Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (26 page)

He took a deep breath to calm down and sat on the chair next to
Jo’s gurney. Through the curtained opening, he heard a child crying for his
mother to make his arm stop hurting. In the other direction, he heard a man
pleading for someone to save his daughter’s eye. The sharp scent of fear
assaulted his nose, an odor he was all too familiar with.

He wished Jo would wake up and look at him. He couldn’t remember
being so helpless before this moment. He was used to being the one in charge.
He was the surgeon, not relying on anyone else but himself. Even when Jo had
been in danger in their first case together, he had been there to make sure
nothing happened to her. This time, there was nothing he could do but wait and
pray. This time, it wasn’t just Jo’s life at risk.

John was startled out of his thoughts a few moments later when
Doctor Cooper returned. “Doctor, we’ll take her down for the MRI now. “

***

John sat at her bedside thirty minutes later, when Jo let out a
moan. He grasped her hand. “Jo. Can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, but she quickly closed them again. John
said, “We’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You suffered a mild concussion. You
need to stay overnight, for observation, but the doctor was encouraging.”

Her eyelids flew open and her eyes had a haunted look about them.
She croaked out, “The baby….”

John squeezed her hand tighter and made an attempt at a smile.
“They’re going to perform an ultrasound shortly, but I’m sure the baby is
fine.” With a sinking feeling, he realized he said the words to reassure
himself as much as Jo.

Of course, nothing mattered more than Jo right now. First things,
first, he reminded himself.

A frown formed between her eyebrows. “Mazlo?”

John was torn between wanting her to rest and wanting to keep her
awake because of the concussion. He decided she needed to stay awake more. “I
assume you mean the guy who took me hostage.” He smiled briefly. “I spoke with
Detective Simmons, Frisco’s partner, while you were getting the MRI. She said
Frisco raced up the down escalator while I was wrestling with Mazlo and managed
to tackle him at the top, like an all-star defensive lineman.” He blew out a
breath. “He’s in custody.”

He could tell she was growing sleepy again when all he could see
was a sliver of her green eyes. She said, “Why…why were you there?”

“I had a meeting at the university today. I had just stepped off
the elevator onto the main floor when Mazlo literally ran into me.” He shook
his head. “Jesus, I’ve never been as frightened in my life as I was when I
landed on top of you at the bottom of that escalator.” He tried unsuccessfully
to swallow back his anger once again.

He released his frustration on her, “What the hell were you
thinking? You’re pregnant, Jo. You can’t just keep running after bad guys, like
only your life matters anymore….”

He stopped abruptly when he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks.
He felt terrible for berating her. This was neither the time nor the place to
have this discussion, and he knew she was just as frightened about their baby
as he was. He ran his hand through his hair. “Jo, I’m so sorry….”

She squeezed his hand. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right; I have to do
a better job at balancing this. But when I saw that gun to your head….”

They were interrupted when a new doctor stepped into the room. He
was short, not much taller than Jo, and looked to be somewhere in his early
fifties. Extending his hand to Jo and then John, he said, “Hello, I’m Doctor
Fillmer. Glad to see you’re awake.” He raised an eyebrow. “I understand you’ve
had a bit of a tumble recently. Let’s make sure everything is in order, shall
we?” John thought the doctor’s voice sounded a little too hearty when he
continued, “Ready?”

Jo swallowed and nodded. John held tight to her hand as the doctor
sat on a rolling chair next to her. After the ultrasound machine was hooked up,
he raised Jo’s gown to bare her stomach. The doctor squirted some gel onto the
end of the transducer probe and slowly rolled it across her midriff. All eyes
were glued to the display screen. John crouched forward, searching for proof
their child was alive and well. He could feel Jo’s hand tremble in his own and
he gave it a squeeze to reassure her.

The doctor moved the probe back and forth, making small noises in
the back of his throat. “So far, no signs of lacunae.”

Jo looked to John for explanation “He means there is no evidence
of blood leaking between the placenta and the uterine wall.” He smiled at her.
“It’s a great sign, Jo.”

John’s eyes returned to the screen and, looking carefully, he
began to see a child’s form. A lump formed at the back of his throat as he
realized he was looking at their child for the first time. He almost stood up
and cheered when he saw the baby move its tiny arm, but suddenly realized he
saw something else.

There were two babies on the screen
.
He looked up at the doctor for confirmation. The doctor smiled.
“They’re doing very well, I’d say. Their fetal heart tones sound normal.”

Jo shook her head gingerly. “Must be this damned concussion. I
thought you said, ‘they’re’, as in more than one.”

John’s grin was so wide it almost hurt. The words escaped from his
mouth, “My, God, Jo. We’re having twins!”

