“Yeah.” Harry had fished out an apple turnover, and was unwrapping it.
“They're really all victims. Victims of some rich woman who can afford to provide a phony hiding place for them. And this Peale bastard. Oh, yeah, Mr. Peale. Her pet vampire. But Jessica, she's acquiring them, they're just being kept like a bunch of livestock. Peale killed Edie, and with Toby's help. That's a given. But Jessica Hunley's the one who made the whole thing possible. And that really pisses me off.”
I simply said, “Okay.” It got sort of quiet again.
“Look,” she said suddenly, “I'm saying that, if they'd had some more time for things to sort themselves out, none of 'em would be in this mess in the first place. Jessica just recruited at the right time.”
“Okay.”
“Don't humor me, Houseman.” She rummaged some more. “Did you take the salt?”
“Nope. I found some pepper, though.” I held up the little packet. “See?” I remember thinking that her fries had to be cold by now.
“Well there's a bunch of ketchup packs, but unless I squeeze 'em into my hand … ” She looked up from her search. “Do you see what I mean, though?”
“I think so. She found some people at an unstable time in their lives?”
“Part of it. It's not just that when all the expectations you've had for yourself don't come true, it's when everybody who is important to you had them for you…. ” She stopped abruptly. “Shit happens, Houseman. But not at the same time or the same way for everybody. So, when it happens to you early on, you just watch others pass by, with no shit sticking to them at all. And you feel betrayed.”
“I can see that,” said Harry. “Shit really does happen. Boy, I know that.”
“And you sometimes do things to cover up the disappointment.” Hester sounded tired. “Things you normally wouldn't do, even a while later, but once you start it's almost impossible to stop, because you think you've found your … ”
“Place?” I tried to help.
She sighed. “No, no. Guys are so dense. No, it's much more than that. It's like, you've found your accomplishment. You have to settle for a little less, but you've found it.”
“Oh. I see.”
Hester shook her head. “Oh, Houseman, eat your hamburger.”
“I do get it, though,” I said, leaning forward so the special sauce wouldn't drip on my shirt.
She sighed. “Okay. So, anyway. We agreed that we go right to our motels, and start fresh in the morning?” She was still burrowing through the sack, looking for the rest of her cold fries.
“Mmmph.” I love Big Macs, but they're kind of hard to talk through.
“Here they are!” She fished a bunch of them out, along with a wad of napkins. They'd apparently spilled from the cardboard container, and gotten in with the pile of condiments, napkins, and salt that the employee had swept into the bag. “Okay, then, you want to start with …?”
I swallowed, and used one of the napkins to wipe some sauce off my chin. “I think with the Walworth County Sheriff's Department would be good, don't you?”
“Mmmm.” This time she was the one with the mouthful of fries.
“Got it covered,” said Harry. “Already talked to them. We got the run of the county as long as nobody fucks … oops … screws up.”
“Okay, then,” I said, “wherever we can find Jessica. We drop in, agreed?”
“Sure.” Hester took a long pull on her Diet Coke straw. “What time?”
I thought about it. “Nine-thirty? Ten?”
She looked at her watch. “Let's go for nine-thirty. We aren't going to get squared away tonight until one or so.” She was already tidying up, folding her paper napkin, and getting ready to go. I quickly took a large bite of my second Big Mac. It was cold by now, too.
“You know how to get to Fontana?” asked Harry. “Hester should be taking fifty to Lake Geneva, but we should take sixty-seven south to Williams Bay, and then back westerly to Fontana.”
I swallowed again. “Oh, sure. No problem.”
“What I was trying to say, you two,” said Hester, suddenly, “is that gathering victims at such a hard time in their lives is more despicable than recruiting people who want to get into this vampire stuff.”
“Sure.” Harry agreed. I guessed I did, too.
About thirty minutes later, Harry and I correctly turned south on sixty-seven, and watched Hester disappear down highway fifty. I wondered if her mother knew Hester had worked dope cases.
