“Hunh! What a shame that no more taxpayer money’s gonna be spent finding out who killed the killer. Guy should get a medal. Hey! Maybe it was Charles Bronson.”
“Funny. I didn’t say I’d given up on it, did I? In fact I’m driving up to Fond du Lac again to question a witness once more. A kid.”
The witness might be the person Lisa saw. “What kid?”
“A kid who lives near the snowmobile trail saw Wilson drive by the day he was shot. That’s how we were able to pin down the time of death. We questioned him a couple times. The second time he admitted he’d seen Wilson go by, but I still had the feeling he was holding something back. I’m going to drive up there, pull him out of class. Shake him up a little.”
Should she be concerned that the kid might have seen Lisa’s truck? If he did, that might point the investigation their way. “What were Justin’s thoughts on the kid?”
“Thought he was just being a kid. He said that all kids have something they’d like to keep from the cops.”
“Probably right.”
“Yeah, but I’ll give it one more shot. Not anything else to go on. Cops up there haven’t found a damn thing. Thought I’d see if you wanted to ride along.”
TJ’s mind was racing. Was he expecting her to react? She couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this; her other work would have to wait.
“Sure, what time?”
“I’m leaving from my desk so I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Richard thought she looked good, definitely better than the last couple times he’d seen her. Gaunt and weary, she hadn’t looked like the TJ he knew. Denison’s death must have hit her hard. Jealousy needled at him before he reminded himself the guy was dead. It might not be too late for him and TJ, although he doubted things could ever be what they were.
When they got to the school, an assistant principal put them in a small, cluttered conference room to wait while she found Tommy Rennicke. Richard hated the atmosphere in schools. The stale smell of food, sweat, and too many bodies in too small a space, reminded him of his own days in school—which he’d hated.
When Tommy entered the room, Richard noticed the kid looked edgy. It had been a smart move to pull him out of his comfort zone.
“Have a seat, Tommy. Good to see you again.”
Tommy placed his arms on the table, trying to look cool. Richard wasn’t fooled. The kid was nervous.
“Thought I’d come to see you, try to pick your brain a little more—you know, see if you’d remembered anything.”
“No. I told you everything.”
“Sure about that? You look a little nervous.”
Tommy didn’t reply, just sighed and folded his arms across his chest. Might be a wasted trip, but coming here with TJ could be a start to mending things between them. Richard felt his cell phone vibrating and took it out. Justin.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” Richard stepped out into the hall.
TJ thought the kid was acting like any teenager, given the circumstances, his eyes on everything in the room except on her. She decided to kill him with silence— that always worked.
He asked, “So, are you a cop too?”
TJ considered how to play him. “Nah, I’m a PI. I’m working the case for the family.” The lie came easily and the kid looked relieved. “So you didn’t see anything?”
“Just saw the guy that was killed drive by. He was speeding. That’s about it.”
TJ read the kid as lying: no eye contact, fidgeting with his bracelet and the zipper of his jacket. She’d have to move fast; Richard would be back soon. She handed him one of her business cards. “You know, if something comes to you, you can call me. I’m not a cop, so anything you tell me can be just between us.”
He didn’t look her in the eye, but took the card and stuck it in his pocket.
Over lunch, Richard asked if Tommy had said anything to her.
“Nah, but I think you’re right, he’s got something on his mind. Have to agree with Justin though—it’s probably just a kid thing.”
“I suppose. Which leaves me with nothing. I’m tempted to go to the chief with my suspicions about Wilson. At least we’d have a shot at finding the bodies if he is the killer.” He observed her closely. Part of his intent in bringing her along was to see if he could detect anything hidden in her manner. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t.
“Opens a big can of worms for the chief, doesn’t it? He could kill the messenger.”
Richard sighed. “Yeah, but you know that’s never stopped me. And don’t forget he’s retiring pretty soon. He may be long gone before we find the bodies—if we do—then it’ll be on someone else’s watch.”
TJ was waiting after Lisa’s last patient of the day. “You’ll never guess who I spent the day with. Richard.”
“Really? How’d that happen?”
“He called me. Brought me with him to talk to a witness–a kid. Pulled him out of his class at high school.”
“That’s surprising. Sure he didn’t have an ulterior motive?”
TJ chuckled. “Course he had one. Knew that right away. Didn’t do him any good though, I was stone, pure stone.”
“I’m sure you were. So, what happened that you drove all the way out here to tell me about it?”
“On the way home he let somethin’ slip.”
“Tell me.”
“Kinda wanted to drag out the suspense a little.”
Lisa tossed a paper clip her way. “Spill it.”
“Claire Thornton inherits everything–Wilson’s whole estate.”
“That is big. But what can we do with that?”
TJ said, “What do we do with that? Got it all figured out. You go talk to her all shrink-like, get her to trust you, and find out if the prick had any property we don’t know about. Then we find the bodies.”
117
Claire’s home sat on a street bordered by tall oak trees, lined with lovely old homes built early in the twentieth century, many inhabited by academics from the nearby campus. A broad porch aproned the front of the dark brick house.
