The detective leaned back in his chair. “The incidents didn’t get a lot of attention when they started because, as I said, nothing was missing or damaged. The intruders used guest rooms to have sexual relations. We figured they were kids doing it on a dare or something like that. Thrill-seeking, like the creeping fad. Leaving dirty bedclothes behind was the only damage—until the Chapman girl—and we aren’t certain her fall was a deliberate act. And since you were the one who reported it, you’re familiar with how that went down.”
Was I? The only thing I knew for certain was a teenage girl had discovered her friend unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. And the girl who fell died from her injuries. The media hadn’t said she was murdered.
“But that was an accident, right?” I asked.
“Turned out it was impossible to tell. But what we never published was the fact that the guest room in the Chapman’s home had been used for sex like the others.”
My brain felt stymied by this new information. “Were they sure the same people were involved in all the break-ins? Did the DNA match?”
He snorted. “Everyone’s a sleuth; the CSI influence at work. No, we didn’t do a DNA comparison because in the earlier cases there didn’t seem to be a need to run them. Other than trespassing, no serious crime had been committed. Nothing warranted DNA testing.”
“But now you have evidence from the Chapmans’ house and from here, right?”
“No, not even that. Apparently you interrupted them before they could get down to business, so no DNA here. We’ll check for prints, though. That’s really all I’m able to tell you.”
TJ had told me about the murder last night without giving me any details. What I saw on the news hadn’t added much, but I had to ask, “What about the woman who was murdered last night? It happened close to here, too, not more than a mile away. Seems to me all this has to be connected.”
Haymaker stood. “We’re exploring every angle. Whether any of this is connected remains to be seen. And as far as I’m concerned, your friend across the street? His death was an accident.”
He raised his hand to stop my protest and avoid any discussion of Norman. “Your house happens to be in the target area for these perps. Their visits appear to be random, so there’s no reason to suspect they’ll be back, but don’t wait to change your locks. If they are the ones responsible, they’re escalating. When the first ones were first reported, they went into houses where no one was home and the owners had left one of the doors unlocked. For a long time, we suspected teenagers. This game they like to play; they call it “creeping.” Just for a thrill, they go into people’s houses while they’re sleeping and take with them some small item to prove they were in the house. We suspected these illegal entries were a new version of the game because no one reported anything missing.
“Yours is the first house they’ve gone into that was locked. There was no sign of a break-in, though. So if these are the same people at work here, they’ve upgraded from trespassing to breaking and entering. Again, you had better have new locks put in since you have no way of knowing if the former owners gave anyone else keys. I’d advise getting better locks, too. What you have can easily be compromised with a credit card and a good shove. We’ll have patrols cruising by on a regular basis, but that’s the most we can do. If you think of anything else, call me.”
He dropped another of his cards on the table and left. I checked the time and turned to Clyde who had been silent since I brought him downstairs. “What do you think, bird? Should we go back up and try to get some sleep before sunrise?”
“Night prayers, night prayers,” was his answer. I offered him my wrist, and we went up to my bedroom where I quickly locked the door and the windows.
The gun sat on my nightstand, my remaining lifeline.
Chapter 27
When TJ arrived at Gemma’s the next morning, she was surprised to see Jon’s car parked in front. He had called to tell her about the break-in but hadn’t mentioned he was staying there. She stewed for a minute, hoping he hadn’t spent the night as Gemma’s protector, or worse, that the two had hooked up. Jon needed someone down-to-earth like he was, not a woman like Gemma who lived in the corporate world. And had a married boyfriend.
God, she was sounding like Jon’s mother. There was a time she never gave a crap what other people did, but maybe that’s what motherhood did to you, made you worry about your friends.
Jon walked out just as she got out of the Mini. “Hi. Gemma said you’d be here. I put new locks on the doors for her. She couldn’t get a locksmith to do it until next week.”
“Since when are you a locksmith?”
“All it took was a trip to Menards and a screwdriver. Not a big deal.”
TJ didn’t bring up the fact that Jon lived more than thirty minutes from Tosa.
“She gonna do a security system, too?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” he said, stepping into his car.
TJ watched him leave. It was obvious to her he had a thing for Gemma. At least it was unlikely to be a two-way attraction; TJ had seen the ex-husband and the lover. Jon certainly wasn’t the woman’s type.
She met Gemma in the kitchen, surprised to see the parrot entrenched on her shoulder. Bird shit would clash with the chick’s designer outfits.
Gemma poured her a cup of coffee and told her the details of what had happened the afternoon and the night before. “I couldn’t get back to sleep after the police left, so I went through all Norman’s things again. I should have called you this morning and saved you a trip. There wasn’t anything in them to suggest why he died.”
Just as well. TJ wanted to leave as early as possible and get to the Brauns’ lake house while it was still daylight. “What did the cops have to say about the break-in?”
“They said it was probably a group of intruders who enter peoples’ houses when they’re sleeping and have sex in their guest rooms.” Gemma shuddered. “Creepy, isn’t it? It’s been happening for about ten months in the Tosa area.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. You locked up last night, right? How’d they get in?”
