Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (14 page)

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Williston, ND
& Minneapolis, MN

Late October

J
O WASN’T SURE WHERE
she was when she woke up; she just
knew the coffee down the hall smelled wonderful. It took her a moment to
remember she was in Williston, North Dakota, in the home of Detective Ron
Fischer and his family. For the first time in a while, she felt refreshed and
not sick to her stomach.
I smell bacon.

Peeking at the alarm clock on the
nightstand, she was glad to see she hadn’t overslept. She shoved back the heavy
quilt that had kept her snug in bed and stepped into the guest bathroom to
quickly freshen up.

When she walked into the kitchen,
Ron’s wife was helping their youngest son Jacob into his Halloween costume. Jo
knew from their dinner discussions the previous evening that all three of the
Fischer boys were excited to show off their costumes at school for the Fall
Festival. Jo smiled. “Glad to know we’ll all be a little safer today with Iron
Man on the job.”

Jacob turned to Jo and rewarded
her with a big grin, showing the gaps in his smile where he had recently lost
some teeth. “Hi, Jo!” He glanced at his mother, who shook her head in slight
disapproval. “Um, I mean, good morning, Special Agent…um, Jo?”

Micki, his mother, covered up a
snicker with her hand. “Special Agent Schwann, Jacob. Now, run along and get
your brothers. You will be late for school if you don’t get a move on.” She
lightly smacked him on his backside and watched as he tore through the hallway.

Jo said, “Great kids, Micki. It’s
been a pleasure staying here with all of you.” She frowned. “I hate you are
going to so much trouble on my behalf, though.”

Micki walked over to where Jo
stood by the refrigerator and briefly touched her shoulder. “Glad to have you.
With all the guys in this house, I’m usually outnumbered. Having you here evens
things out a bit.” Her smile was warm and open. “Hey, can I grab you a cup of
coffee? Breakfast will be ready in a sec. Hope you like bacon and pancakes.”

Jo pushed away from the wall.
“Coffee would be great, thanks. Can I help with anything? First dinner last
night and now breakfast….”

Micki brought the coffee pot and a
mug over to Jo. “Nah, you just sit at the table and relax. I’ve already fed the
boys. Besides, Ron tells me you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

“Yes, we do.” As she took a sip of
coffee, she reflected that while her investigation currently lacked some key
details – such as the name of the compliance person who had spoken to Rick
Wilson and Billy MacGregor – she hoped they would make great progress today.

Micki continued to bustle around
the kitchen, and poured pancake batter onto a griddle. “If you don’t mind me
asking, how did you get into this business in the first place?”

 
“Well, that’s a long, boring story. I can’t
imagine doing anything else.”

Just then, all three boys burst
into the kitchen. Michael, the oldest, whined, “Mom, my batman mask keeps
falling off. Can you tape it on or something?”

As Jo listened to Micki and the
boys, she couldn’t help but think of how different her own life would be next
Halloween. If she was right about being pregnant, maybe she’d be helping her
child into a costume in another couple of years. She was surprised the idea
didn’t scare her as much as she thought it might. As a matter of fact, she
found she was looking forward to it.

Ron walked into the room and
admired his sons’ costumes. “Wow. We’ve got Batman, Iron Man and Spider Man,
all at our house. Now, where did those darn kids of mine run off to?”

The boys giggled and Jacob said,
“Aw, Dad, you’re so silly. It’s just me, Michael and Connor.”

“Oh, well. You sure had me fooled
for a minute there.” He looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Better get
going boys, the bus will be here any minute now. You’ve got lots of super-hero
adventures waiting for you at school.”

They grabbed their coats and
backpacks and ran out the door.

Ron turned to Jo. “Morning, Jo.
Sorry about the delay in getting out.” He kissed his wife’s cheek as she loaded
up their breakfast plates. “Looks great, honey.”

The three of them ate in
companionable silence for a while, and then Jo said, “You’ve got a nice life
here, with a wonderful family. But I’m curious, how did you get into law
enforcement? This looks like a working ranch.”

“You’re right about that.
Actually, this ranch belonged to my dad and his dad before him. I grew up in
this house. But I joined the army, fell into a job as an MP and ended up as an
investigator on base. I found I was pretty good at it, but didn’t want to stay
in the army. So, I headed back home and got a job with the Williston PD. We
rent out most of the farm land now for grazing and crops.”

“I noticed you don’t have oil
drills on your property.”

