Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (30 page)

“First Jethro died of a mysterious cause.”

“Does this Jethro have a last name?”

“I don’t think so. Jethro was Oscar Nelson’s prize bull. Then Mabel got very sick also.”

“I see, and is Mabel a cow?”

“Heavens no. Mabel is my assistant at the clinic. Here are the lab reports on the water from Beaver Creek. We determined the creek was highly polluted with toxic levels of nitrates and heavy metals.” Jane handed over several lab reports. Masterson scanned them.

“And Mabel was the only person to get sick?”

“Yes, Mabel’s well was an old driven one. It was on the property before her house was built, and she never replaced it with a deeper drilled one that taps into the aquifer. Hers was shallow and cracked, so the groundwater seeped into her well. She has a new one now. Also Mabel has an underlying medical condition that made her especially susceptible to the toxins.”

Taking over from Jane, Chip stepped over to the county map on the office wall and followed the creek with his finger. “Beaver Creek flows behind Mabel’s property and the affected farms and out past AgriDynamics. I got a hint that Hal might be up to some shady dealings.”

“And that hint came from who, Mr. Collingsworth?”

“Hal was bragging to my literary agent about it one day when he had a little too much to drink. That and Owen Hansen’s beating led us to suspect AgriDynamics as the source of the pollution.”

“I don’t suppose Owen Hansen is a bull,” said Masterson.

She gave a quick smile.

“No, we think Owen Hansen may have threatened to blow the whistle on AgriDynamics,” interrupted the chief.

“Where is this Owen Hansen now, Chief?”

“He moved his family to Des Moines. Think he’s working at a Kum and Go there.”

“So, you knew about the pollution?”

“Most of the details. We’ve been following up on this ever since the poisonings.”

Masterson turned to Chip. “I understand you had a robbery and your computer is missing. How does your stolen computer play into this, Mr. Collingsworth?”

“I researched industrial chemicals and downloaded photos that I took when I was undercover at the plant. Someone must have observed me taking the photos on my cell phone. Then when Jane was on her stake out, she traced barrels of hazardous waste to the landfill by the creek.”

“Wait a minute. You didn’t call in the authorities? You went undercover and you staked out at the plant? I think you’ve been watching too much TV or reading too many crime novels.”

The agent sighed and shook her head. “Wait, wait … you aren’t the Collingsworth that wrote
The Cranium Killer
, are you?”

“One and the same,” said Chip. “I’m surprised you heard of it.”

“I get a kick out of crime stories where the FBI is involved because most writers don’t have a clue as to how the bureau actually operates and what agents do. So, any idea who took the computer and where it is now?”

Chip glimpsed Jane as she gave the chief a furtive glance. The color drained from her face, and her son’s words, “I don’t want to go to jail,” echoed in his mind. He looked at the wall map, avoiding eye contact with the agent, and silently prayed the chief would not directly mention the boys’ part in the robbery, so that Jane’s pain over Sven’s involvement might be eased.

“We know that Hal Swanson was involved in the robbery. He had the computer, but we don’t know if he still has it or if he ditched it someplace,” replied the chief.

“Is there a woman named Brandy Wine that lives here in Turners Bend?” asked Masterson.

“Never heard that name before,” said the chief.

“I didn’t think so, the name is obvious an alias.” The agent pulled a grainy photo out of her briefcase. It showed a young woman in a big sun hat and sunglasses. “Does she look familiar to any of you?” The photo was passed around.

“I can’t be sure, but it could be Heather Steffenhauser, a girl I’ve seen with Hal a couple of times,” said Jane. “She’s about nineteen or twenty. Ingrid, my daughter, refers to her as ‘Dad’s most recent girlfriend’. Nice, huh?”

“This photo was taken from a hidden camera at a bank in the Cayman Islands. We don’t have any jurisdiction over offshore island or Swiss banks, but the CIA lets us know when Americans make suspicious deposits. On this end, we like to trace where that money is coming from. Most of it is from drug cartels or illegal gain of various sorts. There’s an account in the name of Brandy Wine from Iowa. We may be looking at something more than environment pollution here. Mr. Swanson was possibly using his company to launder drug money. I know it’s strange to think a wind turbine manufacturer would be involved in money laundering, but we recently had a similar case with a toy company in California.”

The inspector then pulled out two more photos and showed them to Chip and Jane. They were mug shots of two tough-looking Hispanic men.

“Have you seen these guys around Turners Bend?”

Jane and Chip looked at the photos and shook their heads no.

“Well, if you do, stay clear of them and let Chief Fredrickson know. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you would stop your amateur sleuthing, Dr. Swanson and Mr. Collingsworth, and let us take over from here. Chief Fredrickson, of course I expect your cooperation.”

Jane and Ingrid were stocking the drawers under the exam table when Agent Masterson knocked on the open office door. They knew that the chief and agents Masterson, Fuller, and Wagner had spent the last two days tracking Hal and Heather. Scuttlebutt moved through Turners Bend like wildfire. Through cell phone and credit card records the pair had been traced to the Cayman Islands. Financial records revealed that all the funds from AgriDynamics’s accounts had been emptied. Hal, Heather, and the money were gone. Jane sensed that Ingrid’s emotions swung between despising her father and anxiety and worry over his welfare.

“I’d like to ask you a few more questions about your husband, Dr. Swanson.”

“My ex-husband. We’ve been divorced for many years.”

“I stand corrected. Were you aware that he was defrauding the government and stashing funds offshore?”

“No. He paid his child support, and I kept out of his business.”

“What about this Steffenhauser woman, did you know about her?”

