Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Head Shot

St. Paul
& Minneapolis, MN

Late October

J
O AND FRISCO SAT AT A
table in a Thai restaurant in the area known St. Paul’s Little
Mekong. The food was authentic and Jo’s mouth watered at all the exotic aromas
wafting by her nose as they waited to order.

As if reading her mind, Frisco said, “God, it smells great in
here. Nice and spicy, just the way I like it. Have you eaten here before?”

“Yes, I usually get their Pad Thai, but I’ve been meaning to try
the whole steamed tilapia. It got rave reviews online.”

After they had put in their orders, Jo said, “So,
I’ve got some big news to share.”

Frisco raised his eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“John asked me to marry him last night, and I said yes.”

Frisco let out a whoop, which caused the woman next to them to
give him a sidelong glance. “It’s about damned time. So, when’s the big date?”

Jo smiled, “We haven’t had any time to discuss it. He asked me
right before the call came in about Rick Wilson. I swear, between our two
careers, it may take a couple of years to be able to plan anything.”

Jo was surprised to find herself getting excited, the more she
talked to Frisco. He was right; it
was
time
to make her life with John more permanent. She resolved to not let their crazy
schedules get in the way of planning a wedding.

She brainstormed out loud, as if she were working a case with
Frisco. “It’ll be something small. I have no close relatives and John lost his
parents in a car accident several years ago. His grandmother is still around,
so of course, we’ll fly her here. Or, maybe a destination wedding.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringtone of her cell phone.
She smiled when she saw John’s name on the caller ID. “Hey, I was just telling
Frisco about our engagement. What do you think about.…?”

John interjected. “That’s great, love. But, listen. I have a young
man here at the hospital by the name of Billy MacGregor. He wants to meet with
you and says he’s a friend….”

Jo sat up straight in her chair. “Wait, I’m confused.
You’re
talking to MacGregor? We were
just at his house, but there was no sign of him.”

Frisco gasped across the table from her. She ignored the question
in his eyes and gripped the phone tighter.

She listened as John said, “Yes, Billy came in to see Rick Wilson.
Since he’s not family, we couldn’t allow him in the room, but I managed to talk
him into speaking with you. I think he’s got a lot to say, but he’s scared.
Sounds like he met with a whistleblower and I think he’s got a copy of whatever
they were working on.”

Her heart sped up. “Really?”

“I think so, but hear him out and see what you think. Look, Jo,
he’ll only meet with you. Otherwise, the deal is off.”

“Of course. Where and when does he want to meet?”

Jo dug through her purse and pulled out a small pad of paper,
jotting down:
Nina’s at 10:00 a.m.
When he had finished, she said, “Can you get him to meet sooner, like tonight?
I can meet him in an hour.”

“Hang on. Let me ask.”

When she waited for John to come back on the line, she couldn’t
hear his conversation with Billy, as if John had covered the phone with his
hand. Finally, he returned. “Sorry, Jo. He said he’s got some important things
to take care of tonight.” His voice was firm when he continued, “Tomorrow
morning at ten or the deal is off.”

Jo was disappointed at the delay, but she didn’t feel like she
could push Billy harder for an earlier meeting. She didn’t want to spook him.
“I’ll be there. Great work, Doctor. May have to put you on the FBI payroll.”

Jo could hear the humor in his voice when he responded, “Oh, I
think I have enough on my plate as is.” He paused for a moment, and then
continued, “Look, Jo, I gotta run. Let’s talk later.”

“Oh, John. One more thing. Tell Billy to be careful tonight. If we
are on the right track, he may be in danger.”

“Trust me; the thought has already crossed his mind.”

She clicked off the call and turned to Frisco. “Well, that was an
interesting turn of events.”

“Yeah, you could say that. How did John end up talking to the guy
we were looking for?”

Jo shrugged. “The kid was trying to see Rick Wilson. John couldn’t
let him in the hospital room, but got him talking. Sounds like MacGregor has
some news for us. I’ll meet with him tomorrow morning. One thing, though. John
said the kid will only talk to me.”

 
“No problemo. I’ve got
enough other stuff to follow up on and I need to check to see how much progress
my co-worker Riley has made on the other two vics. Gotta tell you, it feels
more and more like this case is about Wilson, not the others.”

“I’m with you on that.”

The waitress arrived with their order and neither spoke for some
time as they both tucked in to the steaming plates in front of them.

***

John Goodman ended his phone call with Jo and looked at the young
man sitting across from him. “She’ll meet you tomorrow at Nina’s. You won’t
regret this.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Shit, I already do. But I owe it to
Rick.”

He stood up. “Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the coffee and,
well, you know. Thanks for helping Rick.”

John stood up and grasped the young man’s hand. “Good luck, Billy
and take care of yourself.”

