Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder

by Marilyn Rausch

  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 wa
tch. “It’s just past seven. Let’s see if the bookstore is still open.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Turners Bend

  Late January

  THE MEETING WITH FRANCO, Fredrickson and Masterson went on for hours as the three explained the plan and tried to enlist Chip’s cooperation. It was no easy task.

  “The best possible outcome is we catch both Hal Swanson and Finnegan’s killer,” said Detective Franco. “If that doesn’t happen, at least we honor Finnegan and raise a lot of money for his kids’ education fund.”

  “Think about it, Chip,” said Chief Fredrickson. “You’ll rest a lot easier when this manhunt for Hal is over, and we have him in custody. Don’t you and Jane want your normal life and privacy back?”

  “We’ll suit you up in our best quality Kevlar vest and give you a wire so we can be in constant communication. Plus FBI field agents from our Omaha, Minneapolis and Chicago offices will be swarming all over the place,” explained Agent Masterson.

  “The Saint Paul Hotel is accustomed to having visiting dignitaries, politicians, rock stars and Hollywood actors, people who require a high level of security. And, the St. Paul PD will provide additional security, not only in the hotel, but for the whole Rice Park area surrounding the hotel,” added Franco.

  Chip began to see the benefits of the plan, but new concerns arose. “I want fool-proof protection for Jane and the kids. Rather than come after me, what if Hal decides to seek them out while I’m in St. Paul? Have you thought about that possibility?”

  Agent Masterson nodded her head. “As we have explained, we have considered all the possible scenarios. We have a secluded safe house on the island of Captiva, off the Florida coast. It’s staffed by a Secret Service detail. Jane and the kids will be flown by Air Force transport to Captiva before the benefit dinner. Not only is it a beautiful place, but the security is top-notch.”

  “Sounds good,” said Chip. “Can I join them for a few days after the benefit?”

  Masterson chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, Collingsworth. I’ll see if I can arrange a little R&R for you.”

  “Besides putting my life on the line, what else do I have to do?”

  “We will ask you to get your literary agent to implement the media blitz and for you to following through with interviews,” said Masterson “She, of course, cannot know the true intent of your appearance. That’s it.”

  “What about Jane? Can she know?”

  “Jane’s cooperation will be necessary. I’ll tell her as much as she needs to know to be convinced this is a safe operation. The same goes for Maureen Finnegan. Any other questions or requests?”

  Chip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, I guess that’s it for now. My father and brother have nerves of steel. They bravely drill holes in people’s heads and cut tumors out of their brains with no fear or trepidation. Me, I didn’t inherit those genes. If I can make it through the benefit dinner without passing out or having a panic attack, you guys will be lucky.”

  Despite all his ranting and raving, all his misgivings, all his fears, three-hours into the meeting Chip had agreed to the plan. The triumvirate of Masterson, Fredrickson and Franco had prevailed.

  ***

  “OMG Chip, this is marvelous PR for you,” gushed Lucinda, when Chip told her about the benefit dinner for Finnegan and the offer from his wife to finish the deceased writer’s novel. “The media loves this kind of thing. Remember when it was announced that Kyle Mills would be finishing Vince Flynn’s last novel? It made national headlines.”

  “I know you’ve got other things on your mind right now, but do you think you could send out a few press releases and snag me a couple radio or TV interviews?” asked Chip.

  “Are you kidding? Of course. This is huge.”

  Lucinda threw all her energy into the project. Chip had appearances on Good Morning America and The View. He did radio interviews in a dozen major markets, including New York and Los Angeles. When he wasn’t being interviewed, he was blogging and tweeting. His last gig would be an interview on WCCO-TV, the CBS affiliate in Minneapolis. At all times he had FBI Agent Sam Harden with him.

  ***

  Getting Lucinda to do her part was easy; getting Jane on board was not.

  Jane sat on their bed, fiercely brushing her hair, static causing the red strands to fan up after each stroke. “You can’t tell me the kids and I need a safe house in Captiva and you’ll be fine at a very public gathering. I don’t buy this, Chip, and I don’t like it.”

  Chip changed into a pair of sweat pants and an old Colts jersey and tossed his suit on the chair by the bed. He had just returned from an interview in Chicago, and he was weary from his travels and equally weary of this ongoing argument with Jane.

  “And hang up your suit. I’m tired of picking up after you.” She threw her brush across the room.

  This was so unlike Jane. Chip could see the stress coming out of her in unexpected ways, stripping away the logical, sensible Jane and laying open a woman with fears and anxieties, some rational and some irrational.

