Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (10 page)

Amy, Chip and the film crew walked down to the Bijou with shoulders hunched and hands in their pockets. Lucinda was waiting inside the theater. She removed her fur coat to reveal a skintight black dress. On her shoulder was a huge ruby-encrusted brooch, the color of her cherry-red lipstick. To Chip she looked oddly overdressed for a morning show, especially in comparison to Amy, who had removed her coat to reveal a pale blue sweater set and navy skirt.

While the crew quickly set up the equipment, Amy explained, “First Vince is going to film the lobby and theater while I describe the renovation and the crime recently discovered here in a voice-over. Then the three of us will sit in the theater seats, and I’ll conduct the interview. Remember we’ll be editing down the shoot to a four-minute segment to be aired on Friday’s show.”

The filming got underway, and Chip was pleased Amy had done her research on the theater, giving him a nice shout-out for his work on the renovation and also mentioning Sven as the initiator of the project. When she was finished they moved to the theater’s seating section and arranged themselves for the interview.

“Today I’m here in Turners Bend, Iowa, with crime writer Charles Collingsworth and his New York literary agent, Lucinda Patterson. Charles, can you tell us about your next Dr. Goodman book?”

“
Brain Freeze
takes place in Two Harbors, Minnesota. Dr. Goodman teams up with Jo Schwann, a beautiful FBI agent, to solve a crime. It’s due to be released in December. Actually Jo, rather than Dr. Goodman, is the main character. I found I like writing from her point of view. I’m now working on the third book in the series.”

“I understand your grandfather, father, and brother are all neurosurgeons. How did you end up becoming a writer instead of a physician?”

Chip had not anticipated this question and hesitated before stammering his response. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. Let me just say I am happy where I am and with what I’m doing. Medicine just wasn’t in the cards for me.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow and said, “I see … touchy subject it seems.” She turned her attention to Lucinda.

“Ms. Patterson, you were instrumental in selling
The Cranium Killer
to the famous movie producer, Howard Glasser. How did you persuade him to buy the copyrights, and what do you think about the casting?”

“Glasser is a brilliant producer and a risk-taker. It wasn’t difficult to convince him of the book’s cinematic potential. I suggested several actors for the role of Dr. Goodman, and he did the rest. I think movie-goers will be thrilled with the results.”

Amy switched back to Chip. “I’ve heard suggestions the body found in this theater last month was a hoax, just a PR stunt to promote your books. What do you have to say about that? Is there any validity to the claim, Charles?”

Chip was stunned and angered by the question. “Absolutely not! I can’t imagine where you heard that. I’d never stoop to anything so foolish or outrageous. The death of that young woman is a real crime, not a fictional one.”

“But isn’t it true you started the rumor that it was the remains of Tracy Trent, a rumor that was subsequently denounced by the FBI?”

Lucinda jumped into the fray. “Certainly not. I can assure you we would never be involved in such sleazy tactics. This is an outrage.”

Amy turned to look directly into Vince’s camera. “Unfortunately we’re running short on time, but
Good Day USA
will be following the outcome of this criminal investigation and also reviewing
The Cranium Killer
when the movie is released in March. Until then, this is Amy Chang, reporting from Turners Bend, Iowa.”

Vince stopped filming and the crew began to pack up their equipment. Chip was at a loss for words. The congenial Amy Chang of the previous evening had turned into a viper in the grass, complete with venom. He felt violated and deeply regretted the consent form he had signed prior to filming.

“Sorry about that,” said Amy. “TV journalism is a pulverize or perish business. If I don’t report something sensational or badger an interviewee, our ratings fall. I hope you understand.”

“I’d call it cut-throat, but I understand it’s all part of the game, and two can play this game,” said Lucinda. “You can watch for my rebuttal on your rival networks soon.” She put on her sable coat, lifted her head and walked out of the theater with a malicious smile on her face.

As the
Good Day USA
van pulled out of Turners Bend, Chip watched it move down Main Street and wished he had poured molasses into the gas tank.

“I need a cup of coffee and a word with you, Lucinda. You can expense it like you do everything else.”

