Those Who Trespass: A Novel of Television and Murder

by Bill O'Reilly

  Ashley’s green eyes shone. She laughed with genuine feeling. “So my great, great, great uncle is responsible for the word okay?”

  “You bet.”

  “What a great story.” Ashley was having fun.

  “Thanks,” Shannon said and shyly looked down at the table. The move was calculated. Shannon had learned a long time ago that being coy was an essential part of flirting. Women liked confident men, but they also liked little boys. For men, the trick was to combine the two qualities.

  The waiter arrived and took their orders: shrimp cocktail, house salad, and baked salmon for her; Caesar salad, filet mignon, and baked potato for him. Ashley was beginning to relax. The wine and table candles helped ease her apprehensions about Shannon Michaels. She was beginning to feel comfortable with him, even though she still sensed a hidden intensity. Overachievers are always like that, she thought.

  For his part, Shannon was happy with the way the evening was progressing. He steered the conversation to Ashley to learn more about her family and career plans. She was very open, admitting that she and her father did not see eye-to-eye on some important issues, and she confessed her fears about Globe coworkers who might be out to get her. Shannon waited until dessert to ask the obvious question.

  “So why aren’t you involved with someone?”

  Ashley was prepared for the query. She heard it all the time. In truth, the question annoyed her. Nevertheless, she smiled. “Well, probably because I can’t find Mr. Right. Most of the guys I meet are either intimidated by my job, looking for a quick conquest, or looking for someone to take care of them. Plus, there are a lot of creeps out there. You have to be very careful in this city. I could tell you stories.”

  “Go ahead,” said Shannon.

  “I really shouldn’t but . . . okay, just one. We’ll dedicate it to Martin Van Buren.” They both laughed. “There was this guy I met at the gym about a year ago. He seemed nice, didn’t come on too strong. I talked to him for weeks before I went out with him. Finally, we had a few dates. We had fun. He was always viewing himself in the mirror, but, hey, nobody’s perfect. He was very into his body. I once told him he had skinny legs and he sulked for hours.

  “Anyway, the guy sold advertising time on TV. Had a lot of money. So he asks me to go away with him to the Berkshires for the weekend. Now, I usually don’t do that. I’m always working and I had never spent more than a few hours at a stretch with this guy. But my girlfriends were all for it, saying you have to spend time with someone in order to get to know him. Makes sense, right?”

  Shannon nodded.

  “So, off we go to Lenox, Massachusetts, in his brand new Saab. Unfortunately, I happen to spill some moisturizing lotion in the front seat as we’re driving on the Taconic Parkway. No big deal. It comes right off. Well, this guy has a meltdown. He whips the car off the highway. I have to get out while he makes an inspection. For fifteen minutes, the guy is rubbing a cloth on the seat covers. I swear there was nothing there. I’m trying not to laugh, but finally I say, ‘Come on.’ He gets mad. The weekend went downhill from there. We didn’t even sleep together because I made fun of him. I told him if he would rub me like he rubbed the car, I would get very turned on. He didn’t see the humor. So, that’s what women like me are dealing with these days. Guys who are Saabing.”

  Shannon laughed. “Great story. You should write it up for Cosmo.”

  “So, how about you?” Ashley asked. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “Nobody wants to marry me. I guess I’ve been selfish in my life. I always wanted an adventurous career and I put that first. Relationships are not compatible with running around the world covering war and pestilence.”

  “Didn’t you ever come close? I mean, you are in your forties,” Ashley asked.

  “Never even went steady. I think my mother, before she died, thought I would never get married. I always told her I was gay. She didn’t believe me.”

  “Maybe you are gay and don’t even know it.” Ashley was teasing him, testing his reaction.

  “I hope so. Then maybe somebody will buy me dinner.” They both laughed. Ashley was enjoying the parrying. Shannon sensed she liked him, and continued talking about himself for another few minutes. Finally, the check appeared on a sterling silver tray. For what the dinner cost, Shannon could have bought the tray. But he wordlessly paid the tab, and the couple took the elevator down to the real world.