  He hung up his suit and sat next to her on the bed, putting his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and put her head on his chest. “Oh Chip. I’m afraid for all of us, including Hal. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I have a sick feeling in my stomach night and day.”

  Chip was puzzled. “You’re afraid for Hal?”

  “Yes, don’t you realize he could be killed, shot down like a common criminal? I don’t want that to happen to him.”

  During this whole ordeal, that thought hadn’t occurred to Chip. Yet, Hal really was a common criminal.

  As if reading his mind, Jane said, “He is not a common criminal, he is a very sick, mentally ill man. He needs help. I just want this to be over.”

  “Me too, Janey. Me too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Head Shot

  St. Paul, MN

  Early November

  SPECIAL AGENT JO SCHWANN PARKED at the curb beside Nina’s Café in the Cathedral Hill area of St. Paul. As Detective Mike Frisco pulled into the spot behind her, Jo stepped out of her SUV, her eyes taking in the neighborhood F. Scott Fitzgerald once called home. Several of the buildings that had gone into decline in the nineties had reclaimed their Victorian charm in recent years. The area now bustled with restaurants and shops, with St. Paul’s curling club just a few blocks down the street.

  The day had grown chilly and Jo pulled her collar closer around her neck. The days were noticeably shorter and the street lights lit the way to the doorway of the café.

  Once inside, some of the customers looked up at the new arrivals, but most kept their noses buried in books or laptops plugged in along the front window facing Selby Avenue. A few chatted on couches placed around the room, hands wrapped around mugs of coffee.

  Jo could smell the slightly burnt odor of roasted coffee beans and her stomach protested for a moment. She swallowed hard a few times and breathed through her mouth until the queasiness passed. She and Frisco walked past the counter and followed the staircase down to the lower level. They entered the store, stepping through the arched doorway.

  Both Nina’s café and Subtext were located in the Blair Arcade building, a Victorian gem. The lower level of the building was charming, with white stone-arched doorways. Rather than feeling like a gloomy basement, the store was cozy and inviting, with comfy arm chairs scattered throughout. The floor was covered in black and white checkerboard tiles, and bookshelves filled the store to overflowing, reaching toward the soffits covered in literary quotes and references.

  When they stepped up to the check-out counter, Jo introduced herself to the man behind the counter. His nametag identified him as Paul, and Jo placed him in his late sixties, with a full head of gray hair and a beard to match. Jo found herself smiling at his dapper clothing choice; he wore a buttoned up baby-blue dress shirt with a green-and-pink polka dot bow tie. Frisco handed him the photo of Billy MacGregor. “Do you know this man?”
/>
  “Yeah. That’s Billy. He works here part time.” He frowned. “He’s missed his shifts the last couple of days. Not like him at all, especially since he didn’t call in. Is he okay?”

  Frisco glanced quickly at Jo. “I’m afraid Billy MacGregor died this past week.”

  Paul’s face paled. “Died? How…I mean, geez, he was such a nice polite kid. What happened?”

  Jo said, “We’re hoping you might be able to help us figure that out. Did he meet with anyone here?”

  The store clerk shook his head. “No. He pretty much kept to himself and the bookcases.”

  Jo couldn’t help but be disappointed. She tried again. “Did he bring personal items with him into the store, like a laptop or notebook?” She knew it was a long shot, but she held her breath, waiting for the clerk’s answer.

  Paul scratched his head and took a moment to respond. “Now that you mention it, he often carried a rather worn-out looking notebook. One of those old-fashioned, black-and-white composition notebooks. Is that what you mean?”

  Her heart sped up, but before she could reply, Frisco jumped in. “Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of thing we’re looking for. Any chance he kept it here?”

  “Well, all employees have a little locker space in the back, to store our personal belongings while we work. I have no idea what he kept in there, but I guess it would be okay if you want to take a look, if you think it would help.”

  Paul summoned another clerk over to the counter to take his place and led them to the back room. They wound their way through stacks of boxes and books until they came to a small clearing. A battered table and chairs sat in the middle and a row of olive green lockers lined one wall.

  He pointed to the locker on the far left. “That’s Billy’s locker. It’s locked, though.”

  Frisco ran out to his car and returned with a massive bolt cutter. After he cut through the lock, Jo removed it and yanked the handle up. The door opened with a creak. She reached in and pulled out a notebook and a tattered book. Jo carried both items to the table.