Jo doubted the woman was telling everything she knew, and she would bet her next paycheck that Kaitlin recognized Rick Wilson. Jo walked over to Kaitlin’s side of the desk and stood right next to her, hoping to rattle her further. Jo watched a flush creep up the woman’s neck.
“I noticed there is an empty desk next to yours, Ms. Weber. Do you have an absent co-worker?”
Kaitlin Weber flinched and looked at Karen Rogers in desperation. The older woman responded. “It’s only the two of us. All our reporting is computerized, so it’s simple enough to handle on our own.”
With the woman neatly side-stepping the question about the empty desk, Jo decided to drop the subject. She walked toward Karen Rogers. “I’d like to see the reports you shared with Mr. Wilson.”
“Certainly.”
They spent the next hour poring over the reports. Jo asked several questions, but in reality, she knew it was a fishing expedition. What she really wanted was more time to question Kaitlin Weber.
She was impressed with some of the questions Ron Fischer asked. He obviously had done his research, possibly because the data would impact the water quality in his back yard.
Finally, they packed up their notes and Jo thanked the women for their cooperation. They walked back towards the truck. Jo noticed a dark SUV parked next to Ron’s truck. She could have sworn it was the same one she one she had seen at the airport, but black SUVs were ubiquitous, especially in northern states. She had been unable to see the license number the previous evening, so she couldn’t be sure this was the same vehicle. There was no one in the SUV. This time, she made a mental note of the plate number.
Ron interrupted her thoughts. “Well, that was a bust. Could your informant have met with a compliance officer in another oil company?”
Shifting mental gears, Jo climbed back up into the truck cab and replied, “It’s possible. But I’d like to know who used to sit at that extra desk.”
The detective was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Did you notice Kaitlin Weber seemed a little squirrely?”
Jo smirked. “Oh, yes. She definitely knew more than she was saying.” She dug through her bag and pulled out her cell phone to check for missed messages. When she did, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor by her boot.
She picked up the note and read it. Jo’s heart sped up. “Looks like there may have been a good reason Kaitlin was acting squirrely. She must have slipped a note in my purse when we were looking over the data with Karen Rogers. Kaitlin
wants to meet with us alone later today.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Turners Bend
Early January
CHIP WAS SO DEEP INTO his writer’s zone that the ringtone on his cell barely registered. He finally realized the strains of “Call Me Maybe” were playing from his phone on the bedroom nightstand.
He raced to pick it up, saw it was from Jane and answered, “Hi, babe.”
“Chip, come quickly. Two federal agents were just here and took Baba to the police station. They wouldn’t tell me why. He was so frightened.”
“Are they from immigration? Maybe he has a visa problem.”
“No, they’re from Homeland Security. He needs our help and I can’t leave the clinic right now. Hurry.”
Chip hung up, snatched his jacket off the hook by the back door and strode into the yard only to realize he had no vehicle. Ingrid had taken his new car and Jane the pick-up. “Crap.”
He placed a call to Iver. “Iver I need a ride to town. Are you busy?”
“No. With no snow I’m just sitting around here at the Bun eating beef stew with that strange Ethiopian bread Bernice is making for Baba. Is this about the government car I saw down by the clinic?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Be right there, buddy.”
***
Hours later a shaken Baba sat on the living room couch, his walnut-colored face now ashen, ghost-like. Ingrid sat next to him clutching his hand, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Jane paced back and forth, trying to get the details from an almost hysterical Baba, as Chip observed. The scene was surreal to him, like something he would write in one of his novels. Surely this kind of thing didn’t happen in real life, at least not real life in Turners Bend, Iowa.
“They asked me many questions about my brother and about my cellphone calls and emails with him,” said Baba. “They asked me if I was ordering bomb-making materials and sending money to anti-American terrorists. They took my computer, my phone, even the clinic’s computer. My life is over. I am a dead man.”