  Though it was only early November, the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center was filled with skaters. Ashley and Shannon leaned over the railing above the oval rink watching a little Asian girl perform flawless spins in the middle of the ice. After each success, she waved to a man who looked like her father. He was videotaping her performance.

  “Do you skate, Ash?”

  “Haven’t in a long time.”

  “We’ll have to get you out there.”

  “Not dressed like this you won’t.” And Ashley Van Buren smiled her break-your-heart smile.

  The couple walked over to Fifth Avenue and hailed a cab in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. During the taxi ride to the Upper East Side, Ashley debated in her mind whether to invite Shannon up to her apartment for a drink. She liked him, but knew she had to be careful. He was charming but somewhat mysterious. She finally decided that she could handle the situation. The cab dropped them in front of a modern high rise building, and the two took the elevator to her apartment on the fifth floor.

  Shannon smiled as he glanced around Ashley’s place. She was changing in the bedroom, and he was sitting on the sofa holding a glass of Diet Coke and listening to the Polish jazz singer Basia on the stereo.

  The apartment was typical Upper East Side, Shannon thought. Probably fifteen hundred a month. Dotting the walls were a packed bookcase and pictures of Ashley’s family and career highlights: Ashley with Rudy Guiliani, and Mario Cuomo, and Bryant Gumbel. The woman had an impressive pictorial résumé. The sofa where Shannon was sitting faced a large TV surrounded by videotapes of every description. On top of the set sat a stuffed teddy bear wearing a button that said: “Get in Dutch with the Dutch.”

  Ashley emerged from her bedroom wearing a man’s white dress shirt untucked over blue jeans. As she stood in front of him, Shannon thought she looked incredibly sexy.

  “I can’t stay long, but before I go, I want to show you something I learned in Thailand,” Shannon said. He knew his statement would pique her curiosity.

  “Oh, I’ve heard that line before,” Ashley replied laughing.

  “Okay Van Buren,” Shannon smiled. “Pull up that Ottoman and sit in front of the couch with your back to me.”

  Ashley hesitated but, out of curiosity, did as Shannon asked. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he leaned forward and faced her back. “Now, close your eyes and relax your muscles. Let me know if the pressure is too hard.” Shannon then placed his thumbs on the top of Ashley’s neck, at the base of her skull. Using a circular motion, he kneaded her skin, at first slowly, but then applying more pressure and speed.

  Ashley felt the tension dissolving from her neck and shoulders like an ocean tide receding from the sand. Shannon was using all his fingers now, massaging the back of her head lightly.

  “I’m messing up your hair. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Ashley shook her head no. She was concentrating on his firm touch against her skin. It felt great.

  Working his hands down each side of Ashley’s spine, Shannon was careful not to apply too much pressure. Deep massage was the Japanese way. His technique was to continually knead and lightly stretch her skin through the soft cotton shirt. Taking off her shirt had entered Ashley’s mind, but she rejected it, deciding it would get her into major trouble.

  In a few short minutes, Ashley’s chin almost touched the top of her chest, her mind was floating, and she was seriously relaxed. Then Shannon’s hands encircled each of her biceps, lightly squeezing them. At the same time, he bent his face forward, softly placing his tongue on the right side of her neck
. In an upward motion, his tongue advanced on her skin to just below her earlobe. Goose bumps appeared on Ashley’s body. She involuntarily shivered. This guy really knows what he’s doing, she thought.

  Shannon decided to accelerate the foreplay. He lightly bit Ashley’s earlobe, ran his tongue back down the length of her neck, and continued across the top of her shoulders, all the while massaging the top half of her arms. He then quickened the pace, massaging and licking her neck with more pressure. She shuddered again, closing her eyes and trying to control her breathing, which was becoming increasingly labored.

  Moving his hands forward, Shannon cupped Ashley’s breasts over her shirt. He felt her taut nipples and was surprised at the fullness of her breasts. From rubbing her back, he knew that she wasn’t wearing a brassiere.

