Trespass (18 page)

Chapter 41

A
fter we left the police station with Jorge, Jon drove us to my house where we dropped Jorge off at his car that was parked two doors down. I was confident that Jorge had nothing to do with the attack on Carter or any of the other incidents. His alibi for the night of Sondra Jackson’s murder is what had cleared him, but it was evident that Haymaker still suspected him of stabbing Carter. It didn’t matter to me what the police thought; this thing went deeper than Jorge Paredes.

Something about the OBE that had taken me into the house next door kept eating at me because that was where Lucian lived. Lucian, the boy TJ suspected had something to do with Norman’s death. She believed he was hiding something, and he
was
the last person to see Norman alive.

Lisa had hinted my “dream visit” could have been precipitated not by the paranormal, but by something I already knew, something hidden in the deepest levels of my subconscious. If she was right, it was possible another OBE could be the key to jogging my memory and reveal what Lucian was hiding.

Seeing the crime scene tape over both doors and the policeman in uniform at the curb of my house sent a chill through my veins. I had a moment of gratitude toward Jon, who insisted on helping me pack my car. A vision of Carter, bloodied and helpless on the couch, flashed through my mind as I drove away. It occurred to me I hadn’t even looked to see what it was the intruders had written on the walls.

I settled into a hotel near Mayfair shopping center, about a mile west of my house. Jon dropped off a depressed-looking Clyde later that afternoon. I took him out of his cage and put him on a perch near the bed where he looked around and quietly chirped, “Glory be, glory be.” Sometimes it seemed like he knew more than I realized. Jon offered to take me down to the coffee shop for something to eat.

Such a good man and so generous with his time, I would have liked to get to know him better. But now my number one priority had to be finding Norman’s killer. “Thank you, but I really need to get some rest. Let’s have dinner soon, my treat.”

Before he left I thanked him for all his help and impulsively reached out and hugged him. He held me close for a minute then broke away and left my suite. As the door closed behind him, I felt more alone than ever. I wanted to call him back, but I didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity or send the wrong signals.

According to TJ, Taylor had been at the hospital all night, but had vanished by the time I left. He had broken his promise to stay out of my life. I had no idea how he had known so quickly about the attack on Carter.

I knew TJ was curious about him. What did his presence mean? I measured the warmth I felt remembering his vigil outside my room and the lovely bouquet he sent against the security I felt with Jon Engel. I shook my head. This was not the time for dwelling on relationships, especially nonexistent ones.

My hotel suite on the tenth floor faced east and gave me a splendid view of the city even without the aid of the sun. I couldn’t see my house, but I thought I could see the black hole that had been Norman’s. I missed my best friend.

The rain was unaccompanied by thunder and lightning today but still trickled down, increasing the city’s problems. Streets were blocked off in low-lying areas and many basements had flooded. At least I didn’t have
that
problem—a small compensation.

I met Jorge at ten that night in a village deli where we had a light supper and talked about his suggestion of a shared OBE. He wasn’t pushing it any longer; in fact he tried to warn me off. But I had become desperate for answers and decided I wanted to try it. Despite my initial distrust of Jorge, I was convinced of his sincerity in wanting to help.

“You know,” he said softly, “some say this could be dangerous.”

“How?” The plan was that I would sleep in my bed and have Jorge sleep next to me on a blow-up bed. The house would not only be locked, but the crime scene warning was still on the door even though technically it had been released as a crime scene. And the police hadn’t confiscated my gun.

“OBEs are risky no matter what,” Jorge answered. “A person could end up in a fugue state and not come out of it. Trying to do one together could increase the risk.”

I was pretty sure the faction that believed in that possibility also believed sleep paralysis was accompanied by demons. I never had bought into that, and Lisa supported the fact that nothing about SP or OBEs was dangerous unless the person experiencing them already suffered from some kind of mental insecurity.

“We’ll be careful,” I assured him, although I wasn’t all that sure it would be a harmless endeavor.

