Closing her eyes, she thought back to their interview with the evasive Mr. Tobaski.
He had been visibly furious when they arrived, his eyes darting to the curious stares of his neighbors. “Come in and get off my stoop. Jesus, my wife is at the store and I want this done before she gets home.” Seeing Ginny’s lifted brow, he added, “She’s not well and I don’t want her upset.”
Ginny stared at the forty-four-year old man—balding, medium build, with a slight potbelly hanging over his pants. A glance at the wedding picture on the mantle from what must have been about twenty years prior, showed a handsome man, blond, with a white-toothed smile. Shifting back, she thought that life had been hard on him, but buried the grin at the thought of his philandering ways bringing him some discomfort. She recognized the slight revenge streak in her, but dismissed it as the Deputy began questioning.
Martin first denied being in Baytown, but the credit card receipt from Finn’s Pub blew that excuse. Then he denied being kicked out of the pub by the owners. Faced with the statements from Aiden and three other patrons, all claiming he made the sexual comments to the server, he leaned back in his chair in frustration.
“Come on, she’s a barmaid. Jesus, she knows what it’s like. She wears tight jeans and gets more tips. I was just giving her what she wanted—attention.”
“What kind of attention were you willing to give her?” Ginny asked, her eyes never leaving his face as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead.
“I don’t want my wife to know this,” he moaned. “Can we get this over with?”
“If you start giving us straight answers, then yes. If not, we’ll take you back to the station for further questioning.”
At that, Martin blanched, “Fine, fine. I like a little on the side, so sue me. I go out to Baytown because no one I know would ever be at that little shit-stain town.”
Ginny inwardly flinched but maintained her outward composure, willing for him to keep digging a deeper hole.
“Not my wife, not her friends, not my co-workers…nobody. I walk around the beach, the town, checking out the women. I drink at the bar or at one of the restaurants, just to see who might be up for a romp.”
“And if no one seems interested?”
“Oh, you can always find someone who’s interested. They might just play a little hard to get.”
“Is that what happened last night?”
“Look, I’m telling you that piece of fluff was interested, she just needed at little convincing. I tried the subtle way, but she was making me work for it. Hell, her ass was great but her tits were small, so I thought I’d get her juices flowing talking about what I’d like to do to her. Bitch got upset and then some big brute got up in my face and kicked me out of the bar. Me? Seriously? He kicks me out? You should have seen some of the red neck townies still in there. What a no-class dump.”
“How’d that make you feel? Angry? Mad at the server?”
Leaning forward, Martin said, “Oh, hell, I was pissed and don’t mind telling you. I’ve got a job that makes more money than anyone in that bar and yet I’m the one they gave the boot to? And you should have seen her eyes. She wanted it, but I think she just liked jerking my chain. But, when it comes to the ladies, I’m in control.”
Ginny’s neutral expression stayed plastered on her face as she asked, “What did you do after you left the bar?”
“Oh, I got me some all right,” Martin bragged.
“Where and with who?”
His face lost some of it bravado as his eyes narrowed. Nervously glancing out of the front window, he said, “Look, I want to know what this is about. I’m not answering any more questions until I know why you’re asking.”
“The woman you insulted,” Ginny said, “was assaulted last night. Curious that, after she rebukes you, she’s attacked.”
Martin jerked back, his mouth open and eyes wide. “Me? You think I did that? No, no way. I…I—”
“Then I suggest you cooperate.”
Looking out the window once more, he cursed, “Fucking hell. My wife is coming down the street—”
“Then talk quickly,” Ginny prodded, secretly wishing his wife would hurry.
“I went walking. Ended up at the restaurant at the harbor…Seafood something. They had a band and I saw some women sitting outside on the deck. Scoped them out, asked one to dance, and then she took me back to her place. I was back here by about 1 a.m.”
“Name of woman?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. I wasn’t interested in anything other than the fact that she had big hooters and a place easy to get to.” Rubbing his sweaty forehead, he said, “Uh, Sherry…or Sheryl…or Sherilyn. That’s it! Sherilyn.”
