Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Ben’s face came into view. He knelt next to me. “You can let go now. We’ll take him.” Wilcox pried Peder from my death grip and checked his pulse. “Still breathing.”

  Ben lifted me to a sitting position, then moved behind me to cut the tie on my wrists. I heard a sharp intake of breath. He yelled at the medic. “Get a gurney here now!”

  Adrenalin zapped through my system like an electric current and I yelled out a victory whoop. “We caught this psycho! Ben, get my camera!”

  They lifted me onto the gurney and rolled me toward the ambulance. Ben tried to gently press me down. “You can’t take any photos right now.”

  I popped back up to a sitting position. “My hands are a little numb from being tied. It’s not a problem. C’mon!”

  Ben turned to the medic, his voice urgent. “Do something.”

  I tried to get off the gurney, but the medic stuck me in the hip with a needle. Ben said, “How about if I take the photos?”

  “Fine, hurry!” I raised my hands for a high five.

  But they weren’t my hands. They were something else.

  ***

  Nurse Cranky adjusted the blinds and morning sunshine poured in. “You’re awake.” Her tone was oddly gentle.

  “Connie, I feel great. I’m out of here.” Unfortunately, my words came out slurred and my limbs didn’t get the message that I wanted to get out of bed.

  She moved toward me. “Doctor will be here in a minute.”

  “Gotta go.” I tried to pull the sheet off, but the fingers on my right hand were four times their normal size, each digit wrapped in layers of thick gauze. I lifted my left hand and it looked the same. My gaze swiveled from one to the other, not getting it. I whispered. “What’s happened to them?”

  She glanced toward the door, maybe sensing the situation was about to get out of control. “They were burned in the fire last night.”

  I blinked, trying to think through the haze in my head. I couldn’t let anything be wrong with my hands. I tried to grip the bandages to pull them off but couldn’t with the giant blobs. I yanked at the bandages with my teeth and pain shot through my fingers, electrifying my entire system. My voice was a shrill soprano. “Take this stuff off.”

  “Calm down, Britt.” She spoke into the intercom. “I need an orderly in Room 112. Now.” I climbed out of bed, trying to get away from the bandages, and the IV slipped out. I almost made it to the door where, a foot shorter, Connie stood firm in front of me. “You’re not helping yourself.”

  I listed sideways but still fought to get past her. The orderly rushed in and caught me before I hit the floor. Dr. Fromm arrived and the three of them hauled me back into bed. Connie reconnected me and fastened another bag on the IV stand.

  Dr. Fromm frowned down at me. “You shouldn’t get excited with that concussion you have.”

  Breathing hard, I said, “I don’t care about the concussion. My hands.”

  He emphasized each word. “You have severe burns on both hands and right now we’re focusing on managing the pain.” He studied the IV. “We’ve increased your sedative.”

  Maybe that’s why he had three heads. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried again. The orderly and Connie stepped back and Fromm came into focus.

  “This can’t be happening.” I tried to grab him to make him understand, but my hand could only bump his arm and pain zapped me again. I flopped back on the pillow. “Where’s Ben? He’ll get me out of here.”

  Dr. Fromm nodded at the orderly. He opened the door and Ben came in with a look in his eyes that scared me. Pity. He sat beside me on the bed and put his arm around my shoulder, gesturing toward the hovering trio. “You can all leave. Go on, now.” Even Dr. Fromm backed off and left the room.

  “Tell me, Ben.” The words sounded like they came from a tunnel.

  His voice soft, he said, “Your hands were scorched pretty badly, but the doc thinks you’ll have complete use of them again.”

  “Thinks?” My heart quickened.

  He smoothed my hair behind my ear the way he always did when I was upset. “Of course, they will.”

  “They have to fix this quick. I’m going to South Sudan, remember?”

  “There’s plenty of time to talk about that.”

