Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (20 page)

She closed the front door behind her to keep Cleo from escaping. Heading in the direction of Stephen’s house, she told herself, “I’m not interfering in Daniels’ case. I’m just checking on a neighbor.”

Or at least, that’s what she would tell the agent if he caught her peeking in her neighbor’s windows.

She walked up the driveway, eyes and ears alert for any movement. Climbing the stairs to his front door, she rang the doorbell. She muttered to herself, “Please be home. Please tell me something more that will lead us to John.”

The house remained dark and quiet, so she pounded on the door. Still no sign of life. She went back down the front stoop and walked to the side of the house. Jo pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over her head to cover the bright copper of her hair and looked up and down the street. Seeing no one about, she shoved aside the tall rhododendron bushes which crowded the den windows, and climbed behind them. The branches tugged at her clothes and she felt a scrap against her cheek. Jo stood on tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse inside.

The room was dark, except for a small night light which illuminated the far corner. A dog bed and chew toy sat next to a recliner, but she didn’t see the dog.
Must’ve taken Max somewhere with him.

She crept along the house until she came to a six-foot fence that lined the perimeter of the backyard. The gate was closed. She noticed the wood of the fence was raw, not yet painted. She realized it had been recently installed and was certain the elderly widow who lived here before did not have a fence. Jo whispered to herself. “Awfully tall fence, just to keep in a little dog. Wonder why Stephen needs so much privacy.”

As she pulled on the latch of the gate, she knew she was definitely crossing the line. She would have a hard time convincing Agent Daniels and Tom that she was merely checking on an absent neighbor’s well being by entering his private back yard. And she knew she was about to trespass. If an ordinary citizen were to do this, they could claim they were just worried about a neighbor, making sure they were okay. But an FBI agent? It was clearly an unlawful search. Between the wine she had consumed and her concern about John, she had moved way past caring what would happen to her career if she were caught.

The new gate opened with a squeak, making Jo’s heart pound. The evening air carried sounds far and the last thing she needed now was to alert anyone to her presence. As if collectively listening for an intruder, every other night sound halted. Jo held her breath, waiting for a house light to turn on or a face to peek out of a window. Even friendly neighbors would ask a lot of questions about her snooping this late into the evening. They would remember she had been here, if Agent Daniels or Stephen asked later.

When the evening hum resumed, Jo stepped through the opening in the fence. The clouds hiding the moon parted and Jo caught a glimpse of the back yard. Over to the right, she saw a newly planted garden, along the fence line. The patch was large, running most of the length of the yard. The ground had been carefully tilled, but the plants had withered and weeds had crept in.

She walked along the back of the house, and leaned against the window, cupping her hands around her eyes to gaze into the kitchen. There was a light above the sink that revealed a tidy room, with lacy curtains. Jo had been inside the house a few years ago when the elderly Mrs. Matthew still lived there. Strangely, the kitchen looked pretty much the way she remembered it from before. Jo shrugged, maybe Stephen hadn’t had the time to make changes yet.

Frustrated that she hadn’t found any signs of Stephen at home, she was about to walk back through the gate when she noticed a dusty window at the ground level of the house. Jo bent over and tried to see inside, but there was no light and the room was pitch black. She straightened and walked through the gate, closing it quietly behind her.

Walking back toward her house, she felt a bit ridiculous for snooping. She had accomplished nothing and was no closer to finding John than when she got out of bed this morning.

Jo felt bone weary. The stress of John’s disappearance and her caseload was a weight slowly crushing her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept for more than an hour or two at a time. Jo longed to sink into oblivion. Anything to stop the grief that was settling around her heart the longer John remained missing.
Why hasn’t the kidnapper reached out to me, to any of us?
She was afraid the answer was one she never would be able to face.

