Tom furrowed his brow. “Are you joking? The Freemont/McDonald cases are the most important thing this office has seen in years and you’re talking to me about changing mid-stream … what’s going on, Schwann?”
“Something’s happened to John.”
“What do you mean, something’s happened to him? If this is about your personal life, I …”
Jo interrupted, “Tom. Listen to me. John has disappeared. I have proof he came to visit me, but he’s disappeared into thin air. I have reason to believe he’s been kidnapped…”
“Maybe you should start from the beginning.”
Jo ran through everything she had discovered so far and Tom listened carefully, occasionally asking questions and jotting down notes.
When she had concluded her report, he said, “So, you want me to assign you to his case? Has it occurred to you that you are the last person who should handle this? You know that’s against regulations. You cannot be on a case when you are personally involved with the victim.”
Tom ran his hands through his hair. “Look, Jo, I’m sorry to hear about John. He’s a great guy and I know how much he means to you. And he’s done a hell of a lot of favors for the FBI. But I can’t put you in charge of the investigation of his disappearance.”
Even though Tom reacted the way she had expected, it still rankled that he wasn’t putting her on the case. Hot tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand to halt their progress. Between clenched teeth she said, “Tom, I chose this badge over John once before and I’ll be damned if I’ll make that same mistake twice. I’ll quit if I have to. But I will find him, with or without your support.”
Tom stood up from his desk and stared at her for a moment. Jo wondered what he would do, and part of her was worried he would accept her resignation.
Finally, he heaved a heavy sigh. “Schwann, you’re killing me. You know I’m not going to let you quit. Tell you what. We’re going to classify the investigation as a disappearance until we receive a ransom note or some other solid proof this is a kidnapping. That works out better for us. If it were a kidnapping, we’d have to let the state take the lead for twenty-four hours, until the Lindbergh Law kicks in. I don’t want to wait until we have to assume John was transported across state lines before we can take over.”
He held up a hand when Jo started to interrupt. “I’ll assign John’s case to Agent Daniels. You’ve worked with Daniels before and you know he’s the best we’ve got at working missing person cases. Would that satisfy you?”
Jo put her hands on her hips, not backing down from his stare. “Daniels is an arrogant jackass. I have to do this.”
Tom poked a finger in her direction. “And I’m telling you that even if I could assign this case to you, you would screw it up. You can’t expect to be objective, and you could jeopardize John’s life, you know.”
His words stopped Jo cold. Tom’s last words reminded her when they worked the NeuroDynamics case, she and John had both almost lost their lives because she was too personally worried about John’s welfare. Deep down inside a nagging voice said Tom was right.
Jo’s voice was weary when she mumbled, “Damn it.”
Tom pounced on the waver in her resolve. “You will be kept in the loop, of course. I’ll have Daniels update you every step of the way.” He grimaced and said, “He won’t thank me for it, mind you. Just promise me you’ll keep plugging away at the Freemont/McDonald cases and leave the rest up to Agent Daniels.”
Jo heaved a heavy sigh. The analytical part of Jo’s brain knew Tom’s plan had the best chance at finding John alive. Doesn’t mean I like it. “Not giving me much of a choice, are you?”
Tom smirked. “Nope. I’ll give Daniels the heads up, and then I want you to brief him and turn over all your notes as soon as humanly possible. We’ll find him, Jo. I promise you that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Turners Bend
December
Chip realized he had two crimes running parallel in Mind Games. It was getting complicated, so he was working on a diagram in an attempt to keep them both on track. The phone startled him. He grabbed it and recognized Sharon’s voice on the other end. “Hi, Sharon, what’s up?”
“Your favorite FBI agent is here and requesting your presence. Actually it was more a command than a request; better get your keister down here pronto.”
* * *
I can’t believe I’m saying this Chief, but it looks like you and your ace crime writer are on to something here,” said FBI Agent Masterson.
Chip observed Masterson carefully as she spoke. He guessed she was ex-military. She was all spit and polish with nary a wrinkle, rarely a smile. No make-up on her face, no jewelry, and short cropped hair. She was small and wiry and gave the impression of being able to handle herself in hand-to-hand combat. At first he thought she was totally humorless, but occasionally he witnessed her razor-sharp wit. She said “ace crime writer” with just the right intonation to turn a compliment into sarcasm.
“Our lab has done an overlay of the diagram onto several types of maps of Iowa. One of the X’s is located in or near Turners Bend. Locations of the other four X’s have been determined and ‘Bingo,’ one of them is the Iowa City area where Tracy Trent was abducted. We now have local authorities checking all the abandoned buildings within a ten-mile radius of those locations. It’s going to take some time, but I think we’re on to something here, and it may lead us to a serial killer.”
She consulted her iPad, scrolling through screens until she found what she was looking for. “Your fabric swatches are surely related to this case. Our forensic people are analyzing them now, trying to trace them back to a manufacturer. So far nothing in their preliminary report. We are also following up on the milk delivery form. Apparently there are many drivers in the state who deliver to the areas we are searching. None of them have a criminal record, but we’ll investigate and interview all of them.” She turned to the chief. “No more mysterious mailings, I presume.”
