Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (29 page)

“All I recall about that conversation was when I told you to go fuck yourself.”

Candleworth clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. And after I provided you another chance to work for me.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to help you out, now won’t I?”

The CEO moved closer. John could feel his heart pound in his chest; adrenalin rushed through him.
A little bit closer.
He felt like a spider waiting for a fat, tasty fly to land on his web. John kept his eye on the remote in the man’s hand, knowing that things would go terribly wrong for Belinda if he activated the microchip.

“The incision should be … awk!” Candleworth’s voice was pinched off. The remote clattered to the floor and slid under the operating table. John had deftly stepped behind the CEO and wrapped an arm around his chest. He held the scalpel to the man’s meaty throat, pinning him to the edge of the table. John could smell the aftershave and underlying sweat on the man’s skin.

John’s voice was deep as he said, “Charles, listen to me very carefully. You utter a sound and this blade will remove your vocal cords. Understood?” The CEO nodded.

Belinda strode to the opposite side of the operating table to face the two men. She raised the Glock, pointing it at Jo’s head. Fury washed over John.

His voice was firm and clear. “Belinda. Remember what we talked about? You don’t want to do this. Think of your children. They shouldn’t grow up with a mother in prison for murder.”

The gun wavered, but it was still a menace to Jo. John tried again. “You told us that your family is your whole world. They
need
your love, every bit as much as you need theirs. Don’t destroy their lives.”

The transformation on Belinda’s face was remarkable. The blank look had been replaced with one of confusion, like a child lost in the woods. She lowered the gun a few inches. “What will happen to my children?” Belinda looked over to where the surgeon lay in a heap on the floor. She sucked in sharply.

John let loose the breath he had been holding. “Jo and I will help you. We’ll convince the jury that you were under duress. They’ll go easy on you. But you have to put the gun down.”

She began to shake. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand that still held the gun. “What have I done?” She peered at John, who held the scalpel to her boss’s neck. She appeared to be trying to figure out where the puzzle pieces fit.

“It wasn’t your fault. Charles tricked you. He …”

John was jolted when Candleworth shot out an elbow that landed in his mid-section. He released a string of curses. The CEO wormed his way out of John’s grasp and reached down under the table, hands frantically searching for the remote. When he had it in his grasp, he darted around the table and pointed it at Belinda, pressing the large, green button in the center. The wireless activated the microchip in her head.

She let out a screech of pain, her free hand reaching up to hold her head. Candleworth screamed in the woman’s face. “Finish them both!” She braced herself against the table, keeping her fist around the grip of the weapon. Her eyes closed and she moaned in agony.

The CEO yelled again, “Kill them, I said!”

John’s heart hammered in his chest. He knew he had to keep talking to her in a calm voice. Had to reach her through the pain in her head, drowning out Candleworth’s commands. “Belinda. Don’t listen to him. Listen to
me
. Fight back, dammit!”

Horror dawned on Belinda’s features. She raised the gun, this time pointing it at the CEO. Candleworth shouted, “I’ve done nothing but help you. You belong to me.” His face was splotchy and his lip was swollen. A red stripe of blood oozed above his collar where the blade had left its mark. His finger depressed the key again.

Belinda wailed in her misery. She tottered, lowering both of her hands to the table to hold herself upright. Candleworth continued to yell at Belinda, spit flying from his lips. “Goddamn it, give me the gun!” When he grabbed at the Glock in her hand, it exploded.
Boom!

Jo shrieked at the blast. Blood spatter sprayed the back of her surgical gown. The CEO stood wobbling for a moment, then collapsed to the floor.

John knew they had nothing to fear from Belinda Peterson now. He reached over and gently took the gun away from Belinda and shoved it into the waistband of his pants.

He unhooked the straps binding Jo to the table. Gently pulling out the IV needle in her arm, he held a piece of surgical gauze to the tiny wound. John helped her to sit up. She massaged her skin, as if to restore circulation in her hands. An involuntary shudder went through Jo’s body as the overhead lights glinted off the stainless steel tray of instruments that were meant for her surgery.

