Deadly Stillwater

by Roger Stelljes

  “I appreciate it,” Peters said, taking out his cell phone and calling downtown.

  “No problem,” Burton replied. “Look, technology is our strength. We can find patterns, tap phones, conduct electronic surveillance, run censuses, and create spreadsheets like nobody’s business.” Nodding to Mac and the boys, he smiled. “You guys are good street cops, not always the bureau’s strong suit. I need to have you guys looking over the data we get, checking the possibilities we find, talking to your folks on the street. A cop is only as good as his informants, and around here, you guys are the ones who have them. Let’s share and stay in touch.”

  “We can do that,” Riles agreed.

  “Good,” Burton answered, rubbing his hands together, on a roll now. “I’m going to have my team in first thing tomorrow, three men and two women. Everything we collect, no matter from where, we feed in to the team and see what we come up with. It’s a process that’s worked well for us, helped us get people back. Add that to your resources and we have a shot at bringing the girl home in one piece.”

  “Sounds good,” Peters replied. “Where do you want to work out of, your local office?”

  “You can run out of your place,” Duffy added, “We’ll run out of our…”

  Burton cut Duffy off, “No. No. No. Ed. We’ll run everything from the police department headquarters. If we’re split, we’re not sharing information and we get dumbass turf wars, people trying to one-up each other. Us Fed types are classic for that. I don’t care who cracks this thing. I know that doesn’t necessarily sound right to all of you, but I really don’t care. So let’s work it together; feed your information to my team on the technical side, and you can access anything you need. You feed us what you’re hearing on the street, and we’ll crack this thing. And getting back to business, when is it again we’ll have Hisle’s files to work through?”

  “First thing in the morning,” Peters answered.

  “So until it’s ready, you boys get some sleep,” the chief ordered.

  Mac quietly opened the door to the bedroom and went to his side of the bed. He lightly laid his wallet, badge, and watch on the nightstand and looked down at Sally lying under the bed sheet, wearing a red teddy, looking beautiful.

  He had met her eight months earlier. Sally Kennedy was the prosecutor on the case where he made his name. Mac was immediately attracted to her long red hair, curvaceous body, perfect bright smile, and passion for everything. Not to mention, she was smart, tough as nails, and a damn fine prosecutor.

  Both were recently divorced when they met, and both were looking to get back into the dating game. But they knew it right away — they were right for one another. The relationship quickly moved beyond dating, and they were now practically living together. Well, there was no practically about it — there were half-emptied boxes all over the house and far too much furniture. Some of it would have to go into storage — the two of them just hadn’t figured out which pieces yet. His mother, a devout Catholic, of course protested the living arrangement prior to moving in.

  “That’s living in sin,” she had lectured.

  “I’m already divorced mom. What could I possibly have to lose in God’s eyes at this point?”

  “Well at least make her an honest woman then,” his mother said.

  “Mom, don’t even go there,” Mac had replied. He and Sally hadn’t even uttered the word. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement to not discuss marriage. Their divorces left them both scarred and fearful of the “m” word, but not commitment. They loved each other, said so to each other often and were very happy together. For now, that was enough for both of them.

  Sally woke as he put his keys down.

  “Tell me. Is it as bad as it seems on the news?”

  “Right now, yes,” Mac answered and then brought her up to date. “I don’t know,” he finished. “Something about this is off.”

  “They didn’t make the ransom demand, perhaps?”

  “That’s exactly it, babe. It’s got me wondering,” Mac replied, nodding. “Nobody else seems terribly bothered by that, but I thought it was odd. I figured the kidnappers would want to move quickly on that before we had a chance to start digging. Instead they’re giving us a chance to start the hunt.”

  “But the kidnappers said they want money.”

  “They didn’t say that specifically. It sounds like they do, their actions suggest they do, everyone assumes that’s the case, but there was not a specific demand made. But if that’s what they’re after, not asking for it right away is strange in my mind.”

  “Maybe they’re after Shannon,” Sally offered. “It could be they want her.”

  Mac shook his head. “Naw. If that’s what they wanted, why call? Just to be sadistic? I don’t think so. I don’t think harming Shannon for the sake of harming her is part of the game here.”

  “So they’re not crazy.”

  “Other than kidnapping a woman in broad daylight in the middle of a big city — no.”

  “It sounds like they’ve planned it well so far,” Sally noted.

  “That’s for sure. The abduction was ballsy, but it was done with precision and planning.”

  “They sound like they’re good,” Sally replied. “And from what you’re telling me, the pay phone, on that road, left him…”

  “…with options,” Mac finished, frustration seeping into his voice. “Damn it. To me, abductions are the worst. You know something bad is coming and you’re almost powerless to stop it, no matter how hard you try.” He undid his shorts. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he grumbled.

