She's Not There - Madison Marla (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗
“TJ said she’d called him.”
“Yeah. He was good with her. The Brookfield police wanted to write this off as a suicide. Richard reminded them about your investigation and got them to agree to have the whole place gone over. They even gave in when TJ insisted they check his computer keyboard for prints and possible residue from rubber gloves.”
“His computer?”
“Sorry. Forgot to mention they found a suicide note on his computer screen. The usual ‘I’m so sorry’ thing.”
Distracted, Lisa said, “I can understand why TJ would insist on them checking. Jeff never would have left a note on his computer. He didn’t even use email.”
It suddenly occurred to her none of it mattered anymore. They were safe; she’d ended the nightmare. But she couldn’t share it with Eric. Not now—maybe never.
When Eric suggested they put on an old movie, Lisa was relieved to have an excuse not to go to bed. Even her prescription sleeping meds wouldn’t put her out tonight. A movie might not turn off her thoughts, but at least she wouldn’t have to talk. Or try to sleep. And best of all—she wouldn’t be alone.
71
The next morning, TJ staggered out of bed, woozy from the powerful sedative Eric had given her. She pulled on a robe and walked out to the kitchen.
Lisa looked up and rose from her chair. “TJ, how are you? Let me get you something to eat.”
“Nah, just coffee. Still a little foggy. Anything from Maggie yet?”
“She told us the forensic unit went over Jeff’s house, but we won’t know anything for a few days.”
TJ looked around to make sure Teresa and Tina weren’t anywhere nearby and took a chair at the island. “I’m gonna kill Wilson, the son-of-a-bitch!”
Lisa poured her a cup of coffee.
Listlessly, TJ clicked on the TV, wondering if Jeff’s death would be on the news. It opened on a local station where the weather girl, wearing a fur-trimmed parka, stood in front of a giant drift of snow, describing what they were in for during the week—more snow, alternating with sub-zero temperatures.
TJ couldn’t stop thinking about Jeff: his smile, his affectionate nature, and his warm embrace. Tears welled in her eyes, remembering their night together. In the middle of a moronic commercial portraying diapered toddlers discussing the stock market, the station broke in with a special announcement.
A second newswoman stood in a setting of new-fallen snow, stiff tendrils of her auburn hair fluttering in the frigid breeze, an upended black snowmobile in the background. She gripped a microphone in her mittened hands.
“Early this morning, on a snowmobile trail in Calumet County, the body of a man identified as James Wilson was discovered shot, his body lying near this overturned snowmobile believed to belong to the victim.” She stepped further aside and let the camera pan in. “Mr. Wilson was employed as a computer crimes consultant for the Milwaukee Police Department.”
Dazed, TJ turned up the volume and shuffled from the island into the living room where she stood, mouth agape, in front of the giant screen.
The reporter continued. “An early snowmobiler discovered the scene and dialed 911. Calumet County Sherriff’s Department is examining the area and has not made a statement. The Milwaukee Police Department will issue a press release later this morning and it will be covered by this station.” They broke to an interview with the man who’d found the body, a young man with a nervous facial tic and two days’ growth of stubble.
TJ turned around to see if Lisa had seen the announcement. She stood at the stove facing TJ, a wooden spatula gripped in her hand.
Outraged, TJ asked, “Did you fucking hear that? The fucker couldn’t even wait for me to destroy his ugly freakin’ ass!” She puzzled over an odd look on Lisa’s face, one she couldn’t read. If TJ hadn’t known the rest of them had been gathered here at Eric’s the night before, she would have suspected they’d gotten rid of the bastard themselves. She mumbled, “At least the son-of-a-bitch is dead—can’t hurt anybody no more.” TJ stepped in front of Lisa, who hadn’t spoken. “Leaves us off the hook—that what you’re thinking?”
“It may not be as satisfying, but I’m relieved we didn’t have to go through with it. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” But TJ felt like she’d been robbed. Brimming with hate, she wasn’t ready to share Lisa’s relief.
The doorbell rang as Shannon entered the room, her eyes squinty from sleep and dressed in a navy blue sweat suit over bunny slippers. She looked from TJ to Lisa. “What’s going on? Feels kind of intense in here.” When neither of them answered, she said, “I’ll get the door.”
When Shannon returned with Richard Conlin, Lisa was making more coffee, while TJ sat at the island, scowling.
Richard looked at TJ. “Are you okay?”
TJ snarled, “What do you think?”
Lisa broke the ensuing silence. “Do you want some breakfast? Teresa always makes enough for a crowd.”
Richard asked for coffee and sat across from TJ. “I’m glad the three of you are here. I have a question for you.”
TJ looked over at him with an eyebrow raised, her dark look replaced with curiosity. What was he doing here?
“Have you heard the news about James Wilson being shot?”
TJ snorted. “Was just on the TV. Who’da thought?”
Shannon dropped a dish. “What?”
Richard brought her up to speed on James Wilson’s death. “I’ve been assigned to investigate his murder. I’m a skeptic when it comes to coincidence. His murder, added to your suspicions about Jeff’s suicide and what happened out here to Danielle Ventura, seems like too many deaths not to be related. We’re even reopening Marian Bergman’s suicide.”
“Well, maybe if you and the rest of the MPD would have gotten off your lazy asses, some of these folks would still be kickin’.”
Richard sipped his coffee, ignoring TJ’s insult. “I’m thinking maybe after we met here last month, James might have started some inquiries of his own into the disappearances. He could have stirred something up and someone decided to stop him.
“So what I’d like to know is if he contacted any of you to discuss the case after we met with the profiler.”
TJ sniped, “You gotta be kidding me. Like that asshole would discuss anything with us.”
Lisa broke in. “No, we never heard from him.”
Richard stood to leave. “Thanks, ladies. I’m going up to Fond du Lac from here. I’ll be back if I need to talk to you again.” He stopped to kiss TJ on the cheek and moved toward the door.
After Shannon left the room, TJ said, “Shee-it. He thinks the ‘killer’ did Wilson? How off-base is that?” She snickered and looked at Lisa, watching as she tidied up the kitchen. Lisa seemed different this morning; maybe just relieved it was over. “So what do you think? Who beat us to him?”
Lisa kept stacking the dishwasher. “Didn’t you say he also did private consulting? He might have had some shady business dealings that caught up with him.”
TJ wasn’t sure what to make of it. Lisa still wasn’t looking her in the eye. But then things were so seriously fucked up it was hard to tell what anyone was thinking. “Never heard any of his business dealings being on the dark side. But with him, anything’s possible.”
Lisa sat down. “Think about it. Any one of his victims’ relatives could have found out about him—decided to take the law into their own hands.”
“I s’pose. Still wish we coulda’ offed the bastard.”
Lisa winced.
TJ didn’t miss Lisa’s expression. What was she avoiding—and why?
TJ put her head in her hands. She couldn’t worry about Lisa. If the pain of losing Jeff weren’t bad enough, now she’d have to worry about the cops coming after them. Richard had an agenda—and it wasn’t just Wilson.
