Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Read online

  The idea of a convicted rapist with a little girl made Parker cringe. “I’m sure she will be. Could you get your husband? I’d like to get started.”

  Teresa Kaufmann started to rise but a creak from the back told her there was no need. “There he is now. Honey?” she called. “We’re in the living room.”

  “We?” asked a husky voice.

  There was the clump of work boots and a large man appeared in the doorway.

  Six-five at least with broad, lumberjack shoulders. He had on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and worn jeans which Parker could tell were from use rather than style. He’d be frightening for any woman to meet in a dark alley.

  His wavy gray brown hair fell to those rugged shoulders and were matched by a full beard. Surrounded by the toys, he had an odd Santa Claus look to him.

  The deep blue eyes peered at Parker with tense curiosity. “Who’s this?” he asked his wife.

  “It’s Mr. Parker. He’s come to talk to us about long term health insurance. They’re offering a special rate for people our age. I told you he was coming. You forgot.”

  Kaufmann scowled. He didn’t want his evening interrupted by a salesman.

  “I won’t be long.” Parker stood and held out a hand for Kaufmann to shake.

  Tentatively, the big man did so. His grip was strong and calloused. He could tear a woman apart if he took a notion to.

  He frowned at his wife. “Teresa, didn’t I warn you about talking to salesmen on the phone?”

  “Oh, he’s a nice man.” Embarrassed by the remark she patted the cushion next to her on the sofa. “Just come and sit down and see what he has to say.”

  Eyeing Parker the man did as she asked.

  Parker took his seat again, opened his briefcase, and took out a pad and paper.

  He should have insurance forms, brochures and whatnot if he’d wanted to make this seem truly legitimate. But he hadn’t had time to get them. He’d have to rely on his ability to fabricate.

  “I know you’re both in your later years and you’re looking for something that will fit into your budget. I’ve taken the liberty of looking into your backgrounds and I think we can offer you a very attractive deal but I need to confirm a bit more information.”

  Kaufmann lifted a bushy brow. “What kind of information?”

  “Just a bit more background data. Employment history and such. It won’t take long.”

  Parker went over what he knew of Kaufmann’s past. His residences, his brick mason jobs, his rise in the construction company he worked for.”

  Kaufmann verified it all.

  Parker pretended to make notes then tapped his pen against his pad, frowning.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Parker?” Teresa asked. “Can’t you give us the better rate?”

  “I can, I just need to clarify…” He feigned awkwardness. “I hate to even ask but it seems there was an incident in Mr. Kaufmann’s past. A rather black mark.”

  Kaufmann’s face went hard. Teresa’s smile disappeared.

  The man fisted his big hands on his lap. “I know what you’re talking about and I paid my debt to society.”

  Parker was surprised he was so up front about it. “I’m sure you have. I just need to confirm—it was an incident with a Ms. Nussbaum?” The daughter of the village trustee in Oak Park.

  “Candace Nussbaum.”

  “He’s turned his life around, Mr. Parker.” Teresa’s voice was sharp and defensive. “He’s done all the right things.”

  “I’m sure he—”

  “He followed all the rules. He did his community service, paid his fines, did his hours of psychological treatment. I was his therapist then.”

  That was news. “I see,” Parker said.

  “That’s how we met.” Teresa Kaufman held her head high and began to speak quickly. “I could tell deep down Woody was a good man. I worked for his parole. I married him right after he was released. We’ve been together almost eighteen years now. My daughter is like his own. He’s a good man.”

  Teresa was almost hysterical now. Parker waited a moment for her to calm down.

  The big man glared at Parker, jaw tight.

  Parker could read his thoughts. His wife had said too much to this stranger. He wasn’t going to get any more from him tonight.

  “Who are you?” Kaufman said.

  Parker looked him in the eye. “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Digging up my past?”

  “In conjunction with another case, similar to the one in your past. I’m working with the police,” he added, stretching the truth just a bit.

