Trespass (9 page)

Chapter 19

W
hen TJ dropped JR off at her sister Janeen’s the next day, the new mother was with Janeen, discussing details of her baby’s schedule with her so she could go back to work.

TJ couldn’t believe her good luck—Detective Tasha Wade was Haymaker’s partner. With only a small amount of encouragement, Tasha spilled what was happening in the department: the cum case, the suspicious death of the teenaged girl in one of the houses entered, and now a woman strangled by intruders in the same neighborhood. She figured Janeen hadn’t shared with Wade that TJ was a PI or she wouldn’t be discussing police business so openly.

“That damn cum case,” Tasha laughed. “It was a crappy case; everybody laughed when we got it, but now it’s blown sky high with the murders thrown in. I can’t wait to get back and get in on it.”

TJ had never been a believer in coincidence. All these things and Norman Teschler’s home explosion on happening in the same time frame meant there was a good chance that they were connected.

She left and drove to the scene of the murder, pulling up as close as she dared, certain Haymaker would spurn any of her efforts to get information. If she got lucky, someone on the scene would recognize her from her former life as a police officer. After only a few minutes, a dark unmarked pulled up next to the Mini.

“What’re you doing here?”

Richard sat at the wheel of the car and his partner, Justin, had posed the question to TJ through an open window.

TJ got out of her car. “I just got here. Heard there was a murder that might be connected to what I’m workin’.”

“Get in the car.”

TJ leapt into the backseat. “TJ, you know I can’t tell you anything about this, right?” Richard asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. But I already know what’s goin’ on here. A woman’s been murdered. Strangled. An’ there’s a connection between it and a series of home invasions where nothing’s taken, but an empty bed is used for sex. That about cover it? Question remains, what are you two doin’ here when Tosa ain’t your territory?”

TJ saw Richard’s face in the rearview mirror and could tell he looked annoyed, his lips in a thin line, an expression she knew well. Before he could snarl an answer her way, Justin turned to the back and explained, “The victim lives in our jurisdiction. Technically this is Wauwatosa’s case, but they notified us about it, so we’re making an appearance. There would be a big pissing match if we try to take over, so we’re only going to be offering our services.”

That answered her question. It was time to back off and get what she wanted from him later—or at least all he’d be able to tell her.

TJ slid out of the car, leaned into Richard’s open window, and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later, hon.”

Inside the house, Detective Brian Haymaker and his temporary partner, Detective Franco Lukaszewski, hovered over a medical examiner who was kneeling beside the victim’s body.

“Okay, Doc, what can you tell us?” Lukaszewski asked.

Marvin Westphal, a short, bespectacled troll of a man rumored to be approaching eighty, looked up at the big detective. “I can’t give you anything certain until I get her back to the lab. It looks like the cause of death is strangulation. I’d guesstimate the time of death somewhere around midnight.” He bagged her hands and replaced them delicately with a gentleness not always shown to the dead. “I’ll know more by the end of the day.”

Haymaker, impatient with Lukaszewski’s gruff demeanor, left him arguing with Westphal and went back to the kitchen where Keith Fink, the owner of the house, sat with his head buried in his hands, a uniformed officer at his side. Fink had found the body early that morning. One of the techs was putting a DNA sample into an evidence bag. Brian waited while the tech took Fink’s arm and drew a few tubes of blood for a tox screen. At least the guy was cooperating.

Fink had fallen apart after Lukaszewski began questioning him and asked if he needed an attorney. Lukaszewski, visibly irritated by the question, had left the room and taken Brian with him.

Now without Lukaszewski, Haymaker would try to put the pieces back together and get a coherent statement from Fink. All they knew for sure right now was that the dead woman, whose name was Sondra, wasn’t Fink’s wife.

“Mr. Fink,” he began, keeping his voice low and friendly, “I’m Detective Brian Haymaker. Do you think you could answer a few questions for me now?”

Fink sat up in the chair. “Am I a suspect?”

“We’re just trying to find out what happened. No one is a suspect yet.” This wasn’t entirely truthful since, as the only person in the house, Fink would be the main person of interest. “Can you tell me exactly what happened when you woke up this morning?” Brian took a seat across from Fink.

Fink ran his hands through his disheveled hair, his gaze everywhere but on Haymaker. The guy either knew something, didn’t want to share, or felt guilty, and not necessarily about Sondra Jackson’s murder.

“How many people were in the house with you last night?” Haymaker asked, thinking the right question would provoke Fink to start talking. Fink hadn’t requested an attorney again; if he’d called one while they’d been with the ME, the lawyer was taking his time getting there.

Fink blew out a lungful of air and met Haymaker’s eyes. Brian knew the look; he had decided to talk.