When we arrived at my house later that night, the windows were dark, the bright yellow tape still in place, and the police presence gone. Haymaker said they had released it as a crime scene, but I wasn’t sure why the tape was still up. It didn’t matter, though. It was my house and we were going to replicate my previous “trespass” into the Krauses’ home, and I was pretty sure we could only do that here.

It was nearly midnight. A cold, steady rain continued its relentless journey to earth, and an occasional rumble of thunder trembled in the distance. With the addition of the blood on the walls and the crime scene tape, my home looked like the setting for a scary movie.

The electricity had gone on sometime in the afternoon. I turned up the heat as soon as we entered the house and made us some tea in an effort to bring a semblance of normalcy to the eerie night. While it brewed, Jorge followed me into the living room. We faced the bloody message smeared in Carter’s blood across the entire north wall.

“RESTITUTION.” The last letters were smeared, but the word remained clear despite the downward path of the blood.

“What does it mean?” Jorge asked.

“I have no idea.” The word only had meaning to the person who tried to kill Carter and me. It must be the same person who killed Norman, Sondra Jackson, and maybe the teenager too. Lucian? It could be him, but why? I couldn’t fathom a reason. Norman had been good to him. But if Lucian were one of the intruders, that would explain how they had gotten away so easily last night; the house next door would have been a fast exit for them.

As much as I wanted this shared OBE experience to work, I had my doubts that I could sleep in such bizarre circumstances: Carter fighting for life, my house a crime scene, and Jorge, a man I barely knew, trying to fall asleep in a bed next to mine. Talk about strange bedfellows.

I left a small nightlight on and tucked the gun under my pillow. I couldn’t help but think that maybe we should have waited longer to try this. Something about engaging in this experiment while Carter’s blood still stained my living room didn’t feel right to me.

When I closed my eyes I heard the rain. Always the rain. It seemed like it had been raining for weeks instead of two days. Jorge and I agreed to use the same method to induce the paralysis and then the out-of-body trip. Instead, I found myself using the sound of the rain as my line of focus. I don’t remember falling asleep. My body, badly in need of rest, sucked me right into sleep paralysis.

I hear thunder sneaking closer to the house every minute. I’m in my bedroom, aware of my surroundings. Jorge is next to me, his breathing steady; he must have fallen asleep. Fear overwhelms me before I have time to calm myself when I feel a hand gripping my hip, its weight threatening. I try to focus on how to get my mind out of this room by forcing an OBE. I narrow my vision and concentrate on a point between my eyes. The weight of the hand on my hip slowly dissipates and I feel myself rising. I try to contain my fear. It doesn’t work—I’m terrified.

Soon I’m no longer in my bedroom and I see the same throw and the same crucifix I saw the last time I was here. I’m in the Krause’s living room. The bedroom door is open; this time the bed is unmade. A woman wearing only a pair of black lace panties is standing next to the bed, her face turned to the door as if expecting someone. It’s Drucilla, with her dark hair trailing down her back and her heavy breasts exposed. With her right hand, she reaches into her panties and begins to caress herself. I feel like an unwelcome observer of an act that should be personal.

I can’t wake up. I’ve come here with a purpose and have to stay in the moment. Drucilla leaves my line of vision as she climbs into her bed. Moments pass or possibly, hours. I have no concept of time; I remain here, watching.

Then I see Lucian nearing Drucilla’s room. He’s naked and carrying something in his hand. It’s a mask, some kind of tribal thing. He covers his face with it. As he enters the bedroom, Drucilla’s smooth white arm reaches out to him, pulling him nearer the bed. Lucian turns to her, a huge erection jutting from his groin. She grasps it in her hand while Lucian climbs into her bed.

Horrified by the sight, I realize I’ve begun moaning and fighting to waken. For once, someone was here to help me come back to consciousness. I felt a hand on my wrist.

“Gemma. Gemma, it’s me. Jorge. I’m here, you’re safe.”

My consciousness returned to the room and I saw the panic in Jorge’s eyes. He had been terrified for me. I took a deep breath before answering. “I’m all right.”

