Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (13 page)

Flora’s red lacquered nails clicked on the keyboard, and she pulled up an aerial map. “That’s Beaver Creek. Here is Nelson’s farm. The creek flows toward town in this direction.” She traced the creek’s path with her finger, naming the properties that it passed as it wound its way into town.

“Does it run through Mabel’s backyard?”

“Yes, here’s Mabel’s house. It runs in back of her garage, but how could the creek be related to poor Mabel’s illness? She has a well like the rest of us. Folks don’t drink out of the creek, even though the water has always been pretty clean.”

“Where does it come from west of Nelson’s farm?”

“It runs parallel to County Road 15A, out past AgriDynamics and over into Calhoun County.”

“Flora, you’ve been a tremendous help.”

“Anytime, Mr. Collingsworth, that’s my job.” Flora cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows slightly. “You know, there’s no finer eligible woman in Turners Bend than Jane Swanson. I’ve been telling her that it’s time to get out there and start dating again, wouldn’t you agree?”

Chip was momentarily stunned and stumped for a response. He had expected advice on how to write a crime story not matchmaking. From their first encounter, Chip had been attracted to Jane, but he didn’t want to add any fuel to the town’s gossip mill. Flora Fredrickson would be just the woman to do that. Plus, he was a three-time loser who had sworn off women for good reason or so he reminded himself.

“I’ll have to defer to your good judgement on that score, Flora,” he said as he quickly departed.

An hour later, Chip shared his findings with Jane. “Beaver Creek must be contaminated with something that’s killing the cows. It’s possibly the source of Mabel’s illness, too. Stein did suspect poisoning. My guess is that it’s coming from AgriDynamics. I’m really curious about what’s in these water samples.” He handed Jane the six water samples he had collected.

“I’ll need samples from the creek west of AgriDynamics, too. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions until I get the lab report. I’ll send the water samples off to Iowa City by UPS. It’s going to take a week to ten days to get the results.”

Chip turned his attention to his favorite little puppy, Runt, who was being fed by Ingrid. As he watched Ingrid he was struck by her resemblance to Jane. It wasn’t just her red hair and green eyes; it was the way she handled the puppy with a mixture of competence and affection. He had a clear image of Jane as a teenager working in this very clinic with her father.

“Honey and her pups will be ready to go home in a day or two,” said Jane. “I should spay Honey before she goes home.”

“I want her to rest up a little first, then I’ll bring her back. I have to confess, Jane, I’m having a hard time thinking about her going under the knife.”

“Well, you had better prepare your house for the invasion.”

“Here’s another confession. I haven’t a clue as to what those preparations should be.” Excitement and panic mingled in his gut. The thought of eight puppies in a one-bedroom house made his mind reel.

“Ingrid, get Mr. Collingsworth our Puppy Care pamphlet. Really, Chip, it’s just like taking care of human babies, but without diapers.”

“That’s not helping me one bit, Jane.”

Now Chip sat at his laptop, trying not to think about puppies and forcing himself to concentrate on his writing. He recalled his meeting with Flora and hearing the name Calhoun for the county west of Boone. It reminded him that the murders of Mitch Calhoun and Sid, the ME, and his wife, Martha, were still unsolved. He was trying to get a handle on a new character and whether she should be a victim or a villain or both? In some ways she vaguely reminded him of Lucinda. Lucinda, of course, would never be a victim. He supposed he could ask a few of the local book critics. They all wanted to tell him how to write his books. Just yesterday at the Bend the bartender had suggested that he write about a bartender that solves crimes, because “they know all and see all and are a lot smarter than people give them credit for.” He tucked that idea away for future reference, and turned his thoughts to the headquarters of NeuroDynamics and the character he decided to name Belinda.

Chapter Fifteen

Brain Freeze

Two Harbors, Minnesota

The NeuroDynamics headquarters was buried deep in the woods, two miles off the highway. It was surrounded by bare birch trees and towering firs. A frozen pond flanked the parking lot to the right. The sprawling, double-story structure looked like a fortress with its dark-gray granite façade. Separate wings contained the various areas of operation.

