Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (15 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Head Shot

Williston, ND

Late October

D
ETECTIVE RON FISCHER
drove along rough roads, flanked by ditches filled with
rusty-tinted snow from the scoria clay. Special Agent Jo Schwann regretted her
big breakfast. Each bump caused her stomach to churn. She rolled down the
window a few inches and breathed in the cool air, waiting for her nausea to
subside.

To distract herself, Jo brought up the earlier conversation from
the Fischer’s breakfast table. “You know more about water contamination from
the fracking process than you said, don’t you?”

Ron looked away from the road for a moment. “Yeah. I do. I have a
friend who hauls what the oil companies call ‘produced water’. Only the haulers
call it ‘dirty water.’”

He turned his attention back to the road. “Old Griff said the
first time he opened the hatch atop one of the tanks, he just about passed out
from the fumes. Now he wears a hydrogen sulfide detector and carries a gas mask
in the cab of his rig. You can’t tell me some of that crap doesn’t find its way
into our water supply.”

Ron slowed the truck to a crawl to let an oil tanker pull onto the
highway. “I hate to talk about it too much in front of Micki, ‘cause there’s
not a lot of independent research on the water around here. I know it’s hard on
her, seeing all her friends driving new cars and taking fancy vacations all the
time. But, something about the whole thing makes me nervous. Like who’s really
in charge?”

Jo studied the detective’s profile. “I take it you’re against
fracking?”

“Nah, I didn’t say that. But I’d feel better if someone was
watching the henhouse a little more closely.”

He rubbed the scar on his chin. “The safety regulations – for the
water and everything else - always seem to be about twenty steps behind the
progress. So, I have to ask myself, who’s keeping a lid on the regulations?
Gotta be big oil, right? Everybody in the whole damned country is so thrilled
we’re becoming less dependent on foreign oil that they don’t stop to think
about the consequences of moving too fast.”

“Plenty of people out there are trying to change that, like the
fractivists.”

“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Maybe I’m
crazy. We should probably rent out some of our land on the back forty acres and
wait for the checks to roll in like everyone else. Micki’s right. It would be
great to put some money aside for the boys.”

They drove along in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their
own thoughts. Finally, the detective pointed through the windshield to a gray,
prefabricated metal building on the right-hand side of the road. “There’s
Wellborne Industries.”

Jo recognized the large “W” on the sign in front. Ron pulled the
vehicle into the parking lot, passing a huge crane and a truck-wash bay.
Several men working near the crane stopped what they were doing and watched
them get out of Ron’s truck. One of the men nudged the guy next to him and
pointed in Jo’s direction. He made a crude rocking gesture with his hips and
the others laughed.

The detective followed her gaze. “Ignore those idiots. We’ve got a
lot more men than women around here these days and it makes some of the guys
forget their manners. You wouldn’t believe some of the crap Micki has dealt
with, just shopping in the grocery store.” Jo thought about the driver in the
SUV at the airport the previous night and felt a small tremor of apprehension.

Ron opened the door and followed Jo into the building’s office
space. A stern looking woman with rimless eyeglasses glanced up from her desk.
“Morning, Ron. What brings you to our neck of the woods this morning? Finally
decide to rent out some of your land?”

“Nah. Here on official business this morning, Marge.” Marge turned
to Jo and raised her eyebrow, as if noticing her for the first time. Jo pulled
out her credentials. “I’m Special Agent Jo Schwann of the FBI. I’m here to see
Jonathon Wellborne.”

The woman tilted her head. “Must be pretty important to get an FBI
agent all the way out here.”

Ron said, “Is he in or not?”

“Yeah, he’s in. Hang on a sec.” The woman picked up the phone and
placed a call. “Mr. Wellborne, Detective Ron Fischer and an FBI agent are here
to see you. Should I send them in?”

After a moment, she spoke into the receiver, “They didn’t say.”
Finally, she hung up the phone. “You can go in now. He’s in the last office on
the right.”

When they entered the office, Jonathon Wellborne stood up to greet
them. Although Jo had seen pictures of the founder of Wellborne Industries on
the Internet, the photos hadn’t done him justice.

Jonathon was a very attractive man. His casual dress shirt looked
hand-tailored and he wore it with an ease that belied his humble beginnings in
the Iron Range of Minnesota. He was fit and tall, almost the same height as the
detective. There was only a hint of grey hair at his temples to suggest his
fifty-five years.

He reached out a tanned hand to Jo. “Pleased to meet you. I’m
Jonathon Wellborne.”

Jo shook his hand. “Special Agent Jo Schwann. I believe you know
Detective Ron Fischer?”

Wellborne turned his dazzling smile towards Ron. “Good to see you
again, Detective.” He shook his head, and chuckled a bit, as if a bit
bewildered at their appearance in his office. “I have to say, this is a bit of
a surprise. How may I be of service to you both?”

Jo spoke up. “I am looking into a couple of homicides and an
attempted murder in St. Paul. We have reason to believe that one of your
employees has some information that could help us in our investigation.”

Jonathon raised an eyebrow. “What would a murder investigation in
Minnesota have to do with our company?”

“The victim was filming a documentary about fracking. Do you
recall meeting a young man by the name of Rick Wilson?”

The surprise on Jonathon Wellborne’s face looked genuine, but he
quickly straightened his features. Clearing his throat, he said, “Why, yes. I
believe he was working on some project for a college class. I spoke with him
briefly while his friend videotaped the interview. He asked several questions
about the ethics of fracking and possible threats to the environment.”

The detective said, “What did you tell him?”

“I told him the same thing I tell all our skeptics. We follow all
state and federal regulations to the letter.”

