Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (5 page)

“I might know more once I get him on the autopsy table, but my guess is that it was intentional.” She pointed to a black splotch on the victim’s chin. “See that? Gun-powder marks. Must have been at close range. We’ll have the lab techs at the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension run a proximity test to determine the actual distance of the shot.”

Jo crouched down next to the ME and leaned in for a closer look. She had to resist an urge to gag at the musky scent of the dead man’s cologne co-mingled with the stench of blood and gore. She swallowed back the bile, and then said, “You’re right. Looks like someone was making a statement.”

“Got an estimate on time of death yet?”

Carole said, “I would say last night, maybe early evening. Since this isn’t the original crime scene, my timing could be off if that location was either extremely hot or cold. Again, I’ll know more after I examine him back at the lab.”

Jo was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally she said, “I hate these shotgun cases because there isn’t a bullet to run ballistics. And since this isn’t the original crime scene, we don’t even have a cartridge to compare the firing pin marks.”

Jo tilted her head and continued, “Wonder why he was put here. Someone was obviously making a point. But what? We’ll have to run down everyone who has access to this part of the building.”

She leaned in closer to the body again. “Do you see that? There, on his shirt, right below the spread of blood?”

Carole peered through her glasses. “Smudge of dirt, maybe?”

“Looks like it could be a partial boot print. Could we have gotten that lucky?”

Carole said, “Not going to be easy to track someone down from a fraction of a print.”

“No, but it’s a start. Any defensive wounds?”

Carole lifted up the sturdy hands of Lee Freemont. “Nothing obvious. I’ll scrape under his nails for trace. We’ll bag them before we transport the body.”

Just then, Jo heard a familiar voice behind her, “Special Agent Schwann! I heard you were assigned to the case. Good to see you again.”

Jo whirled around and looked up into the smiling face of Detective Mike Frisco. She stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Frisco! What the hell are you doing here? Duluth not exciting enough for you anymore?”

“Nah. Family issues pulled us down to the Cities. My boss put in a good word for me with the St. Paul Police force. Worked out well. They had a guy retiring about the same time I was looking for a place down here.”

Jo was delighted. She had worked with the detective on her last major assignment, and she had been impressed with both his compassion and keen eye. Not to mention Frisco was like a bull dog when it came to working a case. Not even a beating could keep him down for long.

She shook his hand and said, “So, how long have you been here?”

“Not long. A couple of months or so.”

“Only a few months on the job and they’ve already assigned you to a high-profile case like this one?”

A sheepish grin crept across Frisco’s face. “Got some mileage out of working the NeuroDynamics job with you. Amazing what a major-league case can do for a career.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Although I’m not convinced it’s always a good thing.”

His smile disappeared as he looked back down at the body of the state representative. “Looks like being a high-profile personality didn’t help him any.”

Chapter Seven

Turners Bend

Late September

Chip hastily fed his pets and hopped in his Volvo for the drive to the Bun where the renovation steering committee had agreed to gather on Saturday morning. Despite the heat and humidity, he drove with the AC off and the windows down. In the spring he had been intoxicated with the smell of freshly turned soil, and now the air was filled with the ripeness of glorious green vegetation—corn, soybeans, sweet potatoes and beans. He drank it in through his nose as if it were a fine perfume … Eau de Iowa.

The Bun was already bustling with volunteers partaking in the café’s strong coffee and calorie-laden cinnamon rolls. Mayor Johnson stood and clinked a spoon on his coffee mug. He held up a ring of rusty old skeleton keys.

“Well folks, this is an exciting day for Turners Bend. Flora hunted up the keys to the Bijou, and I had Boone Power turn on the electricity. Now I’d like to introduce Alice Hedstrom, a building inspector from Ames.”

A short, rotund woman with thick glasses, that gave her the look of an owl, stood and nodded to the assembled group. She held a clipboard in her hand. “Let’s move on over to the Bijou and see what surprises are in store for us,” she said. “No telling what we might find in a building that has been abandoned for so long, so please be careful.”