She let herself back into her house and went from room to room, snapping off the light switches as she went. Never forgetting someone somewhere was watching her every move, she quickly washed the day’s grime from her face, brushed her teeth and then slipped into her darkened, walk-in closet to change out of her work clothes. Jo climbed into bed. The last thing she remembered as her head hit the pillow was the weight of Cleo curling up next to her on the comforter.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Turners Bend

February

No respectable groundhog would poke its head out in Iowa in February. The “cruel” month of January had morphed into another equally bitter month weather-wise. Chip’s old farmhouse was under-insulated and drafts rattled the windows. He covered them with plastic, using a hair dryer to shrink the film, making it taut. He stuffed bath towels along the bottom of the doors. He wore socks and gloves to bed. Cabin fever had set in, and he began to envy the locals who had headed south right after Christmas—the snow birds who had flown the coop.

The murder investigation seemed to have intensified, and Agent Masterson had suddenly shut Chip out. She was keeping the developments hush-hush. His only news came via Chief Fredrickson, who had discretely been keeping him abreast of the progress. The chief was not a stickler for protocol and relished sharing details to get Chip’s insights.

Chip headed to town, his Volvo’s engine complaining, the icy leather seat crackling the whole way. He made a mental note to order seat warmers on his next vehicle. He was eager for an update from the chief. Being involved in this real-life crime was providing good material for
Mind Games
.

The road ahead looked clear, but all of a sudden, he lost control of his car. It careened across the road into the oncoming lane and then into the ditch. He gripped the steering wheel and over-corrected right into a utility pole. Steam began to rise from under the hood of the car. He pushed open the driver’s side door, plowing it into a snow bank. Wading hip deep in snow he made his way to the road and retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Bars … thank God!” Chip said out loud.

“Iver, remember when you warned me about black ice? Well, I’ve just experienced it firsthand. I’m in a ditch about three miles from town out on 25.” He paused. “Yes, I’m fine but freezing cold. My car is pretty banged up.”

* * *

Within fifteen minutes Chip’s Volvo was being towed by Iver’s snowplow truck, and he and Iver were on their way to Willis Volvo in Ames.

“The first time I rode in this truck was the night I met you and Honey,” said Chip.

“Yup, that was quite a snowstorm. And Honey was one damn good dog.”

The two rode in silence for several miles, Iver with his eyes watching ahead for patches of potential black ice, and Chip staring out at the empty farm yards and desolate fields of corn stubble. Iver finally broke the silence. “Hard to remember the sweet smell of grass and the chirping of song birds, isn’t it? Spring will come, Chip, and life will emerge out of this bleakness.”

“You’re quite the philosopher, and a damn fine friend, Iver.”

“You too, buddy.”

The rumble of the truck tires lulled the two for several more miles, until Iver again spoke, trying to lighten the mood. “Your mother … she’s a pip. Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like her. That ride to your house at Christmas was non-stop yakking.”

“Yes, she’s a piece of work, all right, but I can always count on her in a pinch. She has a way of showing up right when I need her.”

“What about your dad? You don’t talk much about him.”

“We aren’t on the best of terms, haven’t been since the day I dropped out of med school and became the black sheep of our family. He and my brother, Parker, are both brilliant neurosurgeons and assholes. The two often go hand-in-hand. I don’t think he’ll ever accept who I am; I’ll never be good enough to be a Collingsworth in his eyes.”

“He’ll come around, Chip, but you have to meet him halfway. It’s never too late to mend fences … trust me, I know.”

Chip sensed there was a story there, something Iver might be willing to share with him, but they had arrived at Willis Volvo’s auto body shop.

* * *

Chip got a loaner car from the dealer in Ames and headed for the police station back in Turners Bend. He found Fredrickson in his office, clipping his fingernails. Sharon and Deputy Anderson were nowhere in sight. “Slow day in the world of police work?” Chip asked, as he took a seat, shedding his gloves, ski hat and muffler.

“Jim’s off looking for outdated license tabs and Sharon is taking her mother-in-law to the clinic in Ames. As a matter of fact, there’s been a huge break in the murder case. Seems Tracy Trent played on an intramural basketball team when she was at the University of Minnesota. The coach was asked to resign after a number of complaints from the players. There’s nothing in the official records, but a dean who was interviewed recalls it had to do with her anger control problems on the court and in the locker room. Back then it was pretty common to shove that kind of stuff under the rug. It didn’t get the media attention it would today.”