“The police think either they had a key or they were able to just slide a credit card into the door to open it.”
“What time did your ex leave?”
Gemma had forgotten the lie. “I tried to call him after I talked to you, but he wasn’t in. I slept with my gun next to the bed.”
TJ felt a new respect for Gemma. Avoiding assistance at a time like that was just like something she would do. “At least you have one.”
Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’re the first person who didn’t scold me for having a gun in the house.”
“Long as you know how to use it, I got no problem with it.” TJ felt the weight of her own gun, heavy under her left arm. She was comfortable with the security it provided.
“The cops say anything about this being tied to the explosion?”
“No. The detective said they still think it was an accident.”
“Haymaker again?”
“Right. He seems to know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t have very good people skills.”
TJ chuckled. “No shit.” She realized this was the first time she had sworn in front of Gemma, who she considered the kind of person who would turn up her nose at swearing. In TJ’s opinion, saying “shit” wasn’t swearing. Or crap. Or any other slang term for bodily excrement. She was still working at cleaning up her language, but the swear jar contained enough money now to finance a shopping trip to Macy’s.
Gemma appeared not to have noticed.
TJ said, “I don’t like that the cops aren’t trying to put it all together.”
“They seem to think it’s a coincidence that they struck here. I’m in the midst of the intruders’ territory according to Detective Haymaker.”
TJ sighed. “Yeah, right. Haymak
er can shove it. Somethin’s goin on. It’s possible the cops are startin’ to think that too but aren’t ready to share.”
“Didn’t you say you were going up north to talk to Victoria Braun’s husband today?” Gemma asked.
“Yeah, after I leave here.”
“I think he’s home now. I saw both of their cars in the driveway this morning.”
TJ looked out the window. The two cars were still parked in the driveway. “I gotta get over there and check their alibis. Hate to drive all the way up north to talk to their neighbors there if I don’t have to.”
Chapter 28
After leaving Gemma Rosenthal, Haymaker went home for a few hours of sleep and got to the station early the next morning.
He had told Ms. Rosenthal that her break-in was a coincidence but had to admit he no longer felt as certain about it. Gemma had never veered from her certainty that her friend’s death hadn’t been an accident. If someone had deliberately offed Teschler, her hiring a PI could have made her a target. But he couldn’t think of any reason the Teschler case would be related to Sondra Jackson’s murder or the death of Madison Chapman.
Neither his partner nor Lukaszewski were in yet. Not that he expected them to be, especially Lukaszewski, who kept banker’s hours whenever possible. Brian opened his files on Norman Teschler. He wanted to be sure he hadn’t missed something that would indicate the explosion had been deliberate.
After spending an hour poring over every detail, he rubbed his eyes and put away the file. If there was a connection, it wasn’t in the files or in his notes. He had interviewed everyone close to Teschler, including Teschler’s Asian ex-wife, whose snobby demeanor, despite her cool beauty, set his teeth on edge. He could see how she had acquired the name Dragon Lady, and she would have been number one on his suspect list if he actually believed Teschler had been murdered. But she had a solid alibi for the night in question and nothing to gain by her ex-husband’s death. Unless somehow she had known about the will, but her financials painted a picture of an extremely wealthy woman; she didn’t need Teschler’s money.
“You’re here early.” Tasha set a cup of coffee in front of him from the coffee shop in the village. “Any news?”
He thanked her for the coffee. “It’s possible our cum case perps got into Rosenthal’s house last night. She interrupted them before they had been there very long so there probably won’t be any DNA evidence. They might have been in her house in the afternoon too.”
“How do you know it was them?”
“I don’t. She heard noises downstairs, got out of bed, turned on a light over the stairs and dialed 9-1-1. The light must have spooked them. She heard them leaving the house and thought it sounded like there were two or three of them.”
“Three would be just like the Jackson murder.”
Brian sighed. “Possibly. But we only know for sure there were three at the Fink house when Jackson was killed because of the preliminary testing. I don’t want to jump to conclusions with this.” He knew sooner or later he would be under heavy pressure to find a connection between the crimes, and not only from Gemma Rosenthal.
“Sounds like it all might be connected. If it is, that Rosenthal woman’s in the middle of it all. What’s Lukaszewski think?”
“I haven’t seen Lukaszewski since yesterday at the Fink house. He and his partner have been interviewing friends and relatives of the Finks and the Jacksons, the two couples involved in the partner exchange. We’re supposed to be meeting Lukaszewski this morning to go over everything.”
Tasha sat on the edge of Brian’s desk, deep in thought. She looked good for just having had a baby. She wore a tan suit he hadn’t seen on her since she first got pregnant, and she had traded in the cutesy braids for a smooth bob.
“Did he ask Sondra Jackson’s husband if there were any other people lined up for their sex games that night?” she asked.
“I have to assume he did. The guest room at the Fink house did look like the other trespass scenes, but under the circumstances, it’s hard to be sure.”
“I guess.”
