She looked at TJ. “You must have some idea of what I was going through. You probably had similar feelings when your brother-in-law was alive.”
TJ nodded.
Lisa said, “One night I dreamt that I shot the bastard. The dream stayed with me for days. He threatened me again and warned that me he’d contacted the best attorney in family law and said I wouldn’t have a chance of getting custody of my daughter.
“After that I started thinking about it; about actually killing him. Whenever Paige was with him, I spent my time refreshing my skills with the 30.06. I had an elaborate plan in place, but the gist of it was I’d follow him when he went hunting. I’d find just the right spot, take him down, and then pray it would look like a hunting accident. Now when I think about it, I realize how naïve it was.” She downed the shot TJ poured. Her words, while not slurred, had lost their usual crispness. “But you know what? It was a pretty damn good plan.”
“What happened? The jerk is still alive and you got custody, right?”
“Yes, he’s still breathing and I got custody of Paige. But it wasn’t because I won a big legal battle or because Lawrence had a change of heart. Ironically, I was saved from my madness when he met someone else. He fell head-over-heels with a nineteen-year-old, and all of a sudden he couldn’t wait to finalize the divorce. She wanted a big wedding, and a life with no encumbrances from his previous marriage.”
TJ sifted through it, amazed at Lisa’s story.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I would have gone through with it?”
“Figured you’d get around to it if you wanted to tell me.”
“I believe I would have. I would have shot him.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I have to tell you everything I planned in preparation.” Lisa put on a pot of coffee. When it was ready, TJ followed her back to the couch. Cradling the mug of steaming coffee, Lisa began, ““My plan to get rid of Lawrence began with the rifle. I started refreshing my shooting skills at a remote spot near Beaver Dam. I was good with it, even won a few matches when I was a kid. I bought its twin, the one I have locked in the shed, from a dealer at a gun show—a parking lot deal. Scary, really, how easy it was to get as long as I had enough money to grease his palm. I’d dressed like a man for the occasion, mustache and all.”
TJ couldn’t help but chuckle as she pictured Lisa in disguise.
“I knew you’d get a kick out of that. I drove to Chicago one weekend to pick up the props and paid cash. Too bad I didn’t know you then—I could have used some help with it. It took a lot of practice to get it right.”
TJ grinned. “It’s an art.”
Lisa continued with her narrative. “I had the advantage of knowing exactly where Lawrence hunted, because he dragged me along once so they’d have an extra license just in case they had a good bounty. Lawrence liked to slip out after he and his buddies came back in for the day and do his own thing. It was an ego thing; he thought he could do something on his own that the trio couldn’t.”
TJ’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Your alibi?”
“That was where a stroke of luck came in. The opening weekend of deer hunting, which was when he and his buddies always went, coincided with a conference in the cities that I happened to be registered to attend. It’s a huge affair; no one would have been the wiser if I slipped out for a day. Not the perfect alibi, but rational.
“I found a little lot in St. Paul that did the rent-a-heap thing. For a big enough cash deposit, they said I could rent a pickup with no questions asked. I planned on wearing the disguise when I picked it up.”
TJ poured more coffee, feeling her senses slowly returning to a pre-alcohol stage. Lisa hadn’t exaggerated. It had been a good plan. “Sounds like you thought of everything.”
“Well, I knew I’d be the first one the police would question if they suspected his death wasn’t a hunting-related incident. They’d take the 30.06, test it, and when it turned out not to be a match, hopefully I’d be off the hook.”
TJ ran over it in her mind. “One question. Why do you still have the knock-off rifle? Why didn’t you dump it?”
“I would have if I’d used it. It would be in the bottom of the Mississippi river gathering sand.” Lisa paused for a sip of coffee. “It felt good to tell somebody. But it’s nothing compared to what you’ve been burdened with.”
TJ snorted. “Now you sound like Orth.”
“Orth?”