  “I am going.” My head lolled sideways and my eyes dropped to half-mast. Little and Lars swam into view and out again like a couple of walleye. When had they come in? Little whispered to Lars, “Don’t even mention the Sudan thing for a while. If you tell her she can’t do something, she gets obsessive.”

  Little was still there when I woke up. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Not long.” He came to the foot of my bed, looking as if he wanted to crawl under it and hide. “I have something to tell you and I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m still a little fuzzy-headed, Little. What are you sorry about?”

  “It’s my fault you trusted Peder. You kept taking off so I asked him to stick close to you, especially on the lake.”

  The confrontation with Peder washed over me. “You picked a great babysitter.”

  He cringed. “He acted like a good guy.” His head hung low.

  “He tricked us all.” I couldn’t stand to see Little upset. “I’d already figured it out, anyway. You weren’t that subtle.”

  Little said, “Wilcox found that journal and newspaper clipping in Peder’s car. Bella told us what it said. We should have guessed Charley was our great uncle. He and Dad were both more than six-feet-tall and had light hair and blue eyes.”

  “You realize that describes half the male population in Minnesota.”

  He shuddered. “Still, I’d rather not be related to someone who did what he did but I guess we can’t choose what’s in our family history.”

  I nodded, but picturing the sweet-tempered old gardener as a young assassin, even if he did go after a Nazi was difficult. “Yet another one of our dad’s secrets. He must have known all along.”

  Little winced at my bandaged hands. “That looks really painful. I’ve been thinking maybe it’s best if you aren’t in Spirit Lake. Every time you come home, you get hurt and end up in here.” His gaze took in the room.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but after a quick recall of the last year and a half, I closed my mouth.

  His eyebrows were all knotted up. “That never happens when you’re in the middle of a conflict thousands of miles from here, even working in places where photographers get kidnapped or killed.”

  “Things have happened, I’ve just never told you about them, Little.”

  His eyes rounded. “Why didn’t you?”

  “You worry too much already.” He didn’t need to know about the bomb detonating only yards from me in Iraq, blowing me forward, my back and legs covered with cuts, deaf for days. I’d run for my life more than a few times and narrowly escaped. “Besides, I can take care of myself. Why do you think I work so hard at staying fit?”

  “But why do you have to do it?”

  “We’ve talked about this. It’s not just me. Journalists who do what I do want to show the world what’s happening, hoping things will improve. It’s dangerous, but for us, worth the risk.”

  His mouth turned down. “I know you’ll never stop.” He reached into a cooler and pulled out a green smoothie. “You can drink this with your bandages.”

  I held them up. “Mickey Mouse hands.” We both tried to smile. My stomach growled and I eyed the drink. I’d been hoping for a sandwich but he was right, I’d have no way to hold it.

  He propped the smoothie between my bent knees and guided the straw to my mouth. “It’s loaded with nutrients.”

  I slurped it down and nodded. “Surprisingly good.”

  Nurse Connie pushed through the door rolling a tray filled with gauze, ointment and instruments of torture. I turned away before looking any closer. She said, “Little, you’ll have to leave while I clean and re-bandage.”

  He stowed the cup in his cooler and said he’d be back later.<
br />
  Connie bit her lower lip. “I know how brave you are, but you might not want to look while I’m doing this.”

  “It’s okay, Connie. That pain med is helping. We might as well get the healing going.”

  She unwound the gauze wrapped around my palm and wrist, and then moved to each finger, gently unwrapping them. My breath caught. They looked like cooked sausages. Tears clogged my throat. “No, Connie.”

  She let down her guard for a moment and I saw the compassion. “You’re going to need some of that bravery I was talking about now, dear.”

  I leaned back against the pillow and looked at the ceiling while Connie cared for my hands. Even with her tender touch, it hurt so much tears streamed out the sides of my eyes. I clamped my jaw and fought the pain, knowing no medication could take it all away.

  When she finished the long process of re-bandaging, she hesitated at the door. “You did great, Britt. The swelling will go down in a few days.”

  I drifted off again, thankful for the respite from pain.

