Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (16 page)

wants to meet
with us alone later today.”

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Turners Bend

Early January

C
HIP
WAS SO DEEP INTO
his writer’s zone that the ringtone on
his cell barely registered. He finally realized the strains of “Call Me Maybe”
were playing from his phone on the bedroom nightstand.

He
raced to pick it up, saw it was from Jane and answered, “Hi, babe.”

“Chip,
come quickly. Two federal agents were just here and took Baba to the police
station. They wouldn’t tell me why. He was so frightened.”

“Are
they from immigration? Maybe he has a visa problem.”

“No,
they’re from Homeland Security. He needs our help and I can’t leave the clinic
right now. Hurry.”

Chip
hung up, snatched his jacket off the hook by the back door and strode into the
yard only to realize he had no vehicle. Ingrid had taken his new car and Jane
the pick-up. “Crap.”

He
placed a call to Iver. “Iver I need a ride to town. Are you busy?”

“No.
With no snow I’m just sitting around here at the Bun eating beef stew with that
strange Ethiopian bread Bernice is making for Baba. Is this about the
government car I saw down by the clinic?”

“Yes,
I’m afraid so.”

“Be
right there, buddy.”

***

Hours
later a shaken Baba sat on the living room couch, his walnut-colored face now
ashen, ghost-like. Ingrid sat next to him clutching his hand, tears leaking
from the corners of her eyes. Jane paced back and forth, trying to get the
details from an almost hysterical Baba, as Chip observed. The scene was surreal
to him, like something he would write in one of his novels. Surely this kind of
thing didn’t happen in real life, at least not real life in Turners Bend, Iowa.

“They
asked me many questions about my brother and about my cellphone calls and
emails with him,” said Baba. “They asked me if I was ordering bomb-making
materials and sending money to anti-American terrorists. They took my computer,
my phone, even the clinic’s computer. My life is over. I am a dead man.”

Jane
halted. “Look at me, Baba.” The boy raised his head and stared intently at
Jane. “You’re over-reacting. You must remain calm. They are not going to find
anything incriminating on your phone records or computer. There’s nothing that
will implicate you in wrong doing. I’ve overheard you begging Hakim to stop his
political activities and use his education to help your people. I’ll give
evidence to that. They didn’t take you into custody or arrest you. It was
merely an interview about your brother.”

Chip
hesitated to speak. The Boston Marathon bombers came to mind. He could see how
easily the feds would link the two brothers to terrorist activities, how Baba
could find himself in deep trouble, even though he was innocent as a newborn
puppy.

“No,
Dr. Jane,” Baba cried. “They will throw me in Guantanamo. I will be tortured. I
will never see you or my family again. I must go, run away, hide. I will leave
and try to cross into Canada.”

In
his third book Chip had written about the Boundary Waters, he knew it would be
almost impossible for Baba to navigate the lakes and sneak across the border.
“Baba, you know the desert, but you know nothing of lakes and rivers and
forests. You’ll never make it. Plus, it’d be impossible for an almost
seven-foot Ethiopian to hide anyplace. We have to come up with a better plan.
Let us see what we can do to help. For now, just sit tight.”

“How
can I be tight, Sir, when I am falling apart?” said Baba.

***

Late
that evening the Swanson-Collingsworth household was like the frayed end of a
hot electrical wire. Ingrid and Baba sat whispering in the darkened living
room, the muted HD TV flickering, casting an eerie aura to the scene. Jane and
Chip were in the bathroom with the door shut, speaking in low voices.

Chip
sat on the toilet seat watching Jane bathe. As she stepped out of the tub, his
eyes ran over the petite, slender body of his wife. She had piled her red hair
on top of her head and damp tendrils escaped and clung to her forehead and
neck. A lovely Degas ballerina, he thought, as she began to dry herself.

Jane
wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it in to secure it, and perched on
the edge of the tub. “Chip, I’m scared for Baba. His fears may not be so
farfetched after all. I can see how the government could assume he’s guilty
merely by association with his brother. If they only knew him; he’s such a
gentle sweet soul.”