Micki stood up from the table and
began clearing away the empty plates. “We’re about the only ones around here
who don’t get monthly royalty checks from Wellborne Industries. Everyone
bitches and moans about the noise, the traffic, the crime, but I don’t see
anyone handing their checks back.”

The detective briefly scowled at
his wife. “Micki thinks I’m a damned fool for not renting out our land to the
oil companies.”

 
“Do the ranchers here still own their mineral
rights?”

Micki stuck a hand on her hip.
“Nah. Most mineral rights were sold off years ago. The royalty checks are to
pay rent for the land under the drill pads and a few have scoria quarries.”

At Jo’s quizzical look, Ron
explained. “Scoria is the red clay they use like gravel to build the new roads
we need for the extra truck traffic.”

He turned to his wife. “Micki, you
would hate having those damned oil wells on our land as much as I would. Don’t
you wonder what pumping all that crap into the ground is doing to our water? No
sir, I’d rather skip a Caribbean cruise or two to make sure we have safe
drinking water coming out of our well.”

Jo thought of the online video she
had seen about contaminated fracking fluids getting into the water supply in
Pennsylvania. She shivered slightly as she recalled watching a homeowner set
his tap water on fire as it left the faucet. She said, “Have there been any
problems with groundwater here?”

Ron glanced sidelong at his wife
and then returned his attention to Jo. “Not that I’ve heard. Yet. But that
doesn’t mean I’m ready to wallow in the stuff. I like my body parts just the
way they are, thank you very much.”

As Micki put the last of the
breakfast plates in the dishwasher, she mumbled, “Still would be nice to have
some extra cash to put aside for the boys’ college fund.”

Ron compressed his lips and his
face was more florid than usual, but he said nothing in reply.

Jo decided it was time to
tactfully change the subject. “Ron, we should head over to Wellborne
Industries, don’t you think?” She turned to the detective’s wife. “Thanks for
another great meal.”

Micki’s lips curled into a smile,
smoothing out the frown line that had appeared during the disagreement with her
husband. “My pleasure, Jo.” She smirked. “Try to keep my big guy out of trouble
today, will you?” She reached up and gave her husband a light kiss on his
cheek.

***

As he headed down the hospital
corridor, Dr. John Goodman glanced at his watch to see if he had time before
his next surgery to check on Rick Wilson. Satisfied that he had about an hour,
he detoured towards the intensive care ward and entered Rick Wilson’s room. The
young man’s mother was sitting at his bedside holding his hand and talking
quietly to her son. At John’s soft knock on the doorframe, she turned weary
eyes to face him.

She stood up. “Doctor. Is there
any news?”

John smiled. “That’s what we’re
going to find out.” Glancing at the patient chart, he noted Rick’s intracranial
pressure was down. John was pleased to see his patient had come a long way in a
short time.

He turned to Caroline Wilson.
“He’s making great progress. I think it’s time we see what happens when we wake
him up.”

Rick Wilson’s mother bit her lower
lip, but said nothing.

John called one of the nurses into
the room and she reduced the dosage of the sedative. They waited without
comment for Rick to respond. After a few minutes, his eyes fluttered open and
he blinked a few times.

Caroline Wilson uttered a small
cry when her son turned to her and offered a ghost of a smile. She grabbed at
his hand. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you.” John could hear the catch in
her voice.

John cleared his throat and was
further encouraged when Rick followed him with his eyes as John moved to his
bedside. “Hi there, Mr. Wilson. We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Doctor Goodman.
I would like to ask you to a few questions. I know it’s a little early to
expect you to be able to speak, so I just want you to indicate that you
understand me by raising one finger for ‘no’ and two fingers for ‘yes.’ Do you
understand?”

He was rewarded with the slow, but
definite movement of two fingers on Rick’s right hand. John wanted to give
Caroline a big fist bump in triumph. Rick was not paralyzed, and the part of
his brain responsible for processing instructions was still intact. John ran
through a few other simple tests.

Caroline’s eyes were wide, and
John could tell she was waiting for him to say something. “This is excellent
news.” He explained what the tests indicated.

After he finished, she dashed
around to John’s side of the bed and gave him a big hug, tears streaming down
her face. “So, what happens next?”

“Initially, the brain swelling was
Rick’s most serious threat. Now, that we’ve got that mostly under control, our
next step will be to replace his respirator with a tube that goes directly into
his windpipe. This will involve another surgery, I’m afraid, but a minor one.”

“Will he be able to talk soon?”

John shook his head. “The
breathing tube will make speech difficult, but it won’t be forever.”

