She's Not There - Madison Marla (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗

When Chang sat down across from him, he turned down Richard’s offer of a drink. Must be serious.

“What’s going on?” Richard asked.

Chang shrugged out of his heavy winter coat. “Maybe I will have a drink—something strong—a shot and a beer.”

When Richard came back with the drinks, Chang had a brown file folder sitting in front of him.

He raised the shot glass. “Bottoms up.” The shot disappeared, followed by large gulps of the beer.

Richard frowned. “All right. What gives?”

Chang opened the folder and pushed a photo across the table. Richard glanced at it. “That’s an ugly guy.”

The face in the photo was that of a young man with a lumpy, bulbous nose, complexion scattered with blemishes and scars from pimples past, sagging eyelids, and receding chin. Even the stubble of his beard looked patchy as a mole-infested lawn. The guy was hideous. “So who is this mope, and why should I give a crap?”

Chang produced a blue, legal document.

Richard scanned the pages. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

“Don’t I wish. No, I dug this up today, unfortunately.”

The document recorded a name change awarded by the court over ten years ago in Ashland County.

“I assume the freak show in the pic is Rommelfanger.”

“You assume right.”

The chief would be livid when he found out the personnel department hadn’t found this. Or that his former “future son-in-law” had been a sideshow candidate.

“Are you sure this is news, this wasn’t in his file?”

“I’m sure on both counts.”

Richard chugged down the rest of his beer. “It’s not illegal to change your name. Or your face.”

Chang snorted. “Yeah, like it’ll make a difference to the chief.”

He handed Richard a newspaper article from a small town in northern Wisconsin, detailing an accident on a remote highway and the injuries suffered by Rommelfanger ten years ago.

Chang waited while Richard read, then said, “He wasn’t expected to make it and while he was still out, an intern took it upon himself to work on Rommelfanger’s face. I hunted him down. He told me he had Tyrone Power in mind, whoever the hell that is.”

When Chang left the bar, Richard sat in the booth staring at the photo, amazed a face could be changed so dramatically. It didn’t seem possible, but there it was.

Sipping his third beer, he realized something was twitching at him. What was it? He sat staring at Wilson’s before photo, when it came to him, something the profiler had said. The killer, assuming you believed he existed, had a grudge against women for rejecting him, most likely because of a handicap. With a face like that, he’d have a grudge all right; women would have run from him. But he couldn’t see Wilson as a serial killer—an asshole, maybe, but a murderer?

It occurred to him what the revelation could mean—TJ and her friends—this put them on the top of the suspect list. If they’d uncovered this information, despite a lack of proof, they’d have thought he was their killer.

How could he find out if they’d had suspicions? He’d start by calling Chang in the morning. Ask him just how difficult it had been to unearth the dope on Wilson.

74             

Two days later, TJ and Lisa met in Waukesha at a Chinese restaurant known for good food and a serene atmosphere. They chose a booth in the rear and ordered a pot of tea while they waited for their food.

Lisa asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do with the insurance money?”

“Gonna put it in something safe—for now.”

“Makes sense.”

TJ said, “We gotta figure a way to handle this so we don’t hafta live like jailbirds in Eric’s house forever now we know we’re safe and they don’t.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too. Like you said before, we could tell Eric and Shannon we were starting to suspect Wilson, but didn’t say anything since it was just that—only a suspicion.”

“Hunh.” TJ sighed. “All right. If this is gonna work, we have to have our stories straight. We’ll tell them I was starting to suspect Wilson. Then I got the background on him and felt sure in my own mind he was the one. And I just now told you—you didn’t know anything about it before he was killed. We can go from there. But I’ll do the talking, so by the time you have to say anything, you’ll be ready.”

The next time they all got together, TJ began spinning the tale of her suspicions of James Wilson. She avoided looking at Lisa while she followed the script they’d agreed on, concluding by bringing out Wilson’s “before” photo.

After Eric and Shannon’s shocked faces returned to normal, she explained why she’d been reluctant to tell them—there just wasn’t enough proof. When she’d finally confided in Lisa, she’d insisted they tell Shannon and Eric.

Lisa, as agreed, had stayed quiet during TJ’s discourse, letting the narrative play out. She’d been concerned about Eric’s reaction, and as expected, he was first to question the story’s content.

“How sure are you he’s the one? And who killed him?” Eric was angry. Lisa knew why; if he’d known, he’d have gone after Wilson himself.

TJ said, “I’m sure. Anybody coulda killed him. Somebody related to one of the women, a client, maybe even a relative of Bergman.”

“Bergman?”

“His boss at MPD. Right before Christmas she overdosed on sleeping pills after her husband left her. They ruled her death a suicide, but who knows? Everybody hated her guts.”

Eric stood and glared at her. “Now we won’t find any of those women’s bodies, and I’ll never be able to prove I didn’t kill Kayla.” He stood in front of TJ, his arms crossed. “You know, if I hadn’t sedated you myself, I’d think you killed him.”

TJ met his gaze without blinking, matching his dark look with one of her own. “I woulda’ done it if somebody hadn’t beaten me to it. But here’s the rub—if the cops find out he’s the killer, who do you think will be on the top of their suspect list?”

Shannon said, “Us? No, they couldn’t think we did it. We didn’t even know about him until now. And we were here that night.”

TJ faced them. “Wait—wait a minute! I just thought a’ somethin.’ If the women’s bodies turn up, and they find out Wilson did them, they won’t give a rat’s behind who knocked him off. We’d be home free.” Her blue eyes flashed. “We’ve gotta find the bodies.”

Richard called TJ, demanding they meet. With the temperature still below zero, she wasn’t eager to leave the comfort of Eric’s home. Since she’d told Eric about Wilson earlier, he was still agitated, shooting questions at her she couldn’t or didn’t want to answer.

She pulled on her coat and made a fast exit as soon as Eric left the room. Now she had another irate male to deal with. She could handle it, though; it was Lisa she’d been worried about. But Lisa had been great. No one would have suspected she had a secret.

One look at Richard’s face when he opened the door of his apartment confirmed she had another fire to put out. He had all the signs of suppressing his fury.

She threw her coat over a chair and took a stool at the kitchen counter. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t offer her a drink—another bad sign. Definitely pissed about something, he tossed a photo at her. “Guess who?”

Rommelfanger. TJ knew it wasn’t a question. He assumed she knew. Should she play dumb? She’d left behind an angry Eric. There was no need to exacerbate that—she couldn’t let on to Richard they knew about this. Not before discussing it with the others.

She looked up from the photo. “Ugly fucker. Think I’d remember that mug.” TJ, who prided herself on being an excellent liar, was sure she’d given nothing away.

“So that’s the way you’re going to play it?” Red-faced now, Richard steamed, the vein at his temple prominent.