Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder

by Marilyn Rausch

  “Honey and her pups will be ready to go home in a day or two,” said Jane. “I should spay Honey before she goes home.”

  “I want her to rest up a little first, then I’ll bring her back. I have to confess, Jane, I’m having a hard time thinking about her going under the knife.”

  “Well, you had better prepare your house for the invasion.”

  “Here’s another confession. I haven’t a clue as to what those preparations should be.” Excitement and panic mingled in his gut. The thought of eight puppies in a one-bedroom house made his mind reel.

  “Ingrid, get Mr. Collingsworth our Puppy Care pamphlet. Really, Chip, it’s just like taking care of human babies, but without diapers.”

  “That’s not helping me one bit, Jane.”

  Now Chip sat at his laptop, trying not to think about puppies and forcing himself to concentrate on his writing. He recalled his meeting with Flora and hearing the name Calhoun for the county west of Boone. It reminded him that the murders of Mitch Calhoun and Sid, the ME, and his wife, Martha, were still unsolved. He was trying to get a handle on a new character and whether she should be a victim or a villain or both? In some ways she vaguely reminded him of Lucinda. Lucinda, of course, would never be a victim. He supposed he could ask a few of the local book critics. They all wanted to tell him how to write his books. Just yesterday at the Bend the bartender had suggested that he write about a bartender that solves crimes, because “they know all and see all and are a lot smarter than people give them credit for.” He tucked that idea away for future reference, and turned his thoughts to the headquarters of NeuroDynamics and the character he decided to name Belinda.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brain Freeze

  Two Harbors, Minnesota

  The NeuroDynamics headquarters was buried deep in the woods, two miles off the highway. It was surrounded by bare birch trees and towering firs. A frozen pond flanked the parking lot to the right. The sprawling, double-story structure looked like a fortress with its dark-gray granite façade. Separate wings contained the various areas of operation.

  Jo rolled the cart smoothly down the polished marble floors of the executive wing. The walls were paneled in black walnut, with spotlights in the ceiling above her, highlighting artwork scattered along the hallway. Her shoes were soundless as she stopped at offices here and there, emptying trash cans, running a dust rag over spotless surfaces. Not even her boss at the Bureau would have recognized her—a light brown wig covered her red hair and she had dabbed on a bit of hair color to cover the cinnamon of her brows. Contacts had changed her green eyes to hazel. In the five days since she had started working undercover, her eyes never stopped searching, never stopped reading.

  Jo had been correct when she told John that she would be invisible here. In her cleaning services uniform of a white polo shirt and khaki pants, she was a non-entity to the employees. A fixture of the place. Since she worked the later shift, most people had gone home for the day. Jo was free to wander, gathering bits of information.

  But nothing worth a damn. Jo gripped the handle of the cart tightly and huffed out a breath in disgust. I have to find something. Thus far, she had found a brochure on breast implants in the filing cabinet of the executive assistant, a half-empty fifth of bourbon in the desk of the CIO and some rather disturbing bondage photos on the desktop of the marketing director. Personal demons that had nothing to do with the deaths of Mitch Calhoun and Sid.

  She knew what she was trying to prove, but wasn’t certain what form the evidence would assume. I hope I recognize it when—and if—I find it. After talking things over with John, her boss and Frisco, she had several clear objectives. The first was to tie Sid and Martha’s killers directly to NeuroDynamics. The second was to prove that the corporation had bribed the FDA official in order to push through their technology in record time without the usual thorough reviews. John and Jo agreed that the third and last objective would be the most difficult to prove. What exactly was the true intention of the technology?

  Jo wanted to get into the office of the CEO, Charles Candleworth, but his door was always locked or he was inside, alone. He allowed no one but the owner of the cleaning company to take care of his office. Picking the lock on his door would be a mistake, since there was a security camera pointed directly at his office. I guess having dirty little secrets makes you a bit paranoid.

  She caught a glimpse of him now and again. John had said that he and Candleworth were about the same age, but Jo found it hard to believe. John was youthful and healthy. This man looked well past his prime. Even if Jo hadn’t good reason to suspect him, there was something about the man that she didn’t like. His smile never quite reached his eyes and he constantly looked at his watch when one of his staff members talked to him, as if he had more important things on his mind.