He took hold of her arm and swiftly moved her along to the Bun. They took the remaining clean table. The crowd had dissipated, leaving Bernice to clean up the mess. She approached the table to take their order. “Sorry, Chip, we’re wiped out of every pastry in the place, but I can brew a fresh pot of coffee. This has been a bumper day. Who would have thought we’d have Amy Chang reporting right outside of the café?”

“I’ll have a Skinny Vanilla Latte,” said Lucinda.

“Then I’ll give you driving directions to the Starbucks in Ames,” replied Bernice. “We’ve got regular or decaf, and the cream and sugar are on the table.”

“Ah, just the kind of service I would expect in this place,” snapped Lucinda.

“Give us two regulars, Bernice,” said Chip. Christ, first a catfight with Amy Chang; now one with Bernice.

Bernice returned with two mugs of coffee and plopped one down in front of Lucinda, not bothering to apologize for spilling some on the table.

“I thought the interview went quite well, didn’t you, Chip?” asked Lucinda.

“Are you kidding me? It was practically slanderous. Where did she come up with that hoax stuff? I certainly didn’t expect a tabloid-style interview. And you, you turned it into a pissing match.”

“You’re overreacting. This is going to stir up a lot of interest in you, just wait and see. By the way, I think I’ll stick around for a few days.”

“Here? In Turners Bend? I thought you despised this ‘vile’ place,” said Chip, indicating quotation marks with his fingers.

“Well, Lance has this wonderful little idea of having an old-fashioned barn dance at his place for Halloween, and I offered to help with the decorations. He’s such a darling, how could I refuse?”

“Lucinda, the guy’s a womanizer. You, of all people, should be able to smell a skunk when he lifts his tail.”

“I think you’re just jealous of him. He’s going to grow organic vegetables. He’s truly concerned about the environment and eating healthy food and being an authentic person, instead of a corporate drone.”

“Since when do you care about any of that rot?”

“I’m sure I’ll love eating his organic vegetables,” she said, lifting her nose and sniffing.

Her haughtiness irritated Chip to no end. “Right, along with your Skinny Vanilla Lattes,” he snapped.

Chapter Fourteen

Mind Games

St. Paul, Minnesota

Late July

Jo Schwann had to pull out her credentials to secure a spot in the parking lot of the
Pioneer Press
headquarters. Every news team in the Twin Cities was already represented by a van full of equipment and impatient reporters, clamoring to get the story about the death of one of their own. The eight-story limestone building, located in downtown St. Paul just a few blocks from the Mississippi riverfront, still looked more like the former insurance company headquarters that it was, rather than a newspaper office.

As Jo moved toward the set of steps leading into the building, she felt her shoulder muscles tightening. Throngs of reporters closed in on her like a swarm of bees, and everywhere she turned a microphone was shoved in her face. Their voices all blended together in their rush to beat their competitors to the story. Jo heard variations of, “Agent Schwann, is it true Annie McDonald and State Representative Freemont were murdered by the same person?” repeated as she moved up the staircase. Jo’s head began to throb as she answered, “No comment” over and over again.

Muscling her way through, she looked up to see Marjorie Payne at the top of the steps near the building entrance. Jo sighed. Solving a major murder case was difficult in the best of circumstances, but reporters like Ms. Payne made her job twice as complicated.

Marjorie Payne wore her trademark red suit and high heels. “Ms. Schwann. Is it true that ultra-conservatives all over the Twin Cities are being targeted by a madman?”

Jo was shocked at the audacity of the question. Careless news reporting such as this could lead to panic and, quite possibly, create a copycat murderer. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the red slash of lipstick across the reporter’s mouth. Through gritted teeth, Jo said, “Ms. Payne, I will not comment on such wild speculation.”

Jo turned away from the woman and had just reached for the brass door handle when she heard Marjorie speak again. “Any plans to bring Dr. John Goodman in as a consultant?”

Jo twisted around and struggled to keep her voice level as she replied, “I wasn’t aware there was a need for a neurosurgeon’s expertise. Maybe you’ve already solved the case for me. If so, I congratulate you.”

“But you two are dating, isn’t that true?” The reporter’s eyes had become cat-like and her smile was all-knowing. Jo wondered what else she knew.