She’d wanted to tell Lisa about her trip to his house and started by telling her how he’d come to her after the meeting with the police at Eric’s—how he’d practically read her mind. She watched Lisa’s face for a reaction when she got to the part about stopping Wilson herself, but Lisa’s demeanor remained impassive.
Lisa pondered. “So you trusted him with this. I suppose I would have, too.” She got up from the couch. “I think we need more coffee. And some sugar. How about dessert?”
“On top of all that tequila?”
Lisa set a plate of brownies on the table in front of the sofa. TJ picked one up but didn’t take a bite. “We have to do something—hafta’ get rid of the guy.”
Lisa said, “I was afraid that’s where we were headed. I think we have to give the police some time to put it together. Maybe they’ll work it out.”
Does that mean she’s on board with it? TJ took a deep breath. “Yeah, in a perfect world. ‘Fraid Wilson’ll take off if he knows the department is working it.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He’ll believe there’s nothing the police can find. But you’re right, with his skills it would be easy for him to change his name and head for places unknown. But I think he’ll revel in watching them spin their wheels for a while and do some gloating, enjoy feeling omnipotent. He doesn’t know we’re on to him, so he won’t have a sense of urgency.”
TJ had to agree with her logic. They probably did have some time. “If the cops don’t get him, you’ll help me out?”
“Help you out? I’ll pull the trigger.”
94
The nasty tidbit of office gossip that Marian Bergman’s husband of three years had left her for his twenty-something, red-haired secretary, couldn’t have pleased James more. The fact that Marian had been off all week on personal-leave added credibility to the second part of the rumor—Bergman had fallen into a serious depression. He’d been plotting an accidental death for the woman, now this gave him a ready-made plan.
He watched her condo for a few days. If he didn’t hate her so much he might have pitied her. Bergman rarely left the house and when she did it was for errands she performed while wearing dark sunglasses and a wrinkled, khaki overcoat. Her normally slicked back hair hung limply on her shoulders.
The following week when Marian returned to work, she appeared gaunt, and behaved nastier than ever to everyone around her.
Via the Internet, James purchased a large quantity of sleeping pills from an overseas site that didn’t require a prescription. It had been a simple matter for someone with his computer talents to find out which brand she used. Ordering them in her name and arranging to receive them anonymously had been more challenging.
Obtaining an unregistered handgun hadn’t been difficult. Luckily, his uncle had trained him in the use of guns, although curiously, James had never liked hunting.
After work on Friday, Marian stopped on the way home to visit the local liquor store, and walked out carrying a brown paper bag large enough to hold a weekend’s supply of forgetfulness.
James watched.
He’d prepared well. The date he’d planned with a young woman in case he ever needed an alibi went so smoothly it bored him. Her name was Eden and all she talked about was herself. They had dinner at a restaurant in a woodsy setting near Oshkosh. The food was wonderful and the wine enticing. He didn’t order a second bottle; he wanted her thirsty for a nightcap when they got to his house on Lake Winnebago.
When they arrived there, she gave him a mischievous smile and hurried to
the bathroom to ‘slip into something sexy.’ While she was busy he brought out an irresistible bottle of Dom Perignon, and poured two flutes, adding his special recipe to her glass. She whisked back into the room, dazzling in a skimpy, pale-blue teddy. He handed her the spiked drink and raised his for a toast. “To an unforgettable night with a beautiful woman.” After she’d downed the champagne, he led her to the bedroom. She’d be out until morning.
Marian Bergman lay in bed propped on a bank of pillows, a TV remote in one hand, an empty glass in the other. Eyes closed, she snored softly, a noir, black-and-white movie playing on a flat screen TV across from the bed. A bottle of vodka, containing only an inch of the colorless liquid, sat on the nightstand.
She snorted suddenly, blinking her eyes several times as if releasing them from something sticky. She squinted, her face screwed up as if she were looking at a ghost.
James Wilson sat on the red, brocade chaise next to the window. The white shantung draperies behind the chair had been drawn, shielding the room from the moonlit night and any possible observers.