“Just the two of us were here, Sondra and me. Her husband, Craig Jackson, and my wife Debra are still at the Jacksons’ house.” He stopped. “Are they all right? No one’s telling me anything.”

“They’re fine, Mr. Fink. Someone’s talking to them now.”

Fink groaned. “The whole world’s gonna know.”

“Know what?” Haymaker asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer—the two couples were swingers.

“Debra and I played bridge with them, Sondra and Craig. We all play duplicate and were getting ready for a bridge tournament coming up next month in Oconomowoc. We didn’t know they were swingers. They told us about it one night when we’d been playing bridge and had a little too much to drink. It intrigued Debra right away. When they started hinting that we should join them sometime and give it a try, she said yes without ever considering that we should talk about it first.”

Haymaker wanted to ask Fink for the short version of his story, but knew he had to let him play it out.

Fink took a long drink from a water bottle. “My wife talked me into trying it. So last night we played bridge, and later I came here with Sondra and Debra stayed at their house with Craig. I wasn’t feeling good about it, but Sondra is a sexy woman, you know? When we got here, it didn’t take her long to make me forget my reservations or my jealousy about Debra being with Craig.”

Fink was giving him the real deal now. “Then what happened, Mr. Fink?” Fink flushed. Haymaker added, “I don’t need any details about what happened with you and Sondra.”

“I had drunk quite a bit in order to get on board with the whole thing. After Sondra and I had sex, I passed out. I woke up about six-thirty, I think, and Sondra was gone. I thought maybe she went to get some sleep somewhere by herself, so I went looking for her.”

He started coughing. Brian was afraid he was going to retch. “I found her… I found her right there in the guest bedroom. She was dead.”

“Did you touch her? Feel for a pulse?”

His voice came out in a pathetic squeak. “I didn’t have to. Her eyes were open and she never blinked. She had these horrible purple marks on her throat. I dialed 9-1-1 right away. That’s it. Now they won’t even let me call my wife.”

“Mr. Fink, are you sure no one else was in the house last night?”

“Not that I knew. But someone else had to have been here to kill Sondra. I’m not thinking straight, sorry. I didn’t see or hear anyone else. Drinking really knocks me out.”

“That’s understandable.” Brian sensed Fink was telling the truth. “Do you and your wife usually keep the doors locked?”

“Yes. I always check the doors before we go to bed at night.” He looked at the back door. “I never thought about it last night; I was in too big a hurry to get in bed with Sondra.” He gasped. “Oh, God. If I remembered to lock up, she’d still be alive—this is all my fault.”

Chapter 20

I
had little to say to Carter when he called. I hadn’t spoken to my ex-husband since the day he asked me to take a temporary leave from Cityscapes. He must have noticed my reticence, because he dropped the small talk attempts.

“I’d like to apologize, Gemma. I acted too impulsively when I asked you to take a leave. I’ve come to regret that decision, and I’d like you to come back.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” I replied.

Carter didn’t apologize often. Like many men, he believed firmly in his own judgment, so there was always more to his apologies than what one could see on the surface. I suspected he had a client that refused to work with anyone but me.

His breath, audible in short bursts, betrayed his nervousness. He wanted something.

“Why the sudden change of heart? You seemed quite determined when you told me to take a leave.”

“Why do you always think I have hidden motives? I’ve appointed Barb Carmona director. I need to get everyone together and discuss how the business will operate without Norman before I return to Singapore. You’re an important part of Cityscapes even if you aren’t full-time anymore.”

I sighed loudly enough to be heard through the phone connection. “All right. When do you want me to be there?”

“The staff meeting is tomorrow morning at eleven. But I have a favor to ask you.”

I knew he had called about something more than the staff meeting.

“I’m going let Barb have Norman’s office. Now that the police have been through it, his attorney told me you were to have any of his personal things that you wanted. I would like you to come in and pack up anything you want to keep, and we’ll throw out whatever you don’t want. I’d like his photos that are on the wall and the awards if you don’t.”

“I can be there. I’m not sure what I want, but I might take some of the photos,” I said, still feeling annoyed with him.

Rifling through Norman’s office was the last thing I felt like doing today; I missed my friend. I brightened a little when I realized his things could provide some of the answers I had been looking for. There might even be a copy of his novel.

When I arrived at the office, Barb met me, smiling and holding out her hand. Pure deceit. I’d never cared for the woman, and her attitude toward me had always assured me the feeling was mutual. I restrained my dislike and took her hand. Her yardstick-slim body was covered by a gray pantsuit with a neckline unbuttoned just enough to show off what little cleavage nestled inside, probably created with plus-sized push-up pads.

