Blood Silence

by Roger Stelljes

  “Were they wrong?”

  “No, he pushed her over the top.”

  “Yet he cheated on her.”

  “I think he cared for her, Mr. McRyan—I do, but he just is who he is. As Bill Parcells once said, you are what—”

  “Your record says you are,” Mac finished, smiling at the recitation of one of his favorite truisms from one of his favorite coaches. “I love that quote because it is so very true.”

  Mac put the last of the Gentry Enterprises papers, such as they were, into the file, and his cell phone rang. It was Sally.

  “How’s it going?”

  He provided a recap. “There’s nothing in the files. If you charged a client three million dollars in legal fees, you’d expect to give something in return, right? Wouldn’t there be more documentation than I’ve found?”

  “I know big firms do charge flat retainers regardless of the amount of work performed. It’s big-firm, large-corporation legal work. It’s a little old school, but it still happens.”

  “Okay, but as best I can tell, Gentry isn’t a large corporation. Additionally, given what I’ve learned about Sterling, he wouldn’t just sit around and do nothing else. He’d have worked on other matters, but for the last two months he hasn’t; this Gentry business has been his total focus.”

  “Well, Sterling was focused on Gentry, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mac replied with a tired laugh. “But still, where’s the beef?”

  “It’s missing, or maybe it’s stored somewhere else.”

  “I had that same thought. I asked Meredith, but she doesn’t know where that would be. It’s odd, which in this case makes me all the more dubious. Problem is, I can’t seem to find a good thread to pull on to pursue those suspicions.”

  “Well, you aren’t going to solve this thing in a week.”

  “I guess not. It seems like the more I investigate, the fewer answers I find and the more questions I have. For example, there are gaps in Gentry’s background, the paper trail on her company, the parent company called EMR Group in the Caymans. I have a lot of questions. It’s going to take a lot of time to find the answers.”

  “How’s Meredith holding up?” Sally asked, switching gears.

  “Okay, I guess. I talked to her about this file and how little documentation exists, but otherwise, I’ve steered clear. I haven’t seen her since Tuesday.”

  “Good,” Sally answered with approval. She suggested he investigate the case, she didn’t suggest he spend a lot of time with his ex-wife. “So what are you doing this weekend?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac sighed. “I have to get away from this for a day or two. My mind is turning to mush.”

  “Then come home,” Sally suggested. “Let me look at flights …” He could hear Sally making some keystrokes. “Wow, there are some cheap flights.”

  “Oil prices are dropping, so fares probably have been as well,” Mac answered. “My energy portfolio has taken a little hit as of late. Something I noticed when I was doing my idle millionaire routine.”

  “There’s a flight to DC in the morning at 7:00 A.M.” She made another keystroke. “I’m booking you on it. I need to see you.”

  “Then I’ll be on it.”

  Mac packed up his belongings and walked out of the conference room to find Dorothy getting her bag ready. “Will you be back on Monday?” she asked.

  “I suspect so.”

  “Okay, what time, because my bus usually doesn’t arrive until 8:30.”

  “8:30 is good,” Mac answered as he headed toward the elevator bank and then stopped. “You aren’t taking a bus home now, are you?”

  Dorothy nodded.

  Mac gave Dorothy a look. She was a small woman, a little over five feet. “At this time of night?” It was 9:52 P.M. “Dorothy, where do you live?”

  “Brooklyn Park.”

  That was a large suburb north of Minneapolis, requiring a bus ride through some more questionable areas of north Minneapolis to get home.

  “No,” Mac answered, shaking his head. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”

  “Oh, you can’t drive me,” Dorothy replied in a whisper, looking around the offices. “That wouldn’t look right. People might get the wrong idea, that I was telling you too much.”

  “All right then, I’ll call a car for you. Come on.” Mac clicked on a car service app on his phone. In four clicks he had a town car set to arrive in ten minutes.

