Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (32 page)

The other two agents checked their weapons. Daniels replied, “As we’ll ever be.”

They crept up the front steps, and Jo saw that the door was ajar. She called out, “FBI! Come out with your hands above your head!”

Silence, except for the creak of a branch rubbing against the house. She nodded to Agent Daniels, who shoved the door open. He repeated, “FBI!”

Jo heard it then, a low sound coming from the back of the house. She entered Belinda Peterson’s house, Daniels and Falcowski one step behind her. They swept their guns from side to side, looking for a trap.

Jo moved toward the family room. There, in front of the stone fireplace, lay Detective Frisco. He was on his side, with his eyes closed. His right arm was raised above his head. She couldn’t detect any movement.

Her stomach clenched.
We’re too late …
She reached out to check his pulse and jumped when he let out a groan. Relief flooded through her. She knelt by his side. “Frisco, it’s me, Agent Schwann. Frisco, can you hear me … do you know where Wilson is?”

“He went … that way.” Frisco pointed towards the kitchen.

Jo patted Frisco’s shoulder and said, “We’ll be right back. Hang on.”

She leapt up and dashed after Daniels and Falcowski, who had already moved to the kitchen entrance. The door was wide open, but she couldn’t see past the kitchen island. Her heart thumped in her chest. This was the part of the job that felt like a roller coaster ride when the cart was at the edge of a precipice. She was plunging into fear and exhilaration all at the same time.

Falcowski called out. “Federal officers! Toss out your weapon.”

Nothing. Jo nodded and counted silently with her fingers: One. Two. Three. When they entered the kitchen, Jo walked around to the other side of the island and saw the body of Wilson. He was sprawled out on the tiled floor, with a gun in his relaxed grip. With the agents covering her, she moved forward and kicked the gun out of his hand. When he didn’t move, Jo crouched down and touched the artery on the side of his neck. Not even a thread of a pulse. Another one of Candleworth’s assassins was dead.

They went back to Frisco, and as Agent Daniels called for an ambulance, Jo looked him over for bullet wounds. She released a sigh of relief when she found none. A quick check showed that he would need some stitches and when he inhaled sharply at her touch to his side, she determined he probably had some broken ribs as well. Assuming there was no internal bleeding, it looked like the detective had gotten off easy. She helped him to the couch, where he leaned into the cushions. “Frisco, you are one lucky bastard.”

He chuckled in response, they sucked in a breath. “Don’t make me laugh. My side hurts like I got kicked by a mule. Better get a medal for this one.”

It was great to hear him joking again, even if he was in a lot of pain. “I’ll see to it. So, what happened?”

Frisco’s voice was wheezy as he spoke. “The guy … was pointing his gun at me, and … and then all of a sudden, he started screaming. Reached for his head, like it was going to come off or something. Wouldn’t stop … stop yelling. He stumbled into the kitchen and I heard a crash. Didn’t hear him anymore.” Frisco paused for a moment, shifting his weight. His face grimaced in pain.

Jo tucked some pillows behind him. She looked over at Agent Daniels. “Any ETA on that ambulance?”

“Emergency dispatch said five minutes. They’ll take him to a small hospital in Two Harbors. I’ll wait at the top of the driveway and flag them in.” He zipped up his parka and headed out the front door.

Jo turned her attention once again to the detective. “You scared us Frisco. Thought you were a goner.”

“Would take more than a … a beating to put me in the grave.” He smirked, and then winced as he sat up straighter on the couch. “Besides, couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

A week later, John and Jo stood together on the snow-covered hill. The temperature was above average for this time of winter, but the wind off Lake Superior was sharp, and it whipped Jo’s red curls around her face. Her feet were numb. She had worn a dress for this solemn occasion and her pumps provided little protection from the cold.

As Father Mike spoke, his vestments billowed beneath his parka. “We, therefore, commit the body of Belinda Carver Peterson to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”

Jo wiped the tear that slid down her cheek. It felt right that she mourn this woman whose quest to be migraine-free led her down a horrific path. Belinda’s children stood on either side of their father, clutching his hands tightly. The girl, who appeared to be about ten, flinched when the first handful of cold dirt was thrown on the casket. Her younger brother buried his tear-stained face in his father’s wool coat.