“Where did you hear that?” Jo hated hearing the high pitch of her own voice. She took a deep breath and managed to speak in a lower tone. “I have a case to attend to, Ms. Payne, if you’ll excuse me.” Jo grabbed the handle of the door once again, desperate to get away from the reporter.

She heard Marjorie say, “Or maybe there’s trouble in paradise. Must be hard to carry on a relationship, long distance, two high-powered careers and all that.”

Jo whirled around and stared at the reporter. It took every bit of her self-control not to hit the woman. “Good day, Ms. Payne.” She pulled open the door with more force than was necessary and it slammed into the side of the building as she strode inside.

A policeman in the lobby directed her to the third floor, where the body of Annie McDonald had been discovered. She skipped the elevator and took the steps instead, giving her a moment to calm down. She mumbled to herself, “Damn that woman.” Jo was shaken by the fact the reporter had guessed their relationship was in trouble. The thought depressed her.
Maybe everyone can see we aren’t meant to be together.

* * *

Jo caught Frisco’s eye, just as he was talking to a pale, skinny young man of about twenty-five with thinning hair. The detective wrote down a few notes, and then let the man go.

Frisco waved Jo over and she met him by a window. “Hey, Frisco. This is getting to be a habit with us.”

“You got that right. Jeez. Haven’t been this busy with dead bodies since the NeuroDynamics case.”

Jo pointed at the young man standing in the corner, who couldn’t seem to stop jiggling his leg. “What’s his story?”

“Him? He’s the poor bastard who found the body. Says they’ve never worked together. I gather Annie McDonald works from home, but he knew her by reputation around the office. He came in early to write up his story on the death of State Representative Freemont. Ironic, huh? He comes in here to write one story and finds another.”

“The guy looks pretty messed up. Get any details from him?”

Frisco shook his head. “Not much. He went to start up the coffee machine and tripped over the body before he got a chance to flip the light switch. Unfortunately, he managed to mangle the crime scene when he was struggling to get away from the body. Guy was so shook up I had a hard time getting much of a statement, but my gut says he’s told me all he knows.”

Jo gave the guy one last look. The young reporter had stopped shaking his leg and now repeatedly scuffed the top of one shoe with the sole of the other, as if he was trying to rub off a stubborn spot. He would probably spend some time on a therapist’s couch in the near future. She looked around the room. “Anyone else know anything?”

Frisco ran his hand through his hair. “Gotta tell you, I’ve never read the woman’s articles, but the scuttlebutt around here says there are an awful lot of people who hated McDonald. Might be easier to figure out who wouldn’t want to shut her up permanently.”

“I’ve read her op-ed pieces. She never pulled her punches, that’s for damned sure. Extreme right-wing, with a dollop of religious overtones.” Jo looked around to where the ME was crouched down over the body. She snapped on a pair of gloves and followed Frisco to the sprawled-out body of the journalist.

ME Carole Miller looked up from the latest victim. The dark circles under her eyes looked like she hadn’t slept much more than Jo the previous night. “Twice in twenty-four hours is too often to see you, Agent Schwann, at least under these circumstances.”

“You’ll get no argument from me. What have you discovered so far?”

“This is not the original crime scene, I can tell you that. There was some blood, but not like you would expect from this kind of gunshot wound.”

Frisco paused from his note-taking and asked another question. “Any idea on time of death?”

“I’d say at least thirty-six to forty-eight hours ago. Rigor mortis has come and gone.”

Frisco flipped through his notes, a frown on his face. “Another indicator the body must’ve been moved. When I talked to the witness and the editor of the paper, they said there’ve been people in and out of this room every day since the weekend. That means the body was obviously dumped here in the last twenty-four hours.”

Jo spoke up, “So, where has the body been stored up to now?”

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question now, isn’t it? Maybe trace will turn up something.”

Jo turned to the ME again. “Lividity give us anything?”

Carole gently turned the body to its side. She lifted the woman’s shirt to show them the dark purple splotches covering the back of the neck. “The vic bled out lying on her back. Given it was a shotgun blast to the face, I would guess she was lying prone when she was killed.”