Lisa couldn’t imagine anything she wanted to do less than interrogate Claire Thornton, the Police Chief’s daughter, but TJ had been convincing.
She arrived at the scheduled time, wearing a tailored pantsuit with her tawny hair pulled back into a demure twist; TJ had ‘suggested’ a professional look and conversational manner.
Claire answered the door sans makeup or styled hair and was still as lovely as she’d been in formal dress on New Year’s Eve. “Come in.”
Dressed informally in jeans and a white sweater, she led Lisa to a room on the left of the entry decorated in pleasing shades of green, with a shiny wood floor and shaggy, off-white throw rugs. An aria played softly in the background—Madame Butterfly. The poignant notes suited Claire and the room they graced.
Lisa took a seat on a long, celery-green sofa with green, white and beige throw pillows arranged neatly on its surface. “Claire, I’m not here because anyone from the police sent me.”
“I suspected that. My father’s kept me sheltered from the investigation.”
Lisa had planned her opening words. “I’m not sure if you know about this, but along with some friends, I’ve been working on a case of abused women gone missing. I consulted James about it a few months ago.
Claire nodded. “I knew about the statistics. James told me they didn’t believe there was any cause for alarm.”
Lisa watched Claire for signs of a closed mind, but she merely looked curious. She took a deep breath and told Claire everything that had happened in their search to find evidence of a crime.
She concluded, “We’ve come across something about James that I wanted to discuss with you.” Lisa reached into her briefcase and handed Claire the picture of Rommelfanger.
She looked at it sadly. “This was James as a young man.”
Lisa was taken aback. “You knew?”
“My father felt I should know. He told me about the facia
l reconstruction James had after the accident, but he didn’t show me this. What could this have to do with his murder?”
“Claire, what if I told you there might be something about James that no one knew, not even your father?”
Her eyes widened, her face animated for the first time since Lisa walked into the room. She leaned forward, eager. “I knew there was something from his past that he kept to himself—I never did discover what it was. And there was something . . . something that tortured him. When my father told me about his face, it did answer some questions I had, but part of me knew there had to be more.”
Lisa knew what she had to say wouldn’t be easy for Claire. The woman perceived James’ hidden background as something painful, not evil. If she loved him she’d be shattered. Based on TJ’s reports, though, their relationship had evolved into something other than a love match. She had to tell her their suspicion about Wilson and let Claire decide its plausibility.
She asked, “Did James tell you we hired a profiler and that he and Richard Conlin were there when he gave his report?”
“No.”
“Based on everything we’d found, the profiler believed there was someone abducting abused women—a man with a grudge against women—a man that women were attracted to, but who had a hidden defect, or possibly something from his past that made him turn on them. Something that would have made them reject him.
Claire’s fresh-scrubbed complexion paled.
“We think it’s possible James could be the one responsible for the missing women. And not just because of what he used to look like–there are other indications.”
Claire leaned her head on the back of her chair. As if sensing her pain, a longhaired tabby-cat leapt into her lap.
“Claire, I’m sorry I had to tell you this. Our theory about him needs to be either validated or disproved. We’d like you to help us—you’re the only one who really knew James.”
“What does it even matter anymore if you’re right about him? He’s dead.”
Claire’s manner implied she wasn’t shocked. Something about Wilson had her wondering about him. Sexual proclivities? Maybe. But Lisa could hardly ask her about their sex life. She waited, hoping Claire would open up to her.
Claire buried her face in the cat’s soft fur. The cat, appearing unnerved by the intimate gesture, quickly jumped down and left the room.
“When James and I first met, we just clicked. I believed I’d found my soul mate. We were engaged only a few months after we met; I couldn’t wait to marry him.”
“Did something happen to change things?”
“It was all my fault really.” She reached over to a side table covered with silver-framed photos and handed one to Lisa. It was a picture of Claire with James. They were laughing and had their arms around each other. Then Lisa noticed Claire’s face. In the photo, she had a long, rather hooked nose that dominated her face, but she’d still been an attractive woman. She looked at Claire, now every bit as beautiful as a model on the cover of Vogue.
Claire said, “I went through a phase in college when my looks plagued me, but I was afraid of the surgery I needed to make the change. But over time, I accepted my looks and became comfortable in my own skin.”
“Did James encourage you to have the surgery?”
“No, not at all. I mentioned it once and he said he loved me just as I was.”
“Then why did you decide to do it?”
Claire sighed. “For all the wrong reasons. James was such a handsome man and women were intrigued with him. I suppose I wanted to be his equal in that way. But my mistake was not telling him about it beforehand. I had it done in New York when I went there to visit a friend.”
“What happened when you returned?”
“I was excited about surprising him. He was surprised all right but not in a good way. He didn’t say anything really, but nothing was ever the same again. Finally, we agreed to take a break from our relationship.”
“But you started seeing him again.”
“I did. I’m not sure why. Nothing had changed. There was still a void between us.”