  The two of them rode down the elevator together. Mac waited in the building lobby with her for the car to arrive.

  “I have to say, I’m surprised you’d be willing to help your ex-wife like this,” Dorothy declared.

  “You’re not the only one,” Mac answered with a chuckle and rueful smile. “Truth be told, I had to be talked into it by my fiancée and Meredith’s parents. But I think I’m doing the right thing.”

  “You know, Mr. Sterling was always very good to me. I have a daughter who has some special needs and he always … just took care of me with time off, bonuses—heck, one time he paid for some things out of his pocket.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Mac answered. “From what I’ve learned, despite his many, many personal flaws, he was generous toward the people he really cared about.”

  She nodded. “I’d hate to think Mrs. Hilary did this. I always liked her.”

  “She didn’t, Dorothy—somebody set her up.”

  “You’re certain of this?” Dorothy asked.

  “As certain as I can be,” Mac answered. “I can’t tell you what I’ve found, but I’ve found enough to know she didn’t do it. Proving it? Well, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need to find some reason that someone would want to kill Mr. Sterling and Ms. Gentry. I expected to find that in the files, but there’s nothing there. I haven’t found anything, at least yet, that helps Meredith.”

  Dorothy nodded, and the car arrived. “Thank you, Mr. McRyan. I wasn’t really looking forward to the bus. It can be crazy on Friday.”

  “No problem, and you don’t have to call me Mr. McRyan, at least out here. Mac is just fine. Here’s my cell number. Just send me a text and let me know you made it home safely.”

  • • •

  Clint and Royce, with Speedy in the backseat, watched as McRyan opened the rear passenger door for Sterling’s secretary. Their immediate boss wanted to get a read on the situation in the Twin Cities. Five minutes later, they saw McRyan’s black Yukon arise out of the parking ramp from beneath the IDS tower. Clint fell in behind him, keeping back a half block as McRyan motored east on Sixth Street, heading toward I-94.

  “So since Wednesday, this is all he’s done?” Speedy asked.

  “Yes, he arrives around 9:00 A.M. and has worked late,” Royce reported. “He goes to a late lunch by himself, and I’ve seen him grab a sandwich a few times around 6:30 P.M. or so, but otherwise he’s been keeping to himself upstairs in that law firm.”

  “Any luck getting up into those offices for a look?”

  Royce nodded. “I got up there late last night. There isn’t much in the file on Gentry Enterprises. There is just one file with very little in it. In my two minutes looking at it and taking pictures I found this,” he answered, handing back a sheet of paper. “Just a reference to EMR Group, which I think we’ve seen one other place.”

  “Bermuda address,” Speedy replied, reviewing the page. “We haven’t found where it goes from there, but it goes somewhere—it has to. All there is in Bermuda is an address, which is an office-share situation. So it stops there, but there must be something else—the money must come from as well as go to somewhere.”

  “But from where? Or to whom?” Royce mused. “And if not from Gentry, then from whom, Speedy?”

  “If there is another level above Gentry, we don’t know who or what that is. So until we do, we keep a close eye on this guy and on his ex-wife and her legal team,” Speedy answered as McRyan motored east on the intersta
te, taking the Cretin Avenue exit.

  “So how worried is the boss about this guy?” Royce asked from the passenger seat.

  “Worried enough that I’m down here with you two watching him,” Speedy answered.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “This guy is a methodical pit bull. You’ve seen his track record. He’s a hunter, and he is very smart. You two watched him pick apart that crime scene on Tuesday. It’s possible he could pick this thing apart if he has enough time, and he can access all kinds of resources if he needs to. When the president of the United States or someone like Judge Dixon is in debt to you, you’ve got favors you can call in,” Speedy answered as they watched McRyan drive his Yukon up his driveway.

  “To move against him, though, is to invite all of those resources to come down on us,” Clint replied.

  “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” Royce offered.

  “How so?” Speedy asked.