She slid off the table and stood next to John, swaying a bit. He was overjoyed when he saw that she was getting her bearings.

Once he was certain that she was steady on her feet, he dashed over to the side of the table where Candleworth lay at Belinda’s feet, a pool of blood spreading out from his body. John bent over, checking for a pulse at the man’s throat. Straightening, he looked over at Jo and shook his head.

Jo walked over to Belinda. “Ms. Peterson, do you remember anything?”

The woman shook her head. “Not much. What did I do?” The sorrow on her face was a living thing.

Jo reached out and touched Belinda’s shoulder. “This was not your doing. It’s all over now.”

Belinda nodded and stared at the body. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, and then her shoulders shook as she wept.

Jo said, “We need to find Thompson.”

John pointed to Belinda, and then said, “Should we bring her along?”

“No, we aren’t out of danger yet. Thompson might have heard the shots. We have no idea what we’re getting into and she’s unstable. She’ll be safer here.” John tenderly led the CFO to a chair in the corner.

He grabbed a long doctor’s coat off one of the hooks by the door and wrapped it around Jo’s body. She said, “Do you have any idea where Thompson went?”

“He said he was headed to his office. I’ll go with you.”

John followed Jo as she dashed down the hallway and then went down the stairwell. She paused before they entered the floor of offices. She whispered. “Still got that gun you took from Belinda?”

John pulled it out and handed it to Jo. She checked the clip for bullets, and then opened the stairwell door, peering around the corner. Cautiously, they crept down the hallway, their footsteps quiet on the carpet. Jo checked the name plaques outside each door and paused at the third one on the right. The name read “L. Thompson, Security.” She whispered, “I can hear a radio inside. Stay behind me.”

Jo slowly turned the handle of the office door. She shoved it open and stood in the threshold, a classic shooter’s stance. “Thompson. You are under arrest.”

Thompson stood up and lurched for the pistol on the desk in front of him.

“STOP! Don’t make me shoot you.”

When he swung around with the gun, Jo pulled the trigger and a burst of blood spattered from his forearm. Thompson’s weapon fell to the floor and he cradled his wounded arm to his chest. John retrieved the gun and pointed it at Thompson. “What now?”

Jo said, “I’m going to call the locals to take this idiot into custody. We need to find Frisco.”

John fashioned a make-shift bandage for Thompson’s arm while Jo kept the gun on him. She sent John in search of some rope and he came back minutes later with cording that he had found in a supply closet. While Jo tied Thompson securely to the chair, he let out a nasty chuckle. “That detective is long dead by now. Wilson’s really good at killing.”

Jo gave the rope around his chest a vicious tug, causing him to suck in a breath of pain. “There, that ought to hold you until the authorities get here.” She turned to John. “Time to get Frisco.”

John nodded and said, “Let’s take Belinda with us. In her current state, she shouldn’t be on her own.”

Once they entered the operating room, they found Belinda right where they had left her. She was a lost soul. John pulled Jo aside and quietly asked, “What’s going to happen to her now? Will she be sent to prison?”

Jo looked at the body of the dead surgeon against the wall. She shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Sighing, she said, “It’s not like any of this was her fault. Her only mistake was letting that maniac into her brain. I’m going to argue that she needs medical care and deprogramming. Maybe we can keep her out of prison.”

John shook his head. “For the time she has left.”

Jo grabbed his arm. “What do you mean?”

“The damage done to her brain is irreversible. The jolts that Candleworth gave her with that gadget have taken their toll. The nanochips will continue to eat away at the neurons, and I can’t do anything to eliminate them. The best I can do is to remove the microchip to prevent a brain aneurysm. But it’s only a matter of time.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Turners Bend

May

“Holy moley. Look at that.” Bernice had just put glasses of ice tea with lemon in front of Flora and Sylvia and glanced out the front window of the Bun. “It’s just like in the movies.”

