Trespass (3 page)

Chapter 4

I
t was after three when I got home from my visit with Lisa Rayburn. I felt better after talking to her but somewhat guilty that I’d held back and not revealed my past as an escort. It would come out eventually; there seemed no need to dive into it yet. It took place a long time ago, and I’d only done it for a year in order to pay for my college tuition. Admittedly, I had a habit of tucking my escort days away in my brain’s book of faded memories.

I didn’t think I could face going to the Cityscapes office; I would see Norman everywhere. There were some designs awaiting completion that I could finish at home. I hadn’t decided about seeing Rayburn again, but I remembered to call my doctor before I started working.

I had changed a small third bedroom into a workroom when I bought the house. Conveniently, it opened to the kitchen and had windows overlooking the wooded backyard. I loved the openness of the rooms, and except for the bulky gold birdcage I hadn’t planned on, I decorated it a bright Kelly green and white with touches of turquoise for added color.

I adopted a parrot who had been owned by the people who lived in the house before I bought it when I found out that my neighbors, who had been taking care of the bird, were going to get rid of him. I’ve never been a pet person, but Clyde and I managed to coexist peacefully. He seemed happy to be back in his own home, even if he had to share it with an interloper.

My dream of becoming an advertising executive had come true when Norman hired me for my first real job in advertising. The position at Cityscapes Inc., while low in the relative order of things, was a bonanza for someone with no experience working in a large agency. Cityscapes had another office in Minneapolis and after landing an account with a mammoth cosmetics firm out of Singapore had established an office there as well. My ex-husband, Carter Roche, had been Norman’s executive director when I was hired, and two years ago he also became the head of the Singapore office. Although semiretired, Norman remained the head of the agency and kept abreast of all its activities.

When Carter and I divorced, I gave Norman my notice. Even though Carter spent the majority of his time in Singapore, I didn’t want to face the awkwardness of seeing him on the frequent occasions he returned to Milwaukee. Norman tried to talk me out of leaving. When he realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, he offered me the use of an office in Cityscapes, where I could take occasional clients for them and still remain a freelance agent. I had reservations when I accepted, but for the last two years it had worked out perfectly. My intention for the future was to do some freelance work at home and also start my own business designing book covers for independent authors.

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts. When I looked out the peephole, I saw a tall man in his late twenties standing on the stoop, a dark four-door sedan in the driveway behind him. He held up a police badge when I cracked open the door as far as the safety chain allowed. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows and a tie loosened in response to the heat. Although overcast, today was another ninety-plus scorcher. He held up a Wauwatosa Police Department detective’s badge and credentials.

He strode into the house when I opened the door. He introduced himself as Detective Brian Haymaker, took a seat on the floral couch in the living room, and took me up on my offer of a diet soda. When I returned with the drink, he quickly drained half of it.

There had been a lot of activity across the street today. The area was roped off, and the hole where the house had stood still smoldered, reminding me of the horror of 9/11. The air reeked of smoke and I kept the windows tightly closed with the AC running nonstop. I expected an arson investigator to show up this morning but gave up on waiting for him when I left for Pewaukee to talk to Lisa Rayburn.

I said, “You must be here about Norman.”

Apparently not a man of many words, he said, “Yes.”

“Did they find his body?”

“Remains of a body were found, but they haven’t been identified yet.”

Fighting tears, I attempted to keep my emotions from him and managed to squeak out, “It couldn’t have been an accident.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because Norman was a fanatic about his house. He did all the maintenance himself because he didn’t trust anyone else to do it properly. He had his heating system and air-conditioning checked every year in May. I know because he was always preaching to everyone else to do the same.”

Detective Haymaker fished in his pocket, surprising me when he handed me a perfectly ironed white handkerchief. I mopped up a tear that had traveled down my face.

“Ms. Rosenthal, when was the last time you saw Mr. Teschler?”

“I saw him out in his yard yesterday, raking the lawn.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No. I hadn’t talked to him for a few days. I think Tuesday was the last time. He had me over for dinner.”

He looked up from his iPad. “Is that something you did frequently?”

“Now and then.” Did he think we were lovers? I felt no obligation to explain our friendship to this detective.

“When you talked to him on Tuesday, what was his demeanor?”