Jane halted. “Look at me, Baba.” The boy raised his head and stared intently at Jane. “You’re over-reacting. You must remain calm. They are not going to find anything incriminating on your phone records or computer. There’s nothing that will implicate you in wrong doing. I’ve overheard you begging Hakim to stop his political activities and use his education to help your people. I’ll give evidence to that. They didn’t take you into custody or arrest you. It was merely an interview about your brother.”
Chip hesitated to speak. The Boston Marathon bombers came to mind. He could see how easily the feds would link the two brothers to terrorist activities, how Baba could find himself in deep trouble, even though he was innocent as a newborn puppy.
“No, Dr. Jane,” Baba cried. “They will throw me in Guantanamo. I will be tortured. I will never see you or my family again. I must go, run away, hide. I will leave and try to cross into Canada.”
In his third book Chip had written about the Boundary Waters, he knew it would be almost impossible for Baba to navigate the lakes and sneak across the border. “Baba, you know the desert, but you know nothing of lakes and rivers and forests. You’ll never make it. Plus, it’d be impossible for an almost seven-foot Ethiopian to hide anyplace. We have to come up with a better plan. Let us see what we can do to help. For now, just sit tight.”
“How can I be tight, Sir, when I am falling apart?” said Baba.
***
Late that evening the Swanson-Collingsworth household was like the frayed end of a hot electrical wire. Ingrid and Baba sat whispering in the darkened living room, the muted HD TV flickering, casting an eerie aura to the scene. Jane and Chip were in the bathroom with the door shut, speaking in low voices.
Chip sat on the toilet seat watching Jane bathe. As she stepped out of the tub, his eyes ran over the petite, slender body of his wife. She had piled her red hair on top of her head and damp tendrils escaped and clung to her forehead and neck. A lovely Degas ballerina, he thought, as she began to dry herself.
Jane wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it in to secure it, and perched on the edge of the tub. “Chip, I’m scared for Baba. His fears may not be so farfetched after all. I can see how the government could assume he’s guilty merely by association with his brother. If they only knew him; he’s such a gentle sweet soul.”
Jane put on her terrycloth robe. “Chip, you don’t think he’ll bolt, do you? And what about Ingrid? She’s been to the Gunflint Trail twice with her church youth group. Would she be foolish enough to think she could get him out of the country? What are we going to do?”
Chip stood. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. You go to bed. I’ll stay up tonight and keep a watch on Baba and Ingrid. First thing in the morning I’ll call Agent Masterson. She doesn’t work for Homeland Security, but I trust her. She’ll get Baba out of this mess.”
***
Chip managed to get everyone to go to their respective bedrooms to try to get some sleep. He brewed a pot of extra-strong coffee for himself and prepared to spend the night as a sentry. He booted up his laptop and read over the last couple of chapters he had written and began to make minor edits. After an hour he got up and put his ear to each of the bedroom doors.
He heard a soft whiffling sound from Jane, and he smiled because she repeatedly claimed she did not snore. He heard nothing at Ingrid’s door and was relieved. Baba’s room was not silent and Chip
could hear mutterings in a language he did not recognize.
It was going to be a long night and Chip knew he would have to fight sleep. He drank another cup of coffee and ate a piece of cold pepperoni pizza he found in the refrigerator.
Hope for the best, but plan for the worst, he told himself. Not exactly the Boy Scout motto, but it seemed apropos for the situation.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Head Shot
Williston & Stanley, ND
Late October
SINCE THEY HAD SOME time before their scheduled meeting with Kaitlin Weber, the compliance associate from Wellborne Industries, Detective Ron Fischer drove Jo to the Williston police department. She noticed several things as soon as she entered the building. There was a constant buzz about the place, crowded with civilians and police officers. The other thing that was glaringly obvious was the majority of the officers looked to be younger than she.
When Jo pointed this out to the detective, he chuckled. “Yeah, I feel like the old man of the group. Most of the new hires aren’t many days past their twenty-first birthday. If you hang around long enough, you’ll find out most of them come from your home state.”
