Girl Undone (TJ Peacock & Lisa Rayburn Mysteries Book 3)

by Marla Madison

  “Lisa, there’s a man here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but said he needs to talk to you about his wife.”

  “Is his name Le Gesse?”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  “Send him in.”

  A heavyset man stormed into the office. Lisa recalled that Le Gesse owned a landscaping business, and this man appeared to be dressed for work in a pair of dark-green canvas pants with a matching jacket. The green of his clothing reflected on his florid complexion, giving it an odd, khaki hue. Noticing a vein throbbing in his wide neck, Lisa prepared for an outburst.

  “Where is my wife?” he demanded, although the demand sounded silly. Le Gesse had a high-pitched voice that was almost feminine.

  Lisa stood and faced him. “Who is your wife?”

  “Emma. Emma Le Gesse.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m her husband, Gerald.” He took a deep breath and Lisa could see he was making an effort to control himself. “I know she comes here to see you. She told me all about it.”

  “If that’s the case, Mr. Le Gesse, then she must have told you that I can’t discuss anything we talk about.”

  “I don’t care what you talked about. I’m just trying to find her. Her office called me this morning when she didn’t show up. I went to the house to check on her, but the bitch—sorry, Emma—must have had the locks changed. Something’s wrong. Emma never misses work.”

  Lisa felt her stomach pitch. A missing woman sounded disturbingly familiar. She’d been hoping Emma would come home today as if nothing were wrong. “Maybe we should call the police, don’t you think?” Not wanting to rile him more than he already was, she didn’t share with him that the police had already started looking for his wife’s car.

  Le Gesse wiped his face, deflated. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  The Gesses’ home was on the outskirts of Oconomowoc. Lisa picked up the phone and dialed Maggie, a detective on the Oconomowoc force whom she’d worked with before. When Maggie picked up, Lisa told her about Emma and gave her the address. She told Lisa to have Le Gesse meet them there.

  Lisa got the call a half hour after Le Gesse left her office to meet Maggie.

  “Lisa, it’s Maggie. Your client wasn’t in her house, but there’s a lot of blood on the floor in the foyer. In all likelihood, if it’s hers, she’s dead. The crime scene techs are here working the scene.”

  “How is her husband holding up?”

  “He’s falling apart, but the paramedics are taking care of him. If he’s faking, he’s Oscar material, capable of putting his body into shock.”

  “I don’t believe he’s faking.” Lisa’s read on the man told her he might be a jerk, but he’d seemed to be a sincere jerk.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later. And I know you can’t tell me about his wife’s sessions with you, but we’ll still need to go over whatever you can tell me.”

  Lisa hung up, glad she had talked to Maggie about the Headliner problem a day earlier and told her they were all staying with Eric again. Maggie had asked if Emma was an abused woman. Lisa told her to check the police records for domestic disturbance calls to the Le Gesse home. Lisa knew there had been at least two recently, and she feared that Headliner was tapping into police scanners to get information on abused women. She wasn’t going to even think about the possibility that the wrong man had been blamed for the previous murders of abused women. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Richard Conlin, thinking he should be the one to break the news to Bart. “No problem,” he replied, “I’ll talk to him. I was just going to call you, anyway. La Gesse’s car was found in Pewaukee, parked at Michael’s restaurant.”

  Her next call was to Eric, asking him to beef up the security at home. The odds that Emma’s disappearance wasn’t related to everything else were infinitesimally small.

  TJ had been with Richard when Lisa called. They’d been discussing Caruthers, outlining the dates involved, trying to pinpoint the feasibility of him having enough time off on his work schedule to be in Wisconsin for the attacks. Turner had called her back first thing that morning reporting that he’d found no ties between Caruthers and Kosik, and Bart had never heard of him.