“Did you see them?” I asked.

He sat back on the portable bed. “Who?” He rubbed his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I didn’t see anything. But I got to the paralysis. I think I was with you, but I’m not sure. We were in a dark room. That’s all I was aware of. What did you see?”

How could I tell him? What I had seen was so depraved; Drucilla and her brother Lucian were sex partners? My mind must have made it up. But if it
were
true, they would want to keep it hidden. What if Norman had found out?

Chapter 42

T
J headed north. The rain had finally let up, and a ray of sun peeked out from between large gray clouds. Soft rumbles of thunder sounded from the southwest. The appearance of the sun would be fleeting.

Irene Abendoth didn’t appear pleased at TJ’s return visit. Determined to find out more about the swingers’ suicides, TJ pushed past her into the living room. She could have predicted the transition in the old woman’s house. The stark, minimalist look the rooms had the last time TJ visited had been replaced by Abendoth’s lifetime accumulation of pictures and collections that belied the taste and the age of its owner.

While TJ took a seat on an aging mauve sofa, Irene remained standing, frowning at the marks TJ’s wet feet had left on the pale gray carpeting. A decaying brown leaf clung to one of the footprints.

“What can I do for you today, Ms. Peacock? I told you everything about the church last time you were here.”

Not everything.
“You said you’ve been a member from the start, right?”

“Yes, I said that.” Lips pursed, she took a seat across from TJ.

“Then tell me what happened sixteen years ago when two of your members who were swingers committed suicide. I heard it was quite the scandal.” TJ had gone for the shock value and put it right out there. She had no way of being certain if more than one of the swinger couples were church members. If she was lucky, Abendoth would clear that up for her.

Irene’s lips formed a tight line.

“You may as well tell me about it, Irene. There are other ways I can find out. Might be ways that would bring it all out into the open again.”

The old woman’s posture melted in defeat. “I suppose you’re right about that. At least I can tell you what really happened, not some sensational lie about it.”

TJ doubted that. Abendoth was sure to downplay wherever she could. She left the room and came back with two small glasses and a bottle of sherry. The old gal needed a drink to loosen up. TJ hated sherry but accepted the offering.

“Just so you know, our church does not condone adultery. But back then some of our members, really only two couples, got involved with some indecent people and fell victim to temptation.”

“They were swingers,” TJ said.

Abendoth cringed and took another sip of her sherry.

“One of the ladies who… partook of… another woman’s husband fell in love with the man, and her feelings were returned. So every time they could manage to be together, right under the noses of their spouses, they did. As time wore on they couldn’t live with their sin any longer. They committed suicide. Together.”

TJ nearly laughed out loud at the “partook of” comment. And it was hard for her to imagine two adults offing each other rather than running off together. “How’d they do it?”

Abendoth downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. “What do you mean, how?”

“Did they both have guns? Walk ten paces and shoot on the count of ten?”

“You don’t have to be so crass.”

Crass? The old bat didn’t know the meaning of the word. “So how’d they do it?” TJ repeated. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. As a cop, TJ had seen many of these mutual suicides fall short of what the participants had planned. One usually bought it, and then the other became too freaked out to go through with it and ended up seriously hurt rather than dead.

Abendoth finally answered. “Arthur put a knife into Lilly’s heart, then shot himself in the head. I heard it wasn’t a very pretty sight. Is that frank enough for you?”

“Who were they?”

Abendoth poured herself another glass of the sherry before answering. “It was Lilly Diermeyer and Arthur Krause. They were part of the two couples from the church that were exchanging partners.”

Krause. That name again. “Any relation to Anna Krause and her kids?”

“Anna’s husband, Frank, and Arthur were brothers. Frank and Anna weren’t involved in the swapping thing, but Lilly Diermeyer was Anna’s sister. She was married to Sam Diermeyer. She and Arthur Krause, Frank’s brother, fell in love when they started the swinging. I told you already. That’s why they committed suicide; they couldn’t live with their sins.”

