“Gettin’ there. Meantime, anything else you can tell me about your neighborhood, the Krauses in particular, could be helpful. Can you think of anything else that would help me find out about Norman’s last days?”
I had already racked my brain, but I had thought of something while I was at group earlier tonight. “I did have an idea. Norman had a young man who helped him out with any computer problems he had on his home computer. Maybe there’s a chance he knows if Norman kept his manuscript on a cloud or used some other kind of cyber storage.”
“Now you’re thinkin’ the book might have somethin’ to do with this?”
“Not really, but it’s all I can think of right now.” TJ had encouraged me to find out about Norman’s book. Now that there were more indications he might have been murdered, I wanted to be sure we didn’t miss anything. I gave her the number.
“The police took Norman’s work computer right after the explosion. Carter told me they returned it to Cityscapes today and asked me if I wanted it. The agency is going to be putting in new ones, anyway, and he thought I might want to keep it for sentimental reasons.”
“You want it,” TJ said and rang off.
After her call I began reading the pages Jorge had given me. They listed several ways to induce sleep paralysis, in particular if one wanted to force an out-of-body experience. The first few pages listed ways to bring on the sleep paralysis. The methods varied, one as extreme as taking some form of caffeine before bedtime. Caffeine kept me awake. That one would never work.
Once I decided to try inducing an OBE, I settled on a method called Middle-of-the-Night Reading. Using it, I would set my alarm to wake me up a few hours after falling asleep, and then when it wakened me, I would turn on the bedside light and read something I found interesting for about ten to fifteen minutes. After that, I would go back to sleep. To bring on the paralysis after reading, I would close my eyes and focus on a spot in the middle of my visual field. When the lights and colors began to flash on the interior of my eyelids, I had to listen for “rushing” sounds in my ears. Physical vibrations would accompany the rush from my head to groin. With practice, I could increase the vibrations by willing them to come back. Using this method, I could achieve paralysis and test it by trying to move.
Like achieving SP, the methods for bringing on an OBE were varied, many of them complicated. Simplicity seemed the best route. Using the Sit Up Trick after I achieved SP, I would focus my concentration on a spot between my eyes and then try to sit up. I wouldn’t actually be able to sit up since I would be in paralysis, but if my intention was strong enough, rather than waking, I could “pop” out of my physical body and be able to float around.
It all sounded rather absurd. But then, so was everything else that had been happening. I hoped that if I could learn to control my episodes it would help keep them from being as terrifying. And maybe, if I could learn to bring the episodes on, I would be able to turn them off. It was worth trying. I took a sheet of paper and outlined how I would proceed.
About three hours after I fell asleep, my alarm buzzed. I turned it off, switched on the reading light, and picked up the novel I had been reading. Clyde made a few throaty noises without opening his eyes. I finished two chapters, then turned off the light and closed my eyes. The first step from the instructions went easily. It didn’t take long to see the lights behind my eyelids and experience the rushing sound. The vibrations, though subtle, were there.
Minutes passed. I couldn’t bring on the SP. I decided to read some more and then try a second time. When I went to turn on the light, it became apparent I was in SP.
I couldn’t move. I put all my energies into focusing on a spot between my eyes. Soon the kaleidoscope lights flashed around that point. As instructed, I tried to sit up. Nothing happened. I felt no fear. It was a new, light feeling. Slowly, still in paralysis, I became aware of my surroundings, and after several seconds I was aware that I was no longer in my bedroom. My body may have been, but my mind was not. The room seemed familiar. It looked dark and somewhat surreal, typical for a paralysis episode. The deep and foreboding shadows in the room were highlighted by a red votive candle.
A large crucifix decorated the wall, and a scene of the Last Supper was embroidered on a throw spread across the back of a sofa. Where had I been when I had seen this room before? In seconds, it came to me. I was in the Krauses’ living room. With no idea why I ended up here, I did recall TJ and I had been talking about the Krauses. She had zeroed in on them in her investigation to find Norman’s killer, even though I reassured her they were weird but harmless.
For the first time while in this state, I didn’t feel the panicked terror or struggle to return to consciousness. I tried to observe as much as possible, but the darkened room had little to offer. A doorway off the room led to a bedroom, a quilted bedspread barely visible just inside the room.
At just that moment I woke up back in my own bed. I felt wonderful. I had intentionally brought on a sleep paralysis episode and accomplished an out-of-body experience. Now maybe I could learn to stop the episodes when they became frightening. My elation waned, however, since the feeling of being in the Krauses’ house may easily have been brought on by my earlier discussion with TJ. Being able to identify the actual objects in the room could have been influenced by memories of times I had been in their house and the whole experience built on memories rather than out-of-body travel.
Aside from my remaining hope that I would learn to make my SP manageable, this experiment suddenly felt silly. With my life in turmoil, I should be doing things to help me relax. Tomorrow, I would make an effort to do something fun. After I called Jorge.
Chapter 33
After seven that night, Victoria Braun was back in Manitowish Waters. She felt safe, ensconced in their log-sided home on Island Lake, away from Donald and away from anything reminding her of the incident sixteen years ago. Thinking of it as an incident allowed her to sleep at night and keep the nightmares at bay. At least it had until Norman’s house exploded and Sondra Jackson was murdered.
