Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (19 page)

Jo felt her shoulders slump. “Oh, Ron. What are you going to do?”

The detective’s voice sounded ancient when he replied. “I haven’t
figured that out yet. Jesus, the Chief has been to my house more times than I
can count.”

They were both silent for a moment. There was very little she
could say that would help Ron deal with his situation. Any reassurance would
sound hollow, given the circumstances.

Jo felt a tension headache coming. She rubbed her forehead. “I
still need a solid connection between my case and Wellborne. Any chance Carson
was in St. Paul when my first victims were shot or the other one was drugged?”

“Maybe I can trace it on the SUV’s GPS system. Give me some dates,
times and addresses and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

 
After she gave him the
information, she said, “Ron, be careful.”

His tone was dry. “Will do. Micki will never forgive me if I get
myself killed.”

After they wrapped up the phone call a few minutes later, Jo
leaned back into her chair, her fingers forming a steeple.
Why does it feel like every time we take a step forward in this case,

we take four steps backward?

Turners Bend

Late January

T
HE
FBI’S TEMPORARY OFFICE
was located above Harriet’s House of
Hair. Access to the upper level was by a wooden staircase at the back of the
building. As Chip climbed the stairs, he was thinking that meetings with law
enforcement were becoming all too frequent. His simple rural life in a small
Iowa farm community was as complicated as his former life. However, his past
was full of divorce courts, where the only ones gunning for him were his
ex-wives.

The
treads were icy and the handrail, when he grabbed it, was wobbly. When he
reached the door, it was locked. There was no doorbell or knocker, but he
noticed a new door lock, one with push buttons requiring a code. He rapped on
the door and yelled, “Agent Masterson, it’s Chip.”

“I
can see you, Chip. Look up.”

He
did and saw the security camera mounted under the eaves. He heard a series of
mechanical clicks, followed by Masterson’s permission to enter.

The
office was one big room. It was sparsely furnished with a scarred wooden desk
and mismatched wooden chairs. Detective Franco and Chief Frederickson were
seated with to-go cups of coffee in their hands, and Agent Masterson was behind
the desk working on a laptop. A bakery box from the Bun was on the corner of
the desk.

The
men greeted him as he took the only remaining chair. “Help yourself to
Bernice’s latest treat. She calls them Banana Bonanzas,” said the chief.

Chip
selected one of the puff pastries and took a bite. A glob of banana cream
filling oozed out on his hand, causing both Franco and Fredrickson to burst
into laughter. “Both of us did exactly the same thing,” said Franco. “We were
just saying that Bernice should put a warning label on those babies.”

Agent
Masterson looked up from her monitor, frowned and shook her head. “Enough of
this pastry party, let’s get down to business. Franco you start.”

Franco
straightened up in his chair and began. “Chip, do you remember me mentioning
Margaret Murphy?”

“Sure,
the true crime writer who committed suicide, right?”

Franco
raised his bushy eyebrows. “Well, maybe not suicide. I had the case
re-classified as a possible homicide and had the ME and the Bureau of Criminal Apprechension
revisit the autopsy and evidence. There was enough doubt to look into it
further.”

“What
led you to be suspicious?” asked Chip.

Franco
smiled. “Good question, Mr. Crime Writer. I got a call from the director of the
Minnesota Indian Women’s Resource Center, Rita Running Bear. Seems she was
interviewed last summer by Patrick Finnegan and Margaret Murphy. The two were
apparently working together or researching the same topic. Rita knew about
Finnegan’s murder, but she hadn’t heard about Murphy’s death until recently.”

“So
you think they were both murdered for the same reason? What did they want to
know about Indian women?”

“I’m
keeping that under wraps for now until I can confirm a story I got from a lead
Rita gave me. That lead was Winona Little Feather, a woman well known by the
MPD. I traced her to the Hennepin County Detox Center, where she is drying out
for the umpteenth time. If I can believe her, this case is going to blow
mile-high. The problem is Winona is not a very reliable informant.”

Chip
was fascinated by Franco’s story, but bewildered. “What does this have to do
with me?”

“I’ll
let Agent Masterson take if from here. Your turn,” said Franco nodding to the
agent.

“Change
of topic, Chip. This has to do with you and Hal Swanson. We now have
confirmation that Hal is in this country. The DEA heard from their counterpart
in Colombia. Hal arrived in California as we suspected, but not on the day or
at the place expected by the DEA. When the DEA finally found the narco-sub,
they discovered the badly beaten undercover agent. He confirmed Hal had eluded
them.”

Chip’s
head was swimming with so much new information. He took a deep breath and let
it out slowly. “So you think Hal is here? That he’s the one who shot at me in
Minneapolis and ran me off the road?”

“In
a word yes, Chip, but not that he’s here in Turners Bend,” said Masterson. “If
he were here, someone would have seen him. He can’t hide here. Most of the
residents know him and everyone seems to know we’re looking for him and that
you and your family are receiving police protection. But, I have to assume he
is not far away and he will make another attempt on your life.”

Chip
put his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. “Holy shit, I’ve
got to get myself and Jane and the kids out of here. We’ve got to hide, maybe
go to my parents’ house in Baltimore, maybe leave the country for a while. This
is just too damn freakin’ scary.”

