Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (21 page)

When he entered the treatment room and saw Ingrid, still in the warm-up jacket, his first impulse was to grab the jacket and tell her to never wear it again. He frantically tried to think of a way to warn them without revealing information he was privy to and without arousing unnecessary fear.

“Hi, how are the Swanson women today?”

Ingrid tucked her long, red hair behind her ears and gave Chip a big smile, revealing braces. They were multi-colored; it looked like she had two bracelets running across her teeth.

“We’re so excited about the premiere,” said Ingrid. “I get to wear my first formal and tiara and see
The Cranium Killer
movie at the Bijou. Good thing it’s rated PG13 and not R.” She stopped gushing and turned abruptly to her mother. “Mom, can I go to the Bun before practice? I’m starving. Can I have a couple of dollars?”

“Sure, honey, ask Mabel to give you some money from the front desk drawer.”

Chip plunged in. “Ingrid, I know you feel safe walking around by yourself in Turners Bend, but until the murder is solved, it would be best to always walk with a friend. You can never to too careful,” said Chip. “I’ll walk you to school.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Oh, Chip, you sound like my mother. I know there are some people who are freaked out by the body you found in the theater, but they’re all just being paranoid. Jeez, this isn’t Minneapolis. I’d be scared stiff walking around by myself up there like Sven does, but get real, this is Turners Bend. Anyway, I can take care of myself. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Ingrid grabbed her duffle bag and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ve got to run. Coach Whittler goes postal if we’re not there on time. Bye.”

“Call me when you get to practice, okay?” said Jane. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. Remember it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

After Ingrid left, Jane bit her lower lip and gave Chip a quizzical look. “What was that all about? You don’t really believe all the fear mongers in town who think we have a murderer in our midst, do you?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that there’s no harm in being cautious. Humor me and keep a close watch on Ingrid and pass the word around among the other parents, okay?”

“Until now I haven’t taken too much stock in the local talk about the ‘skeleton in the closet.’ According to the autopsy, it was a crime from years ago, and what’s to say it happened here in Turners Bend? The worst of the talk is speculation about farmers who keep to themselves, guys who don’t frequent the Bun or the Bend. I know most of these men, they’re my clients. A couple of them are a little strange, but I trust them. I’m worried this situation could turn into a witch hunt, Salem-style, with innocent men being accused of unspeakable crimes.”

Jane squinted and gave him a penetrating look. “I sense you know something you’re not telling me.”

“Let’s put it this way, Jane. I’m not telling you something I know and can’t tell you.” He looked at her gravely, trying to convey more than he could say in words.

“Fair enough, thanks for the warning. This whole thing is kind of creepy, isn’t it?” Jane shivered as if to shake off an unpleasant feeling. “I’ve always felt so sorry for Tracy Trent’s parents. Imagine going five years not knowing what happened to your child. I know losing Ingrid like that would be more than I could bear.”

“I’m not a parent, Jane, but it doesn’t take much to imagine that kind of heartache.” Chip checked his watch. “Crap, I’m sorry, Jane, I’ve got to run. Got a podcast interview in half an hour. How about breakfast tomorrow morning?”

“I’m having breakfast with Lance. I promised to help with the party planning for the premiere celebration. He’s quite the event planner. You’re welcome to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to butt in on you and Lance.”

“Don’t be silly. Come.”

Hell, lunch yesterday and breakfast tomorrow … she’s spending a lot of time with that guy. What’s he up to?

* * *

Chip thought about Lance as he sped home for his interview. One minute the guy was buying a fancy dress for Lucinda and the next he was logging time with Jane. He had to admit he was jealous to the point of wanting to confront him, slap Lance’s face with a glove and challenge him to a duel.
With my luck, the dude is probably an ace shot. Man up, Chipster, enough of your petty jealousy of a relatively decent guy.

The FBI investigation was equally disturbing to him. The closer they got to the killer, the scarier it got. Waiting for the killer to strike again was like watching a horror movie unfold. What would her next move be?