“He was himself. I didn’t notice anything different or anything bothering him, if that’s what you’re asking.” I asked, “Do you agree the explosion wasn’t an accident?”

“We’re just starting to investigate, Ms. Rosenthal. You’ll also be hearing from an arson investigator and a representative from the ATF.”

“ATF?” Although I believed Norman’s house did not explode by accident, I couldn’t imagine a need for the ATF. As far as I knew, Norman didn’t even own a gun.

“It’s just procedure in a case like this. Anytime there’s an explosion, they investigate alongside us to rule out anything like drug activities, gun dealing, or terrorism. Those kinds of things.”

“When will you know if the fire was caused by an arsonist?”

“It’s hard to say. If it does turn out to be arson, then we’ll have to investigate whether someone did it for a thrill, or had a motive to kill your friend.”

I started to protest once more that the explosion had to be intentional, when we were interrupted by voices from outside, voices loud enough to be heard over the hum of the air conditioning. Detective Haymaker stood to look out the window. I moved to the door and opened it. A silver-haired man in an expensive suit was arguing with a policeman manning the ropes. Carter. How the hell had he gotten here so fast?

The detective joined me in the foyer. “I take it you know who that is?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “Carter Roche. My ex-husband. He’s the director of Norman’s ad agency, Cityscapes. He lives in Singapore. I have no idea how he got here so quickly.”

I watched as Carter opened the car door for Leong Tuan, Norman’s ex-wife. She had dressed the part of a grieving widow, petite and elegant in a black designer suit, and stepped out of the car to stand beside Carter. I couldn’t believe it; the vultures were circling before poor Norman’s remains could even be identified.

Chapter 5

B
ack at the station after talking to Gemma, Detective Brian Haymaker typed the rest of his thoughts into his iPad, his constant companion. His only companion. It had taken him years to get into a PD larger than the one in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin, but since landing the detective spot in Wauwatosa, his career had stagnated and his social life had become nonexistent. His girlfriend had refused to leave Beaver Dam and their attempts at a long distance relationship had fizzled out long ago. The other detectives called him “hayseed” when they thought he couldn’t hear them and sometimes “beav” when he could; he knew they didn’t give a damn.

They partnered him with the only person in the squad lower in the pecking order—an African American, newbie detective with two kids and one on the way. Tasha Wade was on maternity leave, and when she left, Brian couldn’t help but feel relieved for a break from her ongoing commentary on kids, the cost of groceries, and her husband’s shortcomings. He had assumed the feeling was mutual but had heard from her nearly every day since she left. Whether she called him out of boredom, or the fear of being out of the loop, he wasn’t sure.

Only minutes later, she waddled into the room, her hair in skinny, beaded braids and wearing a bright orange sundress whose hem hiked up eight inches higher in the front under her huge baby bump. Luckily, she had good legs.

He said, “I don’t think you can get more pregnant. What’s the matter, the baby afraid to come out?”

“I’m sick of feeling like I’m ready to pop. James won’t get a vasectomy, so I’m getting my tubes tied before I’m off the delivery table.” She plunked down in the chair next to his desk.

Definitely more detail than he wanted to hear. “How come you’re out and about?”

“I just came from a doctor appointment. He said any day now, but he’s been telling me that since I went on leave. What’s new here?”

“I actually got a new assignment. You must have heard about the house that exploded.”

“Really? We got that one?”

He noticed her use of “we.” The rest of the detectives had a pool going on how many days after her delivery it would be before she called to give notice she wasn’t coming back; he’d been the only one taking odds on her return. “I’m not sure it’s anything to get excited about. The remains of a body haven’t been officially identified, but it’s probably the owner of the house, Norman Teschler. The fire investigators haven’t said whether it was suspicious yet, so we have to cover all bases.”

“Huh. Could be something there. Did you talk to the relatives?”

“No relatives, but Teschler has an ex-wife. She came in from New York with the head of his advertising agency, a Carter Roche. Teschler was seventy and owns a large advertising company in downtown Milwaukee, Cityscapes. They have sister offices in Minneapolis and Singapore. Roche lives in Singapore and happened to be in New York for a meeting. The ex has an apartment in New York and was in town when she heard what happened. Apparently they got in touch after hearing the news and flew in on her company’s jet this morning.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. Roche’s ex-wife still works as an ad hoc for the agency, and she lives across the street from the vic.”

