Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (17 page)

“Yeah. Something else weird happened the day of the accident.”

Ron said, “What was that?

”When I got home from work, it looked like someone had carefully
searched our apartment. Nothing too obvious, just a few things out of place,
here and there, you know?” Kaitlin wiped her nose on the napkin again.

Jo said, “Anything missing?”

“No, not that I could see.”

Kaitlin was silent for a moment and stared down at her glass.
Finally, she raised her eyes to Jo and said, almost as an afterthought, “One
more thing, though. A few days later, Karen and I got very big bonuses. Mr.
Wellborne said it was because they decided not to replace Trevor and so we
would be taking on additional duties.”

She frowned. “It felt like hush money.”

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Turners Bend

January

C
HIP
HAD NOT BEEN ABLE
to keep awake on his
sentry post the night Baba was questioned by Homeland Security. He laid his
head on the kitchen table to rest at about 4:00 a.m. and woke with a start
almost two hours later. When his head came up, he was looking directly into the
face of an animal sensing his predator...Baba.

Chip stretched his stiff neck and wiped
drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Baba, how long have you been
sitting there?”

“A long time, Sir. I did not want to
wake you. I do not sleep.”

Baba was a pitiful sight and Chip
couldn’t help but share in the Ethiopian’s anxiety. “Listen, Agent Masterson is
back in Chicago. I have her phone numbers,” he said, showing Baba the business
card lying on the table. “We can trust her. She’s one of the good guys, Baba.”

“If you say so, Sir. I will put my life
in your hands.”

The onus of that remark came down on
Chip like a mantle of heavy metal. It was a responsibility unlike anything he
had ever experienced…a man’s fate placed in his hands. He gulped. “Okay, I’ll
put my phone on speaker so you can hear.”

Chip punched in Agent Masterson’s cell
number and she answered immediately. “Collingsworth, what’s up?”

Caller ID always threw Chip. No
greeting. No announcing who’s calling. He stumbled through the beginning of the
call. “This is…well, I guess you know who this is. I, I mean, we were wondering
if you could give us some help. I have Baba here; you met him here at
Christmas.”

Masterson interrupted, “Cut to the
chase, Chip. I haven’t got all day. I assume Baba is in trouble. What’s his
nationality again?”

“I am Ethiopian,” said Baba in an
overly-loud voice.

“Okay, shoot,” she said.

Between the two of them Chip and Baba
told the agent the story of yesterday’s visit from Homeland Security, adding
that Baba was totally innocent of any wrongdoing.

“Homeland Security goes off half-cocked
sometimes, but in this case I can understand why they are questioning Baba. I
know some of the Homeland Security guys. Let me get as much intel as I can,
then I’ll pull rank and take the lead in this investigation. I’ll be in Turners
Bend at seventeen hundred hours. Keep a low profile until I arrive. If any of
the Homeland guys come snooping around, Chip, tell them to contact me.”

***

Jane went to the clinic. She had year-end reports to
finish for the Iowa Agriculture Department and also wanted to file a glowing
evaluation of Baba performance with the Iowa State Veterinary School. “I’m
hoping my report will strengthen his case,” she said. “I can’t think of
anything else to do while we wait for Agent Masterson.”

At Jane’s insistence Ingrid went to
school. “You can skip your afterschool cello lesson, but you have to go to
classes today, Ingrid. Semester mid-terms are next week.” Ingrid put up an
argument, but lost out in the end. Both Jane and Ingrid agreed to act as
normally as possible and to keep mum about Baba.

It was a long day for Baba and Chip. They
kept their ears attuned to sounds of vehicles, anxious to talk with Agent
Masterson and fearful the Homeland Security guys might seek Baba out for more
questioning. Chip worked a little, but couldn’t keep his mind on Jo and John.
He finally joined Baba in the living room, and they watched daytime TV for
hours…game shows, soaps, judge shows, talk shows. They took a break for a lunch
of grilled cheese sandwiches.

In the afternoon, Chip challenged Baba
to a game of Mancala, the African stone game. “In my country, we call it
Bao la Kiswahili
. As a child we just dug
pits in the earth and used stones or seeds. We did not have a fine wooden set
like this one,” he told Chip.

Over the past two months various family
members and friends had played the game with Baba. It was a relatively simple
game, but somehow no one had beaten the young Ethiopian.

After losing three games, Chip asked,
“Why is it that none of us can beat you at this game? What’s your secret?”

“You must plan your moves ahead. That is
my strategy.”

“How far ahead do you plan them?”

A shy smile crept onto Baba’s serious
face. “From the first move to the last.”

Ingrid returned from school and replaced
Chip at the game. Of all his opponents, she had become his most competitive
challenger.

