Lisa nodded.
Dr. Butler handed her a card. “This has the name of an excellent clinic near you. See one of these specialists for your initial testing. Then, if you want to proceed further, call me and I’ll fit you in.”
After leaving Madison, Lisa returned to her office. She wished she could have gone right home, but she had rescheduled Emma Le Gesse once that day in order to go to Madison with TJ and Kelsey.
Emma showed up punctually at four thirty, wearing a bright-red suit and a matching smile. “I finally have something good to tell you. I met someone.”
Lisa thought the last thing Emma needed was another relationship. “Have you decided to end your marriage?”
“My husband moved out two days ago.”
“Did you have an argument?”
She shrugged. “We did, but not like you think. It didn’t get physical or anything.”
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“It’s been coming, our separation. I wasn’t all broken up about it. He moved into my house when we got married, so it’s not like there’ll be a big change for me. And if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have gone out that night and I wouldn’t have met John.” She hugged herself, her happiness evident.
“Emma,” Lisa said, “we talked about this the last time you were here. You need to deal with your anger issues before you jump into another relationship or you’ll end up in the same place.”
She pouted. “I knew I shouldn’t tell you, that you’d just spoil everything for me.”
“I understand that spending time with someone new can be uplifting, but that feeling is only a temporary solution. Ultimately, you’ll be bringing your same issues with you to your next relationship.”
Emma rose from the chair, her face pink. “I don’t need to listen to this from you, you know. I’m paying you to help me and all you do is put me down.”
Lisa tried to reason with her as she rushed from the room, but Emma slammed the door in her face. She walked back to her desk. The sound of gravel flying from the tires of Emma’s car felt deafening to her ears, and left her feeling like a failure.
Bart stopped at the MPD and handed Conlin copies of every crank letter, nasty comment, and email he’d ever received. There were more than two hundred, and he had them sorted into categories: mild, questionable, insulting, belligerent, and downright scary. Only a handful expressed any kind of threat, and none sounded anything like the note Headliner had left on Bart’s computer. The bulk of the mail was in the “insulting” category.
He headed for the gym after he left the station and recalled Conlin’s parting words as he’d left the detective’s office. “Mr. Kosik”—the guy still wouldn’t call him Bart—“this should go without saying, but I hope you aren’t planning on writing about this.”
Bart had tossed out a hurried “Of course not.” and rushed out before Conlin could read on his face that he had intended to do just that. What a coup the story would be if the Headliner guy were legit. A story about a reporter hearing from a killer, or even a wannabe killer would be huge. Contacts like those were the kind you read about in novels. Or saw on TV. Bart had always wondered if they ever happened in real life and thought if reporters had heard from murderers, they must have kept it quiet.
As he worked out, Bart thought about Conlin’s warning, and decided that as exciting as the idea of interacting with a killer was, no way would he risk inciting some wack job who liked to kill people. Scraping and bowing to Conlin became less distasteful when compared with ending up on a psycho’s kill list.
At home after his workout, Bart had a hard time focusing on his next blog. He couldn’t even decide what to write about since he had to back off of the one about the murdered women that had brought Headliner into his life. He had just about decided to give it up for the day, cook himself some dinner and park in front of the TV for a change, when his landline rang. He eyed it suspiciously, then picked up.
“Is this Bart?” A woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, it is.” Bart couldn’t remember the last time a woman other than his mother had called him.
“This is Jen. Jen Hoff?”
The name didn’t register.
“You know, we met through the service. At that coffee shop on Oakland.”
“Oh, right. How have you been?” Jen Hoff was the tall woman he’d met a few weeks earlier and had coffee with. Bart didn’t recall that she’d mentioned her last name. He had thought about contacting her just to ask if she would like to have lunch or something, but he’d never had the nerve.
“Have you had any luck with the matchmaking service?” she asked.
“None.” Bart was sure he sounded like a nervous jerk. His heart was going a mile a minute. “I’d ask if you had, but I guess not or you wouldn’t be calling.”
She laughed. He liked her laugh. It sounded natural, not forced like some women’s.
“Good guess,” she said. “Joining the service was a real waste of money. Anyway, I was thinking about seeing that new Clooney movie tonight. Are you interested?”
“Sure thing. Want me to pick you up or would you rather meet somewhere?”
“We could meet near the theater and get a bite to eat if you want.”
She suggested a place they both liked and he almost commented this was sounding kind of like a date, but he didn’t want to scare her off. He didn’t give a damn what it was—spending an evening with a woman whose company he enjoyed sounded wonderful.
Jen was just as enjoyable to be with as he remembered. He even told her about his blog and what had happened with the break-in. She listened attentively and told him he was doing the right thing by playing it safe. They had a great dinner, enjoyed the movie, and even stopped for coffee before he dropped her off at her car. Neither of them gave their time together a label or asked for a return engagement. Bart wanted to give her a friendly goodbye hug, but feared it might have been awkward, considering their height difference. Instead, he took her hand and told her he’d had a nice evening.