“Not as of today’s mail, but we’ll keep a close look out,” he said. “Anything else we can do for you, Agent Masterson?”
“That’s it for now.” She turned toward Chip. “I’m warning you, Mr. Collingsworth, no meddling, no amateur sleuthing like you have been known to do.” She stood, preparing to leave. “By the way, I picked up Brain Freeze at the airport. Just published and flying off the shelf, I understand. The jacket blurb says it’s about a female FBI agent. Should be good for a laugh. Good day, gentlemen, I’ll be in touch.” She shook hands with both of the men, donned her mirrored sun glasses and departed without a smile.
The chief blew out a puff of air. “That woman intimidates the hell out of me, Chip. I need a decent cup of coffee. The stuff here tastes like mud from the bottom of Beaver Creek. Let’s head over to the Bun.”
* * *
Bernice was busy decorating the Bun for Christmas. The running lights around the front window looked like mice chasing each other. On every table she placed a snowman surrounded by fluffy fake snow. The radio was tuned to an all-holiday-music station and she sang along with “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”
“We can serve ourselves, Bernice,” said Chip, as he went behind the counter, grabbed two mugs and filled them from the chrome coffee pot. He spied a copy of his new book, which had just been released on December 1st. “So what do you think of Brain Freeze, Bernice?”
“Well, I think you’re improving. It was a little on the gory side for me, but I do love the spunky FBI agent. Sort of part Jane and part Agent Masterson. And I’ll take the dashing Dr. Goodman, if it doesn’t work out with Jo. You know, he reminds me a lot of Lance. Don’t you think?”
Chip choked on a sip of coffee. He had almost forgotten everyone in Turners Bend was a literary critic. He got no end of advice when the town folks read The Cranium Killer, his first book, and he could expect no less with Brain Freeze. But the comparison between Lance and Dr. Goodman
was more than he could take. “Lance, really?”
“Yeah, tall, handsome, charming, a real lady’s man. If I wasn’t married to Chester, I’d be chasing after him. I’ve noticed more than a few eligible gals in this town fawning over him.” She glanced out the café window. “Speaking of Prince Charming, I see him crossing the street, right now.” Bernice fluffed her hair, straightened her apron and batted her eyelashes.
Lance entered the Bun and gave Bernice his Crest Whitening smile. He praised her decorating style, and she melted like a cheap candle. Then he approached the counter. “Just the guys I wanted to see. Mind if I join you?” Lance took the stool beside Chip. Bernice poured his coffee and offered him a slice of pecan pie, which he accepted.
“I’m going to be gone over the holidays. I’ve drawn up a work plan for the Bijou so you can keep on schedule while I’m out of town. I have the marquee just about done—weather permitting it can be installed out front. That’s going to take a forklift and quite a crew. Sven will be home for break, so he’s offered to get a crew together.” He forked a big piece of pie. “Uhm, Bernice, this is heavenly.” He gave her a wink, and she blushed.
“You wouldn’t be going to New York to visit a certain literary agent, would you?” asked Chip.
“Yes, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Got tickets for the Radio City Rockettes Christmas Show and a free room at the Plaza, compliments of a client, promised me an unforgettable New Year’s Eve in Times Square. I’ve never seen the ball drop in person, so it should be fun.” He lifted his coffee mug, and Bernice obliged with a refill.
“Go, have a good time. The chief and I can handle things at the Bijou while you’re away. Who knows, you might never return after you’ve seen the lights on Broadway.”
* * *
Chip went home whistling “Give My Regards to Broadway.” He was a happy man with a plan brewing. Step one was an email to Lucinda.
December 15, 3:30 p.m.
Lucinda,
Congratulations, I hear you have convinced Lance to join you in NYC. After you wine and dine him and show him the glories of the Big Apple, maybe he will give up his quest to be a vegetable farmer and make NYC his permanent residence. Good Luck!
Chip
She responded immediately.
December 15, 3:35 p.m.
Chip,
Yes, isn’t it marvelous? I plan to pull out all the stops for my Lancelot. In the meantime, did you see this week’s New York Times book section? You got a rave review and my phone has been ringing off the hook with requests for interviews and talk show appearances. I’ve already ordered a second printing. You must blog, blog, blog every day for a couple of hours at least. Your fan base is very important. Plus, no holiday from writing for you. Get humping, country boy.
Lucinda
Oh, crap, Chip hated blogging. It was so tedious. He needed time for step two, which was to win back Jane. This step would take some planning and finesse.
In addition, something was nagging him. Despite what Agent Masterson had said about interfering, he was pretty proud of his part in the Iowa map solution, and he was sure he could be of further help with the fabric swatches. Blue nylon, blue nylon, what is made of blue nylon and how can it be connected to the possible abduction and murder of women?
His mind was reeling with crimes, both on the home front and in Mind Games. Write or blog … writing was the lesser of two evils, he decided. He had murders to solve and John was still missing. A phone interview with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension’s communication manager had given him lots of details about the BCA in St. Paul and led to a second interview with one of its forensic scientists. He was eager to write his next chapter.