Chip returned to his computer and to Jo
and John. He was attempting to escape to another time and place…a place of his
own making, where he could control the outcomes. Writing was becoming a refuge
for him; it was no longer a chore. It was what he wanted to do with his life.
Lately he entertained thoughts of writing a piece of literary fiction, his
great American novel. For now, however, he was a crime writer with half a book
done.

Chip was deep into his writing when he
heard Ingrid’s voice. “Hey look, Dad. It’s snowing again.”

It wasn’t the snow that got Chip’s
attention; it was being called “Dad” for the first time in his life. He didn’t
know what to make of it. Was it an unconscious slip of the tongue or did it
have a more significant meaning for his relationship with his step-daughter?
Whichever, it caused a lump to form in his throat and left him momentarily
speechless. He joined Ingrid at the living room window and put his arm causally
around her shoulders as they gazed at the fat clumps of flakes floating down like
fairies. Within seconds the downfall increased and the wind picked up; a layer
of snow covered the grass and the roof of the pole barn.

“This reminds me of the day Runt’s
mother came to my door,” Chip said. “It started out with a few flakes and
turned into a blizzard.”

“I miss Honey, don’t you?” asked Ingrid.
“She was a special dog.”

“Yes, champ, I miss her very much. If it
wasn’t for her, maybe I would never have met your mother and you and Sven.”

The phone chimed, breaking their
reverie. It was Jane telling them she was on her way home and that Iver had
reported the roads were already slippery and a heavy snow was on the way.

“Drive carefully, love. The three of us
will make an attempt at fixing dinner and have it waiting for you.”

Chip had no sooner disconnected from
Jane, when his phone rang again. This time it was Agent Masterson reporting
that she was delayed by weather and would not be in Turners Bend until the next
morning.

Chip turned to Ingrid. “Tell Baba he has
a reprieve until the morning and then the two of you can join me in the
kitchen. We’ll make something hearty for dinner and have a cozy evening by the
fire.”

Chip phone chirped, indicating he had a
text message. It was from Detective Franco in Minneapolis. It read:
Planning to visit TB next week.

Chip was curious about Franco’s reason
for coming to Turners Bend again. If it was something about his drive-by
shooting or Finnegan’s murder, Franco surely wouldn’t have to make a trip to
Turners Bend. He texted back to the detective:
What’s up?

The reply was simply:
More later.

***

By the time Jane got home, Chip had a pot of chili
simmering and Ingrid was taking corn bread muffins out of the oven. Baba had
produced a roaring fire in the fireplace, and Runt and Callie were hogging the
warmth emanating from the blaze.

“Boy, am I glad to be home. The roads
are treacherous. We may be snowed in tomorrow morning. I can’t believe how much
snow has fallen in the past hour,” reported Jane. “What smells so good?”

“Chili and corn bread with honey. And I
found all the ingredients for making S’Mores for dessert,” said Ingrid. “Can
you believe Baba has never had S’Mores?”

Despite having Baba’s predicament
hanging over their heads, the household had a quiet, relaxing evening, snug in
their home, while the first winter storm of the season howled outside and the
snow piled up. Baba and Ingrid went to bed, and Jane and Chip snuggled on the
couch with snifters of hot brandy in their hands.

“Jane, something happened today and I
don’t know what to think about it. Ingrid called me Dad.”

Jane put her head on his shoulder, but
said nothing.

“I know it’s probably not some big
breakthrough, but it did make me feel good. I never wanted to have kids and
now, well, I sort of do. And someday, I want to be a grandfather. What do you
say, Granny?”

Jane laughed, but then become very
pensive. “I’m missing Sven, probably much more than he’s missing us.” She
sighed.

“Let’s call him and see what he’s up to.
I want to hear more about his trip to Williston.”

They placed the call, but got Sven’s
voice mail box. “He’s been sending me some text messages with observations for
my story,” said Chip. “He told me the oil fields are not a good place to meet
girls. Well, those weren’t exactly his words, but I got the picture,” Chip said
with a chuckle.

Jane’s mood seemed to darken. “This
conversation is making me think about Hal and thinking about him is still so
frightening and painful. He is Ingrid and Sven’s father. He must miss them and
want to be part of their lives, and yet he has messed up big time and in doing
so has caused his children so much heartache. Imagine not knowing where your
father is and wondering if he is safe or in danger or possibly even dead. Or
worse, that he is trying to harm you.”

As rocky as his relationship had been at
times with his own father, Chip could not imagine a life without him. Now that
his Old Man was an old man, he loved him more than ever.

“Do you still love him, Jane?” This
thought had suddenly occurred to Chip and the question popped out without
forethought.

