She's Not There

by Marla Madison

  101

  Lisa excused herself when Shannon tapped on her door, certain it wouldn’t be good news; Shannon had never interrupted her while she’d been with a client.

  Shannon, her face tear-stained, pulled her into the conference room. “TJ just called. It’s Jeff—he’s dead. It looks like suicide.”

  After the initial shock, Lisa’s first thought was, suicide—no way. But he could have slipped into a depression if his guilt about Jamie and his attraction to TJ pulled him over the edge. Or maybe that was just easier to imagine than the alternative—an alternative Lisa could have prevented if she hadn’t convinced TJ to give the police time before the two of them intervened. She wanted to scream and throw things, at the very least sit in a corner and cry. But Lisa had to stay calm. Hysteria and grief would have to wait. “TJ found him?”

  “Yes, but a friend of Jeff’s was with her. She says she’s staying until the police leave. Maggie and David are there too.”

  “I have to go to her. I’ll end this session and cancel the rest of my appointments.”

  “I’ll make the calls for you. Go ahead and leave.”

  On the drive to Brookfield, Lisa took out her phone. She normally didn’t use her phone as she drove, but there were calls that couldn’t wait. She tried Eric first. She told him the little she knew about what happened. “I’m headed there now.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Her next call was to Robert Bernstein. Since starting their interviews, Jeff had been in therapy with Bernstein. His answering service picked up and she left a message, explaining that it was an emergency.

  Five minutes later, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the number, she saw it was Bernstein and pulled into a parking lot to take the call.

  “Lisa? What’s wrong?”

  “Jeff Denison is dead.”

  “Good God! I’m so sorry.”

  “I have to talk to you about it—call it a consult if you need to, but trust me—it’s important.” There was a pause while Bernstein considered the request.

  “I have about twenty minutes between clients at one o’clock, if that’s enough time.”

  “That’s perfect. What I need from you won’t take long.”

  Filled with a sadness that was evolving to rage, Lisa moved back into traffic, all her instincts screaming that Jeff did not kill himself. That monster James Wilson had to be projecting his madness on them again. On TJ. He’d screwed it up once when he attacked TJ at that Mexican restaurant—actually, screwed up twice including Danielle Ventura.

  He probably wanted to punish them for putting his freedom at risk. They’d been mistaken in thinking the pressure would be off them once the police opened an investigation.

  Jeff’s street was filled with police cars; an emergency vehicle sat in the driveway. TJ, Maggie, and a tall man wearing wire-rimmed glasses were standing next to the van. TJ, her face streaked with tears and mascara, leaned against him. The three were red-eyed and clutching to-go cups of coffee.

  She rushed over to TJ. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” She took her in her arms. Lisa felt hot tears travel down her cheeks and turn icy in the frigid air. She whispered, “You don’t think he did this, do you?”

  With her lips against Lisa’s ear, TJ rasped, “I know he didn’t,” and broke the embrace.

  Lisa took a deep breath. They had to talk before Eric arrived—and without Maggie and Jon.

  TJ introduced Jon to Lisa. He held out his hand, smiling sadly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I wish we weren’t meeting because of this.”

  TJ said, “Jon was staying with me till you got here. He’s going to try to get in touch with Jeff’s parents. They’re on a cruise somewhere.”

  Jon left, promising to keep in touch and let them know what he found out about Jeff’s parents. They’d need to make arrangements for a service. TJ didn’t tell him that there would need to be an autopsy, and if anything suspicious were found, it would be days before his body was released to the family. That bad news could wait.

  Maggie said, “I’m going to go in and find David. They haven’t told us much yet, and I haven’t been in since the tech crew arrived. TJ, why don’t you and Lisa sit in the car where it’s warm?”

  Attempting to avoid the attention of the media, TJ and Lisa walked quickly to Lisa’s car. Lisa cranked up the heat. “I don’t think Jeff would do this either, but we have to consider the possibility.”

