Quite a few people milled about the showroom, among them a striking young woman being shown the cars by a man who appeared to be giving her a sales pitch for an old sports car Lisa couldn’t identify.
The woman, resplendent in tight, chocolate-brown jeans, low-cut orange sweater and impossibly high heels, called out, “Eric! I’m so glad you’re here.” She did a little teeter-shuffle toward Eric, which was probably all she could do in her ice pick heels.
“Hello, Danielle. Glad to see you came back for a second look.” Eric turned to Lisa. “Excuse me for minute. I need to take care of this.”
Terrence Young, Eric’s general manager, a tall, slim, man with silver hair and a faint European accent, came over to Lisa and continued her tour while Eric and the young woman laughed in the background.
Peeved at being set aside, Lisa thought the woman didn’t look more than thirty years old, and she was obviously putting the moves on Eric. He wasn’t exactly batting her off with a stick. But then, it wasn’t any of her business what the man did. She couldn’t point fingers after all—Tyler was much nearer her daughter’s age than her own.
By the time Eric tore himself away Lisa was seriously angry. They’d only come here at her agreement, and he’d rolled her aside like an old tire. She’d noticed he’d even taken time to light up a cigar in his office before joining her again. From the look of things, they were going to be late for their one o’clock appointment.
“Sorry about that. But I had to get a sale lined up.”
Before Lisa could stop herself, she muttered, “Yeah, it looked like she had something to sell.”
After leaving the showroom, Eric and Lisa arrived at their meeting in Oconomowoc fifteen minutes late. Helen Mueller, the woman Lisa had talked to on Thursday, was the mother of an Emma Fischer, who‘d disappeared about a year ago. Helen lived in a small, ranch-style house located a few blocks off the lake close to the downtown area. The house looked well maintained and had an arrangement of pumpkins on the porch. A late model SUV sat in the driveway in front of an attached garage.
Helen Mueller greeted them with a strained smile as she invited them in. They turned down her offer of refreshments, but the coffee table in the center of the tiny living room held a plate of cookies. Lisa noticed Eric grab one as he sat down in a chair at the far end of the room. Helen chatted about Halloween and the weather, while Lisa wondered at the change in her manner since she’d spoken to her the other night.
She was about to remind Helen of the point of the meeting, when a man entered the room. He was short with thick reddish-brown hair and narrow lizard-like, green eyes that seemed to see everything without noticeably scanning the room.
“This is my son-in-law, Stephen Fischer. He came over to help me with the windows. When I told him about your visit, he offered to be here too.”
“Mom says you’re writing a book about missing women.”
“Yes,” Lisa said, “abused women.” Like all the women on their list, Emma Fischer had a 911 call on record. Fischer ignored the comment.
Something about Stephen Fischer set off Lisa’s warning bells. “Right now we’re trying to establish how many abused women reported missing are truly missing. Have either of you heard from Emma since she disappeared?”
Stephen answered. “No, and we don’t expect to. Emma cleaned out her checking and savings accounts before she left and took her coin collection. There’d been signs that she was seeing another man. I couldn’t get her to talk to me about it and then one day she was just gone.”
Lisa had been watching Helen’s face during his speech and it was oddly expressionless, her eyes examining the carpet.
The son-in-law, in khaki pants and a green polo shirt with sleeves stretched tight to accommodate muscular arms, looked like he spent a lot of time working out. Small Man Syndrome, Lisa thought. Odd that he was dressed to play golf but was supposedly here to help with storm windows. Also strange that Helen, who’d been so eager to talk to Lisa when she’d called her, now had nothing to say.
Lisa stood. “Well, thank you for seeing us. Sorry to have intruded on your afternoon.” Lisa handed Helen her card and asked her to let her know if anything changed, making eye contact with Helen on the word ‘anything’. Helen walked them to the door. When they were out of range of Stephen’s reptilian eyes, Helen pulled a photo of Emma out of her pocket and slipped it to Lisa.
As they drove away, Eric said, “It wouldn’t be too hard to make it look like Emma Fischer took her money with her.”
“That man sent up red flags for me. I thought it was odd that he didn’t comment on the abuse, or at least make light of the 911 call.”
“Maybe he couldn’t—guilty as charged.”
“No doubt. But I’m wondering why Helen would have said anything to him about our visit.”
“He must have found out about it somehow, but that would mean he keeps real close track of her.”
“I don’t know why he’d do that unless he thinks she suspects he had something to do with her daughter’s disappearance. Which might indicate that he did.”
Eric frowned. “Something isn’t right in that house. We have to drop by again sometime when we know Helen’s alone.”
They struck out at their next two unscheduled stops. At the first, no one related to or knowing the missing woman was living at that address. At the other, a For-Sale sign was in the yard and the house looked vacant.
It was after four when Eric dropped Lisa off. She got out of the old Cadillac with an abrupt goodbye and hurried to her car. If today was any indication of how much their interviews would accomplish, things weren’t going to move very fast. Lisa drove home, discouraged.
