She's Not There (28 page)

Lisa hurried to get to Bernstein’s office. As she drove, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. Shannon.

“Lisa, all your appointments are taken care of for tomorrow and Wednesday. Your two Wednesday morning clients said they would skip this week and see you the same time next week.”

“I appreciate that Shannon, thanks. Eric wants us to stay at his place again. You too. If Jeff didn’t kill himself then all of us are still at risk. I couldn’t argue with that—we’ll be safer there.” Moving back into Eric’s estate would complicate things for her, but Lisa would have to make the best of it, work it to her advantage.

“How is TJ? Is there anything I can do?”

“She’s fine for now—Eric is with her.”

“I can finish up here and leave pretty quick. Should we go to your place now to get some things, then go to Eric’s together?”

“No, I have some errands to do first. I’m getting a terrible headache. It feels like a migraine coming on. It’s going to be a bad one, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t know you got migraines.”

Lisa hated to lie, but this one was necessary. “I haven’t had one in years. All this is just too much; my body’s telling me to slow down. After I’m done running around, I’m going to go home and lie down for a couple hours. That’s the only thing that works. I’ll meet you at Eric’s later.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to be alone?”

“It’ll only be for a few hours. I’ll be fine. You go ahead to Eric’s. Don’t take Phanny with you; she’ll be my protector. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’ll be there. I’ll call you before I leave home.” Lisa feared she was over-explaining, but Shannon had no reason to suspect she was being lied to.

Lisa walked into the Bernstein’s waiting room two minutes past their scheduled time. His eyes looked sympathetic, but she couldn’t let him make this about her. She took a seat and said, “They think he committed suicide. You know what I’m going to ask you.”

“Of course. You want my opinion on whether Jeff was suicidal.”

Lisa leaned forward, waiting. Noticing his eyes were reddened, she realized she’d been selfish in her haste to find answers—he was feeling the pain of Jeff’s suicide, too.

“The answer is no, I don’t think he was at all suicidal. But you know quite well that what’s on the surface doesn’t always tell the entire story about a person’s mental state. Our clients don’t always tell us everything.”

“True enough. But there’s something you don’t know. He and TJ slept together New Year’s Eve. I’m concerned he may have felt guilty about that.”

Bernstein’s forehead creased. “Lisa, Jeff was wrought with guilt after his wife disappeared, and as you know, he was on the verge of a serious depression. His work with your group, and the friendships that came with it, pulled him out of it. It’s my opinion that he was past the stage of obsessive guilt.” He sat back in his chair, studying her.

“Most of our time together was spent examining his relationship with Jamie. I believe they were both trying to be the person the other wanted them to be and as a result were getting uncomfortable with their relationship. They were trying to make it work, but it never had a chance.”

Lisa thought that made sense with what she knew about the couple. “But he and TJ didn’t have any more in common than Jeff and Jamie.”

“No, they didn’t. But they had developed something very special—a strong friendship. Would it have resulted in something lasting? Who knows? I don’t believe sleeping with her would have made Jeff feel so guilty that he’d commit suicide.”

Lisa released a pent up breath. “I didn’t think so either.”

“Lisa, are
you
all right?”

“I’m upset about Jeff and what this means for the rest of us.” She felt him evaluating her response.

“I can see there’s more to it than that, Lisa. But if you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll respect your wishes. You know you can talk to me about anything. I’d like you to come and see me when you have time.”

She took his hand in hers when he walked over to her. “I’ll do that, Robert. Thank you.”

Eric had talked to Jeff on New Years Eve when they were setting things up for the party. Nothing in the conversation or Jeff’s demeanor had revealed a hint of depression. No, their killer wanted to punish them. Eric wanted to find the man and tear him apart. He felt helpless, but what could he do? Try to keep them safe, that was about it.

Before they left Brookfield, Maggie joined Eric and TJ. “Richard Conlin’s here and he’s talking to the Brookfield guys about doing a more thorough search. They seem convinced Jeff killed his wife but never had enough evidence to arrest him for it. They see this as a guilt-ridden suicide, so they aren’t going to be easy to convince that his death might be suspicious. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

When Eric and TJ got back to his place he put her in the guest room and gave her a sedative, refraining from telling her it was strong enough to put her out until morning. She needed the rest.

Teresa chattered in the background, mumbling that TJ needed to eat first. Food, Teresa’s cure all, bubbled on the stove; she’d made a pot of chicken noodle soup. When Eric walked into the kitchen, Tina had just come in from the yard. God, he’d forgotten about the child. The smile on her face dimmed when she noticed the serious looks on their faces—and her mother’s tear-stained cheeks. Eric was grateful Teresa would be the one to explain Jeff’s death to her.

