Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (9 page)

“Make that three,” said Iver, laughing as he gave Bernice a wink.

“Hey, Iver, where’s Mabel this morning?” asked Chip.

“She’s real sick. Thinks it might be that pig flu even though she got all those shots. You’ll never get no needle near me. I told her, you get those shots and you’re sure to get sick, but the woman won’t listen to me.”

“That’s too bad, Iver. Maybe it’s just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. I guess flu season is upon us. Hope you don’t catch it, too.”

“Nah, I’m healthy as a horse.”

Chip surveyed the crowded tables. “What’s going on around here? Why does it look like every farmer in the county is here? And why aren’t the AgriDynamics guys here today?”

“Where you been, boy? Haven’t you heard what’s happening? You know about Owen Hanson being beat up. It’s got the AgriDynamics guys skittish. None of them want to get their face rearranged and their ribs poked into their lungs like Owen’s, and Owen isn’t saying anything, especially with that broken jaw. And then there’s Jethro, Oscar Nelson’s prize bull. That’s what the farmers are all jawing about.”

Chip didn’t know what to make of that. “What’s the story with the bull?”

“Remember that emergency that Doc had on Thanksgiving? It was about Oscar’s Holstein bull. Jethro was mighty sick, and then this weekend he bellied up, all twenty-four-hundred pounds of him. Too bad. The fella was the best breeder in Boone County.”

This really didn’t explain anything to Chip. “So why does a dead bull cause all these farmers to congregate? Surely cows die all the time. Are they holding a wake for him or something?”

Iver peered at him oddly. “It’s
how
Jethro died that’s got them all worried and speculating. Some said it might be Mad Cow, but Doc Swanson, she said no, isn’t anything like Mad Cow and nothing like anything she’s ever seen before. It’s a mystery, just like in those books you write. She had to put Oscar’s whole dang herd in isolation.”

“How do you know about the book I wrote?”

“Read it.”

Chip was amazed. “You read
The Cranium Killer
?”

“Ja, I had some time on my hands. Not too much snowplowing since that first big blast we had. Chief Fredrickson lent me his copy. Can’t say I cared too much for all the details about how the killer cut out the brains of those women. Pretty gross. That story’s making some of the women in town a little edgy around you—”

“It’s not a memoir,” Chip broke in. “Jeez. It’s fiction.”

Iver was nodding. “Mabel’s been assuring them that you’re a decent, dog-loving guy.”

Bernice arrived with two plates balanced on her arms and a carafe in each hand.

“I nuked those cinnamon rolls a tad for you guys and added a pat of butter just for good measure. Enjoy.”

Chip and Iver dug into the fat, cholesterol, and sugar and listened to the conversations around them. Words of worry and agitation took seed, sprouted and grew in numbers as the farmers of Turners Bend faced the threat of an unknown disease among their cows.

“If it ain’t Mad Cow, then what in the hell is it?” said the farmer wearing a green John Deere cap.

“Don’t know. It’s enough to make a fella wonder if isn’t one of those bio-terrorist attacks we’re always reading about.”

“Poor Oscar. I heard when Dr. Jane put his herd into isolation, his ticker just about gave out. This could ruin the old codger, if he doesn’t kick the bucket first.”

Licking cream cheese frosting off his fingers, Iver said, “With Mabel out sick and Doc busy with this bull business, maybe we should go over to the clinic and see how Honey’s doing with your little ones.”

Honey lay contently with seven little bodies nestled at her side each sucking away with vigor. Chip counted the puppies and then got a sick feeling in his gut.

Jane entered and he asked, “Where’s my last little guy?”

“Oh, he’s in a warmer,” she said, pointing across the room. “We’re hand feeding him until he’s strong enough to fight for a place at his mother’s table. I could sure use some help today. Here, I’ll show you how to feed him. By the way, we’re calling him Runt. I hope you don’t mind.

“Chip, Honey should be spayed soon. It’s the responsible thing to do. Too many puppies in the country never find homes.”

“I’m kind of liking this puppy thing,” Chip said as he cradled the little golden pup, “but I know I have to spay her. Promise I’ll have you do it soon.”

While Iver fussed over the puppies, Chip sat holding Runt and feeding him with a tiny bottle that looked like the kind that children used to feed their baby dolls.

“Which one are you going to take, Iver?” asked Chip.

“I don’t have time to take care of a puppy what with the training and all.”

“We’ll see about that.” Chip chuckled to himself.

Back at home that afternoon Chip found a new email from Lucinda.

Monday, November 28, 3:47 p.m.

Chip,

You won’t believe this, but I got a call from Howard Glasser. Yes, the movie producer! He’s interested in buying the movie rights to The Cranium Killer. I’m meeting with him in La La Land next week. On the way to Hollywood I’ll need to meet with you to go over releases and contracts and my fees. Iowa does have an airport someplace, right?

This is BIG and I mean BIG!!!

Lucinda

P.S. I’m anxious to see all you have written on Brain Freeze, too.

Chip read through the email three times. Yes, it was big, and he should be whooping around the kitchen and pumping the air like a pro athlete, maybe doing an end zone rap or break dance. But he felt strangely neutral about the movie possibility. He could make some good money, and Lucinda most likely would make a bundle, but being in Turners Bend had changed his outlook on money. He had spent most of his life thinking if he just had a little more money in the bank or just a few more shares of Blue Chip stock then all his problems would be solved. He had not been a believer in the “money isn’t everything” motto, but he felt a conversion in the making. A movie could possibly take him away from the peace he had found in Iowa. Even worse, take him away from Jane.