Recognizing the name, Ginny wrote it down. “Where does she live?”
“Uh, close. We only had to drive a few minutes. It was off the road near the cemetery heading toward Route 13. It was a one-story…white house…had a fence in the front.”
Nodding, Ginny snapped her notebook closed and looked at the deputy doing the same.
The front door opened and an attractive blonde stepped inside. Although twenty years had passed, they’d been much kinder to Mrs. Tobaski than her husband.
“Martin? What’s going on?”
“Darling, these officers were just finishing. I had some business on the Eastern Shore and there was an accident. They wanted to check up on anyone who had been in the area.”
She appeared confused for a few seconds as she looked from Ginny, to the deputy, then over to her husband. “Eastern Shore?”
“They have two great golf courses and I wanted to check them out. I had a drink at one of the restaurants there and they wanted to question me about some of the people there.”
His excuse was laughable at best, but Ginny nodded as she turned to walk out the front door. “We’ll be in touch if we need more information,” she said, seeing Martin’s glare burning straight toward her. As she stepped out onto the porch, she could hear his wife’s strident voice from inside, questioning Martin about where he had been and who he had been with.
“Is it a bad thing that I’m glad his wife is giving him hell?” the deputy asked as they climbed into the North Hampton cruiser.
Chuckling, Ginny shook her head. “Personally, I was hoping she’d come home in the middle of our questioning. I wanted to see him squirm a little more.” Closing her eyes as they began the drive back over the long Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, she dreamed of her tub filled with warm water, a bath bomb, and Brogan.
23
Looking up, Ginny said, “Are we dealing with a man who can’t have sex? Or is afraid of sex? Or…oh, hell, I don’t know!”
Mitch walked in, Lance with him, surprising everyone in the room. “I’ve asked Lance Green to assist with a possible profile.”
The gathering of law enforcement personnel turned with interest, eager to listen to what Lance could offer. He stood, tall and ill at ease, the expression on his face screaming he would rather be somewhere else, preferably by himself. Ginny thought his profile was handsome, but realized she had never seen him smile. Blinking as he began to speak, she focused on his words.
“The typical voyeur is male, and the behavior generally begins before the adolescent years. This would make it difficult to determine the age of who you are looking for, if it weren’t for the heights of the windows involved. Based on what Chief Evans has said, you are probably looking at an adult male, instead of an adolescent or pre-teen. The latest behavior is called Frotteurism, which is touching or rubbing against a non-consenting person. and generally involves the suffering or humiliation of the other person.”
“So, it’s not sexual—it’s about humiliation and control?” Grant asked.
“Yes, it’s about control, but the humiliation is a big part of it. Voyeurism is a crime when the perpetrator steps over the bounds and watches someone against their will,” Lance added. “Many people need added stimulation such as porn, nude magazines, etc. Voyeurs usually start with wa
tching someone at home, their parents having sex or a sibling taking a bath, for example. They need the external stimulation of peeking at someone to become sexually stimulated.”
“Age?” Burt asked.
Shrugging, Lance said, “No particular age. Sorry. But keep in mind that not all voyeurs take the peeping any further than just getting stimulated when they illicitly peer at someone. Frotteurism is taking it to a different level. It could be someone who’s getting their jollies standing in a crowded subway and their crotch just happens to be at the level of someone’s rear end. But, taken to extremes, it can become sexual assault when the person attacks someone with the express purpose of having control over their victim and using their body to cause orgasm.”
By the time Lance was finished and left the station, Ginny’s head was about to explode. Rubbing her forehead, she said, “Mitch, I need to check on the final plans for Finn’s block party. Is the mayor still on board?”