Jo rolled the cart smoothly down the polished marble floors of the executive wing. The walls were paneled in black walnut, with spotlights in the ceiling above her, highlighting artwork scattered along the hallway. Her shoes were soundless as she stopped at offices here and there, emptying trash cans, running a dust rag over spotless surfaces. Not even her boss at the Bureau would have recognized her—a light brown wig covered her red hair and she had dabbed on a bit of hair color to cover the cinnamon of her brows. Contacts had changed her green eyes to hazel. In the five days since she had started working undercover, her eyes never stopped searching, never stopped reading.

Jo had been correct when she told John that she would be invisible here. In her cleaning services uniform of a white polo shirt and khaki pants, she was a non-entity to the employees. A fixture of the place. Since she worked the later shift, most people had gone home for the day. Jo was free to wander, gathering bits of information.

But nothing worth a damn.
Jo gripped the handle of the cart tightly and huffed out a breath in disgust.
I have to find something.
Thus far, she had found a brochure on breast implants in the filing cabinet of the executive assistant, a half-empty fifth of bourbon in the desk of the CIO and some rather disturbing bondage photos on the desktop of the marketing director. Personal demons that had nothing to do with the deaths of Mitch Calhoun and Sid.

She knew
what
she was trying to prove, but wasn’t certain what form the evidence would assume.
I hope I recognize it when—and if—I find it.
After talking things over with John, her boss and Frisco, she had several clear objectives. The first was to tie Sid and Martha’s killers directly to NeuroDynamics. The second was to prove that the corporation had bribed the FDA official in order to push through their technology in record time without the usual thorough reviews. John and Jo agreed that the third and last objective would be the most difficult to prove. What exactly was the true intention of the technology?

Jo wanted to get into the office of the CEO, Charles Candleworth, but his door was always locked or he was inside, alone. He allowed no one but the owner of the cleaning company to take care of his office. Picking the lock on his door would be a mistake, since there was a security camera pointed directly at his office.
I guess having dirty little secrets makes you a
bit paranoid.

She caught a glimpse of him now and again. John had said that he and Candleworth were about the same age, but Jo found it hard to believe. John was youthful and healthy. This man looked well past his prime. Even if Jo hadn’t good reason to suspect him, there was something about the man that she didn’t like. His smile never quite reached his eyes and he constantly looked at his watch when one of his staff members talked to him, as if he had more important things on his mind.

Belinda Peterson was the only company executive who worked late, although she usually turned out her office lights by 7:00 p.m. According to the online bios of the NeuroDynamics executive team, Ms. Peterson was chief financial officer. A tall, willowy blonde, she appeared to be about thirty-five. The first few nights that Jo came in to empty the paper shredder in her office, the CFO only nodded absently at Jo’s quiet, “Hello.”

Tonight, however, the woman was anything but quiet. Heading towards the CFO’s office, Jo heard Belinda Peterson shouting into the phone. “I don’t care what you want! I’m telling you, this is unacceptable. This company has been bleeding money for far too long, and I’m tired of the board and investors chewing my ass because you can’t fix this. Just do it!” She slammed the receiver down on the desk.

She muttered under her breath, “These friggin’ headaches are killing me. That goddamn surgeon lied to me. They’re worse since they put that chip in my head.”

A leaded-crystal vase shattered inches from Jo’s head as she stepped into the office. The woman blinked when she noticed Jo. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was there.”

Jo’s heartbeat slowed down a few notches. “No problem. I’ll clean this up.” She bent down and carefully put several large shards of glass in the palm of her hand. She looked up to see the woman massaging her temples with perfectly manicured fingertips, the nails painted a crimson red.

Jo stared at the woman for a moment.
They used the chips on their own people?
Up until this point, she had not been able to search the CFO’s office. Belinda was very careful to lock up her office at the end of the night. Jo thought quickly.