His concentration was broken momentarily by Honey. She was whining to be let out. First he gave her the Tramadol Jane had said would give her some temporary comfort. She did not seem to be getting worse, so he continued to be in denial about Jane’s recent diagnosis of liver cancer and the inevitable. He was not ready to lose her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mind Games
Brooklyn Center & St. Paul, Minnesota
Early August
After filling Agent Daniels in on everything she knew about John’s disappearance and after providing him the information about her neighbor, Jo gave Daniels the key to her house. She knew the crime scene techs would go through her house with a fine-toothed comb, looking for fingerprints or any sign of struggle. She had told Daniels nothing seemed out of place, but then again, she might have missed something. She was not at her most observant after such little sleep. And so much stress.
Jo spent the next four hours sitting at her desk at FBI headquarters, trying to stay focused on the cases in front of her. She had to force herself to stay in her seat; another part of her brain kept urging her to get up and run out to look for John.
Work only occupied half of her brain as her mind wandered again and again to what Stephen had said. She found herself checking her cell phone every fifteen minutes or so, hoping to get an update from Daniels. At one point, she had even dialed the agent’s number, then quickly disconnected. I’ve got to trust him to do his job. He may be a pompous jerk, but he’s a good agent.
Her phone rang around 1:15 p.m. and she almost dropped it in her scramble to answer it. She was disappointed to see the caller was Frisco, not Agent Daniels. “Hey, Frisco. Tell me you’ve figured out this whole mess.”
Jo heard Frisco’s raspy laugh on the other end. “No such luck. However, the BCA boys and girls may have found another big piece of the puzzle. Seems they found some DNA in one of those envelopes after all.”
“I thought they said the sender was smart enough not to lick the envelope.”
“True, but he or she left behind a strand of blond hair, which we didn’t see ‘cause it was so light colored. No hair root for standard DNA testing, but they’ve got some information for us. Feel like a field trip to the BCA?”
Jo felt an adrenalin rush. At least progress was being made, even if it wasn’t the news she was waiting for. “Oh, yeah. Anything to get away from this desk. Meet you there in twenty.”
* * *
Sunlight poured through the skylights as Jo and Frisco waited in the lobby of the BCA for one of the technicians to escort them to the labs. Jo shoved her phone into her purse, frustrated since she still hadn’t heard from Agent Daniels. It felt like all she was doing today was sitting around and waiting. She wasn’t very good at waiting, but she was especially bad at not having something to do to find John.
She watched Frisco look around the building and saw him peer up at the soaring ceilings. “What a place. It’s like a mini-college campus, or something,” he said.
Jo appreciated the distraction of Frisco’s fascination with the BCA. She hadn’t yet told him about John’s disappearance because it was easier to work the routine of the Freemont/McDonald cases and shove her fears in the back of her mind. Knowing the detective as well as she did, he would want to be out there looking for John, too. Regardless of his jurisdiction.
She agreed, “It is pretty impressive. For instance, did you know they have a library here with over fifty-five hundred different weapons and every ammunition you can imagine?”
“Amazing. We always worked directly with the BCA’s regional office in Duluth, so I never had a chance to visit the main building.” His head swiveled around and he said, “Hey, what’s that thing over there?”
Jo turned to see where Frisco was pointing above her shoulder. On the second level balcony above them, a row of metal rings ran along the railing. “Oh, that’s called the ‘Exquisite Corpse’. Come on. Let’s take a closer look. It’s my favorite artwork here. Always reminds me of why I do this job.”
They climbed the steps to the second floor and stopped at one end of the artwork. “These rings represent giant magnifying glasses, all lined up. And do you see the stained glass at the center of each ring?” Jo asked.
Frisco leaned closer and squinted. “Yeah. What is that?
Kinda looks like the cross section of a brain.”
“That’s exactly what it’s supposed to look like. If you look at each one of the magnifying glasses, you will see pieces of stained glass that look like horizontal slices of an entire human body, from head to toe.”
“Very cool. In a clinical, sort of creepy, way.”
While Frisco spent some time quietly studying each ring, Jo thought about John again. Her mind wandered to the horrible possibility if he were killed, details from his case might be examined under a BCA magnifying glass. She swallowed a few times, trying to regain her composure before the detective noticed.
“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time here,” Frisco finally said.
“Since the FBI doesn’t have a lab in the state, we rely on the BCA to process quite a bit of our evidence.”
Just as Jo finished her comment, she looked up to see one of the technicians she had worked with in the past coming toward them. She smiled and said, “Clara. So good to see you. I hear you have some results for us.”
“Special Agent Schwann, always a pleasure. Sorry to keep you waiting.” The sunlight filtering in through the skylights lit up Clara’s blonde ponytail and her blue eyes were inquisitive as she turned to Frisco. “And you must be Detective Frisco. Pleased to meet you.” Frisco shook her hand and they followed in Clara’s wake to the lab area labeled W335 Mitochondrial DNA Laboratory. In the window of the lab, someone had pasted up a sign that read The Mighty Mites. Following the directions on the door, they donned blue face masks before entering the lab.
DNA processing equipment sat on neatly organized white countertops. Several technicians looked up from their work as Jo and Frisco entered and a few nodded their greetings before focusing on their work once more.
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder Page 13