Jo’s mind wandered to the map at home. She had had it framed after she returned from a survivalist training program in the BWCA while on summer break from the University of Minnesota. It had been a life-altering experience, a turning point. It’s where she finally made peace with her father’s suicide and moved forward with her life. And now this bastard had turned it into something twisted.
She thought about the vast size of the area which bordered Canada. It would be the perfect place to dump a body … or two. And they would never, ever be found.
Jo swallowed and said, “The Boundary Waters covers over a million acres. How will I find you?”
“I marked the map on your wall. You will note it’s slightly different from the trip you recorded on the chart from a previous trip. I would hate to make things too easy for you.”
Jo stood up and began packing up the files into her briefcase. She wedged the phone between her shoulder and chin and said, “I am heading home now to get the map.” She looked at the clock on her desktop. “It’ll be several hours before I can get to where you are.”
“Not a problem. I am a patient man. In the meantime, the good doctor and I will set up camp. The map I left you will put you in the general area only. Once you reach the spot indicated, you will receive the next set of instructions. Oh, and leave your cell phone at the office. I don’t want it to be used to trace your whereabouts.”
Jo shoved the file into her bag. “Put John on the phone. I am not going anywhere until you prove he is still alive.”
“I had a feeling you would say that. Here he is.”
Jo could hear some rustling in the background and then John’s voice came on the other end of the line. His voice sounded brittle when he said, “Jo. Don’t come … there’s nowhere for you to get away from him here. Don’t play his game.”
Jo clutched the phone tight to her ear and closed her eyes. “You have to trust me …”
Jo was interrupted by Dennis Farley’s voice. “That’s enough. You have your proof. But I want you to listen very carefully. The cell phone number I am calling from is untraceable. You are familiar enough with this area to know that I can disappear with Dr. Goodman in a blink if I have any suspicions that you have brought assistance or anyone is tracking us. This is a private affair. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. I will be alone.”
“We anxiously await your visit. I will be in touch.”
Jo was about to ask how he would reach her, when she realized she was listening to a dial tone.
* * *
Jo approached Tofte, Minnesota, a small resort town on Lake Superior and pulled off to the side of the road. She clicked on the interior light and double-checked the map she had retrieved from her house. Before re-entering traffic, she waited for the pre-arranged signal from Agent Daniels. He had followed several car lengths behind in a non-descript sedan and had pulled into the restaurant parking lot just past where she sat idling.
When he flashed his lights at her, she turned left onto the road leading to Sawbill Lake, the destination point on her map. At this point, Jo knew Daniels would hang back several miles, since he would be easy to spot on such a narrow, gravel road.
Daniels had followed her every move via the tracker on her Bureau-issued vehicle. Before she had left her office, she called Agent Daniels and filled him in on the phone call from Farley. He wasn’t happy when she insisted that if they came too close, they would put John in greater jeopardy. However, he was somewhat mollified by the use of her tracker.
Jo pulled up next to a rusted-out blue Chevy Tahoe in the gravel parking lot near the outfitters at the edge of the lake. She retrieved the cell phone Farley had left for her. She had found it earlier, taped to the back of the framed map. Quickly murmuring thanks to the recent addition of cell phone towers in the BWCA, she flipped to the number that had been programmed into the phone.
Farley answered after the first ring. “Agent Schwann. I assume you are now at Sawbill?”
“Yes. Where do I enter the lake?”
“Ah, not so fast. You still have more driving to do. Do you see the blue truck parked in the lot?”
With a sinking feeling, Jo looked out her passenger-side door and said, “Yeah …”
“That will be your mode of transportation for the remainder of the trip.”
Jo’s stomach lurched. If I switch vehicles, there will be no way for Daniels to track me. Her mind spun out a dozen alternatives, and she came up empty. “Why are you doing this?”
“You and I both know that FBI vehicles can be tracked. That piece-of-crap truck has no such device. It does, however, have a special feature that wasn’t standard when it rolled off the assembly line. I installed a wireless camera, so I will know if you attempt to contact your co-workers in any way.”
Jo muttered an oath under her breath. “So what’s my next step?’
“I left the keys in the truck, under the floor mat. There is a portable GPS system on the dash, with the coordinates of the next stop programmed in. But just in case you get creative in keeping friends in the loop, I’ve set up a back-up plan. The minute you activate the navigation system, you also activate the camera, so I will be able to see everything you do from that point on. If you attempt to leave a note with the coordinates, I will know it and Dr. Goodman is dead.”
Jo’s mouth went dry. She was entirely on her own from now on. The best she could do is to leave a message in her SUV with the license plates of the replacement vehicle so that Daniels could put out an APB on her. But in the time it would take them to track down the truck, she would be deep into the north woods.
* * *
The sky was showing the first streaks of daylight by the time she reached the picturesque town of Grand Marais near the northern tip of Minnesota. She turned west as the navigation system directed her a few minutes later. Jo traveled another sixty miles, bumping along the rustic, narrow road until she reached the entrance to Pine Lake.
When she ran out of road, even though the GPS urged her forward, she pulled the truck over and called Farley. Jo could hear the exhaustion in her voice when she said, “I can’t find a parking lot. Where am I going?”