“Excuse me, Ms. Peterson, is it? I can clean this mess for you. Why don’t you go home and take a couple of Advil for that headache.”

Belinda started, as if she had forgotten that anyone was in the room. For a moment, the look on her face was almost feral and then, in an instant, it was normal again. “Oh, yes. Yes, that would be helpful. Just make sure you pull my door shut tight when you leave.”

Jo looked down to conceal the excitement on her face. She controlled her voice, “Of course. I’ll take care of everything.”

She watched while Belinda Peterson packed up her designer briefcase for the night and shut down her computer. She locked the desk drawers. Belinda grabbed the long camel-colored coat hanging on a hook behind the door and was out in the hallway without another word to Jo. The woman’s heels clicked on the polished floors and the elevator’s
ding
announced its arrival.

Jo unhooked the small whisk broom and dust pan from her cart. She crouched down to sweep up the remaining glass fragments, taking her time in case the CFO returned. After several minutes, she picked up the last piece and wiped down the walls where the water had splashed. The shards and the broken flower stems went into the trash can.

She checked around the corner to see if anyone else was around. Finding no one, she searched the room for security cameras. Satisfied, she pulled on latex gloves and closed the outside window blinds. Walking behind Belinda’s desk, she sat in the soft black leather chair and pushed the power button of the desktop. The glow of the computer lit Jo’s face, as she focused on the screen.

At the log-on screen, Belinda’s user ID came up automatically, but of course, Jo had no idea what the password might be. She picked the desk lock and searched the drawers. Jo hoped that the woman might be careless, but found nothing. Crouching down, she looked under the desk.
Nada
. Jo sat back in the chair and studied the personal effects on top of the desk.

Everything was neat and tidy on the desk. Items were lined up precisely on the surface. There was a paperweight in the shape of the Eiffel Tower on the far right corner, perched on a stack of papers. A smiling Belinda looked out of a picture frame on the opposite corner. Jo presumed the man and two young children in the photo were Belinda’s family. They were decked out in ski gear and stood atop a snow-covered slope, squinting into the sun. Jo had a hard time picturing Belinda smiling at anything these days.

She snatched the picture off the desk and flipped it over. Carefully taking the frame apart, she looked at the back of the photo. Written in tight script was: Aspen, Winter Break, 2010. Carla, aged 10 and Thomas, aged 7.

Jo typed both children’s names into the computer, in various combinations, to no avail. She put the picture frame back together and returned it to its place on the desk. She sighed, and leaned back in the chair. Out of desperation, she entered “Eiffel Tower”. Password invalid.

There was a carved wooden nameplate on the desk in the middle. Jo picked it up, admiring the handiwork of the artist. When she flipped it over, she saw a small piece of paper taped to the bottom. Written there was a series of nonsensical numbers and letters.
Thank God for people who can’t remember their passwords.
She sat up straight and entered the alpha-numeric sequence on the password line of the computer sign-on screen.

The screen went blank for a moment, and then a welcome screen appeared. Jo did a little victory wiggle in the chair and murmured, “Now we’re talking.” Pulling up Word documents, she paged down through the titles. Many were inter-office memos between Ms. Peterson, the chief surgeon, and the owner of the company. Jo removed the flash drive that was on a chain around her neck, and began to download the files that looked promising.

As she finished copying the documents, the telephone on Belinda’s desk rang. Startled, Jo waited a moment until her heart resumed its normal beat. Taking a deep breath, she searched the spreadsheets. Several files were labeled “government,” “Middle East,” and “Central and South America.” She downloaded all of these to the flash drive.

Jo looked at her watch. “Time to get out of Dodge.” She closed down the desktop, straightened everything to its original position and opened the blinds once again. She pulled the office door closed and headed down the hallway.

At the end of her shift, she returned her cleaning supplies to the storage room. She shrugged into her coat and nodded to the security guard as she left the building. Jo didn’t notice when he picked up the phone as she walked to her car.