She's Not There (26 page)

The nasty tidbit of office gossip that Marian Bergman’s husband of three years had left her for his twenty-something, red-haired secretary, couldn’t have pleased James more. The fact that Marian had been off all week on personal-leave added credibility to the second part of the rumor—Bergman had fallen into a serious depression. He’d been plotting an accidental death for the woman, now this gave him a ready-made plan.

He watched her condo for a few days. If he didn’t hate her so much he might have pitied her. Bergman rarely left the house and when she did it was for errands she performed while wearing dark sunglasses and a wrinkled, khaki overcoat. Her normally slicked back hair hung limply on her shoulders.

The following week when Marian returned to work, she appeared gaunt, and behaved nastier than ever to everyone around her.

Via the Internet, James purchased a large quantity of sleeping pills from an overseas site that didn’t require a prescription. It had been a simple matter for someone with his computer talents to find out which brand she used. Ordering them in her name and arranging to receive them anonymously had been more challenging.

Obtaining an unregistered handgun hadn’t been difficult. Luckily, his uncle had trained him in the use of guns, although curiously, James had never liked hunting.

After work on Friday, Marian stopped on the way home to visit the local liquor store, and walked out carrying a brown paper bag large enough to hold a weekend’s supply of forgetfulness.

James watched.

He’d prepared well. The date he’d planned with a young woman in case he ever needed an alibi went so smoothly it bored him. Her name was Eden and all she talked about was herself. They had dinner at a restaurant in a woodsy setting near Oshkosh. The food was wonderful and the wine enticing. He didn’t order a second bottle; he wanted her thirsty for a nightcap when they got to his house on Lake Winnebago.

When they arrived there, she gave him a mischievous smile and hurried to the bathroom to ‘slip into something sexy.’ While she was busy he brought out an irresistible bottle of Dom Perignon, and poured two flutes, adding his special recipe to her glass. She whisked back into the room, dazzling in a skimpy, pale-blue teddy. He handed her the spiked drink and raised his for a toast. “To an unforgettable night with a beautiful woman.” After she’d downed the champagne, he led her to the bedroom. She’d be out until morning.

Marian Bergman lay in bed propped on a bank of pillows, a TV remote in one hand, an empty glass in the other. Eyes closed, she snored softly, a noir, black-and-white movie playing on a flat screen TV across from the bed. A bottle of vodka, containing only an inch of the colorless liquid, sat on the nightstand.

She snorted suddenly, blinking her eyes several times as if releasing them from something sticky. She squinted, her face screwed up as if she were looking at a ghost.

James Wilson sat on the red, brocade chaise next to the window. The white shantung draperies behind the chair had been drawn, shielding the room from the moonlit night and any possible observers.

In a voice slimy with menace, he said, “Hello Marian. Lovely evening isn’t it?”

Aghast, she stared at him, mouth gaping, slack from the effect of the vodka. She sat up, pulling the comforter over her, although the room was warm and she wore a heavy fleece robe.

“You son-of-a-bitch. How did you get in here?”

His mouth stretched into a flat smile. “It wasn’t difficult, Marian. You should install a security system.”

She hissed, “What do you want?”

He pulled out the prescription bottle he’d brought along and tossed it to her. She caught it reflexively, and then held it up to the light to read the label. “This isn’t mine—why is my name on the label?”

“I bought them for you, Marian, so you can put yourself out of your misery.” He sneered. “Your husband will never come back. He probably hates you just like everyone who works for you does. They call you the ‘Granite Queen’ when you’re not around, did you know that?” James sat, legs crossed, ominously cool, speaking just loud enough to be heard above the murmuring sounds of the movie.

Marian stared at him, her umber eyes scorched with anger. Seconds passed. A minute. She fell back onto the stack of pillows. Her eyes had gone blank, unfocused. “I guess I can’t deny the irony of this situation, can I?”

“No, you can’t. You’ve been on a self-destructive spiral for nearly two weeks. I’m here to make things easier for you. I’ll even give you a choice. The contents of that bottle—or this.” He revealed the gun he’d brought to emphasize her alternate option, never doubting she’d choose the one that fit his purpose.

