At eleven, when people started coming out of the building, the snow was coming down harder than ever. They gathered in groups, saying their goodbyes and laughing at finding themselves in the middle of a snowstorm in April. He grew impatient. He’d been waiting since ten, cruising the parking lot regularly before finding a spot near the exit she planned to use. He watched as she came out of the building, walking with three other people.
She glanced his way. Just when he was sure she’d seen him, a dark-haired man approached her and grabbed her arm. Allyson pulled away from him. He reached for her again until some people from the group next to them interfered, forcing the guy to leave Allyson alone.
When the black-haired man walked away, she ran for the car and jumped in next to him. “Hurry! Drive away from here.”
Mystified, he drove away from the college, while Allyson crouched down in the seat, trying not to be seen. “I’m sorry—I should have told you. I just broke up with my boyfriend last month and he won’t leave me alone. I filed a restraining order, but he ignores it.”
He drove to the hotel, checking the rearview mirror to be sure they weren't being followed. The situation with the ex was troubling. If she’d gotten a restraining order and the guy wasn’t complying, why wasn’t his ass in jail?
Allyson, over her fright, kept talking about what a hero he was for being there in time to save her from the creepy ex-boyfriend. She kept touching him, her face bright with excitement.
When he was finally alone with her, he opened the bottle of wine and filled two glasses. He couldn't wait to undress her and carry her to the king-sized bed in the next room. After a few sips of wine and first tentative kisses, he relaxed, deciding to take things slow. He sat on one of a pair of chairs across from the sofa. Allyson sat down across from him, happily chattering about the reunion, how many people were there, who was successful, who wasn’t, and how much some of them had changed.
He tuned her out, instead picturing what their lovemaking would be like, when something she said grabbed his attention. A guy from her class who had a big crush on her in school had followed her around all night at the dance.
“He was such a loser, I used to avoid him as much as possible. Who would have guessed—he’s even ickier now.”
She went on to describe him—short, with unkempt hair, big nose, dressed like a nerd, bad complexion. She told him all the funny little names they’d called the poor slob behind his back. As he listened to her, his anger built like the slowly forming eruption of a volcano until he thought his skin would burst. She'd nearly described how he'd looked in college.
He knew what he had to do.
Unable to look at her, he stood and walked behind her to the desk where he picked up the bottle as if to pour them another glass of wine. Clearly she wasn't the pure, lovable woman he'd imagined. When he turned, she had her back to him, her mouth still describing the poor fuck who had the audacity to have a crush on her.
Lovemaking forgotten, he lifted the bottle and slammed it into her skull.
20
The sun had barely risen when Lisa arrived at the office on Monday morning. Too wired to get much sleep the night before, by the time she’d been sure sleep would be impossible, it had been too late to take a sleep-aid. At five she gave up and took Phanny for an early walk.
On the way to the office, sleep-deprived and feeling sorry for herself, she stopped at a little German bakery and picked up a box of pastries. On the day after a sleepless night, her food cravings became too urgent to ignore. She needed sugar. Heck with her waistline.
Lisa’s only client was at ten. She was playing her messages when she heard Shannon come into the building. A minute later she walked into Lisa’s office holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a napkin-wrapped cruller in the other.
“Nothing like treats from Volkman’s to perk up a Monday morning. What’s the bad news?” Treats were usually brought in as a solace when one of them was having a bad day.
“One of my limited-sleep nights, I’m afraid. Too much going on.”
Shannon sat down in a chair across from Lisa’s desk. “That’s too bad. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, everything really, but we have to do something for Helen Mueller even if it isn’t a part of what we had set out to accomplish. I thought about calling someone I know at Social Services, but I’m afraid a home visit could make her situation worse.”
“You’re right. If the creepy son-in-law goes on the alert, she may be at risk.”
Lisa cringed. “That’s what I was thinking, but I figured I was just being paranoid for her.”
Shannon took another bite of her cruller. “Nope, and I wasn’t even there.”
“I drove by her house on my way in this morning. Fischer’s car wasn’t there. I called the Oconomowoc Police Department and asked to talk to the detective who had been in charge of her daughter’s disappearance. They didn’t say who it was, but said he would get back to me. I’m hoping it’s someone I’ve worked with. It’d be nice if we didn’t have to hide behind the writing-a-book excuse, but then we’d be tipping off the police about what we’re doing.”
“Do you think it matters? I mean since they aren’t investigating it?”
“TJ seems to think it’s best for now. She’s going to use her contacts in the department to get information for us, so I don’t see how we can keep it quiet for long.”
The door opened, admitting a tall woman wearing a short, gray tweed blazer over a black turtleneck sweater and perfectly tailored black slacks.
“Hi.” Lisa smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “Shannon, this is Detective Maggie Petersen from the Oconomowoc Police Department. We worked together when I was a full-time counselor at the center.
“This is fast service, Maggie,” Lisa said. “I called about thirty minutes ago.”
“I stopped over on my way to the station.”
Shannon offered her a sweet roll, poured coffee, and the three of them went into the conference room. Lisa noticed silver stud earrings and a silver watch were Maggie’s only jewelry. She’d pulled her shiny, black hair into a simple braid that trailed down her back. Lisa always envied women who could look put together so simply; for her it always felt like a chore.
Lisa told Maggie their story, omitting the part about their gathering evidence to force a police investigation. She told the detective they were checking out disappearances of abused women for a book she was working on and believed some of the disappearances to be suspicious. Then she related what they’d observed at Helen Mueller’s home.
Maggie Petersen listened without interrupting. The detective took a deep breath. “What I’m going to tell you is off the record, but under the circumstances I believe it’s necessary to tell you about Emma Fischer, Helen’s daughter. My partner and I interviewed Helen and the daughter’s husband many times after Emma disappeared. There was no solid evidence the husband had anything to do with her disappearance, but David and I are certain he did.