He went to the kitchen window, parted the curtains and looked out at the snow. It was the same snow that had fallen when Jane and Honey and Iver and Mabel had come into his life. He loved that snow. It covered his father’s disapproval, and it hid his bitter divorces. It laid down a deep blanket of purity with the promise of new life to come when it melted. It gave him hope, something he hadn’t had for a long time.

Then he thought about Lucinda coming to Turners Bend. It gave him no small amount of glee to visualize her trying to order her Skinny Grande Latte at the Bun and coming up against blank stares. This was going to be fun. Well, fun until she found out he was lagging behind in
Brain Freeze
. Lucinda had been accommodating so far, but the woman was a barracuda. She could make him or break him. He was getting used to this feeling of success, and he did not want to blow it, not again, not now.

He started thinking about the story again. He’d had Sid and Martha murdered off, so he better think about what the crime scene should look like. There would have to be lots of blood, of course. He could not bear to write about a dog being killed or dying of grief over his dead owners. He wondered if Caddy could be happy with new owners. Maybe Jane would know. It would be another good excuse for visiting the clinic and feeding Runt.

Parker had been a good resource about brain aneurysms, but now he had to work out more about the microchip. He logged on to the Internet, googled “microchips” and surfed for an hour. One link led to another and then to another and eventually netted him the idea for an intriguing crime.

Chapter Ten

Brain Freeze

Duluth, Minnesota

Jo pulled into the parking lot at the UMD medical center for the second time that day. The parking lot was awash in flashing red and blue. Every official vehicle in the county seemed to be crammed into the small lot. She turned off the SUV and sat back, staring through the windshield. When she didn’t move or speak for a moment, John gently touched her shoulder and said, “Jo, are you all right?”

Jo blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say something?

“I was wondering how you’re holding up. You’ve known Sid for a long time. This has got to be hard for you.”

She hesitated and then nodded. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Let’s get this over with.”

They walked to the building. Recently fallen snow was trampled by footprints and lined with the narrow tire tracks of emergency equipment. Inside, the once shiny floors were slippery and treacherous from the slush tracked in by boots.

After they were cleared by the police officer protecting the crime scene, they moved towards the ME offices. They were greeted at the door by Detective Frisco. He nodded to Jo and John, his eyes grave.

Jo spoke up. “What’s going on, Detective? We left these offices not four hours ago, and Sid and his wife were fine. How could this happen? Here of all places?” Her voice cracked and then she continued. “Where was the security guard?” Reality had not sunk in.
Maybe if I pretend that this is just an ordinary case and the victims are strangers, I can get through this.
She felt light-headed every time she thought about what she would soon witness for herself: the crime scene of someone she cared about.

“The security guard was taken out first. Probably some burnouts trying to score drugs and expensive equipment. A bunch of offices in the building were torn up and vandalized. No one else got hurt. Apparently, Sid, his wife and the security guard were the only ones left in the building.”

Jo’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “So it was a case of Sid and his wife being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Looks like it. We thought it best to call you in for a couple of reasons. First …” He held up a finger. “Because of the case you were working on together. Second …” He lifted another finger, “Because you two were some of the last people to see Sid today. We thought you might have noticed something that seemed outta whack before you left.”

John shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We left about an hour after you. By then, the only other people were a couple of the deputy medical examiners, working on unrelated cases. Why on earth would someone think there were any drugs worth stealing in the ME’s offices, for chrissakes? It’s not like an ME has a stock of medicine to cure his patients of what ails them.”

“Yeah, well maybe they came in here not knowing what kind of office it is. Not much, but it’s all we’ve got so far.” The detective turned back towards Jo. “We’ve looked at the surveillance tapes of the lobby. Pisses me off them sons-of-bitches were smart enough to wear ski masks, so we don’t have a clue who they are. At least we know there were two of them.”

It helped Jo to have a problem to solve. She massaged her temple, thinking. “Have you looked at the tapes from the cameras in Sid’s offices yet?”

Frisco raised a brow. “No. The security manager didn’t say anything about that. Why would Sid have cameras in his offices?”

“He used them for training purposes and documentation for court cases. They were never meant to record suspicious behavior, so the building security office may not have been aware of them. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Sid had them rolling when the bad guys came in. Let’s take a look. “

Frisco led them past the desk where Martha had stopped them earlier in the day. A plant had been knocked over, dirt scattered across the sage-green carpet. Jo’s gaze was drawn to a woman hunched over behind the desk. “St. Louis County Crime Lab” was emblazoned on the back of her jacket. A blood-covered leg jutted out beside the crime lab technician. The leg was encased in nude panty hose and had a sensible low-healed black pump attached. Jo felt her heart constrict in her chest, and she quickly averted her eyes. She hurried on, following Frisco. Willing herself to not look back.

When they entered the lab, Jo was shocked to see the damage to the previously immaculate room. Not a pane of glass in the cabinets remained intact. Carts were turned over, surgical tools scattered across the floor. Nothing remained of the order Sid had insisted upon for all his years as chief medical examiner. Jo kept her eyes from wandering to the crime lab technician in the corner and from the smears of blood along the floor. At some level, she knew that if she saw Sid’s body, she wouldn’t be able to work this case. It would be too personal.

John spoke first. “My God. This is unbelievable.”

Frisco said, “Watch where you’re stepping. We’re still working the scene. Agent Schwann, got any idea where Sid would have kept these tapes you’re talking about?”

Jo swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. “Over here, I think. We worked a case together awhile back that Sid recorded for our files.” Pointing to the ceiling above the autopsy table, she said, “The camera’s up there. It’s hard-wired to the recorder.”

She stepped carefully over broken glass and walked to a cabinet. “The door has been smashed open, but there are several boxes of office supplies in front, so I guess they didn’t notice the recorder.” She pushed the boxes aside and reached deep inside the cabinet.