Turners Bend

March

I
T
WAS NEARLY SIX IN THE MORNING
when Chief Fredrickson drove Chip
home before he headed to the Bun for breakfast with Agent Masterson and Iver.
As they neared his house, Chip called Jane. “Hi, Honey. I’ll be home in about
ten minutes.”

All
she said was, “Okay,” which set Chip to worrying.
This is not going to be easy, and I’m way too tired to deal with it.

When
he arrived, Jane was at the stove stirring a pot of hot oatmeal. She was
dressed in her ratty terrycloth robe, which was once white, and a pair of wool
slipper socks. Hair had fallen out of her carelessly bound ponytail. She did
not turn when Chip entered the kitchen. She spooned oatmeal into two bowls,
added brown sugar and raisins and put them on the table, along with a carton of
cream.

Chip
removed his outerwear and hung it on a hook near the backdoor. He sat in a
kitchen chair across from Jane and watched her flood her oatmeal with cream.
She had still not spoken a single word. She placed her elbows on the table,
folded her hands and stared at him…waiting.

Chip
gulped and started at the beginning. He kept nothing from her; he didn’t evade
or sugar-coat any of the details. Jane did not interrupt with comments or
questions. Meanwhile their oatmeal remained untouched, cold and congealed.

When
Jane finally spoke, it was not at all what Chip had expected her to say. She
took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to the hospital to see Hal.”

“Mom.
I want to go with you. I want to see Dad.” Chip and Jane turned to see Ingrid
standing in the kitchen doorway in her snowman-print, flannel pajamas.

***

The
three of them headed for Des Moines with Jane driving. The calm, clear night
had turned into a gray, windy morning, and snow blew off the tops of snow banks
and drifted across the road, the wind buffeting the car. Chip dozed in the back
seat while Jane and Ingrid rode silently up front.

Before
they left home, Jane talked with Chief Fredrickson and agreed to give Deputy
Anderson a ride back to Turners Bend, saving the chief a trip to the hospital.
She also called Methodist for an update on Hal’s condition, but was unable to
get much information.

When
they arrived at the hospital they were directed to a family lounge where they
found Deputy Anderson asleep in a recliner. They registered at a reception desk
and were told the hospitalist would be paged. They helped themselves to
lukewarm coffee and waited until a small dark-skinned man in a white coat
entered the room. In a lilting accent he introduced himself as Dr. Sanjay
Singh.

“Are
you Mr. Swanson’s wife?”

“No,
I’m his ex-wife. This is his daughter, Ingrid, and this is my husband, Charles
Collingsworth.” Dr. Singh shook hands with them, bowing his head slightly to each.

“Please
let us sit.” They seated themselves in leather chairs that surrounded a small
low table littered with tattered
People
and
Prevention
magazines.

“When
Mr. Swanson arrived early this morning, he had a challenging compound fracture
of his right femur and had lost a significant amount of blood. We successfully
did an open reduction with an internal fixation by which we essentially pinned
the bone back together. You understand, yes?”

They
nodded. “Just like with Runt,” said Ingrid.

“Runt
is our dog, Dr. Singh,” explained Jane. “His broken leg was repaired but with
an external fixator. How is Hal now?”

“With
compound fractures our greatest concern is not the broken bone; it is
infection. This morning it became clear he has developed a bacterial infection,
which we are culturing. In his weakened condition, his body is not able to
fight the infection, and he is in very critical condition.”

“May
we see him?” asked Jane.

“Because
of the circumstances of his injury and the presence of law enforcement people,
Mr. Swanson is in isolation in an empty section on the fourth floor. You will
have to check with the guard at the door to gain entrance. If you will follow
me, I will show you the way.”

Chip
recognized the agent who was seated outside Hal’s room as one of the agents who
had first come to Turners Bend with Agent Masterson to investigate Hal’s
laundering of drug money. He was the one Bernice thought looked like Paul
Newman.

The
agent stood as they approached. “Agent Warner,” he said extending his hand to
Chip. “We met a couple of years ago.”

“You
may remember my wife, Jane Swanson, and this is my step-daughter Ingrid. Would
it be possible for them to see Hal?”

“It’s
supposed to be medical personnel only, with me in the room, but under the
circumstances I think I can let them in for a private visit, just for a few
minutes.”

While
Jane and Ingrid were in Hal’s room, Chip tried to sort out his own feelings
about the man. All he could come up with was pity. Hal made one bad decision
after another and ruined his life, lost everything and now faced harsh
punishment for his misdeeds. Chip remembered that he himself had been heading
down the path of self-destruction. Maybe not the same path as Hal, but an
equally bad road…the road to perdition. Somehow in the middle of Iowa he
managed to turn his life around. He suddenly felt the need to remind himself of
his gratitude.
There, but for the grace
of God, go I.