While I long ago accepted the fact that many of the other employees resented my role as Norman’s rising star, I couldn’t be faulted for how I treated the others. I went out of my way to be cordial without any fake friendliness. Barb, however, was another matter. She’d never hidden her dislike of me or her jealousy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to maintain my employment here with her at the helm. The woman would do whatever she could to undermine my role in the agency.

“Congratulations.” That one word was the best I could do.

“Thank you,” she said. “Carter told me to have you go right ahead and check out Norman’s things. We’ve put some empty cartons in there for you. Let me know if you need anything else. The staff meeting’s been changed to one.”

She turned abruptly and walked away, leaving behind a cloud of the latest designer perfume. The woman must not believe in wearing a signature scent, hers changed every month.

It could have been my imagination, but Norman’s office seemed to harbor his scent, his cologne with its faint note of eucalyptus and the Cuban cigars he kept hidden in a humidor behind his desk. With a heavy heart, I sat in his chair, remembering all those times I had sat across from him discussing campaign strategies. The walls held all the usual brag photos: Norman with the mayor, the head of a local manufacturer we worked with, and even one with a famous singer who had introduced her own line of jewelry. The one of Norman and me at a fundraiser, toasting the camera, nearly brought me to tears again.

After an hour without one discovery worth saving, all I had to show for my time were my plugged sinuses from the dust covering the aged accumulation at the back of Norman’s desk drawers. About to sneeze, I reached to grab a tissue from the top of the desk, and as I grabbed for it, a photograph fell from between a handful of old papers I had gripped under my arm. I picked it up from the floor, shocked at what I saw in the photo.

I felt the room begin to swim like it did after I indulged in too many margaritas. Norman stood in the foreground wearing a tuxedo and had his arm around another man’s shoulder, the two of them laughing at a shared joke. They were obviously not idle acquaintances—Norman knew this man well—he was Anthony Harcourt, Taylor’s father. I turned it over. Norman had written, “With Tony – 1992.”

I looked through the stack of papers I’d been holding, hoping to find which file had contained the photo. I found a small file folder with two sheets of paper in it, my resume and cover letter from when I applied to work at Cityscapes fifteen years ago. Behind them was a brief thank-you note with a signature I would recognize anywhere. Taylor Harcourt. My heart stopped beating as I realized what this meant.

I was with the agency for two years before I confided in Norman about my affair with Taylor Harcourt. Norman and I had grown close, and he was always curious about my lack of involvement in the dating game. The truth was, I had been so busy fighting to rise to the top in the advertising business that I had little time left for dating, much less a relationship. Norman had kept his friendship with the Harcourts to himself. It had probably never come up before the day he found out about Taylor and me, and then after I told him about our affair, he realized why Taylor had asked him to hire me.

I’d been manipulated by the two men I cared for the most. Without my knowledge, Taylor had been responsible for my career with Cityscapes, and Norman kept it from me.

Tossing aside my usual determination not to act while upset, I picked up the phone and dialed TJ before I could change my mind.

“Hey,” she answered, “you got that stuff for me already?”

I told her earlier that I was collecting Norman’s things this morning and planned on letting her go through them later to be sure I hadn’t missed anything.

“No, I’m still at the agency, but I’ll bring it home with me and you can go through it when you come over. I need you to do something for me now if you have time. It’s nothing about Norman or this case.”

After the briefest hesitation, she said, “Whatever you need.”

“There’s this man I know and I need to see him. I want you to find out where he is right now.”

If TJ thought my request cryptic, she didn’t comment. Instead, she took the information and said she would get back to me. By the time she called back, I had the boxes packed and ready to go except for the photos on the wall. I would bring them in another trip if I decided that I wanted to keep them; I couldn’t think about them now. I’d gone through one of the boxes, and another I marked unfinished. Luckily, a mailroom guy stopped in and I enlisted his aid carrying them to my car.

Equipped with the information TJ gave me, I left the office. If Taylor had played puppeteer with my life, I wanted to know. I just had no idea what I would do about it if my suspicions were true. If he’d arranged to make sure I got the job at Cityscapes, that was one thing, a thing far in the past, but it had occurred to me he could be the reason Pierpont called the newspaper for me. That meant he was still trying to run my life.

I arrived at the Potawatomi Casino just west of downtown Milwaukee. I was in an emotional knot brought on only in part by the surge of betrayal I felt. I couldn’t deny the excitement shooting through me at the thought of seeing Taylor again, the man who had been the love of my life. Even after sixteen years, the thought of seeing him felt like food for my soul.

I checked my makeup or my hair at every traffic light and kept telling myself my appearance didn’t matter; this was not a reunion. In spite of that, I still felt a sense of satisfaction that I had dressed up for my trip to the office for the staff meeting, although I’d probably be missing it now.