  Parker didn’t expect that to work. He expected the man to tell him to leave. Instead suddenly Kaufman put his head in his hands and let out a low moan.

  “All I want is a normal life. I don’t know what happened to me back then. I had just started my own construction company. I was trying to get connected. I was at a party at the country club in Oak Park. A fundraiser. Everyone was there. Trustees, board members, commissioners. I was working the crowd, hoping to land a big contract.”

  Parker stiffened. He was quite familiar with the tactic. He’d done the same many times back in Atlanta.

  “There was alcohol. I drank too much. I was angry. I wanted Roland—Candace’s father—to let my company bid for a job and he wouldn’t do it.”

  Teresa took her husband’s hand. Evidently she’d heard all this years ago.

  “Candace was there, all dressed up. She had on a silver dress and her blond hair was done in one of those—” He made a circular gesture at his head.

  “Chignons,” Teresa supplied.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’d spoken to her a few times before when I went to the house to call on her father. She said she wanted to go for a walk. Somehow we ended up in my truck.” He let out a long sigh.

  Teresa squeezed his hand.

  “I know it’s a common excuse but she did come on to me. Said if I gave her what she wanted, she’d put in a good word with her father.” He ran his hands over his face as if he wanted to wipe the past away. “I was drunk. Things got a little rough. I don’t know what happened. Suddenly she was screaming and crying rape. She was sixteen. I thought she was twenty. She looked so grownup.”

  Kaufmann stared out the window.

  “It’s all in the past now, Woody.”

  He began to shake his head. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could have those few hours back. I’d walk away. Forget that job. Forget Candace. But I can’t do that.”

  “It’s over now. As you said, you’ve paid your debt.” Teresa turned to Parker, her eyes dark and accusing. “Is that enough to satisfy you, Mr. Parker?”

  Parker returned her gaze. It was a good story. It might even be true. But it wasn’t the one he was interested in. He hated bringing anymore grief to the woman but if Kaufmann was hiding another secret in his past, it was best it came out.

  “Fifteen years ago in February a woman was accosted near Roosevelt Road in Lawnfield Heights. She claims you were the one who did it.”

  Kaufmann stared at Parker as if he’d just turned into a zombie. “What?”

  Teresa’s mouth began to move. It took a moment for her to form words. “What are you talking about? That isn’t true.”

  But Kaufmann’s was low and quiet. “Why did this woman wait all these years?”

  “It took her a long time to come to terms with what happened to her.”

  Kaufmann’s eyes narrowed. “And this is the similar case you’re investigating, Mr. Parker?

  “Yes. I’m working for the victim.”

  “There is no victim. At least not from anything I did.” Kaufmann got up and stomped into the adjoining dining room.

  Teresa’s eyes began to fill with tears. “What are you saying Mr. Parker? Is your client going to press charges against my husband?” She pressed her hands to her head. “This can’t be happening. We’ve been happy for all these years and now you’re telling us his past is coming back to haunt us?”r />
  Kaufman’s moan echoed from the other room. It was so filled with despair Parker nearly wanted to apologize and leave them alone. Nearly.

  “It always will come back, Teresa,” Kaufmann said. “I warned you of that when I married you. Once a marked man always a marked man.”

  The woman began to sob. She reached for a tissue from a side table and pressed it to her face. “But you had nothing to do with this woman. I know it. I know it’s not true. Yes, Woody was guilty of what happened with Candace Nussbaum but that’s all. He didn’t attack anyone on Roosevelt Road.” Then her eyes grew large. “Fifteen years ago? Fifteen years ago? We’d been married two years then. We lived in an apartment near Austin. Woody was working as a janitor. He’d lost his construction business, of course. We were living mostly on my salary. Money was tight.”

  Parker leaned toward her a fraction of an inch. “Did he ever go out late at night alone?”

  Again her eyes went wide. “No. Not anymore than usual. To pick something up I’d forgotten at a grocery store maybe.”