John gripped her gloved hand tightly in his own. She looked up to see him staring at the girl, his face drawn. Jo gave his hand an answering squeeze.
This is a good man.
She refused to think about the plane that was taking him back to Baltimore tomorrow. Jo refused to think about a lot of things when it came to John.
He has his life and I have mine.
She sighed.

Jo smiled as Father Mike pulled on his gold and green stocking cap with the large “G” and walked toward his Ford Focus.
All these years of living in Minnesota and he hasn’t given up his love of the Green Bay Packers.

After the family climbed into the waiting limo, John and Jo headed towards the Highlander. Hearing a shout, they turned to see Detective Frisco. They waited as he moved stiffly towards them. The bruises on his face had taken on a green and yellow hue, and pink skin puckered where the stitches in his chin had recently been removed. “Hey. Tough funeral, huh?” He faced John. “Peterson’s husband wanted me to tell you thanks for trying to save her. You did the best you could.”

John cleared his throat and looked towards the gaping hole in the ground created by the back hoe. “It wasn’t enough, though, was it?”

Jo thought about that last day at NeuroDynamics. Hard to believe that only a week had passed. It seemed like months ago. John had received approval to operate on Belinda, and he removed the microchip from her head within hours of the shootings. However, it was clear the damage was beyond even his skills, and she slipped into a coma during the procedure.

On the evening following the surgery, neither he nor Jo slept, though they were both exhausted. They lay wrapped together on the bed, not moving, not talking, each lost in their own replay of the day’s events. When they got the call a few days later that Belinda Peterson had passed away, Jo had wept bitterly in John’s arms.

Jo snapped back to the present when Frisco turned to her and spoke. He jerked his chin at the departing limo. “Good of you to keep Belinda Peterson’s name out of the papers. Not right to leave that shame to her kids.”

When she thought of her own sorrow after her father’s death, it was an easy decision to go light on the reputation of the former CFO of NeuroDynamics. Her family deserved the small amount of comfort Jo could provide. Michael Peterson was in shock and didn’t fully comprehend. His understanding of what happened to his wife ended with the microchip causing an aneurysm. Perhaps that was best, although it would be pretty hard to keep all the details from him in the days to come. News media from all over the country were already starting to swarm.

John spoke up. “So the ME reported that Wilson died of an aneurysm?”

Frisco nodded.

Jo said, “Any word yet on the location of the last test subject, Dennis Farley?”

The detective shook his head. “Nah. Gotta APB out on him. He’ll turn up one of these days. ’Sides, if he’s anything like the others, he won’t be breathing air much longer.” He looked at Jo. “How’s your investigation coming along at NeuroDynamics?”

“We’ve got about twenty agents from the Minneapolis office going through Candleworth’s offices and multiple businesses with a fine-tooth comb. We’ve found several additional victims from earlier tests of NC-15. Candleworth’s wife is claiming she didn’t know anything, but I’d bet my paycheck that she’s in on it all. We’ll see.” That was one person Jo did not intend to go light on.

Frisco spat on the ground. “Pisses me off that bastard Candleworth got off easy. Dying was too quick for him. Would’ve loved to see
him
suffer from an aneurysm first.”

John said, “I’m with you on that one.” He reached out a hand to the detective. “Detective Frisco, it’s been a pleasure.”

Frisco pumped John’s hand. “You too, Doc. Sure you can’t stick ’round? I’m sure Agent Schwann can always find stuff for you to do.” He winked at Jo.

Jo paid close attention to John’s reaction. He cleared his throat. Looking at Frisco, he quietly responded, “I’ve got responsibilities back East.” His eyes shifted to the view of Lake Superior.

The detective nodded and walked towards his car, waving over his shoulder without a glance back. He stopped when John called out, “Hey, Frisco! Can you point me in the direction of Sid’s gravesite? I’d like to pay my respects.”

Frisco motioned him over. John turned to Jo. “Want to join us?”

