The Lost Women of Lost Lake (19 page)

Half an hour later, sitting in an airless room with a police sergeant named Sadler, she pulled out one of the cards Nolan had given her, the one that said “Nolan & Lawless Investigations,” with Nolan's address and license number at the bottom. It gave her a cachet she'd never have without it. The cop looked it over and then handed it back.

“Were you aware that Sergeant Feigenbaumer—”

“—was murdered?” replied the cop. “Yeah, we heard.”

“Were you a friend?”

“What do you want?”

So it was going to be
that
kind of conversation. “Do you know why he was in Lost Lake?”

“All he said to me was that he needed a vacation.”

“Nothing more?”

“Who are you working for?”

She covered a scar in the wood table with her hand. “I can't tell you that. What I can say is that I'm trying to find out what happened to him. I'm here because I need to know more about his history, his background. There's a Carla and a Paul Feigenbaumer listed in the phone book. Are either of them related?”

The cop studied her. “Carla's his ex. Paul's a relative. A cousin, maybe. Or a nephew.”

“Did he ever talk about his past?”

Sadler shrugged.

“Did he have a partner? Someone in robbery that he was friends with?”

“I was his partner. He worked narcotics for ten years. Transferred in here about six months ago. Nobody knows him all that well.”

Not what she wanted to hear. “Did he have a partner when he worked narcotics?”

“Maybe.”

“But you don't have a name.”

“Sorry.”

“Is there anything you can think of that might help me? Anything he might have told you?”

“Like I said, I didn't know him well.”

It was all she was going to get. Sadler didn't trust her and so wasn't inclined to give an inch. So be it. “Thanks for your time.”

She rose and was about to open the door to leave when the cop said, “His dad was a cop.”

She turned around.

“A patrolman. He was murdered when Steve was a kid. Don't ask me how or why because I don't know. I just know it happened. Probably has nothing to do with anything.”

“Was the murderer ever caught?”

“No idea. I'm sure you could find a record if you looked.”

“Thanks,” said Jane.

“Steve was a good guy. Fries me, you know? He lives his entire life in a dangerous city dealing every day with thugs, lowlifes, pimps, drug addicts, and gangbangers, then goes and gets himself killed in a tiny town that probably hasn't seen a murder in a hundred years, if ever. You find out what happened to him, you call me.” He stood and handed her his card.

*   *   *

Jane called Paul Feigenbaumer from the cab. She didn't mention Steve's death because she wasn't sure that he'd heard about it. Reaching his voice mail, she left a message asking him to call her cell. She said she worked for a private investigation firm in Minneapolis and left it at that. A thought drifted through her mind, something to the effect that she really liked being able to say those words.

Her call to Carla, the ex, was more profitable. After Jane explained who she was, Carla asked if she'd called because of Steve's death. Jane was relieved that she already knew. The cliché was true: bad news traveled fast. Carla said she'd be willing to get together, but couldn't meet with Jane until five. Jane was still hoping to make it back to Duluth by late evening. To do that, the last flight out of O'Hare which would allow for a connecting flight was eight
P.M.
It might be cutting it close, especially if the traffic was bad. What do you mean
if
, she thought. This was Chicago.

Jane now had a choice. She could spend the afternoon at the Cook County Clerk of Court office looking for records that might shed some light on Feigenbaumer's father's murder, although that would be a waste of time because a case that old would be archived. She would probably spend an hour trying to locate the right form so that the records could be faxed to her—or she could call Norm Tescalia, her dad's paralegal, and ask him to take care of it. He was a good friend and was always willing to make a call on her behalf. That seemed like a much better option. Instead of spending a frustrating few hours dealing with the Chicago bureaucracy, she had a lovely late lunch at her favorite Russian restaurant.

By five, she was standing in front of a small, middle-class house on a quiet street, a one-story white bungalow with green shutters and a fenced backyard. Jane rang the bell and was met by a washed-out looking fortyish woman wearing navy blue sweat pants and a gray T-shirt. Her face was mottled with red patches and she had a tissue that she kept dabbing at her eyes. They sat down in the living room to talk.

“He was a bastard,” said Carla, reaching for another tissue. “I couldn't live with him, couldn't trust him, but I still loved him.” Her lips quivered as she looked over at the wall, where pictures of a young woman and young man hung in a place of honor.

Jane followed her eyes. “You had children together?”

“Two. Todd and Alissa. Todd's in graduate school in California. Alissa just started at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Steve insisted that both his kids get a college education. He didn't want either of them to join the force. That was fine with me. Except, Alissa says she's going to do it anyway, once she graduates.”

“I want you to know how sorry I am about his death,” said Jane.

“Yeah. It's more the kids than me. I haven't called them yet.” She blew her nose. “What did you want to ask?”

“Do you know why Steve was in Lost Lake?”

“Same wild-goose chase he's been on his entire life. It was an obsession with him. Never made any sense to me. I mean, keep your eye on the road, not the rearview mirror. If you don't, you're in a ditch before you even know what happened. See, he wanted to find the other two women who murdered his dad.”

“Other
two
women?”

“Three were involved. One was caught and sent to jail. Her name was Yvonne Stein. She made the bomb.”

Jane tried not let her shock show.

“Steve's dad's name was Allen. Allen James Feigenbaumer. I never knew him. He'd been a police officer for seven years when he died. One morning in late fall of sixty-eight, he kissed his wife good-bye, walked out to his car, started the engine, and the car blew. Probably never knew what hit him. Steve was as at school when it happened, thank God. He idolized his dad.”

“What was the motive for the murder?”