Jane
and Ingrid exited the room, holding each other, grim faced but dry eyed. Two
strong, brave women, Chip thought. He didn’t know if he deserved them, but he
was proud to call them his family.

“Let’s
get some lunch before we head home,” he said, walking down the hallway with his
arms around both of them.

They
ordered navy bean soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in the hospital cafeteria
and crowded around a small table. They picked at their food without much
appetite. Chip finally broke the silence. “How was he?”

“He
was sedated. We hardly recognized him; he’s changed so much. They had him
hooked up and wired to lots of machines and monitors. I think he’s in pretty
bad shape,” answered Jane.

“Do
you think he heard us, Mom?”

“Yes,
Ingrid. I believe he heard us and understood who we were and what we were
telling him. I’m sure he did, sweetie.”

Chip
wanted desperately to know what they have said but knew he had no right to ask.
Ingrid, however, told him.

“We
told him to always remember at one time he was very much loved. That we will
remember the good times, forget the bad times, and hold him in our hearts
forever. And he shouldn’t worry about us; we now have someone else in our lives
to take care of us, and that man is a good person.” She stopped and looked to
her mother before she continued. “Someone who loves us and Sven, too.”

Chip
had always wondered about the “lump in the throat” description, but now he
experienced it, and the lump was accompanied by watering of his eyes. He
reached over and put his hand on Ingrid’s cheek and kissed her on the forehead.

They
left most of their lunch uneaten and returned to the family lounge to pick up
the deputy before returning home. Jim was awake and waiting for them. “The doc
is looking for you. Something about lab results.”

Dr.
Singh arrived and asked them to be seated again. “As you saw, Mr. Swanson is
gravely ill. The lab reports show he has bacterial septicemia, a blood
infection. The particular bacteria we have identified are a highly-virulent
strain. We will treat him with the antibiotics we have, but the prognosis at
this point is very poor. I’m very sorry to tell you this.”

Chip
was always in awe of Jane’s command of crises. She took charge and made swift
decisions. Chip was to return to Turners Bend with Deputy Anderson and come
back to the hospital with Hal’s parents, Harold and Ruth. She would call Sven
and book him on the next flight from Minneapolis to Des Moines. Hal Swanson,
should he die, would not be alone and would not die without final goodbyes from
his family.

***

And
so it was. Chip returned to the hospital with Hal’s parents, Sven flew in from
Minneapolis, and thirty-two hours later Hal Swanson passed away with his family
by his side, an FBI agent at his door and Chip Collingsworth sitting by himself
in the family lounge, holding a cup of stone-cold coffee in a Styrofoam cup.

***

Hal
Swanson was laid to his final rest. The interment was private, for family only,
and was in the old graveyard beside First Lutheran Church. Chip stood huddled
with Jane and the kids, while Rebecca, Hal’s sister from Chicago, and her
husband Lyle, held on to his parents. The elderly couple looked frail and old
beyond their years, bereft and broken.

Rebecca
was faced with the task of making decisions about her parents and moving them
from the family home into assisted-living. Chip did not want to think about the
day he might have to do likewise for his own parents. Charles and Maribelle
Collingsworth would not go without a
battle
royale
.

Iver
had thawed out a small patch and dug a hole for the urn that contained Hal’s
ashes. It was in the Swanson family plot, alongside Hal’s grandparents and
various aunts and uncles.

The
day was raw, with heavy clouds and a sharp wind that stung any exposed skin.
Pastor Henderson made short order of the committal service.

“Into
your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Harold. Acknowledge, we
humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a
sinner of your own redeeming.”

The
words couldn’t have been more perfect, thought Chip. When he had first
approached the pastor about doing a service for Hal, he thought he might get
some pushback, even a rejection. But Henderson didn’t hesitate. Instead he
quoted scripture. “Chip, Roman 3:23 reminds us we all have sinned and fallen
short of God’s glory. Hal Swanson was baptized, confirmed and married in this
church. We bury our own regardless of their sins.”

***

The
ending of a real life story, Hal Swanson’s story, was done. Chip recalled all
the times various law enforcement friends had reminded him about the
differences between real life and fictional crime tales. Not all criminals are
caught, justice is not always done, endings are not always happy. He feared
Patrick Finnegan’s murder would not be solved and tied up with a pretty bow.

Yet,
he wanted a happy ending for Jo and John. He could not leave his crime series,
depart from the characters he had lived with for years, without knowing they
would go forward with a happy life. And thus, he wrote the last chapter of
Head Shot
.