The hunt, p.8
The Hunt, page 8
“Why just his son and not his daughter?”
“It sounds like Juleen escaped when they broke into her apartment.”
Decker shook his head. “Jeez. Someone really did a number on Terry.”
“Shocking.”
“I still think of her as an innocent little sixteen-year-old girl. She was so pretty and so bright back then!”
“When I saw her three weeks ago, she was gorgeous and bright. Just dumb when it comes to men.”
“Looks like Donatti got his claws back into her. Can you call Gabe? I’ve got a bunch of stuff from Tyler to go through.” Then Decker said, “It’s Pauline Corbett.”
Rina looked up from her phone. “The body in the woods is Pauline?”
“Yes.”
“How was she identified?”
“I think a sister identified her remotely from a tattoo. I’ll check that out. Tyler said that Forensics took her DNA to the lab, and they should have confirmation in a couple of weeks. Since the email was written ten days ago, the results should be in very soon.”
“One mystery solved,” Rina said.
“It only brings about more questions.” Decker thought about his latest victim and how she was related to his unsolved Missing Persons case.
The events started months ago, when Bertram Lanz had disappeared from a field trip in the woods. He had gotten separated from his fellow residents from his board and care facility, Loving Care. Lanz came from a rich family in Germany, and a kidnapping for ransom had been tossed around as a possibility. But when no note was forthcoming and Bertram’s parents never called back, the kidnapping scenario seemed remote.
Then clues popped up, namely a vanishing act by a former nurse named Elsie Schulung, who had worked at Loving Care. Everyone at the facility said Elsie and Lanz were close. Elsie and Pauline Corbett had been lovers. Now Corbett was dead, Schulung was missing, and Lanz had yet to be located. The general thought was that Schulung and Lanz, along with Bertram’s girlfriend, Kathrine, had defected to Lanz’s hometown in Germany.
But now, who knew?
“I’ve got calls in to the station, but no one has returned my messages,” Decker said. “I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad sign.”
“Have they connected with Lanz’s family in Germany?”
“If they have, no one’s told me.” A sigh. “If only.”
“We’ve been back a couple of hours and you already sound frustrated.”
“I’m okay. At least the latest victim is in our jurisdiction.”
“And since the body is Pauline, you’re certainly not starting from scratch.”
“Yes, we’ve got suspects. First thing we need is Corbett’s crime scene. She wasn’t killed where she was buried.”
“Pauline’s blood was in Elsie Schulung’s house.”
“Yes, but I’m still bothered by the scant amount. It’s not enough.”
“It’s a start,” Rina said.
“Well, yes and no,” Decker said. “She and Elsie lived there. Pauline’s blood could be old. She might have had a bad accident once.”
“Well, someone buried her.”
He shook his head. “Maybe there are forensics at the scene.”
“It’s still early days, Peter. I’m sure you’ll be right on it once you’re back home. In the meantime, we’ve still got our mothers to deal with. One issue at a time.”
Decker laughed. “Right you are.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Rina said. “Chris did call me. Three times. It was almost two weeks ago. I wonder what he wanted.”
“We are not taking Juleen.”
“Yeah, that could be what he wants,” Rina said.
“I’ll call Gabe. Maybe he knows what’s up. At the very least, I’ll get an update on Terry.”
Gabe answered after three rings. “Rina?”
“Hi, honey. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m just about to go into rehearsal. Are you back?”
“Yes, we’re in Miami. How’s your mom?”
“Thank God she’s much better. She left the hospital last week.”
“What happened?”
“A couple of men broke into her apartment. They took Sanjay, but Juleen escaped. Mom was beaten up pretty badly—broken bones, black eyes—her jaw’s wired. She got kicked in the kidneys.”
“Oh, that’s so awful!”
“Yes, she looked awful. But thank God she’s healing.”
“And Juleen?”
“She’s fine except for a twisted ankle. They’re both at my dad’s place. I was with them for a few days. Then this tour suddenly came up. Chris told me to go. I had reservations about leaving Mom, but Chris seems to be taking good care of her.”
“Do you know what happened to Sanjay?”
“We suspect that he’s with his father, but we don’t know. We haven’t heard from Devek. Or maybe they have but they’re not telling me. Pray for him.”
“I will, sweetheart,” Rina said. “Chris called me about two weeks ago. Any idea what that was about?”
“Yeah, actually. I think he wanted you to stay with Juleen while Mom was in the hospital. But it’s a moot point now. She’s out.”
Rina paused. “And Chris is okay with Juleen being there—with Terry?”
“I think so. No one has complained to me. Poor kid. I feel so bad for her. I wish I could take her with me, but Mom wouldn’t allow it and that would be unfair to Yasmine. It’s all she can do to cope with medical school.”
“Both of you are busy people. Juleen will be fine as long as she has her mother.”
“Juleen is resilient. Even more than Mom.” A pause. “Rina, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m already late. Can I call you later?”
“Sure. Where are you?”
“Japan. How was Israel, by the way?”
“Fabulous.”
“Good. Both Peter and you deserve a little fabulous.”
