The St. Paul Conspiracy (22 page)

There was a buzz in the room. This was a good possibility. Everyone broke into conversation, people fighting to speak over one another. Mac sat back and took it all in. It was the sound of guys who, after working a case for a couple of months with no success, finally saw a ray of light. They had a lead, and excitement simply took over. Any semblance of order was momentarily lost.

Finally, Riles jumped in, “Hey, shut the fuck up. We have some others to go through here, so let’s settle down,” then to Mac, “Anything else?”

“Was in the Marines, medically discharged in 2000. No criminal record.”

“Medical discharge? Anything on that in the record?” someone asked.

“Not that I see,” Mac replied, shaking his head.

“Okay, make a note of that,” Riley ordered. “If we need to, we’ll see if we can get those records. How many more do we have to go through?”

“Seven.”

“Okay. Let’s get through them. Then we’ll get back to Knapp.”

Of the seven remaining records, there was one other mildly interesting candidate from Elk Mound, but nothing as close to what they thought they should be looking for as Knapp. Consequently everyone in the room was keyed up to take a closer look at Dirk Knapp. It was 7:45 p.m., and everyone felt like it was 7:45 a.m. with a full night’s rest under their belt.

Rockford said what was on everyone’s mind, “Road trip to Hudson anyone?”

* * * * *

Hudson, twenty miles east of St. Paul just across the St. Croix River and into Wisconsin. The Wisconsin counterpart to Stillwater, Hudson, was a quaint town, with a main street and old brick-front stores and shops. In the summer, the private marinas filled with river pleasure boats. The shoreline was dotted with numerous restaurants and bars with docks so that people could stop in while boating and have dinner and drinks. Now that it was November, the river, docks and restaurants were quiet. Knapp’s address put his home just north of Hudson, resting along Wisconsin State Highway 35.

They made a convoy to Hudson. All that was missing was, “This is the Rubber Duck and a 10-4, good buddy.” Eight detectives made the trek out. More had wanted to come, but Riles held them off, wanting to get a look at Knapp’s place before half the St. Paul Police Department camped outside his front door. At 9:30 p.m., they all stopped in the parking lot of an Italian restaurant on the north side of town. A call ahead to Hudson was made and the police chief met them in the parking lot. “Whatever you boys need, let me know. We’re glad to help.” He gave them a rundown of the road ahead and where Knapp’s place was.

Riles, Mac, Lich, and Rockford left the others at the restaurant and cruised Knapp’s place, which was another half mile up the road on 35.

Knapp’s house sat on the west side, one hundred yards back from the road. There was a bright yard light that illuminated an old white, two-story, clapboard farmhouse, two out buildings and a large red barn. A faint light peered through the front picture window. In addition to the van, Knapp also had a 1999 Grand Am registered in his name. They saw neither vehicle. It looked as if nobody was home.

They slowly drove by, taking a look. There were few trees obstructing the view, and recently harvested farmland surrounded the home. Farm equipment was noticeably absent. There were no homes nearby on that side of the road.

“Should be pretty easy to see him coming and going,” Rock remarked.

“If we can find a place to sit and watch. We can’t exactly sit at the end of the driveway unnoticed,” Mac replied.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Riles added.

A housing development was springing up a quarter mile up the road on the right side, opposite Knapp’s place. Riles drove down to the development and turned right. Three homes were under construction on the right side of the street. Between the second and third was a vacant lot that eventually would hold a home. It was a pile of dirt for the time being. Riley turned the van around, and they pulled along the curb. They could see through the vacant lot to Knapp’s place.

“Here’s one spot,” Rockford stated.

It turned out that for now it was the only one that they could find to watch Knapp’s place without drawing attention. They drove by the farmhouse one more time then went back to the others waiting at the restaurant. Riley gave the orders for the night. Two would wait at the restaurant and watch from the south, while the other two would take up the spot in the housing development. Riles ordered Mac, Lich, and Rock home.

“What about you, Riles?” Rock asked.

“I’m going home too, I’m exhausted.”

Chapter Nineteen

“The military haircut, the spit-shined shoes.”

