Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (22 page)

Head Shot

Minneapolis,
MN

Early
November

D
ARK CLOUDS
SCUDDED ACROSS
the November sky, and the
Minneapolis skyline blurred in Jo’s windshield when it began to drizzle. In
spite of feeling exhausted, her mind buzzed like a hive.

Jo planned their next steps to take down Michael Mazlo for his
role in the attempted murder of Rick Wilson and the death of the other young
people, as well as his role in a sex trafficking ring. She and Frisco would
have their hands full.

She knew the evidence they currently had on the adjunct professor
was shaky at best, and so they had no choice but to contact Wellborne to find
out what else he knew. The audio file they had recovered was dated a few days
before the murder attempt on Rick Wilson, and so there was a good chance there
had been more conversations between Mazlo and the CEO.

She yawned and looked at the clock on the dashboard. Two in the
morning and it was going to be hard to turn her brain off.

When Jo yawned a second time, she reflected John would not be
happy with how she was taking care of herself, especially now that she was
pregnant. She rested her hand on her slightly rounded stomach.

To be honest, she was looking forward to the doctor’s appointment
tomorrow, but the timing couldn’t be worse. This case was sucking up all her
time and concentration. Jo knew her priorities needed to change, now that she
had another life to consider.

Her mind unwillingly shifted back to her case, and she spent the
rest of the drive home mentally shuffling her priorities for the upcoming day

***

Several hours later, after a much-too-brief night’s sleep, Jo was
back in her office, with a bleary-eyed Frisco seated in the chair in front of
her desk. Her first phone call of the morning was to Detective Ron Fischer of
the Williston police department.

For Frisco’s benefit, she had the call on speaker phone. When
Fischer answered the call, his booming voice filled the room. “Hello, Jo. What
can I do for you?”

Jo smiled and replied, “Good morning, Ron. Detective Mike Frisco
of the St. Paul PD is here with me. We’ve made significant progress on our case
since we last spoke, but we could use your help with the next step.”

“Whatever you need. Mind getting me up to speed?”

Jo filled him in on what they had discovered the previous evening.
She concluded, “Wellborne isn’t our killer. The evidence points to the adjunct
professor.”

The detective’s shrill whistle came through the phone line.
“Jesus. Why on earth would he do that to his own student?”

 
“We’re hoping to get some
answers today, but it looks like he was blackmailing Wellborne to help him
establish an exclusive sex trafficking operation in the oil field region.”

“What made him think Wellborne had that kind of pull?”

Jo took a deep breath. “Because Wellborne and your police chief
are poker buddies.”

Fischer was silent for so long, that for a moment, Jo thought they
had lost the connection. She said, “Ron, you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here. Just trying to wrap my brain around my boss
being a crooked asshole and another sex trafficking ring in my territory. For
fuck’s sake.” He paused and when he spoke again, his voice sounded as if it
were made of steel. “Tell me what to do.”

Jo told him.

***

Detective Fischer called back an hour later. Fischer’s voice once
again filled the room. “Special Agent Schwann and Detective Frisco, I’m in the
office of Jonathon Wellborne. He’s…uh, curious about what you have to say.”

When Wellborne spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “Agent Schwann.
What’s the meaning of this? I’m calling my attorney. We’ve bent over backwards
assisting with your case, but this is flat-out harassment. We….”

Jo interrupted. “There are new developments in our case that
affect you directly. If you will allow me time to explain, I think you’ll see
it is in your best interests - and those of your company - to cooperate
further.”

“This should prove entertaining.”

“We know all about the falsified water contamination reports. We
also know about your side deal with Mazlo.”

“Who? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Oh, I think you have. You went to high school with him, but he
was also the adjunct professor mentoring Rick Wilson’s fracking documentary.
Originals of your contamination reports are locked up in his desk drawer, and
we’ll have them by the end of the day when we go to his office with a search
warrant. We already have Rick Wilson’s testimony as to what those reports
contain…”

Frisco shot Jo a look at her bluff, but said nothing as she
continued. “…but your cooperation will be considered. We both know that those
reports will bring down your company the minute we turn them over to the EPA
and every other agency involved.”

“And just what do you want in return?”

“We want your testimony that Michael Mazlo tried to blackmail you
in order to set up an exclusive trafficking ring in the oil region and he
informed you of his plans to kill Rick Wilson and Billy MacGregor.”

Wellborne’s laugh was harsh. “That’s ridiculous. Just supposing
this Mazlo did try to blackmail me, how on earth would I go about getting him
exclusive rights to a sex trade here? I’m just a simple business man, after
all….”

“Oh, I think you underestimate your powers of persuasion. We
already know about your cozy relationship with the chief of police in
Williston.”

She paused to let her words sink in. “Just so we’re clear, this
offer has a shelf-life of about two minutes.”

“You’ve got nothing solid, or else the fine detective standing
next to me would already have me in cuffs. This is all a bluff and I’m calling
my attorney.”

