The St. Paul Conspiracy (9 page)

“Lich? He stopped in briefly, but I think he went home. He’s in the newly divorced club as well, and not for the first time, either.”

“Man, marriage—not exactly a solid institution is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’re lots of people who make it work. I’m just glad we didn’t have kids. How about you?”

“Kids? No, although it’s probably what led to the end of things. He was ready. I wasn’t. We had a big blow-up about it, but I refused. Few days later, I come home to find he’s cleaned out his part of the closet and dresser. Said he was staying at a hotel. Couple of weeks later, I got papers from his lawyer and, as they say, the rest is history.”

“I remember now, you were married when we were in law school, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, my ex was a year ahead of me. We’re both lawyers. He figured he could continue with his career, and I’d stay home and be the happy homemaker. I was the prosecutor, in a government job making 50 K and he’s up for partner in Fitzgerald and Bush, making 150 K. We didn’t need my salary, so I should just stay home.” Kennedy shook her head. Mac could relate to a spouse who didn’t value a job where one served the public good.

Mac’s food came just then. He took a bite of the sandwich. “You haven’t always been a prosecutor in Ramsey County, though, have you?”

“No. Just came over in the last couple of months. I was over in Minneapolis, with Hennepin County,” Sally replied, taking a pull from her beer. “Thing was, I kept running into my ex over there. He tries a number of cases. Knows the judges. I knew the judges. Too many rumors going around. Then he started seeing another lawyer I saw all the time, and it got to be a bit much. Ramsey County had a position open, and here I am. But enough about me.” Sally’s voice went quiet. “Let’s talk Mason Johnson.”

“Okay. What happens when Senator Johnson comes in?”

“You mean
if
he comes in?” Kennedy responded.

“Oh, he’ll be coming in. Question is, how he’ll do it. Voluntarily or involuntarily.”

“What makes you think he’ll do it voluntarily?”

“If I was him, I’d want to get in front of this, especially if I’m innocent, which I’m sure he’ll claim to be.” Kennedy furrowed her brow. “You disagree?” Mac asked.

“I’m not sure. I see what you’re saying. He’d look better if he came in to help.” Kennedy took a drink. “Thing is, he may not know if we know about him. He might be thinking, ‘Why implicate myself if the police don’t know about me?’”

“If that’s the case, he’s gambling we didn’t find Hernandez.” Mac took a sip of his Guiness, looked out the window and continued, “But I see what you’re saying. He’s got to anticipate we’ll find Hernandez. He’s got to think that maybe a neighbor somewhere saw him. That maybe Claire told someone at the station about the relationship, if there was one. Sooner or later we’d get to him. So, why not come out front. My question is whether he’ll seek legal counsel first. If so, how much will his lawyer get in the way?”

Kennedy smiled and nodded. “I’d be stunned if he didn’t show up with legal counsel. Good legal counsel.”

“Of course, Johnson’s an attorney, isn’t he? He might just show up himself.”

Kennedy waved him off. “You know what they say, Mac. A lawyer who represents himself...”

“...I know, I know. He has an idiot for a client.” Mac chuckled, remembering the old maxim from law school.

It was Kennedy’s turn to peer out the window. Then she said, “So how will you handle it if he comes in?”

“I haven’t thought about it much—yet. I suppose it depends upon when and where. I know the chief’s going to call either tonight or tomorrow. I won’t know much until that happens.” Mac finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers with his napkin. “Want another beer?”

“I was thinking about it, but it’s getting late,” Sally said, looking at her watch. “I should get home.”

“Where’s home?”

“I have a little place over in Highland Park. How about you?”

“I’m up on Summit. I have an apartment on the third floor of one of the old mansions, a couple houses south of the James J. Hill mansion.”

“Wow. That’s nice. How’d you swing that?” A hint of skepticism in her voice. Where did a detective get that kind of money?

“It actually doesn’t cost me that much. Family friend. I help out in the summer, mow the grass, trim the hedges—that sort of thing. I look after the place in the winter. She’s a snowbird. She charges me little rent. She doesn’t need the money. Of course, I do, so it’s a good deal.” Mac actually was just fine financially, but he didn’t want people to know that. They might start asking how a detective did so well, which was from a combination of factors, both the Grand Brew and the divorce. Mac had gotten all the investments. Added to the McRyan Pub dividends and his salary, and he was living quite comfortably.