Billy MacGregor’s eyes were watery when he quietly responded, “I
‘preciate that, Doc.”

As he watched Billy walk away, John couldn’t help worry about the
kid. He put their mugs of now cold coffee in the dish bins and headed to his
locker in the doctor’s lounge.

He slipped on his running clothes and headed out the door.
Might as well get in a lap or two around
Lake Calhoun before I head home.

***

In spite of the cooler temperatures, the path around the lake was
as busy as ever, crowded with people trying to get into - or stay in - shape.
All looked to be enjoying the beautiful late fall day.

John began running on the three-mile asphalt trail, and passed by
an elderly couple walking their yellow Labrador. His body fell into the rhythm
of his stride and his mind soon tuned out the people around him. He thought
more about Jo and their life together.

About half way around the lake, he glanced across the street at
the house he and Jo had always admired. It was a classic Tudor, set atop a
small, well-manicured hill, with a paver stairway that wound gracefully down
towards the lake. They had often wondered who might live in the house. Today,
he noticed a for-sale sign in the yard.

As he continued on his run, he pictured himself living there with
Jo. Quickly, his thoughts morphed into raising kids there with her.

He almost came to a dead stop when he realized he wanted kids for
the first time in his life. Admittedly, he didn’t have a clue about how Jo felt
about having children. The topic had never come up, which, he reflected, might
be an indicator of how she felt about motherhood.

John rounded the corner by Thomas beach, and made up his mind to
bring up the subject soon.
But how do I
approach it?

As he began a second lap around the lake, he concluded he’d rather
have a happy Jo with no kids, than an unhappy Jo with kids and no career.

John’s thoughts bounced back to the house he had noticed earlier.
Jo loves her house and she just painted the
office. It would be too much change to expect her to think about getting
married and moving to a new home, all at once.

Frustrated, he lengthened his stride. Passing the house once
again, he thought,
It is a beautiful
house.
He made a mental note to look up the listing, just out of curiosity.
We could paint the office in a new house
the same shade of green….

The funny part was that John
could
picture them as parents, there in that house. A part of him noted there was
room for a playground in the back yard.

 
Jo may not want kids, most likely not.
He realized he shouldn’t get
his hopes up and pushed himself hard for the final

yards of his
run.

Chapter Thirteen

Turners Bend

October

C
HIP
WAS FEELING BETTER
. Jane had returned from Ames, leaving
Runt behind for physical therapy and the eventual removal of the exterior
fixator on his broken leg.

“Really,
Chip, he’s making amazing progress. He’s eager to please his therapist and
working hard on his balance. By the time we bring him home, he’ll be walking,
maybe even running. There’s an online support group for owners of tripawds. You
should check it out,” suggested Jane.

Chip
goggled tripawds and was encouraged to see how many dogs survive with three
legs. He did groan, however, when the site referred to owners as “pawents.”
Nevertheless, the advice on exercise and massage made him feel less apprehensive
about caring for Runt.

“Let’s
go for breakfast at the Bun,” said Chip. “I’m beginning to feel disconnected
from our friends and want to catch up on what’s happening.”

Jane
laughed and shook her head. “Well, there is never a lack of gossip at the Bun,
that’s for sure. Plus, I want to see what Bernice has baked today.”

***

The
Bun was full of regulars, folks who frequented the café almost every weekday.
Jane and Chip stopped at each table and were greeted with questions about the
accident and Runt’s welfare. Chip marveled at the friendliness of a small
community. Two years ago he had arrived not knowing a soul, a stranger in a
strange place, and now he was one of them, married to a hometown woman.

They
finally settled at a table with Chief Fredrickson and his wife Flora, the City
Clerk. Chip took a quick visual scan of the café…no strangers with mustaches in
sight.

“Lordy,
lordy, Chip, aren’t you a sight?” said Flora. “Have one of Bernice’s new
creations. First it was those Maple Bacon things and now it’s Apple Cranberry
Fritters. I don’t know how I am going to keep my girlish waistline.” Chip
guessed Flora hadn’t had a waistline in many years, but he knew it was best to
keep that supposition to himself. He ordered fritters and coffee for himself
and Jane.

“Chief,
what’s the story on that Mueller guy? Is he a nutcase or what?” asked Chip.

Ignoring
that the question was posed to her husband, Flora answered. “He is the only son
of Hans and Greta Mueller; they once owned the butcher shop in town. He joined
the army during Desert Storm and came back a mess, probably had PTSD. After his
parents died, he bought that place out on County Road 17 and got real weird. He
joined one of those anti-government patriot groups and calls his place the
Republic of Iowa.”

“He’s
relatively harmless,” added the chief. “The two of us have an agreement; he
stays out of Turners Bend and I leave him alone.”

“But
he took a shot at us,” said Chip. “I wouldn’t call that harmless.”