  “Maybe we can get rid of McRyan, without getting rid of him.”

  After a minute, Speedy raised his eyebrows. “Now that’s a thought.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Sometimes Mr. Sterling kept things off the books.”

  Washington, DC.

  The Saturday morning flight home was uneventful, although he did down a Bloody Mary as he watched A Most Wanted Man. Phillip Seymour Hoffman was brilliant in the movie, as he always was. Mac liked all of his movies and would miss him. Why were all the brilliant actors so tortured? Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Heath Ledger, John Belushi. Well, maybe not the last one, although Animal House was a classic, or so he good-naturedly argued with his seatmate the last hour to Reagan National.

  Mac arrived at the White House at noon. After the routine check-in, Mac made his way into the West Wing and Sally’s office, where he found her on the phone. He dropped himself into the soft guest chair across from her and kicked his feet up on her desk. Sally rolled her eyes, not at him, but at the voice on the phone. In another five minutes she was able to hang up. She came around the desk and gave him a hug and a little kiss.

  “It’s good to be home,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Good to have you home,” she answered, burying her head in his chest, “even if it’s only for a day or two.”

  Mac grabbed his bag, and they walked out of the office holding hands, when the Judge greeted them. “Mac, do you have a minute?”

  They went to the Judge’s office. “I had a friend from the FBI look into Soutex Solutions, the company Shane Weatherly was working for. I figured no problem, but …”

  “Problem,” Mac finished.

  “Yes. The PO Box in New Orleans was arranged by the company, which has a corporate address in the Cayman Islands. The Caymans office is an office share arrangement in Georgetown. There is an answering service at that office and an office that the answering service says has never been occupied. Now, the Cayman address is, naturally, to hide the true owner of the company. My contact did find some filing documents that indicate that Soutex Solutions is a subsidiary of RIG Resources. RIG Resources is located in Bermuda.”

  “Anything there?”

  The Judge shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “This sounds all too familiar,” Mac answered with a smile.

  “How so?” The Judge asked.

  “This thing I’m working on back home has some ties to what looks like a front company in Bermuda, but what I’ve found out is there are literally thousands of companies that use Bermuda as an address to avoid taxes, kind of like what people are doing with locating to Ireland for a tax advantage, that inversion thing you guys are all fired up about.”

  “Maybe you’re right. The whole situation suggests someone is trying to stay hidden. Given this sleight-of-hand, corporate setup, I keep wondering if Soutex Solutions are actually the ones who killed Shane.”

  Mac could talk conspiracy theories all day but looked over at Sally, who was eager to go. “Judge, I’ll leave you with this: Soutex probably didn’t kill Shane. It’s more likely the person or persons behind Soutex are staying hidden because of what they had Shane doing. They don’t want to end up like he did.”

  “Or maybe they already have?”

  “Or maybe they already have,” Mac answered, nodding. “What was it Deep Throat said? Follow the money. My advice is to stay on the money trail. At the end of that is a person. Find that person, and you’ll get the answers you’re looking for.”

  “Okay, but will you at least convey what I’ve found to your friend in DC homicide?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  They exited the Judge’s office and walked down the hallway toward the exit. Sally noticed the far-off look on Mac’s face. “What are you thinking?”

  “Huh?” Mac asked, snapping out of his daze. “Oh, something the Judge said about Bermuda and the Caymans. It’s probably nothing.” He looked at his beautiful fiancée, forgot all about the Judge, and asked, “So what are we going to do all afternoon?”

  Sally whispered in his ear. “It involves no clothes and your handcuffs.”

  • • •

  Edina, Minnesota.

  Meredith packed the rest of her clothes into her small, rolling suitcase. The media swarmed her Lake of the Isles home in Minneapolis in the immediate aftermath of the murder and arrest. To avoid the spotlight, she’d escaped to her parents’ suburban Edina home which was situated at the end of a quiet street that backed up to Interlachen Country Club. The press found her there as well, but with the story over a week old now, the media had finally moved on, and the street was quiet.