  Ashley was excited, but not ready to go any further. “I think we should stop now,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Don’t worry, I’m almost finished. Just stay relaxed.” Shannon’s voice was low. He was enjoying himself immensely.

  Ashley’s shoulders sagged into a passive slouch and she felt Shannon gently tweak her nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. He then began to move his fingers in a light circular motion. Her breasts strained against her shirt. It felt so good. It had been so long since she made love. Shannon then lightly bit the back of her neck while continuing to massage her breasts. “That’s all for tonight,” he said. “But if you want to learn more about Thailand, I’m available next Saturday.”

  Ashley remained silent, not wanting to appear anxious.

  After the massage, the two kissed passionately and things grew heated once again. But Shannon, believing things would be better if they didn’t rush, told Ashley he was staying at his rented house on the North Fork of Eastern Long Island that coming week. It was where he did much of his writing. Very private, no phones, no interruptions. But he would be back in the city next weekend. Ashley agreed to see him then.

  After a final kiss, Shannon walked into the night, feeling powerful and in control. It was a feeling he valued above all others.

  * * *

  15

  MANHATTAN

  NOVEMBER 1994

  Ashley Van Buren’s phone rang at ten a.m. on Sunday morning. She was still in bed, memories of the night before drifting through her mind. Thinking the caller might be Shannon, she immediately picked up the phone.

  “Ashley, Tommy O’Malley. How ya doin’?”

  “Detective, how nice to hear from you,” said Ashley, smiling.

  “Call me Tommy. Listen, if you’re not busy tonight, maybe we could grab a bite. Something casual.”

  “That would be great, Tommy, but I’m treating, so let’s go someplace nice.”

  “I don’t know anyplace nice,” Tommy said laughing.

  “Bella Vita, corner of 75th and York. Seven o’clock. Be there or else.” Ashley laughed softly. Tommy liked the sound.

  “Se ya then.”

  Ashley got up from her queen-sized bed still wearing the same white shirt and blue cotton panties from the night before. The wine from the restaurant had caused a slight puffiness under her eyes. “Last night . . .” she said to herself. “Last night was nice.”

  Because it was overcast, Ashley decided it was the perfect day to run errands. She packed up her dirty laundry, two large sacks full, and took it down to Chin’s on Second Avenue. Then she went for a jog to Central Park and back. Finally, she picked up the Sunday papers and devoted the rest of the afternoon to reading. It was rare that Ashley got this amount of quiet time.

  Tommy O’Malley rose from his corner table to greet Ashley Van Buren as she entered the restaurant. His huge frame loomed over her.

  “Hey, you better sit down before I get a neck ache. I’m only five two, and, what, you’re bigger than Patrick Ewing, right?” Ashley smiled broadly. Her green eyes twinkled.

  “Us big guys fall very hard, you know,” said Tommy, who thought the reporter looked better every time he saw her.

  “Somehow, Detective O’Malley, I cannot see you falling, I just can’t picture it. Maybe it would be like a Gulliver thing, and I would be one of the Lilliputians.”

  “We better stop there. If you’re gonna talk literature to me, I’ll panic.”

  The restaurant was nearly empty. Tommy and Ashley looked out the window onto York Avenue. This area of New York City had long been a haven for Northern and Eastern Europeans. Yuppies had recently moved into the neighborhood in force. Ashley is certainly one of them, Tommy thought. But it didn’t matter. If he could court and marry Angela Rufino, he could handle anything.

  She didn’t know him well, but Ashley wasn’t guarded with Tommy O’Malley. She instinctively trusted the big detective. There was something about his face. It was open and honest, and Tommy didn’t look like he was hiding any dark secrets. He was kind of good looking, not classically handsome like Shannon Michaels. He could lose a few pounds but, with his large frame, he looked stocky rather than fat. Very masculine.