The Rosenthal woman, who insisted Norman had been murdered, was probably right. While not directly involved with what had happened back then, Norman had known all the details and might have paid the price for that knowledge. Were they all going to suffer the ultimate punishment at the hands of someone seeking revenge? Maybe her husband was right and her mind was dwindling like her youth.
She left the house and went for a brisk walk; a good walk gave everything perspective. With a nip of autumn, the air felt cool on her skin, and the scent of the big pines and the crunch of fallen leaves under her feet were soothing.
When she came back to the house she sat on a bench at the end of the pier, hoping the view and the night sounds would work their magic and calm her nerves. The lakes were quiet these nights. Many of the residents, including her neighbors on the peninsula, had already gone back to their city homes for the winter, their boats covered and tucked away from the elements. The days were shorter now; only a few deep fuchsia clouds were still visible where the sun had sunk below the horizon on the opposite side of the lake.
The thin, crescent moon’s reflection on the surface of the lake and the soft patter of the water against the dock were hypnotic. Victoria lay down on the bench and closed her eyes, willing her mind to rid itself of the past.
It seemed like she had dozed off for only a minute when she heard heavy footsteps on the pier, sharp against the fabricated panels, the sound unmistakable. Had Donald followed her here? Maybe he changed his mind and come up to the lake to comfort her. Groggy, she began to sit up, hoping to identify her visitor.
She felt a trickle of fear before calling out, “Donald?”
The footsteps stopped. Victoria couldn’t imagine who would be on the pier. One of her neighbors could have arrived late, but why wouldn’t they answer?
From behind the bench, a strong arm reached arou
nd her neck, catching her in an iron grip; she hadn’t realized the footsteps had been so close. Victoria squirmed, fighting to free herself, unable to scream. A pair of hands as strong as steel clamped around her neck. She couldn’t cry out or even gasp for breath.
Something crunched inside her throat.
Victoria fought to remove the hands from her neck, clawing at them with her lengthy fingernails, drawing blood from her throat that dribbled to the collar of her white blouse like the juice of an overripe peach. Her chest heaved with pain, and the bases of her eyeballs felt like they were on fire, ready to burst. The throbbing in her head had become unbearable.
Her efforts to free herself futile, she dropped her hands to her sides and gave in to her attacker. A blessed moment of peace was soon followed by sweet release and a welcome darkness.
She sank into unconsciousness.
Chapter 34
After the evening with Richard, TJ woke up the next morning even more determined to solve the mystery of Teschler’s house explosion. There were answers out there somewhere; she just had to ask the right questions. Gemma arrived before nine, and TJ introduced her to the information on the whiteboards. She seemed impressed by everything TJ had accomplished, but also seemed rather distracted and left before ten.
TJ studied the boards and made a list of the things she still needed to work on. By midmorning she had gotten nowhere. Keith Fink, the man whose house Sondra Jackson had been murdered in, answered the phone and surprised her by agreeing to talk with her. “I have nothing to hide,” he said. Unfortunately he had nothing important to add to what she already knew. She did learn, however, that Fink and his wife were newcomers to the swinging scene and the tryst that night with the Jacksons had been their first outing.
She finally remembered to call Roland, the hairdresser who was a close friend and had been helpful in uncovering the plight of the missing women more than a year ago. She asked him what he knew about swingers in the area, assuming that working with women all day would give him inside knowledge.
“Sorry, hon,” he said. “I haven’t heard a word. But Larry might know something. He’s off today, but he’s been working here in Tosa for twenty-five years. If anyone can help you, it will be him. I’ll have him call you.”
More information delays followed. Then Teschler’s computer guy, who sounded like he was about twelve, told her he had mainly helped Norman with the maintenance of his system and hadn’t had anything to do with any content, in particular Norman’s book. He promised to call her back if he thought of anything helpful.
Crap. She added more swear words mentally and remembered the swear-jar pig. Probably didn’t count as swearing if JR was with her sister and no one else was around. And she hadn’t spoken them out loud. Kinda like that tree fallin’ in the forest.
She regretted that she had never gotten around to lining up a computer expert to help her with the business research. TJ could do the online basics, but serious computer research was outside her capabilities. Her promise to Richard to stay out of cases that could be dangerous had limited the business to security work, so she hadn’t had a reason to bother with it.
She showered, quickly ate a bowl of cereal, and was about to leave when the buzzer for the entry to her office sounded. At the door, she recognized Detective Brian Haymaker through the glass. She opened the door, and he stepped past her before she could either object to his entry or trip him.
“I hear you’ve been questioning my witnesses. I thought it might be best if you and I compared notes.”
Overcoming the desire to boot him out of her office, she nodded to the sofa and chairs. Haymaker, dressed casually in jeans, a pale blue shirt, and loafers without socks, sat with one leg slung over the other. His hair, yellow as the hay in his last name, was still wet from the shower, and he smelled like Zest soap.
He spoke first. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
“There’s a great coffee shop in the village. I can give you directions.”