  “We don’t have enough on Caruthers to get a warrant for his work records,” Richard said. “Justin and I might have to take a ride to Iowa. I could get in touch with his chief first, see if he’ll tell me about the guy and about his schedule, but he might be more likely to give it to me willingly if we were face-to-face. Then if he gives me too much hassle, I’ll talk to the cops in the area.”

  “Okay,” TJ said. “I spilled what I got. Now it’s your turn. How’s the Felhaber case going? They have anything on the wife?”

  “You’re putting me on the spot, babe. I wish I could send you to the guy who has the case, but it’s Fox Point’s case and this Tenuta isn’t the kind of cop who would be receptive. Just between us, I do know that the wife, Patricia, has an alibi for the night Felhaber was shot. She owns a company that imports building materials and she was out of town on business. And also, off the record too, she’s something of a religion nut. Switched to Catholicism after she married Felhaber and is active in the church, along with making huge donations. I heard a rumor they’re considering his shooting was hired.”

  “That all you got?”

  “I’d say it’s all I can share except it’s really all I know—I remind you, it’s not our case, and nothing I told you is on the record.”

  “I get it. I’ll see if I can track down the wife at her office.”

  “Heaven forbid you should have to visit a church.”

  “I go to church!”

  “Sure you do. For weddings and funerals.”

  She laughed, gave him a quick kiss and left the station. She made a stop at her office, careful to lock the door behind her and check the place over before settling at her desk. She thought better there and the desktop computer she carried with her was no match for the wide-screened iMac in her office.

  After adding more facts about the case on the whiteboard, she touched base with Rina while poring over it. Rina asked TJ if she had found out any more about Felhaber’s wife. TJ told her she hadn’t yet and about her about her concern that her niece’s case could have a connection to the Headliner murders. She hated to upset the woman as long as she knew Rina was already maintaining the utmost security around her home and keeping an eye on Kelsey, but she had to be told. Rina assured TJ that she wanted her to keep working the case wherever it took her. Money was no object.

  57

  Patricia Felhaber paced in front of the glass outer wall of her office, studying the view of Lake Michigan as if it could predict her future. She’d rescheduled all her appointments for that day and the next.

  Patricia had turned the business around when she took over after her father’s death, and currently, rather than limping along as it had when her father and her brother were in charge, Norton Products had a dominant share of the market for their product.

  Hiring brilliant and trustworthy staff was a talent Patricia excelled at; the business could practically run itself. Sadly, she’d never been as successful choreographing her personal life, which always seemed to be seriously screwed up. The mirror in her well-appointed executive powder room flashed back an image of an attractive woman in her forties. On a good day, Patricia could pass for thirty-five. A good day was one on which she was happy, an emotion hard to come by when she lived in a stale marriage and yearned for a child her body was incapable of carrying.

  Now she had to deal with Lyle’s death. There were hundreds of loose ends to tie up, although with him gone she wouldn’t have to fight him for everything she owned when they divorced.

  Maintaining the sham marriage and tolerating her husband’s affairs had given her the freedom to explore her dubious sexuality. But Lyle couldn’t say she hadn’t tried. After all, she had believed he
rself in love with him when they married. Her money and support had put the man through medical school. During the following years he’d been too busy with his career and his women to question Patricia’s waning interest in sex. She hadn’t either—not until Rina.

  Patricia had fallen hard when she’d met the intense, successful entrepreneur at a fundraiser a year ago, and the rumors about Rina’s connections to organized crime had made her all the more exciting. Not that there was much hope of her feelings ever being returned—Rina had no interest in other women. Patricia hadn’t either until then, and why it had taken one special woman to make her realize her true leanings, she had no idea. But there was no denying how she felt, even though her only sexual experience with another woman had taken place in her imagination.

  Patricia hoped to change that someday, and she shadowed the outskirts of Rina’s social circle, using any excuse or opportunity to spend time with her. Charity events gave her most of the ins she needed and the upcoming ball they had agreed to co-chair would give her more time with her heart’s desire. The annual event, with Patricia’s input and money, promised to outdo any of the previous years’.

