She's Not There (7 page)

The weather turned cold and drizzly. By evening, the snow threatening to fall on the city of Pewaukee had only managed to mesh with rain, forming a thick sleet. A wind reported to be over thirty miles-per-hour drove it to the ground, coating everything in its path.

Shannon had been in the office all day with papers spread across the conference room table, organizing Earl’s real estate transactions before he left in mid-November to spend the winter months in Florida.

Not long after taking a quick dinner break, she heard the wind beating at the walls of the old building, howling softly, eerily insistent. She shivered, wishing Lisa were working tonight. Just as she moved a stack of files to the file-cabinet, she heard a noise coming from Lisa’s office. She put down the files and went for the Tasar she carried in her purse.

Weapon in hand, she opened the door to Lisa’s office. Nothing appeared to be amiss. Through the large bay window, she saw the oak trees straining against the wind, a stygian scene highlighted by the dim light in the parking lot. The wind must have tossed something against the building. Spooked, but not enough to curtail her progress, she went back to her work.

It was still sleeting a half hour later when Shannon left the building. Though not easily frightened, she was glad she’d parked on the street so she could avoid the parking lot. Grateful the nearly deserted streets had been salted, she scraped at the ice that had built up on her windshield until she’d removed just enough to see out.

Secure in her locked vehicle, she drove into the parking area behind the building. Her blood froze when she saw a shadowy form moving through the oak trees, vanishing so quickly she wondered if she’d really seen it.

She turned the car around, making sure that everything appeared to be in order as her headlights lit up Lisa’s rear entrance. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed. She decided it couldn’t hurt to drop in at the police station on her way out of town. She knew most of the Pewaukee police from seeing them in the deli across the street. She’d tell them what happened and ask if they would check the place during the night.

When TJ left Lisa in Vinnie’s parking lot, she walked across the street to her apartment. The building, nearly forty years old, was past its prime; no longer considered an elite address, but still respectable and well maintained. Years back, after so many newer places sprang up on the east side, the managers started making tenants super offers on long-term rentals. TJ had negotiated a sweet ten-year deal.

As she walked into the apartment, she noticed a message on her landline. It was from Jeff Denison. Crap. She’d promised to call and set up a time to meet him on Saturday, the first day of their interviews. Even though it made sense, the buddy system still irritated her, and she’d put off calling him. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

The phone rang so many times that TJ was about to hang up when he finally picked up. “Jeff?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice thick and a little breathless. Did she wake him up?

“This is TJ. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but been busy.”

“Can you hang on for a minute?”

She thought she heard him blow his nose. Damn. Had he been crying?

“I’m back. Sorry for the interruption.” He sounded better, but nasal.

“No problem.”

TJ wasn’t quite sure what to say. Should she ask if he was okay? Lisa was the one who should be working with this guy.

“Just met with Lisa and we divided up the list. Gonna call a few tonight and see if I can get us some appointments lined up for Saturday. Most of ‘em will be in this part of town, so why don’t we meet somewhere ‘round here for coffee at about eight and go over the schedule.” She mentioned the name of a pancake place across the street.

He said, “I’ll be there. I could make some calls for you, if you want to give me some numbers.” His voice sounded quivery and he asked her to hang on for a minute again. TJ was in no mood to play therapist to a grieving husband. Maybe he was just getting a pen.

When he picked up the phone, his voice froglike, TJ sighed and said, “What’s your address, Jeff?”

 After he gave her his Brookfield address, she was somewhat relieved. At least it was close to the interstate. If she had to drive in this crappy weather, at least it would be on a salted highway. “Tell you what. I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes. We can get things set up for Saturday.”

The relief in his voice when he said he’d put on coffee and have the outside light on should have made TJ feel good about her offer. Instead, she felt a twinge of guilt. She understood how important it was for him to be able to participate, but she still felt like she’d set herself up for a caretaking gig. Grudgingly, she put her coat back on and left her apartment before she changed her mind.

Jeff’s townhouse was half of a large brick duplex that sat on the edge of a cul-de-sac lined with stately homes. When she arrived at his door, he appeared to have pulled himself together, but she was sure he’d been crying.

She followed him into a pleasantly decorated living room furnished with soft, warm-brown leather furniture, beige shag carpeting, and bright red accents strategically placed throughout the room. A floor-to-ceiling fireplace flanked with bookcases and a large entertainment center, covered one wall. The bright fire crackling in the fireplace made the room warm and inviting.

They made calls, drank coffee, got some appointments set up for Saturday, and made a separate list with names of anyone who refused to make an appointment. Those were the people they would just drop in on if time permitted. Their calls ended on a high note when one of the ‘missing’ women answered her sister’s phone. TJ crossed her off their list.

Jeff offered, “Would you like a glass of wine?”