  The evening had gotten off to a nice, light start and the couple spent the first half hour of their date talking about themselves, their jobs, and the media. Even though she had just gone through the same drill with Shannon Michaels, Ashley wasn’t getting bored. It felt good to talk about herself. Tommy, on the other hand, hated talking about himself but would do it if that’s what Ashley wanted. He tried not to stare at her for too long at one stretch, but thought that Ashley was the first woman he had ever known who looked sexy even while chewing a mouthful of food. He was seriously turned on. Finally, Ashley brought up the GNN case.

  “So, what’s the situation?”

  Tommy was comfortable with the reporter now, so he didn’t hold back. “Well, we still don’t have much. Jack and I went over to interview David Wayne. Strange guy. Divorced, lives alone. Has a thirst that he quenches quite often, if you know what I mean. Doesn’t do much. ‘A little consulting,’ he says. But he works out, and his grip is a crusher. By the way, your tipster was right. Wayne admits to being on Martha’s Vineyard when Costello went down. Says he goes there a lot to visit reporter-type friends.”

  “How did he react to you and Jackson?” Ashley asked.

  “Well, he was nervous, but didn’t ask for a lawyer or anything. No squawking about his rights. And I didn’t get any sense of menace from him, although he does admit to despising Costello and Ross. Actually, he hates just about everyone at GNN. They fired him after twenty-something years, tellin’ the guy that research said he was too old to appeal to their audience. Pretty damn ruthless, if you ask me. Anyway, we’re gonna watch the guy but we’ve got nothin’ hard on him. I’m sending his picture up to the Massachusetts State Police. They’ll show it around the island. Maybe somethin’ll pop. Now we gotta talk to this Shannon Michaels.”

  “He’s not your killer,” Ashley said, matter-of-factly.

  Tommy was instantly on alert. “How do you know?” he asked, more emphatically than he meant to.

  Ashley noticed the edge in Tommy’s voice but was not put off. “I spent some time with him yesterday. There’s no way this guy’s a killer. He’s establishment all the way, plenty of money, big house. He seemed very genuine and nice. Not the criminal type, in my humble opinion, and I am the ‘Queen of Crime,’ you know.” Ashley smiled, trying to keep things light.

  Tommy O’Malley frowned. “Be careful, Ash. Some guys are real hard to read. I have no evidence against this Michaels, but that doesn’t mean anything. Remember Ted Bundy? Law student. Had girlfriends in six states. His own mother swore the guy wasn’t capable of hurting anyone, and to this day she still can’t believe he was a crazed killer. The guy’s mom didn’t even know what he was capable of! Some of these psychos are really clever. They lead double lives.”

  “Shannon Michaels,” said Ashley, “would have far too much to lose to get involved with anything like this.” Ashley was getting more intense in her defense of Michaels, and it annoyed Tommy.

  “Are you gonna see this guy again
?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Geez, Ash. Let me talk to him first, okay? I’ve left a couple of messages on his answering machine, but he hasn’t called back.”

  “He’s out on the far end of the Island. He’s rented a place on the water. A writer’s retreat—you know, no phone, lots of privacy, no distractions.”

  How convenient, Tommy thought. “Do you have an address?”

  “No, but he’s supposed to call me during the week. I’ll ask him to check in with you.”

  “Ash, I really mean this. Be careful with this guy. Both he and David Wayne seem to have motive and opportunity in the case.”

  “Detective, are you genuinely concerned for my welfare?” Ashley smiled.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “How nice,” Ashley grinned, licking her bottom lip. “My therapist says I need somebody who will be totally devoted to me.”

  “Your therapist?”

  Ashley saw a bit of caution in Tommy O’Malley’s eyes, and she instantly regretted the remark about her therapist. She rarely mentioned that relationship to anyone. But she felt so open with this guy. “Yeah,” she continued, “she’s been a big help to me.”

  “Why do you need a therapist? You seem like you know how to handle yourself.” Tommy was genuinely curious.

  “Sometimes things get complicated. Everybody needs someone to talk with. After my Mom died, I didn’t have anyone who would sit there and listen to me ramble on. My father would have a heart attack. My girlfriends always have their own agendas. And forget about guys. Tell me the truth: Which would you rather do, listen to me talk about how confused I am, or watch the Knicks?”