  But even her dreams of Rina couldn’t trump what was weighing on her mind. The pregnancy test she’d bought at Walgreens yesterday showed positive. She couldn’t rely on a home test for confirmation, however, and had scheduled an appointment later in the day with Joan Ferguson, a doctor who worked in Lyle’s office. Thinking about her husband in the past tense was still seemed strange—not that she missed the bastard—but they’d been married a long time, and a life without him felt awkward. The deal she had made with him, a divorce in exchange for using IVF to give her a child, had become one-sided. Patricia was getting what she wanted with no strings attached.

  Lisa leafed through a magazine, nervous about the appointment with Dr. Ferguson. The doctor from Madison had given her the names of three fertility specialist she recommended to do Lisa’s initial testing. One of them, Ferguson, was in Lyle Felhaber’s clinic. Lisa hadn’t told anyone what she was doing, but while she was there, she planned on asking a few questions about Felhaber under the guise of sympathy.

  The waiting room was empty when Lisa arrived, and after twenty minutes, another woman came rushing in, an air of immediacy in her rigid posture. She was immediately ushered into a back room before even taking a seat. Lisa didn’t see her face, but got a quick glimpse of her expensive clothing—a designer suit in a soft caramel shade that complimented her dark hair—and wondered if the woman had some kind of emergency situation. Not that it mattered. Lisa had scheduled the afternoon off and was prepared to wait, knowing that Felhaber couldn’t have been replaced quickly and the other doctors would be carrying the burden of extra patients.

  A nurse called her into a small examination room, took her vitals and a medical history, and then left her alone to wait for the doctor. Lisa picked up her magazine again but was quickly interrupted by voices from the next room. She was hesitant to eavesdrop, but one of the voices was raised, and she had, after all, chosen this doctor in order to see if she could find out any useful information about Felhaber. Lisa moved to a chair against the wall the voices were behind and leaned back, listening.

  “How can my seeing you be a conflict of interest?” a shrill, female voice demanded.

  Lisa couldn’t make out the answer.

  The voice that responded was softer, controlled. “That’s absurd. I don’t want another doctor. If Lyle didn’t add my IVF records to my chart it just means he was busy.”

  The next response was audible. “Patricia, I have no idea why he didn’t, but there is no a record here of the procedure, no history of your receiving meds, nothing.”

  “That is because I wanted it to be confidential.”

  “Everything we do here is confidential, you know that. Why wouldn’t we have a record?”

  The answer, the one Lisa really wanted to hear, was muffled. The woman had to be Felhaber’s wife. She must be pregnant.

  Fortunately, the next words rang clear. “All right, Patricia. I’ll run the tests. But after today, you’ll have to make your follow-up appointments somewhere else.”

  The woman Lisa suspected was Felhaber raised her voice again. “We’ll see about that. Don’t forget I’m a big contributor to the hospital you’re affiliated with.”

  A few more unintelligible exchanges took place, then Lisa heard the door open and close. If she’d interpreted what she heard correctly, Felhaber’s wife had just admitted there was something clandestine about her pregnancy.

  A minute later, the door to the exam room opened, and Doctor Ferguson, a small woman wearing a white lab coat over a burnt-orange dress, entered the room, smiling as if she hadn’t just had an angry discussion with a patient.

  She introduced herself and read over the chart the nurse had prepared.

  “I see you’ve been trying to get pregnant. For how long?”

  “I stopped using birth control about six months ago. I thought before I got my hopes up about having a child, I should make sure it’s even feasible.”

  “I understand. I see you’re a therapist. Do you practice here in town?”

  “No, my office is in Pewaukee, although I do some pro bono work in Milwaukee at the Women’s Center.”

  “Since you are a clinician, I’m sure you’re aware that because of your age, there is an increased risk of having a child with an abnormality.”

  “Of course.”

