Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder Read Online Free Page B

considering it an open case.”
    “Are
you suggesting it wasn’t a suicide, that she was murdered?”
    “What
I’m saying is I’ve got two dead crime writers and another one who’s damn lucky
he’s not dead. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’m not a big believer in
coincidences.”
    He
continued. “Finnegan wrote three books and was apparently researching a fourth.
I figure he pissed off someone in one of his books, maybe uncovered someone’s
shady past. As I said before, that book on his chest was selected for a
reason.”
    “Well,
the book on his chest was Shanghaied; he wrote about Asian gangs in that one. In addition to Asian gangs, he wrote
about crooked politicians, police brutality, corporate embezzlers, just to name
a few. Many of Finnegan’s characters were thinly disguised local newsmakers.
There was a crooked businessman like Tom Petters, that guy now serving a
fifty-year sentence for a Ponzi scheme. The hockey-playing governor in one of
his books is a dead give-away. And, he had a story about a murdered young
woman, kidnapped from a mall parking lot, wasn’t there a local case like that?”
    Franco
answered. “Yes, sounds like the Dru Sjodin case, but we put that perp away.
Real creepy little guy.”
      “I don’t know who the crooked police officer
in his last book might be, but I bet you have an idea.” Chip waited for a
response but did not receive one.
    The
detective hesitated as if he was weighing his words. “Could be Finnegan and
that Murphy gal might have pissed off the same people. Any connection between
you, Finnegan and Murphy?”
    “No,
only in that Finnegan and I read each other’s work. To my knowledge we weren’t
writing about the same topics, and I have no idea what Margaret Murphy may have
been digging up.”
    Franco
took off his rumpled suit jacket and loosened his tie. “Then again, I could be
wrong. Maybe he was cheating on his wife and she popped him or he owed a bookie
a wad of cash, or was mixed up with drugs, but I doubt it. My gut tells me he
was offed because of something he wrote, and I’ve got a pretty good record by
following my gut.”
    Chip
felt another wave of nausea and he broke out in a sweat. “Okay, now you’re
scaring the crap out of me, Detective.”
    “In
this case, scared is probably good. I advise you to be vigilant until we know
what’s going down here. You packing, Collingsworth?”
    Chip
gulped. “You mean a gun?”
    Franco
didn’t answer, just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
    “No,
I don’t own a gun, never shot one in my life, unless you count squirt guns and
arcade ray guns.” His attempt at humor fell flat.
    “You
may want to consider it. For your safety, I suggest you go home to Iowa and lay
low. Unfortunately, forensics won’t be done with your vehicle until later
today. They have to retrieve that bullet. Once it’s released, you can take it
to a body shop for repair.”
    Franco
picked up a pencil. “You got a decent police chief in Turners Bend?”
    “Yes,
Chief Fredrickson is a pretty good law enforcement guy, why?”
    Franco
wrote down the name. “I’ll be transferring your protection to him soon and
sending you on your way tomorrow. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate in
the Finnegan case, but we’re going to have to get you out of Dodge as soon as
possible. I don’t want another dead author on my hands.”
    ***
    Unable
to drive home until the police were finished with his vehicle and the window
was repaired, Chip re-registered at the Hyatt. He called Jane and told her
about his day.
    “It
was just a big city, drive-by crime. I was merely in the wrong place at the
wrong time. Just a few scratches and a broken window.”
    “First
poor Patrick and now this. I was teasing earlier when I asked if someone was
gunning for authors, but now…”
    Chip
interrupted her. “Really Jane, this had nothing to do with Finnegan’s murder.
I’m fine and I’ll be home as soon as my car is ready to