Whoever Blomberg saw could have come from anywhere, Mac decided. He could have been coming from a party, the Mardi Gras bar, maybe getting a little action from someone in one of the apartments. He could have been robbing one of the businesses. Of course, he could also have killed Daniels. How likely was that? Mac scratched his head, looking around. Blomberg seemed on the level. “What time was this again?”
“2:45 to 3:00 a.m. Something like that. I remember looking at my clock when I got up, and it was 2:45. I’m not sure how long I was in the kitchen.”
“Why didn’t you call it in that night?”
“It didn’t seem like that big a deal to me. You see all kinds of weird stuff these days. I see people get picked up in the alley all the time. They’re going on a date or getting dropped off from one. Just didn’t seem like much at the time.”
Mac thought a little more. Time of death was between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m., and they had the senator leaving her place at that time. There was no evidence of forced entry, no evidence of anything being stolen, no evidence that anyone came in the back. Odd though. Mac figured it was probably nothing, but he would have to go back and write it up.
Viper and another member of his crew, Allain Bouchard, trailed McRyan. When McRyan came down with the guy and walked to the guardrail in the back of the lot, Viper got nervous.
He climbed out of the van and walked over to the Foodmart. There was an awning that ran one-third of the way along the east side of the building, offering cover for the entrance. Underneath the awning was a Pioneer Press newspaper box. Viper popped in a quarter, took out a paper and walked to the far edge of the awning. He could see where McRyan was walking around and looking at the alley and where they had pulled the van up on the night they took out Daniels.
He saw the guy point to the exact place they had stopped the van, then climb the guardrail and stand in the alley. Viper had come from the garage on the other side. McRyan joined the guy in the alley and then began walking down towards Daniels’ place. Too close already, Viper decided not to follow any further. Five minutes later McRyan came walking back. The guy and McRyan walked back towards the front of the apartment. McRyan didn’t go back inside the building, instead stopping on the sidewalk, jotting down some notes.
Viper dropped the paper in the garbage can and walked back across the street as McRyan climbed back into his Explorer, pulled out and did a U-turn in the middle of Grand, and headed back towards downtown. Viper jumped back into the van. “Follow him.”
McRyan dropped the Explorer off at the Pub and walked the three blocks to the courthouse. Viper looked at his watch-2:55 p.m. The arraignment hearing would start in five minutes.
“So, what do you think?” Bouchard asked.
“I gotta talk to the boss.”
Mac was late for the bail hearing. He saw Lich and went to sit next to him. Lich said, “It just started. I think the judge is going to knit the flag.”
Mac immediately realized Lich was right. Generally, the few times Mac had been to these hearings, the judge would dispense with these motions with little fanfare. Not today. Judge Jedediah Mattingly was in the spotlight, and he wasn’t going to waste it. There were media galore in the courtroom. The judge, his hair usually a little unkempt the times Mac had seen him, was immaculately dressed, a sharp dark-blue tie and white dress shirt under his robe. Mattingly introduced the case with great drama, talking about the importance of justice and the seriousness of his role. He then motioned towards Sally, “The prosecution may proceed.”
Sally stood up, “Thank you, your honor. May it please the court…” She looked great in a black power skirt suit that formed perfectly to her slender body. Her red hair was swirled perfectly in the back. She looked great. The cameras would be all over her.
Whereas the judge made a spectacle of himself, Sally did not. It was like any other case. She made her arguments in a straight-forward manner, emphasizing what Mac thought were the key points. Bail of one million dollars would be in order, given the nature of the crime, she argued. The judge’s eyes shot up at that.
“One million dollars, Ms. Kennedy?”
“It’s murder one, your honor. The state feels that accurately reflects the nature of the offense and the ability of the defendant to pay. The defendant surely has the means to flee. This bail is fair and appropriate.”
Sally had told him the judge would never set bail that high, but she had wanted to make a point. She thought it more likely that bail would be set at $500,000, only ten percent of which would have to be put down with the bail bondsman.