  The doctor stood. “We can discuss that further after I examine you and we see your lab work. I’ll have Ginny come back in and help you get ready.” She explained the exam and the tests that would be performed.

  “Since you have no history of health problems and your pregnancy with your daughter was normal, I doubt if we’ll find a reason that you cannot conceive. Six months is not very long, especially if you’ve been on birth control for a long time.”

  She left the room, leaving Lisa unsettled, wondering if she was doing the right thing by trying to have a baby, her secondary purpose, getting dirt on Felhaber, forgotten.

  An hour later, Lisa sat waiting in Feguson’s office, a small, neat room facing the shopping mall. A few photos of young children were placed about the room, but none included a husband, which made her wonder if Ferguson had been one of Felhaber’s conquests. She didn’t seem his type—too old for one thing—but with men like Lyle Felhaber, one never knew.

  Dr. Ferguson entered the room and sat at her desk, facing Lisa. “Lisa, I don’t see any reason you can’t get pregnant. As I mentioned when I examined you, your uterus and ovaries feel fine and your blood work shows nothing out of normal range. There are some results that we won’t have back for a few days, your hormone levels for one, but based on your other findings and what you’ve told me about your medical history, there is no reason to suspect they won’t be normal. Do you have any questions?”

  Lisa had a lot of questions but not about her body. “No, I think you’ve answered them all.”

  Ferguson stood and offered her hand. “We’ll mail you the test results. If they show anything of concern, I’ll call you and we’ll talk. For now, think about all your options and call for an appointment if you decide to go further.”

  “I’ll do that,” Lisa said, shaking her hand. “I’d like to thank you for getting me in. I saw in the paper what happened to Dr. Felhaber. Such a tragic death. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Ferguson ran a hand through her short, ash-blond hair. “Thank you. He’ll be hard to replace.”

  Lisa had hoped for more dialogue, but the doctor turned abruptly and left the room. Whether she was avoiding the topic of Felhaber’s death with a stranger, or was just in a hurry, was impossible to tell. Lisa left for the exit, walking slowly in an effort to see if the woman she’d heard through the wall was still in the office somewhere. As she passed through the waiting room, she saw her—sitting to one side, her arms folded, legs crossed, the raised foot bouncing with nervous energy. Patricia Felhaber.
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  58

  TJ rose early, had breakfast with Donna and JR, and left to meet Richard. They met in her office, where they sat next to each other in the conference room, studying the notes she’d added to the whiteboard.

  “I don’t know, babe,” Richard said. “It’s all pretty thin, don’t you think?”

  “It isn’t if the body they found at Kosik’s is Whitney, right?”

  “Her parents are coming in to identify the body—or try to, anyway. If they can’t we’ll run a DNA on the parents, but even a preliminary will take at least a week.”

  “Don’t think we have a week. We got another woman missing. How did Bart take it?”

  “Not well. And that was after he published his last blog. Did you see it?”

  “What about it?”

  “He was pissed about what happened to Jen and her date last night.” Richard pulled up the blog on his phone and showed it to TJ.

  “Shee-it! Threw down the go-to-war flag, didn’t he?”

  “I’ve been trying to get him to just keep Headliner talking, hoping we can get something to nail him with. This will just incite him and endanger all of you even more.”

  “Think that Emma woman is dead?”

  “I hope not, but that might be wishful thinking.”

  Before she drove to confront Patricia, TJ called Lisa.

  “We have to talk,” Lisa said quickly. Can we meet somewhere?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at Mayfair doing some Christmas shopping.”

  Lisa’s words reminded TJ that Christmas was barely a week off and she hadn’t even begun to shop. And she had Santa to think of, too. Richard wanted JR to have pictures taken on the fat man’s lap. “Stay there. I’ll meet you in the food court in front of Subway.”

  TJ got there first, bought a ham-and-turkey sub, then waited for Lisa at the nearest table. Lisa arrived minutes later carrying two shopping bags in each hand.