Six minutes later we were in Fontana.
The room wasn't too bad. Two queen-size beds. Shower. Sink. Toilet. Chair. TV. Even a place to hang hangers. It was cold, and the heating mechanism was integral with the air-conditioning. I turned it on, and had instant tobacco smell. Turned it off, opened a window, and tried to set the little digital alarm clock that came with the room.
Finally, Harry said, “If you'd put your fuckin' glasses on, Houseman, so you could read the dials, we could get another half hour of sleep.”
I got it set, but then picked up the phone and left a wake-up call for 08:30.
“What you do,” said Harry, “is why I divorced my ex-wife.”
I blew him a kiss. “Good night, Harry.”
TWENTY-NINE
Wednesday, October 11, 2000
09:12
I was awakened by the phone. I glanced at the clock. 09:12. I groggily wondered why the wake-up call was solate. “Yeah.”
It was Hester. “You guys like to come over here for brunch?”
“Jesus, Hester. They didn't call, and the alarm didn't go off…. ”
“I'm waking you up?”
I told her she was. She, as it turned out, had taken her morning five-mile run, cleaned up, and had been wondering what was taking us so long to call her.
“Brunch?” I asked.
“What about brunch?” came from Harry in the next bed.
“You guys gotta come over here to eat,” said Hester. “Really. You gotta see this.”
That sounded really good to me. “Give us twenty minutes,” I said. I showered first, while Harry contacted a Walworth County detective named Jim Hawkins, and told him that we were going to have a bite at the Geneva Inn. He said he'd try to meet us within an hour.
I drove, while Harry navigated. All the way through a spot called Linton, on a county road, and then north on Highway 120. The real estate got progressively more upscale as we went. We turned left into a kind of obscure drive, and into the parking lot of a very beautiful hotel. Hester, it appeared, had scored big.
My favorite DCI agent met us in the lobby. It was beautifully done in light wood, natural lighting, with uniformed help who exuded confidence and capability. We continued on into the split-level dining room that had huge windows on three sides, with a fantastic view of Lake Geneva.
We sat at a table with real linen. Heavy silver. Quiet atmosphere. Elegant. Refined. Nice.
“Sleep well?” I asked Hester. She looked absolutely refreshed.
“Wonderful room,” she said. “Wet bar, Jacuzzi, balcony overlooking the lake…. ”
“We,” said Harry, “are in the Bates Motel.”
“Poor dears,” said Hester.
A pretty, perky, and efficient waitress, in her twenties, offered us the breakfast buffet. We partook, as Old Knockle would have said. I never wanted to leave.
Over a great cup of coffee, we gazed out the windows at the huge homes on the lakefront. I thought I could make out a sliver of a rounded dome in the far distance, across the lake and in thick trees. As the waitress asked us if we needed more coffee, I pointed to the dome. “Is that Yerkes Observatory, do you know?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Wow,” I said. “We gotta try to get there.”
“What's there?” asked Harry.
“Enormous telescope, the biggest refractor in the world,” I said. “I'd really like to see that.”
“They have tours,” said the waitress, smiling.
“Excellent.” I shifted
my gaze to the left a bit. “And that big gray building over there? That wouldn't be the courthouse, would it?”
The waitress giggled. She gestured to the enormous, pinkish gray building. “That one?”
“Yeah … ”
“That's the Hunley place,” she said.
It was a four-story building, although there didn't seem to be any windows on the fourth floor. It was absolutely huge. It made the Mansion in Nation County look like an outbuilding. Composed of a large central four-story block, with arched glass, flanked by two equally large sections with square windows, and flanked again by two wings with vast windows. I never would have thought it to be anything but a government office building or library.
“Whoa.” I was impressed. “That's not a public park, then?”
“No, that's the lawn. About three hundred yards of lakefront lawn. And it runs back to the highway at least that far. With a big stone wall, and a huge iron gate. You won't be able to miss it when you go by.”