The judge turned to Lyman, “Mr. Hisle.”
“Thank you, your honor. The defendant has no intention of fleeing. He has every intention of proving his innocence and will be here for trial.” Hisle went on to make several other arguments. Again, Sally had nailed it on the head as to what Lyman would do. “Therefore, your honor, we feel bail in the amount of $100,000 would be more appropriate.”
Each side made some additional rebuttal arguments, and Judge Mattingly drew it to a close. Before rendering his decision, he engaged in more grandstanding, orating on the seriousness of the case, the fairness of the justice system and the gravity of his responsibilities. “Auditioning for Court TV I think,” Lich quipped.
“He wants Judge Judy’s gig,” Mac replied.
With great drama, Mattingly, finally and thankfully, announced, “Bail is set at $500,000.” He pounded his gavel, “Court is adjourned,” and with great dramatic flair exploded out of his seat and through his chambers door. Sally had hit it right on the head.
The media, en masse, burst out of their seats to head outside for their news reports. Mac looked at his watch, 3:50 p.m. Conveniently, everything was completed in time for the 5:00 p.m. eastern time news shows. Undoubtedly this would be a top, if not the top story.
Mac and Lich followed the press out, and someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Sally. He grinned at her and said, “You were right on the money.”
“Seemed like the right number,” she said, and then she whispered, “Are you going to the Pub later?”
In fact I am, Mac thought. “Yes.”
“See you there?” she asked.
“Yeah, maybe we can grab some dinner?”
“Sounds good,” she replied with a smile.
As they came out of the courtroom, the media were swarming. There was a bright glare from the lights. Questions were being yelled from all angles, and there were microphones and cameras everywhere. Helen Anderson was holding court, saw Sally, and waved her over. Helen wanted the attention, but the media probably wanted to speak with the prosecutor who would actually be handling the case.
Mac quipped, “Your public awaits.”
Sally, replied with a mock flip of her hair, “How do I look?”
Mac whispered in her ear, “I like what I see.”
She gave just a little giggle and a smile and walked over to the cameras and microphones. Mac and Lich ducked into an elevator, trying to get away before somebody wanted to talk to them. Amazingly, when the elevator closed, it was only them and a couple of uniform cops. Lich naturally didn’t miss a thing. “Won’t be long now.”
“What won’t be long?” Mac replied wearily, knowing what was coming.
“You and Kennedy.”
“Jesus.”
One of the uniforms, Norb Rodriguez, joined in, “Hell, Mac, I thought you hit that already. She’s a looker. You see that suit?” His partner nodded along with a big smile.
Mac just shook his head. “Since when did I become National Enquirer material?”
“Hey, us married guys like having something to talk about,” replied Rodriguez.
“Face it, boyo,” said Lich, doing his Chief Flanagan impersonation, “You’re a popular guy who everyone likes, and frankly, you need to get laid.” Lich held his hands out, “What can I say? People just want to see you happy.”
Mac replied, rather lamely, he thought, “I wasn’t aware I was unhappy.”
&nb
sp; Lich rolled his eyes. “You’re joking right?”
Mac shook his head. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and they walked out. He’d thought they avoided the media, but he was wrong. Sylvia Miller and the chief were conducting a press conference, and they got dragged in. In front of the cameras, Mac and Lich received the appreciation of the chief and the entire department for so quickly making an arrest. Thankfully, they weren’t required to answer any questions before Miller and the chief brought it to a close.
Mac was already taking a lot of shit because of Sally; it would only double now. He could just hear it at the bar tonight, his Uncle Shamus would undoubtedly be leading the ribbing, “Ladies and gentlemen I bring you the savior of the St. Paul Police Department, a fine Irish lad, Michael McKenzie McRyan.” Before Mac and Lich left, Chief Flanagan wanted them to stop by his office. Mac knew happy hour would be getting an early Friday start.
