The St. Paul Conspiracy (21 page)

Thereafter, the action on the video was almost nonexistent. There was an occasional car that turned onto Hampden and went by the GasUp station. At 2:47 a.m. on the video, 12:47 a.m. their time, a minivan turned onto Hampden and went by the camera. Mac checked their notes. “Didn’t we have someone who said they got home between 2:45 and 3:00?”

“Yeah, what was her name? Something funky. Oh, yeah, Lemonjello Hardy.”

“Lemonjello?” Mac replied quizzically.

“Yeah, spelled just like lemon Jell-O, but run together,” Riles replied with a tired smile.

“Unbelievable.”

“Nope. What’s unbelievable is that she has a sister that lives with her, guess what her name is?”

“What?”

“Orangejello.”

“No way,” Linda replied. Mac just shook his head. First Dick Lick and now the jellos. What next? Someone names their daughter ESPN?

At 3:25 a.m. GasUp Station time, another vehicle looking like a van went by. “Anyone coming home around this time?” Mac asked.

Riles yawned and consulted his notes. “Yeah,” he took a sip of coffee and flipped a page in his notes. “Mike Moriarity, dropped off by Kevin McReynolds, who drives a Ford pickup with a topper.”

Morgan replayed the DVD and got close to the screen to look at the truck as it went by. It looked like that’s who it was. Playing the DVD another minute or two confirmed it as the truck came back out and turned left onto University.

Virtually nothing passed after that. At 2:50 a.m. Riles got up and hit the head. Mac, who had started to nod off a little, sat up and rubbed his eyes. He put his coffee up to his lips when he saw it go by. “Linda, run that back.”

Morgan yawned first, and then did as ordered. Mac got up and stood in front of the big screen. The van turned left onto Hampden from University. The headlights were square. The headlights on an Econoline were square. This van had a snout nose on it. An Econoline has a snout-nosed front. He couldn’t see the plate at all. The left side of the front bumper looked to be caved in. The time in the lower left hand corner was 4:33 a.m.

Riles came back into the room, “What?”

“Anybody dropped off around 4:30 a.m.?”

Riles flipped through his notes, then shook his head. “Nope.”

Mac pointed to Morgan. “Again.”

Morgan replayed the video. Riles stood next to Mac and watched the van go by. “That’s a fucking Econoline!”

“You sure?” Mac asked.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve studied those damned vans for weeks. That’s an Econoline.”

They let the DVD run, checking their watches. It seemed like an eternity. The van came back out at 4:42 a.m., nine minutes later. It came into the screen and turned left onto University Avenue. They could see the back and the license plate holder was partially lit, but they couldn’t make out the plate. Morgan took it back and ran it again. But it was too far away, and they couldn’t make it out other than the tiny white speck of a box on the dark big screen. She rewound it a third time, and they practically put their faces up to the screen. No dice.

Riley went nuts, pacing around the room, waving his arms, “Fuck, fuck, fuck! That’s our asshole, guys. That’s our asshole.” He kept pacing and waving. “We gotta find someone or something. See if we can enhance that.”

Morgan shook her head, “That’s going to require a lot of work and equipment we don’t have.”

“Who does?” Riles asked.

“The BCA,” Morgan replied. “Jupiter Jones is the man we need.”

“Jupiter,” Mac added, nodding and smiling. “He’s definitely what we need.”

* * * * *

Jupiter Jones was a longtime friend of Mac. He had met Jupiter in a computer science class at the University of Minnesota. While Mac went on to major in business and criminal justice, Jupe kept up on the computer studies. He was a computer genius.

Jupiter and a math wizard friend of his had started a little computer software business after college. Jupiter developed an intelligence program that helped businesses determine what their customers bought, when they bought it and how much they would spend. His math wizard friend was able to add mathematical equations to the program. Within five years of his graduation, Jupe’s little company had grown to one hundred-fifty employees. However, running the business required long hours and business acumen he didn’t have or really care to develop. He sold the company for sixty million dollars, which he and his partner split. After taking care of many of their employees with severance packages, they each walked away with twenty million. Jupe didn’t need to work.

What Jupiter had done since he sold his business was explore what could be done with computers and video. He had started another small business that developed programs to convert video into numerous uses, but it didn’t eat up a lot of his time. So, to keep busy, he also worked freelance for the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, helping when computer and video skills were needed. Now was such a case.

