by Alex Dean
“Have the request extended outside of Madison and even out of state, in case he leaves the area. Anybody see anything? How about the neighbors?” D’Pella asked.
“Most of the neighbors we’ve interviewed weren’t home when the murder allegedly occurred.”
“How about the victim… the girl with the ex-boyfriend, anybody talk to her?”
“We’re trying to get a hold of her. She’s been putting in extra hours at UW, where she’s a med student, we’re told. The university’s campus police have been notified about Bachman as well.”
D’Pella took in a deep breath, carefully scanning the neighborhood.
“Days like this I hate this job, gentlemen. Don’t get me wrong, I get a hard-on nailing these scumbags and bringing some closure to the families of victims. But to see this poor guy beaten to death like this makes my damn skin crawl,” D’Pella said.
Chapter 7
WILFRED BACHMAN WAS a wanted man. Police wanted to question him about the assault of Alexis Fields, and now he was pegged as a person of interest in the murder of Bill Finnegan. But Bachman was nowhere to be found.
There had been no weapon left at the crime scene, and police had no eyewitness accounts to go on, only a possible motive to tie Bachman to Finnegan’s murder. While lying in bed at the motel, Bachman had received a late-night phone call from his mother.
“Will, where the hell are you? The police have been here looking for you. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m good. I’m still in Madison, staying at a motel. I had to clear my head. And with everything that’s going on I’ll be gone awhile.”
“Why? That makes you look guilty. You know that, don’t you?”
“I broke up with Alexis. Is that a crime?”
“Of course not, but the police said that some guy was murdered, and they have you as a person of interest.”
“I don’t know what they’re talking about. I didn’t murder anyone. And if someone did get murdered, I believe Alexis is pissed and trying to implicate me in it.”
“Well, it’d be best if you got yourself a lawyer, Will. Just in case. It’s better that you turn yourself in and get this straightened out.”
“I’m not turning myself in. For what? So they can get me on some trumped-up charges? I’m thinking about leaving Madison for a while, Momma; there are better opportunities elsewhere.”
“Look, Will, I know that you didn’t murder anyone, but the police don’t know that until they can clear you. I’ll get you an attorney. I know a good one who represented your father, got him off when he was arrested for domestic violence. Although it pissed me off at the time.”
“Okay, whatever.”
Bachman told his mother he loved her and hoped to see her soon. He had some unfinished business to deal with before deciding if he would leave town. The following night, he returned to the condo and took her car keys while she was asleep. He knew that she wouldn’t hear him due to the fact that she was a hard sleeper. Leaving his own car in the condominium complex’s underground garage, he took hers and conspicuously drove to the neighborhood where Alexis lived. He had imagined sweet revenge—an encore performance—in his sick and twisted way of thinking.
The night had turned cool and damp. He parked roughly twenty yards away from her house on the same side of the street. Waited for her patiently, scooting down in the driver’s seat of his mother’s Kia Sorento. He wore a navy-blue hoodie, denim shorts and a pair of black sneakers. Not exactly the kind of attire a would-be mugger or kidnapper would wear, but the color or type of clothes he had on was the least of his concerns.
Bachman knew her schedule. Every Thursday night at approximately 8:30 P.M. she would leave her home and drive to a twenty-four-hour fitness gym where she was a member. She loved working out. And he’d always admired her athletically toned body, her perfect natural breasts, just as other men had. He watched as she closed the front door of her home and surveyed her surroundings before she walked to her car. To remain unnoticed, he waited several minutes, until she drove up the street, before he followed her.
She arrived at the gym twenty minutes later, pulling into a parking space, grabbing her workout bag from her vehicle’s trunk and scurrying toward the entrance to the club.
She wore a fitted black jogging suit, one that Bachman had purchased as a Valentine’s Day gift, a pair of pink Nike cross-trainers, and a new pink T-shirt which ironically read: “Suck It Up, Buttercup.”
Gym staff was not present after 7:00 P.M., and entrance to the building was only possible with an authorized access key given to club members. The evening’s light drizzle gave way to a batch of heavier rain. As she walked, Alexis turned around to see if she was being followed.
She trudged to the club’s entrance, pulling out her access key from her jacket’s pocket and swiped it in front of the door sensor to unlock the door.
Bachman bolted out of his mother’s vehicle, running across the street toward the entrance of the club to catch the glass door before it closed completely.
“Dammit!” he muttered. He stood out of breath. His chest felt constricted, and his breathing was fast and intense. Running was not something he had been accustomed to doing. It had been too late to catch the door to sneak in the club after her. He glanced at the front of the building and peered inside the tinted glass windows. He wondered if anyone had managed to see him.
After several minutes, he jogged back to the Sorento and opened the passenger door, quickly retrieving a hunting knife from the glove compartment. Bachman furtively scanned the area as he moved closer to Alexis’s vehicle. Hunching over by the left rear wheel well, he positioned the knife at the proper angle, swiftly puncturing her car’s back tire, smiling as he listened to the hissing sound of air escaping. He sliced into each of her four tires, determined to leave her with no way to get home. The “revengeful act” was the start of more to come, he thought. Moments before, though, Bachman hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d failed to see the surveillance camera mounted near the top of the gym’s entrance.