  Nostrils flaring, TJ nearly shouted. “No! We won’t consider it.” She paused a moment. “There’s something I haven’t told you. New Year’s Eve—we slept together. And before you ask, no he wasn’t feeling all guilty. We talked about it, about us, and you know how I hate that. He was happy about everything.”

  Lisa asked, “Your talk—what did you say to him?”

  TJ shot her a dark look. “I didn’t tell him he was just another fuck if that’s what you’re thinking. We agreed to take things slow. We were going to a movie tonight, and . . .” she choked on the rest of what she was going to say and pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket.

  “I’m only saying we need to be sure.”

  TJ wiped her eyes. “Being sure don’t change anything. We still have to get Wilson. He did this.”

  Lisa pulled a small box of tissues from the glove compartment. She took one out, and handed it to TJ just as Eric pulled up in front of them and got into the back seat of Lisa’s car.

  He reached over and put his hands on TJ’s shoulders. “I know Jeff wouldn’t do this.”

  TJ turned to him. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” she said bitterly.

  “Come home with me. I’ll give you something to calm you down and you can stay as long as you like. Lisa, I think you should come back too. And bring Shannon. I don’t like this. If we’re right about Jeff, we’re all still in danger.”

  TJ acquiesced. “Okay, but we can’t leave here until we know if they’ve found anything. Gotta make sure they don’t just put this off as a suicide. I called Richard. He and his partner are going to be here any time now—talk some sense into these Brookfield cops if Maggie and David can’t.”

  Eric’s suggestion that they move back in with him had given Lisa her out. “Eric, if you can stay with TJ, I’ll pick up Shannon. We’ll pack up and come out tonight.”

  102

  Lisa hurried to get to Bernstein’s office. As she drove, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. Shannon.

  “Lisa, all your appointments are taken care of for tomorrow and Wednesday. Your two Wednesday morning clients said they would skip this week and see you the same time next week.”

  “I appreciate that Shannon, thanks. Eric wants us to stay at his place again. You too. If Jeff didn’t kill himself then all of us are still at risk. I couldn’t argue with that—we’ll be safer there.” Moving back into Eric’s estate would complicate things for her, but Lisa would have to make the best of it, work it to her advantage.

  “How is TJ? Is there anything I can do?”

  “She’s fine for now—Eric is with her.”

  “I can finish up here and leave pretty quick. Should we go to your place now to get some things, then go to Eric’s together?”

  “No, I have some errands to do first. I’m getting a terrible headache. It feels like a migraine coming on. It’s going to be a bad one, I’m afraid.”

  “I didn’t know you got migraines.”

  Lisa hated to lie, but this one was necessary. “I haven’t had one in years. All this is just too much; my body’s telling me to slow down. After I’m done running around, I’m going to go home and lie down for a couple hours. That’s the only thing that works. I’ll meet you at Eric’s later.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to be alone?”

  “It’ll only be for a few hours. I’ll be fine. You go ahead to Eric’s. Don’t take Phanny with you; she’ll be my protector. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be there. I’ll call you before I leave home.” Lisa feared she was over-explaining, but Shannon
had no reason to suspect she was being lied to.

  Lisa walked into the Bernstein’s waiting room two minutes past their scheduled time. His eyes looked sympathetic, but she couldn’t let him make this about her. She took a seat and said, “They think he committed suicide. You know what I’m going to ask you.”

  “Of course. You want my opinion on whether Jeff was suicidal.”

  Lisa leaned forward, waiting. Noticing his eyes were reddened, she realized she’d been selfish in her haste to find answers—he was feeling the pain of Jeff’s suicide, too.

  “The answer is no, I don’t think he was at all suicidal. But you know quite well that what’s on the surface doesn’t always tell the entire story about a person’s mental state. Our clients don’t always tell us everything.”

  “True enough. But there’s something you don’t know. He and TJ slept together New Year’s Eve. I’m concerned he may have felt guilty about that.”