Probably a stalling technique.
He wasn’t ready to be alone. Well she’d known what she was in for. “Sure.”

Jeff was the first to break the silence as they drank their wine sitting in front of the fire. “You know, I was pretty upset when you called.”

TJ gulped a mouthful of wine. “Yeah, thought so.”

“Today at work someone started playing songs from the ‘60s and ‘70s. I like all kinds of music, and I was into it for a while.” He paused, looking down into his glass.

“One of them got to you.”

“I’d heard the song before, but it didn’t have any meaning for me until now. It’s from the ‘70s I think. It’s called ‘She’s Not There.’ Have you heard it?”

Recalling the lyrics, a tingle spread over her skin as she realized how well—or how creepy really—the song described Jeff’s situation. She said, “Yeah, by the Zombies.”

“The music was so haunting; the words sounded like they’d been written for me. By the time the song ended, I had to leave my desk and walk around for a few minutes. You know how a song keeps running through your mind when you don’t want it to.”

He put down his wine and took off his glasses. Staring into the fire, he rubbed his eyes. “Tonight the song came back to me again and sent me into what Jamie used to call a pity party. I had a good start on it when you called.” He looked over at her, “Thank you for coming over; it really helped.”

TJ, who didn’t do well with things like gratitude and compliments, said nothing. They finished their wine in a comfortable silence. She stood up to leave, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed his boyish good looks. His deep-set, gray eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were fringed with thick lashes and his light-brown hair, curly and neatly styled. He seemed to bring out what little maternal instinct she had—even though they were probably about the same age.

Jeff walked her to her car and helped her scrape off the layer of sleet that had accumulated on the windows.

Impulsively, she hugged him when he opened the door for her and said, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

He clung to her for a moment as she’d known he would, then pulled away and walked back toward the house.

Friday morning when Lisa arrived at the office, Shannon was waiting for her at the door with a cup of coffee. “I thought about calling you when I got home last night, but you said you were going out, so I had to wait until this morning to tell you the news.”

“Tell me what?”

“We had an intruder last night!” Shannon’s dark eyes were bright with excitement.

“An intruder?”

“Sure seemed like it.” Shannon repeated what she’d seen and heard the night before.

“You must have been terrified. What did they say at the police station?”

“Stan was there. He promised that they’d have whoever was on patrol last night check out our building every time they passed through town.” She paused, breathless. “He said we needed a security system.”

Lisa snorted. “For what? No one keeps money here and neither of our computers are anything a thief would want.”

“Yeah, I told him that.”

Frowning, Lisa looked around the room. “You’ve succeeded in spooking me. Now I’m seeing things that look out of place.” She glanced over at her file cabinets. Top-of-the line, they were equipped with an ultra-secure lock system, and appeared untouched. But some of her things seemed out of order.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to call Stan?”

“No, I’m not sure, and don’t call Stan yet. Wouldn’t the lock be broken or something if someone had gotten in?”

Shannon’s pale complexion turned white. “Oh my god! What if when I thought I heard something, it wasn’t someone trying to get in but someone already in, leaving?”

“The door looks all right, and it’s still locked, so that couldn’t have happened.”

“But it could have,” Shannon argued, her voice rising an octave. “That door has the kind of lock that can be locked on your way out.”

“Maybe you were just spooked by the wind.”

“Lisa, you haven’t got a real complicated lock on that door. I bet I could open it with a screwdriver and a credit card.”

Shannon had a point. Lisa hadn’t worried about security because she didn’t keep any valuables on the premises, but her files were another matter. “All right, but forget calling Stan. Nothing’s missing. Call a locksmith and have the locks changed to something more secure. It was probably just a kid from the neighborhood out for a thrill, but it feels intrusive.”

Shannon persisted. “There’s a good locksmith close by and I’ll call him right away, but we still have to tell the police. And you have to be sure nothing is missing. You know, the prowler could already have been in there when I came in. I had some errands to do so I left for a while about five. I stopped to eat and got back here about six-thirty. He could have gotten in while I was gone. I‘m glad I had my Tasar. I’m calling Stan.”

Shannon had purchased a Tasar through an Internet dealer. Lisa had warned her about the illegality of carrying it and was waiting for an ‘I told you so.’

“Okay, call Stan, but try to get that locksmith here sometime after two.”

By the time Stan, a fiftyish, rather rotund police officer with thinning gray hair arrived at the office, Lisa was sure that nothing was missing, but also sure that someone had been in her office. 

After hearing their story and carefully inspecting the premises, Stan said,  “Whoever broke in was probably looking for cash. When he didn’t find any, he ran out when he heard someone else in the building.”

“We called a locksmith to have stronger locks put on, “Shannon offered.

“Good. We’ll keep a close eye on your building for the time being. Call us if anything else happens.”