When he pulled into his driveway, he remembered the new security wouldn’t be installed until the next day. His unattached garage behind the house looked dark and foreboding. Chastening himself for his fear, he hit the remote for the garage door and pulled the car inside. He stepped out of the car, grateful that the light on the opener stayed on for five minutes until he reached his back door.
He exited the garage, cursing himself for being so excited about meeting Jen that he’d forgotten to leave the light on above the back door. His yard, though small, was dark and edged with high shrubbery. He refused to worry about appearing cowardly, since no one would see him, anyway. He would walk around to the front porch and go in that way since the front of the house was close to a streetlight.
When he was two feet from the garage, he tripped over something on the sidewalk and landed on his hip. Bart scrambled from the cold ground, trying to see what he’d stumbled over. The light from the garage door opener went out. He opened his cell phone to use its light for a better look. A woman’s body lay spread out on the sidewalk. She had been so badly beaten that her face was totally obliterated, and at the end of her sleeves were bloody stumps where her hands had been.
After depositing what remained of his supper into the winter-bare branches of the nearest lilac bush, Bart dialed 911.
17
TJ needed someone to vet Whitney Chamberlain for her, someone who knew his or her way around a computer. Her new hire, unfortunately, had about the same skill level as TJ, but the candidate list for the job had been a short one considering the job description . . . and the hourly wage. TJ shouldn’t have put off finding computer help, but her recent work hadn’t required anything advanced. As much as she hated to give him the satisfaction of her seeding him out, she drove to the north side of Milwaukee to see Geo Turner, a former computer-crimes felon. Their last transaction had been rather confrontational but effective.
East North Avenue, near the UWM campus, hadn’t ch
anged. A predominantly African American neighborhood, most of the houses were duplexes, and stand-alone businesses stood on the corners, predominantly taverns or laundromats. When she got to Turner’s former address, she was surprised to see the small market below his upper flat had been replaced with a store that sold cell phones. The door that had lead from the street to Turner’s apartment had vanished.
She entered the store to inquire about Turner. Cell phones were displayed on all available surfaces. At least a dozen customers milled about, half of them speaking to sales staffers, and the ones that weren’t, she noticed, were being carefully watched by the salespeople. TJ counted four security cameras on the walls without even trying.
A burly clerk turned and asked if he could help her.
TJ flashed him her license. “Need to talk to Geo Turner. He still live upstairs?”
The guy looked her over before pulling a cell phone off his belt, punching in a number, and stepping away. She heard, “Hey. There’s a hot-looking PI here wants to see you. Name’s Peacock.”
After a brief exchange, he led her behind the counter to a short hallway and opened a door that exposed a carpeted stairway. “There you go.”
When the door at the top of the stairs opened, TJ marveled at how the place had changed since her last visit. Rich beige carpeting covered the living room and dining area, and the open kitchen had a parquet floor and the latest in brushed-platinum appliances.
Geo Turner faced her, his appearance nearly as improved as the apartment. Still thin-haired and skinny, Turner wore neat khaki pants and a navy golf shirt like the sales clerks downstairs. His predatory grin displayed a mouthful of expensive dental work. “What the fuck are you doing here? I’m strictly legit now, like I told you last time. And I own my own business.”
Judging by the quality of the furnishings and the extensive remodeling, TJ figured the cell-phone business must be lucrative. But she didn’t believe for a second that the shifty bastard’s bony fingers weren’t still doing some hacking. “Got a job for you.”
“Your last one nearly landed my ass in jail again.”
“Yeah, right. I’m the one stuck her neck out on that one. This one’s easy. I need a full background on some chick I’m investigatin’. Pretty sure she was usin’ a fake name and I’m not gettin’ anywhere tryin’ to find out her real one. Don’t say no too fast, remember I still have contacts in the department who’ll be all over your ass if I ask ’em. Lotta cops around wouldn’t be too good for business in this hood.”
“Fuck all.” He turned away and gestured for her to follow.
TJ knew he would gouge her on his fee, but Petretti would cover it. She followed him into a room outfitted with the best of the best in computer hardware. A large oak desk in the center of the room held a sleek laptop and every inch of available wall space had counters topped with computer equipment. Four small screens centered on one side of the room had real-time views of the business downstairs.
Turner stood at one of the computers against the wall and took down everything TJ had on Whitney Chamberlain. “You know,” he said, “I could use a little quid pro quo. Some of my clients run out on their payments.”
“What do I look like, a fuckin’ bill collector?” She laid one of her cards on the counter next to his computer. “Messenger it over when it’s finished.”
18
“For the third time,” Bart said, “I don’t know her, I don’t know who she is, and she was lying here when I came home twenty minutes ago.”
Bart had just about decided to call his lawyer when Detective Conlin came up the driveway behind the medical examiner. At least a cop he knew was here, even if it had to be Conlin.
“Mr. Kosik,” Conlin said, “would you like to tell me what happened here?”
“You gotta be kidding me. I have to tell it all again?”
“You know the drill, smart guy. Run it by me—everything you did since you left the station this morning.”
