Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (23 page)

Chapter Thirty

AgriDynamics

The AgriDynamics plant was about seven miles west of town. The sprawling complex covered several acres. It looked like a commercial airplane hangar but with loading docks. Cranes loaded crates containing disassembled wind turbines onto flat beds and semis from an independent trucking firm hauled them away. Three wind turbines on the property supplied power.

Chip was working what he hoped would be his final weekend. He was assigned to help Hank pack crates. Hank was tall and thin with a perpetual haggard look that resulted from his struggle to support a wife and four kids on the earnings from two low-paying jobs.

“Where are these babies headed, Hank?”

“We used to ship most of our turbines to wind farms out west, California, Idaho, even Mexico. Now our business is mostly in the Midwest. This load is going up to Minnesota.”

“Looks to me like Swanson is sitting on a gold mine here. Probably pulling in big bucks, I would bet.”

“Used to.”

“Not anymore? Why’s that?”

“Hal isn’t keeping up with Japan and China. Their innovations and new technologies are blowing us away. He once was real hands-on and interested in moving the company forward. Now it seems he’s only interested in the bottom line and the bottle.

“Herman over on the manufacturing end is a real engineer, got a degree and all. To hear him talk, we’ll be out of business in five years. He says we’re making Stone Age turbines.”

“It’s almost lunch break, but I’ve got to take a leak now. See you in the break room.” Chip headed in the direction of the restroom but kept on going down a long corridor that led to the manufacturing side of the plant. He inched open a heavy metal door, slipped in and stood in the shadows along the wall.

Acrid fumes burned his eyes and nose. He took out his camera phone and began to take photos of the workers in their booties, gloves, and facemasks. The lunch bell rang.

“Clean up those spills and dump that solvent in the barrel before you go to lunch,” said the supervisor who was dressed in a full HAZMAT suit. He turned and spotted Chip. “Hey, what in the hell are you doing in here without protective gear? This epoxy resin is dangerous. Get your ass out of here.”

Chip exited with the workers. Outside the area they deposited their protective wear into another barrel.

With an eerie feeling, Chip scanned the plant one more time. He thought he saw someone on the glass-enclosed catwalk above the workers, but then dismissed it as a shadow.

Jane sat in her truck nursing the strong bitter coffee in her thermal travel mug. Her eyes were on the doors of the truck bays but her mind was elsewhere. Lust was doing battle with reality. Was she really falling for this guy? He would probably finish his book and head back to Baltimore or maybe out to Hollywood. Then where would she be? She had her kids and her profession. That was more than enough. Chip just didn’t fit in her life, even if he was starting to fit into the community. Sure, the sex was good. No … the sex was great. But she couldn’t let it cloud her judgement. Tomorrow she would break it off with him, end it before it caused her more heartbreak than she could endure again.

Mental turmoil almost caused her to miss the truck as it exited the warehouse and headed down the state road. With her headlights off she followed at a safe distance, using the truck’s taillights as her guide. It turned off the main road and headed down the rutted dirt road that led to the town’s landfill. She pulled over and shifted into park, letting the engine idle.

The driver stepped out of the cab. In the hazy glow of the moon, his astronaut-like HAZMAT suit was mesmerizing. He unloaded the barrels and began to dump their contents.

She put the truck in reverse and slowly backed up onto the main road, turned on her headlights and pushed the speedometer up to eighty miles per hour, heading for home. She had little doubt that Chip’s speculations were being confirmed. A thick fog was clouding the road ahead, and her mind was as murky as her vision.
Now what
, she pondered.
Now what?

At the end of his shift Chip told the warehouse supervisor that he would not be returning. He had learned all he needed to know and his camera phone had the proof.

He arrived home at 7:30 a.m., fell into bed with his clothes on and set the alarm for noon. That would give him enough time to shower, google ‘epoxy resins’ and get to Jane’s by 1:00 p.m. Sunday would be his day of rest from
Brain Freeze
.

Five hours later Chip dressed in clean jeans and an open-necked white shirt with the tails out. He packed up his laptop, jumped into the Volvo and drove to Jane’s hobby farm southeast of town. About a half a mile from her place he spotted her running along the road. He pulled over along side her.

“Hi, want a lift the rest of the way?”

“No thanks. Go ahead. I want to finish my run.”

Disappointment began to creep into Chip’s mind. Jane was obviously not primping for this afternoon. She was dressed in baggy gray sweats and her hair was pulled through the back of a green John Deere cap. Maybe a shower together was what she had in mind, but he doubted it. Maybe she was just becoming comfortable with him, which would please him to no end, but he doubted that, too. He had a gnawing feeling that their relationship was already reaching a rough patch.

In her kitchen Jane grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “I’ve got bottled water, Diet Coke or I could make a pot of coffee. What would you like?

Chip was longing for a beer, but opted for Coke.

“What happened last night at the plant? Did you get into the manufacturing area?”

“Yes, and it was quite a sight. Looked like Chernobyl in there. Apparently a highly toxic epoxy resin is used as an adhesive and an equally toxic solvent is used for cleaning up. Then everything, including the disposable gloves and masks worn by the workers, is dumped into barrels. I got a few pictures and loaded them on my laptop. Take a look.”

Jane clicked through the photos. “That HAZMAT suit the supervisor is wearing is the same type of suit the truck driver was wearing. Scary to think that the production workers aren’t taking an equal amount of protection, isn’t it?”

“Did the driver dump the barrels into Beaver Creek?”

“No, he dumped the stuff in the town landfill. But the creek is near enough that hazardous materials could run off into it.”

