Halfway home he remembered he had planned to go to the Bijou. He made a U-turn and headed back to town.
This love life stuff is killing me.
* * *
The Bijou project had resumed and a few volunteers showed up every day to work. The goal was to finish by spring and to have a grand re-opening with The Cranium Killer movie. The president of the Historical Society, Sylvia Johnson, had already donated a red carpet runner for the gala event. The broken glass in the ticket booth and poster cases had been replaced and new upholstery had been ordered for the seats. Several retired farmers had started to replace the stage floorboards under the guidance of the high school shop teacher. A magical pied piper had lured the mice away, as well as exterminated a few other unwelcome squatters.
Lance had taken on the repair and restoration of the marquee as his personal project. He had studied old photos, drawn up sketches and blueprints and started replacing all the sockets for the lights. He was a man of many mechanical talents.
As Chip walked into the lobby, there he was … his nemesis … working away. “I didn’t expect you today, Lance. I thought you would be getting ready for the barn dance.”
“Well, Lucinda has taken charge. I thought I might just finish the marquee today since I had to come into town anyway to order the booze over at the Bend. What would we do without these women? I have to tell you, I never thought I would come to Turners Bend and find the woman of my dreams.”
Chip had no idea if Lance was talking about Jane or Lucinda. He had a hard time believing it was Lucinda, but he prayed it was her and not Jane. Just as he was trying to figure out how to tactfully get at the dream woman’s true identity, Chief Fredrickson walked into the Bijou with a grim look on his face.
“I hoped I might find you here. I wonder if you could come over to the station and have a look at something, Chip.”
“Sure, what is it? Is it something to do with the murder?”
“Don’t know. Thought you might have a clue about something I got in the mail.”
Chip and the chief silently walked over to the police station, each deep in thought.
As they entered the station, Sharon barked. “Don’t even ask me about my day, ‘cuz it’s horse shit. Oh sorry, Chief, my day got off to a bad start.”
The chief motioned Chip into his office and closed the door.
“What’s with Sharon?”
“Robert’s mother moved in with them. I take it there is no love lost between the two women.”
The chief sorted through papers on his desk and held up an envelope. “I got this in the mail yesterday. No explanation and no return address. Postmark says it was mailed from Ames. My gut tells me it has something to do with the body we found. What do you make of it?”
Chip unfolded the piece of paper. On one side there was a printed form and on the other side was a strange drawing done in black grease pencil. It was a crudely drawn rectangle marked with five X’s inside.
Chip looked at the diagram and then turned it over. “What’s this form?”
“From what I can tell, it’s some kind of order or delivery form for raw milk. The company name has been torn off. As far as the diagram on the back, I haven’t the vaguest idea. It was addressed to me personally. I’ve sent Jim to get copies of forms from all the milk processors, but each of them probably services hundreds of dairy farmers.”
“I’m as clueless as you, Chief. May I have a copy to take home?”
“Sure, I’ll have Sharon make one for you.”
* * *
Chip took a copy of the diagram home and posted it on his refrigerator. His mind wandered to clues … clues to crimes. The killer in Mind Games was leaving clues, clues on paper stuffed into victims. Writing a trail of clues would be his next task.
Chapter Sixteen
Mind Games
St. Paul & Minneapolis, Minnesota
Late July
This time, when Jo and Frisco stopped in to see Freemont’s widow, they were immediately admitted to a spacious family room. A large plasma TV was mounted above the ornate fireplace and the volume was muted.
Tanya rose to greet them and said, “I’ve just seen the news report about Annie’s death. How horrible! They’re saying her murder is tied to my husband’s? What’s going on?”
Jo glanced at Frisco, who looked surprised. “So, you know Ms. McDonald personally?” he said.
