Trespass (14 page)

Sure about that?
There was a definite pitch in Hayne’s voice that hadn’t been there before. Damn, she shouldn’t have done this walking, it was harder to read Haynes while they were moving.

“Anything you remember would help.”

Haynes stopped abruptly. “I don’t know Lucian other than what I said. Why do you keep asking about him?”

Somethin’ about Lucian Krause is puttin’ her undies in a wad.
“He’s the last person who saw Norman Teschler before his house blew, so anything about him makes me curious.”

“I can’t tell you anything else about him.”
Can’t tell, or won’t?
Haynes was hiding something about Lucian Krause. TJ watched as Haynes pulled out a small plastic bag to pick up a dog poop the size of a cocktail weenie, her hands trembling. Alcohol letdown or guilty conscience?

The woman’s face had reddened during the last few minutes. There was only one thing in TJ’s experience that made a grown woman blush and that would be something to do with sex. Shit, the Krause kid was barely sixteen.
Is he servicing this old broad?

“Suit yourself, Rosemary. But if you don’t talk to me, I’ll draw my own conclusions about your relationship with an underage boy.” With that, TJ turned and headed back to her car.

TJ had seen enough of Haynes’s reaction. The skank was either playing humpbacked monster with the Krause kid or wanted to.

Chapter 30

I
finished a book cover, e-mailed the first draft to the author, and left for my next appointment with Lisa Rayburn. I had also decided to go back to the sleep support group. I had been seeing Lisa, but the night paralysis hadn’t stopped and I hated to keep taking prescription sleeping pills to prevent it from happening.

My session with Lisa began with my telling her what had been happening in my life the last few days. She listened as intently as she always did, but I had a sense she wanted to move on to other topics.

“Gemma, it sounds like you have a lot to deal with right now. How are you handling it?”

How was I handling it? “I feel like my life is spinning like a squirrel cage that never stops.”

“What have you been doing to relieve the pressure?”

“Nothing, really. I know I should get out more, but since I divorced Carter, my life has been rather simple. I miss Norman terribly. He was the one person who was always there for me.”

“Maybe it’s time to change that. Don’t you have things you enjoy doing? Hobbies, maybe?”

Hobbies. I’ve never had time for them. My life has been all about my career. And after I married Carter, we seldom spent evenings at home. We traveled, partied, golfed, and entertained. I even tried tennis, although I never was very good at it. I’ve always had a natural tendency to duck when I see an object flying at me.

“I used to golf when I was married to Carter. You’re right,” I said, “I need to find things to do other than work.”

“And how is your sleep?”

“I haven’t slept much, especially since the break-in. The security system doesn’t go in until next week.”

“What about the sleep paralysis?”

“I don’t have episodes when I take the pills or on nights I’m exhausted. I’ve had one or two recently though. The paralysis tends to happen when I have a hard time sleeping.”

“Have you been back to the support group?”

I had to be honest. “No, I only went that one time. But I’m going back. They meet tonight.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re going back. Have you resolved your issues with out-of-body experiences?”

“I’m still using the number cards I told you about. One night when the paralysis hit, I was actually able to stay focused enough to be aware of the one in my room. I thought I saw the number three on the card. When I came out of it and checked, it was a three, but other times either I got the number wrong, couldn’t see it during the paralysis, or just plain forgot about it.”

“How about the feeling that someone is holding you?”

“Yes, it’s happened once more, a particularly bad one, too.” I hated that subject—I had hoped my meeting with Taylor at the casino last week would have resolved that as Lisa suggested. It hadn’t, and I didn’t feel like discussing reasons why. At least there had been no more OBEs.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “I’d hoped they might have ended. But under the circumstances, it may be too soon to expect them to disappear. You haven’t been living under ideal circumstances for healing.”

She was right about that. “I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable until the person who killed Norman is arrested and in jail.”

“Have you thought about going away for a while, at least until your security system is in?”

“I considered staying in a hotel, but I have Clyde to think about. After what happened, I don’t want to leave him home alone. I’ve become quite attached to him.”

