Frisco nodded. “So, where do we go from here?”
Jo said, “Time for me to head to the oil fields of North Dakota. I’d like to find this potential whistle-blower and see if we can get some answers.”
“Damn, wish I could go with you, but it’s out of my jurisdiction. I’ll follow-up on the tox screens for MacGregor and see if anything else shakes out here.”
***
Jo managed to grab the last seat available on the evening flight to Williston, North Dakota. The plane was overcrowded, mostly with men who appeared to be commuting to work in the Bakken oil fields. She had seen many tearful goodbyes as they hugged their wives and children before stepping into the security lines in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport.
Jo took her seat after she was finally able to find a spot for her overnight bag in the bin above her head. When she smelled the vestiges of the plane’s jet fumes seeping through the air vents, she had to fight back the bile that arose in the back of her throat.
A young woman with light brown hair swept up into a messy ponytail sat in the seat next to her. Jo was surprised to see her breastfeeding a small baby. The woman looked up and smiled warmly, although she looked tired. Jo offered a polite nod and then busied herself, clicking her seat belt into place and arranging her work files in the seat pocket in front of her.
Once the plane was in the air and settled into the cruising altitude, Jo’s stomach felt a little bit better. She pulled out her case notes, but read through one section several times before she gave up. Jo stole a glance at the small, round head of the child next to her. She thought about the child she was all but certain she carried, and absently touched her midsection.
She spoke out loud before she even knew what she was going to say. “Does it hurt?”
The woman looked up, startled by the question. Her smile was wry when she said, “Breastfeeding or raising children in general?”
Jo hesitated, and then answered. “Both, I guess.”
The young mother lightly caressed the cheek of the infant, who had apparently fallen asleep. Jo was surprised to see the baby’s lips curl up into a faint smile. “Truthfully, sometimes they both hurt. I have two more at home, so I know what I’m talking about.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Jo was silent for a moment, trying to form her next question. She knew she had no right to ask a total stranger such personal questions, but she needed to know so much and had no one to ask. “How did you know what to do?”
“Before my first one came along, I read all the books and talked to every parent I knew, so I would be ready. But nothing prepares you, until you hold that child in your heart the first time. Don’t get me wrong; sometimes you screw up. But most of the time, you figure it out.”
The young mother slipped her arm out from beneath the sleeping child and held her hand out to Jo. “My name’s Kristin.”
Jo blushed and gripped it. “I’m so sorry. My name’s Jo. I’m not usually so blunt…well, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t mean to embarrass you with such personal questions.”
The young mother’s smile was bright. “Not at all. I’m pretty hard to embarrass. You kind of get over that when you have kids.”
Jo looked at the child nestled in its mother’s arms. “Your baby is beautiful. I didn’t ask, boy or girl?”
The mother looked down at the baby and smiled tenderly. “It’s a girl. Her name is Emily.” She glanced back at Jo. “So, when are you due?”
Jo was startled. “How...?” and followed Kristin’s glance at the hand that rested on her still-flat stomach. Jo could feel the heat rise in her face again when she replied. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been to the doctor yet. You’re the first person I’ve told.” She lowered her eyes and quietly said, “I’ve not been around kids and never really thought about having any.”
Kristin reached out and squeezed Jo’s hand. “I obviously don’t know you. But I do know this: sometimes life just hands you what you need, whether you ask for it or not.”
After that, the conversation changed course. Jo suspected Kristin was giving her time to digest her words, so she moved onto safer topics. Kristin mentioned she was flying out to surprise her husband for his birthday. He hadn’t been able to come home for the last four weeks and sounded homesick the last time he called.
Kristin bit her lower lip. “Truthfully, I’m not sure if he’s going to be happy I’m coming. He’s always going on and on about how it’s not a great place for women. The living arrangements are god-awful and expensive, and there’s no privacy. Worse, he said that while most of the guys he works with are great, some of them are pretty obnoxious around women. Guess it gets pretty lonely there.”
She tilted her head. “What brings you out to the oil fields? Your husband out there, too?”
Jo smiled. “Not married…yet. I’m going to Williston for business.”
“Oh, what do you do?”
Jo said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m…uh, in compliance.” She felt a twinge of guilt for lying to the kind young mother, but she didn’t want to get into the real reason for her trip. Besides, I didn’t totally lie about what I do. I do make sure people comply with the law.
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when the baby woke up and demanded her mother’s full attention. Jo pulled out her tablet and was finally able to focus on a few news reports on ground water contamination from fracking.
***
As the plane neared the airport, Jo could see the juxtaposition of farmhouses, barns and fracking wells. The oil machinery dotted the snow-covered landscape like sentinels.
Before Jo hopped off the plane when it landed at Sloulin Field International Airport, she briefly hugged Kristin and the baby. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated talking to you. I’m sure your husband is going to be excited to see you both.”
Kristin said, “Thanks, Jo. And good luck to you. I’ll be thinking about you.”
Jo was startled to feel a tear welling up in her eye. She quickly wiped it away and pulled her bag down from the overhead bin. Time to get to work.