  Back sleeping in her old bedroom at her parents’ house. How life had changed in less than a week. Her parents, loving as they were, were hovering over her nonstop. Are you okay? How are you feeling? Did you sleep well? Can we get you anything? And worst of all, have you heard from Mac?

  Have you heard from Mac?

  It was a question with both an obvious and yet hidden meaning. Lyman, Summer, her parents, Uncle Teddy, and even she herself reluctantly acknowledged that her fate largely rested in his hands. Had he made any progress since Tuesday? Was there anything new to report? Were there any new leads? There had been radio silence since Wednesday, so she assumed little progress had been made. Of course, the hidden meaning of their questions was had you not run off with Sterling, none of this would have happened in the first place.

  As if she didn’t know that.

  It was getting to be too much.

  She needed to escape.

  So when Mom and Dad left for Sunday church, she made a run for it and left for Minneapolis and her home. As she pulled up the steep driveway, she thought about how much she loved the house—a beautiful, expansive, Spanish-styled two-story overlooking the west side of Lake of the Isles. The house was perched atop a hillside, overlooking the lake below, with the modern glass skyline of downtown Minneapolis visible over the mature trees framing the eastern side of the lake. She pulled into the garage, put down the garage door, pushed her way through the back door, dropped her keys on the counter, and soaked in the peace and silence.

  Meredith went upstairs, changed into sweats and slippers, and slowly meandered through her immaculate home, in deep thought, asking herself once again, had it all been worth it? Was leaving Mac for Frederick, for the multi-million-dollar home overlooking the lake, the place on Lake Minnetonka, the condos in Vail and Cabo, the Mercedes, the bells and whistles—was it all worth it?

  For a time, it seemed the answer was yes.

  It was everything she thought she wanted.

  Now she knew otherwise.

  Frederick was who he really always was. The material wealth was just that—material, and Mac was gone.

  That was a mistake she would never be able to correct. Whatever one-in-a-million, delusional chance she thought there might be of her getting another chance with him was quickly dispelled when she saw him with Sally at the presidential reception. They were a couple very much in love—real
love. She could see it in Mac’s eyes. She’d been on the receiving end of that loving look once. She didn’t realize at the time how important the loving gaze of someone was. Now, when Mac looked at her, she saw no love for her in his eyes—just bitterness, pain, and worst of all now, pity.

  “Boy, you’ve made a mess of things,” she moaned, shaking her head, looking out the massive picture window.

  Her phone rang in her pocket. It was her mother. No, she wasn’t coming back today. No, she was fine. “I just need a little alone time, Mom. I’ll call later.”

  She walked back into the kitchen. In the refrigerator was a bottle of white wine she’d recently opened. She poured herself a glass and glanced left and noticed the thick hardcover book sitting on the table in the eating nook. It was Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, a book she’d started two weeks ago. Meredith picked it up, grabbed her glass of wine, went into the small den off the kitchen, turned on the gas fireplace, curled up in a blanket in the soft chair by the window, and opened the book, getting back into the story, thinking, If only I could be a gone girl.

  • • •

  Mac was very relaxed on the flight back to the Twin Cities, his body light, loose, and completely at ease. It was a revitalizing day and a half. There had been yesterday afternoon and the fun with the handcuffs, and then a quiet dinner at their favorite little Italian place in Georgetown, and then back home for a late-night movie they started but did not finish.

  “We could break in the new couch?” Mac suggested as he pulled his lips a centimeter away from hers.

  “I think we should,” Sally answered seductively as she pushed him down.

  “Be gentle.”

  “You know you don’t mean that.”

  On Sunday, they lounged around all morning, ate a leisurely breakfast, and read the paper. In the afternoon, they snuck upstairs again, and then after a quick homemade dinner, Sally dropped him off at the airport.

  “Stay safe,” she warned lightly.

  “I always do.”