Lisa smiled. “I understand. I have a dog that’s like a child to me. How about a friend or a relative?”

“None of my relatives are here anymore. My sister moved to California when she got married, and my mother is in Florida living with her sister. I’ve always been too busy for close friendships.”

Lisa studied me for a bit, then said, “I think you should reconsider going to a hotel. It’s always better to be cautious.”

Chapter 31

T
J still had an hour before she would meet with Irene Abendoth and went back home to go through her notes. She took out a Diet Coke and went into the conference room downstairs in her office where three sides of the room held large, nearly wall-sized, whiteboards. It was time to arrange her facts, put them in some kind of order. Maybe that way it would all come together.

Home intrusions in Wauwatosa

• nothing taken
  
• perps entered homes that were open, no break-ins until Gemma’s
  
• guest room beds used for sex
  
• DNA records?
  
• # of perps?
  
• # of incidents in the last year??
  
• Same perps at the Fink house? The Chapman house?
  

Norman Teschler’s house explodes

• no remaining evidence
  
• formal report - gas explosion, cause undetermined
  
• Norman anal about keeping his house safe
  
• smoked a cigar every night before bed
  
• had no sense of smell
  
• his book?
  
• last person to see him - Lucian Krause
  
• Gemma believes it was not an accident
  
• no motive for anyone to kill Teschler
  
• Teschler had affairs with neighborhood women in the past
  
• Brauns have alibis
  
• Rosemary Haynes, the horny neighbor, no alibi, no motive
  
• Ex-wife, Leong Tuan and Gemma’s ex-husband, Carter Roche, no motive, both in New York at the time of the explosion
  

Madison Chapman falls down the stairs and dies

• ruled accidental or undetermined?
  
• house sex intruders there that night?
  
• Chapmans, any ties to Teschler?
  

Sondra Jackson murdered

• intruders were in the house. Same ones as in the other homes?
  
• Jackson’s husband and the other couple not suspects
  
• The four were swingers
  
• Any connection to Teschler?
  

Intrusions? Escalating?

• any connection between the Jacksons, Teschler and the Chapmans?
  
• the Jacksons and the Finks were switching spouses the night of the murder
  
• Gemma’s house broken into
  
• first house actually broken into
  
• intruders did something to frighten the parrot
  
• were they the same people? Any evidence found?
  
• was Gemma a deliberate target?
  
• were any of them deliberate or just convenient?
  

The Krause family

• right across the street from Teschler
  
• Lucian, last person to talk to or see him
  
• entire family acts like they’re hiding something
  
• ties to the church, relevant?
  
• Martin Krause, wouldn’t have known Teschler
  

TJ studied the list, frustrated that it posed more questions than answers. Maybe Richard could help her fill in some of the blanks. If not, she would have to try to work Haymaker for information and, if that didn’t work, ambush his partner when she dropped off her kid at Janeen’s. She chastised herself for being dependent on others for information; it was time to get her butt in gear and work the case herself. She’d been out of the game too long.

Unlike the way TJ had pictured it, Irene Abendoth’s house had no lace doilies, antimacassars on overstuffed furniture, and no Precious Moments collection in a lighted display case. Sparse and neat as a brand-new hotel room, the house barely looked lived in. Irene showed her into a white kitchen unrelieved by any touches of color.

“You have to excuse how this place looks. Edmond died last year and I had to move to a smaller place. This is it. It came with all this furniture, and I haven’t had a chance to get mine out of storage. My son and his wife are going to help me when they come to visit next week.”

She poured TJ a glass of iced tea and sat across from her at a square table surrounded by fashionably tall chairs. “I hate these things, don’t you? I always feel like my feet are dangling. This is another thing I can’t wait to change.”

TJ said, “So about the Krauses. You said you could tell me more about them.”

The woman launched into the entire history of the church.

