The hunt, p.19
The Hunt, page 19
“She?” Muttering over the line. “Pauline was with a woman?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Was it a friend thing or something more?”
“We don’t know.”
“A woman. That flips me out. Not that I care, but it’s still weird, you know.”
“People change,” McAdams said.
“Maybe but … anyway … are we done?”
“Just to repeat,” Decker said, “you haven’t seen her in four years?”
“That would be the truth.” A pause. “Pauline and a woman. Jeez.”
“Thank you for your time, sir.”
“Yeah, fine,” Bruckner said. “I wish I would have known sooner. The marriage wouldn’t have lasted, but I wouldn’t have minded experimenting with another woman. It might have made us both a little happier.”
WITH PHONE IN hand and a new Nevada area code, I dialed the New York number. It rang twice, then it connected.
“Dad?”
“No, it’s Mom, actually.”
“Mom!” A pause. “How are you?”
“Much better, thanks.” My eyes felt wet. “Your father got me a new phone. Now I can bug you all the time.”
“Any time. I’m so happy to hear you sounding well. How’s Juleen?”
“Learning about four languages. Chris’s idea, not mine.”
“Yeah, it sounds like Chris. How is he treating you?”
“Very well.”
A pause. “You can tell me if he isn’t.”
“No, he is.” I bit my lip. “He’s being … great.”
“Hmm, well, I’ll take your word for it. You’re healing okay?”
“Yes. The dentist unwired my jaw. I’ve still got my back teeth wired together, but I can eat things other than shakes. How are you, honey?”
“I’m even better now that I know you’re on the mend.”
“I am. We’re all doing—”
“Can you hold a second?” Muttering. “Sorry. I’m glad you’re fine, Mom. It’s really good to hear your voice. Your number was blocked. That’s why I thought it was Dad.”
“I’ll give it to you right now.”
“Perfect. Just let me get to my contacts. Okay. I’m ready.”
I gave him my new number. “Have you recorded anything new that I can listen to?”
“Yeah, I have. I’ll send you my latest CD—hold on.” More muttering. “I’m back.”
“Honey, you sound busy.”
“Um, can I call you back in about an hour?”
“Of course. Whenever it’s convenient. I love you, Gabriel.”
“I love you, too, Mom. I’ll come see you soon. Heal up.”
The line disconnected.
A good conversation for us. I felt that our relationship, though damaged by my actions, was slowly repairing. Part of it was he felt sorry for me. But I’d take whatever sympathy he was willing to give me. Charity begins at home.
It was half past nine. I’d been up for over two hours and could use a fresh cup of coffee. I made a pot, poured a mug for myself and another for Chris. I took them both into the bedroom. He was still asleep. I put his mug down on the nightstand, then I sat down next to him. The movement of the mattress woke him up. He grunted out a request for the time.
“Almost ten.”
He sat up and took the mug from the nightstand. Then he looked at his phone and put it back down. “Denofrio called me yesterday. I didn’t return his call on purpose. He just called me again an hour ago. That’s a very good sign. Thanks again for coming with me the other night. Badger is an ass; I know it wasn’t fun for you.”
“It wasn’t bad, actually. Nice to get out.”
“Good.” He took a sip of coffee. “Good stuff.”
I said, “I called Gabe.”
“And?”
“Nothing. It was nice hearing his voice. He sounds like you.”
“He does.” Chris took his Rolex and latched it onto his wrist. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Starving?”
“Not at all.”
He beckoned me forward with a crooked finger. When I slid back under the covers, he drew me into his arms. “Any requests?”
“Whatever you want, except—”
“I know, I know.” He grinned. “You’re my wife, baby.”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t get technical with me, little girl. Nothing should be off-limits between us. I can only be patient for so long.”
“You just don’t know what it’s like … being a woman.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But I know what it’s like to be sodomized. So don’t play the victim card on me, little girl.”
I leaned my head on his chest. “Poor Chris.” I meant it.
After we finished, he said, “Give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll get us some breakfast.”
“Thanks.” I looked at the nightstand, at his phone specifically. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was news about Sanjay. He must have followed my eyes, because he took my hand. “I’ll help you shower.”
When we were both clean, I kept the towel wrapped around my body. I sat on the bed and said, “Chris, is there anywhere we could go out for breakfast? I’m feeling a little cooped up.”
He put on his pants. “There’s a coffee shop where the dentist is. It’s pretty basic, but we can go there.”
“Where do your clients go if they want breakfast?”
“They order up room service. The food usually comes with other services that they pay for.”
“Got it.” I took off the towel and slipped on one of my Manson girl dresses. I gathered my hair and pulled it back into a clip. “What about your workers?”
“I’ve got an employee cafeteria.”
“Can we go there?” When he stared at me, I said, “Or is it verboten for the boss to eat there?”
“No, no, I go there all the time.”
There was a prolonged silence. He put on a black tee and then his shoulder harness for his gun.
I said, “You don’t want to be seen with me?”
“No, not at all. Everyone knows we’re engaged.” He tucked his Glock in his holster and put on his jacket. “When I go there, my workers expect attention.”