Mac looked at his watch, 3:40 a.m. “Jupiter’s going to love this,” he said as he dialed him up. Jupiter answered on the third ring.

“Whoever this is,” a sleep-slurred voice said, “it better be good.”

“Still wearing Tough Skins?”

Silence on the other end for a moment. “Mac?”

“Jupe, I need a big favor. I need it right now, and I think you can help me.”

“With what?”

“Identifying a serial killer.”

* * * * *

The Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) was located on Maryland Avenue, just north of downtown St. Paul. Jupiter, who lived half an hour away, arrived to find Mac and Riles waiting in the lobby with coffee and a bag of donuts. A smallish man with messy, blondish hair and round glasses, he looked like the computer geek he was.

“This’ll challenge all of your skills, Jupe,” Mac said.

“Hmpf,” Jupe snorted. “We’ll see about that,” he replied cockily as he unlocked the door into a computer and video lab. Jupe slung a bag off of his shoulder.

“What’s in there?” Riles asked, pointing at the bag.

“Some of my own equipment. From what you said on the phone, we might need to independently upgrade the state’s equipment to flesh this out.” He gave a knowing wink.

Mac handed Jupiter the DVD, and Jupiter put it into his computer drive. He pulled the image up and watched the key section a few times. He kept playing it back and forth.

“Well. It’s awfully grainy, but I might be able to clean it up some.”

“How quickly, Jupe?”

“It’ll take some time.”

“How much?” Mac pressed.

“Not sure, buddy. Gimme me six, maybe eight hours, and we’ll have a better idea. It’s very grainy, and it is from a long, long,
long
way away. As I look at it, you can only really make out the right side of the plate.”

They looked at the video. Jupiter pointed, “See, there’s a little shading there. I don’t think you’ll get the left side of the plate. But I might be able to get something off the right side.”

“Thanks, Jupe,” Mac said yawning.

“You boys are free to sack out here,” Jupe pointed to some cots stacked in a corner.

“Thanks, man, I owe ya.”

“You kidding, Mac? I live for this shit.”

Jupiter sat down and started to go to work. Mac and Riles looked at one another and their watches—5:25 a.m. They lifted down a couple cots from the corner.

“The state, always providing plush accommodations,” Riles muttered.

* * * * *

Mac woke up startled, momentarily trying to get his bearings. “Oh, yeah, I’m at the BCA,” he groaned, yawning and scratching his head. He looked at his watch 12:05 p.m. Holy cow, he’d slept awhile. He woke up to find the computer screen showing a program running but no Jupiter. Pat was still sleeping, and Mac let him keep going. Sleep had been hard to come by for Riles as of late.

Just then Jupe came back in, carrying a tray of coffee and some sandwiches. Mac grabbed one of each, and Jupe quietly explained how he had been breaking down the frame that had the best view of the van’s plate. He had then been working the area of the picture where they could see the license plate. He was refining the picture, trying to get the most out of the pixels. The last picture showed the plate, and Jupe had been right. They would only be able to see the right side of the plate, which was usually numbers. Right now it was still very blurry, three black, squarish blobs on the screen.

“The program I’m running it through now should clean it up as good as I can do anyway,” which was probably as good as anyone could do. “Should take another twenty minutes or so.”

Mac took a bite of his sandwich and looked the picture over. Riley started to come alive, rolling off the cot, smelling the coffee and sandwiches. “Anything?” he asked anxiously.

“Not yet,” Mac replied.

“We’ll know soon,” Jupe added.

They talked for twenty minutes. Jupe was interested in the Daniels case, and Mac gave him the run down. Jupe asked about women, and Mac gave him the scoop on Sally.

“She sounds like a nice gal,” Jupe said.

“Yeah, she is.”

They talked a little longer about nothing in particular. Finally Jupe said, “Let’s see what we have.” Jupiter maneuvered the mouse and opened a program, and there it was.

It was still a little fuzzy, but it wasn’t numbers. They had letters, and they were clear enough to Mac, “F-M-G.”

“That’s odd” Riles said, “These are reversed.”

