Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (12 page)

The detective reached for the ketchup and squirted it on his entire remaining order of fries. He dug in with his fingers and clearly relished the results. Once he polished off the order, he pointed to her burger and said, “Aren’t you gonna eat that?”

Jo looked at the plate in front of her. She lifted the burger to her mouth and took a bite that would make Frisco proud. Warm Swiss cheese oozed in her mouth, and this time, it tasted every bit as good as the first time she’d tried a Juicy Lucy.

“That’s more like it,” Frisco said. He finished up the rest of his sandwich and asked, “So, what do you make of these cases?”

Jo’s head whirled at the abrupt change of subject. She guessed he’d given out all the advice he was going to. She was startled to realize she felt better. Jo may not have made any decisions about her relationship with John, but at least her perspective, put in Frisco’s simple terms, gave her hope.

* * *

As Frisco put back his wallet after paying his share of the tab, Jo’s cell phone buzzed on the tabletop.

It was Dr. Miller, the ME. “I’ve finished the autopsy of State Rep. Freemont. I was wondering if you and Frisco would like to swing by in about thirty minutes and go through my findings. That work for you?”

“Sure, see you then,” Jo replied.

Clicking off the phone call, Jo glanced at her watch and said to Frisco, “That was the ME. We’re scheduled to review the results on Freemont in half an hour. Ready to go?”

Frisco swallowed the last of his Coke. “Yup. She give you any hints about finding anything unusual?”

“I think she wants to surprise us.”

* * *

They drove to the Ramsey County Medical Examiner’s office on University Avenue in St. Paul. Jo thought it was fitting that the ME’s office was located just a few blocks east of the Minnesota Capitol building.
At least Representative Freemont isn’t far from his beloved workplace.
Jo and Frisco walked into the low, red brick building that looked more like a doctor’s clinic than a place where the dead received their final examinations.

It was cool inside the building and Jo shivered. After checking in at the information desk, Frisco led the way to the large autopsy suite at the end of the hallway. Carole Miller greeted them at the entrance, a frown evident on her faintly-lined face.

The autopsy suite was large, with white walls changing to turquoise-colored tiles about three-quarters of the way up toward the ceiling. A stainless steel cabinet and sink dominated one end of the room with hoses and equipment neatly in place. Carole led them to the figure draped in sheeting on top of the wheeled autopsy table in the center of the room.

Dr. Miller lifted the sheet and began her assessment. “Cause of death was a perforating gunshot wound to the mouth.”

Frisco raised one eyebrow and interrupted, “Perforating. So, meaning there is an exit wound. Is that normal for a shotgun blast? I thought all the buckshot tended to scatter inside the body.”

Carole replied, “In this case, the gun was in such close proximity to the jaw that the buckshot blasted all the way through the back of the skull.”

“How come we didn’t catch that at the crime scene?” Frisco questioned.

“The buckshot that exited the wounds in the back of the head would have been left at the original crime scene.”

She carefully lifted the victim’s head and turned it so they could see the back of the skull and continued. “Additionally, the victim’s hair covered the exit wounds and there was very little dried blood around the area. I found several fibers in and around the injuries that may indicate the head was wrapped in absorbent fabric in order to transport the body to the Capitol with minimal blood trace. Therefore, the wounds were more difficult to observe. I’ve passed the fibers onto the BCA for further review.”

Dr. Miller ran through the specifics of her findings and then said, “The autopsy supports your conclusion that this was a hard-contact wound, since I discovered particles of soot and unburnt powder in the wound track.”

She concluded by saying, “I found no other evidence of trauma on the body. Other than minor signs of osteoarthritis around the cartilage surrounding his knees, he was in excellent health for a sixty-two-year-old man.”

This time Jo interrupted, “We didn’t see any evidence of defensive wounds at the scene. Did you find anything at all to indicate he put up a fight?”

Dr. Miller frowned, “No, none at all.”

Jo thought for a moment, trying to sort out why the state representative had not struggled as someone placed the muzzle of a shotgun directly on his jaw. “Even if it was someone he knew, wouldn’t he have fought to save his life?”

The question hung in the air, as no one seemed to have an answer.

Frisco spoke up, “So, my big question is, did you find a note in the throat of State Rep. Freemont?”