THE FIRST FOUR days, I barely remember anything, sleeping most of the time, occasionally waking up for a protein shake, then going back to sleep. It took about five days to wake up and stay up. The door to the bedroom was partially open and I didn’t hear any signs of life. Whatever I felt about Chris personally, I had interrupted the man’s life. An enterprise of this magnitude did not run itself, and for the last couple of weeks, he had focused on me. I’m sure he was playing catch-up with everything in his business. I assumed I was alone, trapped in his vault of a bedroom like some modern-day Rapunzel. I had the long hair as a go-with. Living in Mumbai for the past decade, I hadn’t cut it at all, as is the style of a lot of Indian women.
I didn’t mind being alone. In Mumbai, solitude was a concept encountered solely in ashrams, certainly not in the streets that teemed with people regardless of the hour. On the rare opportunities that solitude presented itself at home, I breathed easier, unencumbered by children or husbands who kept an eye out. Devek was always sneaky about it; Chris was blatant. Whenever we were among people, his eyes were always focused on me even when he was working the crowd. Chris was jealous, but since I wasn’t a flirt, he never had cause to accuse me of anything. The affair truly caught him by surprise. I know it gutted him. Not that being faithful was ever high on his list, but I had been his property, and someone else had stolen it. I was shocked that he didn’t come after me. I thought I had finally dodged the bullet.
And here I was in the same situation as I had been over two decades ago.
It was eleven-thirty in the morning. I had slept for almost twenty-four hours. I should have been ravenous. Instead, I was sick to my stomach. There was a water bottle on my nightstand. I opened it and drained it and waited for the nausea to pass. About ten minutes later, I felt better. But I was sticky and dirty, and my mouth, shut tight with wires and braces, felt like glue.
I sat up in the bed. Then I slid my feet over the side and tried to stand. Shaky, but not as weak as I thought I’d be. After a few minutes, I felt that I could support my weight, and I slowly made my way to the bathroom. After using the facilities, I noticed that a new toothbrush, toothpaste, a washcloth, liquid soap, and body wash had been laid out on the counter. There were two white towels folded in a cubby. I wasn’t sure if all this was his or mine, but I hoped he didn’t mind sharing. My bandages had been removed, but I wasn’t quite sure what to do about the cast on my arm. I knew I shouldn’t get it wet, so I wrapped it in a towel.
Chris’s shower was enormous, befitting a man of his size. I could barely reach the controls from the outside of the shower door. It was set on hot, which was fine with me, and steamed up the glass almost instantly. Stepping inside, I luxuriated in water washing over me like a baptism, hot needles running down my back. I dumped a handful of body wash on my hair and brought the liquid to a helmet of lather. I was going to sit down on the shower bench, but then I realized I wasn’t going anywhere. My eyes saw pinpoints of light as my knees buckled until I was sprawled out on the floor, breathing fast and shallow. I tried to lift my head, but that only made me dizzier.
I called out for Chris, but of course no one answered me. Okay, so I’d just lie here until I could gather up my strength. Unless the drain clogged, I wouldn’t drown. The problem was every time I moved my head, things spun around me.
A moment later, I heard him enter the bathroom. He opened the door and I smiled.
“I could use some help, please.”
“What the fuck are you doing! I told you not to try to do this by yourself.” A sigh. “Hold on.” He took off his black jacket and his T-shirt and turned off the water. He knelt down. “Grab my hand.”
“I can’t move.”
“Fuck.” He stripped naked and stepped inside, water dripping on his head from the leaky nozzle. He knelt down and looped his arm around me, pulling me up like a rag doll. Soap spread all over his chest. “C’mon.”
“I have to rinse my hair.”
“You’re impossible.” He sat me on the bench, and instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest. He looked at me covering myself and laughed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He turned the handheld showerhead on. “I told you not to do this without me.”
“Yeah, you already said that. I felt yucky.”
“Stop squirming.” He was trying to rinse my hair, but because I was sitting next to him, the water kept splashing back in his face. “Fuck it.” He lifted me onto his lap, pulled my arms away from my breasts, and we sat chest to chest. “Bend your head down. Hold still.”
Water rained down on my scalp. He was massively aroused. Even if I hadn’t felt him underneath, which was impossible, I could have sensed it by the change in his breathing alone. I had been there a thousand times before. He wasn’t even trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t happening. I tried to avoid his eyes, but he pulled my chin upward and gave me that look.
Oh God! I should have expected it, but it still came as a shock. You’d think that surrounded by bevies of beauties, he’d find something other than a forty-two-year-old woman with a purple face from black eyes, a wired jaw, a broken arm, and bruises to stir him up.
I thought, Nothing I haven’t done before.
I gave him the nod.
It took all of thirty seconds.
Immediately, he shut off the water and lifted me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He brought me to the bed. “Turn around.”
“Chris—”
“Turn around.”
“Chris, please—”
“Turn the fuck around!”
He flipped me over and entered me from the back, pushing in as roughly as he could. “Stop, you’re hurting me!” Deaf ears. “You’re hurting me!” Instead he jammed my head against the pillow and kept at it, harder and harder until I began to cramp. Tears formed in my eyes. “Please, stop it … stop.” A pause. “Please.”