“You talk to her yet?”

“I just got back from interviewing her. We reached a standstill when Roche and Teschler’s ex-wife showed up. The ex is Asian, Leong Tuan, and she and Roche both own a substantial interest in the company.”

“Wow. You think one of them did him in so they could take over?” she asked.

“They were both in New York when it happened, so unless they hired out the job, no, I don’t think so. I’m still checking their financials, but it looks like neither of them needed money. Roche’s ex-wife, Gemma Rosenthal, and Teschler were close; she’s insisting it couldn’t have been an accident.”

“Maybe someone got greedy.” Tasha picked up a file from his desk and began fanning herself with it.

“Possible. But it was probably an accident.”

“What’s the latest on the cum case?” Tasha asked.

Haymaker cringed. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that. Bad enough everyone else does. There’s nothing new on it since you left. Maybe if I can get a thread going on the explosion, find a reason someone wanted to get rid of Teschler, then that one will fall by the wayside. It’s not like anything was taken from the houses. Someone just screwed in their beds.”

“It’s still trespassing, illegal entry. And creepy. I wouldn’t want someone having sex in my bed while I was gone.” Tasha rubbed her sizable belly. “It reminds me of those Manson followers, crawling through people’s houses when they were sleeping.” She shivered in disgust.

“Well, no one was home in any of those houses. I still don’t think there’s anything to it but teenagers getting their kicks.”

“It seemed like we talked to every teenager in town. No one knew anything about it,” she argued. “Or it was some of those creepers, and none of the other kids want to rat them out.”

“Could be, but nothing was taken. The creeping thing requires the kids to take something with them as proof they got in.” He sighed. “There’s not much more we can do unless someone comes forward with information we can use. The case is too minor to submit DNA and there’s no urgency to solve a break-in without a robbery or bodily injury.”

“I guess you could call it vandalism. They did dirty the sheets.” She strained, lifting her bulky shape out of the chair. “I’m out of here.”

Brian woke up his iPad, intending to finish his report, then heard a splash behind him.

“Oh, crap! Not here.”

Tasha’s voice.

Brian turned to see Tasha standing twelve feet from his desk in a puddle of water. He was the oldest of five kids. He knew what it meant; her labor had started, and she might not make it to the hospital.

When Jon returned with JR, the boy couldn’t keep his eyes open. TJ lifted him out of the baby carrier Jon wore and carried him to his crib.

“How’d your day go?” she asked when she returned.

“Nice. We went to the park, popped in to see my folks, and on our way here we stopped by the site of the explosion.”

“You took him out in that shitty air?”

Jon pointed meaningfully to the cuss-words piggy bank that sat on a shelf over the sink. Richard had bought the pig for TJ in an effort to encourage her to clean up her language now that she had an impressionable child in the house. Jon said, “The air wasn’t too bad. We were only there for about ten minutes while I took photos of your friend’s yard and house to get her claim started. I made a few calls this morning and got her case switched to my office.” He offered TJ the piggy bank.

“Shit ain’t a swear word.”

“Maybe not, but would you want that to be your son’s first word?”

“He’s sleepin’.” She opened her purse and inserted a quarter into the pig’s round back. “Ms. Rosenthal’s not my friend; I hardly know the woman. Did you talk to her?”

“She came out when she saw me taking pictures. She really liked JR.”

“What’d you think of her?” TJ asked.

“There wasn’t much time to make a judgment of the woman. Her house is going to need a lot of work, but it’s stone, so it won’t need to be resided. She’ll need a new roof, though.”

“She’s pretty good lookin’, no?”

“I didn’t notice.” When TJ laughed, he added, “I hope you’re not matchmaking. Why is everyone so concerned about my love life, or lack of?” Jon’s long-term girlfriend had broken up with him six months ago.

“Just sayin’ she looked pretty freaked out night of the explosion; that’s why I helped her out.”

“She looked okay today,” he said.

TJ berated herself for referring him to her. Gemma was the kind of woman men flocked to. She probably didn’t have to worry about Rosenthal, though. Jon wouldn’t be her type.