Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (18 page)

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Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Turners Bend

January

O
N
THE MORNING AFTER
the snowstorm, the clock radio came on
at 6:00 a.m. The announcer was reading school closings. “Ames public and
private two hours late, Boone closed, Ogden closed, Perry closed, Roland-Story
Community on plowed roads only…”

Jane
stirred beside Chip. “It looks like none of us are going anywhere this
morning,” she said. “Let’s make pancakes and bacon and hunker down until Iver
gets the roads plowed.”

“Sounds
good to me, but this storm is only prolonging the agony for Baba. I don’t
suppose Agent Masterson made it to Turners Bend. Did you hear it howling last
night? I wonder how much snow we got.”

Jane
and Chip got out of bed and put on their robes and slippers. Jane peeked into
Ingrid’s room. “No school today, honey. I’m making pancakes. You can stay in
bed until they are ready.”

“Yahoo,
no biology test today.” Ingrid rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.

Chip
knocked on Baba’s door, and when he received no answer, he opened it a crack
and stuck his head into the room. In the dim light he could see the bed was
made. He opened the door wider and surveyed the room. No Baba. His heart sunk.

“Jane,
Baba’s gone,” he whispered. They searched the whole house and did not find him.
Returning to Ingrid’s room to question her about Baba’s whereabouts, they found
her at her window looking out into the early morning light. She turned and
smiled when she heard them enter.

“Look,”
she said. “Baba’s outside making a snowman. It’s the tallest one I’ve ever
seen.”

***

An
hour later, after they had consumed buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, bacon
and hot chocolate, Chip’s phone sang out with his new ringtone, Bruno Mars this
time. It was Agent Masterson and Chip spoke with her briefly.

“That
was Agent Masterson,” he announced. “She is stuck in Des Moines but hopes to make
it to Turners Bend this afternoon. Homeland Security is pissed with her and
they want Baba in custody. As soon as we can, we’ll have to take him to the
police station to wait until she arrives and can sort out this mess.”

The
call broke the snug, cozy atmosphere of a snow day at home. Gloom returned and
the four of them dressed and sat around, their ears straining for the sound of
Iver’s snowplow. It came too soon, and they all headed for town, Chip riding
with Iver to keep him company and Jane driving Baba and Ingrid, who insisted on
going along.

The
Turners Bend City Hall was an old stone edifice built by the Works Progress
Administration in the 1930s. The front entrance led to the administration
offices run with pride and efficiency by City Clerk Flora Fredrickson. The back
entrance led to the police department, staffed by the chief, his deputy and a
dispatcher.

With
the addition of Chip, Jane, Baba and Ingrid, the front office area was crowded.
With not enough chairs to go around, Baba and Chip stood, while Jane took the
seat vacated by Deputy Anderson. They waited silently.

“Anyone
want a cup of the swill we call coffee around here?” asked the chief.

They
all passed. “Just as well,” he said. “Just heard that Agent Masterson is on her
way, she should be here soon.”

A
few moments later, in strode Agent Masterson and within seconds there was no
mistaking who was in charge. She looked up at Baba from her five-foot two
height to his six-foot ten, and addressed him in her professional persona, “Mr.
Dibaba, I understand you have a problem.”

Stark
terror emanated from Baba’s face. “
Ow
…I
mean yes.”

“Please
be advised I speak Amharic plus several other African dialects. Now, Chief,
please take this young man into your office. I suggest the rest of you wait at
the Bun or some other suitable location.”

“Wait,”
said Chip. “We have not had time to get legal counsel for Baba. I request to be
his advocate during this questioning.”

The
agent gave Chip a stern look and shook her head. “Chip, you try me at times. It
is highly irregular, but under the circumstances and knowing what I have to say
to him, you may stay. The chief will be in attendance also. The rest of you,
out.”

Masterson
took the chair behind the chief’s desk and indicated to the other three to take
the chairs in front of her. She removed a thick file folder from her briefcase
and opened it. She started with a series of questions about Baba’s name, birth
place and date, and student visa status. These questions seem to ease Baba’s
tension, that is, until she asked about his family.

“I
see your mother is deceased and your father resides in Afra. You have one
brother named Hakim, who is associated with the Wabbabi Muslim movement,
correct?” At this question Baba dropped his eyes and murmured his assent. His
body stiffened, as if preparing for an assault.

Agent
Masterson consulted her notes again. “While delayed in transit, I went over all
the data from the file Homeland Security has amassed on you. There is nothing
to connect you to your brother Hakim’s activities. It is clear you are exactly
who you say you are and you are concerned about your brother but you deplore
his current actions in your homeland. I am not going to take you to the FBI
office in Omaha for detainment, as I had originally planned.”

