Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (26 page)

Jo let out a puff of air. “I really don’t give a damn what you take kindly to. I said drop the gun or I’ll shoot.”

He ignored her as if she were a toddler throwing a temper tantrum and turned his attention to John. “Nice of you to join us, Dr. Goodman. Been a long time.” Without changing the aim of his gun away from John, he called over his shoulder, in the direction of the kitchen. “Thompson. Wilson. Bring in our other guest, will you?”

Belinda let out a yelp when two large men dressed in black dragged a body into the room, their arms hooked under each arm of the man between them. When they dropped him with a loud
thunk
on the hardwood floor of Belinda’s family room, John realized that the bloodied body in front of him was Frisco. He could not detect a rise and fall of the detective’s chest.

Preoccupied with trying to determine if Frisco was still alive, John lurched up and reached for Frisco’s neck, wanting to check for a pulse.

John felt the whack at the base of his skull. He pitched forward and fell to his knees, his eyesight fading to black.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Turners Bend

May

“Hey, out again all night? You’ve been making a habit of this. What kind of a woman are you, Honey? Today is your big day at the vet’s. Do you want to go in the car and see Jane?” When Honey heard the word “car,” she ran to the Volvo and sat by the back door thumping her tail.

Between Honey and Runt the back seat of the Volvo had been ruined. It was covered with muddy paw prints and snotty nose smears. Plus, Runt had managed to rip the leather upholstery and pull out a wad of the padding. At one time Chip used to spazz over so much as a gum wrapper in the ashtray of this car, now he had capitulated to his dogs, and the car had “gone to the dogs.” He started to refer to it as “Katrina,” the car with hurricane destruction, and to joke that he might apply for a FEMA car.

As they drove into town, Chip marveled at the perfect rows of tender corn stalks lining acre after acre. It hadn’t occurred to him until then, why tiny braids of hair were called cornrows.

In the past few weeks he had been tutored about pre-emergent herbicides, genetically resistant corn seed and GPS-plotted applications of fertilizer and pesticides. At the Bun he overheard discussions between the Pioneer farmers and the Northrup King farmers as to which seed was superior. When Oscar Nelson asked his opinion on RoundUp Powermax, he had to defer by saying, “I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Oscar.”

Honey seemed to sense what was in store for her. She stiffened her legs and refused to move. Chip had to carry her into the clinic exam room.

“She’s pregnant again, Chip,” reported Jane after her pre-op exam.

“How can that be?”

“I hardly think I need to give you a lesson on the birds and the bees. She must have been in heat a couple of weeks ago. Looks like you are going to be a puppy daddy again.”

“She has been restless and roaming a lot and her butt did look sore, I just didn’t know that all that meant she was in heat. Guess I better start lining up potential owners. Hope she doesn’t have eight again.”

Mabel popped her head into the exam room.

“Mabel, Honey is going to have another litter,” Chip announced. He marveled at the pride and excitement he heard in his own voice.
More puppies, how awful! How wonderful
!

“Lovely, dear. Chief Fredrickson is here to see you, Jane. Should I show him in?”

“Sure,” said Jane.

The chief had his official TV cop face on and was in full uniform, including his hat. His pants were hanging at half-mast and his sizable beer belly was draped over his belt, which was further weighted down with his service revolver and holster.

“Good, you’re here too, Chip. I have a lead on your stolen property. I wonder if both of you would come over to Flora’s office with me. She has something to show us on her computer.”

Jane and Chip followed the chief and Flora to a small conference room in Town Hall. Pastor and Christine Henderson were seated in two of the chairs, worried looks on their faces. On the table was Flora’s newest purchase, a laptop projector.

“Just for the record, folks, I tried to locate Hal, but no one seems to be able to find him. I think you’ll see why. Flora, please show us what you found,” said the chief.

