Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (32 page)

He fought to stay with them, but the pain took him away again. So like his father to call it “discomfort,” he thought as he drifted off.

* * *

He was fully awake and alone. He could see a hospital room. He turned his head and saw monitors with lights and a squiggly line moving across a tiny screen. There were two IV poles and tubes running into his arms. His mind started to clear and he remembered being in a barn with Iver. Iver had a gun. There had been gun shots. It was all starting to come back to him. He had so many questions; he was hungry for answers. A nurse came into his room.

“Good morning, Mr. Collingsworth. My name is Lisa. I’m your day nurse. I’m going to give you your painkiller. There’s a control by your left hand. Try pressing it.”

He did. “Good. Just press that if you need me for anything. There’s an FBI agent here who has been waiting to talk with you. Are you up to seeing her?”

Chip nodded in agreement. Agent Masterson entered.

“Chip, I’ve been told I can only stay for five minutes and that I shouldn’t expect you to talk. I wanted you to know what happened. Okay?”

He nodded, and she sat in the chair beside his bed.

“I was wrong. Brown is not the serial killer. She is just a person with severe mental problems.

“Whittler killed all the girls. He confessed and told us where the last body was stashed. It was located in an abandoned sawmill in Sioux Falls. All five women, Tracy Trent, Melissa McCloud, Emily Carlson, Sara Stewart and Anna Redmond, the starting five, are now at rest. The five locations are matching up with past coaching jobs he had. Seems he was the Athletic Director of Intramurals at the University of Minnesota and Elizabeth was under him.”

Masterson paused and offered Chip a sip of water, placing the bendy straw between his parched lips.

“He was infatuated with her, and blames the team for sending her away. When he heard on the news that we had detained her, he wanted to shift the blame away from her, so he abducted Ingrid.”

“How were they killed … the five women?” Chip asked between painful breaths.

“Our preliminary reports say they were first sexually assaulted and then beaten to death … pretty gruesome.”

“And Ingrid … was she …” The thought was too horrifying to say aloud.

“No, Ingrid was not molested or physically harmed, although she certainly had a traumatic experience. Whittler was holding her just to deflect our attention away from Brown and try to clear her of murder charges.”

The agent rose from the chair. “We found the milk delivery forms at the farm and remnants of the blue jerseys. He’s a very sick man who will spend the rest of his life in prison. I know you probably have lots of questions and want to know more details, but for now you just need to heal. Call me when you are ready.”

Masterson left her card on his bedside table. She put her hand on his arm for a moment and then quietly slipped out of the room

.

* * *

Over the next few days Chip improved. He was able to sit up in bed and began a diet of consommé and Jello cubes. His right arm was immobilized, so he was struggling to balance the Jello on a spoon using his left hand, when Chief Fredrickson arrived. The chief stood by Chip’s bed and removed his hat.

“Chief, no one has told me about Iver. What happened? Is he okay? Was he shot, too?”

“Nah, he shot Whittler in the knee, busted it all to hell. He was untying Ingrid when Jim and I arrived. He’s outside waiting to see you. Seems they only let one of us in at a time.” The Chief started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You two, you and Iver.” He shook his head. “The minute you said ‘Roger, over and out’ on the radio, I knew you two were going to go Hollywood on me and do something stupid. Didn’t I tell you not to do anything foolhardy?”

“Yes, Iver asked, ‘Are you with me or not?’ and I guess I flipped into crime fighter or cowboy mode. Did you know he carries a gun?”

“Sure, I issued the permit to him. It’s for shooting snakes and other varmints. I didn’t expect him to use it on a serial killer. Now he’s a national hero. He was even on
Good Day USA
with Amy Chang. It’s his turn next; I’ll let him tell you all about it.”

“Wait, why did Whittler send you those clues?”

“You and Jim were right, serial killers sometimes want to be stopped or want media and police attention. I think Whittler really wanted to be caught, even before he found out Masterson was detaining Brown.”

The chief replaced his hat and gave Chip a little wave as he exited. Next Iver walked in looking uneasy; his usually ruddy face was pasty.

