s another explanation,” he insisted.

“Yeah, you go on thinkin’ that, and I’ll go on thinkin’ about what I’m gonna do with my millions when I win the lottery.”

Jeff served himself chili, then sat at the island staring into his dish, poking through the food with a spoon. TJ filled a bowl and sat next to him, berating herself for her thoughtlessness. The woman’s murder had to be plaguing him with images of what might have happened to his wife. “Sorry. Just seems obvious to me, that’s all.”

At hour later, a teapot Lisa put on had just started whistling when her cell phone rang.

Eric sounded out of breath. “Is something wrong? I just got back to my room and noticed your message.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this . . . ” she started.

“Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, we’re fine.”  She blurted, “We had to get in touch with you before the police did—a woman was murdered in the woods behind the house.”

“Did anyone get a look at her?”

“TJ and Jeff did when they found her. The police showed the rest of us her photo.”

“Can you describe her?”

There was no easy way to break the news. “I’m sorry Eric, the woman was Danielle Ventura.”

Lisa heard him catch his breath. She carried the phone to the laundry room, shutting the door behind her.

Minutes later, she came back out to find everyone looking at her.

“So, what did he say about her?” TJ probed, following her into the kitchen.

“He can’t come back until Sunday morning. That’s the soonest he can get away and leave his manager in charge. He’ll hop a red-eye after the auction tomorrow night—tonight, actually—and get here early Sunday.”

TJ persisted. “Who is she?”

Lisa hadn’t shared her suspicions about Eric’s love life with any of the others. “She’s a divorcee he’s been dating. He told me she became very possessive. Whenever he told her he’d call her, she couldn’t wait and would call and pressure him. Before he left he explained to her he wasn’t looking for a relationship, but didn’t think he got through to her. He’d planned on talking to her about it again when he got back.”

“Crap. Good thing he’s in Texas. It would look bad for him—another woman in his life murdered.”

Lisa added, “He only dated her the last couple weeks—Not a lot of time to have a motive to murder someone.” Eric would be devastated. He’d feel like he was to blame somehow no matter who was responsible for the woman’s death.

TJ’s cell phone buzzed. She walked out of the room, speaking in low tones. Lisa wondered if Eric had called TJ to ask for more details.

When TJ came back in the room, she busied herself picking up the used bowls, rinsing them out and putting them in the dishwasher. She kept her eyes down, arranging dishes on the top shelf. Finally, she turned to face Lisa and Jeff.  “Eric called back. He asked me if anyone noticed the dead woman resembled one of us. Told him no. No one noticed.”

Lisa felt a tightening in her stomach. Her voice at least a pitch too high, she asked, “Who does he think she looks like?”

“You.”

Lisa stepped back, her heart pounding, a lizard of fear crawling through her. It hadn’t occurred to her—she and Danielle were about the same height. And Danielle’s hair. She’d had it pinned up when Lisa met her, but she imagined that worn loose, it would look like hers. She moved to the couch and sat down hard with a loud swoosh of its over-stuffed cushions.

She looked up at TJ. “That would explain it, wouldn’t it? Whoever is killing these abused women knows about us. He thinks getting rid of one of us will stop us from pursuing our inquiries. It’s time to tell the police what we’re doing.”

Lisa heard a soft knock on her door. She opened it to TJ who walked in wearing a red-plaid nightshirt with worn brown slippers.

“Got a question for you. Did you know Eric was seeing this chick?”

Lisa hadn’t really known. “He didn’t say anything about her when we were doing interviews.”

“I kinda thought maybe you and Eric . . . ”

Lisa stopped her. “Not in this lifetime.”

“How come you never told me you have a gun?”

Lisa didn’t want to talk about it. She’d been hoping that when she did, she could tell them all at the same time, carefully doling out a sanitized version of the truth.

“I’ll tell you some of it now, but it’s a long story. The rest can wait.”

She followed Lisa into the living room and sat next to her on the sofa.

“I bought the gun after my divorce and learned how to use it.”

“You were scared of the guy?”

Maybe there was no simple version. “It wasn’t only that.”

“You were gonna shoot him.”

“He was threatening to sue for custody of Paige.” The hatred she’d been burdened with for so long ago still boiled within her. “I never knew I could despise anyone that much, even wish him dead.” Her eyes hardened in remembrance.

TJ shrugged. “Anyone can kill under the right circumstances, especially to protect their kid. I’d keep bugging you to tell me more about it now except we only have a few hours before we hafta go out again.”

“We do have to keep going, don’t we? This has to end—soon.”

Back in the guestroom, TJ discovered she was out of toothpaste. She went to Eric’s room, intending to look for an extra tube in his bathroom cabinet. When she walked into the spacious bathroom situated between the two master bedrooms, she heard a sound in the adjoining room where Jeff was staying. She moved closer to the door. Was he crying? Seeing Danielle in the woods must have hit him hard—reminded him that Jamie could be dead, too. TJ wanted to turn around, pretend she hadn’t heard anything. Instead, she eased into the room.
Damn, I’m getting soft.

“Hey, everything okay in here?” Knowing it wasn’t, what could she say?

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice thick.

She sighed. He was sitting on the end of the bed fully clothed. He sat bent forward, his face in his hands, his glasses on the nightstand next to the bed.

Tough love, first. “You wanna talk, or should I leave you to wallow?”

Sitting up straight, he rubbed his face. “I’ve tried not to think about what must have happened to Jamie, but when I saw that woman I couldn’t help but think she’s probably in a woods somewhere—just like her. I keep seeing pictures of it in my mind when I close my eyes.”

TJ suspected he was right about his wife. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

She turned to leave the room. Maybe he needed to be alone to grieve. She got as far as the bathroom, then turned around and walked back to the bed. Sitting next to him, she put her arm across his back. Jeff moved into her arms. She held him until it seemed natural for them to lie back on the bed. Later, when he fell asleep in her arms, she eased off the bed, covered him, and slipped out of the room.

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 was objecting 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, they had to be 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 ID’s. 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 that would 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 that the guy had slept in the stained brown 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 was immune to his partner’s racial slurs. “If she backs up his story, it doesn’t necessarily get him off hook.”