“I assure you, I am not bluffing. You are welcome to call your
legal counsel, but that’ll take time. By then, my offer will be off the table.
Oh, and did I mention that at the expiration of our offer, we’ll charge you
with accessory to murder, as well as re-opening the accidental death case of
your compliance officer? Sounds like you’ll be plenty busy in the next several
years.”

When her comment was greeted with silence, she pressed home her
point. “We have your entire conversation with Michael Mazlo on tape and we will
have the reports in our hands shortly. I’d hate to be you when the media finds
out you pumped poisons in the water supply and made a deal with the devil to
cover it up by inviting in a sex trafficker. I’d say you’re in a rather
delicate situation, wouldn’t you agree?”

When Wellborne spoke again, his voice had lost its usual swagger.
“Seems you’ve got me by the short hairs.” Jo could hear a heavy sigh from
across the miles. “What do I need to do?”

Frisco grinned at Wellborne’s words and he reached over for a
fist-bump with Jo.

“I have provided Detective Fischer with a list of questions and he
will take your statement. Furthermore, we will expect your testimony in court.
If we are satisfied with your information, I will pass that along to the proper
channels. You will be under close watch, Mr. Wellborne. Do not think about
leaving the area until these matters are resolved. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

***

After they disconnected the call with Wellborne, Frisco said, “You
know, there are a lot of things about this case that just don’t set well with
me.”

Jo raised her eyebrow, “You mean like the fact that an adjunct
college professor is a murderer and a sex trafficker.”

Frisco snorted. “Yeah, there’s that. But, I’m from Duluth. Born
and raised. Why don’t I know this Mazlo character from back in the day?
Duluth’s not that big of a town.”

“He’s older than you.”

“True, but I’m guessing he’s about the same age as my brother,
Donny.” Frisco rubbed his hand across his chin, “Now that I think about it,
Jonathon Wellborne might have been in the same graduating class as my brother.
Didn’t Mazlo tell Wellborne they were in school at the same time?”

Jo thought for a moment. “Yes, I’m sure of it. Remember, Mazlo
said when Wellborne was the captain of the football and basketball teams, he
was the captain of the chess team.”

“That’s right.” Frisco pulled out his cell phone dialed. He.put
the call on speaker phone. “Donny, it’s Mike.”

A voice that sounded exactly like Frisco’s came over the speaker
of the cell phone. “Hey, Mikey! This is a surprise. Everything okay with the
family?”

“Everyone’s great. Look, I don’t have a lot of time to talk, but I
need to pick your brain. You graduated with Jonathon Wellborne, right?”

“You mean that slick son-of-a-bitch who took my prom date home?”

Frisco chuckled. “Oh, yeah, yeah…I forgot all about that. Anyway,
do you remember a guy named Michael Mazlo from your class?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?”

“We’re investigating a case down here, and he just might be at the
center of it. Are you sure you don’t remember the name?”

Frisco’s brother said, “Let me go grab my year book. It’s been a
while, you know.”

They waited a moment and then he was back on the line. “What did
you say that name was again?” Jo could hear pages flipping back and forth.

Frisco said, “Michael Mazlo.”

“I don’t see anyone in the directory by that name. Was he in some
kind of sports or something?”

“Try the chess club.”

They waited while Donny flipped through more pages. Finally, he
said, “There is a guy named Michael Mazlowski. Could that be your guy?”

Frisco stood up, “Holy shit, Donny. I could kiss you! Thanks
buddy. I’ll call you later and catch up. Gotta go.”

After he had disconnected the call, Jo said, “Are you going to
fill me in on the significance of what your brother just told you?”

“The Mazlowski family has been a pain-in-the-ass for every cop on
the North Shore. The father is one of them anti-government nut-jobs, and he
usually keeps himself and his family holed up out in the woods.” He scratched
his head. “Can’t imagine how that group of knuckleheads managed to spawn an
adjunct college professor.”

Jo said, “Guess he didn’t fall too far from the tree after all.
Anti-government, huh? Do you know if he was into paramilitary stuff, too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Maybe our adjunct business professor learned
how to shoot a gun with a silencer from dear ole’ dad.”

Jo thought for a moment. “Frisco, why don’t you contact your old
police department up in Duluth and have them send everything they’ve got on the
family. I’d be especially interested to know if the Mazlowskis have a history
of sex trafficking. Someone’s got to know something.”

The detective pulled out his cell phone. “I’m on it.”

Turners Bend

March

C
HIP
WAS ALONE IN THE HOUSE
. Jane and Ingrid had left early in the
morning for an informational meeting about financial aid at ISU in Ames. He sat
in his new work space. He and Jane had re-decorated the kids’ former playroom
and turned it into an office. They removed the jungle-print wallpaper and painted
the walls a serene dove gray. Chip splurged on a state-of-the-art, chrome and
glass computer desk and a custom, ergonomically-designed office chair.

He
sat staring out the window waiting for his creative juices to emerge. He heard
the furnace come on and felt a rush of warm air from the vent at his feet. When
it cycled off, he listened to the ticking of the battery-run wall clock.
Crap, my creative juicer is broken; I’ve got
nothing.