As they walked back to the station, Lich asked, “So what happened this afternoon?”
Mac related what he’d learned from Blomberg. Lich was unmoved.
“It’s probably nothing, but you better let Kennedy know.”
“I imagine I’ll get the chance at some point,” replied Mac. “And I’m sure our conversation will appear in the gossip column the next day.”
Chapter Thirteen
“They say there are three periods in a hockey game.”
Mac and Lich spent a happy hour with the chief, Captain Peters, and Sylvia Miller in Flanagan’s office. They watched the replays of the evening news, laughed and applauded about what everyone had said on camera. Helen Anderson and Sally had been effusive in their praise of the police department, of Lich and Mac in particular. The cadre hooted at the TV when the senator and Hisle declared innocence, confident that when the evidence was presented, Johnson would be found innocent. Lich was his usual humorous self. “He’s guiltier than my second wife.”
Everyone had a drink, except the chief, who had at least two. Mac could understand why. Flanagan looked like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That feeling would be short-lived of course. With the serial killer still at large, the headaches would start up again first thing Monday morning. But that was Monday, and it was Friday-time to celebrate.
After having finished their drink, Mac looked at Lich, who nodded, time to go. They shook hands with everyone on the way out. Flanagan walked them through his door out to the waiting area, obviously happy, “Off to the Pub for you, boys?”
“At least for me,” Mac replied.
“What about you, Dick?”
Mac jumped in, “Well, Chief, I think ole Dicky boy here has a hot date with Dot.”
Lich gave him a dirty look. The chief was amused. “Haven’t learned your lesson yet?” Lich’s messy divorces were the subject of many a humorous story, usually told by Dick himself.
Lich shrugged his shoulders, “Chief, I’ve found that women are the one mistake continually worth making. Something my partner should realize.”
Flanagan laughed, a happy laugh, and put his arm around Mac’s shoulder, “I’m sure our young friend here will get around to Ms. Kennedy sooner or later.”
Even the chief knew about this, good grief. Mac stared at Lich who had another one of his shit-eatin’ grins on his face. Pay back was a bitch, boyo. Mac decided to cut his losses and turned to leave, “Come on, Dick Lick, give me a ride to the Pub.”
The chief laughed again, patted them both on the back, “You guys have a good time tonight. You’ve both earned it.”
They left Flanagan behind and jumped in Lich’s little purple Dodge Neon. Mac laughed every time he saw the heavyset Lich get behind the wheel. He made the Neon look like a toy car. Mac looked in the backseat. It looked as if half of Dick’s closet was in the backseat. “Geez, you living in the car?”
Lich smiled and said, “I haven’t been home much this week.”
“Does the backseat maybe turn into a Murphy Wallbed?”
Lich laughed, “I’ll mention that to Dodge. Maybe that could be an upgrade in this thing.” Lich dropped him off in front of McRyan’s Pub, “Have a good one, Mac.”
“You, too.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, boyo.”
Mac closed the car door and Lich was off. He walked in the front door and took in the crowd. Friday night was always a good night for the Pub. Cops always stopped off for a beer before heading home. Beers were cheap for any cop on Friday night, a never-ending happy hour. But this night was different. There were cops everywhere, double-maybe triple-the normal crowd. Mac could tell immediately that a cloud had lifted over the department. Everyone was in a good mood. Mac tried to reach the bar unnoticed. No dice. Once he was spotted, the place erupted.
As expected, Uncle Shamus made a spectacle of his nephew. There were backslaps all around, and Mac knew he wouldn’t have to pay for a drink all night. Of course, there was plenty of good-natured ribbing for being on television. Bonnie Schmidt, who had been at Daniels’s the morning they found her body, was in a happy mood. “You looked great on television.”
“Thanks, Bonnie, although I’d just as soon avoid the attention.”
“That ain’t gonna happen.”
Mac winced. He didn’t want to be some billboard for the department. He shoved that aside; it was Friday night, time to celebrate.