  Bernstein’s forehead creased. “Lisa, Jeff was wrought with guilt after his wife disappeared, and as you know, he was on the verge of a serious depression. His work with your group, and the friendships that came with it, pulled him out of it. It’s my opinion that he was past the stage of obsessive guilt.” He sat back in his chair, studying her.

  “Most of our time together was spent examining his relationship with Jamie. I believe they were both trying to be the person the other wanted them to be and as a result were getting uncomfortable with their relationship. They were trying to make it work, but it never had a chance.”

  Lisa thought that made sense with what she knew about the couple. “But he and TJ didn’t have any more in common than Jeff and Jamie.”

  “No, they didn’t. But they had developed something very special—a strong friendship. Would it have resulted in something lasting? Who knows? I don’t believe sleeping with her would have made Jeff feel so guilty that he’d commit suicide.”

  Lisa released a pent up breath. “I didn’t think so either.”

  “Lisa, are you all right?”

  “I’m upset about Jeff and what this means for the rest of us.” She felt him evaluating her response.

  “I can see there’s more to it than that, Lisa. But if you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll respect your wishes. You know you can talk to me about anything. I’d like you to come and see me when you have time.”

  She took his hand in hers when he walked over to her. “I’ll do that, Robert. Thank you.”

  103

  Eric had talked to Jeff on New Years Eve when they were setting things up for the party. Nothing in the conversation or Jeff’s demeanor had revealed a hint of depression. No, their killer wanted to punish them. Eric wanted to find the man and tear him apart. He felt helpless, but what could he do? Try to keep them safe, that was about it.

  Before they left Brookfield, Maggie joined Eric and TJ. “Richard Conlin’s here and he’s talking to the Brookfield guys about doing a more thorough search. They seem convinced Jeff killed his wife but never had enough evidence to arrest him for it. They see this as a guilt-ridden suicide, so they aren’t going to be easy to convince that his death might be suspicious. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

  When Eric and TJ got back to his place he put her in the guest room and gave her a sedative, refraining from telling her it was strong enough to put her out until morning. She needed the rest.

  Teresa chattered in the background, mumbling that TJ needed to eat first. Food, Teresa’s cure all, bubbled on the stove; she’d made a pot of chicken noodle soup. When Eric walked into the kitchen, Tina had just come in from the yard. God, he’d forgotten about the child. The smile on her face dimmed when she noticed the serious looks on their faces—and her mother’s tear-stained cheeks. Eric was grateful Teresa would be the one to explain Jeff’s death to her.

  Shannon, who’d been staying with Lisa since Lisa moved back home had left for Eric’s by the time Lisa pulled into her driveway.

  Phanny greeted Lisa with a wet kiss, but she shooed the dog away as she opened the thick, brown envelope TJ had handed her earlier. She spread its contents over the table, seeing that TJ had plotted out every move Wilson made while she’d been watching him.

  A germ of an idea had sprouted in Lisa’s mind the night she and TJ had overindulged on tequila. What she saw on the pages in front of her made her realize it was doable.

  A photo of James Wilson driving a snowmobile had been taken with a long-range lens. His sled appeared to be the latest and fastest, probably a custom model. TJ had documented his habit of whipping across the lake and the trails near his place on Lake Winnebago every day when he came home from work. Wilson commuted to his lake home from Milwaukee during the winter months, leaving his apartment in the city vacant.

  Lisa studied the maps TJ printed out. Wilson’s home, fifteen miles north of Fond du Lac, sat on the east side of Lake Winnebago in an area sparsely populated with pricey homes. A snowmobile trail drifted past, webbing out from the eastern shore of the lake and branching out into the countryside. According to TJ’s notes, Wilson had a pattern of moving northeast from the lake, taking a trail that swung out into a wooded area near the marshlands.

  He’ll be full of himself tonight; the fiend will be proud of what he’s done to us. Lisa hadn’t felt so much rage since Lawrence threatened to sue for custody of Paige.