The
sky was the same gray as the color of the walls. The snow, which in sunlight
was a brilliant, sparkling white, today was an ashy gray. Gray on gray on gray.
Chip was working himself into a funk.

He
spied a snow plow on the stretch of country road that he could see from his
window. In anticipation of a visit from Iver, he went to the kitchen and
started a pot of coffee, using the last of their Ethiopian blend.

Within
minutes he heard the roar of the plow coming up the driveway. The engine slowed
to an idle and then stopped. Iver let himself in the back door and stomped his
boots on the rug. “Yo,” he called out.

“Come
on in, Iver. Coffee should be ready shortly.”

Chip
took a look at his friend as he entered the kitchen. He always got a kick out
of Iver’s winter wear. He never wore a jacket. Today he had on a quilted
flannel shirt, jeans at half-mast, and a fur-lined hat with dangling ear flaps.

Iver
sat in one of the wooden kitchen chairs, which creaked under the pressure of
his formidable weight. One of these days, thought Chip, that chair is going to
give way under Iver and end up a pile of kindling.

“What’s
the temperature out there today?” asked Chip.

“In
the summer we Midwesterners say, ‘It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity,” and in
the winter we say, ‘It’s not the temperature; it’s the wind chill’.” Iver took
out his phone and punched at the screen with his sausage-sized finger. “Dang,
I’m lovin’ this phone. Look here, Chip.”

Chip
glanced at the screen Iver held up to him. It read: Wind chill -26.

“I’d
call that more than a little nippy.”

“Nah,
ain’t too bad. Gonna get a lot colder before winter ends.”

“It’s
March; winter will end soon.”

“Wouldn’t
count on it, buddy.”

Chip
poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to Iver. “What brings you out this way
today?”

Iver
got a sly smile on his face. “Thought I’d let you in on what’s going down
tonight. You know I hear things and see things, and I can put two and two together.”
He got up and went to the cupboard, took out the sugar bowl and stirred a
spoonful into his coffee.

“Come
on, Iver, cough it up. Don’t keep me in suspense. What have you heard and
seen?”

“Well,
it started yesterday when Chief Fredrickson asked me to plow out the road at
the Swede Point Park campsite and wouldn’t tell me why. I never plow that road
‘cuz the camp is closed in the winter. Strange, huh?”

“Yes,
it does seem odd. Why would he do that?”

“I
was asking myself that same question, when I overheard something at the Bun at
breakfast today. Agent Masterson was at a table with two guys I’ve never seen
before. I assume they were FBI. When she left, the two dudes were talking
quietly with a lot of jargon, sounded like code words. I did hear ‘campground’
and twenty-three hundred hours.”

“So,
do you think something is going down at Swede Point Park at eleven o’clock?”

“I
decided to take another run out to the campgrounds. I parked in a secluded spot
and watched vehicles arrive and equipment being unloaded. If I had to guess,
I’d say it was a riot squad or SWAT team.”

Chip
had a pretty good idea of what was being planned. He bet Masterson had
confirmed Rod Mueller was making bombs and was planning a raid. He wondered how
much he should share with Iver.

“Here’s
what I think,” said Iver. “Mueller’s place is near that campground. The feds
probably have the goods on him. I think Rod is in for a big surprise tonight.”

“You
may be right, Iver.”

“You
game, pal?”

“Game
for what?”

“I’d
hate to miss out on that show. Thought I might just plan to be in that vicinity
tonight on my new sled. It’s a two-seater. You up for a moonlight ride?”

“On
a sled? In this weather? I don’t know, Iver. I doubt the feds will let us get
near.”

“First
of all, Chip, my new sled is a Polaris Turbo IQ LXT with a 4-stroke 750cc
engine. It powers up to 140 HP and gets to triple digits in 1320 feet over
hard-packed snow.”

Chip
shook his head. “I don’t understand a word you just said.”

“It’s
a snowmobile.” Iver took a gulp of coffee and continued. “Here’s my plan.
There’s a trail that runs in back of Mueller’s place. There’s a rise with a
clearing that has a good view of his land. Full moon tonight, so we should be
able to watch all the action with little chance of being detected. What do you say?”

Chip
hesitated. He and Iver had some previous adventures that were wild, but this
one seemed a bit crazy. Yet, it was tempting. He hedged. “But I don’t have any
gear.”

“I’m
sure Sven has got stuff stored here someplace. He and Hal used to ride. The suit
may be a tad long for you, but that doesn’t matter.”

“What
would I tell, Jane? I have a feeling she wouldn’t approve.”

“Just
tell her the same thing I’m going to tell Mabel. The truth. We’re going out for
a ride to test my new sled.”

“I’m
in, partner,” said Chip, shaking Iver’s outstretched hand.

In
the basement they located a black snowmobile suit with orange trim and a
matching helmet. Chip suited up, put on the helmet, and pulled down the visor.
He felt like a cross between the Michelin Man and Darth Vader. A surge of
excitement coursed through his body.

“I’m
ready to rumble.”