Jane
put on her terrycloth robe. “Chip, you don’t think he’ll bolt, do you? And what
about Ingrid? She’s been to the Gunflint Trail twice with her church youth
group. Would she be foolish enough to think she could get him out of the
country? What are we going to do?”

Chip
stood. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. You go to bed. I’ll stay up
tonight and keep a watch on Baba and Ingrid. First thing in the morning I’ll
call Agent Masterson. She doesn’t work for Homeland Security, but I trust her.
She’ll get Baba out of this mess.”

***

Chip
managed to get everyone to go to their respective bedrooms to try to get some
sleep. He brewed a pot of extra-strong coffee for himself and prepared to spend
the night as a sentry. He booted up his laptop and read over the last couple of
chapters he had written and began to make minor edits. After an hour he got up
and put his ear to each of the bedroom doors.

He
heard a soft whiffling sound from Jane, and he smiled because she repeatedly
claimed she did not snore. He heard nothing at Ingrid’s door and was relieved.
Baba’s room was not silent and Chip could hear mutterings in a language he did
not recognize.

It
was going to be a long night and Chip knew he would have to fight sleep. He
drank another cup of coffee and ate a piece of cold pepperoni pizza he found in
the refrigerator.

Hope
for the best, but plan for the worst, he told himself. Not exactly the Boy
Scout motto, but it seemed apropos for the situation.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Head Shot

Williston
& Stanley, ND

Late October

S
INCE THEY HAD SOME
time before their scheduled meeting with Kaitlin Weber, the
compliance associate from Wellborne Industries, Detective Ron Fischer drove Jo
to the Williston police department. She noticed several things as soon as she
entered the building. There was a constant buzz about the place, crowded with civilians
and police officers. The other thing that was glaringly obvious was the
majority of the officers looked to be younger than she.

When Jo pointed this out to the detective, he chuckled. “Yeah, I
feel like the old man of the group. Most of the new hires aren’t many days past
their twenty-first birthday. If you hang around long enough, you’ll find out
most of them come from your home state.”

“Really…why is that?”

“Looking to cash in on the oil patch money like everyone else. I
hear the police department budgets are a lot tighter over in Minnesota. We
can’t hire them here fast enough.”

“How do they do out in the field, when they’re so young and
inexperienced?”

The big man shrugged. “They don’t stay green for long. One year
here equals about five years everywhere else. I met a guy last week from
International Falls, Minnesota, who is already the chief of police of Watford
City at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. They take a lot of shit from the
public about their age. You know, comments like ‘What’s this; take your kid to
work day?’ But I tell you, they have a lot thrown at them at once, so it
doesn’t take long to become a veteran. Drug busts, loaded weapon charges,
domestic disputes, you name it, we’ve got it in spades.”

Jo shook her head. “Crazy.”

“You got that right.”

While Ron went to his desk to catch up on work, Jo settled into
the relatively quiet break room and checked her voice mail.

John had left her a message, and it gave her a warm feeling in the
pit of her stomach, just to hear his voice again. It felt like she had been
gone much longer than just a day. His recording said, “Hope you are making
great progress in North Dakota and will be heading home soon. I’ve got some
great news for you. Rick Wilson is out of his coma and is doing well.”

Jo was excited to hear the news, but her enthusiasm was tempered
by his next statement. “He isn’t able to speak just yet, but can communicate in
a rudimentary way for brief periods of time. I’ve already contacted Frisco, so
I imagine he’ll be on his way to the hospital by now.” He had concluded the
message by saying how much he missed her and hoped she was being careful.

The second voice mail was from Frisco. “Jo, you may have heard
that Rick Wilson is out of his coma. I stopped by to see him, but he can’t talk
and falls asleep easily, so I’ll try again in the next day or two. Haven’t made
much other progress on the case since you left, so hope you are having better
luck.”

Jo tried calling John, but received his voice mail. She left him a
brief message and then listened to the rest of her voice mails. Just as she
finished checking her emails, Detective Fischer returned to the break room and
held out a cup of coffee to her. While she took a grateful sip, Ron said, “Any
news out of the Cities on your case?”

Jo nodded. “The kid who was shot has come out of his coma. He
isn’t able to communicate well, but he seems to be aware of his surroundings.”

“Well, maybe we’ll get more information this afternoon after we
meet with Ms. Weber.”