“We’re by-passing the permits that are required to access the Boundary Waters. We don’t want any nosey park ranger to know we’re here, so you will have to hike the rest of the way in. Remove the GPS system from the truck and start walking.”
Jo hung up and retrieved her backpack of gear from the passenger seat. The pack felt heavier than when she had placed it there hours before. She was clearly running out of steam.
Sighing, she hoisted the pack onto her back and climbed out of the truck. Stiff and sore from the long night of driving, she stretched and then retrieved some note paper and a pencil from her bag. Jo scribbled a note with the next set of coordinates from the Garmin navigation system and wedged it under the front tire of the truck.
Jo stowed the phone away and began walking. Checking the GPS system frequently, she was rewarded a half-hour later when she came upon a yellow canoe that was half-hidden in the brush. It was made of Kevlar, making it lightweight enough to portage over land. Jo saw there was a large green canvas bag in the bottom of the boat. Looking closer, she saw it was a Duluth Pack, the ubiquitous bag used by the majority of outdoorsman in the Boundary Waters. She bent over to retrieve the pack and unbuckled the canvas straps. Inside, she found a canteen, a water purifier and a few energy bars. She muttered, “How fucking thoughtful of him.” She dug in a little farther and pulled out another handheld GPS device.
Stowing her own bag next to the Duluth Pack, she copied down the final coordinates on a piece of note paper and tacked it down with a rock, making sure that it could be seen from a distance. She climbed into the canoe and used an oar to push off from the shoreline. She paddled, following the directions on the new system.
She had been out for a few minutes when she heard a loon’s lonely cry in the distance. The sky had lightened up quite a bit since she had first
hiked into the brush and she could now see the pristine beauty of the wilderness around her. Her paddle strokes into the calm water were smooth and sure. It felt as if she had last been here two months ago instead of ten years.
Jo turned her head at a crashing sound on the shore to her right. She saw a large moose gamboling about, long legs awkward in the brush. It wasn’t long before Jo realized she had relaxed a bit and was feeling refreshed. I’m ready to take this bastard down, she thought.
When she reached the far shore of the lake, she shoved her bag into the larger Duluth Pack and hoisted it onto her back. Pulling the boat up onto shore, she leaned over, grabbed the canoe by the yoke with both hands and heaved, until it was at waist level.
She took a deep breath, and then lifted the boat the rest of the way up, until the yoke straddled her shoulders. Jo adjusted her hands so that she could balance the canoe and began walking in the direction of the next lake. She was amazed she could still portage a canoe. Muscle memory had taken over.
Jo could smell the piney scent of the woods as she trekked along the narrow path that led to the next lake. She barely noticed the undergrowth that occasionally tugged at her pant legs, or the branch that scratched her arm.
She continued on this way for the better part of the morning, alternately paddling and portaging, frequently checking the directions. Every now and then, she pulled out the cell phone to check for a signal. Each time, she was disappointed to see “No Service.” Guess they haven’t installed cell towers everywhere in the Boundary Waters yet. But of course, he knew that when he gave me the phone.
Jo saw no sign of another human being, no motors, no voices. Nothing but the sounds of nature. It was as if she was the last person left on earth. What should have felt lonely, felt peaceful instead.
When at last she reached the final lake, her arms and legs began to shake from the strain and she rested a moment in the seat of the canoe. She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.
And smelled smoke.
Her eyes snapped open and she began paddling. She saw the wisp of smoke in the distance and her back muscles strained as she increased the rhythm of her strokes.
Chapter Forty-One
Turners Bend
Early April
Chip was looking in his closet, trying to decide what to wear to his movie date with Jane and selected a pair of designer jeans, now well-worn and outdated, and a blue sweater. His phone buzzed.
“Chip, I can’t meet you at the Bijou. I don’t know where Ingrid is.”
Chip could hear the panic in Jane’s voice. He had seen her in a number of crises and marveled at her cool, calm command of emergency situations, but he sensed none of that now. She seemed on the point of hysteria.
“What do you mean? You don’t know where she is?”
“She always comes to the clinic after practice, and we go home together. When she didn’t come today, I called around. Her friends say she left practice as usual. No one has seen her since. I’ve been trying her cell phone with no luck.”
“Call Fredrickson, then hold tight. I’ll be at your office as soon as I can.”
“Hurry, Chip, something is terribly wrong.”
Chip hesitated for a moment. “Jane …”
“Yes.”
“What was she wearing?”
“I suppose she was in her Prairie Dogs warm-up suit. That’s usually what she has on after practice. Why?”
He hesitated for a second. “Nothing. I’m out the door.”
Chip grabbed a jacket and ran to his rental car. Gravel went flying as he tore down his road onto the highway. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest and his mind was racing. He replayed his earlier conversation with the chief and Jim. Could Masterson be wrong about Brown being the serial killer? Was the real killer still out there? Or, could there be a copycat killer?
He tried taking deep breaths to clear his mind. Ingrid could show up any minute. He wanted to convince himself she was probably just fine, but something deep in his gut told him she was in grave danger. He lost his concentration and veered into a ditch alongside the road. He revved his engine and blasted out, back into the lane.