“Uh, the Krauses?” TJ asked when Abendoth paused for a breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how much background you wanted. Anna’s husband, Frank, was one of the original founders of the church. Anna herself didn’t become a real steadfast member until after he died. I was rather surprised about it since Lucian was born with that deformity.”

“What’s that got to do with the church?”

“We believe that God is the only one who can heal a person. Sometimes parents who have children with afflictions drop out of the church so they can have their child treated by modern methods.”

“Sounds like you approve of that.”

Irene took off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “I can’t say I approve one way or the other. But I’m a mother, too. By the time George and I joined the church, our children were grown and able to make their own healthcare decisions. The two of us were always healthy, so following that practice of the church wasn’t difficult for us. We prayed for good health for our family, and our prayers were answered. Not everyone is as fortunate, and I understand their weakness.”

TJ couldn’t imagine denying your child the best in modern medicine if it was needed and had to remind herself to look sympathetic. “Are you sayin’ Mrs. Krause never took Lucian to a doctor?”

“No. She kept insisting there was nothing wrong with his looks. The boy was born with cherubism—I looked it up one day on the church’s computer—there’s no cure for it. But sometimes surgery can make people like him look better.”

“You know them pretty well?”

“Not really, but we’re a small congregation. Lucian doesn’t come around any more than he has to. I’ve always felt sorry for him.”

“If you were his mother, you’d have left the church?”

“It’s easy to say the other person didn’t do the right thing, but I like to think I would have if it had been one of my kids.”

Crap. Abendoth wasn’t telling her anything she needed. “What about Drucilla?”

“She’s a lovely girl, plays her guitar for services. She comes every week for guidance with the young peoples’ group that Martin runs.”

Martin Krause. The stand-in minister and cousin of Lucian and Drucilla Krause.

Irene sniffed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, it was only gossip.” Her eyes turned up to the ceiling as if looking for divine guidance. “A lot of folks thought Frank might have had his accident on purpose. There were rumors about their marriage being shaky for a long time before it happened.”

Frank Krause’s death could be a suicide. Interesting, but what could something that happened sixteen years ago have to do with the events today?

Chapter 32

T
he support group had just gotten started when I arrived. Bernstein asked if I wanted to go first, but I declined in favor of listening to the others before I spoke.

Jorge, his eyes making contact with mine whenever he paused for a breath, began by holding the group spellbound with exaggerated accounts of his out-of-body experiences.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought his stories were over the top.

“You’re making that up!” Mia accused, her blue eyes hooded with distrust.

Bernstein intervened. “It might be helpful if we take a few moments to talk about out-of-body experiences and just what they are.”

“We all know what they are,” Jorge insisted.

“I understand. You all know
what
they are. But I’d like to explain how the rest of the world perceives them. Many psychologists believe they are a form of hallucination caused by things like stress, lack of sleep, dreams, or even some illnesses. The paranormals believe that a soul, or spirit, detaches itself from the physical body and is able to visit other, even distant, locations as Jorge described. Neither theory has ever been proven despite centuries of study. So however you view OBEs, there is no right or wrong attached to either theory.”

“What do you believe they are, Dr. Bernstein?” asked Mia.

Everyone leaned forward, waiting for his answer.

“My answer is going to disappointment you, I’m afraid. I’m really on the fence about it. There is more than one physiological explanation for the phenomenon and some make a lot of sense. But there are things that happen in our world for which science has no answer. I’ve never had an OBE myself, but I’ve discussed them with many people I respect who believe they have experienced them.”

I spoke up despite my reluctance to do so in front of Jorge. “But aren’t there ways to prove a person had a real OBE? Take Jorge, for example. What if someone put out a sign for him to identify during one of his night travels? If he were able to say what it was when he awakened, wouldn’t that prove his experience?”

“There have been studies,” Bernstein answered, “one in particular in which a German physician observed and recorded a woman’s sleep patterns while in a laboratory-controlled environment. Before she fell asleep, he placed a five-digit number on a high ledge in the room, a number no one else knew or had access to. On the third night, the woman identified the number. The odds against it being a good guess were astronomical. Unfortunately, the results were never verified and the patient left the area soon after the study ended.”