A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “You’re right, you prick. I just don’t give a damn.”

Two hours later James crept out of Marian’s house, making sure he’d left behind no trace of himself after deciding not to get creative and make her leave a suicide note.

When he crawled back in bed with the drugged blonde, he rolled up against her back and nibbled on her neck, his turgid cock almost painful with the urgency of his hunger.

“Mmm,” she purred, as she turned over and climbed on top of him.

With Christmas over, Lisa felt like post-holiday depression was all she had to look forward. That and fret about the bizarre pact she’d made with TJ the Night of the Tequila, as she’d come to think of that memorable night. But Eric’s party was coming up, maybe she could scrape up some enthusiasm for the event.

The affair, a ‘50s-‘60s theme New Year’s Eve celebration was held in the showroom of Eric’s classic car business. The third year of the event, it came complete with a DJ playing rock and roll, dance contests, and partiers decked out in vintage costumes.

TJ shadowed Wilson whenever she had time. It wasn’t an intense surveillance, but she’d wanted to get a feel for his routine. She’d heard from a friend on the force that he’d broken up with the Chief’s daughter Claire, but TJ saw the couple meet for lunch the day before Christmas. Not what she’d wanted to see; she didn’t want to have to worry about the woman’s safety. Everything she’d heard about Claire was that she was a good person. Even without knowing he was a murdering fiend, TJ wondered how she’d ever hooked up with a creep like Wilson.

She’d agreed to go to Eric’s party. Dressing in ‘50s style seemed absurd but might be fun. Lord knew they all needed—and deserved—some fun.

The thermometer dipped to minus twelve by six o’clock on New Year’s Eve. The party was in full swing when TJ arrived, parking illegally in the lot next to the bank across the street from Eric’s showroom. She shivered as she ran to the door, the bitter wind icy on her bare legs. One good thing about the ugly saddle shoes, they worked well on the slippery ground. The short leather jacket she wore did little to keep out the frigid air, but it was the only thing in her closet that had worked over the wide, pink poodle skirt.

Stanchions with red velvet roping bordered the showroom, arranged to provide plenty of room for dancing and still protect the cars. The dance floor already sprouted dancers trying to look—and dance—like teenagers from the rock and roll era.

“TJ!” Lisa laughed, when she saw TJ come in. “You look so cute!” Lisa wore another version of the skirt, yellow with a long Dachshund appliquéd above the hem. TJ had only agreed on the costume after Lisa offered to have them made up for them.

“Yeah, yeah. Rollie got my hair into this ponytail thing. I gotta return the hairpiece though.”

She thought it all a little outrageous, but maybe with a drink or two she could get into the spirit of it. She hadn’t seen Jeff or Eric yet. “Where are the guys?”

“Eric’s been running around keeping everything going, and I don’t know where Jeff is. They’re going to have dance contests and karaoke later. He may be hiding out, trying to avoid getting roped into one of those.” Lisa grimaced. “I’m not crazy about them either. Maybe he’ll share his hiding place.

Shannon appeared, squealing, “We have to do a song together! It would be so neat!”

Lisa and TJ were saved from bursting Shannon’s party bubble by telling her that wasn’t going to happen, when a tall, young man sporting an Elvis-style pompadour asked Shannon to dance. She winked back at them as she followed him to the dance floor.

TJ turned to Lisa. “Let’s go get a drink and get in the party mood.”

“Sure. As long as it’s anything but tequila.”

TJ, worrying that Lisa would back out of their arrangement, hurried Lisa over to the bar. Thirsty guests, dressed in getups from the ‘50s, surrounded the bar, where the drink specials were the old favorites: Singapore Slings, Tom Collins, Screwdrivers, and Harvey Wallbangers.              

After they’d picked up their drinks, TJ maneuvered Lisa to a quiet corner. “Been watchin’ Wilson.”

“What if he sees you?”

“He won’t see me! I’m not following his every move. Just want to get to know his routine.”

“It’s dangerous. If he starts to suspect we believe he’s the killer, he may try to go after you. Or me—again. Just because the police are working on the case now, it doesn’t guarantee our safety.”

“You’re right, but I want to be ready to make my move on him.”