Jo said, “I understand your company filed an injunction against
Mr. Wilson in an attempt to halt the documentary.” She waited to see his
reaction, hoping to shake him.

She was disappointed. Wellborne merely shrugged. “Our legal
department sends those things out on a regular basis. I’m not usually involved
unless the parties we’re dealing with become more than just a nuisance. Most
back off as soon as they hear from our legal team.”

Jo tried again. “Speaking of federal and state regulations, we
have a witness who indicated Mr. Wilson may have spoken with someone in your
compliance department. May I assume we have your full cooperation in speaking
to any of your employees?”

Jonathon Wellborne’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Be my guest.
We have nothing to hide. Marge will be happy to introduce you around.”

He walked them to the door of his office. Just as they were about
to leave, he said, “You know, fractivists never stop to wonder where the oil
comes from that allows them to drive to protest rallies. The fact of the matter
is, we live in a world that runs on oil, and until that changes, the world
needs companies like ours. Just keep that in mind.”

Jo noticed a muscle jumped in his jaw. She was satisfied to
finally see a brief nick in the charming façade of the founder of Wellborne
Industries.

***

The two woman working in the compliance department looked up as
Marge entered the room with Jo and the detective. One of the women looked to be
near retirement age, while the other couldn’t have been older than her early
twenties. Both of the women had been interrupted mid-stroke on their computer
keyboards, and the younger one looked down at her hands, as if she had been
caught doing something wrong.

Jo was disappointed there were only women in the department. Billy
MacGregor had been clear he met with a man in the compliance area. However, she
noticed a third, empty desk in the room and wondered about the previous
occupant.

Marge indicated the older woman first. “This is Karen Rogers, our
senior compliance officer.” She then turned to the other woman. “And this is
Kaitlin Weber, our compliance associate. Ladies, this is Detective Fischer and
Special Agent Schwann. They have a few questions for you. Mr. Wellborne would
like you to give them your full cooperation.”

Jo almost missed the exchange of a brief, but meaningful, glance
between Marge and Karen Rogers before the receptionist left the room. Kaitlin
wiped her palms on her pants and Jo wondered what was making the young woman
nervous.

Crossing her arms, Jo said, “We’re here because we’re
investigating a couple of murders and an attempted murder. We have reason to
believe one of the victims may have spoken with someone in your department
recently.”

Jo pulled out a picture of Rick Wilson. “Have you seen this
person?”

Karen Rogers studied it carefully. “Yes, Mr. Wellborne asked me to
share our reports with him. He glanced through our most recent state and
federal reports.”

She shrugged. “He asked me to explain some of the data to him, and
seemed to be satisfied. I didn’t meet with him after that first day, although I
know he interviewed Mr. Wellborne a few more times.” Karen looked at the photo
of Rick Wilson again, and frowned. “He didn’t have anything to do with the
murders, did he?”

Jo said, “Rick Wilson is one of the victims.”

Ms. Rogers said, “He seemed like such a nice kid. Is he…is he
dead?"

Jo shook her head. “He’s in critical condition, but he’s holding
his own so far.”

The older woman said, “I’ll add him to my prayers.” Jo detected a
note of insincerity in the woman’s tone.

Detective Fisher turned to Kaitlin. “How about you, Miss? Did you
meet with Rick Wilson?”

The young woman quickly looked away from the photo, but Jo thought
she saw Kaitlin’s eyes widen slightly. She shook her head and mumbled, “No.
Karen said…um, she mentioned he was here; I think I had a doctor’s appointment
that day. Sorry.”

Jo doubted the woman was telling everything she knew, and she
would bet her next paycheck that Kaitlin recognized Rick Wilson. Jo walked over
to Kaitlin’s side of the desk and stood right next to her, hoping to rattle her
further. Jo watched a flush creep up the woman’s neck.

“I noticed there is an empty desk next to yours, Ms. Weber. Do you
have an absent co-worker?”

Kaitlin Weber flinched and looked at Karen Rogers in desperation.
The older woman responded. “It’s only the two of us. All our reporting is
computerized, so it’s simple enough to handle on our own.”

With the woman neatly side-stepping the question about the empty
desk, Jo decided to drop the subject. She walked toward Karen Rogers. “I’d like
to see the reports you shared with Mr. Wilson.”

“Certainly.”

They spent the next hour poring over the reports. Jo asked several
questions, but in reality, she knew it was a fishing expedition. What she
really wanted was more time to question Kaitlin Weber.

She was impressed with some of the questions Ron Fischer asked. He
obviously had done his research, possibly because the data would impact the
water quality in his back yard.

Finally, they packed up their notes and Jo thanked the women for
their cooperation. They walked back towards the truck. Jo noticed a dark SUV
parked next to Ron’s truck. She could have sworn it was the same one she one
she had seen at the airport, but black SUVs were ubiquitous, especially in
northern states. She had been unable to see the license number the previous
evening, so she couldn’t be sure this was the same vehicle. There was no one in
the SUV. This time, she made a mental note of the plate number.

Ron interrupted her thoughts. “Well, that was a bust. Could your
informant have met with a compliance officer in another oil company?”

Shifting mental gears, Jo climbed back up into the truck cab and
replied, “It’s possible. But I’d like to know who used to sit at that extra
desk.”

The detective was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Did you
notice Kaitlin Weber seemed a little squirrely?”

Jo smirked. “Oh, yes. She definitely knew more than she was
saying.” She dug through her bag and pulled out her cell phone to check for
missed messages. When she did, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor by her
boot.

She picked up the note and read it. Jo’s heart sped up. “Looks
like there may have been a good reason Kaitlin was acting squirrely. She must
have slipped a note in my purse when we were looking over the data with Karen
Rogers. Kaitlin