“Why, yes. She went to college with Lee and I. She is … was a dear friend.” The woman’s voice broke on the last word.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I apologize for my bluntness, but is there any chance your husband and Ms. McDonald were having an affair?” Jo asked.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Tanya Freemont. Her words were clipped when she replied, “No. Absolutely not. Annie was gay. She and Lee were very close, like best friends. It was Annie who convinced Lee to go into politics in the first place.”
Frisco spoke up. “Mrs. Freemont, could your husband have had a recent affair?”
She furrowed her brow. “I am not a fool, detective. I know affairs happen on campaign trails all the time. Just look at John Edwards, when he ran for president a few years back. However, to the best of my knowledge, my husband was faithful to me.” She paused, and then said, “Why do you keep asking me about affairs? Has there been a break in the case?”
Jo shook her head and said, “We have found a puzzling clue, which refers to adultery. I’m not at liberty to say anything more at the moment.”
“What can you tell me?”
Jo frowned. “At the moment, nothing much. Except to say we feel there may be a connection between the cases. We will be in touch.”
Frisco and Jo had turned to leave, when Jo heard Tanya Freemont mutter, “First, Lee. Now, Annie. How much can I bear?”
* * *
After they left the Reynold’s mansion, Frisco said, “It’s been a long day already and I’m starving. Let’s grab a bite. Know of a good burger joint?” Jo had smiled and driven them to the 5-8 Club.
The waitress set down a pair of Juicy Lucy burgers and French fries in front of them. As she left the bill, she warned, “Be careful. The cheese in these is crazy hot. Anything else I can get you folks?”
Frisco looked up at Jo with a raised eyebrow and she said, “No, thanks. These look great.”
Across the booth, Frisco carefully bit into his blue-cheese burger. He closed his eyes, and groaned, savoring the double burger patty with melted cheese inside. Wiping a bit of juice from his chin, he said, “These are fantastic. How’d you find this place?”
“It’s a Twin Cities institution. It used to be a speak-easy during Prohibition, can you believe it? Both Matt’s up the street and this place claim to have been the first to come up with the idea of Juicy Lucys, but I prefer the history of the 5-8 Club. Besides, it’s not far from the Minnehaha trail and Lake Nokomis, so sometimes I treat myself to a burger after a long bike ride.”
Her first bite was tasteless. She knew it had nothing to do with the quality of her burger. Jo set the sandwich back on the plate and checked her phone again under the table.
Frisco took another, bigger bite of his sandwich and said, “He call back yet?”
Jo was surprised the detective knew what was on her mind, but didn’t bother to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. So much for being subtle.
She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap and after a moment, she quietly replied, “No. He hasn’t.”
Frisco nodded at her across the table. “He will. He’s crazy about you and the Doc’s no fool. He just needs time to process. Like you, I expect.”
The bright sunshine outside made her squint as Jo looked out the restaurant window. “I know. But I also know this long-distance thing doesn’t work.” She felt the tears building behind her eyelids and blinked.
“You know, when Katie got the job offer here, we fought like crazy. I didn’t want to give up my seniority at the Duluth cop shop. She said it was her turn fo
r moving up. Said she was taking this job, no matter what. Scared the shit out of me, if you want to know the truth.”
Frisco reached across the table for the salt shaker, and gave his order of fries a coating of salt. “When I came to my senses, which took all of twenty seconds, by the way, I realized nothing meant more to me than my family.” He pulled his jacket aside with a salt-encrusted finger, revealing his detective’s badge. “I love this badge, don’t get me wrong.”
Frisco reached for a fry and waved it like a musical conductor’s baton to make his point. “But my job exists to support what I love the most in this world, not the other way ‘round.” He shoved the fry into his mouth.
After he swallowed, he pointed to Jo and said, “So, you gotta decide what you love just a little less. The doc or your job. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.”
“So, you think I should move to Baltimore?” Jo asked. The thought made her stomach flip, but at least it replaced the queasiness that had resided there since she and John decided to call things off.
“I didn’t say that.” His gray eyes bored into hers. “Only you can decide that. But, if this relationship with him is as big a deal as I think it is, you owe it another look. Is he worth the fight?”