In a voice slimy with menace, he said, “Hello Marian. Lovely evening isn’t it?”
Aghast, she stared at him, mouth gaping, slack from the effect of the vodka. She sat up, pulling the comforter over her, although the room was warm and she wore a heavy fleece robe.
“You son-of-a-bitch. How did you get in here?”
His mouth stretched into a flat smile. “It wasn’t difficult, Marian. You should install a security system.”
She hissed, “What do you want?”
He pulled out the prescription bottle he’d brought along and tossed it to her. She caught it reflexively, and then held it up to the light to read the label. “This isn’t mine—why is my name on the label?”
“I bought them for you, Marian, so you can put yourself out of your misery.” He sneered. “Your husband will never come back. He probably hates you just like everyone who works for you does. They call you the ‘Granite Queen’ when you’re not around, did you know that?” James sat, legs crossed, ominously cool, speaking just loud enough to be heard above the murmuring sounds of the movie.
Marian stared at him, her umber eyes scorched with anger. Seconds passed. A minute. She fell back onto the stack of pillows. Her eyes had gone blank, unfocused. “I guess I can’t deny the irony of this situation, can I?”
“No, you can’t. You’ve been on a self-destructive spiral for nearly two weeks. I’m here to make things easier for you. I’ll even give you a choice. The contents of that bottle—or this.” He revealed the gun he’d brought to emphasize her alternate option, never doubting she’d choose the one that fit his purpose.
A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “You’re right, you prick. I just don’t give a damn.”
Two hours later James crept out of Marian’s house, making sure he’d left behind no trace of himself after deciding not to get creative and make her leave a suicide note.
When he crawled back in bed with the drugged blonde, he rolled up against her back and nibbled on her neck, his turgid cock almost painful with the urgency of his hunger.
“Mmm,” she purred, as she turned over and climbed on top of him.
95
With Christmas over, Lisa felt like post-holiday depression was all she had to look forward. That and fret about the bizarre pact she’d made with TJ the Night of the Tequila, as she’d come to think of that memorable night. But Eric’s party was coming up, maybe she could scrape up some enthusiasm for the event.
The affair, a ‘50s-‘60s theme New Year’s Eve celebration was held in the showroom of Eric’s classic car business. The third year of the event, it came complete with a DJ playing rock and roll, dance contests, and partiers decked out in vintage costumes.
TJ shadowed Wilson whenever she had time. It wasn’t an intense surveillance, but she’d wanted to get a feel for his routine. She’d heard from a friend on the force that he’d broken up with the Chief’s daughter Claire, but TJ saw the couple meet for lunch the day before Christmas. Not what she’d wanted to see; she didn’t want to have to worry about the woman’s safety. Everything she’d heard about Claire was that she was a good person. Even without knowing he was a murdering fiend, TJ wondered how she’d ever hooked up with a creep like Wilson.
She’d agreed to go to Eric’s party. Dressing in ‘50s style seemed absurd but might be fun. Lord knew they all needed—and deserved—some fun.
The thermometer dipped to minus twelve by six o’clock on New Year’s Eve. The party was in full swing when TJ arrived, parking illegally in the lot next to the bank across the street from Eric’s showroom. She shivered as she ran to the door, the bitter wind icy on her bare legs. One good thing about the ugly saddle shoes, they worked well on the slippery ground. The short leather jacket she wore did little to keep out the frigid air, but it was the only thing in her closet that had worked over the wide, pink poodle skirt.
Stanchions with red velvet roping bordered the showroom, arranged to provide plenty of room for dancing and still protect the cars. The dance floor already sprouted dancers trying to look—and dance—like teenagers from the rock and roll era.
“TJ!” Lisa laughed, when she saw TJ come in. “You look so cute!” Lisa wore another version of the skirt, yellow with a long Dachshund appliquéd above the hem. TJ had only agreed on the costume after Lisa offered to have them made up for them.