The small group, which also included Jane, Flora and Chief Fredrickson, Sylvia Johnson, Stan Whittler and Lance Williams, marched down the street to the deserted building. As Mayor Johnson opened the door, it creaked and then one of the hinges broke. The committee entered and stood in what was once the lobby. They slowly wandered around, looking at the broken glass on the ticket booth and the mold growing on the popcorn popper. They gingerly inspected the poster boxes that had once been out front and the sections of the marquee that had been dumped in the lobby. Thick dust and cobwebs covered everything, and the air was dank and musty. A few people started to cough and cover their noses.

“Would someone please hold this door open?” Marion Schultz requested, as she pushed Doc Schultz in his wheelchair.

“I had to come,” said the town’s long-time physician to Chip. “I have many fond memories of this place. The first time I stole a kiss from Marion was in the back row. It was 1935, and we were watching
The Bride of Frankenstein
.”

“No, dear, it was 1936, and it was
Mr. Deeds Goes to Town
with that handsome Gary Cooper.” Marion gazed around the lobby. “It was such a beautiful, magical place, but look at it now.”

“Don’t fret, we’re going to restore it to its original glory and maybe Doc will steal another kiss,” said Chip. “Let’s have a look inside the theater and projection room.” He took over pushing Doc’s wheelchair.

The Mayor switched on the lights and an orange glow emanated from the sconces along the walls of the theater. The seats and stage looked like the set for a B-Grade horror show.

Jane said, “Oh Lord, Chip! This place is covered with mouse droppings. And the mice have built nests in the stuffing of the seats. We’ll have to get an exterminator. Let’s just hope we don’t see any evidence of bats.”

Lance hopped up on the stage and parted the velvet curtains, which were hanging in shreds. “It looks like there are some rooms behind the movie screen.”

“I bet they were dressing rooms and prop closets,” offered Sylvia. “The Historical Society has clippings from vaudeville troops who performed here in the early days. Take a look, Mr. Williams.”

“No, you better let me inspect the stage first,” said Alice, testing floorboards as she walked towards the doors and opened one. “Sure enough, it looks like a dressing room, and there’s a rack of costumes hanging in here.” She carefully traversed the stage, continuing to test the floor boards with each step. She opened a door on the opposite side of the stage. “Looks like a prop room.” She walked in.

“What’s inside?” yelled Flora.

Everyone stopped and stood, waiting for Alice’s reply. When she emerged, the lighting gave her face an ashen glow. “Chief, I think you better come and have a look at this.”

Police Chief Fredrickson climbed up on the stage and joined the inspector in the prop room. Then he, too, stuck out his head. “Someone help Doc up here.”

Chip and Lance lifted the wheelchair up to the stage, and the chief pushed the doctor into the room. All the volunteers gathered expectantly at the foot of the stage. It was perfectly quiet, except for the sound of scurrying mice.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” said Flora, as the three came out, grim-faced.

“Sorry folks, everyone will have to leave. There is a human skeleton in here. Doc says it’s probably the body of a woman who has been dead for a long time. This is now an official crime scene. Don’t touch anything.” He placed a call to the station with his cell phone. “Sharon, have Deputy Anderson bring some yellow crime tape to the Bijou and place a call to the county coroner. We need him out here ASAP.”

“Who is it, Walter?” asked Flora.

“Damned if I know. Christ, Turners Bend has never had a murder.”

***

Most of the group reconvened at the Bun. The excitement continued, but now it was of a completely different nature. Speculations took flame and spread like wildfire.

“Doc, how do you know it is the body of a woman who has been dead a long time?” asked Iver.

“Well, I can tell by the pelvis. In a woman, the pelvis is wider and flatter and more rounded than a man’s. All the flesh is gone. Most of the clothing has deteriorated, but I see remnants of women’s undergarments. There’s not much left for identification purposes except teeth. The coroner would need dental records, of course, for comparison.”

“Please spare us the details,” said Flora. “Never heard of any woman missing from around here. A few have taken off and haven’t returned, like the tart who ran off with Hal Swanson.” She grimaced and turned toward Jane. “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to bring up your ex. That was indelicate of me.”