“Like I said before, she’s just one of a long line of Hal’s girlfriends.”

“She’s a slut,” interjected Ingrid. “She was always talking about how she and Dad were going to move to Miami and buy a yacht and sail around the world, and how Dad was going to hire a photographer to take her picture for the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition. Dad was always drooling over her. It was disgusting.”

“If he makes any attempt to contact you, let us know. There are more than a few federal agencies that would like to have a talk with him.”

Iver and Mabel were enjoying the sun on their patio, having a late afternoon Bud Light and pretzels. The old well had been sealed and a new one drilled. The days of pounding and clanking had just about driven Mabel to the edge. The well workers were gone and the yard had been destroyed in the process—patches of sod had been ripped up and the drilling equipment had left deep ruts in the ground—but the water was now safe to drink.

“I don’t know, Iver, it just about broke my heart when they plowed through my lilac bushes. Here we are in May, and I should be enjoying their sweet smell. Instead I’m looking at Ground Zero. Where do we start to repair this mess?”

“Let’s just pave it over and paint it green,” said Iver.

“Not very funny, my dear.”

A white van came up the driveway. “Oh, Iver, I bet those are the EPA guys that closed down the plant. I heard they spent all day today collecting samples of trash at the landfill. Goodness, they look like astronauts, don’t they?”

Two men still in their neon yellow HAZMAT suits stepped out of the van and lumbered over to Mabel and Iver.

“You Mabel Ingebretson?” asked one of the men.

“Yes, I am, young man.”

“We’d like to take a sample from the creek out back and take some soil samples from your yard. We’d also like your signed permission to look at your medical records at the Mayo Clinic.”

“Certainly, you collect your samples. It’s a good thing you arrived before my husband here poured concrete over the whole shebang. When you’re done you come into the kitchen, I’ll put on a pot of coffee and give you a nice piece of chocolate cake.” When in a dubious situation, Mabel believed offering cake and coffee was always the proper thing to do.

Within three days life in Turners Bend had been turned upside down, churned and spit out in pieces. Tongues wagged, heads shook, women cried, men swore, and pots boiled all over town. It gave Chip a lot to think about. It appeared that Hal was into a lot more than just dumping hazardous waste, just like in
Brain Freeze
where Candleworth was proving to be a complicated criminal, as well as a totally evil sleazebag.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Turners Bend

May

The EPA vans pulled out of Turners Bend followed by Agent Masterson and her two underlings. AgriDynamics was closed, and Hal and Heather had vanished into the Bermuda Triangle. The FBI, CIA, EPA and Treasury Department were all on the hunt. In the meantime, Chief Fredrickson was left to deal with local crimes, namely the robbery and its two perps, as Deputy Jim liked to call Sven and Leif.

On a fresh sunny morning in May, a small caravan left Turners Bend for Juvenile Court in the Boone County courthouse. Sven rode with Jane and Chip, Leif with his parents and the chief led the way in his squad car.

Sven sat in the back of Chip’s Volvo. He was wearing his church clothes and his freshly cut hair was spiky from the gel he applied that morning. He hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast, and it felt like worms were gnawing away on the lining of his stomach. “Mom, what’s going to happen to me?” His voice cracked.

“I don’t know, Sven. We can only hope the judge will be lenient, given this is your first offense.” His mother’s voice sounded more sad than hopeful.

“If they find Dad, will he go to jail?” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no. He hated his father for what he had done to their family, but he loved him, too. Love and hate were duking it out in his head and any way Sven looked at it, there wasn’t going to be a winner.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to your father, Sven. I imagine he’ll have a lot of explaining to do to the authorities.”

“He’s not going to give me a car, is he?” Sven already knew the answer to his question. He wondered how he could have been so stupid, so naïve, so willing to be duped for the promise of a car.

“No, I expect not.”

Looking out the car window was making Sven nauseous. He closed his eyes willing back the acid he felt rising from his stomach. He recalled driving down the dusty road to his dad’s hunting shack. He had only been fourteen, but Hal let him drive. They turned up the radio full blast and sang “Country Roads
”
along with John Denver. Hal made him promise not to tell his mother. He never did, and he never would. That once wonderful memory was now painful. His mother would only see it as another example of Hal leading him astray.

Leif slumped in the backseat of the pastor’s Honda Civic. He was dressed all in black. Unbeknownst to his parents, the night before he had dyed his blond hair black with a red streak through it. He had done it purposely to upset them, to embarrass them. Being a preacher’s kid sucked. He hated it, he hated them, he hated school, he hated his life, he hated himself. Vermin were eating away at his soul. He knew the Bible, and he was pretty sure he was destined for hell.

The tension in the car was thick, cloying, suffocating. The silence was deafening. It was periodically punctuated by whimpering sighs from his mother. Here he was on the road to perdition, and he didn’t care. Or so he kept telling himself.

Presiding in Juvenile Court was Judge Harry Wallberg, an old National Guard buddy of the chief’s. Sitting on the bench had added considerable girth to the judge and his robe was more than a wee bit snug. He glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he peered over the top of them, revealing eyebrows as bushy as caterpillars.

“Hi, Walter, nice to see you,” said the judge. “See you’ve got two hoodlums for a closed juvenile hearing today.” Aside from the judge and bailiff, the only other official present was the stone-faced court reporter.

“Well, Harry, I think you’ll see by my report these two boys got in over their heads and made a couple of poor choices, but there were some extenuating circumstances.”

“Okay, let’s me see what they have to say for themselves.” He called Sven to stand before him. He let the boy stand for a full minute, let him sweat a little, he thought.

“How’d you get involved in this robbery, son?”