  Belinda Peterson was the only company executive who worked late, although she usually turned out her office lights by 7:00 p.m. According to the online bios of the NeuroDynamics executive team, Ms. Peterson was chief financial officer. A tall, willowy blonde, she appeared to be about thirty-five. The first few nights that Jo came in to empty the paper shredder in her office, the CFO only nodded absently at Jo’s quiet, “Hello.”

  Tonight, however, the woman was anything but quiet. Heading towards the CFO’s office, Jo heard Belinda Peterson shouting into the phone. “I don’t care what you want! I’m telling you, this is unacceptable. This company has been bleeding money for far too long, and I’m tired of the board and investors chewing my ass because you can’t fix this. Just do it!” She slammed the receiver down on the desk.

  She muttered under her breath, “These friggin’ headaches are killing me. That goddamn surgeon lied to me. They’re worse since they put that chip in my head.”

  A leaded-crystal vase shattered inches from Jo’s head as she stepped into the office. The woman blinked when she noticed Jo. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was there.”

  Jo’s heartbeat slowed down a few notches. “No problem. I’ll clean this up.” She bent down and carefully put several large shards of glass in the palm of her hand. She looked up to see the woman massaging her temples with perfectly manicured fingertips, the nails painted a crimson red.

  Jo stared at the woman for a moment. They used the chips on their own people? Up until this point, she had not been able to search the CFO’s office. Belinda was very careful to lock up her office at the end of the night. Jo thought quickly.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Peterson, is it? I can clean this mess for you. Why don’t you go home and take a couple of Advil for that headache.”

  Belinda started, as if she had forgotten that anyone was in the room. For a moment, the look on her face was almost feral and then, in an instant, it was normal again. “Oh, yes. Yes, that would be helpful. Just make sure you pull my door shut tight when you leave.”

  Jo looked down to conceal the excitement on her face. She controlled her voice, “Of course. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She watched while Belinda Peterson packed up her designer briefcase for the night and shut down her computer. She locked the desk drawers. Belinda grabbed the long camel-colored coat hanging on a hook behind the door and was out in the hallway without another word to Jo. The woman’s heels clicked on the polished floors and the elevator’s ding announced its arrival.

  Jo unhooked the small whisk broom and dust pan from her cart. She crouched down to sweep up the remaining glass fragments, taking her time in case the CFO returned. After several minutes, she picked up the last piece and wiped down the walls where the water had splashed. The shards and the broken flower stems went into the trash can.

  She checked around the corner to see if anyone else was around. Finding no one, she searched the room for security cameras. Satisfied, she pulled on latex gloves and closed the outside window blinds. Walking behind Belinda’s desk, she sat in the soft black leather chair and pushed the power button of the desktop. The glow of the computer lit Jo’s face, as she focuse
d on the screen.

  At the log-on screen, Belinda’s user ID came up automatically, but of course, Jo had no idea what the password might be. She picked the desk lock and searched the drawers. Jo hoped that the woman might be careless, but found nothing. Crouching down, she looked under the desk. Nada. Jo sat back in the chair and studied the personal effects on top of the desk.

  Everything was neat and tidy on the desk. Items were lined up precisely on the surface. There was a paperweight in the shape of the Eiffel Tower on the far right corner, perched on a stack of papers. A smiling Belinda looked out of a picture frame on the opposite corner. Jo presumed the man and two young children in the photo were Belinda’s family. They were decked out in ski gear and stood atop a snow-covered slope, squinting into the sun. Jo had a hard time picturing Belinda smiling at anything these days.

  She snatched the picture off the desk and flipped it over. Carefully taking the frame apart, she looked at the back of the photo. Written in tight script was: Aspen, Winter Break, 2010. Carla, aged 10 and Thomas, aged 7.

  Jo typed both children’s names into the computer, in various combinations, to no avail. She put the picture frame back together and returned it to its place on the desk. She sighed, and leaned back in the chair. Out of desperation, she entered “Eiffel Tower”. Password invalid.

