Jon Engel took her in his arms, drawing her away from the door.
She managed to croak, “Jeff’s dead,” then sobbed against his chest, fighting nausea, berating herself for not preventing Jeff’s murder. She wanted to scream out the name—James Wilson.
She hadn’t thought Wilson realized her suspicions. But what if he’d seen her following him? If he had, then Jeff’s death rested on her.
Jon trembled against her, struggling to stay in control of his emotions. She had to get a grip on hers.
She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I have to call Maggie. She’s a detective we’ve been working with. And the Brookfield guys, too.” Her fingers fumbled for her cell phone, while her every instinct wanted her back in the house, searching for evidence.
After the calls, she said, “Jon, don’t judge me for this, but I have to go back in.” She quickly explained it appeared Jeff had committed suicide. Before he could protest, she said, “I know he didn’t. Don’t know how much he’s told you, but we’ve all been in danger. I know he’s been murdered, but the police might not see it that way. I have to know if he—or someone else—left a note.”
Jon handed her a handkerchief. “Whatever you think. I’ll wait here for you.”
TJ entered the house. It’s only a crime scene. It’s only a crime scene. The repeated mantra kept her focused while she bent her head down, scanning the room for a note. Nothing. She hurried into Jeff’s office. The room was immaculate, but his laptop was open. She tapped the return with a fingernail and a Word screen opened. It was there—the note.
To my family and friends,
I’m sorry to leave you this way. I can no longer live with my guilt. Believe me, this is the best thing. TJ, I’ll miss you. Please try to understand.
Jeff
TJ knew that the note’s brevity would give it credulity with the police. They would assume the guilt he referred to would be an admission he’d done something to Jamie. But TJ knew Jeff would never have left a note on his computer. To him, computers were machines; he wasn’t a gamer, an emailer, or social-site user. The electronic note had to have been Wilson’s idea.
As she turned to leave the room she saw the open door to the guest room where only two nights ago they’d made love, slept together, and discussed the future. She could feel his arms around her as they’d been the night before, see his golden brown eyes searching hers for shared feelings. God, she had to get out of here. She couldn’t be in the house when the law arrived. Somehow, she’d have to convince them to test his keyboard for residue from rubber gloves. The bastard would have been way too careful to leave a print.
66
Lisa excused herself when Shannon tapped on her door, certain it wouldn’t be good news; Shannon had never interrupted her while she was with a client.
Shannon, her face tear-stained, pulled her into the conference room. “TJ just called. It’s Jeff—he’s dead. It looks like suicide.”
After the initial shock, Lisa’s first thought was, suicide—no way. But he could have slipped into a depression if his guilt about Jamie and his attraction to TJ pulled him over the edge. Or maybe that was just easier to imagine than the alternative—an alternative Lisa could have prevented if she hadn’t convinced TJ to give the police time before the two of them intervened. She wanted to scream and throw things, at the very least sit in a corner and cry. But Lisa had to stay calm. Hysteria and grief would have to wait. “TJ found him?”
“Yes, but a friend of Jeff’s was with her. She says she’s staying until the police leave. Maggie and David are there too.”
“I have to go to her. I’ll end this session and cancel the rest of my appointments.”
“I’ll make the calls for you. Go ahead and leave.”
Lisa took out her phone as she drove to Brookfield. She normally didn’t use her phone while driving, but there were calls that couldn’t wait. She called Eric first and told him the little she knew about what happened. “I’m headed there now.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Her next call was to Robert Bernstein. Since starting their interviews, Jeff had been in therapy with Bernstein. His answering service picked up and she left a message, explaining it was an emergency.
Five minutes later, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the number, she pulled into a parking lot to take Bernstein’s call.
“Lisa? What’s wrong?”
“Jeff Denison is dead.”
“Good God! I’m so sorry.”
“I have to talk to you about it—call it a consult if you need to, but trust me—it’s important.” She waited while Bernstein considered her request.
“I have about twenty minutes between clients at one o’clock, if that’s enough time.”
“That’s perfect. What I need from you won’t take long.”
Filled with a sadness quickly evolving to rage, Lisa moved back into traffic, all her instincts screaming Jeff had not killed himself. That monster James Wilson had to be projecting his madness on them again. On TJ. He’d screwed up once when he attacked TJ at the Mexican restaurant—actually, screwed up twice including Danielle Ventura.
He probably wanted to punish them for putting his freedom at risk. They’d been mistaken in thinking the pressure would be off them once the police opened an investigation.
Police cars filled Jeff’s street; an emergency vehicle sat in the driveway. TJ, Maggie, and a tall man wearing wire-rimmed glasses stood next to the van. The three stood close to each other, red-eyed and clutching to-go cups of coffee.
She rushed over to TJ. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” She took her in her arms. Lisa felt hot tears travel down her cheeks and turn icy in the frigid air. She whispered, “You don’t think he did this, do you?”
With her lips against Lisa’s ear, TJ rasped, “I know he didn’t,” and broke the embrace.
They had to talk before Eric arrived—and without Maggie and Jon.
TJ introduced Jon to Lisa. He held out his hand, smiling sadly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I wish we weren’t meeting because of this.”
TJ said, “Jon agreed to stay with me till you got here. He’s going to try to get in touch with Jeff’s parents. They’re on a cruise somewhere.”
Jon left, promising to keep in touch and let them know what he found out about Jeff’s parents. They’d need to make arrangements for a service. TJ didn’t tell him there would need to be an autopsy, and if they found anything suspicious, it would be days before the coroner released his body to the family. That bad news could wait.
Maggie said, “I’m going to go in and find David. They haven’t told us much yet, and I haven’t been in since the tech crew arrived. TJ, why don’t you and Lisa sit in the car where it’s warm?”
Attempting to avoid the attention of the media, TJ and Lisa walked quickly to Lisa’s car. Lisa cranked up the heat. “I don’t think Jeff would do this either, but we have to consider the possibility.”
Nostrils flaring, TJ nearly shouted. “No! We won’t consider it.” She paused a moment. “There’s something I haven’t told you. New Year’s Eve—we slept together. And before you ask, no he wasn’t feeling all guilty. We talked about it, about us, and you know how I hate that. He was happy about everything.”
Lisa asked, “Your talk—what did you say to him?”
TJ shot her a dark look. “I didn’t tell him he was just another fuck if that’s what you’re thinking. We agreed to take things slow. We were gonna see a movie tonight, and . . .” she choked on her words and pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket.
“I’m only saying we need to be sure.”
TJ wiped her eyes. “Being sure don’t change anything. We still have to get Wilson. He did this.”