“Yeah, yeah. Rollie got my hair into this ponytail thing. I gotta return the hairpiece though.”
She thought it all a little outrageous, but maybe with a drink or two she could get into the spirit of it. She hadn’t seen Jeff or Eric yet. “Where are the guys?”
“Eric’s been running around keeping everything going, and I don’t know where Jeff is. They’re going to have dance contests and karaoke later. He may be hiding out, trying to avoid getting roped into one of those.” Lisa grimaced. “I’m not crazy about them either. Maybe he’ll share his hiding place.
Shannon appeared, squealing, “We have to do a song together! It would be so neat!”
Lisa and TJ were saved from bursting Shannon’s party bubble by telling her that wasn’t going to happen, when a tall, young man sporting an Elvis-style pompadour asked Shannon to dance. She winked back at them as she followed him to the dance floor.
TJ turned to Lisa. “Let’s go get a drink and get in the party mood.”
“Sure. As long as it’s anything but tequila.”
TJ, worrying that Lisa would back out of their arrangement, hurried Lisa over to the bar. Thirsty guests, dressed in getups from the ‘50s, surrounded the bar, where the drink specials were the old favorites: Singapore Slings, Tom Collins, Screwdrivers, and Harvey Wallbangers.
After they’d picked up their drinks, TJ maneuvered Lisa to a quiet corner. “Been watchin’ Wilson.”
“What if he sees you?”
“He won’t see me! I’m not following his every move. Just want to get to know his routine.”
“It’s dangerous. If he starts to suspect we believe he’s the killer, he may try to go after you. Or me—again. Just because the police are working on the case now, it doesn’t guarantee our safety.”
“You’re right, but I want to be ready to make my move on him.”
Lisa gulped her drink. “Your move? Did you think I’d changed my mind?”
“Thought it was a possibility.”
“I haven’t. We can’t allow him to continue murdering innocent women.”
“He knows too much now—he’ll change how he’s doin’ things. Anybody could be his next victim.”
Lisa’s hands trembled, the ice cubes in her drink rattling. “That’s a frightening thought, isn’t it? I’ve been hoping he’d be forced to lie low for the time being.”
Jeff approached them wearing black slacks, white shirt with collar turned up, and black leather jacket. His curly hair was combed up on the sides, and rolled onto his forehead, Fabian style
. TJ thought he looked sexy, but didn’t voice the compliment.
“You two ladies look cool and solid,” he said, attempting to mimic the parlance of the decade. He looked at TJ. “How did your hair grow so fast?”
“Magic!” She laughed. “Rollie magic.”
Appearing fascinated with TJ’s new look, he asked her to dance. She handed Lisa her drink, and followed him to the dance floor. The song was slow and sensual, the couples around them were pressed together, arms circled about each other. TJ reveled in his closeness. He smelled so good. Not of any fancy cologne or aftershave, but his shirt smelled like soap and softener and his hair of shampoo. Clean, masculine smells. As the dance floor thickened with couples, they were forced closer. TJ’s arms crept up around his shoulders and she felt his arms circling her back, his breath on her neck.
He whispered, “You feel so good.”
Aroused, she lowered her face to his chest, enjoying the moment. This can’t last. She had to be prepared. The aftereffect of what she and Lisa were planning would involve separation from the others. All the more reason to enjoy the night.
Eric took a break from watching over the party long enough to go to the bar for a drink. He found Lisa there watching the dancers and holding two drinks.
“What have we here, a two-fisted drinker?”
“TJ went to dance.” Lisa desperately wanted to have a good time tonight. Forget all about that monster James Wilson and what she and TJ had planned for him. She hadn’t seen Eric in the two weeks since she’d moved back to her house with Shannon.
“This is a wonderful party. Everyone’s gotten into the spirit.”
He looked over the room. “The same guests come back every year, so I must be doing something right. I’m happy all of you are here tonight. I’ve missed our little commune.”
She's Not There Page 24