“That must have been painful for you. Did you try to get him to talk to you about it?”
Claire smiled mirthlessly. “Many times. He refused to discuss it.” She turned to Lisa. “What were you hoping I could tell you?”
“The women’s families deserve to have closure. If James is the one responsible for the disappearances, it’s possible he owned land under another name, in a remote area where he could have hidden the women’s bodies. As his sole inheritor and executor, you’re the only one who can help us. We need to find out if it exists.”
Claire wiped her face with her hands. “It exists. I don’t know exactly where—somewhere in the northern part of the state, close to Lake Superior. I can’t tell you any more than that; everything is still with the attorneys.”
A tear trickled from the corner of Claire’s eye. “James told me about it. He said he went up there when he needed to be alone and clear his head.”
Lisa’s pulse quickened.
Claire asked, “Does my father need to know about this?”
“He’ll have to, eventually, I suppose. This is really just speculation on our part at this point.”
Claire took a deep breath and looked into Lisa’s eyes. “I’m afraid it isn’t just speculation. It explains everything.”
118
The trip to northern Wisconsin happened sooner than expected when in the last week of March, temperatures in the sixties graced the state with an early spring thaw. The grass was greening in spots and the highways exploded with people rushing north to take advantage of the mild weather.
Richard rode next to Eric in the Silverado, and Claire, who’d insisted on coming with them, sat quietly in the back. Two of Eric’s ATV’s were secured on a trailer behind them. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d agreed to be part of this wild goose chase, but it had been nearly six weeks ago when they’d agreed to wait until the snow melted.
If someone had told him he’d be riding to the ends of the earth with Schindler, hoping to resolve a case he’d promised Chief Thornton he’d drop—a case he himself had scoffed at not too long ago—he’d have questioned his or her sanity. Maybe he should question his own. But the chief had been retired nearly thirty days—his fair-haired daughter now an accomplice in an unauthorized search for the bodies of the missing women. As far as Richard was concerned, this was a fishing expedition. The bodies could be anywhere, assuming there even were bodies.
Eric talked about resorting to cadaver dogs and even ground-penetrating radar, GPR, if today’s search came up with nothing. GPR. Christ, the guy must have an endless supply of money.
They were headed for Ashland County. The County’s upper border ended at Chequamegon Bay, an offshoot of Lake Superior. Mellen, a tiny town in the northwestern end of the county, was home to the hospital where Rommelfanger had lain close to death more than eight years ago. Wilson’s property, which had been owned by his uncle until he inherited it, lay about five miles north of Mellen.
Richard suspected the group’s involvement in Wilson’s timely demise, but had yet to figure out how it could have been accomplished. He had to admit that Schindler moving heaven and earth to recover the bodies of Wilson’s victims didn’t seem to fit with Schindler as a murderer.
The police forces had moved on to other things as the investigation into the missing women became cooler every day. It was too early for the statistics to have gone back to normal, but now that Richard had become a grudging convert to the theory of Wilson as the killer, he believed in time they would.
Even his partner didn’t know he’d joined the group in their search. Richard was on his own time with this one.
Claire stood in the rustic farmhouse, watching as Eric and Richard rode off on the ATV’s. The small place was neat and clean; she hadn’t cancelled the contract with the property management service that maintained it. There was little here of James. It wa
s as if he’d never been in these rooms, although she knew he’d spent many weekends here, away from the city. And her. Poring through the old-fashioned house, she wondered if she’d find anything more personal than the furniture. She came across a dusty photo album in an old pie safe and carried it over to the round, oak kitchen table. The album had to have belonged to James’ uncle. His uncle’s family name and the date were written on the inside of the front cover.
Leafing through the musty pages, she found a photo of a woman labeled as Lorraine, James’ mother, holding a baby in her arms. God created all babies beautiful. Sadly, James’ beauty as a baby had been fleeting. On a following page, as a toddler, his features were already shaping into those of Ronnie. Claire noticed photos missing from each photo event, leaving blank spaces on many pages. Her heart softened with pity as she realized which photos were missing and why. Ronnie, had destroyed the photos of himself.
Eric knew the bodies, if found on the grounds, would quickly be linked to Wilson. The group had speculated that the longer it took for the connection to be made to Wilson, the less likely it would be that any of them would be linked to his murder. He wasn’t sure about that. James might be outed as the killer, but the members of their group would still be prime suspects in his shooting, regardless of the time frame. James had been a member of the MPD after all, and even though they would be resistant to admitting one of their own as such a heinous killer, they’d still be determined to find the person responsible for his death. Or not—Eric realized paranoia crippled his judgment.
They covered the acres of wooded land, watching for anything that could indicate a burial site. Eric’s heart nearly stopped when they saw a matted, bloody disruption in a last drift of snow tucked under a grove of pine trees. On closer inspection, it turned out to be all that remained of a deer that had become dinner for a wandering predator. Its rib cage lay in the shadows, a forgotten remnant of what had once been a beautiful animal. The sickening smell of death permeated the air as they left the scene behind.
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