  “This incident happened near an all-night grocery store.”

  “No. No. Let me think.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “Was Sandy still with us then? My daughter. She would have been twenty-one. That’s right. She was going to technical school and working at the hospital. She moved out and got her own apartment.”

  No sound from the dining room.

  Parker waited, hoping if Kaufmann was the man who had attacked Miranda, he’d come clean. He seemed the type to do so. He seemed, in fact, to be genuinely rehabilitated. Just what he’d wished for for Mackenzie. But if Kaufmann had been reformed why had he kept this dark secret so long?

  And how many other secrets did he have?

  Teresa got up and began pacing across the flowery carpet. “Let me think. Let me think. There has to be an explanation. There has to be something.” She stopped short. “Wait. Did you say February?”

  Parker nodded grimly, aching for the poor woman. “February fifteen years ago.”

  “Yes. That’s it.” She hurried over to the bookcase and pulled out a lower drawer.

  She rummaged through old newspapers a bit then pulled out a large volume. It had thick paper and a cover of white satin. A wedding album.

  She returned to the sofa, put the book on her lap and began turning pages.

  Parker’s heart went out to her. “Mrs. Kaufmann—”

  “No.” She held up a stern hand. “Just wait.” She kept turning. Then stopped. “Here. Here it is. I found it, Woody,” she called to the living room. “I knew it.”

  “What do you have?” Parker rose and moved behind the sofa to see what Teresa was pointing at.

  “Sometime after the holidays that year—I don’t remember exactly when—I put my business card in one of the restaurants we’d go to occasionally. I won a cruise. A three week cruise to the Caribbean. I hadn’t had a vacation in years so I had the time saved up. My boss insisted we go.”

  Parker peered down at two pages of photos of the smiling Kaufmann’s—both of them looking much younger—in Hawaiian print shirts, shorts, bathing suits, holding up a tropical drink or a souvenir.

  He let out a long, patient breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kaufmann. I understand you went on a cruise. Perhaps it was that year. But these photographs don’t prove the timeframe.”

  Teresa turned around, blinked at him with teary eyes. Again his heart broke for her.

  Slowly she shook her head. “No, I see that. They don’t prove exactly when we were there. But these do.”

  She turned the page.

  On one side were two tickets marked with the dates the Kaufmann’s had gone on the cruise. On the other side was the itinerary Teresa had saved.

  From the first week of February to the last. They had been gone nearly the entire month. Miranda never told him the date of her attack. He doubted she remembered it. But she’d always said it was in the middle of February.

  Parker felt as if the floor of the cozy house was collapsing under him.

  He’d been wrong about Kaufmann. He wasn’t Mackenzie’s father. He wasn’t the unknown texter. He had far too much to lose.

  Parker had tormented this woman and a reformed man for no more reason than a hunch.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kaufmann,” he said. “Clearly my client is wrong about her attacker’s identity.”

  The poor woman put her face in her hands and began to sob with relief. “Thank you,” was all she could get out.

  “Truly, I apologize.”

  Parker had nothing more to say so he headed for the front door to let himself out. As he did Kaufmann came out of the living room and stood staring at him. His deep blue eyes were red and moist. But his expression held nothing of anger or vengeance. He seemed calm and strangely…sympathetic.

  “Good evening,” Parker told him.

  “Mr. Parker?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope your client finds the man who assaulted her.”

  With a nod, Parker left the home. He couldn’t have felt worse if the man had punched him in the stomach.

  ###

  As he got in the car and drove away, guilt turned to bitter disappointment.

  The harder he worked, the farther away from his goal he got. This hunt was turning him into something he didn’t want to be. He was growing obsessive but he couldn’t stop now. He’d only begun. Perhaps he was taking the wrong approach. But there was no other to take.

  He thought of the last two men on Demarco’s list. The two in prison. He would pay them a visit tomorrow and hope one of them would be the one he was hunting. And if not…?