“Heavens, no. I stopped loving him a
decade ago. Right now I’m just glad my children have you in their lives.” Jane
took Chip’s face into her hands and smiling sweetly, kissed him. “I know I have
kept you out of their parenting, but I now see how much my children need you.
And as for me, my dear one, I feel pretty darn lucky to be married

to
a guy who can make a mean pot of chili.”

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

Head Shot

Williston, ND
& Minneapolis, MN

Late October

A
S JO SCHWANN AND
Detective Ron Fischer drove back to Williston, the earlier drizzle
shifted to light snow. Jo was mesmerized by eddies of snow that waltzed across
the highway in front of them. She was deep in thought about their conversation
with Kaitlin Weber, the compliance associate at Wellborne industries.

She was startled out of her musings when the detective sighed.
“Damn. Guess I’ll be opening the Trevor Wallace accidental death file again.”

Jo nodded. “After what Kaitlin Weber told us about Trevor passing
the compliance documents from Wellborne Industries over to Rick Wilson, it
sounds a little too coincidental he died in a traffic accident.”

“Think she’s in danger?”

Jo looked at the detective for a moment. He had just given voice
to her thoughts. “Maybe. She said they tried to keep their relationship a
secret at work, but they were living together. Kaitlin thought someone had
searched their apartment, so obviously someone knew about their relationship.”

The detective nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Think you can investigate Trevor Wallace’s death without a lot of
people knowing? If it wasn’t an accident, then it would look suspicious if the
case is re-opened just after I came to town, asking questions. Which in turn….”

Ron finished her statement, “Would draw attention to who might
have told us to look in that direction, meaning someone in the compliance
department.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll figure something out.” He was silent for a moment. “So,
where do you go from here?”

“I think I’ve done about all I can do here, for now.” She glanced
at the dashboard clock. “Maybe I can still grab a flight back to the Cities
tonight. I hate to take advantage of your hospitality any more than I already
have, but would you mind taking me to the airport after we pick up my things
from your house?”

Ron smirked. “Not a problem. I’m not itching to get back to the
stack of files on my desk.”

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive back to the
detective’s ranch. As they neared the driveway, Jo noticed a black SUV parked
near the mailbox. Jo couldn’t tell if it was the same vehicle she had seen
previously, but her gut told her it was. The SUV drove off, tires spitting
gravel behind it. She squinted, getting a look at the license plate.

“Ron, I’ve seen that vehicle before.” She quickly told him about
having seen the same SUV at the airport and at Wellborne Industries.

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “The airport, huh? There were only
a few people in my office who even knew you were coming. The captain, me and a
few others….Shit, my family!”

Without saying another word, he put the truck in gear and sped
down the driveway. The vehicle had barely jerked to a stop in front of the
garage when he jumped out and ran through the open front door.

Yanking her gun out of her holster, Jo followed him into the
living room. Before reaching him, she heard the big man roar, “No!” He fell to
his knees in front of the prone bodies of his wife and sons. They were laid out
neatly, side-by-side on the cheerful rug in front of the fireplace hearth. A
plastic witch’s caldron full of candy sat undisturbed next to Micki.

Jo rushed over and knelt alongside the detective. Ron had both
hands wrapped around his bald head, as if trying to keep it from coming apart.
His cries of despair yanked at Jo’s heart.

Glancing around to make sure there was no threat, she set her gun
on the floor by her knees and frantically searched Micki’s neck for a pulse.
Relief crashed through her body as she felt the faint, but rhythmic heartbeat
of the detective’s wife. Grabbing his arm, she said, “She’s alive, Ron. She’s
alive. Here, check for yourself.” Jo guided his hand to Micki’s neck.

He released a choking sob and pulled his wife into his arms. Jo
rushed over to check on the boys. A part of her brain registered that all three
wore their super hero costumes and there was a smear of chocolate on the cheek
of the youngest boy, Jacob. When she was satisfied they were all breathing, she
looked at Ron. “They’re alive, too. Thank God.”

Jo noticed a white cloth sticking out from beneath Michael’s
shoulder. Bringing it up to her nose, she detected a slightly sweet, antiseptic
smell. Instantly, she felt woozy and threw the cloth away from her. Just then,
she saw a typed note propped up on the coffee table. A shiver went down her
spine as she read, “Leave it alone, or next time they’ll die.”

Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed 911.

***

As the paramedics checked the vital signs of Ron Fischer’s family,
he turned haunted eyes to Jo. “Someone used chloroform on them. Who would do
that? They’re just little boys….”

The detective had aged ten years in the last hour. She felt
responsible for the threat against his family. If she hadn’t come to town,
maybe none of this would have happened. She replied, “It was a warning for us
to back off.”

Ron nodded and his voice was gravelly when he spoke, “I think it’s
time for you to head back to the Cities.”