Flora stood, as if to give a formal presentation. “I received a call yesterday from Sylvia Hubbard over at the high school. We’ve been friends for years. Even though she’s near retirement, she’s still the dance line coach. With her gout, I really don’t know how she manages it …”

“Flora, could you get to the stolen property,” interrupted the chief.

“I feel some background is needed here, Walter. Now where was I? Sylvia is not computer literate, so she called me. She overheard the dance line girls talking about something on YouTube. They clammed up when she questioned them about it, so she thought that maybe someone should look into it, especially since it had to do with beer. Syliva does not approve of drinking or smoking. She’s a fine Christian woman, even if she is Catholic, Pastor Henderson, and …”

“Flora, move it along. Get to the bottom line here,” interrupted the chief again. His “just the facts, ma’am” tone did not faze Flora. She gave him her poisonous smile, the one laced with arsenic.

“Hush, Walter, I won’t be rushed.” She paused, straightened her suit jacket and began her recital again. “So I began an exhaustive search for anything in the social networks that may lead me to the YouTube posting the girls were talking about, and bingo, I found it.”

With a flourish she turned on the power and an image appeared on the pull-down projector screen in the corner of the room. She clicked Play and a jerky video recording started to roll.

A tall slim figure dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck appeared. He was wearing a ski mask. He had a tire iron in his hand and smashed a window in a door. Chip immediately recognized it as his farmhouse door. Christine Henderson put her hand over her mouth to cover her low moan. Pastor Henderson put his arm around her shoulders. Chip looked over at Jane. The color had drained from her face, and she sat very still, her eyes fixed on the screen. A silent vacuum cleaner was sucking the air out of the room.

“Even with the mask, we can see that’s our son,” Christine said with a whisper. No one in the room responded as they watched the drama unfold.

Leif Henderson moved to the kitchen table and unplugged Chip’s laptop. His voice had a hollow sound. “God, it’s right in plain sight. This is too easy.” The camera followed him into Chip’s living room. “Sweet. Look at these speakers. Let’s take these, too.” Leif unplugged the Bose speakers and picked them up. Returning to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door and removed the six-pack of beer and set it on the floor along with the rest of his loot. He opened the freezer and took out a plastic bucket of ice cream.

From off camera an adolescent voice cracked. “What the fuck are you doing? Dad said to just snatch the computer and get back to Grandma’s party before anyone notices we’re gone.” Jane didn’t make a sound, but Chip could see her chest pulsate with short, rapid breaths.

“Well, then put down that friggin’ video camera and help me carry this stuff.”

The screen went blank. All eyes turned to Chief Fredrickson. He pushed himself out of his chair, as if he had anvils on his shoulders. “I’m sorry folks. I’m going to have to haul the boys in for questioning. I want to talk to each of them separately before I talk with Hal. Pastor, I’ll have to ask you to go over to the school and get Leif and bring him over to the station. This is his second offense, so you might warn him that I expect his full cooperation. When I’m finished with Leif, Jane, I’ll give you a call to bring Sven on over. For now, let’s keep this as quiet as possible, okay?” The heads of three heavy-hearted parents nodded in agreement.

“What about Hal?” asked Jane.

“When we find him, you can be assured I’ll be talking to him. He’s got a lot of explaining to do,” said the chief. “And not just about this robbery.”

Chip had a fleeting memory of another teenage boy in trouble. His parents sitting in the schoolmaster’s office, the Mount Rushmore of his father’s face, his mother wringing a lace-trimmed handkerchief. All these years later, he now understood his parents’ anguish.

Back at the clinic, Chip asked Mabel to get them three coffees to go at the Bun.

“We didn’t see it on the tape, but they must have taken Runt out of the playpen where I left him.”

“What would make Sven do this, Chip? And, why would he tape it and post the tape for everyone to see? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s the teenage mind, Jane. It doesn’t think. It seeks pleasure and adventure. Hormones control it. What worries me more is Hal’s involvement. If he wanted my computer, he somehow knows that I’m the one that put you on to his shenanigans. He now has our best evidence of what he’s doing. It sure as hell complicates Plan B. I’ve got to confess to you, Jane, I’m a wimp when it comes to defending myself. If he sends his thugs after me, I’ll be mincemeat.”