The ME gave a small, mysterious smile. “Not in the throat, no. But, when I examined the contents of the stomach, I found this.” She held up a plastic evidence bag.

The ME handed it to Jo. She studied the contents of the bag for a moment, feeling a combination of excitement and dread at the same time. Jo said, “Another slip of paper with typing on it, like the one we found in the journalist’s mouth. I can’t make out all the words. Looks like the stomach acids did a number on it.”

Jo took the note over to a magnifying glass on the ME’s countertop. “Looks like ‘folly of his heart.’ Wasn’t that part of Freemont’s speech when he recently condemned a senator caught cheating on his wife?”

Carole Miller chimed in, “It’s from Proverbs. It says, ‘But he that is an adulterer, for the folly of his heart shall destroy his own soul.’”

“The ME knows her bible,” Frisco said with a smile.

“If Freemont was an adulterer, then who wanted revenge bad enough to kill him?”Jo said.

Chapter Seventeen

Turners Bend

Halloween

Writing about burgers and fries had at first made Chip hungry for Five Guys—his favorite hamburger joint in his old neighborhood in Baltimore. He could almost taste the bacon cheeseburger loaded with grilled onions and the spicy Cajun fries. When he switched his attention to a web search for photos of bullet wounds, he lost his appetite. He had learned with his first book, however, his readers love gory details, so he did not hold back on the details, like the plastic bag of stomach contents or the description of the bullet’s path through the victim’s head.

He turned his attention away from his writing and sought out his pets. Honey and Runt were keeping vigil over Callie. They occasionally sniffed her as she curled up on Chip’s ratty old terrycloth robe. He had put the robe in a shallow box and placed the box in the kitchen near the radiator to keep her warm. He hand fed her and carried her to her litter box. Her surgery had been tough on all of them. Jane labeled him a “mother hen,” but he didn’t care. Callie obviously needed his post-op TLC.

Chip was continually astounded at the intellect and range of emotions displayed by his pets. He was sorry that it took him forty-seven years to realize he should have had more pets and fewer wives. Mary, his first wife, had refused any alimony, but Erica and Bambi were sucking him drier than Death Valley. He just received another letter from Bambi’s lawyer making more claims on his earnings.

That woman was a piece of work. How stupid could he have been to fall for a pair of super-sized boob implants? It was a Catch 22, the more money he made or she thought he was making, the more her lawyer demanded.

He sat in a kitchen chair staring at the copy of the mysterious diagram on his refrigerator door. He concluded that each “X” must mark the spot, but the spot for what? And what did the shape represent? Did it have to do with the murdered girl or was it some other kind of message? Nothing was clicking for him. He had positioned the form vertically. He re-taped it horizontally and stared at it some more. Still nothing.

He looked at the clock. It was time for him to get ready for Lance’s barn dance. He didn’t want to go but couldn’t think of a good excuse for not attending. He had tried to weasel out of it, claiming a sick cat. Even he knew that was pretty lame, and it only resulted in lots of teasing down at the Bun. The problem wasn’t that he had never square danced in his life, which he hadn’t … the problem was the Lance-Lucinda-Jane dilemma.

He called Jane’s cell phone. “Hi Jane, just checking to see if you need a lift out to Lance’s place.”

When she answered there was lots of noise in the background, and she had to shout to be heard. “I’m already here. I came early to help with the food. Get your rear out here and man the theater donation table. Stop dawdling. This is going to be a fabulous fundraiser. Lance has done a bang-up job. Wait till you see it.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there soon.” He was getting sick of hearing Lance this and Lance that. Next thing he knew, Lance would be walking on water.

* * *

Lance owned the old Nelson place, a 360-acre dairy farm twenty miles west of town. Oscar Nelson had died in the tornado that hit Turners Bend the previous spring. The farm was auctioned off and no one came close to Lance’s bid. The locals called him a city slicker and speculated the only thing he knew about organic farming was what he read on the Internet. There was a betting pool at the Bend guessing how long he would last. Nevertheless, it hadn’t stopped all the naysayers from showing up for the barn dance.

When Chip approached the farm, the pasture was full of pickups and the barn was ablaze with lights. There were strings of lights hanging from all the trees surrounding the farmhouse. The yard was scattered with grinning Jack O’ Lanterns with candles glowing through their grotesque features. Ghosts and bats swung from tree branches. He could hear fiddle music and laughter from inside the barn.