Chip
realized he had been holding his breath and released a puff of air. Likewise
Baba’s body seemed to deflate and shrivel, the tension oozing out.

She
paused. “However, you will be on Homeland Security’s watch list from now on.
I’m sorry there is nothing I can do to stop that. When your student visa
expires, you must return to Ethiopia, and I doubt you will ever be able to
enter this country again. I know it seems unfair, and I couldn’t agree with you
more. Do you understand?”

Tears
began to creep down Baba’s face. He nodded and turned to Chip. Chip put his arm
around the young man’s shoulders. The chief cleared his throat, bellying his
emotional reactions to the situation.

“There
is one more thing, Baba, if I may call you that,” said the agent. “Things may
be more favorable for you if you agree to pass along information about your
brother’s activities to federal agencies. We know that he has communicated with
someone in central Iowa. We don’t know who or why and that information would be
very helpful. And, by the way you two,” pointing to the chief and Chip, “that
is privileged information.”

“Baba,
do you understand what Agent Masterson is asking you to do? It’s called being
an informant,” said Chip.

“Yes,
I understand, but I swear on my mother’s grave I don’t know anything. And,
above all else, he is my brother. Right or wrong, I could never do anything
that would cause him harm.”

The
agent softened her voice. “I understand, Baba, but I had to ask. Now go home
and get some rest, you look exhausted.”

She
stood. “Chief, I need to get down to the bottom of this connection between
Hakim Dibaba and someone in Iowa. Looks like I’ll be extending my stay in
Turners Bend.”

Agent
Masterson closed Baba’s file, then turned her attention to Chip. “Detective
Franco is due here soon, although this weather may be delaying him. When he
arrives we have a proposition for you, a plan to verify if Hal Swanson is in
the area and attempting to do you harm.”

“With
all this turmoil about Baba, Hal has been off my radar. There have been no
signs of him, no trouble at all. I seriously doubt he’s in the area.”

Masterson
looked as if she was going to say something, but hesitated and seemed to
reconsider. “I’ll call you when Franco arrives.”

***

Chip
knew he was in for another sleepless night. The parting conversation with Agent
Masterson was playing over and over again in this mind. It was obvious to him
that she was not sharing some information about Hal’s whereabouts.

Does this mean Hal
really is in the area? Why is Franco involved? None of this is making any sense
to me.

Head Shot

Minneapolis
& St. Paul, MN

Late
October/Early November

J
O SLOWLY DROVE DOWN THE
winding streets to her house in the Tangletown area of South
Minneapolis. Most of the houses had jack-o-lanterns on their front steps, as
well as cobwebs, tombstones and even a ghost or two, in the form of bed sheets
hanging from the trees.

She had been able to catch a late afternoon flight and stopped at
a twenty-four hour pharmacy before heading to the house. Unable to wait another
minute, she ducked into the store’s restroom to use the pregnancy test.

Now on the way home, she wondered how she would tell John they
were going to have a baby. Jo was excited, but nervous, too.
What if he isn’t happy about our news?

She took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it lightly on
her stomach.
How on earth can I be a
mother and an FBI agent, and be good at both?
Jo had no illusions about the
safety of her chosen profession. She had certainly been in some dangerous
spots. They
both
had been, for that
matter
. Is it fair to bring this child
into the world when I take risks on a regular basis?

Thoughts swirled around her head like the discarded Halloween
candy wrappers that tumbled in the wind across the neighborhood lawns.

***

A few hours later, she and John sat at the table in the kitchen.
Several Chinese take-out containers were open in front of them. Jo was quiet,
picking at the Szechuan Spicy Beef and Rice on her plate.

John leaned back in his chair and swirled the
wine in his glass. "Don’t you like the food…too
spicy?”

“No, I guess I ate too much earlier in the day.”

She sensed he was still studying her. After a moment,
he said, “Jo, what’s going on? You've been a million miles away since you got
home.” His brows came together. “Is it this case?”

Jo looked at John and took a deep breath. She released
it slowly, silently counting to ten before she said, "I'm pregnant."

John jumped up from the chair. His wineglass clinked
against his plate and the red wine spilled out of the overturned glass. She
looked up. In his eyes she saw shock and something else she couldn’t identify.

"Of all the things I thought you might say that
was not one of them. I…I was afraid you were having second thoughts about
getting married." He fumbled with his napkin and quickly sopped up the
spill. Jo stood up to help, glad to have something to occupy her for a moment
while she processed his reaction.