“That
was just a warning shot. Believe me, if he had wanted to shoot you, you’d be
dead. The guy was a sharp-shooter in the war.”

“Oh
dear, look at the time, Walter,” said Flora. “We have a city and a police
department to run. We’re glad to see you up and around, Chip. Take care.”

As
the two exited the café, they passed Lance Williams, the husband of Chip’s
literary agent, as he was entering. As always, Lance looked like he walked off
the pages of
GQ
. Tall, slim, always
impeccably dressed. He was an architect turned organic vegetable farmer and a
transplant from Chicago. Lance was wearing designer jeans and a pink Polo
shirt. Not too many men could pull off wearing a pink shirt, especially in
Turners Bend, but Lance could, thought Chip.

Lance
joined Jane and Chip at their table. “Just the two people I wanted to talk
with,” said Lance. “Lucinda’s got me worried and I need your advice.”

“Baby
fever getting out of hand?” asked Jane.

“It’s
entirely my fault, you know, low sperm count and slow swimmers,” Lance said,
his face flushing as he averted his eyes from Jane. “Lucinda’s now hunting for
a baby online and madly putting together a nursery and researching baby names
and signing us up for parenting classes, you name it. But…” Lance hesitated.

“But
what, Lance? You don’t want a baby, is that it?” guessed Chip.

“Oh
no, I want a baby as much as Lucinda does. It’s just that I’m uneasy about
searching for a baby online. When I brought it up with Lucinda, we had a row
and it ended badly.”

Bernice
came by with refills and Lance ordered bacon and eggs and black coffee.

Jane
ventured forth with advice. “There are lots of adoption scams out there, Lance.
It’s best to adopt through a legitimate agency. There are several safer
options. The internet is just too risky.”

“Maybe
if you would talk to her, Jane, she would listen. She won’t accept anything I
say right now.”

“Sure,
I’ll give it a try. She’ll see reason soon.”

***

Jane
dropped Chip off back at home and went on to make several farm visits. Getting
back to work, Chip placed a call to Special Agent Angela Masterson at her office
in Omaha. Agent Masterson had been involved in several local cases, and Chip
and she had become friends. Or at least as close as he suspected anyone got to
the formidable FBI agent. She was not available, and he was transferred to
another agent, Josh Klein, whom Chip had also met.

“Agent
Klein, this is Chip Collingsworth from Turners Bend, Iowa. I don’t know if you
remember me or not.”

“Actually,
Mr. Collingsworth, you are quite unforgettable. What can I do for you?”

“I’d
like to talk with Agent Masterson about a plot point I need to clarify for a
book I’m writing. I understand she’s not in the office. Could you have her call
me?”

“Agent
Masterson has been transferred to our Chicago office, but I can get a message
to her. Your saucy FBI agent having troubles?”

“Nothing
I can’t write her out of, Klein. I’ve got Agent Masterson’s cell number. I’ll
contact her myself. Thanks.” He placed a call to her cell and left a message.

Chip
was trying to distract himself with work, but his thoughts kept returning to
the events in Minneapolis and his car accident. They were always there nagging
at the back of his mind like a toothache. Instead of working on his book, he
placed a call to Chief Fredrickson about something he had forgotten to ask him
at the Bun.

“Walter,
Chip here. Just wondering if you have heard anything more from Franco lately.”

“Funny
you should ask. I just got an update from him. Nothing definite on Finnegan’s
murder. The bullet they removed from your car did not match the bullet that
killed Finnegan. Not a big surprise, though. Most criminals these days have a
whole arsenal of weapons.”

“Did
he have any information about the parking ramp shooter?”

“Said
he has both the FBI and immigration people looking into Gomez. Seems he might
be an illegal from South America. I told Franco about your road incident down
here. Although there’s no obvious connection with Finnegan’s murder, Franco and
I agreed not to dismiss it and to keep each other posted.”

“I’m
worried, Chief. Not only for myself but for Jane and Ingrid, too.”

“Can’t
say as I blame you. I’m going to assign Deputy Anderson to keep a watch on you,
so if you see him nosing around you’ll know why. I’ll give the county sheriff a
call and see if he can provide some back-up for us.

The
news from Franco further disturbed Chip. He had experienced a wide range of
emotions in his life ranging from euphoria to deep depression, but his recent
experiences with fear were new to him. He outwardly tried to downplay his
brushes with death, but in the pit of his stomach was an ever-growing ball of
terror.

Someone is trying to
kill me, hunting me down. Right now I could be in the cross-hairs of some
deranged killer.

Chip
had written about psychopathic killers. Jo Schwann had been stalked by one, but
Jo was an FBI agent trained to control fear. Plus, she carried a gun. He
thought about getting a gun, recalling Franco’s question about packing a
firearm. He wondered if Jane had a gun. It

was something he had
never thought to ask his wife
.