The room went quiet. Bernstein’s explanation apparently satisfied everyone. I felt Jorge’s gaze on me. He had surely figured out why I posed the question, and I wasn’t surprised when, once more, he followed me out of the meeting.

“I get it—you don’t want to talk with me about it,” he said. “So I brought you this.” He handed me a sheaf of papers. “I copied this from a book I have. The name of the book is there, too, if you want more information. This section tells you how to bring on an OBE.”

Why would I want to bring on an event so frightening? All I had tried to do with my signs was satisfy my curiosity by proving that my conscious mind had really left my body. I accepted the papers. “Thanks. I’ll take a look at them.”

Jorge didn’t seem as threatening today as when I first met him. Now he looked like what he was, an overdressed Hispanic man delighted to find someone he believed had shared his experiences with OBEs.

“Good. If you want to talk about it, my phone number is on the back page.” He moved toward his car, then stopped. “And just so you know, Jorge is my real name.”

I had already guessed that and left without telling him I would prefer to remain Dahlia, the name I used in the group.

When I was ready for bed that night, I lounged on the blue velveteen chaise in my bedroom with a glass of wine on the table beside me and read through the pages Jorge had given me after the meeting. Clyde rested beside me on one of his new perches; I hadn’t left him alone downstairs at night since the break-in. He seemed to like our new system, chattering as I carried him up the stairs on my shoulder. As we went upstairs tonight he entertained me with his newest words, “Go ta bed, go ta bed!” Since I had begun to talk to him and talk in front of him more often, his religious outcries had dwindled, although nothing changed his daily propensity to recite phrases from the Rosary.

My cell phone vibrated. It was TJ.

“Hey. Just got a call from Lisa. She thinks you shouldn’t be there alone, at least until your system’s installed. I told her I’d talk to you about it. She doesn’t know about your gun, right?”

“No. I wasn’t sure she would approve.”

TJ chuckled. “Nah, she’d approve. Get her on the subject sometime. Did you find a place to stay until your security is in?”

“The new locks are in, and I even put an extra lock on my bedroom door. That and the gun should be enough.”

“Don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to let them creepers put me outta my place either.”

“Creepers?”

“Yeah. Creeping is a new teenager thing. They get into peoples’ houses when they’re sleepin,’ then take a souvenir to prove to their friends they did it. They think it’s cool, I guess.”

“Oh, right. Haymaker told me about it. Do the police really think kids are responsible for what’s been happening?”

“Not sure. But I know that’s why the cops didn’t get too excited about it at first.”

The thought of people “creeping” in my house when I was asleep sent shivers through my body. Hopefully if my house had been “creeped” twice, I didn’t have to worry about a return visit.

“Is there anything new on the case?” I asked.

TJ hesitated. “Can you come over here tomorrow? I’ll show you what I have on the boards. It’s lookin’ like there might be a connection between your friend’s house explosion and the murder of the Jackson woman in Tosa this week.”

Finally.
“Sure, I’ll be there. Now do you believe Norman’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“Gettin’ there. Meantime, anything else you can tell me about your neighborhood, the Krauses in particular, could be helpful. Can you think of anything else that would help me find out about Norman’s last days?”

I had already racked my brain, but I had thought of something while I was at group earlier tonight. “I did have an idea. Norman had a young man who helped him out with any computer problems he had on his home computer. Maybe there’s a chance he knows if Norman kept his manuscript on a cloud or used some other kind of cyber storage.”

“Now you’re thinkin’ the book might have somethin’ to do with this?”

“Not really, but it’s all I can think of right now.” TJ had encouraged me to find out about Norman’s book. Now that there were more indications he might have been murdered, I wanted to be sure we didn’t miss anything. I gave her the number.

“The police took Norman’s work computer right after the explosion. Carter told me they returned it to Cityscapes today and asked me if I wanted it. The agency is going to be putting in new ones, anyway, and he thought I might want to keep it for sentimental reasons.”

