Haymaker added, “Here’s something you don’t know. I had a visit tonight from Donald Braun. He thinks his wife is missing.”
“He doesn’t know for sure?”
“They own a lake home in Manitowish Waters. She went up there a few days ago. He hasn’t heard from her since, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Is he up there now?”
“No. He was just here a couple hours ago.”
“Wait a minute. If he thinks she’s missing, then why isn’t he hauling ass up there?”
“He isn’t sure there would be much point. One of their neighbors up there has already been through the house. His wife’s car, her suitcase, and her purse are still there. The house has no sign of being broken into, and nothing appears to be missing except Mrs. Braun.”
“That doesn’t sound good. What about the local cops?”
“According to Braun, they aren’t taking it too seriously. That’s why he came in. He says it’s not like her to stay out of in touch, but he admitted they argued before she left.”
Tasha picked a popcorn hull from one of her teeth while she took a moment to absorb the news about Braun. “Not much we can do about it from here. But if there’s foul play involved in her disappearance, it’s probably related to everything else, right?”
“I told him I would give the cops up there a call and see what they have. They need to know what’s going on here.”
“Guess now we need to warn the rest of the swingers, right?”
“Not until we know more about Victoria Braun. If she’s alive and well at some cushy spa, then we look like idiots if we jump the gun.”
Tasha would rather feel like an idiot than wait until someone else was dead. Rather than argue, she said, “Maybe we should at least talk to Jackson again, get him to tell us more about the swingers’ group from back then. Or talk to the Finks.”
“The Finks were new recruits. They wouldn’t know anything about the past.”
“Then that leaves Jackson.”
“I can go over there now. Want to come with me? A female presence might soften the blow of bothering him this late.”
Tasha hesitated. The baby was already sleeping through the night, and no one would even know she was gone. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”
Haymaker and Wade arrived at Jackson’s house within the hour. His vehicle sat parked in the driveway in front of an unattached garage, but the house was dark.
“Funny he would leave his car out if he’s sleeping,” said Haymaker.
“Maybe he came home with a snootful,” Tasha said as they parked in front of the house.
“Could be. If he’s out somewhere, he isn’t answering his cell phone.”
“He’s in a club and it’s too noisy to hear it,” she suggested. “Or he has company here helping him get over his wife’s death.”
They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. Haymaker pressed the doorbell again.
“I’ll check around back,” Tasha said as she stepped off the porch.
Haymaker got no response to two more attempts to rouse Jackson. All of a sudden the door opened. Tasha stood there, breathing hard. “Someone broke in the back. Jackson’s been attacked. It looks like he was stabbed.”
He followed her into the living room where Craig Jackson’s body was crumpled on the floor in front of a leather lounger. Haymaker leaned over and put his fingers on Jackson’s throat.
“He’s alive! Call for a bus.”
Chapter 49
After eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, I rose refreshed for the first time in weeks.
I tucked the ruby ring into the safe provided in my suite, then dressed, stopped downstairs for a quick breakfast, and left for the hospital.
A nurse in the ICU told me Carter had regained consciousness and been moved to a regular room. I found him sitting in bed with the back cranked up. In front of him a tray on wheels displayed a liquid breakfast with a dish of soupy orange Jell-O as the main course.
“I’m happy to see you’re awake.” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
He grunted. “I’ll be a lot better when I can eat something I can’t pour.”
He must be better if he was complaining about the food.
“I was so worried about you,” I said. His face looked thinner, his eyes as flat and dull as the inside of a bottle cap.
“And you, Gemma? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I pulled my hair back to show him the stitches on my head. “I had a mild concussion, but nothing like what you’ve experienced. They only kept me here overnight. When I found you downstairs on the couch, I thought the people who broke in were gone. One of them hit me with a copper statue. I never saw it coming.”
He took my hand in both of his. “I’m just thankful I was there. I can’t even think about what might have happened if you’d been there by yourself.”
I had thought about it. Whoever had attacked us might have killed me if Carter hadn’t been there. I couldn’t tell him my fast response had been due to a vision I’d had while having an OBE. And thanks to Jorge, the police had arrived in minutes. What I couldn’t figure out was why they had attacked me. TJ and I weren’t even close to proving a link between the explosion and the murders. We didn’t even know for sure if the explosion had been an intentional act, and it was no secret that what happened to Norman was my only interest in their investigations.
Carter’s grip on my hand tightened.
“We have to talk, Gemma.”
I started to tell him he was in no condition for a serious talk, but he stopped me. “Not now, then, but soon. We have to talk about our future.”
I hoped my relief that he was willing to put it off wasn’t as visible as it felt. In my mind we had no future and I didn’t want to hash it over with Carter again. In the span of only a few days the two men who had been my only loves were pressing me to begin a relationship. I should be elated. They both wanted me, but their desire was not flattering. Instead, it felt like invisible walls were closing in on me.