Jo was eager to wrap up this case and get back to John as soon as she could. They had a lot to talk about.
Chapter Nineteen
Turners Bend
December
CHIP WAS ALONE AGAIN, this time with a baseball bat beside his desk. Jane and Baba were at a symposium on chronic wasting disease in Iowa City for two days, and Ingrid was on the annual senior class trip to Chicago. He had dropped her at the bus at 6:00 a.m. to send her off along with forty-two of her classmates, some dressed in flannel pajama pants and TBHS sweatshirts, clutching their pillows, others with cans of Mountain Dew or Red Bull in their hands.
The landline phone rang and he went to the kitchen to answer it, noting the caller ID indicated it was Chief Frederickson.
“Hello Chief.”
“Chip, I’ve got a couple of your friends here in my office who want to talk with you and Jane. You better come over as soon as you can.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, Special FBI Agent Masterson and Detective Franco.”
“Jane’s in Iowa City with Baba, but I’ll be right over. What’s this all about, Walter?”
“Just get your butt over here, then we’ll tell you.”
***
When Chip arrived at the police station. Detective Franco and FBI Agent Masterson were both seated in the chief’s office and the chief was behind his desk.
Agent Masterson stood and shook hands with Chip. “Good to see you again, Collingsworth.”
On two previous occasions Chip had dealt with Angela Masterson. He knew she was not as hard-assed as she appeared at times. No mistaking that she was a tough, fearless and highly-trained agent, but underneath her precision and starch was a kind heart. He was no longer intimidated by her manner.
As usual she wore a trim black suit and bright-white shirt, no make-up on her ebony face and no jewelry. Chip checked
for the slight bulge that indicated a shoulder holster and spotted it.
Chip then shook hands with the detective. “Franco, this is a surprise. What brings you to Turners Bend?”
“My oldest daughter, Maria, is touring Iowa State today. Since I was near, I thought I’d drop in and meet Chief Fredrickson, and share some new findings with him. I’m glad I did. I gained some very interesting information from Agent Masterson here.”
Chip’s curiosity was piqued. Three law enforcement officials in one meeting. This might be even more serious than I had expected. He took a deep breath, trying to control a nagging feeling of dread. “Okay. What’s this all about?”
Chief Fredrickson took over. “Agent Masterson and I were chatting by phone last week, and I mentioned the shooting in Minneapolis and your road mishap here. She had a hunch and it paid off. She checked with several federal agencies and confirmed her suspicions. It was enough to bring her here. Agent,” said the chief turning the floor over to Agent Masterson.
“We have unconfirmed intelligence that Hal Swanson may have returned to the states via a narco-sub.”
“A what?” said Chip.
“Drugs from Colombia no longer enter the US in Miami. The Coast Guard became too adept at chasing down their fast boats. Now drugs are smuggled in along the coast of California, south of San Diego. The Russians designed a nifty little submarine for the cartels; the DEA calls them narco-subs.”
“How do you know Hal might have been on one of these narco-subs?” asked Chip.
“Good question. It was a sting operation devised to get Swanson back in the country. He was supposed to arrive with an undercover Colombian drug agent, a guy trained by us at Quantico and part of what the Colombians call the Sensitive Intelligence Unit. We don’t know what happened other than the plan failed and the DEA has lost track of Swanson.”
Chief Fredrickson took over. “The FBI’s profiler says if Hal is in the country, he may try to contact Jane or his kids. When I heard this, we put two and two together.”
“You mean Hal may be gunning for me? But why would he want to harm me?” Chip had a sinking feeling he knew the answer to his own question.
“Chip, Hal knows you provided evidence about the various charges against him, but even more importantly you married his ex-wife, took his place with his children. He’s got plenty of reasons to be hunting for you,” said the chief.
“It all makes sense,” said Franco. “Remember, the rental car was registered to a guy named Gomez with an international driver’s license. It could have been your wife’s ex-husband. We’ve spent hours looking at security camera tape from the airport car rental area. We singled out this guy. You saw a photo earlier. Here are some more pictures. What do you think? Could it be Swanson?” Franco handed Chip three grainy photos.
“Hard to tell, but it certainly could be Hal. What do you think, Chief, you know Hal Swanson much better than I do?”
“I agree with you, Chip. All the pieces are fitting together. I think we should go forward under the assumption it might be Hal, and he may be the guy we’re looking for.”
Agent Masterson took the photos and studied them for a few seconds. “Franco, please make all those security tapes available to the FBI in the Minneapolis office.”
She turned to the chief. “Fredrickson, I request you to provide police protection for Chip and his family members until my own detail can arrive to take over. I’ll be setting up a temporary office here. I assume the space above Harriet’s House of Hair is still vacant. Looks like I’ll be spending Christmas in Turners Bend.”
“We’re a small operation, but I’ll call in the Boone County Sheriff to give us extra officers and back-up. To think I once played high school football with Hal. He must have a screw loose, gone off the deep end.”
Still in her take-charge mode Agent Masterson continued. “Chip, I cannot stress enough how dangerous Hal Swanson might be. Extreme caution is needed. Do not go anyplace or do anything without informing the authorities.”