26
TJ and Jeff started out with five appointments. Two of the women listed as missing turned out to be accounted for. And one, like the woman Lisa and Eric had found at home, had even answered the door. The woman was still living with the same loser. TJ would have made book on the woman still being knocked around. How could women be so stupid? She thought of what she and her sister had been through with Janeen’s husband, Mario. But she couldn’t dredge up that ancient history; she had to stay focused.
Two husbands of the women on their list had still been at the same address as when the wives went missing. The first one, Rodney Whitman, had gotten a divorce after his wife disappeared, and the replacement wife answered the door followed by three little kids. Their house on west Capitol Drive had been neat and well kept, and the wife had no signs of scars or bruising. Rodney had been interested and respectful, had given them no attitude, and quickly dug out a photo of Kayeesha when they’d asked if he had one he could spare.
“Listen, I’d never hurt Kayeesha. I loved her. That 911 call was a mistake.”
“Mistake? How so?”
“My brother Trent . . .? He’s a nice guy, but he was using then. After he got out of rehab, he begged to stay with us for a few days. Him and his lady. She’s the one made the call—about him. He was still on parole, so they took off together as soon as they heard the siren approaching. That’s the God’s truth.”
TJ would have to find out who’d caught the case back then and get their impression of Rodney’s story. He wouldn’t be the only one she’d have to check out with MPD. She’d have to do a lot of ass kissing, or buy a lot of drinks, buying drinks sounding like the better option.
The next husband, Ames Jackson, had been another story. TJ chuckled to herself at Jeff’s reaction to the huge, thick-muscled, ebony-black man who’d answered the door. Jeff practically hid behind her. Who was safeguarding who?
Lot of attitude from that one. He admitted to slapping his wife around, but said she needed it. “The bitch had an eye for the dudes, ya know?”
TJ wanted to throttle the bastard. The big man was adamant, however, on the disappearance of his wife Tonya, and told them if he found out who killed her, or who she ran away with, he’d “kill the motherfucker.” TJ didn’t doubt the claim.
Jeff, who hadn’t said a
word since they walked in, said quietly, “That must have been difficult for you when she disappeared. I‘m sorry for your loss.”
TJ cringed. She’d told Jeff to stay dummied up. For a moment, the big man looked at Jeff like he was from another planet, then his dark features slowly relaxed. When she’d introduced Jeff, TJ had mentioned that Jeff also had a missing wife.
Jackson stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sat down in a worn leather recliner. He looked up at Jeff. “Yeah, it’s been rough. My mom keeps the kids for me during the week, but they really miss their mom.”
Before they left he gave them a photo of Tonya and wished Jeff well, saying he hoped his wife showed up. TJ was amazed that Jeff had actually been an advantage.
At the fifth appointment, the woman’s sister answered the door. Becca Wright had been missing for three years. Her husband had taken off a year ago and left the sister, Marissa, to raise the child, a girl who looked about ten.
“Yeah, Jess punched her out a few times when he was drunk. When he was sober, he was a good husband. But his buddies always got him drinking. Told him he was ‘whipped’. That always got him started.”
“Do you think he had something to do with her disappearance?”
“Nah, that lush didn’t have the balls to kill anybody, not even Becca.” Marissa handed them a photo as they left and told them she missed Becca and was still hoping she’d come home one day soon.
All in all, it had been a successful day. Jeff had been in good spirits, even bought TJ lunch at her favorite rib place on Silver Spring Drive. He was nothing like Richard who was always catching her off-guard with his moods. Except when a wave of sadness hit him, Jeff seemed to be a pretty easygoing guy.
27
Normally, when TJ found herself alone on a Sunday night, she’d call Richard; they’d go to a movie or maybe out for a few drinks. She had too much on her mind tonight to sit through a movie, or worse, hang in a bar. Keeping things from Richard had become more difficult as the days passed. It wasn’t that TJ always shared everything with him, but this was the kind of thing she’d have liked his input on.
She thought the meeting that morning had gone well. They had four possibles on their short list and photos of all four. Three without Emma Fischer, but TJ wasn’t ready to acquiesce to Stephen Fischer as Emma’s murderer.
There were no commonalities among the four women, but they were all strikingly pretty. She hated that they were going to be sidetracked by the Stephen Fischer situation. TJ wanted to find the jerk and deal with him herself, convince him he’d be happier living in Podunk, Arizona.
But they were bound to come across scum-suckers when they were researching abused women. She just didn’t want them to lose sight of their goal.
28
Six years earlier
After he checked into his hotel, he put a bottle of wine in the refrigerator to chill and made sure everything was ready for his evening with Allyson. When he left to pick her up after the reunion dance, it started to snow, big wet flakes that stuck to the ground, layering it with slush. At the campus, it didn’t take him long to find the building where the reunion was being held; in front of the building there was a large sign, soggy with the wet snow, welcoming the attendees.
At eleven, when people started coming out of the building, the snow was coming down harder than ever. They gathered in groups, saying their goodbyes and laughing at finding themselves in the middle of a snowstorm in April. He was becoming impatient. He’d been waiting since ten, cruising the parking lot regularly before finding a spot near the exit she planned to use. He watched as she came out of the building, walking with three other people.