Eventually, I grew quiet. I don’t know how long it took, but it seemed like forever until finally he gave a massive shove. When he pulled out, I curled up in a ball, trying to stem the horrible spasms from my insides. He wouldn’t even let me do that in peace. He rolled me on my back, his knees on either side of my hips. He pinned my arms down. Staring at me, his face was a mask of fury. He was still naked, dripping with water and probably sweat.
“How long?” he whispered.
I was completely confused. “Wha …”
“How! Long!” A pause. “Six months? A year?”
Ah. The affair. My head was reeling. I felt sick to my stomach. “Two—”
“Two years?”
“Two months.”
“Two months?”
I was struggling futilely in his grip. When he finally let go of my hands, I pushed him away, curling back into the fetal position, trying to pull the bedcovers over my body. But they wouldn’t budge because he was on top of them. I started shivering like a wet newborn pup.
“He knocked you up after two months?” He rolled me on my back again, staring at me. “How many times did you fuck him?”
“I don’t know …” I was so cold. “Four times—”
“He knocked you up after four times?”
“Maybe it was six.”
“Six times in two months?” I didn’t answer. He said, “Didn’t you use protection?”
“Of course we used protection. I’m not an idiot.” A cramp seized my guts. I turned to my side and balled my body up. “It must have ripped.”
“We were having sex all the time without protection. How did you know it was his?”
“I didn’t know.” I turned over so as not to look at him. “I made him do a paternity test.”
“Why did you even bother with the test when he was wearing protection and I wasn’t?”
I was silent. My unspoken words cut to the heart of the problem.
Chris had been beaten as a child, once so severely that he had lost a testicle when he was around nine. Although he wasn’t sterile—our son proved that—it had never happened again. He refused to take tests, but we both knew what was flying. The fact that I got pregnant after two months with a stranger must have torn away whatever shield Chris had constructed to protect his male pride.
He finally said, “Why didn’t you have an abortion? I already thought you had one. I beat the crap out of you because of it. I wouldn’t have known the difference.” When I didn’t answer, he said, “Did you love him that much?”
“I didn’t love him at all. I was going to end it—”
“Then why did you run away with him?”
“I was pregnant!”
“Why didn’t you just get rid of it?”
“I’m Catholic—”
“Don’t hand me that utter bullshit, Teresa. You’re about as Catholic as I am. When you found out it wasn’t mine, why didn’t you do something about it?”
No answer for that one either.
He waited for a minute for me to say something.
A minute was a long time not to speak.
“Ah.” He got up from the bed. “I get it.” He ripped away the towel that had been wrapped around my cast and dried himself off, then threw it at my face. He started to dress. “You wanted a baby more than you wanted me.”
When he was fully clothed, he rolled me on my back once again. We were face-to-face, nose-to-nose. His eyes told me, in those few moments, that he was reliving all the humiliation I had put him through. I always could tell when he was a finger’s snap away from losing it. Instead he stood up and clenched his fists. He said, “You’re lucky someone got to you before I did. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a whole bone left in your body.”
He turned around and left, slamming the door behind him.
HE SHOULD HAVE felt great.
Instead, he felt lousy.
Like always, she had managed to turn triumph into misery.
Fucking bitch!
He came down to the public office—an enormous space that included an entertaining area made up of brown, instead of black, leather couches, tables, TVs, a gaming system, and a professional built-in wet bar. There was a wall facing a view of the mountains. A door led to a private business office. His secretary worked in the main area in an open-plan design. Talia was in her mid-thirties: nice-looking with blond curls that trailed down her back, round brown eyes, and a slim figure, as well as big boobs and a fine ass. She had been adequate as an intimate companion, but when he decided to break it off for business reasons, it was as if it never happened for him. For her, who knew? Who cared?
She was working at her desk and smiled when she saw him.
He didn’t smile back. “Coffee, please. Then come into my office and we’ll go over scheduling.”
Talia stood up. “Right away.”
Sitting at his desk, the door ajar, he dropped his head in his hands.
Terry had cheated on him. Big deal. He had dozens upon dozens of women—and men—while they were married. He could have forgiven that. He had been a shitty husband. She was entitled.
But to get knocked up after two months?
Six times?
Humiliation coursed through his veins. All his conquests, and he couldn’t even manage the most basic of male functions with his own wife.
Talia came in and laid the coffee mug on his desk. “I brought you a biscotti.”
“Thank you.” He exhaled forcibly and shook his head. “It’s been a while. What’s on the agenda?”
“You have that bankers meeting at three. You know that, right?”
“No, I don’t know a thing. Are we meeting here?”
“Yes.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“Three—Northwest, Central Nevada, and Silver.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Pearson and Groger called. They want to know whether to continue the ad campaign.”
“What’s our capacity?”
“I think over ninety percent. I’ll talk to Ann and get you the exact figures for the month.”
“That would be helpful. Over ninety is pretty good for summer. I’ll call Barry and see where we’re at pricewise with them. Pearson is good, but expensive.”
“Speaking of Barry, he called. He wants to set up something.”
His accountant kept good tabs on what was going on. Donatti said, “Give me some dates. Anything else?”