Shannon, who’d been staying with Lisa since Lisa moved back home had left for Eric’s by the time Lisa pulled into her driveway.

Phanny greeted Lisa with a wet kiss, but she shooed the dog away as she opened the thick, brown envelope TJ had handed her earlier. She spread its contents over the table, seeing that TJ had plotted out every move Wilson made while she’d been watching him.

A germ of an idea had sprouted in Lisa’s mind the night she and TJ had overindulged on tequila. What she saw on the pages in front of her made her realize it was doable.

A photo of James Wilson driving a snowmobile had been taken with a long-range lens. His sled appeared to be the latest and fastest, probably a custom model. TJ had documented his habit of whipping across the lake and the trails near his place on Lake Winnebago every day when he came home from work. Wilson commuted to his lake home from Milwaukee during the winter months, leaving his apartment in the city vacant.

Lisa studied the maps TJ printed out. Wilson’s home, fifteen miles north of Fond du Lac, sat on the east side of Lake Winnebago in an area sparsely populated with pricey homes. A snowmobile trail drifted past, webbing out from the eastern shore of the lake and branching out into the countryside. According to TJ’s notes, Wilson had a pattern of moving northeast from the lake, taking a trail that swung out into a wooded area near the marshlands.

He’ll be full of himself tonight; the fiend will be proud of what he’s done to us.
Lisa hadn’t felt so much rage since Lawrence threatened to sue for custody of Paige.

With a few adaptations, the plan she’d devised for Lawrence would work just as well for Wilson. The bastard was sure to be racing his sled tonight.

Although she’d never loaded the snowmobiles by herself, it wouldn’t be impossible. She’d take them both. Two wouldn’t be as suspicious if anyone saw her in the area after the shooting. Paige usually helped her load them, but Lisa would manage alone. She could make it to his place in a little more than an hour providing her grandfather’s old truck started. A lot of maybes unfortunately, but she couldn’t wait for certainties. This had to be done now, while TJ was with the others and had an ironclad alibi.

James couldn’t stay at work a minute longer after he heard that Jeff Denison’s death had hit the media. Elated, he headed north to his lake house, eager for the speed and release that sledding gave him. The new, custom sled had been a great investment. He couldn’t wait to celebrate his victory by racing across Lake Winnebago.

The motor of the high-powered engine growling in the breeze, James pulled out onto the lake. He’d barely picked up speed when he realized there were so damn many ice-fishermen on the lake, that their shanties and trucks would encumber his ride.

Turning the sled, he pointed it in the direction of the trail.

TJ had marked a deserted cul-de-sac where she’d made a habit of leaving her car when she watched Wilson. As Lisa drove into it, she saw it would be a perfect spot to leave the truck and trailer; they wouldn’t be visible from any of the nearby roads. Now she had to hope she was on the trail before Wilson and in position on her snowmobile when he drove by. Her attack had to be a surprise; her sled wouldn’t be able to outrun his. The aerial map indicated a low rise adjacent to the trail not too far in from its inception near his home—an ideal spot to wait, and get off a shot without being seen.

Last winter Paige had convinced Lisa to buy a new set of matched sleds to celebrate her graduation. Glad now that she’d acquiesced, and grateful for the power of the new machine, Lisa drove one of the snowmobiles off the carrier and sped to the beginning of the trail. About a quarter of a mile in, she found the place where she planned on watching Wilson, a low hill next to the trail where she could wait hidden by a stand of pine trees.

Sitting on her snowmobile in the frigid air, the wait seemed endless. Adding to her discomfort, light snow showers began a steady fall over the area. The fat-man stuffing under the men’s hunting clothes she wore did little to keep her warm. The damp air seeped in, the insulation serving to maintain the cold against her body. No other sledders appeared on the trail.

I have to stay focused, forget the discomfort.
Lisa did a mental exercise, reviewing and visualizing the steps of a perfect shot. She was ready.

When the black sled with its gold detailing rounded the bend below the rise where Lisa waited, she had a nanosecond’s hesitation. There was no mistaking the custom sled, the rider wearing the distinctive matching suit he’d worn in TJ’s photos. And he was right on schedule.

Lisa raised the rifle. She had him–James Wilson–in her sights. Like people whose lives flashed in front of them the instant before death, the faces of Jeff, Danielle Ventura, and the missing women flickered in Lisa’s vision. She steadied the rifle and planted three shots into Wilson’s chest.

Sixteen-year-old Tommy Rennicke had split only a few sections of oak when he heard the shots. He dropped the ax and looked up, wondering who’d be shooting at this time of day. The shots sounded like they came from a powerful gun. He didn’t think there was open season for anything warranting a weapon that size at this time of the year.

