Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (6 page)

Changing topics, Chip asked, “What’s going on over there with the workers from AgriDynamics?”

“Rumor has it one of them is going to blow the whistle on old Hal and his shady doings. Hope they do. Guy would sell his own mother down the river. Wouldn’t want to put my life on the line to rat on him, though.”

Chip and Iver sat together, each quietly sipping their coffee, listening to Bernice softly sing “Cracklin’ Rosie,” as she polished the stainless steel milk dispenser. Behind the counter Chip spied a copy of
The Cranium Killer
, the back cover facing up. There was the dreadful photograph that Lucinda had insisted on using, one of him holding his eyeglasses and wearing a black turtleneck. He hated that picture, didn’t own a black turtleneck and hadn’t worn one since high school. Even worse was the front cover, a bloody hand holding a brain. Again, that was Lucinda’s idea, and she most definitely called the shots when it came to the jacket graphics. Nevertheless, he was surprised to see the book in Turners Bend and even more surprised to see it behind the café’s counter. He wondered if Bernice was reading it. If so, that might account for the strange looks she sometimes gave him.

Back at his computer for a day of writing, Chip started the next chapter of
Brain Freeze
. He needed to concentrate on the “blown gasket” and microchip in his victim’s head, but his mind kept veering off to the beautiful redheaded veterinarian. He had sworn off women, but hearing that she was divorced made him think about her. She was a lot like Mary in many ways, a caring woman with solid values who would most likely know better than to get involved with a guy like him. Anyway, two teenage kids were some serious baggage to avoid.
That was like sticking your knife into the toaster, right?

Finally he forced himself to stop his spinning and reeling about Dr. Jane and to channel his energy into Dr. Goodman and Jo. Living in their lives was a hell of a lot easier than living in this own. He wished he had not tossed out all his first-year medical schoolbooks. He did not lack for medical resources right within his own family. But, calling his father was out of the question. He avoided talking with him as much as possible. Conversations with Dr. Collingsworth Jr., always spiraled into lectures about Chip’s failures, delivered in his father’s unmistakable tone of condescension, tinged with disappointment. Chip had spent lots of hours on his analyst’s couch talking about his “unresolved father issues.” After thousands of dollars, they were still “unresolved.”

He called Parker, his father’s favored child.

“How’s my little bro?”

“Up to my neck in lesions and tumors, as usual.”

Yup, he had made the right choice not to be a doctor. “I need some info. If you were to plant a microchip into a brain to control inhibitions, where would you plant it?”

Parker gave a brief laugh. “Well, I’m not in the mind control business, I leave that up to the CIA and KGB. I assume this is for your next novel. Is our hero Dr. Goodman going to loosen the inhibitions of some sexy blonde?”

“No, something more sinister than that, I think, although I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chip took notes as Parker described various areas of the brain and brain stem and regaled him with his knowledge of recent research in the treatment of various seizure disorders and neurological diseases.

“And aneurysms, where do they most often occur?”

“The Circle of Willis, an arterial circle at the base of the brain.”

“Thanks, Parker. I’ll give you credit in my acknowledgements.”

“Ah, that’s sure to impress my colleagues in the American Society of Neurosurgeons. Got to go, Chip, my beeper’s going off.”

Maybe he was being too sensitive, but he heard it in Parker’s parting remark, that bit of sarcasm and their father’s tone, the cutting edge that always sliced into Chip’s ego. He got the information he needed for his novel, but it grazed his self-image. Dr. Cooper would probably advise him to ignore it … “Let it go, Chip,” he said to himself.

Chapter Six

Brain Freeze

Duluth, Minnesota

The St. Louis County Medical Examiner’s office was located within the University of Minnesota at Duluth’s School of Medicine. Jo pulled onto the campus and drove down roads narrowed by tall snow banks. Bundled up students trudged along freshly plowed sidewalks, heads bent down to protect their faces from the wind coming off Lake Superior. John wondered if the students recognized each other when they finally saw their faces again in the spring.

The School of Medicine was a no-nonsense, modern building of tan and red brick, running along University Drive. Jo showed her badge to the guard in the station house before entering the parking lot.