“I'm not sure anybody ever knew. All I remember was that these three women had it in for Allen. Under pressure from the DA, the one named Stein gave up one of the other names. Judy something-or-other. The other woman was never named. Stein admitted that it had something to do with this Judy's boyfriend. She wouldn't say any more than that. What was that guy's name?” She looked down at the tissue in her hand. “Briere. That's it. John … no … Jeff Briere. I'm sure you could find out more. Steve talked about it some. This may sound cold, but I stopped listening.”

“That's understandable.”

Carla began to shred the tissue. “Are you here because you think Steve's death is connected to his father's? Steve said he'd chase those two women down if it was the last thing he ever did.”

“Actually, yes. I think there's a good possibility they're connected.”

“God, this is an awful thing to say,” she said, looking up at Jane with an ache in her eyes. “Maybe it
was
the last thing he ever did.”

23

Jonah and Tessa sat across the dining room table from each other, finishing the last of the summer stew Jane had made. Jonah had been the picture of helpfulness all day. He'd cleaned the garage in the morning and spent the afternoon working the front desk at the lodge. He'd been polite, contrite, and quiet as a mouse. And friendly. He didn't allow himself a moment of sulking—at least, not when anyone was looking.

When Tessa wasn't in the kitchen, she planted herself in the living room, foot up on the footstool, and thus Jonah had found no opportunity to go up and grab the diary. He hoped that after everyone was in bed later on, he might be able to finally fetch it and put it back in Tessa's trunk. He wasn't worried. He'd shoved it way under the couch. At this point, he didn't care if he ever read it, he just wanted the problem gone.

All day he kept getting text messages from Emily. He didn't tell her that there was a possibility that he could stay with Helen if it didn't work out with Jill and Tessa because he didn't want to get her hopes up if it all fell through. They'd talked once while he was on his way up to the lodge and she was at her job. She sounded strange, like her voice was underwater. He wondered if she'd been crying. Her last text had said:

H
AVE 2 C U.
Y
HAVEN'T U CALLED?
W
HERE R U?

He'd texted back:

B
EING GOOD BOY.
A
UNTS ON WARPATH.
C
U TONIGHT.

“Want the last bit of stew?” asked Tessa, the serving spoon poised above the pot.

“I'm full up.”

“I don't think I've ever heard those words come out of your mouth before.”

He laughed. “I wish you and Jill would put me out of my misery and give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down.”

“We will. You worked hard today. Tomorrow I think Jill wants you to spend some time helping the maintenance guy backwash the sand filters on the pool.”

“I was hoping to see Emily tonight.”

Tessa pushed her chair back from the table and stretched her injured leg. “Sorry, kiddo. You're still grounded.”

“For how long?”

She tapped a finger against her mouth, giving it some thought. “Until this weekend.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I need to repeat your list of transgressions?”

His first thought was to point out that everyone made mistakes—nudge-nudge, in the words of Monty Python. Instinctively, he knew this sort of tactic wouldn't get him anywhere. Tessa already looked like she hadn't slept in days, and, even worse, she and Jill had gotten into it again after breakfast. This time he'd resisted the urge to eavesdrop, mostly because they only fought about one thing these days—Tessa and her secrets.

Taking a last sip of wine, Tessa said, “There are so many books I wish you'd read. I've missed our talks. You up for that?”

He shrugged.

“Come back to my study. I'll find you a couple.”

He felt his cell phone vibrate in his back pocket. “I'll be there in a sec.” He flipped back the cover and saw the words:

R
U COMING?
I HAVE
2 C U!

He typed back quickly:

C
AN'T.
S
TILL ON HOUSE ARREST.
W
ILL CALL.
XOXOXOXOX

*   *   *

Jane made it to the airport with time to spare. Rushing to the gate, she found that the incoming plane hadn't arrived yet, which meant that taking off on time might not happen. She sat down in the waiting area, removing her cell phone and tapping in Norm's number in St. Paul. Even though it was late, she knew he'd still be at work—and he was.

“Will you do me a big favor?” she asked, explaining that she needed a trial transcript. She gave him the information.

“Not a problem,” came his cheerful voice. “But just so you know, it could take a while. It's just the way the legal system works in Chicago.”

“How long?”

“A week? A month?”

“Can you cut any corners?”

“It's Cook County. Need I say more?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Aren't you going to tell me I'm a peach?”

“You're a peach, Norm.”

“I know. Hey, I thought you were supposed to be on vacation.”

“A friend in need.”

“Sounds familiar.”

She thanked him, told him to go home and watch the Twins game, and then hung up. Her second call was to Nolan. He answered on the third ring.

“Hey, Jane, how's everything?”

“Not so good.” She quickly gave him the down and dirty on what had happened.

“Sounds like your friend is in deep.”

“Look, I'm wondering if you could do something for me.”

“As long as you're still considering my offer.”

“Believe me, I am.”

“Shoot.”

“Could you try to find information on Yvonne Stein—the woman who was sent to prison. Is she still behind bars? If not, where'd she go.”

“I'll get back to you as soon as I can dig something up. I also know a few retired Chicago cops who worked homicide back then. I'll see what I can find. You keep your eyes and ears open. And be careful.”

“You and Mouse doing okay?”

“Fresh fish and cold beer for dinner every night? What could be better?”

“Mouse is drinking beer?”

“He likes lake water better.”

Jane missed Mouse like crazy when she was away—missed his beautiful, honest face and the fact that she didn't have to talk to him to communicate clearly. She loved all dogs, but he was special.

“Give him a scratch behind the ears for me. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, although my body isn't healing as fast as it used to.”

“Take it easy. I hope to be back by the weekend.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll call if I learn anything.”

For the next few minutes, Jane sat and watched planes take off and land. When her stomach began to growl, she glanced over her shoulder at a food concession. She couldn't believe she could be hungry after the lunch she'd put away. As she headed over to see what was on offer, her cell phone rang. She still had it in her hand.

“This is Jane.”