  There was a carved wooden nameplate on the desk in the middle. Jo picked it up, admiring the handiwork of the artist. When she flipped it over, she saw a small piece of paper taped to the bottom. Written there was a series of nonsensical numbers and letters. Thank God for people who can’t remember their passwords. She sat up straight and entered the alpha-numeric sequence on the password line of the computer sign-on screen.

  The screen went blank for a moment, and then a welcome screen appeared. Jo did a little victory wiggle in the chair and murmured, “Now we’re talking.” Pulling up Word documents, she paged down through the titles. Many were inter-office memos between Ms. Peterson, the chief surgeon, and the owner of the company. Jo removed the flash drive that was on a chain around her neck, and began to download the files that looked promising.

  As she finished copying the documents, the telephone on Belinda’s desk rang. Startled, Jo waited a moment until her heart resumed its normal beat. Taking a deep breath, she searched the spreadsheets. Several files were labeled “government,” “Middle East,” and “Central and South America.” She downloaded all of these to the flash drive.

  Jo looked at her watch. “Time to get out of Dodge.” She closed down the desktop, straightened everything to its original position and opened the blinds once again. She pulled the office door closed and headed down the hallway.

  At the end of her shift, she returned her cleaning supplies to the storage room. She shrugged into her coat and nodded to the security guard as she left the building. Jo didn’t notice when he picked up the phone as she walked to her car.

  By the time Jo arrived back at the condo, she was exhausted and hungry. Flipping on the light by the entryway, she leaned against the wall and removed her boots. A soft blue glow emanated from the living room. Jo walked into the room and saw that John had fallen asleep on the couch while watching television. Caddy’s head poked up from her spot on the floor in front of John and her tail thumped a few times as a greeting. Jo whispered, “Hello, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” Caddy got to her feet and walked over to Jo, nudging her hand with her muzzle. Jo reached down and rubbed behind her ears. “I missed you, too.”

  John let out a loud snort and tossed in his sleep, his long legs dangling over the arm of the couch. Smiling, Jo grabbed an extra blanket from the armoire in the living room. She flicked it open and draped it across John’s body. Jo watched as a small smile crept across his sleeping face. He looked more like a little boy in that moment than a world-famous neurosurgeon.

  She walked into the small kitchen, looking for something to eat. She turned towards the small dining table and saw that John had left a place setting out for her. A note was on the placemat. Jo. Thought you might be hungry after the long day. There’s a sandwich in the fridge for you. Hope you like ham and cheese on rye. Jo raised an eyebrow. She whispered, “Just when I thought I had you figured out, you do something else to surprise me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Turners Bend

  Mid-December

  Turners Bend was decked out for the holidays. Garland, wreaths, and lights decorated every storefront on Main Street. The deep woods aroma of freshly cut pine scented the air. The Bun had a Christmas tree where patrons hung mittens, scarves and hats to be sent to homeless shelters in Ames and Des Moines. The Bend hung a silver disco ball in preparation for its New Year’s Eve gala. Plywood nativity scenes and inflatable Santas and snowmen were stuck into snow drifts around town. Krumcakke, spritz, rosettes, sandbakkels, and lefsa came pouring out of kitchens around the county to fill the tables at First Lutheran’s Christmas Bake Sale. Bathrobes were being gathered for the little shepherds and wisemen who would perform in the annual Christmas pageant at Sacred Heart Catholic Church.

  It was a time for homecomings.

  Mabel came home after two week at the Mayo clinic, where Dr. Stein had determined she had been suffering from chlorine and nitrite poisoning, most likely from tainted well water. The first week was “touch and go,” and Iver only left her side to grab food in the hospital cafeteria. It appeared her kidneys and liver might be shutting down. A brief round of dialysis and Iver’s tenderness, along with Stein’s considerable skill, reversed the process and began to restore her to health.

  Still weak but improving steadily, Iver brought her home. He moved a Glenwood water cooler and big jugs of water into her kitchen. He also quietly moved himself into her house, a move the town’s wagging tongues looked on with kindness.

