Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (18 page)

He was glum. Jane was taking her mother and kids to San Diego to visit her brother Larry, a small animal vet, for Christmas. It was snowing every other day, and Iver was working day and night plowing roads. His own days were filled with blogging and keeping up with his Facebook fan page and his website updates. He was finding it hard to concentrate on
Mind Games
and was spending way too much time thinking about the possible real life serial killer in Iowa. Working on the Bijou was the only way he could escape his troubles and worries.

He got into his car, and gunning the engine to get through the drifts in the driveway, he drove slowly into town. The bleakness of the snow-covered fields added to his melancholy.

All the regular volunteers were busy with holiday preparations; he had the theater to himself. The restoration cheered him a bit. A mechanic from the farm equipment store had fixed the popcorn machine. It was ready to pop Iowa’s best corn and top it with real butter, none of that fake stuff for the Bijou. The marquee had been returned to its former state, and Sven had a crew lined up for the installation. The glass poster cases had been repaired and were already mounted out front. Best of all was the discovery of beautiful mahogany wooden chairs with flip-up seats under the old, deteriorated cushions. The committee decided to cancel the order for upholstery fabric and refinish the wood, a project which required the sanding, staining and varnishing of 125 chairs.

Chip got out a can of stain and began on the chairs that had already been sanded. It gave him pleasure to see the stain bring out the dark grain of the wood. He was sitting back admiring his work when Chief Fredrickson appeared.

“You alone today, Chip?”

“Yes, I guess everyone has more important things to do this week.”

The chief flipped down one of the unfinished seats and sat down. “Got a call from Masterson today and they found something. There were some fibers in all the evidence Jim bagged in the prop room. They match one of the five fabric samples. She’s proceeding under the assumption each piece of fabric belongs to a victim. She is trying to match one of the pieces of blue cloth to Tracy Trent. Pretty tough after five years to find out if Tracy owned any clothing to match. They do think she might have been on her way to Iowa City Fitness the morning she went missing, and the swatch could be some kind of jersey or gym shorts or maybe a warm-up jacket. If so, we could identify one of the victims.”

Chip wiped his hands on a rag. “I hate to say this, but I almost wish you would get another communication from the killer. I wonder why they are coming to you, instead of the FBI.”

“My guess is that we were the ones to find the first body. Or, maybe our killer knows me or lives around here.” The chief rose, picked up a hand sander and plugged it into a wall socket.

“That thought’s enough to make a guy plenty nervous,” said Chip.

“Damn right.” The chief switched on the sander and the two worked side-by-side, each lulled by the grinding buzz of the sander.

* * *

During the night of December 23rd it snowed again. It did not just snow; it was a full-out blizzard with wicked winds and below zero temperatures. Chip tried to clear a small patch in the yard for the dogs to do their business, but it kept filling up with snow. He heard the rumble of a snow plow. It was Iver.

He went to the window and began to scrape away the frost so he could peer outside. Sure enough it was Iver. His passenger, who resembled a grizzly bear, was dressed in a huge fur coat and matching hat. Iver followed the bear-like figure, carrying two Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bags, as they exited the plow and began trudging toward the house. Chip thought it could only be one person … his mother.

As they entered, the wind caught the back door and slammed it against the house. Snow blew into the kitchen, delighting Runt and causing Callie to run for cover.

“Well, I must say, that was an adventure,” said Maribelle Collingsworth. “Frightened me more than our cruise down the Amazon in ‘82. Now let’s get this food in the refrigerator, and Iver, dear, those presents can go under the tree. Do you have wine glasses? I certainly could do with a drink.” Maribelle pulled a shivering puppy out of her large tote bag. “It’s okay, Sugar, you’re safe now.”

“Mother, how did you and Colette get here? With the storm and …”

“Charles, you know when I decide to do something, I can make it happen. Iver, of course, was instrumental in the last leg. I just couldn’t let you be alone with a sick dog over the holidays. Now, you get some coffee going for Iver, while I heat him the oyster stew I brought.”