“Settle
down, Chip. Franco and I have a plan to flush out Hal and Finnegan’s murderer,
possibly both or at least one or the other of them. It involves some
risk-taking on your part, but I can assure you we will keep you safe.”

Chip
could no longer stay in his chair. He paced the room, running his hands through
his hair. “I don’t think I want to hear this, but go on. What is the plan?”

Franco
took over. “Just listen, Chip. We’ve worked out the details. We’ve weighed all
the risks, planned for every possible outcome.”

“I’m
no James Bond, Franco. The only risks I’ve ever taken were at the roulette
table. I’m your basic chicken, a 98-pound weakling. Whatever it is, I don’t
think I’m your man.”

Franco
ignored Chip’s excuse-making and continued. “Next month there is going to be a
benefit dinner for the Finnegan family. It will be held at the Saint Paul
Hotel. You’ll attend as the special guest. That’s it.”

“That’s
it? I attend a dinner in St. Paul, and I’m the sitting duck, out in public and
somehow Hal is going to know where I am and come and try to kill me?”

“We’ll
do a media blitz so it’s well known you will be attending. Hal will hopefully
see this as the ideal time to get to you, and we’ll nab him before he does,”
said Masterson.

“Hopefully,
hopefully!” said Chip, his voice rising higher and louder. “Are you nuts, are you
all nuts? And what in the hell does this have to do with Finnegan’s murder? You
guys have me totally confused. Chief, don’t just sit there. Help me out.”

“Chip,
I know this is a lot to take in, but hear them out,” said Fredrickson. “Lots of
federal agents and St. Paul police officers will be involved in protecting you
and nabbing these bad guys.”

“Let
me finish,” said Franco. “There’s one more crucial part we haven’t told you
yet. Prior to the event Maureen Finnegan is going to announce she is giving you
Patrick’s research and asking you to finish the novel he has outlined.”

“Okay,
now I get it. If Hal doesn’t get me, Finnegan’s killer will, and either way I’m
dead. IS THAT IT? IS THAT YOUR PLAN?”

With
an exasperated sigh Chip ceased his pacing and sat down. “Okay, lay it on me.
How does the plan work so I come out of this mess alive?”

Head Shot

Minneapolis,
MN

Early
November

J
O WORKED THROUGH THE MORNING
, happy to be distracted by the files on her desk. After booking
an appointment with the OB/GYN John had found, she got up to adjust the window
blinds to cut the glare from the sun bouncing off the surface of her desk. When
she sat back down, she saw she had received a text message from Ron Fisher, the
detective in Williston, ND. The text read:
Can’t
talk now, but GPS showed no trips to Minnesota, only local. BTW, no tox panel
run on compliance guy for alcohol…quashed by my chief.

“Damnit.” Jo tried calling Frisco. She received his voice mail, so
she left a message and grabbed lunch from the deli in the lobby of her
building.

She had just returned to her desk, and taken the first spoonful of
soup, when the phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Frisco returning her call.

 
“Hey, world traveler.
What’s the good word?”

Jo wiped her mouth on her napkin. “Not a lot, to tell you the
truth. Ron Fischer, the detective from Williston made a dotted-line link
between the vehicular death of the compliance officer and Wellborne.” She
explained about the tanker truck accident with James Carson, the attack on
Ron’s family and the untimely death of Carson.

When she told him about the GPS system coming up empty to link
Carson and their victims, she heard hear Frisco’s puff of air through the
phone. “Shit.”

 
“You can say that again. I
still have to make a direct link between Wellborne and our cases here. I know
Wellborne is involved in some way, but with the GPS locations not matching and
Carson’s death, my latest lead has dried up. We’ll have to find another
connection, one that won’t slip away.” She paused, taking a sip of water. “This
case is frustrating. Any progress on your end?”

Frisco snorted. “Nah. Our victim, Rick Wilson, is not much help so
far. Says the last thing he remembers is driving over to North Dakota with
Billy MacGregor. Must have been quite the road trip. I talked to John, and he
said he’s not surprised Wilson has some memory loss.”

“Did John say if the amnesia is permanent?”

“He wasn’t sure, ‘cause every case is different. Especially with
the amount of damage in that kid’s head. Still amazes me he survived, let alone
that he can talk. I’d say we’re shit-out-of-luck at the moment.”

Jo thought for a moment. “Why don’t we get together late this
afternoon and go over the files again. I have several meetings this afternoon,
but would you be able to stop by the house later? I’ll pick up some Pizza Luce
on the way home from work.”

Jo could hear Frisco’s chuckle on the other end. “You are a
lifesaver. The wife and kids are going to a friend’s birthday party tonight at
one of those indoor playground/arcade/crappy pizza joints. God, I hate those
places. I’d rather spend the night in the Ramsey County Jail; it’d be a lot
less dangerous.”

She joined in his laughter. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that, but
glad to help out.”

***

John had yet to return home from work, so Jo and the detective
split the pizza. After they had finished eating, Jo cleared the dishes, while
Frisco spread out their case files on the kitchen table. They spent the next
hour pouring over the details, making notes for follow-up items.