Lisa gulped her drink. “
Your
move? Did you think I’d changed my mind?”

“Thought it was a possibility.”

“I haven’t. We can’t allow him to continue murdering innocent women.”

“He knows too much now—he’ll change how he’s doin’ things. Anybody could be his next victim.”

Lisa’s hands trembled, the ice cubes in her drink rattling. “That’s a frightening thought, isn’t it? I’ve been hoping he’d be forced to lie low for the time being.”

Jeff approached them wearing black slacks, white shirt with collar turned up, and black leather jacket. His curly hair was combed up on the sides, and rolled onto his forehead, Fabian style. TJ thought he looked sexy, but didn’t voice the compliment.

“You two ladies look cool and solid,” he said, attempting to mimic the parlance of the decade. He looked at TJ. “How did your hair grow so fast?”

“Magic!” She laughed. “Rollie magic.”

Appearing fascinated with TJ’s new look, he asked her to dance. She handed Lisa her drink, and followed him to the dance floor. The song was slow and sensual, the couples around them were pressed together, arms circled about each other. TJ reveled in his closeness. He smelled so good. Not of any fancy cologne or aftershave, but his shirt smelled like soap and softener and his hair of shampoo. Clean, masculine smells. As the dance floor thickened with couples, they were forced closer. TJ’s arms crept up around his shoulders and she felt his arms circling her back, his breath on her neck.

He whispered, “You feel so good.”

Aroused, she lowered her face to his chest, enjoying the moment.
This can’t last.
She had to be prepared. The aftereffect of what she and Lisa were planning would involve separation from the others.
All the more reason to enjoy the night.

Eric took a break from watching over the party long enough to go to the bar for a drink. He found Lisa there watching the dancers and holding two drinks.

“What have we here, a two-fisted drinker?”

“TJ went to dance.” Lisa desperately wanted to have a good time tonight. Forget all about that monster James Wilson and what she and TJ had planned for him. She hadn’t seen Eric in the two weeks since she’d moved back to her house with Shannon.

“This is a wonderful party. Everyone’s gotten into the spirit.”

He looked over the room. “The same guests come back every year, so I must be doing something right. I’m happy all of you are here tonight. I’ve missed our little commune.”

“He took the glasses out of her hand and led her to the dance floor.

By eleven-fifty, nearly everyone was on the dance floor, wearing shiny hats and blowing noisemakers. Clutching small cups of confetti, they were ready to toss it in the air at the peak of midnight.

Though Jeff had been close to TJ all evening, he hadn’t been smothery, backing off now and then to let her do her own thing. She’d had a great time dancing to the old style rock with one of Eric’s mechanics. They’d even won the dance contest, dancing wildly to “Rock Around the Clock.” Her head was still a little light from getting tossed around but she’d managed to keep up and not embarrass herself, thinking she’d danced damn well for an old broad. Not that thirty-three was old, but her partner looked like he was barely out of his teens.

Wondering if Jeff would find her for the midnight dance, she stood near the bar, imagining what it would be like to kiss him at the stroke of twelve. Her eyes scoped the room, looking for him.

At that moment, Richard walked in with a date. 

Irritated, she wondered why Eric hadn’t warned her. The woman next to Richard was nearly Richard’s age and wore her dark hair straight, falling to her shoulders just above the scooped neck of a long, black dress. Richard was wearing a tux; they’d obviously come from another event. Funny they hadn’t stayed there until midnight.

So what if he’s here?
She didn’t give a rat’s ass, and she didn’t want Jeff to think it bothered her to see Richard with a date.

Her heart stopped. Standing next to Richard was James Wilson with Claire. TJ froze in place for a moment while time stood still. In the background, the crowd was beginning to chant; “Fifty-five, fifty-four….”

She had to get out; she couldn’t be in the same room with that murdering freak—not on New Year’s Eve. And she wasn’t sure she was a good enough actress to remain unmoved by his presence.

“Twenty one, twenty, nineteen…”

TJ went for her coat and hurried out into the frigid night air.

The cold air hit TJ like a blast from a fire-hose as she fled the party and ran for her car. Used to spending nights in a heated garage, it balked as she tried to start it. After a few failed attempts, she saw Jeff standing next to the car and opened the door.