“Oh, yeah. He and Silas want it to move forward to counter the bad publicity of our attacker. Looking at his watch, he said, “Go on and talk to Brogan, then call it a night.” Looking at the others, he said, “We meet back here first thing in the morning. Let’s hope we have a quiet night. Sam, you have the first evening shift and then Grant, you’re on call after eleven.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Ginny waved goodbye, heading down the street toward the pub. Passing Jillian’s Coffee Shop and Galleria, she darted inside, reminded that she needed to speak to Jillian.
Stepping into the cool interior, Ginny took a second to let her eyes adjust and to admire the shop. Antique tables and amber sconces on the walls to soften the sunlight that came from the front gave the quaint shop its ambience. The old building had originally been a store in the late 1800’s and fell into disrepair over the years. The store passed through multiple owners and eventually ended up bought by Jillian’s parents. Determined to return the store to its former glory, they kept the solid wood paneling, carved wooden support poles, and the glass display cases on the sides of the long room downstairs. They turned the rest into a coffee shop and Jillian’s mother began baking pastries to sell along with the coffee.
Once her parents turned it over to her, Jillian restored the second floor to the same glory as the coffee shop downstairs and showcased local artists’ paintings on the dark paneled walls.
Directed upstairs, Ginny rounded the banister and observed Jillian on a stepstool, hanging a piece of sea glass art that was exquisite. Jillian grinned at her and climbed down.
“Wow,” Ginny said, staring at the perfectly balanced piece of work. “That is breath taking.”
“I know,” Jillian gushed. “All his work is gorgeous. I’m so glad Lance lets me display it.” Turning her appraising eye toward Ginny, she said, “You know the sea glass story, don’t you?” Seeing Ginny’s quizzical expression, she reached over to a small bowl on her desk and plucked out one of the many pieces of sea glass. Handing it to Ginny, she said, “Sea glass comes from the ships out in the harbor. They still use glass bottles and plates. They can just wash to reuse, of course, and when they break, they can toss them into the sea, unlike paper refuse. The shards drop to the bottom of the sea, churned by the sand and surf until all the edges become smooth. By the time they wash up on shore, they’re beautiful pieces of sea glass.”
Ginny rubbed her fingers over the deep green glass in her hand, admiring the way the delicate glass was as smooth as it was strong. Smiling, she handed it back to Jillian, who shook her head.
“Oh, no. That’s for you. To always remind you that it is not the calm seas that shape us, but the rough and tumbles in life that make us who we are.”
Ginny blinked back tears as she swallowed deeply. Shoving the sea glass into her pocket, she nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice.
Smiling, Jillian, ever perceptive, said, “You look like a woman who needs a good cup of coffee.”
“Oh, yeah, that’d be great.”
Calling down to her barista, Jillian ordered two coffees and then ushered Ginny to a little table near the tall windows overlooking Main Street. “I get the feeling you’re here officially. What can I do for you?” Leaning forward, her eyes alight, she added, “I hear good gossip, you know.” Leaning back, she pretend pouted, “Although, when Katelyn worked at the diner, she got great gossip!”
Chuckling, Ginny said, “I actually need to ask you what you thought about Ben Hudgins or James Smithson.” Seeing Jillian’s surprised face, Ginny quickly explained, “Nothing’s wrong with them, but I need to get a read on their personalities. Grant and I had to interview them and I…well, I know you had gone out with Ben.”
“Oh, lordy, you and Grant talked to Ben? I’ll bet Grant was real happy about that!” Jillian said, rolling her eyes.
A server brought the coffees to them and Ginny took a grateful sip.
“To be honest, Ginny, I don’t have a ton of information to give you. I met Ben when a group of new teachers were brought in on a tour of the town. James wasn’t with them…he might have been hired a year later. Anyway, I only know James by sight, but we’ve never talked, other than just hello when he happens to come by. Ben was a real sweetie and we kind of flirted.” She fiddled with the tablecloth for a moment and said, “That was a dark time for me and Grant. He’d been back in town for over a year and never made a move on me…in fact, he made it a point to make sure he wasn’t with me, if you get what I mean.” Sighing, she continued, “Anyway, Ben seemed interested, nice, and God knows, he’s handsome. So, we went to dinner a couple of times. No major sparks and I didn’t sleep with him. We kissed, but that was about it. I asked him to take me to Tori and Mitch’s engagement party and that was when Grant first saw us, acted like an ass to Ben, and then he and I began our big fight, makeup, and trying to figure out what the hell we were.” Grinning, she flashed her engagement ring and said, “From then on, it was Grant.”