“Understandable. Everyone wants attention from the boss.”
“I do more than a pat on the back. It’s a lot of flirting. It makes them feel important. They are important. Without my ladies and my gents, I don’t have a business.”
“And the problem is?”
“I don’t want you to feel bad.”
“Why should I feel bad? It’s business.” I slipped on my flats. “Can I get oatmeal at the cafeteria?”
“You can get anything you want.”
“Let me just put on a little makeup and then we’ll go.”
“Okay. Remember this was your idea.”
As soon as we were outside, my lungs filled with fresh, warm mid-morning air. The business was unsavory, but the location couldn’t have been more beautiful. The hour was redolent with summer smells and the birds were having a gabfest. It was about a fifteen-minute walk. The cafeteria was located directly under the lounge where we had been a couple of nights ago. As soon as Chris opened the door, the ambient noise of conversation died down to a hush. I looked around at the tables and chairs. Mostly women—around 80 percent—but some young-looking studmuffins as well. I didn’t know if the pretty boys were for men or for women. Maybe they did double duty. It wasn’t air-conditioned inside, and the women were dressed in casual clothing: shorts, T-shirts, sandals. Nothing glamorous. I fit right in. He escorted me to a back table where he could see everything, and before my backside hit the seat, a server was there. She was wearing an apron around her waist, but it wasn’t a sexy French maid costume. She wore a long-sleeved black shirt and black pants. She looked to be around my age and, like me, had her long hair tied back. She held a coffeepot and two cups. After pouring, she said, “Good morning, Mr. Donatti. How can I help you?”
“I like your new hair color, Karena.”
“It’s not too dark?”
“It makes your eyes stand out.” He turned to me. “This is my fiancée, Dr. Teresa McLaughlin. You take good care of her, okay?”
“Of course. Congratulations, sir. To you too, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Chris said. “She wants oatmeal. Get her fresh, not from the buffet. I’ll take my usual.”
“Scrambled eggs whites and turkey bacon—six slices crisp.”
“Perfect.”
Karena smiled—an A student.
I said, “Scrambled eggs sound good … not egg whites. The real thing.”
“You want eggs instead of oatmeal?” Chris asked me.
“Can I have both?”
“WTF, Terry.” Chris laughed. “You can have whatever you want.”
“I’ll have both, then. And orange juice.”
He laughed again. “Get her anything she wants. I’ll be back.” He turned to a bodyguard. “You watch her like a hawk.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hadn’t even noticed another body until Chris had spoken to him.
A moment later, he was working the room. The transformation was eerie. He had become the popular boy I had known in high school—the guy with male friends who had emulated and admired him, the guy that girls had been in love with. I hadn’t been an exception, sitting on the sidelines, watching Chris and his posse hold center stage, his girlfriend on his lap, stroking his face and probably stroking other things that I couldn’t see. Back then, he had kept me his secret. We never mixed in public. He didn’t even acknowledge me with more than a nod. We weren’t sleeping together yet, but he was drawing me in the nude and, at sixteen, that constituted an intimate relationship to me.
Then his high school girlfriend wound up dead. Chris was arrested and sent to prison for the crime until Detective Decker proved otherwise and got him out of jail. But by then I had discovered things about him, and I broke off our relationship, until a child and poverty had me crawling back.
“More coffee, ma’am?”
I looked up. “Yes, I’d love some, thank you.”
She poured me another hot cup. “Beautiful ring.”
“Thank you.” I looked at her face. She was smiling, but she seemed sad. All the women here had that same reaction to me. A distant melancholy that I seemed to bring out. An awkward silence. I said, “Do you have half-and-half instead of milk?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I just like half-and-ha—”
She had left in a flash. I was alone. I smiled at the bodyguard and then realized I probably shouldn’t be smiling at random men. She was back with my half-and-half and my oatmeal with all the trimmings. I thanked her again. I said, “How long have you worked here?”
“About five years.”
“Long time.”
“Mr. Donatti is a great boss. I heard you were high school sweethearts.” She turned red. “Or is that too personal?”
“We’ve known each other since high school.”
“Wow. You don’t look old enough.” A pause. “I mean your age. I should stop talking.”
“It’s a compliment. Thank you.”
“More coffee?”
“I’m fine for right now, thank you.”
“I’ll let you eat in peace. I’ll bring the eggs when Mr. Donatti sits back down. I want them to be fresh.”
“Good idea.” I poured half-and-half in my coffee, took a spoonful of my oatmeal, and watched Chris. What struck me in specific was how happy he looked, going from table to table, listening as his employees talked to him, nodding, smiling, engaged. He was never that way with me. Sexual? Yes. Funny? The boy had a great sense of humor. Excitable? Duh. Honest to the point of brutal? Check. Angry? All the time. Did he love me? He said he did, but sometimes I wondered. He never looked happy when we were together. Looking at him with others, he was airborne. With me, he seemed earthbound.
About twenty minutes later, he sat back down. His breakfast appeared moments later. He looked up and said, “Where are her eggs?”
Karena’s face darkened. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get them right now.” She was off.