Jo shook her head. “No way. These guys win if I leave now, I
can’t…”

His grip on her arm was like a vice. “And we’re all at risk if you
stay. If Wellborne is behind this, he has resources you’ve never dreamed of.”

Ron released her arm. “It looks like someone in my department may
be involved. Let me handle this my way. I’ll trace the license plate number
from the SUV, although I’m sure the guy has long since ditched it.”

Jo bit her lower lip. “But what about you and your family, Ron?
It’s too dangerous for them here.”

His response was steely. “I’ll be fine. I’ll send Micki and the
boys to her mother’s house in South Dakota. I’m going to find the son-of-a-bitch
who did this.”

He left her standing in the living room to follow his family in
the ambulance. Jo thought about what was unspoken between them. What if the guy
in the black SUV had not stopped with the chloroform…what if he had killed them
instead?

Her thoughts turned towards her future with John. She couldn’t
imagine coming home to the scene Ron had just witnessed. Is this what it would
be like for her…always wondering if her own family would be safe from the
criminals she dealt with on a daily basis?

She hadn’t even told John about the baby yet. She wondered how
John would take the news. Would he be excited or scared, or both like she was?

Jo pulled out her phone and called for a taxi.

***

It had been a long day for Dr. John Goodman and he rubbed the
aching muscles in his neck. He had checked on Rick Wilson one last time for the
day. He decided he would stop on the way home and get a few laps of swimming in
at the pool at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. He hadn’t been in
the water for over a week and could tell his body had missed the workout.
Running was great, but it didn’t work out the kinks in his neck like the
rhythmic strides of swimming.

The drive to the “U” - as the locals called it - was short in
terms of actual miles, but with all the road construction on campus for the new
light-rail extension, John found it frustrating to wind his way through all the
detours. He finally snagged a parking place and hopped out of his SUV. Just as
he reached in to pull out his workout bag, he heard someone calling out to him.

“Doctor Goodman?”

John straightened and turned to the source of the voice. He saw a
heavyset man with a full head of dark hair raise his hand in greeting. John was
surprised to see Glenn Oates, a friend from his med school days.

“Glenn? What the hell are you doing here, buddy?”

His old friend’s face lit up and he wrapped John in a bear hug.
They clapped each other on the back and then each took a small step backwards.

Glenn said, “I’m Associate Professor of Neurosurgery here at the
U. We moved here a couple of years ago. I’d heard you were in town and I’ve
been meaning to look you up. Jeez, how long has it been?”

“Too long, I’d say. How are Sheri and the kids?”

“The same. Keeping me out of trouble.”

John chuckled, “Now that’s a full-time job, if I remember
correctly.”

Glenn smiled. “Hey, do you have some time? Why don’t we grab a cup
of coffee? I’m between classes.”

“Lead the way.” John returned his workout bag to the back seat,
locked the car and fell in step beside Glenn.

After they settled into a booth in a local cafe with two steaming
mugs of coffee in front of them, Glenn said, “So, whatcha been up to and how
the heck did you end up in Minnesota? Last I heard, you were giving speeches
all over the world and saving lives.”

John smiled. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I
met a wonderful woman and we’re engaged.” He thought about how great it was to
share his news with an old friend.

Glenn whistled. “I never thought I’d see the day John Goodman
would fall in love. You were the guy that never took relationships too
seriously, breaking all the women’s hearts.” He shook his head, “And she
managed to convince you to give up your practice in Baltimore and settle in
flyover country? Must be quite a woman.”

“She is. Truthfully I never thought I’d ever have someone in my
life like you have Sheri. But I’ve never been happier.”

Glenn tilted his head, as if considering something. “You know….I
was just in a staff meeting. The U is looking for a new medical school dean and
vice president for health services. You’d be perfect, you know.”

John frowned. “Oh, I don’t know….”

His friend interrupted, “They’re looking for someone who’s a
leader in his field and you certainly fit that bill. You’ve not only taught at
Johns Hopkins, but you’ve lectured around the world. That kind of presence
brings in big research dollars.”

He leaned forward, and John felt a hard sell coming. “Besides, I
read in the paper yesterday about how you saved that college kid’s life. It’s
how I knew you were back in town, as a matter of fact. That surgery was nothing
short of brilliant. It made the national news.”

John felt a flush creep up his neck. “Look, I’m flattered.
However, I’m just getting settled here and I’m not cut out to be a dean.”

“Well, tell me you’ll at least consider it. I’d love to float your
name past the board. They’ll be very impressed, trust me.”

John nodded. “Okay, I’ll think about it. But I’m not promising
anything. There’s a lot to be considered. My current career for starters.”

His old friend’s face beamed. “Excellent.”