  He’d figure that out later. For now he had enough to deal with.

  Lord only knew how he would explain another day away without Miranda seeing through him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Miranda stretched her arms over her head and let out a big yawn. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can stand.”

  In the chair beside her, Templeton groaned. “Me, too.”

  Two hours ago, Miranda had filled Detective Templeton in on all she and Parker had learned about Lydia Sutherland’s boyfriend, Adam Tannenburg, and the two of them had hit the databases hard in an attempt to find the illusive sucker.

  They were down in the Dungeon—the guard’s affectionate name for the Evidence Room—at the little metal desk in the corner, playing dueling laptops.

  Miranda was on her sleek new unit from the Agency, Templeton on her department issue. Miranda had claimed the Agency search engines were far superior to the police department’s and had bet the detective she’d find Adam Tannenburg first. Templeton had taken her on.

  The stakes were high. A Giordano’s pizza was on the line. Some of the best fare in the world, in Miranda’s opinion. She hadn’t had one in ages and she wasn’t about to lose.

  But so far they were oh-for-oh.

  Though they’d discovered a good bit of background data on the man.

  He had been born Adam Foster Tannenburg at Evanston hospital, arriving into the world at twenty inches and eight pounds—on the large side. His father had served in the military then gone into banking. Father worked as an executive at the same large downtown institution Adam’s grandfather had retired from. Died of a heart attack when Adam was nine, just as the neighbor, Mrs. Johnston had reported.

  All throughout school Adam made excellent grades. He won awards for his clarinet playing. Teachers commented he was extremely polite and well disciplined. A little too disciplined to Miranda’s way of thinking. What young boy doesn’t get into a little trouble once in a while?

  But Adam Tannenburg’s record was as clean as the driven snow. No detentions, no black marks. Even his driving record was spotless, though they couldn’t find a copy of his license, which was odd. And his silver Mustang had been registered in his mother’s name. After her death it hadn’t been renewed.

  The day after the fire that had killed Lydia Sutherland, Tannenburg had been brought in for
questioning and held overnight in Cook County Jail. Templeton had dug up the transcripts of those interviews and together she and Miranda had scoured them.

  But the answers revealed nothing but a well-bred, polite young man.

  He’d met Lydia at the Art Institute. They’d dated. Things were getting serious. He was brokenhearted at her loss.

  No mention of his running away after the fire broke out. He claimed he wasn’t there that night. The police believed him and let him go. Maybe Lydia’s neighbor got it wrong.

  And after the fire at his mother’s house…he’d disappeared for good.

  They’d run arrest reports for the past fourteen years in all the major cities. New Orleans, New York, LA, San Francisco.

  Not a blip.

  Okay, so Adam wasn’t in trouble. He played the clarinet. Maybe he enrolled in a music school somewhere. Maybe become a teacher at one of them. If he knew Lydia Sutherland when he was nineteen, he’d be thirty-four now. Could be married with kids. Could be living overseas.

  They tried all the big music schools they could think of, plus the major universities with the best music programs. Then they started to sift through the midsized schools down to the smaller ones.

  So far, no Adam Tannenburg at any of them.

  But the parameters were too large. If Adam Tannenburg had gotten lost in some podunk town and enrolled in some podunk college, they’d never find him.

  “Where the hell is this guy?” Miranda said with a groan to match Templeton’s frustration.

  An arm folded over her chunky chest Templeton was studying one of the papers she’d printed out.

  “You got something, Templeton?”

  “Not sure. I found the lawyer who handled the Tannenburg estate after Muriel died. He’s still practicing downtown.”

  Miranda sat up. Why didn’t she think of that? If this guy was doling out money to Muriel Tannenburg’s heir, he’d know where he was.

  “Cool,” she grinned. “We’ll go see him in the morning.”

  Templeton turned to her and Miranda could see the question in her eyes. “Who’s ‘we’?”