Mac looked a little closer. He was right; the numbers should be on the left side, “Looks like maybe we can make out a number there.”

“What is it?” Jupe said, squinting at the picture.

“It’s a five or a six I think,” Riles said, also squinting.

Mac took a closer look at the upper right-hand corner of the picture. Along the top of the license plate, above the letters, was what looked like a grainy circle with a house or, wait, the angling of the roof? Mac pointed to it, “Riles, what you make of this?”

Riles looked, moving his head closer and squinting at the screen, “Those ain’t pine trees.”

“Yeah, looks like a barn and a farm scene,” Mac replied, and added, “and the letters are on the right side.”

“What in the hell are you guys talking about?” Jupe asked.

Riles and Mac smiled at each other and then looked at Jupe, uttering in unison, “Wisconsin.”

Chapter Eighteen

“This one looks interesting.”

Riley called in the partial plate number while Mac drove well over the speed limit back to the station, his flasher and siren parting traffic like the Red Sea. Jupe had come through big time. They finally had a break. Mac could hear the excitement in Riles’s voice as he called into Rockford. Mac also heard the obligatory, “You gotta be shitin’ me,” rejoinder shouted through the phone.

“God, I hope that plate matches up,” Riles said when he hung up. “Rock’s already starting a computer search.”

Mac and Riles walked into the conference room with Rock and the rest of the detail waiting with an extra bounce in their manner. They had a break, and everyone was ready to go. They practically wanted to reach through the computer monitors to grab the information. The printer was spitting out reams of paper.

“Rock, what’ve you got going here?” Riles asked.

“Report, Wisconsin Econoline vans with F-M-G and a five or six,” Rock replied, “We’ll make copies and start working through them.”

The printer burped out the last piece of paper. A detail guy grabbed the paper out of the printer and sprinted out of the room. He was back within five minutes with a stack of reports.

* * * * *

They got started working through the reports, and Lich chuckled out loud.

“What?” asked Rockford.

“Mac.”

“What about him?”

“He’s got a horseshoe up his ass.”

“Thank God,” Riles added.

Mac cringed. “We haven’t found anything yet, boys.”

“It’s there. I can feel it,” Riles replied.

“Cases are like anything else. Sometimes you get hot,” Mac mused. It was pure luck that he’d looked up at the video camera and noticed it pointed out at the street. It was pure luck that the camera was pointed at the perfect angle. It was pure luck Jupiter could get a partial plate. “I’m seriously considering getting on a plane to Vegas.”

“You should at least go out to Mystic Lake Casino,” Rockford added. Mystic Lake Casino was an Indian casino in Prior Lake, a southwest suburb of the Twin Cities.

Mac started working through his report. Rock had printed all records for vehicles with F-M-G and either a five or six and Ford Econoline vans. That brought them fifty-three records, which everyone started reading through. Each record contained information such as date of birth, height, weight, eye color, address, occupation, income and employer among other things.

The reading was tedious. There were a couple of possibilities yelled out, with everyone turning to the specific record. One was an address in Prescott, and another in Grantsburg, both in western Wisconsin. The vans were both lighter colored. One was registered to a woman. They were close enough that they were put into the possible pile.

One of the guys ran across the street to Wang’s for take out. Gut bomb Chinese food—nothing better. They emptied out the pop machine to wash it all down. The conference table was full of empty white boxes and soda cans. The coffee machine was started, and a few scattered white Styrofoam cups littered the table. It was not a good diet mix. Everyone was belching, and more than one person asked about Tums.

Then they had a real hit.

Riles shouted, “Forty-six looks interesting.”

Everyone started flipping pages. Mac was on record forty-four at the time, turned the page and read out loud, “Forty-six. Dirk Knapp. Age twenty-nine. Resides in Hudson, Wisconsin. Has a 1997 Ford Econoline Van registered in his name.”

“What’s he do?” someone yelled, not yet to the page.

Mac scrolled down the page with his index finger. Bingo. “He’s employed as a driver by Quick Cleaners on University Avenue,” Mac answered. He grinned.

That got everyone’s attention. Quick Cleaners was a large dry cleaning shop and did a huge volume of clothing and uniform dry cleaning. It would not be uncommon to see a Q Cleaner van anywhere in St. Paul and especially on University. In fact their main location was on University.