“What’s wrong?”

Shivering, she stepped out and slammed the door shut.

Jeff put his arm around her. “If you’re sure you want to leave, I’ll drive you home.”

On the dance floor, the countdown reached midnight. Couples embraced, kissed, threw confetti, and sang along to “Auld Lang Syne.” On the dance floor with Eric, Lisa enjoyed his kiss as the clock struck midnight, disappointed when the couple next to them pulled them apart. She hated the tradition of being passed from person to person at midnight, and quickly edged through the crowd headed for the ladies room.

Shannon rushed in behind her. “Lisa! Did you see who came in?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“Just before midnight—Richard Conlin and James Wilson came in. With dates!” She stopped to let Lisa process the news.

Lisa gaped. “Conlin and Wilson. Do you know if TJ’s seen them yet?”

“Probably. She took off—didn’t even wait until midnight. I think Jeff went after her.”

Eric hadn’t mentioned inviting Conlin and Wilson. Lisa wondered why he hadn’t been more sensitive to TJ’s feelings. Lisa knew TJ hadn’t left because of Richard; Wilson was a shrewd bastard, and the last thing they needed was for him to have even a hint of their suspicions. Lisa took a deep breath and went back to the party.

She found Richard Conlin standing near the dance floor with a dark-haired woman in a black gown. Ignoring the woman, she asked, “Can I have a minute?”

He stepped away from his date. “What can I do for you, Ms. Rayburn?”

“Rather tacky of you to be here, don’t you think?”

“Not that it’s any of your business what I do, but TJ and I aren’t together anymore.”

Lisa snickered. “That’s a poor excuse for acting like a jerk with no concern for anyone but himself.” She’d been about to add a few more choice words when James Wilson and Claire approached them. Dismissing Richard with an icy look, she turned and walked away, wondering when Conlin and Wilson had become double-dating buddies.

Heart pounding with anger, she found Eric.  “Eric, I’m curious why you invited Richard Conlin and James Wilson.”

He looked at her quizzically. “I didn’t. Claire Thornton’s uncle is a customer here. Claire comes every year. Did you know her father’s Milwaukee’s Police Chief?”

“I do, but what does that have to do with anything?”

He studied her, frowning. “I had no idea Conlin and Wilson would be here. Claire’s uncle is a customer and he’s invited every year. I don’t question who he might bring, or pass an invite to. I’m sorry if TJ’s upset. I’ll explain it to her.”

Jeff’s car warmed up quickly, the heated seat toasty on TJ’s cold butt. He hadn’t questioned her, which had given her time to have an explanation ready. They were nearly to the interstate when he pulled over and stopped the car. “Happy New Year.”

TJ leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “Happy New Year, yourself.”
Not very romantic.

Jeff pulled back into the traffic. “Do you want to talk about it? You must be upset about Richard—I saw him come in.”

TJ felt torn. She couldn’t’ tell him about Wilson and didn’t want him to think she was pining for Richard. “It was just a shock, seeing him with another woman. I’m not upset.”

“TJ, come home with me tonight. You can stay in the guest room. I don’t think you should be alone.”

She
didn’t
want to be alone, but not because of Richard. “Sure you’re not the one who doesn’t wanna be alone?”

He sighed. “I have my own baggage tonight, you know that. But the party helped me forget about it.”

Baggage. He had no clue the heaviness of the trunk-load she was carrying. When he turned off the interstate at the Brookfield exit and drove toward his townhouse, she was grateful he’d made the decision for her.

It was nearly two when TJ crawled into the bed in Jeff’s guest room. After a half hour of switching position under the thick down quilt, she got up and went to the kitchen in search of milk. Finding a half-empty bottle, she gave it a sniff test. Heating some in the microwave, she carried it with her to a big recliner. The chair was comfortable, the milk soothing, and by the time she’d finished it, her eyes were starting to close. She eased the chair back into full recline, and nodded off. She woke when she felt a blanket being spread over her.

Jeff stood next to the chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

He looked so cute with his hair mussed and wearing only a pair of red-plaid pajama bottoms. TJ crawled out of the chair. Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him to her bed.