He rushed into his house and got ready for the NPR podcast interview. It was the fourth interview he had done in the past three weeks. Every radio announcer or newspaper editor had asked the same inane questions. He was in a foul mood, so he decided to make up a bunch of phony answers for this one.

He logged in and waited for the interviewer to begin. He recalled his uncomfortable interview with Amy Chang and steeled himself for possible trick or leading questions. A female voice broke into his thoughts.

“Today’s guest is crime writer Charles Collingsworth.”

“Please call me Chip, only my mother calls me Charles.”

“Certainly. Tell us about where you do your writing.”

“I have a lovely log cabin by a lake. I sit by the fire and write long hand on a yellow legal pad.” He looked out at his deserted farm yard piled high with dingy snow, dotted with dog turds.

“Sounds idyllic. Describe what you see out your window.”

“Cardinals are gathering around my bird feeder and a lone ice fisherman and his dog are on the lake.”

“What authors have influenced you?”

“I’d have to say Proust and Tolstoy. Oh, and Zane Grey.”

“Odd choices for a crime writer. What are you reading right now?”

“The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, the third volume.”

“And are you enjoying it?”

“Well, after the previous two volumes, it’s getting a little stale.”

“What do you do when you have writer’s block?”

“I’m training for the Boston Marathon, so I go out for a seven or eight mile run, or I bake a cherry pie and take it to my elderly neighbor.”

“What are you writing now?”

Chip began to sense doubt in the interviewer’s voice. He thought she was probably on to him, but he persisted with his charade. “I’m working on a biography of Dr. Kevorkian.”

“Dr. Death? I’m sure that will surprise your publisher.”

“Yes, I suppose it will.”

“I see our time is up. Thank you, this has been an enlightening interview.”

He expected Lucinda to call any second. There would be hell to pay. He was feeling a little foolish, but why not; he was a fool and had just reinforced his self-image, hadn’t he?

Fortified with a mug of burnt-tasting coffee that he had reheated and a package of somewhat stale Double-Stuffed Oreo cookies, Chip turned the switch in his head to
Mind Games
.

Chapter Thirty

Mind Games

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Early August

When the alarm went off the next morning, Agent Jo Schwann was groggy and for a brief moment, she couldn’t remember what day it was or where she was. She had been in the middle of a lovely dream, in which she and John were out on a sailboat on the Chesapeake, the sun warm on their backs. Her hair had been blowing around her face and John had just reached out to tuck a strand behind her ear when the bleat of the clock radio woke her with a gasp.

And then, reality slammed into her.

She curled up in a ball on her bed, pulling Cleo close to her chest. The kitten purred and tucked her head under Jo’s chin. Jo’s tears fell on the fur of the little creature.
What am I going to do if I never see John again? I have so much to say to him. We have so much to say to each other.

Cleo squirmed out of her arms, bounding to the floor in a silent leap. Jo sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She snatched the cell phone off the nightstand, checking for any missed calls. She swore under her breath when she saw there were none.

She decided it was time to give Agent Daniels a call. She couldn’t risk the kidnapper overhearing her conversation, so she got out of bed and grabbed the robe that lay in a crumpled pile at the end of her bed. Throwing it across her shoulders, she surreptitiously slipped the cell phone in her pocket and walked out to her garage.
Hopefully, the asshole will just think I went out to get the newspaper from my driveway.
She got into her car and flicked through her contacts until she found the number for Agent Daniels.

He answered on the third ring and said, “Schwann, you know I said I’d call you if there were any new developments. Stop trying to micro-manage this case. We still haven’t been able to reach your neighbor and there’s been no word from the kidnapper.”

She leaned back into the leather seat of her Highlander. She swallowed and said, “Still think this is a kidnapping? Seems like …” Jo shook her head in frustration when she heard the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat and began again, “Seems like we should have heard from the guy by now.”

Daniels’ voice was less gruff when he spoke again. “Jo, it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours—”

“We always tell people that the first twenty-four hours are key in cases like this. So far, there is no news. At all,” Jo interrupted.