The meeting broke up and Chip followed Franco out to his car and waylaid him. “Thanks for coming down, Franco. Looks like my troubles have no connection with Finnegan’s murder. What’s the status on his case?”
Franco hesitated, and then said in a low voice. “I’m close, so close I can smell it, and it smells rotten; stinks in more ways than one. You’ll hear about it when the case breaks open.”
***
Chip’s emotions were jumbled and his mind kept switching between fear at possibly being stalked by Hal and dread at having to tell Jane and ruining their first Christmas together as a family.
He re-played the parking ramp scene, now picturing Hal behind the wheel. He put Hal in the red Suburban and wondered if Hal had followed him home from Minneapolis and later tried to run him into an oncoming semi. He envisioned a Christmas dinner scene with Hal showing up with guns blazing.
Before I was jittery, now I’m scared to death, not just for myself but for Jane and the kids, too.
Chapter Twenty
Head Shot
Williston, ND
Late October
JO STOOD AT THE CURB outside the airport, waiting for her ride from the Williston Police Department. Several cars and trucks went by, picking up the passengers who waited with her, until she stood alone. At one point, a red shiny pickup truck cruised by, the men inside hooting catcalls at her. She ignored them, and the truck eventually sped off, tires squealing.
The wind was brisk and she wished she’d worn her hat. She stood under the street lamp in a puddle of light. Jo noticed a black SUV idling across the street from where she stood. She briefly wondered if it was her ride, but the driver made no move to contact her. Although the windows of the SUV were tinted, she had the distinct feeling she was being studied. Out of habit, she glanced at the license plate, but the number was obscured by mud.
A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the cold air. She looked back at the terminal entrance and watched an airport security guard walk through the door, apparently taking a smoke break. A moment later, the SUV pulled away from the curb and she let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Pulling up the collar of her jacket, she glanced at her cell phone to check the time. 8:30 pm. She mumbled through gritted teeth, “Where the hell is the detective?”
Jo had hastily set up a meeting with the Williston PD before she left Minneapolis. She called them out of courtesy, to let them know she would be working a case in their jurisdiction. The police chief hadn’t been terribly welcoming, she noted, but he gruffly agreed to assign Detective Fischer to assist her in any way possible.
When a gust of wind blew up again and a fresh load of passengers joined her at the curb, she began to think the detective had forgotten about her. Pulling out her cell phone, she thumbed through her recent calls until she found the police department number. Just as she was about press “call”, a large, dark blue pick-up truck pulled up to the curb and a man rolled down his passenger window.
“You the FBI agent?”
Jo nodded. “I’m assuming you are Detective Ron Fischer.” When he confirmed his identity, she pulled out her credentials and showed them to him.
The man jumped out of the truck and came around to take Jo’s bag, tossing it into the back seat of his extended cab. He opened the passenger door for her and waved her in. “At your service. Hop in.”
The truck was high enough off the ground that Jo had to boost herself into the cab using the footrest running along the side panel. As she clicked her seat belt, she took a moment to size up the detective as he slid into the driver’s seat. Detective Ron Fischer filled his side of the cab. He wore a knit cap on his head. She couldn’t see any hair peeking out from beneath the cap, so she assumed he was bald. His face was ruddy and he had a long, jagged scar that ran along his jaw line.
As the detective drove, he said, “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been working a case since late last night. The owner of one of our fine d
rinking establishments didn’t like the way some drunk dumb-ass was feeling up his waitress’s backside and shot the guy in the chest. Guess he wasn’t too worried about repeat business.” The detective’s chuckle was gravely and ended in a cough.
Jo was surprised. “Do you have that kind of street justice around here often?”
Fischer shrugged his beefy shoulders. “You’d be amazed. Half my business these days isn’t too hard to figure out, since it usually involves a guy getting a little too randy with someone else’s girl. Always ends up with some kinda weapon.”
It felt as if she had stepped through some time portal into the Old West. She had observed some of the crazy behaviors herself, waiting for the detective at the curb of the airport. Jo could only imagine what happened in the rest of the area.
An oil tanker truck went by, the second she had seen in as many minutes. Recently she had read that the roads in and around Williston, which previously carried the occasional rancher’s truck, now withstood up to 3,700 trucks a day. The road had a wash-board surface, a sure sign the infrastructure was overworked. Traffic ground to a halt whenever another tanker pulled out.
The detective turned to Jo after one of the stops. “So, I hear you want to have a word with one of the oil outfits around here. What can we do to help?”
Jo wasn’t sure how much the chief of police had told him, so she filled him in on the pertinent details, without giving away too much information. “I’m working a case that involves three victims; two dead and one in critical condition. On top of that, we may have just picked up another murder, related to the others.”
Her eyes caught the logo on the truck in front of them. It was the large “W” of Wellborne Industries. She continued, “We have reason to believe two of the victims were filming a documentary about fracking and had talked to several people in the oil business. I would like to talk to the same people to determine if there is a direct link.”
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