The St. Paul Conspiracy (6 page)

“We’ll have to see. Assuming they find the guy who saw you, the police may want to interview you. How much they want to talk to you may depend upon cause of death, what time they think she died, who else she might have been seeing, who might have an axe to grind—that sort of thing.”

“What do we do now?”

“We call Lyman.”

* * * * *

Late in the afternoon, Mac and Lich left Channel 6. They drove in silence along I-94 heading back towards Daniels’ place. As Mac hit the Lexington Parkway exit and headed south towards Summit Avenue, Lich piped up. “So what do you think we learned?”

“Well, we learned she’s really well liked and respected,” Mac replied. “She doesn’t appear to have any enemies at the station. She was serious and committed to her work. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, she wasn’t working on anything that would cause someone to want to kill her. Nobody’s aware of anyone she was currently seeing.”

“We’ve also learned she’s a horny little minx.” Lich added, obviously enjoying the more salacious details acquired that afternoon.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to mention that. Elliott obviously enjoyed the fling they had,” Mac said. “But we learned she was passionate, maybe a little kinky, but not into anything unusual.”

“Elliott neutered the details,” Lich replied dismissively. “I imagine at some point he’ll be going through them in his mind again, probably to great delight.”

Mac couldn’t disagree, although he didn’t respond as he turned left on Summit and drove past the Victorian Mansions and majestic cathedrals that dotted the avenue’s landscape. He zoomed by the sprawling Minnesota governor’s mansion on his right and stately William Mitchell College of Law on the left. Three more blocks east, Mac pulled into an open spot along Summit, a block short of Daniels’ place on St. Albans. As they got out of the truck, Lich remarked, “I can’t believe how warm it is.”

It was remarkably warm Mac thought. It was 5:00 p.m. and still sixty degrees, which was extremely warm for November 1st in Minnesota. Might not want to mothball the golf clubs just yet, he thought.

They walked to the corner, turned right on St. Albans towards Daniels’ condo, and stopped to take in the scene. The crowd had thinned some, but the news trucks and reporters were milling around. While Lich was standing with hands on hips, looking towards the news media getting ready for their 5:00 p.m. live reports, Mac saw Green and Clark standing on the porch to Daniels’ place. Mac grabbed Lich by the elbow and nodded his head towards the two other detectives.

In a couple of minutes, they had threaded their way through the crowd, ignoring the many questions. The yellow police tape finally held the media back. Mac and Lich climbed up the steps to the porch. “What’s the status around here?” Mac asked. Clark gave them the rundown, all the people they interviewed and buildings cleared. “What about across the street?” Mac asked.

Clark answered. “We missed four units in the one right across the street. That was one of the first places we went, so the people may be back by now.”

“Okay. Lich and I can run over there quick before we have to head back downtown. Which units?”

Clark gave them the numbers, and Mac and Lich headed across the street. The three-story brown-brick apartment building rested on the southeast corner of Summit. It was one of many desirable red-and-brown-brick apartment buildings between Summit and Grand.

At the first apartment, there was still no answer. They would have to come back. Mac jotted a note on the back of his business card and slipped it under the door. At the second unit, Mac and Lich found a couple of women in their mid-twenties just home from work having a beer. One was a heavier-set brunette still wearing her blue business suit. The other was an attractive, petite blonde, wearing a tight T-shirt that showed her midriff and blue jeans. She made eyes at Mac immediately, which he tried to ignore, although it was difficult. Her name was Carrie. She said that she and her roommate had been at the Halloween party at Mardi Gras the night before. They left the bar around 12:30 a.m. and had walked home along St. Albans and came in the back door along the alley. They hadn’t seen anything and might not have even if they were looking as both admitted they had a really good time at Mardi Gras. It looked like they were ready to get a good start today, as there were a couple of empty bottles sitting on the coffee table. After five minutes, it was apparent that they knew nothing. Yet, every time Mac got up to leave, Lich kept the conversation going.

As they finally left, Mac asked. “How come you kept that going?”

“Just trying to get you laid. She was attractive as hell and ready to be had,” Lich said, smiling. “Hell, she was throwing herself at you. They know nothing about the case. You should stop back and get yourself a little.”