“Some outsider must have come through town years ago and hid the body here,” said Stan Whittler. “I’m sure of it.”

Iver chimed in, “Maybe it’s the radio announcer from Iowa City who’s been missing for years. You know, the one that was on
America’s Most Wanted
. Her abductor could have stashed the body here.”

The Bun’s patrons began to disperse, but Jane and Chip remained and ordered hot roast beef sandwiches for lunch.

“You’re looking a little spooked, Chip. Does the thought of a dead body make you squeamish?” asked Jane.

“I just wrote a chapter in which a dead body is found.”

“Isn’t that how most crime stories start … with the discovery of a corpse?”

“Yes, but the eerie thing is my corpse was a man found in the construction site of a renovation. Life is imitating art, instead of the other way around, just like Oscar Wilde proposed. He thought it happened more often than art imitating life.”

Jane laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Well, it still seems a little déjà vu to me, and there are those who don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Who killed the man in your story?”

“I don’t know. I’m waiting to find out, just like my readers.”

***

Speculation turned to gossip and gossip turned to certainty as the news spread through town and around the countryside. The good citizens of Turners Bend were convinced the woman’s body was that of the Iowa City radio announcer, Tracy Trent. An anonymous call was placed to the
Ames Tribune
, and all hell broke loose.

Chapter Eight

Mind Games

Minneapolis & Saint Paul, MN

Late July

The Hunter stretched out on Jo’s bed. He watched the lazy ceiling fan blades slice through the air, creating a downdraft that flowed over his body. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself living here with her. Their life together would be perfect. Not like the life he lived before, drenched in pain and loneliness. Now his life would be full, maybe even include a couple of kids. He smiled as he pictured the children they would create together—a boy with his eyes and a girl with Jo’s red curly hair.

Mostly though, he envisioned their children living a normal childhood, nothing like his own. Crippling migraines from the age of ten onward stole his youth. He transformed from a carefree boy with many friends to a hermit unable to leave his room. He missed so many days of school in the eighth grade that his mother had to quit work and try her best at home-schooling. At his request, his father painted his only son’s bedroom pitch black, including the windows. Any reflection of light pierced his brain and caused intense agony. At an age when most boys were discovering girls, he was curled in a tight ball on his bed, begging to be released from his misery.

Of course, all that changed when Dr. Charles Candleworth came into his life. Since then, he had reclaimed the life he was meant to live. No more headaches, no more isolation. He was confident again, charming even, when he wanted to be. On top of everything else, the Hunter now had a new, lucrative career. One that rewarded him handsomely.

He was still angry about Candleworth’s murder, but he had decided to forgive Jo. The neurosurgeon, Dr. Goodman, was another matter. Not only was he the reason the healer was killed, but Goodman stood in the way of the Hunter’s future with Jo. And that simply wouldn’t do.

He turned his head into Jo’s pillow, inhaling deeply to take in her scent. Vanilla and a hint of something more filled his nostrils. Of course, she would have to quit her job. Someone had to stay home and care for their children, to make sure nothing happened to them.

The Hunter snickered and spoke out loud, “I guess being married to an assassin might create a conflict of interest for a Special Agent of the FBI.”

He flipped over on his side and flicked his forefinger across the screen of his iPad. It had been easy enough to install a Ghost Rider, a tracking device no larger than a pack of cigarettes inside the bumper of each of her vehicles. Finding Jo at any time was as simple as turning on his tablet. His screen showed that Jo’s vehicle remained at the State Capitol, but at this point, he was probably pushing his luck if he stayed in her house any longer.

The Hunter stood up and dressed quickly. He ran his palms across Jo’s comforter, to smooth out the wrinkles from lying on her bed. Pulling a lint roller out of his bag, he carefully picked up any stray hair or fibers he had left behind. Finally, he checked his iPad screen to make sure the surveillance cameras he had planted around the house earlier in the day were all up and running.

The Hunter was good to go. Now he had to find a way to insinuate himself into her life.