Lisa fed the dog and fixed herself a grilled cheese sandwich on some wonderful bread she’d found at a bakery on North Avenue. The sandwich, made with the nutty, grain-filled bread and her favorite cheddar cheese, went perfectly with the bowl of tomato soup she’d heated up.
When she finished eating, she went into the garage, pulled out a ladder, and used it to climb into the storage rafters. Moving aside some Christmas decorations, she found what she sought—a small, metal security box. She carried it back down with her and took it into the house. She opened the box and dug under a stack of papers until her fingers brushed against the .22 caliber pistol still in its place next to a box of bullets.
9
Eric Schindler, the former Dr. Schindler, obstetric surgeon, sat in his office, one of the few places he indulged in his favorite cigars. Owner of Kristy’s Classics now, Eric enjoyed working with the old cars, but today thoughts of his former career plagued him. Maybe it was time—time to explore a re-emergence. He could make a few calls and see if anything had changed. Or call TJ, ask her if she’d heard anything new on his case.
His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his reverie. He opened the phone.
“Hey you, what’s happenin’?”
“Not much. To what do I owe the honor?”
TJ said, “Well, you haven’t bugged me in a while, so I thought I’d call and catch up.”
“You’re right, I haven’t. But you never call to ‘catch up.’ What’s on your mind?”
“Need to talk to you about somethin’. You gonna be around tomorrow?”
“You can’t tell me what this is about?”
“Long story. Can’t be told as well on the phone.”
“If you have time tomorrow I’ll pick you up and we’ll go somewhere for lunch. A great ‘53 Corvette just came in today, and I need to take it for a drive. I know you love Vettes. We could take it out to Port Washington.”
“Sounds good, Doc. How is the old car business going?”
Kristy’s Classics, a Milwaukee area classic car dealer and showroom, had been a favorite hangout for him since his father had brought him there as a young boy. He heard the business had been struggling to survive, and when the dealership came up for sale, he’d jumped at the opportunity. He’d been at loose ends with his medical career on hold.
“The old car business is doing fine. Sure you won’t give me a hint of what’s on your mind?”
“Sorry, Doc. Have to run now, so it’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
Eric suspected TJ’s need to talk to him could only have something to do with his wife’s disappearance. Kayla. Obsession was the only word to describe what he’d felt for his wife. A model when they met, she’d never accepted that her career didn’t hit the big-time. Brandy stingers, discovered on a skiing trip in Vail, became her method of coping with her disappointment.
After nearly two years in prison, where dwelling on it was all he had to do with his time, Eric finally understood their relationship hadn’t been healthy for either of them. When TJ accused him of not being able to let go of Kayla’s memory, she’d told him he would always compare other women to Kayla. He’d let her think what she wanted, although Eric believed his inability to stay with a relationship had more to do with how he’d lost his wife.
The next day Eric came home from his outing with TJ unsure which excited him more, TJ’s ‘plan’ or the actual involvement of another person, Lisa Rayburn, even if it meant setting aside his ongoing dislike of therapists.
After all these years, maybe he would find out what had really happened to Kayla. Someone had abducted her; nothing else made sense.
It sickened him to know there was another missing woman, possibly many. TJ wouldn’t give up the husband’s name when Eric suggested he talk to the man. The guy’s name wouldn’t be too hard to find though; he’d simply have to go to the online newspaper archives.
It took only minutes on the paper’s website to find the reference to the missing woman, and he quickly found Jeff Denison’s phone number listed in the phone book. Risking TJ’s wrath, Eric dialed the number.
Jeff Denison answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“My name is Eric Schindler. You don’t know me, but I was arrested five years ago for killing my wife. You might remember—the story ran in the papers off and on for years. Anyway, I got out on an appeal after two years. I didn’t kill my wife, Mr. Denison.”
He knew Denison didn’t really know TJ, but wanted to give his call some validity. “A mutual friend told me about your situation—a friend who believes neither of us had anything to do with our wives’ disappearances. I’m calling because your circumstances now are so much like mine were that I thought I could give you the benefit of my experience.”
Still not giving Denison a chance to speak, Eric asked, “Would you like to meet for a drink sometime?”
Denison quickly said, “Sure, how about tonight?”
Eric hadn’t expected that. But if Jeff Denison were anywhere near as troubled as Eric had been, he would want to meet right away. Eric remembered all those miserable nights he spent alone: drinking, staring at the TV, and agonizing about Kayla.
He invited Denison to Kristie’s and lit up his last cigar of the day.
When Jeff Denison arrived at the dealership, Eric gave him a tour of the cars on the showroom floor, their glossy appeal brightening Jeff’s face. After they’d made the rounds, Eric took him into the conference room and offered him a beer.
He accepted one and asked, “What made you call me?”
“I thought you might need some moral support.”
When the other man said nothing, Eric asked, “Have the cops had you under the bright lights yet?”
“Not really. They still think Jamie left me. I know that’s not what happened. She wouldn’t just run off—not for this long, anyway, and not tell anyone.”
Eric thought Jeff looked choked up. Nervous that the other man might actually cry in front of him, Eric gave him time to collect himself.
After a minute, with a grimace, Jeff went on. “My wife and I have a 911 call on record. I didn’t get charged with anything, and Jamie told them I hadn’t hurt her. I’ll never forgive myself for frightening her enough to make the call. She did get hurt, but it was because I grabbed her arm. When she pulled away from me, she lost her balance and fell on a corner of the granite counter. She broke a rib. When they questioned me after she disappeared, they were looking at me like something that crawled out from under a rock.”
“Have you called an attorney or put one on retainer?”
“No. Like I said, the police think she left me.”
Denison was being pathetically naïve. “Do what you like, but it might be a good idea to have an attorney lined up.” He didn’t want to push; he’d let Denison think it over. “You know, in a way our cases are similar.”
“They are?”
“My wife and I had a 911 call on record too. But I never laid a hand on her. And they thought she left me, too–at first.” Eric wondered just how much to tell the guy. So far, he liked him. Denison appeared sincere, or was Eric the one being naïve, thinking he could assume the man’s innocence based on one brief meeting?
He considered the similarities in Kayla and Jamie Denison’s disappearances too similar to be a coincidence. Eric decided to tell Jeff everything. TJ would be angry he jumped the gun, but he’d deal with the consequences later.
“Jeff, if you’re feeling anything like I was, you’d do anything you could to find out what happened to your wife . . .’’ Eric began telling Jeff about Lisa and TJ’s plan.
When he’d finished, Jeff looked like he’d been hit in the stomach with a battering ram. “If there is a killer, it means Jamie won’t ever come back; she’s out there somewhere, hurt, maybe dead.” Jeff paled.