“I don’t like hospitals. People are sick here.”

“Yes, I remember when you had to take Mabel to Mayo. Fill me in, Iver, what happened at the Swanson place?”

“Shot that bastard. Sorry I didn’t get my gun off before he shot you. Man, there was so much blood around that place, made me weak, almost lost my pork chops. Poor little Ingrid, she was hysterical. I don’t want to play that scene again … ever.”

“The milk delivery forms … Masterson said they found them in the barn,” said Chip. “That’s when I knew for sure Whittler was the killer.”

“Ya, I guess that form was what you crime writers would call a red herring. The killer wasn’t a milk truck driver, after all. Whittler just used the forms to throw off the authorities.”

“But we did it, Iver, we got that bastard. You with a gun and me with a manure shovel.”

“Yup, we sure did.” They both grinned.

* * *

Over the following two weeks, there were lots of calls, cards and visitors, including TV reporters. There was also another round of surgery to remove bone fragments and lots of therapy, physical and occupational. Chip even had a few sessions with a shrink to emotionally process the trauma.

He had just returned from a walk to the nurses’ desk and back, when Lance and Lucinda arrived. Lucinda was carrying a floral arrangement as big as a bushel basket.

“My God, Lucinda, I got shot. I didn’t die. That looks like something for a coffin. How the heck are you two and where have you been?”

Lucinda stuck out her left hand. Next to the diamond engagement ring was a wide platinum band. Lance presented his left hand to reveal a matching wedding band.

“You did it, and I missed it.”

“Don’t feel bad, Chip. Everyone missed it, except for a New York Justice of the Peace and two witnesses that we didn’t know,” explained Lucinda. “The whole wedding thing was getting out of hand. I said ‘just screw it, let’s get married today,’ and we did.” The new bride was blushing and the groom was beaming.

“How did you resolve the New York-Turners Bend issue?”

“Lance came up with a wonderful solution. First, he is going to build us a new house in Turners Bend, then hire a caretaker to live in the old house and watch the farm when he’s in New York with me. During the growing season I’m going to telecommute from Turners Bend. The agency went along with it because you’re my biggest client. Then during the winter, we are going to split our time between my New York apartment and our new condo in St. Thomas. It was a little wedding present we bought for ourselves.”

“Sounds idyllic, except for the times you’ll be in my backyard to hound me about writing.” Chip laughed, but truthfully it wasn’t that funny to him.

“Now, what about you and Jane?” asked Lance.

Chip shook his head and sighed. “That’s the million dollar question. I don’t know about us. Love can be murder.”

* * *

He couldn’t use a keyboard and he couldn’t write with his left hand. With lots of time to think about finishing
Mind Games
, his creative juices began to flow, as did his frustration with not being able to capture his ideas. His mother came up with the solution.

“Why don’t you use a digital recorder like your father uses for dictation? This hospital must have lots of people who can do transcription. I bet one of them might be eager to make some money on the side.”

Before Maribelle left for home, she had purchased a digital recorder for Chip and found a woman to transcribe his recordings. Recording his punctuation was a challenge, but he quickly learned to say “quotes,” “end quotes,” “new paragraph,” “next sentence in italics.”

“Mom, you’re brilliant. I may totally give up keyboarding and do this permanently,” said Chip when his mother made her final visit.

“Thank you, dear. A mother needs to hear some praise from her children occasionally,” said Maribelle. “I know you and your father think I am an air-head sometimes, but I’m more than capable of intelligent ideas. I’m happy the dictation is working out for you.”

“I’m sorry I underestimated you. I think I’ve learned my lesson, and I hope you know how much I really love you.”

She kissed him on the forehead before leaving. “See you soon. I think your father and I will come for the Fourth of July parade again this year. It was such fun.”

Left alone, he re-read his last few chapters. Lucinda had printed them and brought them to him in the hospital, along with a few choice words to urge him to get back to work. One storyline had been resolved, now he would have to decide how to wrap-up the other. His experience at being shot gave him some ideas on how to up the tension … now to decide who was going to be brought down with a bullet.