“First let me deal with Sven. Then I’ll put a stop to Hal. You need to keep out of this, Chip. Trust me, I won’t show Hal any mercy.”

“Well girl, you evaded the scalpel for now, but this is the last litter, hear me?” Honey put her head in Chip’s lap and looked up at him with brown dewy eyes. “I hope you at least were carousing with a man of good breeding and not some farmyard mutt.” Honey licked Chip’s hand with her velvety tongue.

“Lucinda told me to write and stay away from the dames, but don’t worry, I don’t think that includes you, sweetie.” Chip powered up his new laptop and switched his own mind to minds controlled by microchips and the insidious NC-15. Lucinda’s deadline was looking impossible at this point. Writing on a timetable was not to his liking. He wondered how some authors could churn out one or two of these novels every year, year after year.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Brain Freeze

Two Harbors, Minnesota

John heard a voice saying his name as he struggled to the surface of consciousness. His head pounded and waves of nausea rose up into his throat.

“John, wake up. John?” The voice was demanding, persistent, but all he wanted to do was sleep.

When he tried to reach up and hold his aching skull, his realized his hands were tied behind him. His feet were likewise restrained. The area beneath his stretched out body was hard and dug into his back. He felt his body jerk to one side and then the other.
Where am I?
The scent of gasoline and the tang of blood filled his nostrils.

“John!” The voice had become panicky and shrill.

His eyes flew open and he saw Jo sitting on the floor next to him. She looked down at him, her face pinched with concern. She blew out a puff of air. “Oh, thank God! You scared me.”

Clouds of confusion finally began to lift and he looked around. He was lying on the floor of a van. The only windows were in the back doors. They were covered in stained, gauzy fabric, letting in a muddy-colored light. Swaying to one side when the vehicle made a sharp turn, his head bounced painfully off the floor of the van.

“Where … where are we? What happened?”

Her reply was bitter. “Candleworth got the jump on me. I acted like a first-day rookie.” She shook her head. “The little bastard. Should have shot him in the kneecap the minute he pointed that gun at you. Thought I had it all under control.”

He realized for the first time that they were alone in the back of the van. “Where is he now?”

Jerking her chin toward the front of the van, she said, “Up there. They threw us in here and made sure we were locked up tight.” She twisted her back so that he could see her hands were tied up, along with her legs. Jo was wearing her boots, but their coats had been left behind at Ms. Peterson’s house. John heard Jo’s teeth chatter in the chilly, dank air of the vehicle.

“What are they going to do with us?”

“Hell if I know. Candleworth said he’s taking us back to NeuroDynamics. Said he has big plans for us.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“You’re right about that. By the way, how’s the head?”

John tried to sit upright, but winced as the pain came roaring back. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the throbbing to subside. “Not so good. A few cobwebs need to be cleared out. Are you okay?”

Her tongue probed a cut in the corner of her mouth, where there was a small trickle of dried blood. “Nothing that won’t heal in a couple of days.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “My wounded pride might take a little longer, though.”

“What happened? I’m still a little fuzzy. Last thing I remember, you were pointing a gun at Candleworth and he had one pointed at me.”

“You don’t remember Frisco then?”

With a shock, he recalled seeing the body of Detective Frisco at his feet in the family room at Belinda Peterson’s house. He sucked in a breath. With a growing sense of dread, he asked, “He wasn’t moving. How is he? Don’t tell me he’s dead.”

A shadow crossed Jo’s features. “I don’t know for sure. I could have sworn I saw his finger move as we left. But Wilson stayed behind with Frisco. Candleworth told him to kill Frisco and get rid of the body. Do you recognize Wilson’s name?”