He grinned. “Not very sociable this morning, are we?”
“You aren’t going to be here long enough for coffee. What do you want?”
“Actually, my partner suggested that we consolidate our efforts.”
Interesting. TJ hadn’t seen Tasha Wade since the morning at Janeen’s, but the woman had seemed pretty upfront. Apparently she had found out that TJ was a PI. She considered his offer. Teschler’s death, never the Wauwatosa’s police’s top priority, was beginning to look related to the others. It was what her client was paying for, and she couldn’t lose sight of that.
“Yeah? Does that mean I give you what I’ve got and get nothing in return?”
“How about I’ll give you something I know you haven’t been privy to and you tell me what you have.”
Shit, she could sure use something new. “Okay, spill it.”
“The night Sondra Jackson was murdered there were three intruders in the house.”
She had heard that one from Richard. “That all you got?”
He leaned closer to her and spoke in a low voice, a whisper that TJ suspected was for dramatic emphasis. “Sondra Jackson had sex with all three of them before they murdered her.”
Her nonswearing resolutions forgotten, she said, “What the fuck?” It was juicy stuff, but what did it mean? Haymaker sat back, smugly enjoying her reaction.
“You telling me this chick got it on with the intruders?”
“Looks that way. Unless she knew them somehow, there’s no other explanation. The Finks and Craig Jackson claim to know nothing about it and deny inviting anyone over for an orgy.”
TJ needed a moment. She offered him coffee and left for the media room where a fresh pot waited. Her thoughts spun. Should she show him the whiteboards? But then he would know everything she had; maybe she should just give him one piece he didn’t know, just like he had done. She poured him a cup of coffee and returned to the room.
“Well?” he asked. “Don’t forget this is quid pro quo.”
She gritted her teeth. “Didn’t forget.” TJ just didn’t have anything substantial to offer. Her whiteboard had more questions than answers and her to-do list was lengthy. Nothing she had to offer would generate any more information from the detective.
“I’m on the Teschler case,” she reminded him. “It seems like there has to be a connection somewhere. Haven’t found one yet, but the kid next door to Rosenthal, Lucian Krause, knows something.” Now that she said it out loud, she realized it wasn’t just a bargaining chip for Haymaker. The kid knew something; she felt it in her gut. “Matter of fact, the whole family is pretty guarded when they talk about the explosion,” she added.
His eyes narrowed. “I talked to them right after it happened. I didn’t get that vibe at all. They’re a little strange, sure, especially the kid, but I don’t think they were holding back. What’s your evidence?”
It was hard to describe what had given her the gut feeling. “None of them acted upset by the guy’s death. Teschler was their neighbor practically forever. It seems pretty strange. They were all twitchy when I talked to them, and Lucian was downright rude. You would think they’d have more interest in the explosion since it happened right across the street from them, expect them to be talkative, afraid it could happen to them.”
“What else?” he prodded.
“The kid was the last person to see Teschler that night. He did yard jobs for him sometimes and had access to the house.”
“And he would make the house explode, why? What possible motive could he have?”
“Dunno. Didn’t get that far.” She wondered if she should tell him about her suspicions that Lucian was doing more for Rosemary Haynes than pruning the bushes or that Norman had boinked nearly every woman on the block. Those details wouldn’t add anything to the murder he was working on, so she kept them to herself.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What make
s you think Teschler’s home exploding is connected to Sondra Jackson’s death?” Haymaker asked.
“Too much going on around here. Two more deaths, a break-in at Rosenthal’s—smells bad to me. Makes me think there has to be a connection somewhere.”
Haymaker finished his coffee and stood. “It could be a lot of things. Don’t forget, Teschler and the Chapman girl’s deaths are still regarded as accidents.”
TJ shook her head. “Any cop worth his badge knows all this is way too much fucking coincidence.”
He smiled and opened the door to the street. “It’s been nice chatting with you. Call me when you have something I can use.”
She slammed the door behind him. So much for working together. She had to call Janeen; her sister could tell her when Haymaker’s partner would be there to pick up her baby. TJ would make sure to be there. Another woman would be more receptive and that one loved to talk.
Chapter 35
After I left TJ, I returned home and sat in front of my computer, hoping to get some work done, and tried to ignore the clouds that threatened to ruin the day I had planned to do something other than work and grieve. The last few golden autumn days had been perfect, the bright blue sky highlighted by clouds as white and fluffy as whipped egg whites. I even cleaned up my golf clubs and considered calling Jon Engel to ask if he had time to play eighteen. Now it wasn’t looking like a day fit for golfing.
I tried to call Jorge, but he didn’t answer. The urge to discuss what I had experienced the night before had lessened, but I needed to talk about it. It might be better to call Lisa; at least she couldn’t be judgmental, while Jorge would be off and running, encouraging me to delve into it even further. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that, although using planned paralysis episodes as a way to control them, to control the fear, was attractive to me.
Before I could call the therapist, the phone rang. My ex-husband greeted me. “I was wondering when you were going to pick up Norman’s computer. I thought maybe I could drop it off and we could have lunch. Or dinner later.”
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