Beep, beep, beep.
Mac reached over and turned off the alarm. He sat up and yawned and took a closer look at the clock, 6:30 a.m. Riles had sent him home at 10:30 p.m. He’d called Sally on the way home, and she had him come over. Five minutes after hitting the sack, he was asleep. Never a deep sleeper or someone who required anymore than four or five hours, Mac crashed hard and slept soundly. Several hours of sleep left him feeling refreshed.

He swung his feet out of bed, rubbed his eyes and yawned. He got up, scratched his ass as he went over and looked out the window. A gust of wind rattled the pane, and the leaves skipped down the street. It was overcast, another typical cloudy, windy, chilly November day.

The shower was running. He wondered if Sally was feeling as refreshed as he was. Mac headed for the shower to find out.

Two hours later, he checked his watch as he pulled up to the Grand Brew. He wanted his usual double latte to start the day, even if he was starting much later than usual. Mac was one for routines, and this was one of them.

As he walked inside the coffee shop, he had a smile on his face as he thought about the last two hours. Sally had indeed been refreshed. While she gave him the obligatory, “Men are animals,” when he jumped into her shower, they had quickly moved to the bed.

Later, as they dressed, Mac filled her in on Knapp.

“What are you guys going to do?

“We’ll follow him and see what develops. We can’t even be sure that this is the guy.” Mac took a bite of his toast and, with a half-full mouth, said, “But it feels right.”

Sally sipped her juice. “How come?”

“Just does. Instinct, intuition, gut. Whatever it is, this is the break the case needed.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sally said as she bit into her toast. “You guys thinking about a search warrant?”

“I’m thinking our case on this guy is a little thin. But I imagine we’ll be talking about it” Mac replied. “Before we get that far, we have to see the van first.” He took a sip of his juice. “Another thing that concerns me about going for a search at this point is that he’s been so good at leaving nothing behind for evidence. He probably has that van clean as a whistle. If we go for the warrant, find nothing, then where does that leave us?”

“I see your point,” Sally replied. “So you follow?”

“Yeah. If he sticks to his pattern, maybe we catch him in the act or something.”

Twenty minutes later, Mac pulled the door open to the Grand Brew and headed inside. He ordered his usual, paid his usual and headed out.

* * * * *

Sally got into her office just before 9:00 a.m., turned on her computer and picked up her phone to check voicemails. Only three messages, which was a pleasant surprise. She punched in her computer password and heard a knock on the door. Oh oh. She turned to see Helen.

“Good morning, Helen.”

“Good morning. A light day ahead of you?” The tone in her voice said it all. Sally was late. If Helen Anderson was a stickler for anything, it was being on time. She wanted the impression that her office was working hard, doing the people’s business and, by extension, her business. Therefore, she always wanted her people in early and working late. Of course, many in the office grumbled that they did all the work and Helen got all the glory. She did like to be on camera and quoted in the paper. The fact that she knew little, if anything, about criminal law didn’t help and pissed people off. But she was the boss, at least for now, a senate run in the offing.

“In fact, yes,” Sally replied.

“I see,” Anderson said, the tone of disapproval remaining.

Sally needed to change the subject, “I have what may be some good news, though.”

“What’s that?”

“The police may finally have a suspect in the University Avenue killings.”

That perked up Helen’s attention, “Really? Tell me.”

Sally could see Helen savoring the headlines.

* * * * *

Mac, Lich, Riley, and Rock, along with a few others, met briefly downtown with Chief Flanagan and Peters. Knapp had come home at 1:15 a.m. He was on the road again at 8:00 a.m., heading into work at Quick Cleaners.

Knapp’s Q Cleaners location was on the northwest corner of Lexington and University Avenue. He had appeared for work at 9:30 a.m. His MVR record from Wisconsin said he was employed as a driver. They figured he worked some sort of later 9:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. shift, which made some sense based on pick-ups and drop offs.

The building itself was on the corner, with a large parking lot full of vans to the west. Mac pulled his van into a shopping mall parking lot across the street with the back of the van facing the store. He and Lich could look out the tinted windows in the back. They each had binoculars, and a radio sat on the floor. The rest of the crew was spread out around the store, waiting for action.

At 10:15 a.m., the radio crackled with the voice of Dan Patrick, “I think our boy just came out the door.”

Mac responded, “Copy that.” He looked through his binoculars and saw a tall, lean, white male with short blond hair, almost a military cut. He was wearing a green full-body, zip-up uniform and had a clipboard. Mac noticed his boots, bright black, as if they had been spit-shined.