  With a few adaptations, the plan she’d devised for Lawrence would work just as well for Wilson. The bastard was sure to be racing his sled tonight.

  Although she’d never loaded the snowmobiles by herself, it wouldn’t be impossible. She’d take them both. Two wouldn’t be as suspicious if anyone saw her in the area after the shooting. Paige usually helped her load them, but Lisa would manage alone. She could make it to his place in a little more than an hour providing her grandfather’s old truck started. A lot of maybes unfortunately, but she couldn’t wait for certainties. This had to be done now, while TJ was with the others and had an ironclad alibi.

  104

  James couldn’t stay at work a minute longer after he heard that Jeff Denison’s death had hit the media. Elated, he headed north to his lake house, eager for the speed and release that sledding gave him. The new, custom sled had been a great investment. He couldn’t wait to celebrate his victory by racing across Lake Winnebago.

  The motor of the high-powered engine growling in the breeze, James pulled out onto the lake. He’d barely picked up speed when he realized there were so damn many ice-fishermen on the lake, that their shanties and trucks would encumber his ride.

  Turning the sled, he pointed it in the direction of the trail.

  105

  TJ had marked a deserted cul-de-sac where she’d made a habit of leaving her car when she watched Wilson. As Lisa drove into it, she saw it would be a perfect spot to leave the truck and trailer; they wouldn’t be visible from any of the nearby roads. Now she had to hope she was on the trail before Wilson and in position on her snowmobile when he drove by. Her attack had to be a surprise; her sled wouldn’t be able to outrun his. The aerial map indicated a low rise adjacent to the trail not too far in from its inception near his home—an ideal spot to wait, and get off a shot without being seen.

  Last winter Paige had convinced Lisa to buy a new set of matched sleds to celebrate her graduation. Glad now that she’d acquiesced, and grateful for the power of the new machine, Lisa drove one of the snowmobiles off the carrier and sped to the beginning of the trail. About a quarter of a mile in, she found the place where she planned on watching Wilson, a low hill next to the trail where she could wait hidden by a stand of pine trees.

  Sitting on her snowmobile in the frigid air, the wait seemed endless. Adding to her discomfort, light snow showers began a steady fall over the area. The fat-man stuffing under the men’s hunting clothes she wore did little to keep her warm. The damp air seeped in, the insulation serving to maintain the cold against her body. No other sledders appeared on the trail.

  I have to stay focused, forget the
discomfort. Lisa did a mental exercise, reviewing and visualizing the steps of a perfect shot. She was ready.

  When the black sled with its gold detailing rounded the bend below the rise where Lisa waited, she had a nanosecond’s hesitation. There was no mistaking the custom sled, the rider wearing the distinctive matching suit he’d worn in TJ’s photos. And he was right on schedule.

  Lisa raised the rifle. She had him–James Wilson–in her sights. Like people whose lives flashed in front of them the instant before death, the faces of Jeff, Danielle Ventura, and the missing women flickered in Lisa’s vision. She steadied the rifle and planted three shots into Wilson’s chest.

  106

  Sixteen-year-old Tommy Rennicke had split only a few sections of oak when he heard the shots. He dropped the ax and looked up, wondering who’d be shooting at this time of day. The shots sounded like they came from a powerful gun. He didn’t think there was open season for anything warranting a weapon that size at this time of the year.

  He looked toward the snowmobile trail. A sled driven by a big guy wearing a hunting jacket, with what looked like a rifle sticking out of it, roared by on the trail, full tilt. It was too far off to see much more, and he couldn’t be sure about the rifle. The guy was high-tailing it toward the beginning of the trail.

  Tommy turned back to the woodpile and began to stack what he’d chopped when a thought came to him. The only other rider he’d seen on the trail was that asshole on the black, high-powered sled. He was usually on the trail at this time on weekday afternoons.