Haymaker knew his partner disliked Lukaszewski. She was usually the first to think the worst of anything the man did. Brian didn’t care for him either, but he wasn’t a bad cop; the guy just liked to cherry-pick the best assignments. He wasn’t surprised when, ten minutes later, their lieutenant informed them Lukaszewski had been assigned to a new case. It promised to be a large drug bust, rounding up dealers that had been selling to high school kids, and if it worked, it would get a lot of press. Lukaszewski would love it; he savored the limelight like a seven-course meal.
“Good riddance,” Tasha said. “Maybe now we can figure this thing out. Let’s go interview Sondra Jackson’s husband again, make sure he doesn’t know something about those people in Finks’ house.”
That was just what Haymaker wanted to do, but he had feared repercussions if he duplicated Lukaszewski’s efforts. At least now they wouldn’t have to worry about being perceived as stepping on the big man’s toes. “Good thinking. We can get feedback from Lukaszewski later. Let’s drop in on Craig Jackson and express our condolences.”
The Jacksons’ house, a brick two-story colonial, sat in a neighborhood of like properties near the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee campus. When they pulled up, the unattached garage was open, and a black SUV sat in the driveway adjacent to the house. Brian and Tasha rang the bell next to the side door. A slim gray-haired man answered their ring, a pair of glasses resting on his chest, held by a black cord hanging from his neck. Dressed in jeans and a blue cotton sweater, he wore his hair in a fashionable, preppy style peaking in the middle. Brian, who refused to follow fashion trends he despised, hated the look. He thought Jackson, who was fifty-three, a little old to be mimicking what teenagers were wearing.
“Mr. Jackson?”
When Jackson nodded, he said, “I’m Detective Haymaker and this is my partner, Tasha Wade. I’m sorry for your loss. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“That other guy already did that. I told him what I knew, which is nothing.” Jackson’s eyes were red-rimmed, the whites veined with crimson.
“I’m sorry, but Detective Lukaszewski is on another case today so I wanted to do a quick follow-up with you. We won’t take a lot of your time.”
Jackson invited them into a kitchen that revealed the absence of a female attendant. Dishes were piled in the sink despite the dishwasher just to the right of it and the table strewn with two days of papers and mail. He led them to the living room, which was comfortably decorated with tasteful antiques and covered with a chocolate-brown shag carpet.
“I can’t talk long,” Jackson said, “I have to pick up Sondra’s parents at the airport.”
“No problem,” Brian replied as he opened a small notebook, trying to give the impression he was referring to the other detective’s notes. “How long did you and your wife know the Fink couple?”
Craig Jackson shrugged. “Maybe a year. That’s when they joined the local duplicate bridge group. They’d just moved here from Iowa.”
“Then you played bridge with them?”
“Not exactly with them, but in the same group. They were usually at the Thursday night game.”
“When did you start getting together with just the two of them?”
“A few months ago. May or June, maybe.”
Brian was having a hard time deciding how to approach the subject of swinging.
Tasha saved him. “That’s when you guys found out you had more in common than playing bridge?”
Jackson said, “Sondra and I had an open marriage for a long time. It worked for us. We got into the whole exchanging-partners thing through a couple we met on a bridge cruise. We told Keith and Debra about it after they said they had always wanted to do one of those cruises.”
“So you recruited them,” Tasha
said.
“It wasn’t like that. We’d all been drinking the night we told them about the swinging. It was a few weeks later they expressed an interest. That night was our first time with them.”
Interesting. The Jacksons were nearly twenty years older than the Finks, although both of the Jacksons looked great for their age. He’d seen photos of Sondra and, like her husband, she had aged well. Brian glanced at his notes: the Finks were in their late twenties, the Jacksons, early fifties. Brian thought Jackson had gotten a good deal, bedding the younger woman, but it would have been unprofessional to comment on the age difference. He wanted information from Jackson, information that wouldn’t be forthcoming if he alienated the guy by making a snarky remark about May-December sexual escapades.
“You were here with Debra Fink the entire night?”
“Yes.” Jackson blinked back tears.
“Were some of your other swinger friends on standby to participate?”
“We aren’t into orgies, Detective.”
Tasha rescued him again. “We apologize for upsetting you at a time like this, sir, but we have to ask these questions so we can move on and find out who did this to your wife.”
“If you have any doubts about where I was the night my wife was murdered, talk to Debra. She would have heard me if I’d left. We hit it off, but she was nervous about it. I don’t think she slept at all that night.”
Brian confirmed, “Then you have no idea who the other people were who were in the Fink’s house that night?”
“Detective, my answer won’t change no matter how you phrase the question or who asks me. None of us invited anyone else that night. It’s damn bizarre, those people showing up in Fink’s house. We heard about the break-ins in Wauwatosa, everyone had, but they only happened to people who didn’t lock their houses, right?” His eyes teared, beseeching them to understand.
“Mr. Jackson,” Tasha asked, “can you think of anyone who would want to harm your wife? Maybe someone from another time you exchanged partners, maybe a couple who didn’t ‘work out?’”
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