  When I opened my eyes, Lars sat in a chair under the window, his crutches resting on the arm. My first instinct was that he shouldn’t be here alone, and then I remembered, the threat was gone.

  I blinked away tears at the sight of my cotton candy-sized hands. “What time is it?”

  “About three p.m.”

  I’d slept most of the day. I lifted my chin at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

  “It’s my day for therapy so I’m keeping you company until my appointment.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Which one? After my physical therapy, I see a psychologist to help me deal with the memory and anger issues.” His head drooped. “I’m messed up. The therapist ‘suggests’ that I’m angry at myself. I blame myself for what happened, and I need to let that go.”

  “You’re going to get through all of it, Lars. Me too, for Little.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mapping the pain centers in my body sapped my energy—the dull throbbing at the back of my head, the pain in my hands a country of its own. It was difficult to find a comfortable position on my back, although apparently it wasn’t badly burned. I leaned to one side. “Have you seen Ben?”

  “He and Wilcox are wrapping up stuff about the case.”

  I drifted away again thinking about how I’d misjudged everything. Bolger, the Willards, Anke and Neil had nothing to do with any of it. I’d even suspected the workshop leader. Instead, the charming writer was a psychopath. I thought I could tell the bad guys from the good and now I’d always doubt myself. I’d very much like to know details about what Wilcox and Ben were wrapping up.

  As if on cue, the two entered the room. Lars talked to them for a minute and moved slowly to the door. “Gotta go.”

  “Thanks, Lars,” I said. He handled his crutches with more assurance today.

  Wilcox removed his hat and pulled up a chair. Ben stood next to the bed. He didn’t put his arm around me this time. This was official business, but I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to bury my head in his shoulder and stay that way.

  The sheriff cleared his throat and set a recorder on the stand between us. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I need your statement.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve been wondering how you found me last night. Was it the fire?”

  Ben said, “We used your phone GPS.”

  Wilcox leaned back. “We would have gotten to you sooner but we were busy with Anke Schmidt. She confessed to being at Charley’s, but said she was only watching. We already considered her a person of interest.”

  “Why?”

  “Vik, the workshop leader, said she’d been writing her thriller using details from Charley’s murder, Lars’ beating, Rob’s fire and all the other stuff that happened. It disturbed him so we were collecting evidence on her.”

  Ben nodded. “Peder/Fredrik Jorgensen was also on the sheriff’s radar.”

  “I didn’t kill him?”

  Relief washed over me when Wilcox shook his head.

  “But he had a hard time talking after what you did to him, and his feet were too close to the fire so he can’t walk yet.” Wilcox leaned forward. “Before we get going, I’d like to know where you learned that trick with your legs.”

  “It’s all about pressure points on your opponent’s neck. You basically use his own arm to disable him. I’ve had some training.” The effect of the pain meds made me chatty. “Kajukenbo is all about doing what it takes.” I was about to deliver a blow-by-blow of how the move is executed when Wilcox interrupted. “Don’t know it.” He turned to Ben, a question in his eyes.

  Ben said, “It’s not the martial arts you usually see in a tournament where everyone’s following the same rules. The training she’s talking about teaches self-defense and survival in the real world.”

  I’d have to call my trainer and thank him. Andre grew up on the streets of Compton. Muscular and lightning quick, he rarely needed to use his skills outside of training people. He could intimidate just by walking into a room.

  Wilcox said, “Are we ready?” He turned on his recorder. For the next hour I answered questions and repeated what Peder, or Fredrik said. When we were finished, I asked, “Did he confess to messing with the cars?”

  Wilcox nodded. “He said he knew his time was short, so after the poisoned candy didn’t kill the three of you, disabling the brakes was a final effort to get Little and Lars, and also shift the investigation back to the Willards. He’d heard you talking about their truck hanging around the garage.”

  I winced at the rebuke. I couldn’t look the sheriff or Ben in the eye. “I guess I did part of Peder’s job for him, but Charley’s murder wasn’t about being gay, so who sent the original letter to Lars and Little calling them faggots?”