“Bingo, there’s the basketball connection. Agent Masterson must be pretty eager to track down a coach with a hot temper and an axe to grind.”

“The kicker is the coach wasn’t a guy, it was a woman. They’re looking for her, but she seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Her name is Elizabeth Brown, but the FBI likes to use code names. They’re calling her Knight Rider. Don’t know why, but maybe it has something to do with the hot-tempered Indiana basketball coach.” The chief scooped his nail clippings into his hand and tossed them into the wastepaper basket beside his desk.

“I would never have guessed the killer was a woman. Doesn’t fit the usual serial killer profile,” said Chip. “Only female serial killer I can think of is Bonnie … you know, Bonnie and Clyde. I’m having trouble visualizing this … a woman, huh?”

“The Minnesota job wasn’t the first one she lost because of her temper and coaching style. She’s got a rap sheet with three assault charges, even did some time in the Shakopee Women’s Correctional Facility up in Minnesota.”

“What about the other women on the team?” asked Chip.

The chief leaned forward and began to talk in a hushed tone. “Here’s where it gets real interesting. Tracy and the other four starters of the team are all missing.”

“Holy crap! And they didn’t put this together when it happened?”

“Two of the gals were assumed to have run away on their own accord, and the other two were thought to be abducted, one in Michigan and one in Wisconsin. They think our body is the girl from Wisconsin, but forensics hasn’t confirmed it as of yet. She’s been missing for three years. The searches in the other four locales on the map have intensified. FBI agents are now aiding the local guys. I suspect they’ll find the other bodies here in Iowa soon, and one of them will be Tracy Trent. Just think, she has been missing for five years and all the time her body was hidden somewhere around here.”

Chip’s mind began to race as he tried to put everything together. “Are there any women who drive milk delivery trucks in this area?”

“Not one. The milk delivery forms I received are probably a false lead, just some paper the killer had handy. Masterson isn’t totally dismissing it, but it’s not likely to lead us to the killer.”

“What about the blue swatches?”

The chief laughed. “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you? This is where the plot really thickens, but I don’t know if I should be sharing this with you. Masterson would have my hide if she knew.”

“Masterson doesn’t need to know. Come on, Chief, don’t mess with me.”

The chief pulled a copy of a photograph from a file on his desk and passed it to Chip. “Tracy’s mother found this snapshot of the team wearing blue jerseys. The girls might have hung on to them after college, maybe wore them to work out in or something. Or, maybe Elizabeth Brown kept a jersey and cut it into five pieces.”

The chief slid the photo back into the file. “Only the Michigan abduction is recent, just two months before we found the first body, all the others go back a few years. Our killer finally located the last of the starting five, it seems. Guess the authorities never linked them together because of the time and geography spans or maybe it was just plain shoddy investigative work. To be safe, they’re contacting all the other team members to tell them they could be in danger. Masterson is also trying to locate others who were in the athletic department about that time, coaches and administrators.”

“From the message you got it doesn’t look like the killer is going to stop with the five. What kind of psycho is she?”

* * *

Chip left the police station deep in thought about the mental state of the killer and headed back to his loaner car outside of the Bun. He couldn’t imagine such extreme revenge and such persistence over the years to find and kill her accusers. As he walked back to the Bun, he saw Ingrid enter her mother’s veterinary clinic. She was wearing a Prairie Dogs warm-up jacket. The blue color of the jacket, coupled with the news he had just heard, gave him a foreboding feeling. He changed his destination and entered the animal clinic.

Mabel was at her front desk, stitching sequins on a piece of emerald green satin. “Hi Chip, I know this doesn’t look very professional, but I’ve got to finish this dress for Flora. The premiere is less than a month away. Jane and Ingrid are in the treatment room. You can go in. We don’t have any patients right now.”