As she circled the lot looking for a parking spot, John said, “I forgot to ask. Who manufactured the chip?”

“The serial number on the chip traces back to a corporation called NeuroDynamics, Inc. Ever heard of them?”

John nodded. “I certainly have. The founder of the company, Charles Candleworth, was an old classmate of mine at Johns Hopkins. I ran into him at a neurology conference a couple of years back, and he tried to get me to join his company, working in research. Turned him down flat—I never liked the guy. Always cutting corners in med school. He got caught dealing research papers to other students. Daddy’s money hushed it up.”

“Well, it looks like Candleworth may be into something considerably more sinister these days.” She pulled the SUV into the last spot available in the lot.

“So, tell me about the ME. Is he any good?”

She put the car in park and shut off the engine. “His name’s Sid Jurgenson. He’s been around forever. A bit of a legend in this part of Minnesota. He’s like Brett Favre—says he’s going to retire, then changes his mind. Truth is, people here will be sorry at that retirement party. If you’ll pardon the expression, he knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“Agent Tinsdale says he’s quite a character.”

Jo chuckled. It was a deep, throaty sound. A wonderful laugh. “That he is. No doubt about it. He’s a bit rough around the edges, with a dark sense of humor. Once you get used to that, though, you realize that nothing gets past him.”

They entered the doorway and received visitor passes. Their snow covered shoes squeaked on the highly polished floors. Jo led the way to the ME’s office.

Behind the reception desk sat a harried looking woman with springy gray hair. Jo and John stood for a moment, waiting for her to notice them. Jo finally cleared her throat. “Excuse, me. We’re here to see Sid Jurgenson.” The woman peered over her leopard-print reading glasses. She looked them up and down before responding, “And you are … ?”

Jo sighed and straightened her shoulders. “I’m Special Agent Jo Schwann of the FBI.” She gestured toward John. “And this is Dr. John Goodman. Dr. Jurgenson is expecting us.”

The woman reached for the telephone without responding. She punched a button and then spoke into the receiver. “Sid. Some FBI agent and a doc here to see you. Should I send ’em in or tell them to take a seat?”

She nodded and hung up the phone. She tilted her head toward a hallway on the left. “Sid’s waiting for you. Go through those double doors over there. He’s in the first room on the right.” She went back to her paperwork without comment.

When they were out of earshot, John muttered, “She’s got the personality of one of those snow banks outside. I’ll bet she gets along great with the clientele in here.” John looked over at Jo and was rewarded with a smile.

“Wait ’til you meet Sid.”

John raised an eyebrow.

Just then, the man in question came through the door. He was the same height as Jo, and bent slightly forward, looking as if he might topple over at any minute. What little hair he had left was pure white and circled a pale, liver-spotted pate. Behind him trotted a golden retriever, nails clicking on the tiled floor. The ME thrust out his hand. “Sid Jurgenson. Glad to meet you! You must be Dr. Goodman.” He turned to Jo. “Little Josie Schwann. Good to see you again, girl.” He wrapped Jo in a bear hug and looked back at John. “I’ve known Josie here since she was just a little snippet. Her dad and I were in med school together, way back.”

“Good to see you too, Sid. You haven’t change a bit. Your wife out there gave us a warm welcome, as always. You would think she’d recognize me.”

John coughed. “Your … your wife? Um, lovely woman …”

Sid clapped him hard on the back, forcing John to step forward to keep his balance. “Yup. That’s my Martha. Been my bride for going on forty-eight years. Real dragon lady, isn’t she?”

John’s eyes widened. “Well, that is …”

Sid let out a big belly laugh. “Don’t worry. You can’t offend me. She’s a handful, but she puts up with me and Josie here will tell you that’s not easy to do. Don’t take offense at her manner. She barely acknowledges knowing
me
sometimes. But, I couldn’t run this office without her.” He reached down to pat the head of the dog waiting patiently by his side. “And this here’s Caddy.”

“Caddy, as in golf? Is that your sport?”