Conlin was right, but Bart was sick of repeating his story. “After I left you, I went to the gym, stopped for lunch afterward, and came home. I was home by about four o’clock. I left here about an hour later, had dinner with a friend and we went to a movie. We had coffee after the show, and I got back here at a little after eleven.” He gestured to the body, which still hadn’t been moved. “I tripped over her in the dark, I called 911. That’s it.”
Conlin nodded. “I’ll need the name of your friend.”
“I’m a suspect?”
“Kosik, you seem to have forgotten your vast knowledge of police procedure. Everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise, especially the person who found the body.”
Bart did know just about everything a private citizen could know about law enforcement. He’d even taken some classes on criminal justice. But being thrown into the middle of a crime this ghastly, his emotions had taken over. Any rational thought quickly became overrun with images of a woman whose face looked like something behind the glass of a butcher’s counter.
Conlin left him and went over to talk to the medical examiner who was bent over the body. Bart edged close enough to eavesdrop.
“Found any ID?” Conlin asked.
The examiner, a woman with her hair pulled back in a tightly wound bun, finished what she was doing and turned to the detective. “There was nothing in her pockets and she didn’t have a bag with her. She wasn’t killed here. Someone dumped the body.”
“TOD?”
“My best guess right now would be within the last four hours. I’ll have more for you later, but it looks like the cause of death is blunt-force trauma to the head. Her hands were removed post mortem.” The ME turned the woman’s head to the right, exposing a gash three fingers wide.
Bart’s stomach churned again, but he managed to hold back the nausea that accompanied the churning.
Conlin didn’t comment on the condition of the corpse. “What can you tell me about her?”
The ME snapped her bag shut and stood. “She’s mid to late twenties, physically fit, good teeth, nice clothing. No visible scars or tattoos, and she has an expensive pedicure and hair shading. That’s about all I can tell you before I do the autopsy other than she’ll be hard to identify with this amount of facial damage and no fingerprints or ID on her.”
Bart turned to go into the house.
Conlin left the ME and stopped his progress. “Hey, Kosik. You can’t go in there.”
“Oh, man. Do you have to?” He knew what was coming.
“Under the circumstances, yes, we have to search your place—especially since you had a break-in yesterday. We can do it the easy way or the hard way, with a warrant.”
“No warrant,” Bart said. “Go ahead, but make it fast.”
“You’re not writing this up tomorrow,” Conlin warned.
“I still have my First Amendment rights, detective. There’s no law against a victim writing about a crime. This happened on my property. I’m the one whose house is going to be ransacked, and I’m the one who will be up all night while you waste time here rather than looking for the guy who killed that woman. Yeah, I’m gonna write about it.”
Conlin gave him a look that could tear a phone book in half. “Got your security on?”
Bart not only had it on, he’d left the front porch lights on when he left to meet Jen. “Yeah. I’ll turn it off for you.” He let the detective and his partner into the house. “Okay if I check my emails?” They ignored his question and moved into the living room.
Bart took that as a yes and sat down in front of his laptop. Most of his emails were all the usual stuff. Then he saw one from Jen, telling him she’d had fun that night. Reveling in satisfaction, he almost didn’t notice the email at the bottom of the night’s messages. The return address said John Doe.
Blogger-boy,
Bet your still awake! Did you like the present I left you? Told you the moron cops got it all rong.
This one deserved what she got. Bet you’re drooling to rite about it, aren�
��t you? Here’s a hot clue for you: This isn’t the first time this bitches face got messed up.
Now your one up on the cops. Don’t say I never gave you anything.
Headliner
19
Lisa waited for Kelsey to arrive for her appointment, her thoughts returning to her desire for a child. After a hasty dinner of Thai takeout the night before, she and Eric had discussed the possibility of becoming parents. Eric brought up Lisa’s daughter Paige, now in her early twenties, and asked Lisa if she really wanted to start over again with a baby to care for. They went over all their options before agreeing that Lisa should go ahead and make sure that pregnancy was even possible. If it weren’t, they would forego any extreme measures, like IVF or a surrogate, and explore the next option, adoption—but not of an infant. Adopting a baby took too long, and there were many young children that needed good homes.
Their discussion reminded Lisa why she loved Eric. That they could talk through and agree on something so important, on all aspects of it and its solution, filled her with wonder. Lisa and Eric had been happy with their lives, and until now, hadn’t given marriage a lot of thought. But the possibility of a child in their future changed everything. If they decided to move forward, they agreed to get married. The reality of having a child in their lives, made her smile. Lisa hadn’t thought about marriage until TJ and Richard got married on the grounds of Eric’s estate that year. She couldn’t deny that watching their friends’ ceremony right here where she lived, had started her thinking.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Rina’s niece arrived. Kelsey Blasko looked nothing like the troubled girl she’d been only a few days before. Apparently, she was on her way to her aunt’s horse farm. In a pair of dark-gray riding pants with knee-high, shiny black boots and a heavy knitted turtleneck sweater topped by a short black leather jacket, she was the picture of the fashionably dressed equestrian. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, and her complexion glowed with good health. “I think I’m a little early.”
Girl Undone (TJ Peacock & Lisa Rayburn Mysteries Book 3) Page 6