Getting back to business, he said, “I’ll tell you one thing. I’d like to keep my little visit with the senator quiet until we nail this down.”

“Press?”

With a sigh, “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of the media, especially television. And with Daniels the victim, well, this is gonna get ugly.”

“You know, Mac, I’m a hockey fan. I had Gopher student tickets when I was at the U and you were playing. You didn’t seem to mind the media then.”

“That was different. The sports guys weren’t like the rest of the media. They like sports and for the most part knew something about it. They were mostly interested in the real story, especially when they were covering college.” Mac took a last drink from his beer. “Besides, it wasn’t like heads could roll because of them. But the media now?” Mac shook his head. “The newspaper guys are good. They usually take the time to get it right. I’ve always got time for them. Especially, a couple of those old time scribes from the
Strib
or
Pioneer Press
that hang around the crime scenes. They’re kind of fun to talk to.”

“Guys who have been doing it for forty years?” Sally added.

“Yeah, exactly. But television? I don’t know about them. It seems like it’s all about entertainment, ratings, looks—less about real news. You have to tell the story, say about our serial killer, in thirty-second sound bites,” Mac said skeptically, shaking his head. “There’s no way to do a good job that quickly, and we usually come out on the short end of the stick. And the thing that really burns me is that, with the exception of a couple of them, most don’t know shit about police work.”

“They don’t know much about the law either,” Kennedy added. “I agree with you, Mac, but they’ll be a fact of life on this case.”

Mac sighed, nodded his head and ran his hand through his thick, blond hair. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’ll be a circus if word about the senator gets out. I’m not looking forward to that.”

Kennedy finished her beer, “You’re right about that. Shall we?”

“Yup.” As they both put on their coats, Mac looked back in the bar to wave good night and saw it immediately. Cops, seven or eight of them, had been watching him and Sally talk. He knew what they were thinking. He could see it in their eyes—Mac’s going to get some. Mac shook his head at them and, with his back turned to Kennedy, mouthed, “Fuck you.” They all just laughed. He turned to Kennedy, who hadn’t noticed, “Where are you parked?”

“Just across the street,” Kennedy nodded out the front window, “The Camry. You?”

“Out back. I’ll walk you across the street. You never know.”

She shared a warm smile. “Thanks.”

They walked across the street in silence. Mac stopped about fifteen feet short of her car. She dug out her keys and continued to the driver’s door. As she opened it, she looked back, flashed him a smile. “I suspect I’ll be seeing a lot of you now?”

The smile, the comment, the way she said that—which could be taken a couple of ways, one of which made Mac’s heart skip a little beat. He played it cool. “I suppose so.”

Kennedy nodded, flashed him another smile and got in her car. Mac turned and walked back across the street. He would be seeing a lot of her most likely and that wasn’t an altogether bad thought. It had been the longest conversation he’d had with a woman since the divorce. As he was walking around to the back of the Pub, he looked in the front window through the M
C
R
YAN
’
S
P
UB
letters and saw his friends, laughing, waving their arms and giving him the look like he struck out. Mac chuckled. He imagined his couple of beers with Kennedy would be the talk of the town tomorrow. Cops—they loved the gossip. He thought about going back inside and trying to stop it before it started, but he knew better. He’d only make it worse.

* * * * *

Sally turned into her driveway, hit the garage door opener and pulled into her one-car garage. It was late, 11:30 p.m., but she smelled like a bar— smokey. She knew she couldn’t sleep like that. She took a quick shower. The warm water felt good, and she instantly knew she would sleep better.

She got out of the shower, grabbed a towel and dried her shoulderlength hair. Looking at herself in the mirror, she liked what she saw. She was thirty-two and took good care of herself. The Stairmaster in the spare bedroom, used daily, helped. With no husband and a lot of extra time, she spent it on herself. Not that anyone could ever really tell when she was in her business suits, but that was the way she wanted it. The last thing she wanted to attract was another lawyer. But, she was starting to stir. The divorce would always be with her, but a lot of the pain was behind her now. She thought maybe she wanted to start seeing people, wanted to start dating. McRyan. She hadn’t spent that much time talking with a man in months, at least a good-looking one and he was that. Might have to try to get to know him a little better she thought.

Chapter Eight

“Will we grant their request?”