Jo shook her head. “There’s someone else here I need to see. I’m overdue.”

John‘s brows came together. He spoke quietly. “Would you like some company?”

“No, I need to do this on my own. You go on with Frisco to see Sid. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

John reached over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “Give your dad my best.” She watched him jog over to the detective.

She was shivering by the time she located her father’s grave. She hadn’t been to visit. The last time she was here, they were lowering his casket into the ground. Jo closed her eyes at the memory.

When she opened them again, she studied his gravestone. It was a joint marker with her mother, and it pierced her heart to look at them together. She didn’t remember much about her mother, because she died when Jo was very young. For some reason, the smell of Prell shampoo always reminded her of her mother.

She swiped the snow from the arched top of the stone. “Hi, Daddy. I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit sooner. It was just too hard.”

Jo shifted from one foot to the other. “At first I was too angry to visit. It felt like you abandoned me. I buried my anger in books and then work.”

She looked across the hill toward Lake Superior. The lift bridge and the light house could be seen in the distance. Her eyes shifted back to her father’s gravestone. “Maybe it’s this case and all the senseless loss of life, but I think I finally understand. The betrayal, the isolation you felt. I wish I could have taken some of that away for you.”

Jo swiped at a tear that had slipped down her cold cheek. “I need some advice. I’m involved with someone. You’d like him; he’s a doctor, like you. He cares deeply for people. He makes me … .happy.” She took a deep breath and looked across the cemetery to see John and Frisco standing together in front of Sid’s grave.

“The thing is, I don’t know what to do. He has a life back East and maybe I don’t belong there. If I talk him into staying here, he might end up hating me for it.”

Jo smiled to herself. “I’m probably getting ahead of myself. I’m not even sure if he
wants
me in his life. How do I tell him how I feel? I wish you were here to give me some advice. God, I miss you.”

Neither of them spoke much on the ride back to the condo. John kept thinking about Frisco’s departing words at Sid’s grave. “Minneapolis isn’t as nice as Duluth, but hell, you’d find plenty of brain work to do there. Baltimore may have the ocean, but I bet it doesn’t have another Agent Schwann.”
Good point, Detective.
Frisco didn’t miss a trick.

Caddy danced circles of joy when they walked through the door. John got down on one knee and scratched her behind the ears. “How are you, old girl? We’ve been neglecting you lately, haven’t we?” He looked up at Jo. “I’ve made the arrangements to take her home on the plane. Hope she travels all right. She’s not a young pup anymore.”

John felt odd talking about home as his house back in Baltimore. For the last couple of weeks, home was this condo, here with Jo and Caddy. For the first time in his life, he realized that home was not a place, but a person. He was filled with dread every time he thought about leaving, but Jo had given no indication that she felt the same way.
She’s probably ready to get back to her life.

John didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend. She was very guarded about her life in the Twin Cities. He tamped down the jealousy that filled him when he thought about Jo with another man.

They had been busy with the case all week and had avoided discussing the future. John had lent his technical expertise, and the FBI was grateful for his help. Jo spent most of her time at NeuroDynamics, directing the other agents as they dug deeper. They both were drained at the end of the day and usually fell asleep right after a quick dinner.

Last night, though, Jo had padded into his room and climbed naked into his bed. Even now, he could feel his body reacting to the memory of their passion. Her abandon. It felt like saying goodbye.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Jo, I …”
How do I tell her I can’t leave her?

She turned to him, tears filling her eyes. “Don’t leave.”

Her words shook him because they mimicked what he was thinking. “What are you saying?”

She spoke in a rush. “I know you’ve got responsibilities out East and that you have a life there. But … do you think maybe we could spend some time together after I wrap up this case?” Need and fear warred in her green eyes when she looked at him.

John reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her hard. She melted against him, and he thought he might never let go. His heart pounded so quickly. Surely she could feel it.

When he finally leaned away, he looked down at her. “I think we can work something out.” He brushed a loose curl from her eyes. “I’m in love with you, Jo. I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you sassed me in the car on the way to Duluth.”