“You want it,” TJ said and rang off.

After her call I began reading the pages Jorge had given me. They listed several ways to induce sleep paralysis, in particular if one wanted to force an out-of-body experience. The first few pages listed ways to bring on the sleep paralysis. The methods varied, one as extreme as taking some form of caffeine before bedtime. Caffeine kept me awake. That one would never work.

Once I decided to try inducing an OBE, I settled on a method called Middle-of-the-Night Reading. Using it, I would set my alarm to wake me up a few hours after falling asleep, and then when it wakened me, I would turn on the bedside light and read something I found interesting for about ten to fifteen minutes. After that, I would go back to sleep. To bring on the paralysis after reading, I would close my eyes and focus on a spot in the middle of my visual field. When the lights and colors began to flash on the interior of my eyelids, I had to listen for “rushing” sounds in my ears. Physical vibrations would accompany the rush from my head to groin. With practice, I could increase the vibrations by willing them to come back. Using this method, I could achieve paralysis and test it by trying to move.

Like achieving SP, the methods for bringing on an OBE were varied, many of them complicated. Simplicity seemed the best route. Using the Sit Up Trick after I achieved SP, I would focus my concentration on a spot between my eyes and then try to sit up. I wouldn’t actually be able to sit up since I would be in paralysis, but if my intention was strong enough, rather than waking, I could “pop” out of my physical body and be able to float around.

It all sounded rather absurd. But then, so was everything else that had been happening. I hoped that if I could learn to control my episodes it would help keep them from being as terrifying. And maybe, if I could learn to bring the episodes on, I would be able to turn them off. It was worth trying. I took a sheet of paper and outlined how I would proceed.

About three hours after I fell asleep, my alarm buzzed. I turned it off, switched on the reading light, and picked up the novel I had been reading. Clyde made a few throaty noises without opening his eyes. I finished two chapters, then turned off the light and closed my eyes. The first step from the instructions went easily. It didn’t take long to see the lights behind my eyelids and experience the rushing sound. The vibrations, though subtle, were there.

Minutes passed. I couldn’t bring on the SP. I decided to read some more and then try a second time. When I went to turn on the light, it became apparent I
was
in SP.

I couldn’t move. I put all my energies into focusing on a spot between my eyes. Soon the kaleidoscope lights flashed around that point. As instructed, I tried to sit up. Nothing happened. I felt no fear. It was a new, light feeling. Slowly, still in paralysis, I became aware of my surroundings, and after several seconds I was aware that I was no longer in my bedroom. My body may have been, but my mind was not. The room seemed familiar. It looked dark and somewhat surreal, typical for a paralysis episode. The deep and foreboding shadows in the room were highlighted by a red votive candle.

A large crucifix decorated the wall, and a scene of the Last Supper was embroidered on a throw spread across the back of a sofa. Where had I been when I had seen this room before? In seconds, it came to me. I was in the Krauses’ living room. With no idea why I ended up here, I did recall TJ and I had been talking about the Krauses. She had zeroed in on them in her investigation to find Norman’s killer, even though I reassured her they were weird but harmless.

For the first time while in this state, I didn’t feel the panicked terror or struggle to return to consciousness. I tried to observe as much as possible, but the darkened room had little to offer. A doorway off the room led to a bedroom, a quilted bedspread barely visible just inside the room.

At just that moment I woke up back in my own bed. I felt wonderful. I had intentionally brought on a sleep paralysis episode and accomplished an out-of-body experience. Now maybe I could learn to stop the episodes when they became frightening. My elation waned, however, since the feeling of being in the Krauses’ house may easily have been brought on by my earlier discussion with TJ. Being able to identify the actual objects in the room could have been influenced by memories of times I had been in their house and the whole experience built on memories rather than out-of-body travel.

Aside from my remaining hope that I would learn to make my SP manageable, this experiment suddenly felt silly. With my life in turmoil, I should be doing things to help me relax. Tomorrow, I would make an effort to do something fun. After I called Jorge.