Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder

by Marilyn Rausch

  And then, reality slammed into her.

  She curled up in a ball on her bed, pulling Cleo close to her chest. The kitten purred and tucked her head under Jo’s chin. Jo’s tears fell on the fur of the little creature. What am I going to do if I never see John again? I have so much to say to him. We have so much to say to each other.

  Cleo squirmed out of her arms, bounding to the floor in a silent leap. Jo sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She snatched the cell phone off the nightstand, checking for any missed calls. She swore under her breath when she saw there were none.

  She decided it was time to give Agent Daniels a call. She couldn’t risk the kidnapper overhearing her conversation, so she got out of bed and grabbed the robe that lay in a crumpled pile at the end of her bed. Throwing it across her shoulders, she surreptitiously slipped the cell phone in her pocket and walked out to her garage. Hopefully, the asshole will just think I went out to get the newspaper from my driveway. She got into her car and flicked through her contacts until she found the number for Agent Daniels.

  He answered on the third ring and said, “Schwann, you know I said I’d call you if there were any new developments. Stop trying to micro-manage this case. We still haven’t been able to reach your neighbor and there’s been no word from the kidnapper.”

  She leaned back into the leather seat of her Highlander. She swallowed and said, “Still think this is a kidnapping? Seems like …” Jo shook her head in frustration when she heard the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat and began again, “Seems like we should have heard from the guy by now.”

  Daniels’ voice was less gruff when he spoke again. “Jo, it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours—”

  “We always tell people that the first twenty-four hours are key in cases like this. So far, there is no news. At all,” Jo interrupted.

  “I know. We’re not giving up.” He hesitated, and said, “Have you given any thought to why someone would want to wire your house? Any threats or ties to a recent case?”

  Jo rubbed her forehead, trying to wipe out the throbbing that had taken up residence there. “I’ve been wracking my brain. My most recent case was the NeuroDynamics investigation up in Two Harbors. Even though the Bureau is still fighting the widow over Candleworth’s death, I can’t see her being the type to put cameras in my house and kidnap my boyfriend. All the suspects involved in the case are dead.”

  Jo could hear Daniels shuffling papers. “Anything else? No cases involving sex crimes or anything like that?”

  Feeling a need to do something with her hands, she fiddled with the rear view mirror and said, “You think it’s related to a sex crime?”

  “Jo, someone wants to watch the intimate details of your life. Maybe gets off on seeing you.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Seems like the work of a stalker, to me.”

  Of course, Jo had considered it, but hearing Daniels express it out loud turned her stomach. Her mind flipped through the cases she had worked over her career. After a minute, she said, “A few years ago, I put away a guy for harassing a woman he had met on a dating site on the Internet. We caught him entering her house when she was sleeping. Turns out he installed home security systems for a living.”

  “Now, that sounds like a possibility. What’s his name? I’ll follow up and see if he’s still in prison.”

  She gave him the information and then said, “You mentioned we should leave the cameras in place, so we can draw the kidnapper out. What did you have in mind?”

  Jo heard Daniels swallow at the other end of the line, like he was drinking his morning coffee. “We need to prompt the guy a little, get him to contact you. Maybe if you acted more upset by John’s disappearance for the cameras. You know, perform a little.”

  She huffed out a laugh. As if I haven’t already been showing the creep how upset I am. “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

  Daniels’ voice was firm when he said, “One thing. Don’t forget for one second that this guy is unpredictable, so don’t do anything stupid. We want him to reach out to us, but it’s a fine balance. The last thing we need to do is provoke him into attacking John.”

  Jo swallowed and said, “Thanks, Daniels. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  * * *

  Jo grabbed her newspaper and walked back into the house. She went into the bedroom and shrugged out of her bathrobe. She lay back on the bed, thinking about all the cameras that might be scattered around the house. Jo briefly considered climbing back under the covers and shutting out the world.

  But then HE wins. I can’t let that happen.

  Daniels’ parting words kept replaying in her head. She had to do something to get the kidnapper to contact them, but she had to be careful. She stood up and began making the bed, trying to look as normal as possible, the whole time thinking. If I were to hide a camera in this room, where would I put it?

  She quickly surveyed her bedroom. Her lamp on the nightstand was a likely target. It had been her mother’s and it was heavy with ornate scrollwork in the base. As she reached across the bed to pull the comforter in place, she looked to the opposite side of the room, toward her dresser. Nothing on the surface was wired and therefore, unlikely to contain a camera.

  Tossing the throw pillows into place, she looked up. As she dragged her eyes away, she realized that she had discovered where she would put a surveillance camera. In the ceiling fan.

  She sat down on the bed she had just made up. Still thinking of Daniels’ comments, she knew she had to do something. Take some action. It was time she figured out just what made this guy tick.

  Mindful of the camera watching her, she stood up and grabbed the work files she had placed on her nightstand the previous evening. They provided a prop to appear as if she were thinking about her caseload, not plotting what she would do to provoke the kidnapper.