“I'm impressed,” said Hester. “What does Mr. Hunley do, to be able to afford a four-story home like that?”
“It's Mrs. Bridgett Hunley,” said our waitress. “She's a widow. I don't think she does anything, really. My brother works for their landscaper. Full-time job, mowing that lawn and taking care of the grounds. All summer and into the fall. I'm not kidding. Every day but Sunday. Eight hours a day. Three of them working.”
As she left our table, we exchanged glances. “Holy shit,” said Harry, in as close to a sotto voce as he was capable of assuming, “maintenance on that sucker must cost close to a hundred thousand a year.”
“God bless waitresses,” said Hester. “Carl, why don't you leave a nice tip?”
About halfway through the second coffee, a thin, balding man dressed in slacks and a sweater came toward our table. Harry stood, and greeted him. “Guys,” he said, “this is Jimmy Hawkins, the best detective in this end of the state.” He introduced us.
After the waitress brought Hawkins a cup of coffee, Harry gave him the ten-cent brief, including both murders, some details, the window peeking incident, and the disappearance of Alicia.
Hawkins listened very intently. “Glad those aren't my cases,” he said, when Harry had ffnished. “I just wish they weren't connected to my town. So, what can I do for you?”
“We need a little background,” said Hester.
“On Jessica Hunley, for instance,” I said.
Hawkins told us a lot. Jessica was something of a ffxture in the community, and a welcome one. She did lots of charity work, arts oriented, and spent a lot of time working on community projects that furthered music and dance. She was well known, and highly regarded. There was nothing, as far as he knew, that had ever indicated she might have any criminal involvement of any sort.
“Besides,” he said, “her Aunt Bridgett Hunley would have a fit if she thought Jessica was into anything that might damage the family reputation.”
Bridgett Hunley was a “mega-millionaire,” according to Hawkins. He looked very serious, and said, “I mean 'mega,' too. Really one of the wealthiest women going.”
Jessica lived with her Aunt Bridgett. We sort of knew that already. “I understand she might have taken ill recently,” I said.
“I hadn't heard that, but I'll check,” he said. “She's always struck me as being healthy as a horse.”
“And that,” I said, indicating the four-story building across the lake, “is her house?”
“Yeah, it is. Good size, isn't it? There are about a hundred places with about that much property, or more, around here,” said Hawkins. “But that's the biggest house. Well, the biggest stone house, I should say. Lots of the upper crust from Chicago, years ago, discovered Lake Geneva. People like Wrigley, and Marshall Field, and people like that. Large money. They built summer homes here.”
“That's not a summer home?”
“Not today. But it was in the twenties.” He sipped his coffee. “Today, I think Bridgett and Jessica own four or five places, in fact. But this is the main place.”
“How did they make their money, do you know?” asked Hester.
“Meat packing and railroads, I think. And one of their ancestors married into lumber, as well.” He held his cup up in a “toast” gesture. “Here's to diversification.”
“It's going to be a little intimidating just going to the door for an interview,” I said.
“You can probably find Jessica at her studio during the day,” he said. “That's right at the end of the lake, here, in Lake Geneva. Got a map?”
I was disappointed, I have to admit. I'd had hopes of getting inside the estate.
Hawkins smiled. “Unless you'd care to wait until this evening.” My disappointment must have showed.
“No, that's okay. Some things are just best left to the imagination.” But I felt pretty certain that the residents of the Mansion in Nation County had been guests at the Hunley estate, at the invitation of Jessica. No wonder they were impressed. Just being ushered in there must have been an event.
Hawkins led us to Jessica's dance studio, on Geneva Street, just about downtown Lake Geneva. We all parked, and got out, except for Hawkins. He stayed in his car, with the engine running. He pointed to a door between two stores. “The dark red one, there. The studio is upstairs. Only thing up there.”
“Thanks.”
“You want company? If you do, I could make the time.”
I shook my head. “No, that's okay. We can piss her off all by ourselves.”
“Well, feel free to keep in touch. You need anything, just let me know.”