As he neared Jane’s clinic, he saw the police cruiser and Iver’s snow plow truck outside. He parked, jumped out and threw open the clinic door. Jane was standing in the middle of the waiting room sobbing in Mabel’s arms. Iver was pacing around the room. He saw the chief on the phone in the treatment room, just out of earshot. Chip went to the treatment room and picked up on Fredrickson’s phone conversation.
“Damn, we never identified and searched the vacant buildings around Turners Bend. Didn’t think there was a need to since we had already found one body here,” the chief was saying. Then he paused to listen, mouthing the name ‘Masterson’ to Chip.
“Right, right. Send as many people as you can. But in the meantime we don’t have a second to lose. I’m going to call our firemen and first responders and as many others as I can quickly get ahold of, and we’ll start the search. Yes, yes.”
The Chief hung up the phone and blew out his breath. “Masterson is sending FBI agents and a SWAT team from the Des Moines office and police officers from neighboring towns. She’s on her way from Sioux City. The FBI has had a detail on Brown, and we know she’s there, so this is someone else. The first few hours after an abduction, if that’s what this is, are critical. We can’t send out an Amber Alert because we don’t know for sure she’s been abducted, and we don’t have any perp or vehicle info, so we’ve got to rally as many people as we can and get out there. Let’s move it.”
They went back to the waiting room. Jane had composed herself momentarily, but fell into Chip’s arms and began to cry softly. He could feel her trembling.
The chief took charge. “Jane, we’re going to find her, I promise. You and Mabel stay here, she may show up. Check with all your relatives and Ingrid’s friends. If you find out anything, phone Sharon at the station. Chip and Iver, go in Iver’s truck. Iver, you know where there are vacant buildings on the outskirts of town, start checking by going west. Jim and I will head east. If you see anything suspicious, radio me with that old CB radio you have. Don’t do anything foolhardy. I’ll get firemen to start searching vacant houses and storefronts in town.”
Chip took Jane’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away tears. Her eyes were swollen and full of fear. He kissed her, held her close for a second and whispered in her ear, “I love you.” Then he ran out to Iver’s truck and jumped into the cab. They headed west on Main Street and then out to the highway heading away from Turners Bend.
It was dusk and light was quickly fading. Rural mailboxes and utility poles cast eerie shadows across the crusty snow piles that remained along the road. The temperature in the cab was falling, and Chip was wishing he had worn a warmer jacket. Iver had no jacket and didn’t seem to feel the chill. The April evenings were still cold, and Iowa had recently had a late-season snowfall.
“This is what we’ll do,” said Iver. “When we come to a deserted place, I’ll shine my spotlight on the road leading to the homestead. I don’t plow those places, so if we see tracks in the snow, we’ll go take a look. If not, we’ll just go to the next place. Check the flashlights in the glove compartment and make sure the batteries are working, we may need them. The first stop is the old Mattson place, been empty for years.”
They reached the road. Iver shone his spotlight on the road. The snow on the road cast a silvery glow. No vehicle tracks. Iver had not plowed the road during the past winter.
“The next farm is Lance’s place. He’s in New York with Bridezilla. Supposed to be back tomorrow. Guess we should take a look around.”
They drove up to Lance’s house. All was still. They both took a flashlight and roamed around the yard. All the buildings were locked. They looked in a few windows. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
“What’s the next place?”
“Half a mile down the road is the old Swanson place. When
Hal’s father passed away, the missus moved into town. But it’s not vacant. Coach rents it from her.”
“Coach?”
“Ya, Coach Whittler. He teaches PE at the high school and coaches basketball and track.”
“What’s your opinion of him?”
“Kind of a hothead. I saw a ref throw him out of a game recently. He’s had winning teams, so I guess the school puts up with his bad behavior.”
Like the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, snippets of information rapidly started to come together in Chip’s head. “Let’s check out his place, I’ve got a bad feeling about that guy. If nothing else, maybe he can give us some more information about Ingrid. Let’s radio Fredrickson from the cab.”
They sat in the truck. Iver radioed Sharon at the police station and asked her to patch him through to the squad car. He handed the CB to Chip.
“Hold this down to talk and let it up to listen.”
Chip held down the button to speak to Fredrickson. “Chief, Iver and I are at Lance’s farm. We’re not far from Coach Whittler’s. I think we should pay a visit. What do you think?” Chip was hoping that Fredrickson could read between the lines. “You know, girls’ basketball coach, team with blue uniforms.”
“Got ya. Jim and I will head over there. You and Iver wait for us, hear?”
“Roger. Over and out.”
“You ain’t fooling me,” said Iver. “You think Coach has something to do with the murders or with Ingrid being missing, don’t you?”
“Call it crime writer’s intuition, but yes, I don’t like what I’ve been told about Whittler. Ingrid once mentioned he sometimes goes ‘postal’.”
Iver reached under his seat and pulled out a revolver and checked the barrel.
Chip was astonished. “Why in the world do you have a gun?”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder Page 24