After I left Carter I stopped in the cafeteria for coffee and noticed Detective Haymaker standing two people in front of me in line. I leaned forward and tugged on his sleeve. “Do you have a minute?”
We met at a tiny table near the entrance. As soon as I sat across from him, he asked, “What can I do for you Ms. Rosenthal?”
“I just saw Carter and he’s out of ICU, even talking. But you know that, right? You’re here to talk to him.”
He ran his fingers through his fine, blond hair. The heavy circles under his eyes announced he had been up all night, and his lack of eye contact told me he wasn’t here to see Carter. My years of working ad campaigns had taught me a lot about reading people; something else had happened, and he was unsure whether to tell me about it. “What is it?” I asked.
“The woman who was murdered last week, Sondra Jackson, her husband was attacked last night. Stabbed, just like your ex-husband.”
My stomach rolled. “Is he going to be all right?”
“It’s not looking good.”
“Did they write on his walls?”
“I can’t give you details of the investigation,” he reminded me. “Although it looks like there is a select group of people being targeted. Don’t forget what happened to your ex, though. Be careful.”
Those were the kindest words he had ever spoken to me. “I’ve moved into a hotel, and I’ll be staying there until my security system is installed. It’s taking even longer now because of all the damage caused by the heavy rain. Apparently existing accounts with rain damage take precedence over putting in new ones.”
“Try not to go out alone, especially at night. And don’t open your door to anyone you don’t know.” He downed his coffee and stood. “Maybe not even to some people you do know.”
I couldn’t blame him for his cynicism. “Can’t you stop them before they kill someone else?”
“We’re doing everything possible. We’ve even compared notes with your PI.”
He had to be desperate to ask TJ for help; according to her, those two did nothing except butt heads.
After leaving the hospital, Haymaker returned to the station to pick up Tasha. She handed him a sandwich as she got into the car. “Lainy made a deli run. I thought you’d need something.”
He grabbed the offering, along with the cup of coffee she handed to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He muttered “Thanks,” through a mouthful of the ham sandwich on rye he always ordered and passed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“What’s the plan for today?” Tasha asked.
“We’ll talk to Arthur Krause’s wife, Barbara. Seems like the place to start. The only other ones left from the swingers’ group to interview are Sam Diermeyer and Anna Krause. Anna wasn’t a member, but she would have had a motive if her husband’s accident was intentional. I figure Barbara Krause would be the one most likely to open up to us. Diermeyer lives in Illinois. We can call him later.”
“Right. But we should try to talk to their kids, too.”
“That’s next on the list. I thought we needed to talk to the spouses of the two who committed suicide first. See if they know who’s carrying a grudge.”
“Could be one of them,” Tasha added. “I didn’t tell Lukaszewski about the suicide pact and that we think it’s related to what’s happening.”
“Why not?”
“He’s been working that other case for one thing. And he’s always slow to consult us about anything he’s doing.”
“He’d be announcing it standing on his desk if he had come up with anything good.”
Tasha snorted. “Got that right.”
Barbara Krause’s house, located about a quarter of a mile southwest of the station, sat nearly in the backyard of the picturesque Mount Mary College grounds. It was a modest two-story brick colonial, its front porch decorated with pumpkins ranging in size from seven inches to a foot and a half in diameter, flanked by gourds of all shapes and sizes.
“Seems a little early for those,” Tasha muttered as they approached. “It isn’t even October yet.” It was what she told her kids when they begged for pumpkins to carve, an excuse that would expire in a few days.
The door was opened by a tall matronly woman with hair dyed a dull ash blond. Her eyebrows, etched in a shade to match her hair, were tweezed in narrow, unnatural arches. They topped a face wrinkled by years of smoking, evidenced by her yellowed fingers. Haymaker and Tasha offered their IDs and asked her name. She identified herself as Barbara Krause but didn’t invite them in.
“We need to ask you some questions,” he said.
She eyed them as her hands nervously rearranged the floral scarf she wore over a brown sweater set. “About what?”
Her stiff posture and edginess revealed the woman knew exactly why they were there. “We need to ask you about the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death,” Haymaker told her. “I know it happened a long time ago, but we think it could be related to a recent murder and two attempted murders.”
She stood back from the door. “You’d better come in. I don’t have much time. I have to be somewhere soon.” She showed them into a living room that showed no signs of living. Everything in the room was polished, formal, and stiff, with nothing out of place. Not even a TV set was evident.
Tasha and Brian sat at opposite ends of a long off-white sofa. “Mrs. Krause,” he began, “we already know about the swingers’ group you used to belong to and how your husband and Lilly Diermeyer died. We understand that the Diermeyers, the Brauns, and the Jacksons were also members of the club. We think there were other couples that were involved, but we don’t know their names. That’s what we need from you, the names. We think someone might be trying to kill all of you who were members of the swingers back then.”