She glanced his way. Just when he was sure she’d seen him, a dark-haired man approached her and grabbed her arm. Allyson pulled away from him. He reached for her again until some people from the group next to them interfered, forcing the guy to leave Allyson alone.
When the black-haired man walked away, she ran for the car and jumped in next to him. “Hurry! Drive away from here.”
Mystified, he drove away from the college, while Allyson crouched down in the seat, trying not to be seen. “I’m sorry—I should have told you. I just broke up with my boyfriend last month and he won’t leave me alone. I filed a restraining order, but he ignores it.”
He drove to the hotel, checking the rearview mirror to be sure they weren't being followed. The situation with the ex was troubling. If there was a restraining order and the guy wasn’t complying, why wasn’t his ass in jail?
Allyson, over her fright, kept talking about what a hero he was for being there in time to save her from the creepy ex-boyfriend. She kept touching him, her face bright with excitement.
When he was finally alone with her, he opened the bottle of wine and filled two glasses. He couldn't wait to undress her and carry her to the king-sized bed in the next room. After a few sips of wine and first tentative kisses, he relaxed, deciding to take things slow. He sat on one of a pair of chairs across from the sofa. Allyson sat down across from him, happily chattering about the reunion, how many people were there, who was successful, who wasn’t, and how much some of them had changed.
He tuned her out, instead picturing what their lovemaking would be like, when something she said grabbed his attention. A guy from her class that had a big crush on her in school had followed her around all night at the dance.
“He was such a loser that I used to avoid him as much as possible. Who would have guessed—he’s even ickier now.”
She went on to describe him—short, with unkempt hair, big nose, dressed like a nerd, bad complexion. She told him all the funny little names they’d called the poor slob behind his back. As he listened to her, his anger built like the slowly forming eruption of a volcano until he felt like his skin would burst. She'd nearly described how he'd looked in college.
He knew what he had to do.
Unable to look at her, he stood up and walked behind her to the desk where he picked up the bottle as if to pour them another glass of wine. Clearly she wasn't the pure, lovable woman he'd imagined. When he turned, she had her back to him, her mouth still describing the poor fuck who’d had the audacity to have a crush on her.
Lovemaking forgotten, he lifted the bottle and slammed it into her skull
29
The sun had barely risen when Lisa arrived at the office on Monday morning. Too wired to get much sleep the night before, by the time she’d been sure sleep would be impossible, it had been too late to take a sleep-aid. At five she gave up and took Phanny for an early walk.
On the way to the office, sleep-deprived and feeling sorry for herself, she stopped at a little German bakery and picked up a box of pastries. On the day after a sleepless night, her food cravings were too frantic to ignore. She needed sugar. Heck with her waistline.
Lisa’s only client was at ten. She was playing her messages when she heard Shannon come into the building. A minute later she walked into Lisa’s office holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a napkin-wrapped cruller in the other.
“Nothing like bakery from Volkman’s to perk up a Monday morning. What’s the bad news?” Treats were usually brought in as a solace when one of them was having a bad day.
“One of my limited-sleep nights, I’m afraid. Too much going on.”
Shannon sat down in a chair across from Lisa’s desk. “That’s too bad. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, everything really, but we have to do something for Helen Mueller even if that isn’t a part of what we set out to accomplish. I thought about calling someone I know at Social Services, but I’m afraid a home visit could make her situation worse.”
“You’re right. If the creepy son-in-law goes on the alert, she may be at risk.”
Lisa cringed. “That’s what I was thinking and I thought it was just me being paranoid for her.”
Shannon took another bite of her cruller. “Nope, and I wasn’t even there.”
“I drove by her house on my way in t
his morning. Fischer’s car wasn’t there. I called the Oconomowoc Police Department and asked to talk to the detective who had been in charge of her daughter’s disappearance. They didn’t say who it was, but that he would get back to me. I’m hoping it’s someone I’ve worked with. It’d be nice if we didn’t have to hide behind the writing-a-book excuse, but then we’d be tipping off the police about what we’re doing.”
“Do you think it matters? I mean since they aren’t investigating it?”
“TJ seems to think it’s best for now. She’s going to use her contacts in the department to get information for us, so I don’t see how we can keep it quiet for long.”
The door opened admitting a tall woman wearing a short, gray tweed blazer over a black turtleneck sweater and perfectly tailored black slacks.
“Hi.” Lisa smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “Shannon, this is Detective Maggie Petersen from the Oconomowoc Police Department. We worked together when I was a full-time counselor at the center.”
“This is fast service, Maggie,” Lisa said, “I called about thirty minutes ago.”
“I stopped over on my way to the station.”
Shannon offered her bakery, poured coffee, and the three of them went into the conference room. Lisa noticed silver stud earrings and a silver watch were Maggie’s only jewelry, and her shiny, black hair was pulled into a simple braid that trailed down her back. She’d always envied women who could look put together so simply; for her it always felt like a chore.
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