Iver hadn’t attempted an explanation. He sat in a kitchen chair with a fur-lined hat on his head, the flaps still down over his ears. He smiled at Chip and shook his head from side to side.

Maribelle was in her full take-charge mode. In the past her behavior, as well as her fake southern accent, had alternatively embarrassed and irritated Chip, but he was surprisingly glad to see her and to let her order him around.
I may be forty-seven years old, but I’m not too old to let my mother take care of me once in a while.

Honey rose from her bed by the radiator, walked over to sniff Collette and began to wag her tail, welcoming her daughter. Collette wagged in return. The three adults said “aah” in unison. Collette, like her sisters and brothers, was part golden retriever and part who-knows-what, but the dogs were cute as heck.

“How are you doing with your next book, Charles?” asked Maribelle, as she rummaged through the cupboards. “Heavens, what do you eat? Don’t you have any decent crackers for my stew?”

“I’ve got a few saltines, that’s all. And to your question about my book, my FBI agent has her hands full of crimes and her romantic life is in turmoil.”

“Speaking of romance, how is Jane? Not that I’m the kind of mother to meddle, but …”

Chip thought about all of the meddling women in his life: Lucinda, Flora and now his mother. At this moment, the only person he wanted to talk to was Jane.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mind Games

St. Paul & Brooklyn Center, Minnesota

Early August

Frisco and Jo walked out into the parking lot of the BCA together. White, cottony clouds dotted the cornflower blue sky. When they reached her car, Jo brushed the curls away from her face as she dug in her purse for the keys.

Frisco said, “So, what’s going on with you today? I can tell something’s rattling around in that brilliant brain of yours, and I get the feeling it has nothing to do with our case.”

Jo looked into Frisco’s eyes and saw the concern. She wanted to brush him off, to tell him he was imagining things, but he hadn’t become a detective without having a keen sense of observation. She took a deep breath and said, “It’s John …” She stopped, not sure where to begin her explanation.

“Still haven’t heard from him, huh?” Frisco said with a frown.

Jo blinked, at first assuming he had somehow found out John was missing. However, the lack of panic on Frisco’s face made her realize he was still referring to her relationship with John being rocky. She relaxed a fraction. Jo hated not being entirely truthful with Frisco, but one person had to have their focus entirely on the Freemont/McDonald cases, and it certainly wasn’t going to be her.

Jo shook her head. Her voice cracked when she said, “I’m pretty worried.”
At least that part isn’t a lie.
Even though she didn’t want to distract Frisco with John’s disappearance, talking to him relieved some of the tightness in her chest.

Frisco reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “He’ll show up. I have faith in him.”

Jo bit her lower lip until she had her emotions under control again. Finally she nodded. “Me, too. Thanks, Frisco. You are definitely one of the good guys.” She unlocked her SUV and said, “Now, let’s figure out who’s related to our mitochondrial DNA match Robert Clarence Bishop and see if we can’t solve this case.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Meet you at your office.”

* * *

Frisco and Jo sat shoulder to shoulder in Jo’s cubicle, sifting through various databases, including birth and death certificates, and criminal records on her laptop. Three hours later, they discovered Bishop had an older brother and two younger sisters. They were all born in the Baltimore area, but their father was listed as unknown. Their mother, Karen, had committed suicide a couple of decades ago, after a long battle with alcoholism. Robert had been shuffled from one relative to the other, until he finally did his first stint in prison at the age of nineteen. It had been all downhill from there.

Thomas, the older brother, evidently had risen above his rough beginnings and was a successful stockbroker on Wall Street. According to property tax records, he lived in a mega-mansion in Connecticut with his wife.

Of Bishop’s sisters, Sarah had a brief career as a prostitute until she cleaned up her act and started a shelter for runaways. The youngest sister, Michelle, had led a surprisingly normal life with a Washington, D.C. couple who adopted her when she was four. However, in the middle of her junior year at the University of Maryland, all records of her existence completely disappeared.