He soaked it up and enjoyed the next hour.
The boss took the news calmly. The operation on Daniels had been planned in three days. They only had that amount of time to conduct surveillance and form a plan. They were lucky that the senator was involved. It had created great cover. But with that narrow of a window, any number of things could go wrong. McRyan checking out their pick up point was one of those things. The unearthing of their pick up spot had not stopped the hearing from going forward. Viper seriously doubted that finding it would have caused that. However, McRyan would make a report of what he had learned, and it would be disclosed to counsel for the senator as part of defense discovery. The defense would obviously investigate other scenarios. Once they started looking, what else might they find?
“You’re concerned about this?” the boss asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you really think this would be enough to create any sort of reasonable doubt on the case?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer. But once they start looking-”
“Who knows what they will find,” the boss finished it for him and took a sip of coffee. No drinks. This wasn’t a happy hour. “I think it’s obvious what we need to do.”
Mac had a few beers and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Backslaps and thanks came one after another. He wanted to advance on merit as a cop. He wanted to live up to his father’s name. On this night, he felt like he’d done that. A couple of veteran detectives came up and gave him the, “Your dad would have been proud today,” made the night that much sweeter. Any doubts he had about the case had been washed away by the last couple of hours. People a lot more experienced than he were happy, so why shouldn’t he? The beers had given him a little buzz, and he was feeling good.
He was standing in the back when he saw Sally come in the front. She’d dropped her hair down, and her glasses were gone. Nonetheless, she was immediately recognized and swarmed once inside, taking in some of the good cheer from the crowd. She’d said nice things about the police on TV. Any prosecutor who did that would earn goodwill, and tonight, free drinks.
They made eye contact, and she slowly worked her way back to him. She looked at his beer. “Buy me one of those?” Mac looked at the bartender, holding up his beer. Another one appeared immediately. She took a long drink.
“A pretty happy group in here.”
“I’d say so.” Mac took a quick look around. Lots of people were looking his way.
“You look happy too,” Sally said.
“I am. It’s been a good day.”
They both took a drink. He took a long look at her. She was attractive. She was interested, and he had pretty much admitt
ed the same. Enough screwing around, it was time. “Everyone seems to think you and I are an item.”
“So I hear,” she replied with a little smile and put her beer up to her lips.
“Well then, why don’t we act like it?"
She dropped her beer from her lips and gave him a serious look.
“I’m parked out back.”
She nodded and put her beer on the bar. At this point, neither of them cared if anyone saw them leave. They walked down the back hallway, and Mac said, “My place?”
“Okay.”
Mac held the back door open, and she walked through. Mac followed, and she stopped, turned around and kissed him, deeply, a long, slow, soft, wet kiss. Months of hurt and frustration were released. They stopped and looked in each other’s eyes. He lightly took her hand and led her over to the Explorer, opening the passenger door for her to get in. He went around and got in, and they embraced again.
“We better go,” she said after a few minutes.
He pulled out of the lot and made his way over to Ramsey Avenue and across the I-35E bridge and up the hill towards Summit. She leaned over and kissed him on the neck and nibbled on his ear as he drove, sending a shiver down his spine. Turning right onto Summit, he accelerated the two blocks to his place. Once the Explorer was inside the garage, he undid his seatbelt and pulled her to him.
“Take me inside,” she whispered breathlessly, her mouth a centimeter from his.
They got out and walked briskly arm in arm to the back door. They made it halfway up the backstairs before they embraced again. Carefully he moved up her skirt and picked her up so she was straddling him, carrying her up the rest of the steps, while she nibbled, breathing heavily in his ear. He dug in his pocket for his keys while she kissed him on the neck. The door opened, and Mac dropped the keys on the table, shutting the door with a back kick. Quickly they moved to the bedroom, where they feverishly took off each other’s clothes and fell into bed.
The St. Paul Conspiracy Page 13