“Really…why is that?”
“Looking to cash in on the oil patch money like everyone else. I hear the police department budgets are a lot tighter over in Minnesota. We can’t hire them here fast enough.”
“How do they do out in the field, when they’re so young and inexperienced?”
The big man shrugged. “They don’t stay green for long. One year here equals about five years everywhere else. I met a guy last week from International Falls, Minnesota, who is already the chief of police of Watford City at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. They take a lot of shit from the public about their age. You know, comments like ‘What’s this; take your kid to work day?’ But I tell you, they have a lot thrown at them at once, so it doesn’t take long to become a veteran. Drug busts, loaded weapon charges, domestic disputes, you name it, we’ve got it in spades.”
Jo shook her head. “Crazy.”
“You got that right.”
While Ron went to his desk to catch up on work, Jo settled into the relatively quiet break room and checked her voice mail.
John had left her a message, and it gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, just to hear his voice again. It felt like she had been gone much longer than just a day. His recording said, “Hope you are making great progress in North Dakota and will be heading home soon. I’ve got some great news for you. Rick Wilson is out of his coma and is doing well.”
Jo was excited to hear the news, but her enthusiasm was tempered by his next statement. “He isn’t able to speak just yet, but can communicate in a rudimentary way for brief periods of time. I’ve already contacted Frisco, so I imagine he’ll be on his way to the hospital by now.” He had concluded the message by saying how much he missed her and hoped she was being careful.
The second voice mail was from Frisco. “Jo, you may have heard that Rick Wilson is out of his coma. I stopped by to see him, but he can’t talk and falls asleep easily, so I’ll try again in the next day or two. Haven’t made much other progress on the case since you left, so hope you are having better luck.”
Jo tried calling John, but received his voice mail. She left him a brief message and then listened to the rest of her voice mails. Just as she finished checking her emails, Detective Fischer returned to the break room and held out a cup of coffee to her. While she took a grateful sip, Ron said, “Any news out of the Cities on your case?”
Jo nodded. “The kid who was shot has come out of his coma. He isn’t able to communicate well, but he seems to be aware of his surroundings.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get more information this afternoon after we meet with Ms. Weber.”
He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which, we should probably head out. Ms. Weber said to meet her at Joe’s Pizza in Stanley, right? That’s about seventy-five miles from here.” He frowned. “She must have wanted to make sure no one saw her talking to us.”
Jo stood up and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair. “That’s what I was thinking.”
***
The drive to Stanley was slow. The winds rushed across the plains and even Ron’s heavy-duty truck was buffeted around when a particularly strong gust swept over the roads. The drizzle started about fifteen minutes into the drive, and Jo could see from the thermometer on the dash that the outside temperature had dropped into the lower thirties. The main highways weren’t bad because the heat from the constant truck traffic kept them clear. However, the side roads were starting to get slick.
Ron grumbled. “Looks like it’s gonna be a crappy night for trick-or-treating.”
Several times during the drive, Jo glanced in the side view mirror, half expecting to see a black SUV following them. She eventually relaxed into the heated seat of the truck and kept her eyes on the traffic in front of them.
They drove past a large clump of buildings resembling long rows of trailers placed end to end. Jo asked, “Is that one of the man camps I keep hearing about?”
The detective’s eyes briefly shifted from the road to where Jo was pointing. “Yeah. Hundreds of people live in them, mostly guys. I’ve been to several of them. They feel like a cross between an army barrack and a dormitory. They aren’t too bad. They have cafeterias, pool tables and computer rooms. The oil companies provide them for their employees. Most have pretty strict rules about no booze, no guns and no visitors.”
“Does it work?”
He looked at Jo out of the corner of his eye. “Pretty much, although there’s always some jerk who likes to test the rules. Besides, there are plenty of other places where lonely, bored people can get into trouble, if you know what I mean.”