Chapter 8
AFTER FILING AN INCIDENT REPORT with Madison PD, Alexis planned to meet with Detective Haney at Central District for an impromptu meeting scheduled for 2:30 P.M. the following day. The sky was overcast, with rain in the forecast. And the sun peeked intermittently through the clouds over the city. Slowly, she pulled in front of the tan building on Carroll Street, her BMW sporting new tires.
After shutting off the engine, she checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and ran her fingers through her hair before climbing out to go inside. She was wearing a black two-button jacket over a white silk top, a sheath dress and a pair of black Vince Camuto pointed-toe pumps. She looked stunning. All department personnel present, including female officers, focused their gaze on her as she swaggered inside.
“Hi, I’m Alexis Fields, here to see Detective Haney.” She spoke confidently.
A short and stocky woman with close-cropped hair, more handsome than beautiful, quickly responded. “Sure, I’ll get him up front,” she said before placing the call back to Haney’s office.
Haney took a sip from his coffee mug, then eagerly made his way forward.
“Ms. Fields, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as they shook hands. “Please follow me. There have been some interesting developments in the case. I think we’re on to something,” he added confidently.
Alexis and Haney meandered through the hallway back to his office, a small room sparsely furnished with several metal file cabinets, a steel desk and an ergonomic chair. On the desk sat stacks of case reports and a multiple-line phone complete with an intercom.
“Please, have a seat,” he motioned with a wave.
Alexis sat down in a small chair next to Haney’s desk, brimming with curiosity.
“First off, I’m sorry to hear about your tires. You know, we’re a small, tight-knit operation, and I hear most of what comes down the wire. That said, and since you may play a critical part in our murder invest
igation, I took the liberty of contacting the folks that run the gym where you’re a member, to see if perhaps there were any security cameras on the premises. There were indeed. And so, I was provided with a copy of the video surveillance tape retrieved, which I’d like to show you.”
Haney reached into a leather briefcase on the floor and pulled out an iPad that he’d had the footage copied to for the occasion. He held the tablet up, giving Alexis a direct view of the screen, then cued the file.
“It’s not exactly high-definition, but you get a pretty good look at this guy’s face,” he said.
As the grainy video played, a man was seen running toward the front door of the gym. Then, he paused for a tense moment, looking around suspiciously as he caught his breath.
“That’s him!” Alexis blurted as she watched the footage. “That’s Wilfred. I knew it was him.”
“Are you sure, Ms. Fields?”
“Absolutely. You see, he’s got this habit of jerking his neck to one side whenever he gets nervous or agitated. I’ve seen it on several occasions.” Alexis pointed to the screen, turning the iPad toward Haney. “If you look here, he does it. But I know it’s him. I can clearly see his face. What a complete asshole!” she said.
“I would have to agree with you. He seems like a spurned lover that can’t let go. You hear a lot about that these days. We’ll catch up with him. It may take some time, but we’re hoping he’s stupid enough to use your cell phone.”
Alexis shrugged. “He’s a smart guy; I’ll give him that—just crazy as hell. And he’s turned menacingly dangerous.”
“I know you’re glad to get away from him. You deserve much better than that.”
“Thank you. I’ve already filed for a restraining order. And I’m attending an injunction hearing at the courthouse as soon as I leave here.”
Haney nodded. “Okay, good. Now, I’ve got some tidbits concerning Bill Finnegan. I understand you knew him fairly well since he lived right across the street?”
“Yes, he would organize our block club party each year. He was the eyes and ears of our neighborhood, so to speak. We’re a close-knit community. His death has hit us hard.”
“You know much about his private life? He have much company?”
“No, I don’t. He was divorced, I believe, and lived alone. He’s been there since I was a kid.”
“Well, it may come as a surprise that a couple of your neighbors indicated that Mr. Finnegan may have, on occasion, had what appeared to be call girls come to his house. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“No, this is the first I’ve heard of it. And how in the hell would my neighbors know they were call girls?”
“The folks next door to him said they’d overheard an argument about money and had never seen the women before. We’re exploring all angles. Keeping all options open. Forensics is in the process of examining his computer’s hard drive, his Internet searches and phone records. I can’t blame the guy for not wanting to be alone, but it’s a dangerous world out here. And living in a place like this could’ve given the poor man a false sense of security.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Alexis said.
“Now, here’s where things get really interesting,” Haney exclaimed. “As of last night, a colleague and I got a hold of some critical information. As it turns out, some kids were playing touch football at the end of your block the evening Finnegan was murdered. Why is this significant? Because these kids were playing their game in the middle of the street. They told us that a woman in an SUV turned onto the block and slowed down, waiting for them to clear a path. But when the kids moved out of the way, she rolled down the driver’s-side window and asked them if they knew the man that got into a fight with your boyfriend. And with good intentions, though bad judgment, the kids gave up Finnegan’s name and pointed out to the woman where he lived. We requested that each of those kids come down for witness statements and give a description of the woman to a sketch artist. Now, based on that information, this is what we’ve got so far.”