I said, “Don’t yell at her.”
“You’re too nice. She messed up.”
“Don’t yell at her. Promise.”
“My promises aren’t worth anything. But I won’t yell. How’s your oatmeal?”
“Perfect.”
She was back a minute later with food and coffee. “I’m so sorry—”
I put my hand atop hers. “It’s okay. Thank you.” I suddenly felt very blue. I’m sure Chris was a very good boss, but he was still exploiting people. They were commodities. Witnessing the depersonalization hit me hard. I pushed my eggs away.
He noticed. “Not hungry?”
“Oatmeal is filling,” I told him. “How often do you come here?”
“Two, three times a week.”
“The employees seem to like the attention.”
Chris looked at me, recognizing something in my voice that was less than admiration. “I realize that this is a lot for you to absorb. That’s why I always kept business and personal separate.” When I nodded, he shrugged. “You didn’t get what you expected in me. Whatever I could have been, you got in our son.”
I put down my spoon and hid my face behind a coffee cup, looking at my first love across the table. Chris was a survivor, having grown up abused sexually and physically by a violent father, only to be adopted and abused sexually and physically as an adolescent by an equally violent stepfather. I didn’t really know what it was like, but I had a hint. My father was a drunk. He had problems holding down jobs, and it was my stepmother who brought in the cash. When I turned fifteen, Dad often made nocturnal forays down the hallway to my room, trying to force the lock as I shivered under my covers, terrified and helpless. My stepmother eventually caught him twisting the doorknob in the wee hours of the morning. I heard her shocked and angry voice. I was petrified that she’d turn her rage on me. Jean was a taskmaster—I cooked, I cleaned, and I babysat my younger sister while she worked. But I was so grateful to her when she told me the next morning in a calm voice that I shouldn’t worry. The nighttime visits were over.
I felt my eyes go moist. I laid my hand on Chris’s arm. “I think you’ve done an amazing job with your life, Donatti.”
He regarded my face. He ran an index finger under my eyes and wiped away my tears. He tickled my nose, then he smiled. “Right back at you, Doc.”
CHAPTER 12
THERE WERE SEVERAL Brooke Baers—all of them female. No Brook Baer, which didn’t mean he didn’t exist, only that he wasn’t a fan of social media. McAdams said, “Does Brook Baer pop up in any of your databases?”
“No, but ours are limited.” Decker checked his notes. “Okay, Marion said that Pauline was living with Baer in Denver somewhere.”
“Didn’t she say near Denver, not in Denver?”
“Gotta start somewhere. I’ll put in a call to them.”
He checked his watch. It was two p.m. their time. At twelve in the afternoon mountain time, most of the detectives were probably out in the field. Those left behind were probably on lunch breaks. He looked up Denver PD. It was divided into six districts. He started with District 1, and after a few transfers, he was disconnected.
Maybe he’d have better luck with District 2. After being transferred several times, Decker was relieved to hear a voice on the end of the line.
“Detectives. This is Barron.”
“Hi, this is Detective Peter Decker of Greenbury PD in Upstate New York. I’m working on a homicide, and it was my understanding that our victim had lived in or around Denver maybe fifteen years ago. I’m actually trying to track down her ex-husband so I can eliminate him from my investigation. You have a much bigger database than I do and maybe he’s in your files. His name is Brook Baer—”
“Could you mean Brock Baer?”
Decker paused. “Possibly.” A groan on the other end of the line. “You know him?”
“Unfortunately, yes, I do know Brock.”
Decker said, “I’m putting you on speaker, Detective, so my partner can hear the conversation.” He pressed a button. “Can you still hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Tell me about Brock Baer,” Decker said.
“Scumbag,” she said. “I arrested him several times for domestic violence. Couple times it was pushing and shoving with both parties involved. About six years ago, he was slapping around his girlfriend and fired a shot at her head.” She laughed. “Detective Decker, did you just randomly call up this district or …”
“I started with District 1 and got disconnected. So I went on to your district. How’s that for luck?”
“Sometimes the stars align.”
“They do indeed, and call me Peter,” Decker said. “Did Baer serve time?”
“Four years, but out in twenty-eight months for good behavior,” she told him.
“How long ago was this?”
“Sentencing was four years ago. Means he’s been out for a year and a half.”
“Kept his nose clean?”
“He hasn’t come to my attention,” Barron said. “I can check our files and see if he’s reared his ugly head elsewhere in the area.”
“Thank you, that would be great.”
“Who’s your vic?”
“Pauline Corbett.”
There was a pause. “The name is familiar.”
“She and Baer divorced about eighteen years ago, then she left the area.”
“I was in uniform back then. Not in this district, though.”
“Corbett’s sister told us that Baer beat her up a few times. She also told me that Baer stalked her for some time afterward. Do you have a Threat Management Unit—something that deals with stalking and harassment?”
“We do now. I have to check if we had a dedicated unit eighteen years ago. What happened with the stalking?”
“Pauline moved to Texas, and I think it finally stopped. But I’m not really sure of anything. I’m just starting the investigation.”
“Then her homicide was recent?”