“How did Ben take that?”
“He was fine. He and I talked and he admitted he knew we weren’t true loves. He even said that he hoped Grant and I were happy.”
“And nothing about James?”
“Other than he’s got a reputation?”
“What have you heard?”
Jillian’s lips turned down slightly, as she said, “Ginny, this is only hearsay. Just gossip.”
“I understand and I’ll take it as that.”
Nodding, Jillian said, “Well, I remember Ben mentioning a few times about James and women. How he likes a different one all the time, rarely sees someone two times in a row. How he brags about variety. I remember Ben making a comment once about how James is so friendly with women out in public…kind of flirty, you know? But then he talks really badly about them in private.” Sighing, she continued, “I know Grant certainly dated around, but he never trashed talked anyone.”
“Jade seemed to think—”
Jillian immediately interrupted, “I know Jade said James was professional, but she works in the elementary school, not at the high school with him. She tends to think the best of everyone, but I’ve heard he can be overly friendly. So far, not with the students, but with others.”
Ginny sipped her coffee, her mind processing Jillian’s comments…and an uneasy feeling crawled up her spine. Nodding, Ginny sighed, pushing her chair back to stand, but Jillian’s twinkling eyes stopped her. “Was there something else?” she asked.
“I just wondered how the new underwear was working out for you?”
Pink stained Ginny’s cheeks but she was unable to keep the smile from her face. “It just came in but I’ve been so busy, I haven’t worn it yet. I’ll be honest, though I don’t see how you manage to match your panties and bra every day—”
“Oh, honey,” Jillian said, “that’s just for special occasions…or romance novels where the heroine always manages to have things match. I suppose someone with money can also do that daily, since they probably own a bunch of matching lingerie. But, for most of us ordinary women, we do what we
can with what we have!”
Ginny laughed, enjoying the ease of their conversation. “Good. Hopefully, I can soon report that Brogan approves whole-heartedly.”
“And just remember, men don’t honestly give a hoot what you’re wearing under your clothes, because all they can think about is getting you naked,” Jillian laughed. “That lingerie is for you to feel pretty and special—men just want it off!”
“That’s certainly been the case so far,” Ginny admitted, her heart light as she shared an intimate conversation with a friend. A few minutes later, she was back on the sidewalk, sliding her sunglasses on her nose, heading toward Finn’s.
Ginny could not remember having so much fun. Sitting in a booth at Finn’s, tucked into Brogan’s side, surrounded by their friends. After living a somewhat solitary social life since she had been in Baytown, relaxing with friends was a welcome change in her life. Feeling a squeeze on her shoulder, she twisted her head around to look up at Brogan. His eyes were focused on her, warm and gentle.
“Having a good time?” he whispered in her ear.
Nodding, “Yeah.”
“Good. I wanted you to have a chance to relax.”
Jason, Callan, Zac, and Aiden had a cut-throat game of darts going near the front, showing off for Jade and Belle. Jillian and Grant, Tori and Mitch, and Katelyn and Gareth filled the booth in the back, easy conversation and banter flowing between them. As if they had agreed to a moratorium on discussing the events of the past week, no one mentioned the case. Instead, the excitement about Finn’s block party the next night filled their conversation.
“I’ll be working, you know,” Ginny said to Brogan, watching his smile turn to a scowl.
“I know,” he grumbled.
“That’s what we get for being involved with the police,” Tori said to Jillian before looking over at Brogan. “Whether you like it or not, Brogan, you’ve now joined our club.”
Finding Peace: Baytown Boys Page 19