Stan, visibly taken with Shannon, was obviously trying to placate their fears and advised them to park on the street when they worked after dark. To Lisa’s relief, his cell phone buzzed, and he left before her first client arrived.

At noon Lisa and Shannon rewarded themselves with lunch at a lovely inn on the other side of the lake. Over the special of the day, a red pepper and sausage soup served with fresh, warm popovers and spinach salad, Lisa told Shannon about the group and what they were trying to accomplish. As Lisa expected, Shannon was eager to help with the online research.

She said, “You’ll get to go out on interviews with one of those guys that were in the office. Which one, the nerdy one or the older, dark, mysterious-looking guy?”

“This won’t be a social event, Shannon. I’m going with Eric Schindler, and on a personal level, I don’t really care for the man.”

“Who knows, he might turn out to be a real nice guy.”

“He isn’t. He’s arrogant and annoying. Not to mention the fact that he spent time in jail for murdering his wife. And even worse, he smokes cigars.”

“Are you afraid to be alone with him?”

“No. He’s irritating, not threatening. TJ has spent a lot of time with him and is convinced he’s innocent. I trust her judgment. For now.”

“Have you heard from Tyler?”

Lisa was trying to forget about Tyler, but it was difficult, especially on sleepless nights. “Tyler isn’t up for discussion. Back on the subject at hand, we’re meeting Sunday morning to go over what we accomplish in Saturday’s interviews. If you have anything for us that soon, let me know.”

Shannon nodded. “I have to go into the office tomorrow for a closing, and when that’s over I can get started. Just let me know what you need.”

The locksmith arrived promptly at one. Lisa was working on her last client’s file, when the scream of the locksmith’s power drill masked the entry of a visitor. She looked up to see James Wilson standing in front of her desk. Startled at his presence, Lisa jerked back in her chair, reflexes on alert. “You frightened me!”

“Sorry about that. I got your call this morning and I decided to drop in since I was going to be in the area.”

Lisa had forgotten she called him before she came into the office that morning and wished she’d prepared for her talk with him. He wasn’t someone she wanted to reveal her hand to, merely wanted to maneuver information from.

“Have a seat, Mr. Wilson. I’d offer you coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t usually keep it going after lunch.”

He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, casually draping one long leg over the other knee. “No need for coffee. And call me James.”

James Wilson’s good looks and his surprising drop-in put her on edge. Lisa wasn’t sure whether her unease was due to her libido’s response to him or if she just didn’t like him. The division between attraction and repulsion could be as narrow as the one between love and hate. He was engaged, she reminded herself–and to the police chief’s daughter.

She’d limit her explanation to what had taken place at the Center’s meeting. He’d find out about that soon enough. “I wanted to let you know that I did talk to Amanda Hawkins from the Center in Oconomowoc about the increase in missing women. She hadn’t been aware of it yet but moved forward with it and met with the heads of the other Women’s Centers in Milwaukee and Waukesha County. They’re all concerned. Unfortunately, the most they can do is caution women on developing new relationships.”

“And you thought I needed to know this, why?”

Her attraction to him downshifted to ire. “I believe when I talked to you, I mentioned that I would be taking this up with the Centers, and I wanted you to know I’d followed through.”

He shrugged. “Ms. Rayburn, I shouldn’t have to tell you that as far as the Milwaukee Police Department is concerned, that changes nothing. There still is no hard evidence of a crime—not enough for us to employ our scant resources to it considering the budgetary problems we’re facing.”

Lisa fought back her frustration. “Mr. Wilson, you alluded to knowing about a group that assists abused women in relocating. It would be helpful for the Centers to know if does exist and is affecting the statistics. Anything you could tell us could make a difference.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know any more today than I did when we talked. We heard about it from a reliable source, which of course I cannot reveal.”

Lisa studied him carefully as he talked, undecided whether he was lying or if he wasn’t telling her the whole story. The fact that she couldn’t tell made her uncomfortable; her inner radar for deception rarely let her down.

She got nothing helpful from the rest of the stilted conversation and when he walked out the door, she expelled a rush of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in during his visit.

After dinner that night Lisa left the house with Phanny, keeping their walk restricted to well-lit areas. She hadn’t admitted it to Shannon, but the break-in rattled her.

Eric Schindler and James Wilson were on her mind–both exasperating men. No wonder she preferred younger men; they hadn’t lived long enough to develop that kind of high-and-mighty attitude.

Lisa considered Eric Schindler. She remembered TJ saying he was still hung up on his wife even though it had been years since the woman disappeared. She had only TJ’s instincts to substantiate that he wasn’t a murderer. But what did a murderer look like? Or act like? Would a guilty man be working this hard to find out what happened to his wife?

Lisa had agreed to work with him, so she’d have to set aside any reservations. Put up with his irksome manner and disgusting cigar smell.