She tried to catch his eye as he wiped down the table,
but he was looking downward, focusing on his task. What had she seen in his
face? Was he excited or upset? She wished he would say something more, anything
that would let her know how he was feeling. She couldn't seem to push any more
words past her suddenly dry throat, and so she waited for him.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. He dropped
the red-stained napkin onto his plate and smacked the heel of his palm against
his forehead. “What the hell am I doing?" He reached for Jo and pulled her
against him.

Jo felt his breath stir her hair as he spoke. "My
God, Jo. I don't think I could ever feel…I mean, are you sure?"

He pulled slightly away from her, and she looked up
into his face. Jo finally saw what she had hoped to see…excitement.

Jo felt a grin form itself on her lips and nodded.
"Pretty sure. I picked up one of those home-pregnancy kits. It was
positive, but I haven't seen my doctor yet."

John said, “I’ve heard those home tests are surprisingly
accurate. Well, our first order of business is to get you in to see a doctor as
soon as possible.
I know you already have an OB/GYN,
but let me check around. We need the best.”

As he pulled her close once more, Jo buried a
contented smile in his sweater. Having experienced his fiercely protective
nature before, she knew he would be doubly so now that she carried their child.
At some point, she’d probably chafe at his precautions, but for now, she
snuggled closer to him. She could feel the pounding of his heart against her
cheek. It seemed like the rhythm of his heart matched hers.

He said, “Any idea how far along you are?”

She blushed slightly, embarrassed that she didn’t know
her own body better. “I’m not quite sure…two, three months, maybe? I’ve never
been particularly, uh, regular.” Even though John was her fiancé and a doctor,
it felt odd having this personal discussion with him. She continued, “I’m
thinking the flu I had earlier in the fall wasn’t the flu after all.”

His arms wrapped tightly around her. After they were
silent for a few moments, she felt a slight tension in his body. He stepped
back and reached out to hold both of her hands in his. His touch was warm and
reassuring. “Jo, how do
you
feel
about having a baby? This isn’t something we’ve discussed…or planned, for that
matter.”

As his blue eyes bored into hers, Jo took a minute to
respond, knowing her answer to his question would be a turning point in their
relationship. However, she felt he deserved an honest answer.

Would she ever stop having just a bit of doubt? She
still wasn't sure what a baby would mean for her career; it was something she
would need to check into at work. She dreaded telling her boss.

Having a baby would change so much about her
relationship with John. Would it make it stronger or tug them in too many
directions, something they already had problems with in their respective jobs?

And what about the real dangers inherent in her job?
The image of Ron Fisher sobbing over the prone bodies of his family came to
mind and she shook her head, to rid herself of the memory.

Jo wished for the twentieth time since she had first
seen the plus sign on the home pregnancy test kit that her mother was still
alive. Caroline Schwann had succumbed to cancer when Jo was in elementary
school. Her father had done a great job acting as both mother and father to her
before he had passed, but she had no idea how to be a parent.

John squeezed her hand lightly. She could see the
concern etched in his features. “Jo, say something.”

She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I’ve never been
more excited
and
scared in my life.”

Jo felt tears coming, and glanced away. In a quiet
voice, she continued, “I can’t wait to be the mother of your child. But I…I
don’t have a clue how to do this.”

John’s bark of laughter shocked her into looking up. “Do you think
anyone does? We’ve got seven months or so to figure this out. Together.”

He pulled her close once more. “You are going to be a wonderful
mom. And I’m going to do my best to keep up.”

***

On the first day of November, Jo made it a point to visit Rick
Wilson before heading into work. She thought it was about time she met the
young man who was at the center of their investigation.

When she entered his hospital room, she saw an older woman sitting
in the chair next to the bed. Rick Wilson’s eyes were closed and she saw the
light rise and fall of his chest as he slumbered. Jo offered her hand to the
woman and spoke in a quiet voice. “Hello. My name is Special Agent Jo Schwann.
You must be Caroline Wilson. I’m involved in the investigation into the
shooting of your son.”

The woman’s brown eyes widened, probably surprised Jo knew who she
was. Jo quickly explained, “I’m a…friend of Doctor Goodman. He’s told me a lot
about you.”

Jo pulled up a chair, wincing when it scraped the floor. “I’d like
to talk with your son when he wakes up, if that’s okay with you. How is he
doing?”

Caroline replied, “He slept through the night. I find myself
wanting to wake him up to make sure he’s alright.” Her smile was wry. “I
haven’t done that since he was an infant.”