He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which, we should
probably head out. Ms. Weber said to meet her at Joe’s Pizza in Stanley, right?
That’s about seventy-five miles from here.” He frowned. “She must have wanted
to make sure no one saw her talking to us.”

Jo stood up and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair.
“That’s what I was thinking.”

***

The drive to Stanley was slow. The winds rushed across the plains
and even Ron’s heavy-duty truck was buffeted around when a particularly strong
gust swept over the roads. The drizzle started about fifteen minutes into the
drive, and Jo could see from the thermometer on the dash that the outside
temperature had dropped into the lower thirties. The main highways weren’t bad
because the heat from the constant truck traffic kept them clear. However, the
side roads were starting to get slick.

Ron grumbled. “Looks like it’s gonna be a crappy night for
trick-or-treating.”

Several times during the drive, Jo glanced in the side view
mirror, half expecting to see a black SUV following them. She eventually relaxed
into the heated seat of the truck and kept her eyes on the traffic in front of
them.

They drove past a large clump of buildings resembling long rows of
trailers placed end to end. Jo asked, “Is that one of the man camps I keep
hearing about?”

The detective’s eyes briefly shifted from the road to where Jo was
pointing. “Yeah. Hundreds of people live in them, mostly guys. I’ve been to
several of them. They feel like a cross between an army barrack and a
dormitory. They aren’t too bad. They have cafeterias, pool tables and computer
rooms. The oil companies provide them for their employees. Most have pretty
strict rules about no booze, no guns and no visitors.”

“Does it work?”

He looked at Jo out of the corner of his eye. “Pretty much,
although there’s always some jerk who likes to test the rules. Besides, there
are plenty of other places where lonely, bored people can get into trouble, if
you know what I mean.”

They drove on in silence until the detective pulled into the
parking lot of Joe’s Pizza. The restaurant was crowded for lunch and the room
smelled of pizza, beer and damp bodies. The majority of customers were male,
and it seemed to Jo about half the heads in the room swiveled in their
direction when she followed the hostess to their table.

Ron handed her a menu, and they were discussing which type of
pizza to order, when the hostess brought Kaitlin Weber to their table.

Drops of rain shimmered on her coat and knit hat in which she had
tucked up her pretty brunette hair. Jo could see she still wore her work
clothes beneath her coat. Kaitlin was a very attractive young woman, but her
brown eyes were sunken, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well.

Kaitlin bit her lower lip and her eyes darted around the room. She
quickly slid into the booth when Ron made room for her on his side of the
table. Removing her coat, she tucked it into the space between them, but left
the hat on her head.

Jo could tell by watching Kaitlin’s nervous demeanor she was
probably taking a huge risk in seeing them. Hence, the meeting in a neighboring
town. She was grateful the young woman had screwed up the courage to reach out
to them.

Kaitlin quietly studied the menu for a long time, and it seemed to
Jo she was using the menu as a prop to put off their discussion. Jo reminded
herself to be patient and wait for the young woman to start the conversation.

They ordered an extra-large pizza to split between them. While
they waited for their order, Kaitlin was silent and picked at the napkin
underneath her glass of soda. Finally, she took a deep breath and leaned
forward. In a voice clearly not meant to be overheard, she said, “Sorry I was
late. I told my boss Karen I was feeling bad, like I was coming down with the
flu. She’s a germaphobe, so it wasn’t too hard to convince her, but I had to
make it look good, you know?”

Jo said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

Kaitlin nodded. “I had to. You see, the empty desk next to mine
belonged to Trevor. Trevor Wallace. He and Karen were the original employees of
the compliance department. They hired me when they had more work than the two
of them could handle alone.”

The young woman’s hand shook slightly as she paused and took a sip
from her glass. “Trevor and I started dating about a year ago. We kept our
relationship secret, because it’s against company policy, you know?”

Jo nodded for her to continue. She noticed Kaitlin kept referring
to Trevor in the past tense, but had learned a long time ago that sometimes it
was best to let witnesses unspool their story at their own pace.

“We moved in together a couple of months ago, to save rent money.
We both liked our jobs, until the first time Trevor saw the arsenic levels in
the local water supply were at levels above the EPA’s maximum limits.”