TJ had a hard time assimilating it all. Pretty juicy stuff for a small church. “Did you happen to have heard who else belonged to their group?”

“I heard there was a couple who lived over by Anna and Frank Krause. Their name was Brown, something like that. And there was another couple that wasn’t from around here. Their name was Jackson, I believe.” She sniffed. “That’s it. I’ve told you what I know.”

Abendoth was hiding something.

After leaving Abendoth, TJ went back to her unheated house and sat in the conference room of her office trying to make sense of everything she had heard.

In an effort to keep the swingers’ names and relationships straight, she stood in front of the last empty whiteboard and devised a list where she would put the information about the swingers and the murder-suicide in ordered form.

She left off the couples not involved in the suicides, the Brauns and the Jacksons. In an attempt to tie it all together, she added the other Krauses, Anna and Frank, because of their close ties to the victims. When she finished, the information was organized but provided no answers.

She had to go back out. Not now, though. Now she had to get their things together so she and JR could spend a few days with Richard while the furnace got repaired.

Anna and Frank Krause

• Weren’t swingers
  
• Parents of Lucian and Drucilla
  
• Frank died in a single car accident after the suicides
  
• Frank was secretly in love with Lilly who was his wife’s sister
  
• Anna works nights as a mental health nurse
  
• Daughter, Drucilla, is a student nurse
  
• Son, Lucian, did odd jobs in the neighborhood, has cherubism
  

Lilly and Sam Diermeyer

• Were swingers
  
• Parents of Kane
  
• Lilly killed herself with Arthur Krause
  
• Fell in love with Arthur when they joined the swingers
  
• Kane owns a music store and gives lessons
  

Barbara and Arthur Krause

• Were swingers
  
• Parents of Martin
  
• Arthur killed himself with Lilly Diermeyer
  
• He fell in love with Lilly when they joined the swingers
  
• Son, Martin, is assistant pastor at the church
  
• Martin runs a group for young adults at the church
  

TJ saw Detective Tasha Wade pull up in front of her house just as she and Richard added the last load of JR’s things into his Blazer and her Mini. It was nuts how much you had to haul for one small child. She walked over to greet Wade.

“Are you moving out?” she asked TJ.

“Nah. We got a basement full o’ water, so we’re staying somewhere else for a while.”

“Well, I can see you’re busy… “

TJ looked over at Richard.

“I’ll go ahead over to the apartment. See you there.” Richard always knew what to do.

TJ nodded at the house. “First floor’s not wet, just cold. Come on in, but keep your coat on.”

When she and Tasha were seated in her office, TJ asked, “So what can I help you with, Detective?”

“I thought it might be beneficial to both of us if we talked now that I know you’re a PI and working our case.”

“Tried talking to your partner the other day. Don’t think he found it too beneficial.”

“I thought maybe you and I could make more headway. You know, both of us being mothers and all.”

Like it was motherhood Haymaker lacked, not people skills. She had been meaning to talk to Tasha anyway, and now would be a good time, here on her own turf and without Haymaker. “So where’s your partner?”

“He’s out trying to catch up with a kid we heard was shadowing the Chapman girl, the one who fell down the stairs. He wants to be the first to interview the kid.” She chuckled. “Everything’s a competition with guys, isn’t it? Must have something to do with having external genitalia. Me? I like to cut to the chase. I figured it might save us both some time if we compared notes.”

TJ considered the offer. She stood up. “Follow me,” she said and led Tasha into the conference room.

Tasha gaped at TJ’s list. “Pretty impressive.”

They discussed the information and the possibility that everything could be related. Tasha seemed to appreciate the connection between Norman’s house explosion and the other incidents. While Tasha digested it, TJ added details to her information about the double suicide that happened sixteen years ago. When she finished, she explained how she found out about the suicides and why she thought they tied in with what was happening now.

“You really think that has something to do with what’s happening today?” Tasha asked.