  Wilcox said, “People in the restaurant were gossiping about Charley’s murder being a gay hate crime. Peder-Fredrik thought building on that would add “character” to his campaign to kill all of you and throw us off his trail.”

  “And I took it and ran full tilt after the Willards.” I would have slapped my own forehead if my hands worked.

  Wilcox took off his hat and ran his hand across his head. His hair looked thinner, his eyes puffy. “The Willards are bad people, no doubt about it and they’re up to something. We’re still investigating them.”

  He rubbed at his eyes. “We learned from Fredrik’s ex-wife that he’d had trouble keeping jobs. She said she divorced him because of his violent mood swings. Branson County is negotiating with Oslo authorities about how he’ll be brought to justice.”

  Connie came in and held the door. “The doctor is doing rounds.”

  Wilcox rarely shared information with me but I still had a lot of questions, like why Matthew had been hanging around Spirit Lake.

  Wilcox gathered his hat and recorder. “We’ll finish this later.”

  Ben kissed my forehead and followed the sheriff out the door. Our last interaction, before Peder tried to kill me, hadn’t been one of my stellar moments. That reminded me of Marta—I had to heal fast.

  Dr. Fromm came in with his eyes focused on my chart. Connie unwound my hands for the second time that day. The pain jolted me wide awake. “Doctor, I leave on assignment in a few days.”

  His thin lips stretched in a quick grimace. “That’s not possible.” He examined my hands and checked my head wound and eyes. “You’ll have to stay here until we’re sure there’s no infection in your hands, at least a week. Your back was burned, but your clothing kept you from the worst of it. No damage to your legs or feet. Good thing you were wearing jeans and boots.” He wrote something on my chart.

  Connie began the slow medicating and re-bandaging process. My fingers looked pathetically sad as she wound them into their white cocoons. I tried not to wince, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Dr. Fromm, how much time until I can take these bandages off?”

  “It’s difficult to predict with burns. Infection is a danger. We have to change them freq
uently, and if you want full dexterity, you’ll need occupational therapy every day for however long it takes.”

  Connie said, “The bandages won’t be bulky like this for more than two weeks if all goes well. We’ll change them to something that looks like netting, and you’ll be able to do a few more things.”

  My heart pounded. I needed to be in South Sudan in a week or sooner. “Two weeks won’t work. Get me someone who can fix this now. Can’t you fly me to a burn center? I need my hands working right away.” My fury over-rode the sedative. I was about to bolt again.

  Fromm pushed his round glasses higher on his nose. “We’re fortunate Nurse Connie has worked in burn centers. Be patient. Do what she says.”

  “I want another opinion. Your timeline isn’t acceptable.”

  Connie and Dr. Fromm’s mouths formed identical straight lines. He said, “Very well, if that’s what you want.”

  Ben came in. “What’s going on here?”

  I turned on him. “You’re no better. No one cares whether I’m getting shoddy care as long as I stay in your precious Spirit Lake.”

  Ben put a hand up. “That’s not fair. Everyone’s doing their best for you.”

  “When it’s your own job you’re the famous disappearing man, but when I’m the one who has to go, it’s not important. You don’t even care about anything but yourself.”

  Connie and Fromm looked at each other. She put her hand on Ben’s elbow. “Maybe it’s best if you leave.” Shooting a furious look at me, he turned on his heels and left. I still had more to say and wanted to go after him, but Connie slid next to me and adjusted my blanket, effectively holding me in place.

  Dr. Fromm said, “You can go wherever you choose, Britt. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Connie stayed behind after Dr. Fromm left. More brusque than usual, she asked, “Can I do anything else for you?”

  “Could you please scroll through my messages?” She picked up the phone and held it so I could see who’d tried to reach me. There were several from Marta. I didn’t need to read them. “Do you mind calling Marta and putting it on speaker for me. I have to tell her I’m coming.”