Haney pulled out a manila envelope from his top drawer, unfastened the clasp and handed Alexis the pencil drawing.
“Are you kidding me?” she said nervously, her eyes wide with dismay.
“What? You know this person?” Haney asked.
“Oh, God. I’m… speechless.”
“Why?”
Alexis tore her eyes away from the drawing to look at Haney. “Because, that’s his mother.”
“Whose mother?”
“Wilfred’s. I’ve only seen her once or twice, but I’m pretty good with faces, and I’m almost certain that’s her.”
“We’d already been in contact with her when we went to the condo looking for Bachman. She seemed a little screwy then, but never in a million years would I have pegged her a person of interest,” Haney said.
That was it. Haney stood up from his desk, courteously signaling that this brief but insightful meeting was over.
“Ms. Fields, I want to thank you for coming down today. I won’t take up anymore of your time and wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. I need to get with my guys. We’ve got to move fast before this sketch hits the media. I don’t want her knowing we’re on to her, in case she tries to run off somewhere. That wouldn’t be good for business. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand completely. Please let me know if I can be of any further help.”
“I most certainly will. In the meantime, watch your surroundings, be safe, and don’t put your daily routine on Facebook.”
“Okay, Detective.” Alexis stood and shook Haney’s hand. Even more puzzled now, she walked to the front of the building and through the glass entry door, pressing the button on her key fob to climb into her car.
* * *
About thirty minutes later, with search warrant in hand, a skilled team of Madison police, both uniformed officers and detectives, converged on the condo building where Elizabeth Bachman lived with her son. Marked and unmarked police units quietly and efficiently parked in front of and in the rear of the four-story complex.
Equipped with Kevlar bulletproof vests, the officers filed inside of both entrances through a stairwell up to Unit 3C, guns drawn.
Haney stepped forward and gave several knocks on the door, hoping for an amicable response.
Nothing. No one answered.
“Ms. Bachman, Madison PD. Open up if you’re in there! We want to talk to you!” Haney barked.
A detective standing next to Haney glanced down at the doorknob, then up at Haney.
“Try it?” he said, looking for approval to turn the handle and go inside.
Haney nodded, his heart thumping wildly in his chest now. These high-risk excursions had been relatively infrequent throughout his tenure. Not something a small-town cop could ever get used to.
Detective Jerrold Blaine reached forward, turned the handle and slowly swung the door open. Eight cops crept forward into the condo, their guns at the ready. No one else could be seen inside.
At least, not yet.
A small television nestled on a TV cart sat in a corner. No sound. Only a live airing of Jeopardy! played out on the screen.
“Ms. Bachman, you here?” Haney called out as the men peered into the kitchen, a bathroom, and then a guest bedroom.
Suddenly, a loud voice emerged from the main bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Don’t come any further… unless you all got a death wish,” Ms. Bachman yelled hoarsely from behind the closed door.
“We just want to talk, ma’am. No one has to get hurt in this. Just come out of the bedroom unarmed, with your hands in the air,” one of the cops said in a slightly quavering voice.
“Uh-uh. See, I can’t do that. Want to know why?”
The officers froze momentarily, trying their best to negotiate an easy resolution.
“Why? Tell us why, Ms. Bachman.”
“Because I did it. I killed that son of a bitch. That’s what you all are
here for, I know. Well, I’m telling you right now I killed him, just like I killed my husband, Ward, God rest his soul. And I got that same baseball bat right here, next to me, ready to use again if necessary.”
“Okay. Well, come on out and let’s talk about it. We can all figure this out without anyone else getting hurt. How does that sound?”
“That don’t sound too good to me. And I ain’t leaving here alive. I already know that. And I also know I’m not going to sit back and let nobody disrespect or hurt my boy! I mean, what would you do if you were me? We’ve got to protect our own. You fuckers should know that better than anybody!”
Haney and his men listened intently to every word, as they quietly, carefully, methodically moved down the hallway. Slowly, they eased closer to the bedroom.
Only a few life-ending paces from the door.
Suddenly, a ripping, reverberating shotgun blast tore through the bedroom door frame, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. The officers then lunged into the woman’s line of sight and returned fire, striking Elizabeth Bachman multiple times in the face, chest, and stomach as she stumbled backwards, crashing into a mahogany armoire in the room.
All of the cops poured inside. Several detectives, still pointing their handguns at her lifeless body, crouched over her to confirm that she was, in fact, dead. The smell of gunfire hung thick in the air. Brass shell casings littered the varnished hardwood floor.
Haney, taking in the gruesome scene, took a deep breath, swiveled his gaze toward Blaine and said, “Now, it’s time to get her boy.”
From The Author
I hope you’ve enjoyed Restraining Order: Part One of the Alexis Fields Thrill Series. You can get Book Two here: The Bogeyman Next Door