Chapter Forty-Two

Mind Games

Boundary Waters Canoe Area, Minnesota

Early August

The firelight reflected off the fresh blood seeping around the zip ties that dug into Dr. John Goodman’s wrists. It seemed like every muscle in his body ached, but his shoulders and head bore the brunt of the pain. He directed his gaze to his captor sitting on the other side of the fire pit, seeing him through his good eye. His left eye was swollen shut, courtesy of Dennis Farley.

In order to keep him from escaping, Dennis had given John the task of carrying the two-person canoe whenever they were on land. Each time they reached shore, he would tie John’s hands to the yoke, and force him to hoist the boat up onto his shoulders, at which point Farley would put the pack with their camping gear on his own back. As they reached the last lake front, John had patiently waited for Dennis to be distracted and then swung the canoe around, aiming to hit his captor in the head.

Unfortunately, Farley saw the boat come his way just in time and ducked, and John lost his balance. Dennis caught the canoe just as it was about to smash into the ground and steadied it. Once they were back in the boat, with John tied in place, Farley smacked John in the head with the paddle. “That’ll teach you to be a hero, Goodman. If you try a stunt like that again, I’ll shoot you and leave you for bear bait. Jo won’t find a trace of you.”

John’s vision wavered for the rest of their journey across the lake. By the time they reached the shoreline, he couldn’t see out of his left eye at all and his head felt like it would burst. Farley pulled John up to the clearing on shore and left him tied up while he went back to retrieve their gear.

John was wet and exhausted. It seemed like every square inch of skin was either scraped or inflamed with mosquito bites. He just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. The only thing that kept him awake was the knowledge that Jo was on her way.

So, as he sat by the fire, he kept his good eye on Farley and watched, waiting for his chance.

Unfortunately, his wrecked body had other plans and John had just about dozed off when he heard Farley moan. He saw his captor wince and reach up to massage his temples. Dennis dug into his pack for a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out a few in his hand, swallowing them without the benefit of a drink of water to wash them down. John tilted his head. It was the fourth time since they had set up camp that the man had taken pain meds.
Could the NeuroDynamics’ microchip be causing the head pain?
If so, it might provide him an opportunity to escape.

John knew from working on the NeuroDynamics case the microchips had been implanted on the victims’ Circle of Willis, the ring of arteries in the brain where aneurisms generally occurred at weak spots. Farley was the only survivor of the microchip technology; all the others had died of burst vessels in their heads. If John could somehow increase the blood pressure in Farley’s head, he might be able to incapacitate him. He had to figure out a way to increase his stress level.

John lay down on the cold ground, stretching out as much as possible given that his hands and feet were bound. He finally drifted off to sleep, schemes rolling around in his head like a lullaby.

He had no idea how long he slept, but woke up to the screech of a bald eagle overhead. From the position of the sun in the sky, he guessed it was mid-morning. He jerked his head up and looked around in time to see Farley walking toward him.

“She’s here,” Dennis said.

John sat up with a grunt. His body was sore and every muscle protested. But his mind alternated between horror and happiness that Jo was here. At last.

* * *

Jo stepped onto the shoreline and pulled the canoe up on land. When she saw the bright blue tent through the stand of evergreens, she reached into her pack and pulled out her Glock. She crept along the narrow trail leading to the site. The first thing she saw was John sitting by the fire pit, looking battered. In spite of all his injuries, he was the best-looking sight she had seen in a very long time and she felt the smile spread across her face.

Jo wanted to run to him, to check every bone, every bruise, but she knew she had to be wary. Dennis Farley couldn’t be far away. She had to think about what trap he would have set for her. She swept her gun, back and forth, looking for John’s captor.

She stopped on the other side of the fire from John. He stared at her, as if she were an apparition. Finally, his face broke out into a wide grin. After a moment, though, the smile faded and he turned his head slightly.

A movement behind him caught her eye. Farley stepped out of the brush and had a gun pointed at John. “Welcome to our adventure, my love. I trust you had a safe journey?”