  As she absently flipped through the files, she considered doing what Daniels had suggested, showing how distraught she was. But I’ve been doing that and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

  Jo pulled out another file and turned to the first page. Without seeing the words in front of her, she thought about Daniels’ observation that it could be related to a sex crimes case. Sex crimes are all about control of the victim. It made her skin crawl thinking about letting the perp control her. Isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing since he put these cameras in here? From the moment he took John he’s been in control.

  She set the files aside. As she thought through her options, one plan kept springing up in her mind. It might backfire. He could get very angry. However, she was determined to find out what had happened. Determined to face the truth. Can I go through with it?

  Jo took a deep breath and stood up. For a moment, her hands hovered near her waist. Finally, she let out a puff of air, grabbed her shirt and yanked it over her head, tossing it on the bed. Carefully, she shed the rest of her clothes. Once she was completely nude, she spread her arms wide and turned in slow circles next to her bed. Take a good look, you bastard. Come and get me. I dare you!

  Her face burned with shame, but she forced herself to keep from covering her nakedness. She needed to egg him on, force him to show his hand. She tilted her head toward the ceiling and sent a defiant look toward the ceiling fan where she assumed he had hidden the camera. Her hair tumbled down her back and she could feel the curls glide across her shoulders as she made one more turn.

  Finally, she walked into the master bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as she could stand. After steam filled the room, she climbed in and stood in the scalding spray, trying to wash away her humiliation.

  * * *

  Crack! Somewhere in Dr. John Goodman’s subconscious he felt the slap to his cheek, but he slept on, because the dream was more seductive. In it, Jo’s arms wrapped around him, and he felt her warm, moist breath in his ear when she told him they would be together always.

  Another hit. This time, John felt his head snap back at the vicious backhanded blow and it th
umped against the surface behind him. Jo vanished like a vapor and his cheek burned where he had been struck. Bright points of light flashed behind his eyelids. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what was happening to him.

  A gruff voice next to his ear growled, “Wake up, Goodman. I’ve got something to show you.”

  He forced his bleary eyes open and he turned his head to see who was speaking. The man standing next to him wavered in and out of his vision, but John saw he had pale gray eyes and black hair. He wore a green plaid shirt. A part of John’s brain registered the man was about his own age, maybe a few years younger.

  John tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. Swallowing, he felt saliva loosen his tongue. He managed to croak out, “Who . . you?” He tried to pull his thoughts together, but they were fuzzy and he couldn’t seem to form his words properly. Have I been drugged? “Where … where am I?”

  A sly smile crossed the man’s features. “That’s not really important for your purposes. What you should be asking me is, why are you here?”

  His mind wandered away from the man and the aches in his body began to register. His neck was sore, probably from being at an uncomfortable angle when he was unconscious. He felt a dull pain throbbing throughout his body. He looked down and saw he was sitting upright in a solid, old-fashioned office chair, with casters on the bottom of the legs. His wrists and ankles were strapped down with zip ties. Experimenting, John tugged at his restraints and realized he was only making them tighter, so he stopped struggling.

  The man clapped his hands in front of John’s face and the sharp sound set off the over-worked nerves in his head. “Pay attention. The drugs should be wearing off by now, so listen up.”

  The man grabbed John’s chair from behind and pushed it along the floor. John realized the man was right, he was starting to feel a little less woozy. He took the opportunity to look around and saw he was in the middle of a cavernous room, with exposed brick walls. The cement floor beneath his feet had rust spots and holes, where it appeared manufacturing equipment had once been mounted. The windows high above were dingy, letting in sickly daylight. The last thing he remembered was sitting on Jo’s couch in her den, waiting for her to come home. How did I get here?

  The man pushed him in the chair until he was seated in front of a laptop on a scarred oak desk. “Here’s what I want you to see.” He clicked the mouse and the screen lit up. A grainy image appeared and John leaned forward slightly to get a better glimpse.

  On the screen, he saw a nude woman, standing next to a bed. She spun in slow, lazy circles and John wondered why the man was showing him this video.

  And then it hit him like another physical blow. Jo!

  His befuddled mind cleared with the shock. John recognized Jo’s bedroom. The red curls he loved to wrap around his hands cascaded down her strong back.

  Seeing her in this vulnerable state made him realize she would go to just about any length to save him. Jo kept her eyes averted from the camera until the very end, when she looked directly at the lens. John knew her well enough to see the humiliation in her eyes, but he also saw defiance. She had purposely provoked the kidnapper. Not in a sexual way, but in a “C’mon and get me” sort of way. Jo was poking the man with a very sharp stick and the acid in John’s stomach churned.

  He tugged at the restraints, until he felt a trickle of warm blood at his wrist where the tough plastic of the zip ties cut into his flesh. John’s head flew up, searching for the man who made him watch Jo on the screen. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

  The man’s sly grin was back, wider than before. He froze the screen with Jo’s face staring upward at them both. “Special Agent Schwann has become very important to me. Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping an eye on her.”

  “You sick bastard! You put cameras in her house.”

  “I’ve been watching for several weeks now. Until Agent Schwann looked up at the camera, I was convinced they had remained hidden. The FBI was snooping around, looking for signs of you, by the way. When they didn’t find my surveillance cameras in the search, I thought my secret was safe.” He pointed to the frozen image of Jo. “However, now there can be no doubt that she knows I am watching.”

