A round trip ticket to the Bahamas sat on his desk. He was leaving three days before Christmas and coming back after the beginning of the New Year. His work was never predictable, and right now he had nothing scheduled. The balmy weather of Freeport, the beaches, and the casinos, beckoned.
When the doorbell rang, he set down a glass of wine along with the novel he’d been reading. He rarely had visitors and hoped it wasn’t another neighbor child selling their latest, useless fundraising item. When he opened the door and saw TJ standing there, he was peculiarly unsurprised. Without a word, she walked in as if she’d been invited.
She took a seat on one of the matching sofas positioned in front of a fireplace aglow with a cedar-scented blaze. He poured her a glass of wine, then left the room, returning with a plate of cheeses, crackers, and crusty bread, and placed them on the coffee table between the couches.
TJ passed him the envelope containing the report from Geo Turner. He pulled out the contents. It was all there—James Wilson, aka Ronald Rommelfanger. The photo was grainy, but still revealed the misshapen features of his face, the rough complexion, and the gross obesity. “Imagine a child growing up with such a face. And name. It’s no wonder food was his only friend.”
TJ sneered. “My heart bleeds.”
After reading through it, Orth looked up from the file. “The accident that nearly killed him destroyed his face; a plastic surgeon transformed him into James Wilson. It’s understandable that the man would have adopted a new name.
“It’s strange. I didn’t get any bad vibes from the man, but then I didn’t really talk to him one-to-one. This information certainly supports your suspicions. What are you going to do with it?”
TJ looked at him quizzically, her brow wrinkled. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. Couldn’t keep this to myself and not sure I want to tell the others.”
Mason noticed how lovely she looked, her short hair tousled, her skin glowing a dusky, amber-gold in the firelight. The only hints of her turmoil were the dark shadows under her deep-blue eyes. “I’m glad you came to me. I’m afraid it’s not unusual in my profession—knowing who’s responsible for an ugly crime, yet knowing you may never be able to bring that person to justice.”
“So you agree, there’s no real evidence here.”
“You’ll need more for a conviction even though he fits the profile of your killer.”
TJ sipped her drink. “Everything fits. There’s no doubt really. Least not for me.” Her face hardened. “He has to be stopped. Stopped before he can keep on killing women.”
“You don’t think the police would act on this?”
“They’ve said over and over there’s no evidence—no bodies. Fuck, he’s one of them; no way they’ll listen!” She poured herself another glass of wine, appearing to fight for composure. “No, tellin’ them will just tip him off. He’d take off just like Wysecki did. Someone has to stop him.”
With no doubt where she was headed, Orth took a deep breath, searching for the right words—if there were right words for a situation like this. “TJ, you’re putting an impossible burden on yourself. Why?”
TJ squirmed under his gaze. She stood up, stoked the fire, and added another log. “There’s something you don’t know about me.”
“I make it a habit to gather background on everyone I work with. I know you shot your brother-in-law.”
She sat, hugging herself, then looked up at him. “There’s somethin’ that’s not in anything you could have found.”
“You don’t have to put it into words, TJ. I understand. There are times when we’re forced to make life-changing decisions in a split second.”
She sat back, obviously relieved that he understood.
“Do you believe that experience puts the burden on you now?”
She sighed. “Somethin’ like that.”
He spoke softly. “How do you think your friends would react if they knew about Mr. Wilson?”
She smiled for the first time since she’d come into his house. “They’d all want to waste his ass. But they’d have more confidence than me that the police would catch the bastard.”
TJ’s smile faded, her hands kneading a small pillow she held in her lap. “Maybe not Eric. The system screwed him, so he’d want to make sure that the animal was stopped. I think he’d do it with his bare hands if he could. I can’t let that happen; the cops still think he’s guilty of killing his wife. It has to be me. I have to make sure he don’t kill any more women. Or one of us.”
“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to unload this on the others, but what about Detective Conlin? Wouldn’t he listen to you?”
“He’d listen. But his nose is out of joint over all this. He couldn’t be objective. He sided with Wilson in the beginning and would have a hard time backing off, even though I know he isn’t the creep’s biggest fan.”
Orth considered everything she’d said. There were no simple answers, no easy advice.
“TJ, while I admire your concern for the others, I believe you need to take at least one of them into your confidence. Vigilante justice is never morally right. You need their feedback. Your intentions are noble, but too dangerous alone, for many reasons. If you decide together that you really want to do this, you’ll have help carrying it out. And, more importantly, with the emotional impact of your actions.”
TJ took the last sip of wine and the last bite of cheese. She looked over at him, meeting his gaze. “I’ll talk to Lisa.”
91
Happy to be back in her own home, Lisa was busy getting things ready for the holiday: decorating, cleaning, cooking, writing cards, and making the requisite calls to relatives around the country. She missed the others, but knew they’d all needed a break. She wanted to talk to TJ and picked up the phone.
“Hi, I was thinking about you and decided to call and see how you were doing.”
“I’m good.”
“Are you spending Christmas with Janeen and the kids?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Did I get you at a bad time?”
“Just getting ready to go out.”