Jo did a quick search on the Internet for Michelle, but nothing popped up. “Very strange. She makes the Dean’s list every semester and then, out of the blue, she drops out of college. From there, she goes completely off the grid.”

Frisco rubbed his chin and Jo could hear the rasp of his whiskers. Jo glanced at the clock in the corner of her computer screen. She hadn’t realized it had gotten so late in the afternoon. “And no missing person reports were filed?” Frisco said.

Jo clicked away at the keyboard. Finally, she said, “Nope. Nothing at all. You would think the school or her parents would have been looking for her. I’m going to call our Baltimore office and see if they can drop in on her adoptive parents.”

Frisco nodded and said, “In the meantime, I’ll take a closer look at the family’s history, along with old Robert’s criminal records, both here and in Maryland. Maybe Michelle’s big, bad brother had something to do with her disappearance.”

Jo thought for a moment. “Good idea. And I’ll dig around in the other siblings’ lives a little bit, too. Just because they aren’t in the system, doesn’t mean they haven’t been up to something they shouldn’t be.”

Frisco grinned. “Feels good to have some leads to follow for a change, doesn’t it?”

Jo felt her lips curve upward. “Oh, yeah.”

* * *

Jo was picking out her dinner from the vending machines down the hall from her office when the call came. Her heart began a rapid staccato when she saw the caller was Agent Mark Daniels. “Tell me you found him.”

Mark sounded exhausted when he replied, “No, not yet. We’ve had no luck reaching your neighbor. We stopped by his house, banged on the doors, but the guy hasn’t been home all day. We’ll keep trying.”

Jo couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Did you try reaching him at work?”

“Well, we ran into another snag there. There are no Minnesota tax records for Stephen Paulson, so we’re checking the IRS and Social Security data bases.”

Jo’s stomach fell. “So, our only witness has disappeared into the wind.”

“For now, Jo. I’m not giving up on finding him. Guy’s probably going to show up, sooner or later.” Daniels paused, and then he said, “We found something at your house, though.”

Jo was intrigued. The agent sounded mysterious, and he was much more civil than the last time they spoke. “Fingerprints?”

“Yes, but all of them belong to either you or John. Not surprising, since you two have been seeing each other. But, no others. The odd thing about it is that it appears your front door knob and several other surfaces in your home have been wiped completely clean of prints.”

The tightness in Jo’s chest was back. “Only people with something to hide wipe away their prints.”

Daniels response was quiet. “Yup. However, that’s not what I meant when I said we found something at your house. Or, rather,
somethings
. Did you know that your house was wired?”

Jo’s eyes widened. “Wired? As in, bugged?”

“Wired, as in set up for sound and video. We suspect it’s throughout the entire house.”

Jo couldn’t take a deep breath for a moment. When she found her voice, she said, “Wha … what are you telling me?” She couldn’t quite get her head around this new piece of information. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Good question. What I need to know is, do you want us to shut it all down, or …”

Jo interrupted, and she could hear the anger in her voice, “Of course, I want it shut down! What kind of perverted question …”

In a patient, deliberate tone, Daniels said, “What I was going to say is, maybe we should leave it up and running. At least for the short-term. We could play him for awhile. He might reveal himself.”

The thought of living in her house, full of recording devices, made her skin crawl. However, she saw that Daniels had a point. “You mean, put on an act to draw him out.”

“Something along those lines.”

Jo’s mind buzzed with what he was asking of her. She put off answering his question and asked one of her own. “You said you suspect the entire house is wired. Does that mean you don’t know for sure?”

“No. When we found the first device, we immediately stopped looking for more. If the guy who set up all this equipment was watching, then he would know we were on to him. We found the first gadget by mistake, and the tech was low-key about it, so I think we’re good.” He hesitated, and then restated his earlier question. “So, Jo. Are you game?”

She knew immediately she would do anything, put up with anything if it meant finding John.

And then, before she answered him, it hit her.
John’s disappearance is tied to someone who was spying on ME!
She felt her knees go weak and she sat on the floor to steady herself.

Why would anyone spy on me?

And, how could I not have known?