I entered the casino and ignored the greeter in my hurry to intercept Taylor before he left. TJ had told me that Taylor’s law firm represented the casino and he had a lunch meeting here with the owner. When I arrived at the casino owner’s office, the door was open, a busboy visible at the side of a conference room table, gathering dishes. I ignored my brain, which was telling me to wait before barging in on them. My emotions were out of control. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and entered the room.

The massive office had windows facing the panoramic view of Milwaukee’s downtown skyline on the edge of Lake Michigan. Four men were seated around a table at the opposite side of the room. The busboy made a silent exit wheeling a tray of dishes.

The men stopped talking and turned to gape at me as I approached the table. My gaze fell only on Taylor, my heart beating wildly. I expected him to be annoyed at having his meeting interrupted, but his eyes crinkled at the corners when he recognized me. He was amused—I remembered that look. Taylor could smile using only his eyes. Before I could speak, he stood and excused himself.

He steered me into a smaller conference room and closed the door, staring at me as if I were a vision. He stood close to me, his arms on my shoulders. “Gemma,” he whispered, “You’re as beautiful as the day we met.”

“You did it all, didn’t you?” I took a step back, refusing to be influenced by his nearness. “I got the damn job at Cityscapes because of you, and you were the one who hired that hotshot attorney. What else have you done to orchestrate my life?”

Still smiling, he reached out and touched the diamond pendant I was wearing. “I knew this would match the gold flecks in your lovely eyes.”

I forgot that I had put it on this morning. It suddenly occurred to me now that I had accepted his extravagant graduation gift without complaint, yet now here I was, railing at him for helping me. Was I sending mixed messages? Confused, I took another step back. His eyes were as I remembered them, clear, dark hazel eyes that made me feel like I was the only thing in his life that mattered. Looking into them transported me back to the summer I fell in love with him. I could almost feel the wind in my hair as we rode the roller coaster, the spray of water on my skin when we were on his sailboat, and the sun on my face as we walked the shores of Lake Michigan.

“My dear Gemma, I didn’t ‘get you’ your job. When I found out there was an opening at Cityscapes, I called Norman, yes. But I only asked him to give you a chance if you applied, a personal interview. You got the job on your own qualifications. He even called me later to thank me. I only give you a leg up, made sure your résumé wasn’t lost among of hundreds of others.”

His admission deflated some of my anger, and I couldn’t stop looking at him. His hair had a few gray strands at his temples, but other than that, he looked like the twenty-two-year-old man I fell in love with so long ago. He seemed taller, but that was likely because of the custom-made, heather brown suit he wore.

“What about the attorney who called me this week? Was that your doing, too?”

He stepped closer and ran his hand over my hair. “I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I’ve kept in touch with your life. When you married Carter, I was happy for you, but I worried about you when I found out you were divorced. It’s my habit to check out all the local papers in the morning, and when I saw that article, I knew it was talking about you because I knew you lived across the street from Norman. He told my father and me about it when you moved in. I hope you don’t feel like I’m a stalker.” He grinned, apparently confident I would never feel that way about his interest in my life.

I couldn’t help thinking that’s exactly what he was, a stalker, but there was a part of me that basked in his interest. I suddenly felt like an idiot, rushing in here without a plan. He stood close enough now that I could smell his cologne, expensive and masculine. I wanted him so badly it hurt.

I walked to the window and looked out on the view of the city I loved, trying to gather my thoughts. He came and stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, so close I felt his breath on my neck. “Gemma, what can I say? I think about you every day. I was in love with you then, you know that. Leaving you hurt like hell.”

“But you still left.”

“You never asked me to stay.”

He was right. I hadn’t. But I couldn’t have lived with an answer other than “Yes, I’ll stay with you.” Knowing he would say no was one thing, hearing it would have ripped my heart out. I wasn’t prepared to make that admission.

Instead, I said, “If I asked, and you stayed with me, I couldn’t have lived with myself if it ruined your life. Eventually, you would have hated me for it.”

I turned to him and he wrapped me in his arms, murmuring to me that nothing could make him hate me. I felt safe for the first time in weeks. We clung to each other for a minute before I pulled away. The wetness in his eyes told me he hurt as much as I did, and my resistance nearly melted. How easy it would be to kiss him, to fall into the trap of being his part-time love. Stolen time together would only end in heartbreak whenever he left me. I would be alone, yearning for him, knowing he would go home to another woman he loved. His wife.

He cupped my face in his hands. “I’ll always love you, Gemma. I want so badly to be alone with you, take you out on the lake in my boat like I did then, but I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

Although I ached to be alone with him once more, I pulled away. “I have to leave.”