The detective reached for the ketchup and squirted it on his entire remaining order of fries. He dug in with his fingers and clearly relished the results. Once he polished off the order, he pointed to her burger and said, “Aren’t you gonna eat that?”
Jo looked at the plate in front of her. She lifted the burger to her mouth and took a bite that would make Frisco proud. Warm Swiss cheese oozed in her mouth, and this time, it tasted every bit as good as the first time she’d tried a Juicy Lucy.
“That’s more like it,” Frisco said. He finished up the rest of his sandwich and asked, “So, what do you make of these cases?”
Jo’s head whirled at the abrupt change of subject. She guessed he’d given out all the advice he was going to. She was startled to realize she felt better. Jo may not have made any decisions about her relationship with John, but at least her perspective, put in Frisco’s simple terms, gave her hope.
* * *
As Frisco put back his wallet after paying his share of the tab, Jo’s cell phone buzzed on the tabletop.
It was Dr. Miller, the ME. “I’ve finished the autopsy of State Rep. Freemont. I was wondering if you and Frisco would like to swing by in about thirty minutes and go through my findings. That work for you?”
“Sure, see you then,” Jo replied.
Clicking off the phone call, Jo glanced at her watch and said to Frisco, “That was the ME. We’re scheduled to review the results on Freemont in half an hour. Ready to go?”
Frisco swallowed the last of his Coke. “Yup. She give you any hints about finding anything unusual?”
“I think she wants to surprise us.”
* * *
They drove to the Ramsey County Medical Examiner’s office on University Avenue in St. Paul. Jo thought it was fitting that the ME’s office was located just a few blocks east of the Minnesota Capitol building. At least Representative Freemont isn’t far from his beloved workplace. Jo and Frisco walked into the low, red brick building that looked more like a doctor’s clinic than a place where the dead received their final examinations.
It was cool inside the building and Jo shivered. After checking in at the information desk, Frisco led the way to the large autopsy suite at the end of the hallway. Carole Miller greeted them at the entrance, a frown evident on her faintly-lined face.
The autopsy suite was large, with white walls changing to turquoise-colored tiles about three-quarters of the way up toward the ceiling. A stainless steel cabinet and sink dominated one end of the room with hoses and equipment neatly in place. Carole led them to the figure draped in sheeting on top of the wheeled autopsy table in the center of the room.
Dr. Miller lifted the sheet and began her assessment. “Cause of death was a perforating gunshot wound to the mouth.”
Frisco raised one eyebrow and interrupted, “Perforating. So, meaning there is an exit wound. Is that normal for a shotgun blast? I thought all the buckshot tended to scatter inside the body.”
Carole replied, “In this case, the gun was in such close proximity to the jaw that the buckshot blasted all the way through the back of the skull.”
“How come we didn’t catch that at the crime scene?” Frisco questioned.
“The buckshot that exited the wounds in the back of the head would have been left at the original crime scene.”
She carefully lifted the victim’s head and turned it so they could see the back of the skull and continued. “Additionally, the victim’s hair covered the exit wounds and there was very little dried blood around the area. I found several fibers in and around the injuries that may indicate the head was wrapped in absorbent fabric in order to transport the body to the Capitol with minimal blood trace. Therefore, the wounds were more difficult to observe. I’ve passed the fibers onto the BCA for further review.”
Dr. Miller ran through the specifics of her findings and then said, “The autopsy supports your conclusion that this was a hard-contact wound, since I discovered particles of soot and unburnt powder in the wound track.”
She concluded by saying, “I found no other evidence of trauma on the body. Other than minor signs of osteoarthritis around the cartilage surrounding his knees, he was in excellent health for a sixty-two-year-old man.”
This time Jo interrupted, “We didn’t see any evidence of defensive wounds at the scene. Did you find anything at all to indicate he put up a fight?”