They drove on in silence until the detective pulled into the parking lot of Joe’s Pizza. The restaurant was crowded for lunch and the room smelled of pizza, beer and damp bodies. The majority of customers were male, and it seemed to Jo about half the heads in the room swiveled in their direction when she followed the hostess to their table.
Ron handed her a menu, and they were discussing which type of pizza to order, when the hostess brought Kaitlin Weber to their table.
Drops of rain shimmered on her coat and knit hat in which she had tucked up her pretty brunette hair. Jo could see she still wore her work clothes beneath her coat. Kaitlin was a very attractive young woman, but her brown eyes were sunken, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well.
Kaitlin bit her lower lip and her eyes darted around the room. She quickly slid into the booth when Ron made room for her on his side of the table. Removing her coat, she tucked it into the space between them, but left the hat on her head.
Jo could tell by watching Kaitlin’s nervous demeanor she was probably taking a huge risk in seeing them. Hence, the meeting in a neighboring town. She was grateful the young woman had screwed up the courage to reach out to them.
Kaitlin quietly studied the menu for a long time, and it seemed to Jo she was using the menu as a prop to put off their discussion. Jo reminded herself to be patient and wait for the young woman to start the conversation.
They ordered an extra-large pizza to split between them. While they waited for their order, Kaitlin was silent and picked at the napkin underneath her glass of soda. Finally, she took a deep breath and leaned forward. In a voice clearly not meant to be overheard, she said, “Sorry I was late. I told my boss Karen I was feeling bad, like I was coming down with the flu. She’s a germaphobe, so it wasn’t too hard to convince her, but I had to make it look good, you know?”
Jo said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
Kaitlin nodded. “I had to. You see, the empty desk next to mine belonged to Trevor. Trevor Wallace. He and Karen were the original employees of the compliance department. They hired me when they had more work than the two of them could handle alone.”
The young woman’s hand shook slightly as she paused and took
a sip from her glass. “Trevor and I started dating about a year ago. We kept our relationship secret, because it’s against company policy, you know?”
Jo nodded for her to continue. She noticed Kaitlin kept referring to Trevor in the past tense, but had learned a long time ago that sometimes it was best to let witnesses unspool their story at their own pace.
“We moved in together a couple of months ago, to save rent money. We both liked our jobs, until the first time Trevor saw the arsenic levels in the local water supply were at levels above the EPA’s maximum limits.”
Jo leaned forward to make sure she didn’t miss a word.
Kaitlin took another sip, and then continued. “He immediately went to Mr. Wellborne and told him. At first Mr. Wellborne seemed concerned, but asked Trevor not say anything to anyone else until he could review the data himself and he asked for copies of the reports.”
Jo spoke up, “Did Mr. Wellborne do anything about the reports?”
Kaitlin shook her head. “No. Trevor waited and waited, but he was afraid to push it. Then the next month, the arsenic levels were even higher. I told him he should go talk to Mr. Wellborne again, and he did. At that point, Mr. Wellborne told Trevor he needed a favor from him.” She abruptly stopped talking when the waitress came by with their pizza.
Jo thanked the waitress, but no one moved to grab a slice of pizza, as if they had forgotten why they had ordered it.
Jo prompted Kaitlin to continue, “What kind of favor?”
“He asked Trevor to falsify the data until he had time to correct the problem. He said he knew it was a lot to ask of Trevor, but it was a glitch he was working on. If they reported the correct findings, the government would put a stop to their drilling and they would lose a ton of money. Trevor reluctantly agreed. He thought Mr. Wellborne seemed truly concerned.”
Ron spoke for the first time. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”
Kaitlin turned her attention to the detective. “But the arsenic levels continued to climb and Trevor had a hard time sleeping. He began drinking heavily and we fought. Trevor felt he couldn’t just quit his job, because, well….we needed the money. We both hated living in Williston and talked about moving away, once we had enough money put aside. Besides, if he quit, who would hire him? He knew Mr. Wellborne would have him blacklisted.”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder Page 14