Finally, Frisco pushed back from the table, his arms akimbo. “This
case is driving me crazy. To recap, we have two dead kids who don’t seem to
have any connection to their killer, an almost-dead victim, who can’t remember
anything from the last several months, let alone his would-be killer. Then we
have another kid who probably had the answers we’re looking for, but he was
bumped off before we could question him. Oh, and to top it all off, there is no
solid link between our lead suspect and our victims.” He blew out a breath of
frustration. “Am I missing anything?”

Jo sighed. “No, you covered it rather nicely.”

Frisco pointed to the to-do list they had compiled. “All of this
is well and good, but it doesn’t get us anywhere.”

Jo stood up and stretched. “It feels like there is something here.
Something we’re missing. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

She pointed to the empty beer bottle at his elbow. “Want another?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He glanced up at her. “Not joining me?”

As Jo handed him a bottle, she smiled shyly. “Ah, not a good idea
right now. I, that is, we have some news. John and I are going to have a baby.”

Frisco simultaneously let out a whoop and jumped up from his
chair, which tipped over and clattered to the floor. He gave her a brief hug.
“First, you tell me you’re getting married to the doc and now you’ve got a bun
in the oven. Best damned news I’ve heard in a long time! Wow, I kinda wondered
why you were so green at the crime scene. When are you due?”

It felt good to share their news with Frisco, the man who had
become a close friend to both of them over the last year. “I’m not sure. I
haven’t been to the doctor yet, so do me a favor and keep this under your hat
for a while.”

The detective mimed zipping his lips. “Won’t tell a soul. Well,
except maybe the missus and she’s pretty great at keeping secrets. This is
amazing news.”

Jo’s smile dimmed a bit as she thought more about telling others,
especially her boss. Frisco must have seen her expression, because he said,
“Feeling a little nervous about this baby?”

Leave it to
Frisco to see right through me.
Jo looked
down at her hands and quietly said, “I never saw myself as mother material.”

“How do you know what kind of mother material you’ll be? You are
pretty amazing at taking care of the people you love; I’ve seen it myself.”

Jo thought about his comment before she responded. “Getting bad
guys is what I know. What I was trained for. What do I know about raising a child?
My mother passed away before I knew who she was. And God knows, my dad loved
me, but he wasn’t exactly around very much. I pretty much raised myself most of
the time.”

Frisco reached out and patted her hand. “So, there you go. You’ve
already raised one terrific kid – you – and look how good that turned out.”

Jo felt some of the weight lift off her shoulders. Tears formed at
the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them. Looking at Frisco, she said,
“How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

The detective took a swallow of beer. “It’s what I do.”

***

Frisco and Jo looked up when they heard John’s key in the door. A
cold blast of air followed him into the cozy kitchen, and Jo could feel the
chill on his coat when he reached down for a kiss.

He grinned at Frisco, who stood to greet him. They shook hands and
the detective’s face split into a wide smile. He nodded to Jo. “I hear you have
quite a year planned. First, an engagement, and now a baby. You two don’t waste
any time. Congrats.”

John’s eyes widened and a grin lit up his face. He hugged Jo to
his side. “Thanks, Frisco. I’m a lucky guy.”

 
He took in the files
scattered across the tabletop. Jo saw the smile on his face fade when his eyes
rested on a photo. He pointed at the picture. “Isn’t that the tattoo from Billy
MacGregor’s forearm?”

Frisco said, “I keep forgetting you met with him before he died.”
He studied John’s expression. “Mean anything to you?”

John’s eyebrows came together. “I’m not sure.” He read the phrase
on the tattoo out loud, ‘Nae man can tether time or tide.’ Isn’t that a quote
from Robert Burns, the Scottish poet?”

The detective rubbed his chin. “Beats me.”

Jo spun the photo towards her. She could feel her heart speed up
as she made a connection. Turning toward Frisco, she said, “Remember all those
books stacked all over MacGregor’s apartment?”

Frisco tilted his head. “Yeah, there were an awful lot of them,
now that you mention it. Lots of high-brow literature and poetry. Why do you
ask?”

Jo turned to John. “When you met with Billy, didn’t you say he was
adamant that I had to meet with him at Nina’s café in St. Paul?”

John frowned. “Yes. He was quite clear about it. It was Nina’s or
nothing at all.”

Frisco said, “Jo, I can see the gears turning in your head.
Whatcha thinking?”

Jo pointed at the tattoo in the photo. “This kid was really into
poetry; I know because I checked out a lot of the titles at his house.” She
smiled and continued, “Did you know there is a bookstore called Subtext beneath
Nina’s café?”

The detective’s expression was quizzical. “No. What’s the
connection?” He paused, and then suddenly his face brightened. “Wait, Subtext
sounds familiar. Didn’t we find some paystubs from there in his apartment?”

John turned to Jo. “You think someone at the bookstore may know
something about your case?”

Jo nodded. “Looks like we need to add a trip to Subtext to the top
of our to-do list.”

Frisco’s eyes cleared. “A plan of action. I like it.” He glanced
at his watch. “It’s just past seven. Let’s see if the bookstore is still open.”