Jo leaned forward to make sure she didn’t miss a word.

Kaitlin took another sip, and then continued. “He immediately went
to Mr. Wellborne and told him. At first Mr. Wellborne seemed concerned, but
asked Trevor not say anything to anyone else until he could review the data
himself and he asked for copies of the reports.”

Jo spoke up, “Did Mr. Wellborne do anything about the reports?”

Kaitlin shook her head. “No. Trevor waited and waited, but he was
afraid to push it. Then the next month, the arsenic levels were even higher. I
told him he should go talk to Mr. Wellborne again, and he did. At that point,
Mr. Wellborne told Trevor he needed a favor from him.” She abruptly stopped
talking when the waitress came by with their pizza.

Jo thanked the waitress, but no one moved to grab a slice of
pizza, as if they had forgotten why they had ordered it.

Jo prompted Kaitlin to continue, “What kind of favor?”

“He asked Trevor to falsify the data until he had time to correct
the problem. He said he knew it was a lot to ask of Trevor, but it was a glitch
he was working on. If they reported the correct findings, the government would
put a stop to their drilling and they would lose a ton of money. Trevor
reluctantly agreed. He thought Mr. Wellborne seemed truly concerned.”

Ron spoke for the first time. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

Kaitlin turned her attention to the detective. “But the arsenic
levels continued to climb and Trevor had a hard time sleeping. He began
drinking heavily and we fought. Trevor felt he couldn’t just quit his job,
because, well….we needed the money. We both hated living in Williston and
talked about moving away, once we had enough money put aside. Besides, if he
quit, who would hire him? He knew Mr. Wellborne would have him blacklisted.”

Jo guessed the next part, “So, when Rick Wilson and his camera guy
came into town, it seemed like the perfect solution, right?”

Kaitlin’s nodded. “How did you know?”

“Because a friend of mine met the camera man. He said that he and
Rick talked to a whistleblower in the compliance department of a major oil
company. That’s why we came to your office in the first place. Do you know
where they met and what Trevor shared with them?”

“Trevor told me they always met out of town.” She gave them a
small smile. “Sometimes they met here, as a matter of fact. That’s why I thought
of this place to meet you. Trevor smuggled out copies of the actual and
falsified reports and passed them along to Rick Wilson.”

“Did Trevor keep any copies of those reports at home?”

“No, he said it made him nervous to keep the copies around our
apartment, like they were live snakes or something.”

Ron spoke up. “Do you have access to the data at the office?”

She shook her head. “No. Only Karen and Trevor dealt with that
detail. As an associate, my responsibility is data entry and sending the
reports to the various state and federal agencies. I worked from the data they
gave me. I never saw the original info.”

They were silent for a moment, and then Jo gently asked,
“Ms.Weber, where is Trevor now?”

Kaitlin’s eyes filled, but her voice was flat. “He’s dead.”

Not surprised by the young woman’s news, Jo nodded grimly. “I’m so
sorry for your loss. What happened?”

Kaitlin sniffled and Ron handed her his napkin, which she used to
dab her nose. “They say it was an accident. He pulled in front of a tanker
truck, out on eighty-five. He was killed instantly. Trevor’s truck caught fire
before anyone could get him out.”

Ron rubbed his chin. “I remember that case. I knew his name
sounded familiar.” He tilted his headed, considering. “You don’t believe it was
an accident.”

The young woman’s jaw jutted out. “The investigators found a
broken whiskey bottle in the wreckage and concluded Trevor was at fault. So
many people had seen him drinking in the bars lately, so they said he must’ve
been drunk at the time of the accident.”

“But you don’t believe it.” Jo said this as a statement, not a
question.

Kaitlin looked Jo in the eyes. “No. I know he was drinking heavily
for a while, but that was before he met up with Rick Wilson. Once he could tell
someone else about what was happening, it was as if a weight had been lifted
off his shoulders. He was obviously nervous about being caught, but he believed
the documentary would make a difference.”

Kaitlin fidgeted with her mug for a bit, and Jo could tell there
was more she had to say. After a moment, Jo prompted, “Any other reason you
don’t believe it was an accident?”