He looked toward the snowmobile trail. A sled driven by a big guy wearing a hunting jacket, with what looked like a rifle sticking out of it, roared by on the trail, full tilt. It was too far off to see much more, and he couldn’t be sure about the rifle. The guy was high-tailing it toward the beginning of the trail.

Tommy turned back to the woodpile and began to stack what he’d chopped when a thought came to him. The only other rider he’d seen on the trail  was that asshole on the black, high-powered sled. He was usually on the trail at this time on weekday afternoons.

It was starting to snow, big flakes that would add a thicker blanket to the foot or more of snow already on the ground. His mom wouldn’t be home for a while yet; he’d have time to snoop around. Slipping into his snowshoes, he set out for the trail.

Heart pounding, Lisa rode her sled off the hill. Back on the trail, headed for the truck, she accelerated the sled to top speed. She couldn’t make herself look back. Above the roar of the engine, she didn’t hear the sound of Wilson’s sled crashing through pine trees, its motor buzzing in the quietly falling snow after it overturned.

Driving without lights was risky, but she couldn’t take a chance on being noticed. She’d seen someone chopping wood at a house she’d driven past, but was sure he’d been too far away to see anything more than a sled speeding past. In minutes she turned back onto the dead-end street where she’d left the truck.

She’d taken too many chances. But everything had gone as planned. She’d left the ramp down on the carrier and easily drove back up onto it in the falling snow. Securing the snowmobile next to its mate and starting the balky truck went a lot easier than the loading process.

Whatever Lisa imagined she would be feeling after shooting Wilson, it didn’t come close to the reality. She’d never have believed she’d be feeling the elation of a job well done.
The monster no longer roams free in my world.

Driving back to Oconomowoc, she felt sure the heady feeling wouldn’t last.

She had to get home quickly and call Eric and Shannon before they became concerned about her. At the moment she had only one concern–the person she’d seen chopping wood.

But what could he have seen? Her face hadn’t been visible under the helmet she’d been wearing. He would have seen nothing but an overweight man in hunting clothes driving a snowmobile. Speeding. Speeding, right after he’d heard shots. But he couldn’t have seen anything that would identify her. She’d had the foresight to smear the plates with paste, making it appear like frozen snow. The numbers on the truck and the sleds were indecipherable even if anyone had been close enough to read them.

The snow was coming down harder. She’d take the back roads in order to miss the evening traffic on I-94. It was sure to be a mess in the heavy snow. She’d be home, showered and ready to leave for Eric’s before ten.

When Lisa pulled into Eric’s garage it was nearly ten. He was waiting for her when she got out of the car with Phanny at her side. Tail wagging, the dog ran for him. Eric bent down and patted Phanny, rubbing her ears as she wriggled in delight at seeing him.

“How’s your headache?”

“The worst is over. Taking a nap really helped. Did you bring TJ here?”

“Yes, she’s here and down for the count; I gave her something to keep her sleeping through the night. And I called her sister—let her know what’s going on. There’s a pot of chicken soup on the stove if you’re hungry, or would you like something stronger?”

Chicken soup sounded surprisingly good. “Yes, I’m famished.” Lisa hadn’t eaten since her morning granola.

After she unpacked, Eric was waiting for her with two bowls of steaming soup and a plate of biscuits. Eric was a perceptive man; she’d have to be careful not to give him any cause for concern other than the headache she’d lied about.

“You waited for me. Thanks.”

He smiled, but she could see the pain in his dark eyes. “Sure.”

Eric and Jeff had become close. He probably didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts any more than she did.

Lisa sat next to him at the counter rather than across from him where he could observe her. “Did Maggie tell you and TJ anything?”

“Not really, but things got interesting after you left. Conlin showed up.”

“TJ said she’d called him.”

“Yeah. He was good with her. The Brookfield police wanted to write this off as a suicide. Richard reminded them about your investigation and got them to agree to have the whole place gone over. They even gave in when TJ insisted they check his computer keyboard for prints and possible residue from rubber gloves.”

“His computer?”

“Sorry. Forgot to mention there was a suicide note on his computer screen. The usual ‘I’m so sorry’ thing.”

Distracted, Lisa said, “I can understand why TJ would insist on that. Jeff never would have left a note on his computer. He didn’t even use email.”

It suddenly occurred to her that none of it mattered anymore. They were safe; the nightmare was over. But she couldn’t share that with Eric. Not now—maybe never.

When Eric suggested they put on an old movie, Lisa was relieved to have an excuse not to go to bed. Even her prescription sleeping meds wouldn’t put her out tonight. A movie might not turn off her thoughts, but at least she wouldn’t have to talk. Or try to sleep. And best of all—she wouldn’t be alone.