“It wasn’t a club,” she clipped.
Tasha thought it odd that she spouted that denial rather than express concern about her own safety, the murders, or why the police thought the events were related.
“We aren’t interested in the swinging,” Haymaker said. “We just need you to answer our questions.”
Her resistance was obvious. Why would she be reluctant to open up?
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember the other names.”
“Yeah, right,” Tasha chimed in. “You can’t remember names of people you shared your body and your husband with?”
Barbara cringed at Tasha’s words.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze on the floral carpet. “I honestly don’t remember their names. And there were only four of us couples who were regulars.”
“Maybe this will tweak your memory,” Haymaker said. “A member of your original group, Sondra Jackson, has been murdered. I’m sure you’ve heard about it. What you don’t know is that her husband was attacked last night and he’s not expected to live.”
She caught her breath. “I really can’t give you names, Detective. Honestly, I can’t. There were a few other couples, but none that became regular members. Actually, now that I think about it, there weren’t any that came more than one or two times.”
“Victoria Braun is missing,” Haymaker added. “So you see, now there are three people from your little ménage who we believe have been victims of revenge. Unless you want to be the fourth, it’s in your best interest to help us.”
Barbara Krause’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Then you better tell us where you were last night. And where you were on the night Sondra Jackson was murdered,” said Tasha.
Krause’s eyes widened. “You’re not accusing me of these crimes, are you?”
Haymaker shrugged. “We’re going to need alibis from all of you who were former members and also from your relatives. Someone with a sixteen-year-old grudge is murdering people from your sex club. Any one of you or one of your relatives could be responsible.”
The color drained from Krause’s face. “But why now after all these years?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Chapter 50
Over breakfast, TJ told Richard what she had seen the night before.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Why hide a cemetery like that?”
“It could be a lot of things. The state laws for cemeteries and funeral homes are pretty stringent.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not familiar with them all, but I do know there are requirements to be met before starting a cemetery. There might even be fees attached too. If you need specifics, I can give you a number to call.”
“Good. I’ll do it tomorrow. Today I’m takin’ it easy.” JR’s bowl of cereal clattered to the floor. “After I clean up this mess.”
TJ spent the afternoon at Richard’s apartment playing with her son. The cleaning service had been in her house and cleaned the basement, a replacement sump pump had been installed, and they were working on the new furnace. She was amazed it was getting done so fast; she could move back in the next morning.
An inspection of Richard’s cupboards revealed a scarcity of cooking implements and the situation in the food department even worse, making a celebratory meal at home impossible without a trip to the store. They would have to go out to celebrate. She called Balistreri’s on 68th in Tosa and made a reservation for dinner. Pizza and deep-fried eggplant, the specialty of the house, were two of their favorite things, and JR, unlike most children his age, loved visiting restaurants. Pizza, which he picked apart and ate in its individual components, was one of his favorite treats.
In the restaurant that night, JR happily dissected his slice of pizza while Ric
hard and TJ talked about her case.
“I don’t know, babe. I’m worried about you,” Richard said. “Visiting cemeteries in the middle of the night, all these murders and attempted murders. I thought you didn’t want to get into anything like that.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t. But stuff happens. Gemma came to me, remember?” It wasn’t the moment to admit she loved the drama and the danger.
“I just don’t want you getting in over your head.”
Fighting words, TJ thought, words that really pissed her off. She could take care of herself as well as any cop, male or female. Her relationship with Richard before she met Jeff had been a sporadic one and Richard had never questioned her abilities then. Since he fell in love with her son, his attitude toward TJ’s work had changed. She should find his protectiveness comforting, but instead she felt resentful.
Rather than take him on and ruin their evening, she delved into a stack of delightfully crispy eggplant sticks she dipped in marinara sauce. One thing she knew about Richard: It paid off to not react too quickly when he made her angry. If she ticked him off now, he wouldn’t be as forthcoming with his information. They ate, for a moment, in silence.
“I shared my info with the cops, and I think they’ll work it out pretty quick now. Then I’m out of it,” If these murders are revenge for what happened a long time ago, wouldn’t the people involved be pretty old now?”she lied. There would still be her original problem, solving Teschler’s explosion.
“If these murders are revenge for what happened a long time ago, wouldn’t the people involved be pretty old now?”
“Yeah, the swingers are in their fifties and sixties. Jackson might only be pushin’ it, but Sondra Jackson was younger. She musta been barely twenty at the time of the suicides. I’m thinkin’ it’s more likely one of the kids of the two suicides that’s doin’ the deed. The whole thing with the creeping and having sex in unlocked houses wouldn’t be something an older perp would do. Not to my thinking.”
“I agree,” Richard said. “Have you thought about what precipitated this revenge after sixteen years?”
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