Lucinda came out to greet him. She was wearing a short swing skirt and a western-style shirt. The shirt, with its top three buttons undone, looked two sizes too small, and Lucinda’s ample bosoms were bursting forth like a pair of ripe melons.
Real deal, not fake
, he thought. To complete the outfit she was wearing tooled, red leather cowboy boots and a white cowboy hat.

“It’s about time you got here. Lance has been looking for you. This is just so exciting. I’ve never had so much fun. Lance contacted the Central Iowa Square Dance Association and managed to get the Barn Owl Band and Hoot Jamison, the best caller in the area. Lance is going to teach me how to do-si-do and allemande right. Isn’t he adorable?”

“Who are you kidding, Lucinda? What’s with all this gushing sweetness? Where is the broad who can peel paper off the walls with her caustic remarks? I miss her.”

“Lance has changed all that. I’m a new woman. I’m in love.”

Chip groaned and mocked Lucinda’s voice. “Lance, Lance, Lance.”

She ignored him, took his arm and hauled him into the barn. “Come on, don’t be such a jerk.”

Chip had to admit to himself that the barn was pretty amazing. It had been transformed into the set of an old Broadway musical, maybe
Oklahoma
or
State Fair
. It definitely had a 1950s feel. Bales of hay were arranged for sitting. A long table brimming with food ran along one side. Jane was behind the table serving slabs of ribs dripping with barbecue sauce and crispy fried chicken.

“What’s that wonderful smell?”

“Oh, it’s the mulling spices from the hot cider. Or you could have cold beer, the kegs are over there in the tubs of ice,” Lucinda said.

“What are all those kids doing over there?” Chip pointed to a group of children kneeling around a huge sawed-off barrel in one of the empty cattle stalls.

“They’re bobbing for apples. Each child who gets an apple can bring it to the prize booth for a Halloween treat bag.”

“I remember doing that once as a kid. It freaked out my mother, who was always cautious about communal germs.” He watched the children dressed in homemade costumes reminiscent of the era … hobos, gypsies, cowboys and clowns. He recognized a Lone Ranger and a Little Orphan Annie. The Andrews twins were Raggedy Ann and Andy. Jessica Andrews seemed pleased with her appearance, but her brother, Justin, less so. Probably a little too cutesy for his taste.

The Barn Owl Band fiddlers were warming up, and Hoot Jamison was testing the microphone. “One, two, three, testing. Folks, we’ll be ready for the first dance in about five minutes, so find your partners.”

“I better find Lance. He promised the first dance to me,” said Lucinda.

“Guess, I’ll just mosey over to the food table and grab me some grub.”

Lucinda laughed and punched him in the arm. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of the party.” Chip watched her as she wiggled her hips seductively through the crowd.

Jane smiled at him from behind the buffet table. Her face was glowing and her blue eyes sparkled. He hadn’t seen her look so happy in months. If Lance Williams was the source of that happiness, he feared he would just have to saddle up and ride out of town into the sunset and die in the desert.

“The plates are at that end, down by the salads,” Jane said.

Chip followed Jane’s directions. He helped himself to cole slaw and potato salad and chose strawberry jello from the gem-colored array of jello salads. He took a foil-wrapped baked potato, a scoop of green bean casserole and sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. He chose a corn muffin from the basket of breads and moved down to where Jane was serving the meat.

“Ribs or chicken or both?” she asked.

“What the heck, both.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Chip. After such a difficult year here in Turners Bend, this is just what the town needed. Lance has really knocked himself out with this affair. He’ll be the new town hero.”

“Do you mean replacing me?”

“Oh, you’re still our only celebrity … well, our only author. I hope you’ll dance with me later.” She smiled coyly.

Is she flirting with me? Could this be another “Chip gets lucky” night?
Her manner cheered Chip considerably. Maybe he was still number one with Jane. He found a vacant hay bale where he sat and ate his dinner. The dancing had begun and Lucinda and Lance were just finishing dancing to a rousing “Turkey in the Straw.” Lucinda threw her arms around him, and Lance lifted her feet off the ground in a big bear hug.