Aware that his patient was able to
hear what was being said, he motioned for Caroline to follow him to the far
side of the room. He frowned, and then continued. “Mrs. Wilson, as I’ve said,
I’m very pleased with Rick’s progress. It’s nothing short of a miracle he even
survived the trauma, let alone that he is awake so soon. However, I want you to
be aware that Rick has a long road ahead of him.

“The biggest risk factor now is
seizures. So far, we’ve been lucky in that regard, but I wanted to let you know
that it is a distinct possibility.”

Caroline Wilson nodded her head
slowly. “But it’s a good sign he’s not had any yet, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Then I’m going to celebrate the
miracles where we find them and you worry about the what-ifs.” She held out her
hand.

John accepted her handshake. “It’s
a deal.”

Just as John turned to leave the
room, Rick’s mother reached out for his arm to pull him back and whispered,
“How should I tell him what happened to him? I don’t…know how to begin.”

He hesitated a moment, and then
tilted his head in Rick’s direction. “If it were me, I’d want to know. He’s
going to find out soon enough when the police come to question him. Now that
he’s awake, I have to notify them. It would be better coming from you, I
think.”

Caroline’s face was pale, but she
squared her shoulders.

“That’s what I think, too.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Turners Bend

Christmas

A
S
JANE DRESSED FOR THE
Christmas Eve service at First Lutheran,
Chip looked at her lists. There were checkmarks by every item. When she
appeared in her simple purple velveteen dress with a single strand of pearls
around her neck, he whistled.

Behind
her brief smile, he saw weariness in her eyes. She was putting up a good front,
but Chip was learning to sense all the various nuances of his wife’s body
language.
God, I love this woman. How did
I get so damn lucky?

As
they entered the church, Chip spied Chief Fredrickson and Deputy Anderson in
separate corners, each surveying the crowd that filled the pews. Jane did the
same. Chip replayed in his mind the many instances where gunmen entered
churches, mosques and temples.
Would Hal
be so brazen, so crazy?

 
Sven and Baba had volunteered to usher. They
sat Jane and Chip up front so they would have a good view of Ingrid. Her cello
performance of “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming” was technically flawless and her
dynamics stirring. Jane fumbled in her purse for a tissue. Chip wished he had a
handkerchief to offer her but the days of men carrying them seemed to have
passed. His father probably still used them, he thought.

Christmas
Eve was family only, including Baba, who was now family in everyone’s eyes and
hearts. Jane introduced Chip and Baba to the traditional Swanson Christmas Eve
supper: chicken wild rice soup, fresh-baked bread, orange Jello with pineapple
and shredded carrots and rice pudding.

When
the pudding was served Ingrid explained the tradition. “It called
julegrὃt
. There is one whole
almond in the pudding. Whoever gets it will have a lucky year ahead of them,
and they receive the almond present.”

They
all inspected their dishes of pudding, searching for the almond. Baba’s voice
rang out. “I found the nut. I found the nut.” Jane presented him with the
almond present, a marzipan pig, which he accepted with grace and total
bewilderment.

After
dinner they sat in the darkened living room with the warm glow from the
fireplace and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. “Just one, Mom?” said
Sven.

Jane
laughed. “We open gifts on Christmas morning, but ever since Sven and Ingrid
were beyond the Santa Claus stage, they have begged to open one gift on
Christmas Eve. So, I don’t see why not.”

***

The
next few days of the holiday season flew by and Chip did not find time to
write. The house was full of young people and plans for New Year’s celebrations
kept everyone busy.

After
the holidays he hit a slump, and Jane noticed. “Chip, you’re not writing. Is it
this thing with Hal? We all can’t help but be edgy until he is caught, but if
anyone can track him down it will be Angela. And, having that new agent, Sam
Harden, hanging around is our safety net. I can’t ignore my practice, and I
think you’d feel better if you got back into your story.”

“You’re
right, of course, Jane, but I’m out of my depth at this point in my story. Jo
is pregnant.”

Jane’s
face lit up. “How wonderful! Why is that a problem for you?”

“I
obviously don’t know a thing about pregnant women. What was it like for you
Jane?”

Jane
left the room and returned with a photo album. She turned to a picture of
herself, nineteen years prior, very pregnant with Sven. “Here I am, eight
months pregnant. One day I was thrilled and excited; the next day I was worried
about being a good mother, and then the next day I lamented the interruption in
my career. Hormones gone haywire. That’s the way you should write it.”

And
he did.