Knapp got into one of the white Q Cleaner vans and backed it up to a small loading dock where a couple of other men from inside started loading the van with white hangers full of plastic-covered shirts, suits, uniforms, and other clothing for delivery. In ten minutes the van was full. One of the other workers gave Knapp a few sheets of paper that he put on his clipboard. Knapp gave the guy a little wave, jumped in his van and pulled out of the parking lot, heading west along University.

* * * * *

The detail tailed Knapp all day as he made deliveries up and down University Avenue for nearly four hours, going as far west as the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis, and back east along University, to within a few blocks of the State Capitol. Deliveries were made to homes, offices, factories, a motel, restaurants, and bars. The stops never ventured far north or south of University Avenue. At 3:00 p.m. he stopped at a McDonald’s for a late lunch. Mac watched through the binoculars as he wolfed down a super-sized meal.

After his lunch, he did his pickups, hitting all of the same kinds of establishments up and down University. At 5:45 p.m. he backed his van up to the loading dock area at Q-Cleaners, and a couple of workers came out and started unloading the van while Knapp headed inside.

At 6:00 p.m. sharp, Knapp walked, almost marched, out of the building and got into a red Pontiac Grand Am. He pulled out and drove west on University. Just past Snelling Avenue, he turned left into a parking ramp. A detail van followed Knapp in. Mac kept going west on University one block to a Burger King where he pulled in and stopped, waiting for a status on Knapp.

Five minutes later Riley popped on the radio, “Knapp’s inside Applebee’s. Looks like he’s going to order dinner. Everyone find a spot and sit tight.”

Mac and Lich both looked at the Burger King sign and Lich blurted, “You want fries with that?”

* * * * *

At 7:45 p.m., Knapp left Applebee’s. He didn’t head home. He stopped at three bars along University Avenue. At each stop, a member or two of the detail got out and went inside to observe. At each bar Knapp would stop in and have a beer or two, usually sitting at the bar. Most of the time he watched whatever game was on TV. At Murphy’s Bar, he watched the Wild and Red Wings game. At Pistol Pete’s, he engaged in idle chitchat with a group of men while watching the Wolves game.

His last stop was Dick’s Bar on the northeast corner of University and Arundel. It was 11:15 p.m. The radio chirped with Riles voice. “Mac, your turn.”

“Copy that,” Mac replied. He grabbed his leather jacket and his beat up old Twins baseball cap and opened the door. He stopped and quickly looked back at Lich, who was chewing on a cigar. “Got a spare?”

Dick’s was a classic dark hole-in-the-wall bar. On the left side was a long bar that ran forty feet to the back. Along the wall behind the bar were shelves with various unorganized bottles of liquor. Along the right side were booths, with red vinyl seats, hacked up from years of use and inattention. In the back was a narrow hallway with a backdoor to the parking lot. There were bathrooms along the right side and a small kitchen on the left.

Dick’s was a working man’s bar. No suits, no ties. Instead people wore shit-kickers, dirty pants, work coats, and ball caps. As Mac listened to the conversations, every other word was “shit,” “fuck,” “asshole,” or “cocksucker.” A smoky haze muted the dim light. Along with the bottles along the back wall one could get a pack of smokes, a cheap cigar or some beef jerky. A quick count told Mac there were twenty-five customers.

Knapp sat in the middle of the bar, looking up at the TV that hung over the far end of the bar. A hoops game was on ESPN. Mac looked up in time to see Shaq nearly pull the basket down to the floor with a massive dunk, which caused someone to yell, “Jesus Christ!”

Mac picked an empty stool at the corner of the bar, next to the pull-tabs, just inside the front door. He could sit and look straight down the bar at Knapp. The bartender turned towards him to serve a customer between Knapp and Mac. She took his order, looked towards Mac and flashed him a smile.

The bartender was not what you’d expect to find at a place like Dick’s. She was attractive as hell. She was a petite blonde wearing a tight white Dick’s T-shirt, no bra, and her nipples were in full bloom. The dirty old boys in here must love it. She had short, kinky hair, kind of spiked on top and a hundred-watt smile that she flashed constantly. No wonder there were a few folks in here. Mac wondered what the heck she was doing here. She could be working a lot of other places.