“I know. We’re not giving up.” He hesitated, and said, “Have you given any thought to why someone would want to wire your house? Any threats or ties to a recent case?”

Jo rubbed her forehead, trying to wipe out the throbbing that had taken up residence there. “I’ve been wracking my brain. My most recent case was the NeuroDynamics investigation up in Two Harbors. Even though the Bureau is still fighting the widow over Candleworth’s death, I can’t see her being the type to put cameras in my house and kidnap my boyfriend. All the suspects involved in the case are dead.”

Jo could hear Daniels shuffling papers. “Anything else? No cases involving sex crimes or anything like that?”

Feeling a need to do something with her hands, she fiddled with the rear view mirror and said, “You think it’s related to a sex crime?”

“Jo, someone wants to watch the intimate details of your life. Maybe gets off on seeing you.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Seems like the work of a stalker, to me.”

Of course, Jo had considered it, but hearing Daniels express it out loud turned her stomach. Her mind flipped through the cases she had worked over her career. After a minute, she said, “A few years ago, I put away a guy for harassing a woman he had met on a dating site on the Internet. We caught him entering her house when she was sleeping. Turns out he installed home security systems for a living.”

“Now, that sounds like a possibility. What’s his name? I’ll follow up and see if he’s still in prison.”

She gave him the information and then said, “You mentioned we should leave the cameras in place, so we can draw the kidnapper out. What did you have in mind?”

Jo heard Daniels swallow at the other end of the line, like he was drinking his morning coffee. “We need to prompt the guy a little, get him to contact you. Maybe if you acted more upset by John’s disappearance for the cameras. You know, perform a little.”

She huffed out a laugh. As if I haven’t already been showing the creep how upset I am. “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

Daniels’ voice was firm when he said, “One thing. Don’t forget for one second that this guy is unpredictable, so don’t do anything stupid. We want him to reach out to us, but it’s a fine balance. The last thing we need to do is provoke him into attacking John.”

Jo swallowed and said, “Thanks, Daniels. I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Jo grabbed her newspaper and walked back into the house. She went into the bedroom and shrugged out of her bathrobe. She lay back on the bed, thinking about all the cameras that might be scattered around the house. Jo briefly considered climbing back under the covers and shutting out the world.

But then HE wins. I can’t let that happen.

Daniels’ parting words kept replaying in her head. She had to do something to get the kidnapper to contact them, but she had to be careful. She stood up and began making the bed, trying to look as normal as possible, the whole time thinking.
If I were to hide a camera in this room, where would I put it?

She quickly surveyed her bedroom. Her lamp on the nightstand was a likely target. It had been her mother’s and it was heavy with ornate scrollwork in the base. As she reached across the bed to pull the comforter in place, she looked to the opposite side of the room, toward her dresser. Nothing on the surface was wired and therefore, unlikely to contain a camera.

Tossing the throw pillows into place, she looked up. As she dragged her eyes away, she realized that she had discovered where she would put a surveillance camera. In the ceiling fan.

She sat down on the bed she had just made up. Still thinking of Daniels’ comments, she knew she had to do something. Take some action. It was time she figured out just what made this guy tick.

Mindful of the camera watching her, she stood up and grabbed the work files she had placed on her nightstand the previous evening. They provided a prop to appear as if she were thinking about her caseload, not plotting what she would do to provoke the kidnapper.

As she absently flipped through the files, she considered doing what Daniels had suggested, showing how distraught she was.
But I’ve been doing that and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

Jo pulled out another file and turned to the first page. Without seeing the words in front of her, she thought about Daniels’ observation that it could be related to a sex crimes case.
Sex crimes are all about control of the victim.
It made her skin crawl thinking about letting the perp control her.
Isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing since he put these cameras in here? From the moment he took John he’s been in control.

She set the files aside. As she thought through her options, one plan kept springing up in her mind. It might backfire. He could get very angry. However, she was determined to find out what had happened. Determined to face the truth.
Can I go through with it?