At that moment, Rick Wilson’s eyes fluttered opened. He looked as
his mother and offered a weary smile. He turned his head toward Jo and blinked
a few times at her. She stood up. “Good to see you, Mr. Wilson. I’m with the
FBI and I’ve been assigned to your case. I’d like to ask you a few questions,
if you feel up to it.”

The young man glanced at his mother before he nodded.

Jo said, “I understand you’ve been talking to Detective Mike
Frisco, my colleague. I know he’s asked you some of these questions before, but
I thought maybe some of the details might be coming back to you. Do you
remember anything at all about the night of the shooting?”

Rick Wilson slowly shook his head, his eyes showing his
frustration. She continued, “Anything at all about the days leading up to the
shooting?”

Again, the young man shook his head, more vigorously this time. Jo
went through a few more questions, disappointed he didn’t remember anything
more that would help with the investigation.

Finally, Jo took a deep breath and stole a quick look at Rick’s
mother. Jo knew her final order of business was going to be hard on them both,
but especially Rick.

Turning her attention back to Rick, she said, “I have some news
for you that will be hard to hear. I’m afraid your friend Billy MacGregor is
dead. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Rick’s mouth formed an “o” of horror. His eyes filled with tears
and his hand folded into a fist, and he hit the side rail of his bed. Caroline
Wilson hopped out of her seat and grabbed at her son’s arm, trying to keep him
from ripping out his intravenous lines.

Jo felt sick to her stomach. She hadn’t wanted to break the news
of Billy’s death to his friend, but felt that he had a right to know. Once
Caroline had calmed her son down, he rasped, “Murdered?”

 
Jo simply nodded.

Rick closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks.

***

A few hours later, Jo sat at her desk at the FBI headquarters
building in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota. She caught up on all the mail and emails
that had piled up in the short time she had been in North Dakota.

Just as she was about to step out to grab a Greek yogurt out of
the refrigerator down the hall, her phone buzzed on her desk.

“Special Agent Schwann.”

She immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the
phone. “It’s Detective Fischer. Did you make it back to the Cities in one
piece?”

Jo sat back in her chair. “No problem at all. How’s your family?”

His gravelly response sounded in her ear. “Fine. My mother-in-law
is spoiling the boys and my wife is ready to strangle her, but other than that,
they’re safe. Thank God.”

Jo let out a puff of air. “Glad to hear it. Did Micki remember
anything about their attacker?”

“She said a short guy came to the door, wearing a Batman costume.
He rang the doorbell and yelled ‘Trick or Treat’, so she opened the door,
thinking it was a teen-ager getting an early start on the candy run. The last
thing she remembered was opening the door.”

Jo whistled. “Gutsy move. Any luck tracing the plates of the SUV?”

“Yes. I tracked it to a mom-and-pop hotel about forty miles out of
town. Found a guy inside one of the rooms, dead from an apparent drug
overdose.”

“Damn. Are you sure it was the same guy who went after your
family?

The detective’s voice was flat. “Yeah, I found the Batman costume
shoved under the bed. His name was James Carson, a low-level thug with a
mile-long rap sheet for domestic assault, petty theft, you name it.”

Jo thought about seeing the SUV in the parking lot when they went
to interview Jonathon Wellborne. “Any connection between him and Wellborne
Industries?”

“Funny you should mention that. I checked into the accident report
of our dead compliance officer, Trevor Wallace. Guess who was driving the
tanker truck that hit him?”

“James Carson.”

“Oh, yeah. In the report Carson said Trevor Wallace pulled out in
front of him, but he couldn’t slam on the brakes in time, so it was recorded as
an accident.”

Jo’s mind jumped ahead. “Let me guess, he was driving a Wellborne
Industries tanker.”

Ron’s voice rumbled through the phone. “Winner, winner, chicken
dinner. However, there is no proof that Trevor Wallace’s death wasn’t
accidental. People saw him drinking in a bar an hour before the crash.”

Jo sighed. “Pretty convenient Carson died just as we were getting
close to him. Damn, what is it with this case? Every time we get close to
someone who knows something, they end up dead. We need to make sure Trevor’s
girlfriend Kaitlin is safe. If we were watched, she could be in serious
danger.”

“Way ahead of you. I had my cousin Tommy pick her up. She’s
staying with his family until this blows over. He’s ex-Navy Seal. He’ll keep
her safe.”

She was surprised. “Is there a reason you don’t have someone from
your department watching her?”

 
The silence on the line
lasted so long Jo wondered if they had lost the connection. Finally Ron said,
“I’m, uh, not sure she’d be safe. I looked at the call history on Carson’s
phone. There was a call received from my chief the night you arrived, and
several between the two of them the whole time you were here.”