Mac appreciated Lich’s concern. He wasn’t the first one to make the comment in the last few months. It had been awhile. His buddies kept telling him he needed to “Get back on the horse.”

In the next unit, they found a couple of William Mitchell law students. They had ignored Halloween altogether, having studied until 10:00 p.m. at the law school. Then they came home, had a beer and hit the rack around 11:45, after watching Letterman. They hadn’t seen anything and didn’t even know that Daniels lived so close.

Lich and Mac moved onto the last unit, which was on the third floor along the front of the building. They knocked on the door a couple of times. No answer. Mac slipped a business card under the door with a note to please call him. He and Lich turned to leave, were ten feet down the hall when they heard the chain unhook and the deadbolt turn open. They turned to walk back as a Hispanic man who appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties opened the door. “What can I do for you?”

“St. Paul detectives,” Mac replied as he and Lich flashed their identifications. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Juan Hernandez. What’s going on?”

“There was a murder in the neighborhood, and we’re wondering if you knew anything about it?”

“No kidding? Where?”

“It was across the street, in one of the condos on St. Albans. The victim was Claire Daniels—you know, the reporter from Channel 6. We’re asking everyone who lives in the neighborhood if they saw anything,” said Lich. “And by the way, can we step inside?”

“Oh, sure.”

Mac, Lich, and Hernandez stepped inside his apartment into the living room, which was sparsely furnished with a couch, chair, coffee table, and TV. There were few if any personal furnishings displayed. Lich, looking around, asked, “Just move in?”

“Yeah, just a few days ago,” Hernandez replied. “When did it happen, the murder?”

“We think last night?”

“Oh, my.” Hernandez replied, putting his hand to his chest. “What time?”

“We’re not sure,” Lich lied.

“Hmpf.” Hernandez walked over towards the porch looking out onto Summit Avenue. “Is her place the last condo on the end?”

The way he said it caused Mac and Lich to share a look. This guy was leading somewhere. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Mac inquired.

“Well. I was having trouble sleeping last night, so I went out for a walk around 12:30 a.m. Thought maybe the fresh air would clear my head. So, anyway, I was walking up St. Albans and ran into someone in the street.”

“Who was that?” Mac asked neutrally.

Hernandez hesitated. “You guys probably won’t believe this.”

“Give it a shot,” Lich said.

“Mason Johnson,” Hernandez blurted.

That got their attention. “What? Mason Johnson? Senator Mason Johnson?” Mac replied, disbelieving, his heart skipping a beat.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Hernandez replied confidently.

Mac shared a quick look with Lich that said,
Oh, boy, the case might have just gone nuclear
. “What time?” Mac continued.

“It was 1:30.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, yes. I thought it odd to see him so late like that on the street, so I looked at my watch. It was 1:30.”

“Where did you see him on the street?” Lich asked.

“He was coming down the steps of the condo, and he turned and walked right by me on the sidewalk. I even said hello to him, and he said hi back,” Hernandez said, remaining self-assured. “I don’t think he expected to see anyone on the street at that hour. He kind of ducked his head when he saw me coming. But he said hello, walked by me and got into his car.”

“What kind of car?” Lich asked.

“Lexus, I think, white. He’d parked it down the street a ways. I kind of turned to watch him after he went past me. He got in the car and drove away. I remember thinking it was the darndest thing to have seen him on the street like that.”

“Mr. Hernandez, you’re sure?” Lich asked, a little unbelieving.

“Oh, yes. It was him. He’s on TV a lot. You couldn’t help but recognize him. I mean, he’s a pretty recognizable guy. You say Claire Daniels lived in that condo huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Mac replied.

“Kinda late to be leaving there.” Hernandez stopped for a second and put his finger to his mouth, and then quietly said, “Hmmm. I thought the senator was married.”

Mac was thinking the same thing and gave Lich another quick look, “Mr. Hernandez, we need you to come downtown and give us a statement.” Viper was parked on the north side of Summit Avenue, across the street from McRyan’s Explorer. That had been mere serendipity, as they were parked there when McRyan arrived in the late afternoon. They tried to move the van around all day, never parking in the same spot for too long. They had even changed vans around noon, from the dark blue one to white. It wasn’t unheard of that a murderer would be watching the police work at the crime scene and get noticed. Viper wanted none of that, so they changed vans and locations throughout the day.