Dr. Miller frowned, “No, none at all.”
Jo thought for a moment, trying to sort out why the state representative had not struggled as someone placed the muzzle of a shotgun directly on his jaw. “Even if it was someone he knew, wouldn’t he have fought to save his life?”
The question hung in the air, as no one seemed to have an answer.
Frisco spoke up, “So, my big question is, did you find a note in the throat of State Rep. Freemont?”
The ME gave a small, mysterious smile. “Not in the throat, no. But, when I examined the contents of the stomach, I found this.” She held up a plastic evidence bag.
The ME handed it to Jo. She studied the contents of the bag for a moment, feeling a combination of excitement and dread at the same time. Jo said, “Another slip of paper with typing on it, like the one we found in the journalist’s mouth. I can’t make out all the words. Looks like the stomach acids did a number on it.”
Jo took the note over to a magnifying glass on the ME’s countertop. “Looks like ‘folly of his heart.’ Wasn’t that part of Freemont’s speech when he recently condemned a senator caught cheating on his wife?”
Carole Miller chimed in, “It’s from Proverbs. It says, ‘But he that is an adulterer, for the folly of his heart shall destroy his own soul.’”
“The ME knows her bible,” Frisco said with a smile.
“If Freemont was an adulterer, then who wanted revenge bad enough to kill him?”Jo said.
Chapter Seventeen
Turners Bend
Halloween
Writing about burgers and fries had at first made Chip hungry for Five Guys—his favorite hamburger joint in his old neighborhood in Baltimore. He could almost taste the bacon cheeseburger loaded with grilled onions and the spicy Cajun fries. When he switched his attention to a web search for photos of bullet wounds, he lost his appetite. He had learned with his first book, however, his readers love gory details, so he did not hold back on the details, like the plastic bag of stomach contents or the description of the bullet’s path through the victim’s head.
He turned his attention away from his writing and sought out his pets. Honey and Runt were keeping vigil over Callie. They occasionally sniffed her as she curled up on Chip’s ratty old terrycloth robe. He had put the robe in a shallow box and placed the box in the kitchen near the radiator to keep her warm. He ha
nd fed her and carried her to her litter box. Her surgery had been tough on all of them. Jane labeled him a “mother hen,” but he didn’t care. Callie obviously needed his post-op TLC.
Chip was continually astounded at the intellect and range of emotions displayed by his pets. He was sorry that it took him forty-seven years to realize he should have had more pets and fewer wives. Mary, his first wife, had refused any alimony, but Erica and Bambi were sucking him drier than Death Valley. He just received another letter from Bambi’s lawyer making more claims on his earnings.
That woman was a piece of work. How stupid could he have been to fall for a pair of super-sized boob implants? It was a Catch 22, the more money he made or she thought he was making, the more her lawyer demanded.
He sat in a kitchen chair staring at the copy of the mysterious diagram on his refrigerator door. He concluded that each “X” must mark the spot, but the spot for what? And what did the shape represent? Did it have to do with the murdered girl or was it some other kind of message? Nothing was clicking for him. He had positioned the form vertically. He re-taped it horizontally and stared at it some more. Still nothing.
He looked at the clock. It was time for him to get ready for Lance’s barn dance. He didn’t want to go but couldn’t think of a good excuse for not attending. He had tried to weasel out of it, claiming a sick cat. Even he knew that was pretty lame, and it only resulted in lots of teasing down at the Bun. The problem wasn’t that he had never square danced in his life, which he hadn’t … the problem was the Lance-Lucinda-Jane dilemma.
He called Jane’s cell phone. “Hi Jane, just checking to see if you need a lift out to Lance’s place.”
When she answered there was lots of noise in the background, and she had to shout to be heard. “I’m already here. I came early to help with the food. Get your rear out here and man the theater donation table. Stop dawdling. This is going to be a fabulous fundraiser. Lance has done a bang-up job. Wait till you see it.”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder Page 9