“It came up when I was talkin’ to the swingers. My guess? Sondra Jackson and her husband were part of the original group. Don’t have names of all the swingers yet, but if it’s connected, there’s gonna be more people killed. That word they wrote on Rosenthal’s wall in blood? Restitution. It had to mean something, an’ if it’s related to the suicides, someone’s blaming the swingers’ group.”

Tasha reviewed the information on the whiteboards. She studied the list TJ made of the people involved in the suicides.

“It could give us a motive,” Tasha said. “I’ll see what I can get on the suicides. The big question is why now after all this time has passed? I’ll look into Frank Krause’s car crash, too, and see if it was at all questionable. The timing could connect it with the rest.” She studied the whiteboards, her forehead wrinkled. “Do you know anything about this Lilly Diermeyer? Both brothers in love with her. Did they know about each other? Did her husband know?”

“What you see there is what I know. Haven’t had a chance to talk to anybody about it since I found out. I gotta remind you, my purpose here is Norman Teschler’s explosion. Only reason I’m lookin’ at the rest of it is because I think it all has to be tied together somehow.”

“Now that I see all this, I think I have to agree with you.”

“No DNA from those first break-ins?” TJ asked. “The ones you called the cum cases?” A DNA connection would at least tie the early cases to the murders and possibly to the attack on Carter Roche.

“They were low priority at the time because they weren’t even break-ins. The perps just went into unlocked houses and had sex in the beds. The house was open in the Chapman case too. Technically they were only trespass or illegal entry incidents, so no DNA was collected. Rosenthal’s break-in was the first one that was forced.”

“Did you at least save the sheets?”

Tasha snorted. “There wasn’t any reason to do that either. And it’s too early for results from the Chapman and Jackson murders or Roche’s attack.”

“Lookin’ at Chapman as a murder now?’ TJ asked.

“We’re considering it. My partner had the DNA from Chapman upgraded to priority, right up there with the samples from Sondra Jackson’s murder.”

“So,” TJ said, “how do we help each other?”

“Like I said, I’ll get what I can on the old double suicide and Frank Krause’s accident. I’ll get back to you later today or tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna do a stakeout tonight. Not sure on which of them yet, probably Martin Krause. He runs that young adult group—could be the ringleader if there is one.”

Tasha’s eyes gleamed. “You thought of that too? I had a feeling all along it was like the Manson thing. You know,
Helter Skelter
?”

“Charlie Manson? How do you figure?”

“Think about it. Those crappy cum cases, the first ones where we thought it was just kids going into unlocked houses to have sex? Those cases were just like what Manson’s followers did in the beginning. Manson sent them into peoples’ houses when they were sleeping, and they would creep around just for the thrill of it. Only whoever did it here added a step—they had sex in the peoples’ guest rooms.”

TJ hadn’t read
Helter Skelter
, but she knew about Manson and his followers.

In the late 1960s, Manson led a commune known as the Manson Family. He was later found guilty of murders performed by members of his group at his instruction, murders he believed would precipitate an apocalyptic race war. At the time Manson was an unemployed ex-convict who fancied himself a singer-songwriter on the fringe of the Los Angeles music society.

It was damn creepy, all right. “Dunno. I was thinkin’ about Lucian Krause as one of the doers, but the kid doesn’t seem to have a social life or hang with anyone. And who’d even want to have sex with him?”

“If one person influenced the others to do the murders, and Lucian’s one of them, then how about Anna Krause, Lucian’s mother? She’d have a motive, too, because of her sister,” Tasha said.

TJ pointed to her other information on Anna Krause. “I don’t think so. She works nights at the hospital. Seems like if she were the one pullin’ the strings, she’d have to be accessible.”

“What if Anna’s husband’s car accident wasn’t an accident? Frank Krause died not long after the suicides. Maybe he had something to do with the deaths, so he drove into the concrete bridge on purpose. That would give her a double motive.”

“Possible, I guess. But Anna Krause as the instigator? Hard to picture a mother condoning that for her kids.”

Tasha sighed. “Been done before, been done before.”