  He tilted his head to one side and added, “I think she looks pleased by my attention, don’t you? Enraptured, even.”

  John shivered. This man was clearly out of his mind. And Jo was in terrible danger. As he watched Jo he knew she had performed for the camera, knowing that it would taunt the bastard into revealing himself.

  * * *

  Jo stayed in her shower until the water turned cool. When she stepped out onto the tile floor of the bathroom, she heard her cell ringing in the bedroom. She wrapped a towel around her wet body and dashed for the phone. She saw it was Frisco and she asked, “Find any more background on our DNA match?”

  He spoke in a rush, “Just for kicks and grins, I called the Baltimore PD about the death of Bishop’s mother, Karen. She died in 1987, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. You’re not going to believe this … it was another shotgun blast to the mouth.”

  Jo sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked the towel tighter around her body. “Really? That can’t be a coincidence. Is the BPD certain it was a suicide?” Jo questioned.

  “Well, that’s where things get even more interesting. The detective who pulled the file said there was an interview with one of the children, who was present at the time of the shooting. And guess which kid that was?”

  Jo could feel Frisco’s excitement. “Robert.”

  “Uh-huh. Seven year-old Bobby swore his father was responsible. He was hysterical and couldn’t give them any specifics, so the cops assumed he meant Karen was so depressed over a bad breakup that she took her own life. In light of our recent shootings with the same gunshot to the mouth, I wonder if there is some other explanation for Karen’s quote-unquote suicide.”

  Jo’s heart pounded and she stood up, remembering to grab her towel just before it fell away from her body. “Are you thinking maybe Freemont was the father?”

  “The thought crossed my mind. His wife did say he wasn’t the best husband in the early stages of their marriage.”

  “So maybe someone is going after Freemont for revenge. But why now? And who? We know it couldn’t have been Robert Bishop, because he was already deceased at the time of Freemont’s murder.”

  “I would say we’re back to looking at Bishop’s siblings.”

  Jo sighed. “I already researched Thomas and Sarah. They were clean as a whistle. The only loose end is Michelle, the sister who disappeared in college.”

  “So, it would appear we need to solve an old missing-persons case to solve our current cases. I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at the visitor logs while Robert Bishop was incarcerated in Baltimore. Never know who might pop up on his visitors list,” Frisco said.

  “You mean, like a missing sister.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jo sat up and said, “You know, something else just occurred to me. I think it’s about time I look into Robert Bishop’s death. Everything about this family is screwed-up. Maybe his mother’s death wasn’t the only one made to look like something else.”

  Frisco whistled. “You think Robert may have been killed on purpose, to cover something up?”

  “What if Robert Bishop moved to Minneapolis to finally confront his father about his mother’s death? Maybe even blackmailed him. Don’t you think it’s awfully convenient Robert died in a shoot-out with the cops, not too long after he relocated to the Twin Cities?” Jo said.

  “That’s a big ‘what if.’” Frisco paused and then continued, “But, you know, stranger things have happened. Let me know what you find out and I’ll do the same.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Turners Bend

  March

  The countdown to the premiere of The Cranium Killer was on. Chip had assembled all the key players: Myrtle Bauer, who was in charge of ticket sales, Mayor Johnson,
Lance, Chief Fredrickson and a few other committee members.

  They met in the theater and sat bundled in their outerwear because the heat was being kept low in the building. At 7:00 p.m. the temperature outside had risen to twenty-three degrees with a wind chill of minus two degrees. Chip had thought January and February were brutal, but March was proving to be the icing on this winter’s cake.

  “Thank you everyone for coming. This is our final volunteer committee meeting. You have put in a lot of hours and have done a great job. The Bijou looks spectacular. Now on to the celebrating,” Chip said to the group gathered in the newly finished seats of the theater. “First on our agenda is Myrtle Bauer to outline the timetable of events for next Friday.”

  There was hardly a person in the assembled group who had not been in Ms. Bauer’s History or Government class at Turners Bend High. She was just over five feet tall and almost five feet wide. She waddled to the front of the stage, lifted her glasses from the chain around her neck and gave the group a stern look, as she waited for complete silence.

  “The day will start with the ribbon cutting at 9:00 a.m. Mayor Roger Johnson and Mr. Collingsworth will cut the ribbon, and the Mayor will give a brief speech.” She scowled at the Mayor. “Keep it short Roger, no droning on as you are prone to do.”

  She checked her note cards and cleared her throat. “Then the showings will begin and continue all day and into the evening. I am happy to report the pre-sale of tickets will insure a full house for each showing. We have a waiting list for those who still have not learned procrastination leads to poor results. The red carpet will be rolled out for the 6:00 p.m. show. Dignitaries will be interviewed by reporters from Ames and Des Moines TV and radio stations. Once all are seated, Mr. Howard Glasser, the film’s producer, will give a short address. The gala will follow the performance. This event is bigger than the day Pope John’s motorcade drove through Turners Bend on the way to the basilica in Dyersville. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”