21             

Later that morning, Shannon and Helen Mueller walked into Lisa’s office and sat on the sofa. Shannon had offered to pick Helen up when she’d told Lisa her car was in the garage. Dressed neatly in a pair of jeans and a white-collared sweatshirt with a cardinal on a pine branch embroidered across the front, Helen’s gaze darted about the room, betraying her nervousness.

After offering her coffee and what remained of the morning’s treats, Lisa asked, “Did Shannon tell you why I wanted you to come in?”

Helen looked at Shannon, who smiled encouragingly. “She just told me you wanted to talk to me. I was so looking forward to talking to you about Emma when you came to the house. Steven stopped in right before you came. He saw that I had cookies set out for company and quizzed me about it until I told him. I didn’t want him to stay, but I couldn’t ask him to leave.”

“Why is that, Helen?”

“I wanted to be able to tell you everything. If I asked him to leave, he’d suspect that I’d tell you what I really thought. I know in my heart he had something to do with Emma’s disappearance.”

“Helen, did you tell this to the police?”

“Well, not really. You see, I had no proof.” She twined her fingers together on her lap, her eyes bright with tears.

Not wanting to cause her any more anguish, Lisa said, “You’re right, they couldn’t arrest him on suspicion. But if there’s no proof, why do you think he’d be concerned about anything you would say?”

Helen blinked back tears. “I know it was foolish, but after she’d been gone a few days, I accused him of doing something to her. I was just so upset. He denied it, but since then he watches me like a hawk.”

Lisa nodded, but wondered why Helen tolerated the man. “Helen, did you ever ask Steven to stay away?”

“Oh, no. I know he used to hit my daughter; I saw the bruises. I’m afraid to make him angry, he frightens me. I miss Emma so much! He keeps saying she’ll be back any day. I know he doesn’t really believe it, just like he’s lying about Emma taking her savings and collection with her. She was afraid of him too. She wouldn’t have left without telling me. I talked to her every day.”

A tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek. “Now I’m even suspicious he did something to my car. I wasn’t having any problems with it until after he left Saturday.”

Lisa and Shannon exchanged a look. “Helen, I’m afraid we might have provoked Fischer into doing something rash. I’ve spoken with the detective who handled the investigation into Emma’s disappearance. She’d like to talk to you again, try to stimulate your memory.”

Helen’s mouth set into a firm line. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

Lisa tried another approach. “Helen, we’re concerned for your safety. We think it might be wise for you to go away for a while, at least until the police can prove Steven had something to do with your daughter’s disappearance. Hopefully, with your help, they can put him in jail.”

“You’re right. I don’t trust him. But leaving my home! Do you really think that’s necessary?”

Lisa said, “I do. Maybe if you go over everything with Detective Petersen again, they’ll find something new to go on. There could be something you didn’t consider important at the time. There must be, or your son-in-law wouldn’t be concerned about you talking to us.”

Helen shrank back into the couch. “All right. I’ll talk to her.”

Lisa thought the others should know what had developed. Eric picked up on the second ring.

He said, “If you can convince Helen to leave, I don’t think she should even go back to get her things. One of us can go over there and get them for her.”

“She called her sister in New York and made plans to go for a visit. We can get her on a plane tonight. Maggie’s going to be here any minute now to talk to her.”

“I’m on my way.”

Eric drove back to his office after he and Lisa had picked up suitcases and clothes for Helen, feeling relieved the police were going to work the Emma Fischer case again, and Helen would be safely in New York, out of harm’s way.

At the office he found an urgent message from Jeff. When Jeff answered his phone, he told Eric the police had found his wife’s car.

Eric’s first reaction was concern that Jeff would end up in a jail cell as he had. “Do they want to question you again?”

“No, they only told me they found the car. They didn’t even tell me where they found it.”

“It’s time to get an attorney, my friend. They will question you again. Finding the car makes it look like she didn’t leave on her own. And they won’t tell you anything until the car is processed.”

“I drove around for days looking for her car,” Jeff admitted.

“Yeah, I know. I did the same thing myself. Listen, Jeff, get an attorney on retainer—now.”

22             

Although he preferred to think of her death as an accident, five years ago Eddie Wysecki murdered his wife. A diabetic, Rita had been prone to drinking in excess and forgetting to take her insulin. Eddie, who worked as a bartender, often came home in the early morning hours after the bar closed to find her in a drunken, diabetic stupor. The first time it happened he’d rushed her to the emergency room.

During one of their subsequent trips to the ER, the nurses instructed him on how to bring her back by himself. He listened raptly, even took notes. Eddie would have done anything to avoid another endless night in the ER.

As a young man, Eddie had been in and out of trouble, culminating in a two-year jail stint after a botched robbery. In prison, he’d had a lot of time to dwell on his life, coming to the realization that being a criminal wasn’t paying off. He didn’t have the necessary attributes for a successful life of crime—balls and intelligence. After prison, he worked dozens of crappy jobs, proving himself a good employee, then moving on to one a little less subservient. When he finally landed a job as a bartender in the corner bar near his apartment, he knew he’d found his niche. Both the hours and the atmosphere suited him.

Rita Claussen, a regular at the bar, was five years older than him. A petite woman, she’d put on a few pounds over the years and wore her bleached blonde hair in a high concoction on top of her head, reminiscent of something from the ‘60s. He liked her bubbly personality, which became even more so as she drank. She often hung around till everyone else left, leaving with him after the bar closed for the night. An alcoholic, she nevertheless managed to get to work every day, where she held down a good job at one of the local breweries.

When they got married and moved into the lower flat of a nice duplex in West Allis, Eddie knew he had turned his life around. He wasn’t exactly sure when things started to go south, but thought it began on that first night he came home and found Rita passed out. She knew she had to take her insulin regularly and shouldn’t be drinking so much, but despite the many promises she made, her good intentions were short-lived. The frequent “revivals” Eddie performed wore on him.

After a couple years with no change in the pattern of their lives, Eddie wanted out, but felt like a real ass for thinking about divorcing Rita. He felt sorry for her and being married still had its advantages. Two paychecks ensured he could save part of his wages every week, and Rita, a union employee, had good benefits and carried him on her healthcare plan.

He got over the idea of divorcing her, but then the owner of the bar he worked in decided to retire and move to Florida, telling Eddie he’d give him first crack at buying the place. Eddie had worked there long enough to know the bar provided a decent income. He’d been hoping for the opportunity for a long time. But with only a little over ten grand saved, he’d need at least another twenty-five to swing it.