“Well, I won’t keep you then. But I’d like to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. We can catch up.”
The pause was too long; Lisa suspected something was wrong.
“Yeah, I guess that’ll be okay. See you then.”
After she hung up Lisa realized that again, she had a strange sense of foreboding. What was it? Or did she even want to know?
A ham and noodle casserole was baking in the oven when TJ arrived at Lisa’s the following afternoon. She handed Lisa a bottle in a brown paper bag.
Lisa pulled out a bottle of tequila. “Thanks!”
“For margaritas.”
“They do go with anything.”
TJ took in the open room and the antique furniture. “Nice place.” The colors were peaceful: soft blue, off-white, and cocoa brown. It was a comfortable room, not stiff and formal. She looked at the table in front of a counter that divided the kitchen area from the dining area.
“Only two place-settings. No Shannon tonight?”
“She had other plans. It’ll just be the two of us. We need to talk.”
She don’t know the half of it. TJ decided to wait until after dinner to drop the bomb. Following Orth’s advice made sense, but she still felt guilty involving Lisa.
Lisa took the steaming casserole out of the oven. The meal smelled wonderful, and it was—cheesy and hot, salty with the taste of ham. TJ mixed the margaritas—extra potent—while Lisa arranged the salad.
After dinner they finished their drinks sitting on the long plaid sofa in front of a big stone fireplace and covered themselves with furry throws.
TJ broached the topic. “You ever wonder about the timing of your office break-in and Charles’ mugging?”
“Sure. But even though Roland believed it was related to us, I always thought there could be another explanation, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, for a while
. And the office thing didn’t seem to be a big deal at the time either, did it?”
“Now you think they’re both related to our search?” When TJ didn’t answer, she said, “But we didn’t start the interviews until almost two weeks later.”
TJ liked tequila. It gave her the push she needed to tell Lisa what she’d come here to say. “Someone knew.”
“Good God! You don’t think Richard has something to do with this!”
“No. I don’t.”
She watched as Lisa’s face shifted with realization. “James Wilson was the only other person who knew early on.” Lisa gasped. “Him—a murderer? How did you come up with that?”
TJ explained about the day of their meeting with the police, how something had been nagging at her. When she saw Wilson sitting with Shannon on the hearth, the firelight changing his unusual taupe-brown hair to glistening silver, she realized what it was. If the earlier events were connected—and thinking they weren’t was too far beyond coincidence for TJ—then the killer had to be either Conlin or Wilson. And she knew Richard, knew it couldn’t be him. And he didn’t fit the profile.
“That’s why you were upset that day!”
TJ reached into the leather bag she’d brought, took out the file, and handed it to Lisa.
She glanced inside. “Where did you get this?”
TJ looked her in the eye. “You don’t wanna know.”
TJ watched Lisa read, her expression becoming one of absorbed interest. Good. Her professional expertise is piqued.
92
When Lisa finished reading the file she looked up at TJ who was watching her expectantly, her body swaddled in the fur throw as if protecting herself from an unknown presence. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?
“He fits our profile.”
When TJ remained mute, Lisa said, “Are you going to tell Richard about this?”
TJ expressed a dry, mirthless laugh. “Yeah right. What do you think?”
Lisa swallowed the last of her drink, oblivious to the fact that it was warm and diluted. “I think we need a lot more alcohol.” Then it came to her—the reason for TJ’s silence. “Dammit! There’s nothing concrete here, is there?” Lisa threw down the file.
TJ shook her head, pulling the throw tighter around her small body.
Lisa sputtered. “But what about circumstantial evidence—the preponderance of evidence? Wouldn’t the totality of everything be enough?”
“Nah. Might be if it was anyone else. I thought about telling Richard, but don’t think it’s a good idea. He wouldn’t have an open mind being as how the beast is one of them.”
It was Lisa’s turn for silence, her thoughts spinning. Unable to turn off her psychologist’s fascination with the man, she picked up the photo of Ronnie. God, he’d been so ugly before his accident. And that name. Ronald Rommelfanger. His classmates must have been on him incessantly. What were the chances that after his ‘rebirth’ as the handsome James Wilson, he’d act out his pent-up rage against women? Orth had been right; Wilson, as their killer, was fascinating.
TJ lifted her glass, tilting the last few drops of the drink into her mouth. “I can hear the wheels turning over there. What are you thinkin’?”
Lisa took a deep breath. The new information felt like a bad dream. “We have to tell—“
“No!” TJ interrupted furiously, abandoning the throw as she jumped up. “We can’t tell anyone!”
“Why?”
“We can’t tell anyone,” TJ repeated.
“What do we do? Wait it out while he kills more women and hope the police come up with him as a suspect?”
TJ stood, walked into the kitchen and came back with the bottle of Tequila and two shot glasses. She poured two, and handed one to Lisa. “Didn’t see any limes in your fridge, so bottoms up.” She raised the glass to her lips and gulped down the Tequila.
What the hell? Lisa picked up the shot glass and followed suit.
TJ sat down with her elbows on her knees, staring into the fire. “Have a story to tell you. About me. And Janeen.”