“Nah. Never could stand chasing that little bitty ball around all day, calling it a sport. Her full name is Cadaver. Got her when I responded to a call at a farmhouse. There she was, nothing but a pup, cuddled up to the side of her recently deceased master. Been with me ever since. Had to start calling her Caddy, ’cause her real name kinda creeped out the grandkids.” He looked down at the dog. “Couldn’t run the office without you either, could we, girl?” Caddy barked in response, tail pounding the wall behind her.

“Now that the introductions are over and done with, let’s head into the lab and I’ll show you what you’ve come for.” He pointed down the hall. “Caddy, office.” The dog trotted down the hallway and entered a doorway, hips swaying and tail wagging.

“Beautiful dog you’ve got there, Dr. Jurgenson.”

“Thanks. By the way, name’s Sid. You’ll find we keep things pretty informal. Here we are.” He led them into the autopsy room. Neil Diamond’s “Cracklin’ Rosie” was blasting from the small, white Bose speakers in the corners of the room.

One of the deputy medical examiners was swaying and singing along as he worked on another autopsy, “
… now my bay-beeeee.
”

He was mid-swivel when he noticed the newcomers. A rose flush crept up his neck. He muttered, “Sorry” and clicked off the power button on the sound system. Silence filled the room. Jo hid a smile behind her hand.

Sid spoke, “Always said you had a nice singing voice, Bobby.” The blush depended to burgundy and he went back to his work without comment.

John heard some voices in the hallway and then the double doors of the lab swung open, admitting a man in a black wool overcoat. He brushed the snow out of longish black hair, smiling broadly.

“Hey, folks. Sorry I’m late. Just got back from the Cities, visiting the family of the deceased.” He reached out a hand to Jo. “Hello, Agent Schwann, good to see you again. Awfully glad Sid thought to call you.” He turned to John. “And you must be Dr, Goodman. I’m Detective Mike Frisco. Most people just call me Frisco. Been working this case with Sid here.” He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “Jeez, it’s cold out there. So, what did I miss?”

“Not much. Sid was just about to fill us in on his findings.”

Jo said, “What did you find out from Calhoun’s family?”

“Things just keep getting more and more weird.” He pulled out a small notebook and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “I spoke to his parents. He’s been living with them off and on since high school. Seems he’s had a hard time holding down a job ’cause he had to take so many sick days on a count of severe depression.”

Frisco flipped through a few pages. “Then, about three weeks ago, he came up here to check into some ‘cutting edge’—those were his parents’ words—medical treatment he’d heard about from an old buddy.”

“Any idea who this ‘old buddy’ was?”

“Nope. Mitch never told them who it was. Anyway, when their son came back, he was a changed man. Over-the top angry. Yelling at them all the time. They said they were actually afraid of him.”

“And the depression? Was he cured?”

“That’s part of the weirdness. His mom thought he seemed even more depressed. And, he developed these God-awful headaches. He was popping pain meds like they were candy. Then he would sleep for hours.”

The detective turned to the last page in his notebook. “Finally had to call the cops one night because he was threatening them with a knife. He slipped out the back door before the cops arrived. His parents didn’t know where he’d gone ’til we notified them of their son’s death.”

Jo shook her head. “Poor people. What a thing to go through. Appreciate the update, Frisco.”

The detective turned to the ME. “So, Sid, you tell ’em what happened when you called the manufacturer?”

“I was just getting to that.” Sid’s bushy, white eyebrows seemed to have a life of their own as he warmed up to the topic. “Cagey bastards. Told me they’d get back to me. Ha! In a pig’s eye they’d get back to me. So that’s when I called the FDA. The guy I talked to said NeuroDynamics had gotten approval for limited human trials after passing previous reviews with flying colors, all within the last year. That strike you as awfully quick?”

John was shocked. “It certainly does. FDA Level III reviews required for this type of medical device would normally take several years before reaching the human testing phase.”

“He also said a final, full-blown audit of the company had taken place two weeks ago. They found the usual minor infractions, wrote up their reports, and shook hands.” He snorted. “A load of crap, if you ask me.”

Jo spoke. “Were you able to take a look at their official reports?”