“It’s pretty clear to me, Jane. Hal is using non-EPA approved chemicals, failing to properly dispose of hazardous wastes and polluting Beaver Creek, endangering the livestock and people of Turners Bend. On top of that, he is taking federal funds for running a green operation that supplies alternative energy. When Owen Hansen threatened to expose him, he must have sent some goons to stop him. This is criminal. The authorities have to be brought in, and he needs to be shut down.”

Jane paced back and forth in her kitchen. She sighed and shook her head.

“Chip, we can’t do this. I want to talk to Hal. Get him to promise to stop this. If we inform the authorities, someone else could get hurt. Shutting down AgriDynamics would be devastating. Haven’t you noticed it’s the biggest employer in Boone County? The economy is bad enough already and family farms are dying—the town would shrivel up and die. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Come on, Jane, the guy’s a drunk. He’s gone down a slippery path. Do you think he is going to listen to his ex-wife? He deserves to be put behind bars.”

Jane stopped her pacing. She stood still and quiet for a moment. A chill entered the room and sent warning signals up and down Chip’s spine.

“Chip, he is the father of my children. He is a native son of this town. I will not have him exposed in this manner. You’re an outsider here. You just can’t bop into town and turn us upside down. Go write your crime stories and stay out of our business. And stay out of my life, too. Do you hear me? Get out of my house, and get out of my life.”

Stunned at her vehemence, Chip moved toward her with outstretched arms. “Calm down, Jane. You’re getting carried away, saying things you don’t mean.”

“I’m sorry, Chip. I don’t want to be angry with you. Please go and let me think about this. I need time. I need space.” Her anger had turned to pleading. Chip gave her a brief hug and left.

For the next two days, Chip couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he sure couldn’t write. He wrestled with his feelings for Jane and the moral dilemma that he found himself in concerning AgriDynamics. He didn’t go to the Bun. He wanted to go to the Bend, but feared he might run into Hal. He didn’t check his email or answer his phone. Honey sensed something was wrong and followed him around the house. Runt, however, didn’t have his mother’s sensitivities. He wanted to play and kept bringing his sock toy to Chip for a game. “Sorry, boy, I’m not in the mood for any games. Go lay down.” Finally, Runt gave up and flopped over, instantly falling asleep, and Chip lifted him into his playpen.

He put Honey in the Volvo and headed out for a long drive. He rolled down the back windows, and Honey stuck her head out the window to catch the breeze. She closed her eyes and her nose twitched as the wind blew back her silky ears.

Chapter Thirty-One

Turners Bend

Late April

The rains of early April had ceased and with May approaching planting season was underway. All around Boone County fields were being plowed. In the distance droning engines could be heard as tractors plowed up the rich, black soil. From the road the giant insects ate their way across the landscape. Green John Deeres, yellow Caterpillars, red Massey Fergusons and blue New Hollands churned the earth into deep furrows from sunup to sundown.

Until he came to Iowa, Chip had never experienced the intoxicating smell of soil. He had never imagined what a calming effect it would have on him. He powered down his car window and drove at a slow steady speed, savoring the mossy, musky, piquant aroma. He thought about what Jane had said about the community of Turners Bend and its people, the people who in just six months had become so dear to him. He came to the conclusion that he would have to let Jane deal with Hal and AgriDynamics in her own way.

After two hours he turned toward home. He pulled the Volvo into the garage, let Honey out and walked toward the backdoor. As he approached, he saw the broken window, shards of glass on the porch. The door stood ajar. He did not see any vehicles or hear any noises, so he cautiously pushed the door open with his foot and peered into the kitchen expecting the place to be ransacked. At first nothing seemed to be disturbed. He entered and began to explore. His laptop was gone from the kitchen table. In the living room the only things missing were his iPod and Bose speakers. Then it hit him. The playpen was empty. Where was Runt? He called for him, searching everywhere, every room, every closet, under the bed. No Runt. He ran outside and began to call and whistle, searching around his property. What kind of people would take his puppy? Or did he somehow escape and run out the open door?

Chip returned to the house and phoned the police station. The dispatcher relayed his call to Chief Fredrickson.

“Chief, this is Chip Collingsworth. I’ve had a breakin at my place. Some of my electronics are missing, and Runt is gone. Broke in the backdoor. Don’t know why. If the fool would have tried the knob, he would have found I hadn’t locked it.”

“Sit tight, Chip, Jim and I will be out in about fifteen minutes. In the meantime, don’t touch anything.”

Fredrickson and Deputy Jim Anderson arrived a few minutes later with the lights flashing on the squad car. Chip saw Walter groan and roll his eyes as he exited from the passenger side.

“Jim’s still a rookie, likes to use those lights anytime he gets a chance. Did you find Runt?”

“No, after we’re finished here, I’ll start driving around looking for him. He’s got a microchip, so if anyone finds him, I sure hope they take him to Jane.”

“Let’s have a look inside.”

Jim painstakingly filled out a report on the missing items and took photos of the door, the kitchen and the living room. Fredrickson snooped around.

“Did you check the fridge for anything missing, Chip?”

“No, I didn’t look there. Why would I?

“I got a hunch.”

Chip opened the refrigerator. “I had a six-pack of Bud Light in here, and it’s gone.” He opened the freezer compartment. “Oh, and my bucket of ice cream is gone, too. What kind of thieves take beer and ice cream, for Christ sakes?”

“Kids. Electronics, beer, and ice cream—must be kids. You use that laptop for your mystery writing?”

“Yes, but I always back-up everything on a flash drive, plus my agent has a copy of all the chapters I’ve written to date. I also have my email contact list backed up on another flash drive, so I can retrieve all that.”

“Anything of importance that’s not backed-up?”

Chip thought about all the research on chemicals and epoxy resins he had done in the past week and the photos. All the photos were gone. “I may have lost some research and some photos.”