This must be serious. “All right.”
“Everyone loved Janeen’s husband, Mario. I did too; he was a great guy. And talented. He sang with a group of jazz musicians that made it pretty big in town. When they broke up, he couldn’t get another gig. He started drinking—turned ugly when he had too much. Started roughing Janeen up if she complained when he came home late, drunk. She didn’t tell anybody about it for a long time. She even tried to hide it from me, but I noticed a nasty bruise on her neck one night. She tried to blame it on playing with the kids. I knew better, seen too many women like her, too many bruises just like hers. After a while, you can spot them a block away.”
Lisa sighed. “I know. I’ve worked with many of those women.” As Lisa listened to the unfolding drama of TJ, Janeen, and Mario, Janeen’s abusive husband, she wanted to go to TJ and put her arm around her. But she knew the story had to flow without interruption, without any reaction, and most importantly, without judgment.
“He went to rehab after I took him aside and explained what I’d do to him if it happened again. But he was only there for a week when they sent him home. Said he could work with them as an outpatient. What a joke. He started drinkin’ again when he was still going for his supposed counseling. I told Janeen to leave him, get a divorce. But she loved him, still believed he would change. You know how that goes.
“Next thing, I get a call from her one night when I’m on shift. She was hysterical, told me she called 911. He had her trapped in the bathroom, bangin’ on the door, yellin’ at her to let him in. We just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time. I got there before the emergency responders, ran in before my partner could get out of the car. When I found them, he’d just busted down the door and was goin’ for her with a knife. He lunged for me when I told him to drop it.” Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the shot glass she held. “I shot him.”
Lisa poured TJ another inch of tequila. “TJ, you did what you had to do. You saved your sister’s life.”
“I didn’t have to shoot to kill. There was time to disable him. My gut took over—I wanted the bastard dead.”
“That’s understandable. She’s your sister.”
TJ snorted. “Yeah. Understandable. Only good thing that happened that night is she got the kids the hell out before he went wild.”
Lisa said softly, “That’s a terrible secret to be carrying around all these years.” And she realized the time had come—she had to tell TJ about her own past. She’d never told anyone the whole story, had carried it like a hidden birthmark all these years. “You aren’t the only one with a secret in her past.”
Looking a little less glum, TJ raised her eyebrows.
Lisa rose from the couch, discarding the fur throw. “I have something to show you.”
She led TJ to the lower level of the house, to a room that contained the furnace, her laundry equipment, shelves and cupboards. In a dark corner behind the furnace, was a tall, locked cabinet. She pulled out a key ring and opened it. Lined up inside were a dozen rifles.
TJ gaped. “These are yours?”
“They were my grandfather’s. I inherited them with the house. I grew up with guns. All the men in my family hunted, and as soon as I was old enough to hold a rifle, my grandfather taught me to shoot.”
“You hunted?”
“No. I never could do it. But I was fascinated with guns and loved to go to target practice with him.” She picked up a rifle, holding it almost lovingly.
“That one’s quite the cannon.”
“It’s a 30.06. He used it for deer hunting, but it’s a bit of overkill for deer, although it’s a popular weapon for the sport.”
Lisa handed it to her. TJ held the rifle, admiring its heft. She passed it back, looking like she was wondering where Lisa was going with all this.
Lisa put the gun back, locked the cabinet, and gestured for TJ to follow her. They went upstairs, and Lisa handed her a coat. They
walked across the driveway to a large shed where a motion-sensored light went on at their approach. Lisa unlocked the doors. In the middle of the shed was a matched pair of shiny, dark-blue snowmobiles.
TJ’s face brightened. “We’re going for a ride? Never been on one, but might be fun.”
“Not with all the tequila we have in our bellies. Some other time.”
Lisa walked over to a large wooden box once used for firewood. She fumbled with a key, opened the padlocked box and lifted out a rifle identical to the one she’d shown TJ in the house. TJ took it from her and looked it over.
“Same rifle. No?”
“Same rifle, yes.” Lisa said. “But what’s different?”
“Wow! This baby has a special sight on it—like on a sniper’s rifle.” She looked up at Lisa. “Bet you were good. Must be a story behind this cannon.”
Lisa took the gun back and reversed the process she’d gone through getting it out.
“It is quite a story. But it’s going to take a lot more tequila to tell it.”
93
Another shot of tequila later, Lisa and TJ sat across the table from each other. TJ couldn’t imagine what Lisa was going to reveal about her past. How bad could it be? Lisa seemed to be all white bread and wasp.
Lisa’s hands gripped the bottle of tequilla, her nails peeling the label. “I told you the short version of this, but there’s a lot more to it. After we separated and my ex threatened to sue me for custody of Paige, I nearly lost my mind.“
TJ reached over, took the bottle from Lisa and poured them another drink.
“I talked to an attorney. He said nothing could prevent Lawrence from trying to get custody, even though it was unlikely he’d win. I couldn’t live with ‘unlikely’. Lawrence was a tyrant, a total control freak. He started disciplining her harshly before she was even two-years-old, I didn’t want him raising Paige, and I couldn’t imagine living without her.”
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