A black sedan with tinted windows had pulled up outside the café. A woman and two men got out of the car. The woman had short-cropped hair, black with a few strands of gray. Her ebony skin was in sharp contrast to her starched white shirt. She wore wraparound sunglasses, as did the two men. Both men had powerful looking chests and slim waists, one was short and had dark curly hair, the other was well over six feet and had a Marine-style crewcut. All three looked up and down the street, scanning the store fronts and roof tops as if looking for snipers, then entered the Bun and took a seat at a table near the door.

Bernice’s voice trembled with excitement as she moved to wait on them. “What can I get for you folks?”

“Three Cokes to go, please.” The woman ordered. “Say, we’re looking for the police chief. The deputy said he might be here.”

Bernice sensed that Flora and Sylvia hadn’t missed a word or movement. Flora stood and bustled over to the table. “I’m Flora Fredrickson, the city clerk and the police chief’s wife. May I ask who you are and what you want with my husband?”

The woman spoke with a broad Eastern accent. “We’re federal agents, and we’re here on official business.”

“I’ll have to see some identification prior to revealing any information to you,” said Flora. The three looked at each other, then pulled out black leather folders which they flipped open to reveal shiny badges on one side and ID cards on the other.

Bernice was impressed by Flora’s assertiveness. She watched on as Flora took her time to examine each ID card. “Well, Special Agent Masterson,” said Flora “my husband is fly fishing out on the Raccoon River, west of town.” The female agent nodded to one of the men, the one Bernice thought looked just like a tall version of Paul Newman. He took out his iPad, grabbed one of the Cokes and headed out the door.

“Thank you, Ms. Fredrickson. You wouldn’t happen to know where we can find a man named Hal Swanson, would you?”

“You could try the bar down the street. He might be there, although no one has seen him for several days, I believe.” Agent Masterson nodded to the other man, who left and headed down the street.

“Looks to me like you’re the one in charge,” Flora said to Agent Masterson. “I like that. Good for you.”

Bernice, whose fantasy life had always including meeting movie stars, thought the shorter agent looked like Robert Downy, Jr. The whole scene left her breathless and left her food orders getting cold behind the counter. After the agents departed, she continued to ignore her customers until she had placed phone calls to Chip and Jane.

An hour after receiving Bernice’s call, Chip and Jane found the chief seated in his office with Agent Masterson. He was still wearing his lucky fishing hat, studded with brightly colored flies, and his multi-pocketed fishing vest. Chip guessed his waders and gear were in the back of the squad car.

Chip eyed two male agents questioning Dispatcher Sharon and Deputy Jim and briefly tuned into the conversation.

“Are you aquatinted with Hal Swanson, Ms. Smith?“ asked the agent. Sharon gazed into his steel blue eyes. He seemed to be turning on his charm, and Chip could tell that Sharon was more than willing to cooperate.

“Everyone in Turners Bend knows that Hal Swanson is a no-good drunk. He’s always trying to pick-up women. Once he tried to feel me up over at the Bend. Let’s just say he never tried that again,” said Sharon. When she fluffed her hair and gave the agent a big toothy smile, Chip fully expected her to hand over her phone number in hopes of snagging a date with him.

The other agent was taking a no-nonsense approach with Jim.

“What can you tell me about Hal Swanson, Deputy?” The agent’s piercing gaze made Jim look like a frightened woodland animal.

He stuttered as he replied. “The chief and I have had him under surveillance. We suspect he is involved in a robbery and a cover-up. Sorry I can’t stick around and help with the investigation, but someone has to be out on the streets protecting the people of Turners Bend.” Jim put on his hat and caught the chief’s eye. The chief gave him permission to leave with a nod. Chip almost laughed out loud at the deputy’s attempt at a swagger as he exited the squad room.

Agent Masterson took charge of the inquiry, directing her questions at Chip and Jane. “The chief here gave us a call two weeks ago, and we opened an investigation into AgriDynamics. The EPA will be arriving tomorrow to check out the plant, and I’m following up on some other investigations, too. First, I understand you two have some information to share with me. I’m going to record this if you don’t mind.” She placed a tiny digital recorder on the desk. Chip sat back and listened as Jane launched into her statement.