We squared ourselves, and walked across the street to the dark red door.
“You all set?” I asked.
“You bet,” said Harry. “You two take the lead, and let me just listen in for a bit, okay?”
“Fine with me,” said Hester.
“Well, then … ” I said.
There was a small, brass plaque on the door that said, “Hunley Studios.” The buildings looked pretty old, and I was expecting kind of a dingy, narrow stair in a dingy, narrow staircase. Hardly.
The blond wooden stairs were nearly brand new, nicely varnished, and the pale yellow stairwell was both wider and more brightly painted than I'd expected. The stairs didn't even creak. The stairwell was lined with dance posters, most of them featuring either Jessica Hunley or “The Hunley Dance Repertoire Company.” At the top, we found a large, oak framed, glazed door, again with the sign “Hunley Studios.” As we entered, I noted the time at 11:39.
The music was loud, but pleasant. I recognized it instantly, a thing by Ahmed Jamal and his group, called “Poinciana.” We were in a small waiting room, for want of another word, with three new wooden chairs, and a bulletin board. On it, there were several notes, and a “rehearsal schedule” that indicated today, October 11, was for “rep rehearsal, J & T, 9–5.” I pointed it out to Hester.
“They rehearse for eight hours?”
“Sure,” she said. “Repertory. That's a series of their performance dances, you repeat those all the time so they stay fresh in your head.”
One more reason to be glad Hester was along.
The divider between the waiting room and the studio was only waist-high, and the door was on a swinging hinge. On the other side, I could see a nice hardwood floor, flanked on the right by a line of floor to ceiling windows, and on the left by a long mirror. No bar in front, unlike in the movies I'd seen, which were as close as I'd ever been to a rehearsal. At the far end was a set of lockers, and a table with a large boom box.
There were two dancers working on the floor, in black tights, leg warmers, and sweatshirts. Their feet were bare. They were both facing away from us, but the one with the iridescent hair could only be Tatiana. I guessed the other to be Jessica, and when they both turned in unison, I saw I was right.
I don't know what they thought when they saw us standing there, but they never missed a beat. Now that they were facing us, I could hear Jessica counting cadence
, sort of.
“Down and up and down and up,” she said, as they went down on the floor, rose, went down and rose again. Very gracefully, with flowing movements. “And turn two three, ten two three, and point and twist and point, and turn … ” and with that, they had their backs to us again.
I turned to Hester. “Wow.” Not only graceful, it looked a lot like hard work. Not the way they did it, but the way I knew I'd have to do it. Hester just smiled, and watched them as they moved away from us.
Harry nudged me in the ribs. “You get to investigate them? I wanna work in Iowa.”
The music stopped, and so did the dancers. They sort of stood, talking for a second, and then Tatiana walked over to the boom box, and opened a tape case. Jessica came over to us.
“My two favorite officers,” she said. “And are you an officer, too?” she asked Harry, with a pleasant voice.
“Detective Harry Ullman,” he said. “I'm a Wisconsin deputy sheriff.”
“What brings you all to Lake Geneva?” She stood in a completely relaxed pose, and I noted that her breathing was entirely normal. If I'd been moving the way she had, I'd still have been breathing hard.
“Business, I'm afraid,” I said. In the background, Tatiana closed the boom box, and started walking over toward us.
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” said Jessica. “Should we hold up our hands?”
“Only if you do it to the music,” I said.
“Actually,” said Hester, “we need to talk to both of you for a short while.”
Tatiana had joined us by then, and I stuck out my hand. “Hello, again.”
We shook hands, and she said, “Taking a break?”
“Working,” said Hester.
Jessica looked at her watch. “Unfortunately, we are, too. We have a lot to do today,” she said. “But we'll be taking a break to eat in about half an hour.”
“Fine,” said Hester. “We'll wait.”
With that, both Jessica and Tatiana turned, and walked all the way to the end of the floor, and turned on the boom box. I recognized “Body Language” by Queen.
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