  With Mabel on bed rest, Iver became Chip’s regular breakfast companion. “I tell you, Chip, we almost lost our girl up there at the Mayo. Doc Stein said it was life threatening, but he brought her through. He said she’s got to recuperate for six months and get her blood tested every month. She’s real weak and doesn’t have any get-up-and-go. I sure as hell am not going to let her drink any water from that well of hers.

  “Say, that Stein is kind of a weird guy. I never saw a guy cover his bald spot with a little black cap before.”

  Chip snorted the coffee he was drinking. “He’s Jewish, Iver. That cap is a yarmulke. It’s worn by devote Jewish men.”

  “You mean like Jesus? No wonder he can bring sick people back from almost being dead.”

  Chief Fredrickson dragged over an extra chair, as was his habit now, and brought Chip and Iver up to date on the police department’s activities.

  “I brought Sven home,” he reported. “I knew right away where to look for him, but I gave the kid a few days to arrive at an ‘attitude adjustment’ before I drove out to Hal’s deer hunting shack and lugged the cold and hungry kid back to his mother.

  “Boy’s been a handful ever since Jane divorced Hal. Hal’s a piss poor role model, and the kid sure knows how to push Jane’s buttons. Told me to go to hell. I told him I’d send him to juvie if he didn’t shape up. He tried to tape me with that damn video camera he’s always toting around, but I put a stop to that nonsense. Fool kid.

  “By the way, Chip, I read that book of yours. I think the police chief could have easily found that serial killer without having to call in a doc to help. You made Chief Katz out to be a bumbling dolt. Next book, give the police some respect. Just my opinion, of course. I suppose handsome doctors sell more books than middle-aged police chiefs.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement, Chief,” said Chip, mentally adding another literary review to the growing list of Benders telling him how to write.

  Honey and her eight pups came home to Chip’s farmhouse along with an early Christmas gift from Jane and Ingrid … a playpen. The puppies ate and played and pooped and pooped and pooped. Then they nestled together in a heap of soft, golden puppy fur and fell asleep for a few hours
, only to start the whole process over again. He gave the girls flower names … Violet, Pansy, Petunia, and Lily. He named the boys after gods … Zeus, Thor, and Jupiter, and then, of course, there was little Runt.

  Chip had landline phone service installed in his farmhouse. He found he no longer craved the isolation of his farm. Instead, he had a growing need to communicate and no desire to return to the roof of his shed for decent cell service. He saw the move as a giant step backward in technology and a giant step forward in personal growth and healing. His first call was from California.

  “Darling, what’s that terrible racket I hear in the background?” Lucinda’s voice was strangely deep and melodramatic, like an actress in an old movie. Hollywood was having its effect on her.

  “That’s just the puppies nipping and yipping.”

  “Puppies? Did you say puppies?” Now she sounded like a bad imitation of Glenn Close as Cruella de Vil.

  “Yes. Say, Lucinda, I’m sorry I’m a little behind on my writing schedule. Things have really been hopping here in Turners Bend.” Chip rattled off a tale of dead cows, a poisoned resident, a runaway teen, and eight puppies.

  “If there’s any trouble in that dreadful place, I suggest you investigate the vile lump of a man I met in that seedy tavern … Hal something. I could tell he was up to no good, and there were a couple of goons hanging with him.

  “Now about our movie. I’m staying in Hollywood over the holidays. I may have to sleep with Howard Glasser to get this contract finalized, but anything for you, dear. Kiss, kiss to you and your puppies. Tata.”

  No sooner had he hung up the phone from Lucinda’s call, when Jane called. “Chip, the lab results are back from the water samples. The cows are dying of nitrate poisoning from the water in the creek. I’ve alerted all the farms along the creek. Mabel doesn’t drink water out of the creek, but she must have a faulty well where creek water is seeping in. No one else in town has reported being sick, but I’ll warn Doc Schultz to keep an eye out for any additional cases. And, Chip, we’re not talking low nitrate levels like we might expect from farm chemical run-off; we’re talking dangerous levels of three different nitrates, over 2,100 ppm of KNO3 alone.”