Viper wanted to make sure the crime scene developed as planned. If the police investigated properly, they would find what Viper wanted them to find. He’d checked on McRyan, and the word was he was a good young cop. So far, so good, as the young detective and his tubby partner were following the trail of breadcrumbs he had left behind.

As he rubbed his eyes and yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time, he heard one of his crew exclaim, “
Beautiful
.” Viper knew what that meant. He moved over to the window and saw McRyan and his partner approaching the Explorer, along with a Hispanic male.

“Well that didn’t take long,” remarked Viper, a smile creasing his tired face.

Chapter Six

“Ever heard of Chappaquiddick?”

While Lich was taking Hernandez’s statement, Mac made a call to Linda Morgan for an update. The Daniels case had been on the fast track, everything else, other than the case of the serial killer, was pushed aside. Morgan confirmed that the cause of Claire Daniels’ death was suffocation by strangulation. While measuring time of death was a tricky thing, they had been able to narrow it down to between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m. She’d had sex, but there was no vaginal tearing. Rape was not indicated. They would be able to get DNA from the semen, but it would take a little time. They had prints from the scene, which had yet to be matched.
That may quickly change
, Mac thought.

“When will the autopsy be done? When can I have the official results?” Mac asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Anything else? I’m on my way to meet with the chief.”

“Nope. We’ll have the autopsy done and the results to you in the morning. Any ideas on who might match the semen or prints?”

Mac thought for a moment, he’d have to run things by the chief and Captain Peters first, “I might have something for you on that later.”

“Who?”

“Can’t tell you yet. I gotta run that one by the powers that be. All I’ll say is, it could be tricky.”

Mac could hear the excitement in Linda’s voice, “Let me know as soon as you can, okay? It’d be really great to clear this one. Get the media off our asses.”

“That it would.” Mac hung up on Linda and shuffled over to a pay phone, flipping the White Pages open to the government listings. He found the number for Senator Johnson’s office. A staffer told Mac that the senator had been in town until this morning. Last night he had been at a fund raiser in downtown Minneapolis that ended sometime around 10:30 p.m. The senator
had
been in town. Hernandez seemed legit.

Just then Clark and Green came down the hallway with a man in a red cardigan sweater with glasses hanging on a string around his neck. Green stopped while Clark took the man into an interview room. Green had an excited look.

“Who’s that?” Mac asked.

“Daniels’ neighbor, guy named John Chase. You’ll never guess who he saw leaving Daniels’ place two nights ago.”

“Mason Johnson.”

Green went blank. “How... how the hell did you know?”

Mac related the discovery of Hernandez having seen Johnson leaving the night before. Lich approached and Mac filled him in on Chase. Lich had checked with Motor Vehicle Records. The senator had a white Lexus with Minnesota plates. It was registered under Gwen Johnson, his wife, with an apartment address at Galtier Plaza in downtown St. Paul. Mac mentioned his conversation with Morgan and that he had confirmed that the senator had been in town.

“Mac, boy, seems like we got ourselves a prime suspect,” said Lich, pulling up his trousers and popping on the balls of his feet.

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see, my ass. Don’t look a potential gift horse in the mouth.”

“Well, let’s go tell the chief about our prime suspect and ruin his night,” Mac said.

With Hernandez’s statement in hand, Mac and Lich headed up to the chief’s office. This would be an interesting meeting. It would include the Chief, Captain Peters, Sylvia Miller, as well as District Attorney Helen Anderson. Mac had to chuckle, for as much as Chief Flanagan loathed the cameras, Anderson loved them. Anderson was something of a publicity hound. While an assistant district attorney would handle the case, the high profile guaranteed Anderson’s involvement. She was more a politician than attorney and held hardly concealed aspirations for higher office. She would love the exposure this case would bring, especially if it involved a sitting United States senator from the opposing Republican Party nonetheless. Take down a powerful Republican—now that was the way to rise in the Democratic Party.