Mac pulled into the parking lot of the Cleveland Grille. Lich had suggested an early breakfast. The Cleveland was a greasy spoon if there ever was one. Breakfasts were fattening and the coffee thick. It had classic seventies décor with vinyl booths, butt-ugly yellow-and-brown wallpaper, and a speckled tile floor. It was a total design disaster. It was also the best place in town to get breakfast. Mac loved the Cleveland Grille breakfast burrito. It was guaranteed to make lunch unnecessary.

When he walked in, Mac saw a couple of uniforms at the counter getting a cup of coffee to go. They nodded and smiled. Odd smiles?

Mac found Lich in a back corner booth, reading the
Pioneer Press
with a cup of coffee in front of him. “Mornin’, Dick.”

“Good morning to you.” Lich looked up and smiled, a shit-eating grin. “So... tell me... how’s Sally Kennedy?”

So that’s why the odd smiles when he walked in. Mac rolled his eyes. “Christ, that didn’t take long.” He looked back to find the uniform cops laughing. Cripes.

“Word is you two talked for quite a while last night.”

“Yeah, we talked,
about
the case.”

“Riiiiiight.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, don’t get defensive.” Lich took a sip of coffee. “I was glad to hear it. Get back on the horse, son. You can’t sulk about your divorce forever. It’s over and done with. Your ex was a bitch anyway,” Lich reasoned. “I’m secure in my masculinity, so I can say this—you’re a good-looking guy, Mac. Get out there and get yourself a little. Sally Kennedy? She’s a damn fine lookin’ woman. Have at it.”

“I need to stop
sulking
? You bitch about your divorce all the time.”

“About the financial aspects, sure. The bitch cleaned me out. But I’m better off without her.”

Just then their waitress appeared. She was a late forty-something named Dot. She wasn’t the prettiest woman in the world, but her ample bosom flowed out of her top that was two sizes too small. She looked at Mac, and then gave a big smile to Lich. No wonder they were here.

“What can I get you, detectives?” Dot asked.

Lich went first, “Dot, honey, I’ll have my usual.”

“And you, detective?” Her smile remained but turned businesslike.

Dot, honey, I’ll have my usual?
Mac gave a long look at Lich and smiled, and then looked up to Dot. “I’ll have a CG burrito, an orange juice, and a cup of coffee.”

“Coming right up.” Dot replied. She gave Lich another smile and walked away.

Mac didn’t say anything right away. Instead he grabbed the sports section, checking out the latest on the Vikings. Dot came right back with the coffee and juice. Mac looked over his paper and saw Dot refill Lich’s cup, giving him another very pointed smile and a, “Let me know if you need anything else?” It wasn’t directed at Mac.

Mac kept reading for about another minute, then said, “So, you seen her tits yet?”

Lich let out a rueful laugh, “Not yet, but rest assured, young man, I’m working on it.”

Mac cackled. Maybe Lich was right. If at fifty-two, or whatever his age was, he was getting back after it, maybe he needed to as well.

They talked about the case a little, deciding what they were going to be doing for the day. The autopsy report would be ready. Then they would canvass the neighborhood some more and try to catch up with some people they missed. And of course, they would find out what they were going to be doing about the senator.

Mac finished his breakfast and paid his tab. He left Lich behind so he could make some time with Dot.

* * * * *

Viper awoke at 8:00 a.m. refreshed. Eleven hours of sleep would do that for a person. The boss wanted him at his house by 10:00 a.m. to discuss the status of the Daniels matter as well as a few other things. He imagined the boss was working his contacts to see where the police were at with the case.

The drive out took forty minutes. Viper didn’t mind. He owned a Corvette, and he was running out of days to drive it. Soon snow would fall, and Viper would have to break out his Land Rover.

The boss lived on Lake Minnetonka, twenty miles west of Minneapolis. Lake Minnetonka, or “The Lake” as residents who lived out that way called it, was prime home land for Minnesota’s elite. The lakeshore held some of the most valuable real estate in the Twin Cities. The boss’s house was on a three-acre, pie-shaped lot with three hundred feet of shoreline. The house was an impressive three-story mansion overlooking a tennis court, pool, and, of course, the lake. There was a long, winding driveway from the main road, which circled in front of the house. To the side of the house was an area for guest parking. Viper pulled the Vette into a guest spot and headed inside. A housekeeper took his coat and directed him up to the third-floor study.