  Mac went into the bathroom and started the shower, letting the water heat up. The house was over seventy years old and had a bathroom that, while remodeled, retained its original charm and fixtures. The shower poured water into a long and wide cast-iron bathtub.

  Climbing inside the shower, he tilted his head up and let the warm water wash over his head while he had both arms up against the wall of the shower. He needed to unwind. For five minutes he let the shower loosen his muscles, letting his mind clear. The shower curtain slid open and Sally stepped into the shower behind him. He turned to say something, but she put her fingers to his mouth and then kissed him lightly.

  “I know you. You’re all wound up.” She reached for the soap. “I’m going to help you relax. Otherwise you’re no good to Lyman, and he needs you.”

  Mac didn’t fight it and just let the water run down his body while Sally soaped his back and lightly rubbed his muscles, letting her breasts brush lightly against his back. After a few minutes of washing and rubbing, she spoke.

  “What about the FBI? They’re in?”

  “Yes,” Mac replied, not moving. “We’re lucky… I guess. Their best kidnapping guy — this guy named John Burton — was coming to town to do some training, so now he’s working it.”

  Sally detected his uncertain tone.

  “What’s the problem with the FBI guy?” she asked, washing around his right hip.

  “I don’t know, he was awfully…”

  “What?”

  “Helpful. Seemed like a good guy.”

  “And that’s bad?” Sally asked, lightly reaching around him, washing lightly down his lower stomach, moving ever lower.

  “No, except…” Mac hesitated, Sally’s hand having gone very low. He was about to turn to her when she lightly pushed him back into place.

  “Juuuust relaaaaax,” she murmured, moving the soap to her left hand, “and tell me about the FBI guy.”

  Mac did as he was told and let her continue washing and relaxing him.

  “He said all the right things. ‘We’re here to help, we’ll coordinate with you, access to everything they have, anything you need, we’re going to get Hisle’s girl back,’ so on and so forth.”

  “Again, that’s bad?” Sally replied, coming around in front of him.

  Mac smiled — a small wan one.

  “The FBI can often be territorial and condescending. They conside
r the local cops to be good for traffic control, writing parking tickets, breaking up domestics — and maybe, just maybe, a run-of-the-mill homicide. We usually don’t have college or law degrees, nor have we gone through the mystical Quantico. We’re not the almighty F-B-fuckin’-I.”

  “You’re paranoid, you know that?”

  “Only the paranoid survive.”

  Sally laughed and then continued.

  “I’ve hear that about the FBI before, but they want to make the case just like you do. They want to get Shannon back — maybe not at the emotional level that you do, but they want to get her back just the same.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, leaning down and kissing her on the lips. She returned the kiss, slowly putting her arms up around his neck and pulling him to her. After kissing him deeply, Sally pulled away and looked Mac in the eye as she slowly guided him down onto the bottom of the tub and then followed, straddling his body while kissing him deeply, probing with her soft, moist tongue. Mac pulled his mouth away.

  “Is this what you meant by relaxing me?” he whispered.

  “Uh huh,” Sally replied in a hushed moan. She rose up and let Mac softly suckle on her breasts while she eased him in, the water of the shower cascading down on their bodies. Sally slowly increased her pace, breathing faster and arching her back, her breasts flattening. Mac responded to her need, pulling her hips closer and pushing his thighs up so that her back rested against them. He moved his hips faster and in rhythm with her, causing her moans to become louder. He felt the wet ends of her hair brush against his legs as he brought her close to climax. And then, as she so often did when they made love, she brought her mouth back to his, breathing heavily and moaning lightly as she came, her body trembling, causing him to respond in kind, as he exhaled a breath into her mouth, his lips brushing against hers.

  As the water continued to flow down, the two lay in a silent embrace, looking in each other’s eyes, quietly catching their breath. After a minute, Sally sat up, and he looked into her deep green eyes.

  “I love you, you know that?” he murmured.

  “Yeah, I do,” she replied softly, leaning back down, and gently kissing him on the lips. “The feeling is quite mutual.”

  6

  “ What are we looking for?”

  MONDAY, JULY 2ND

  7:54 AM

  Mac, Lich, Riley, and Rock were joined by a half dozen other detectives milling around in a conference room, mixing coffee, and talking the case. Burton and his crew, along with Duffy, joined them with a quick exchange of pleasantries and introductions.

  The map of the area around the cafe was tacked to the left side of a bulletin board. Pictures of the scene and a sketch of the woman suspected of signaling the kidnappers were pinned up on the right. The St. Paul cops and FBI agents discussed the situation that was less than sixteen hours old. A couple of hours of sleep and contemplation provided no answers, only more questions.

  Peters walked in and called everyone together.

  “I’ve got two things,” he announced through a yawn. “First, this is a list compiled by Hisle of former clients that he thinks might have the ability to pull this off.”

  “What’s the second think?” Rock asked.

  Peters turned and into the room came men with boxes on dollies.

  “We’ve got boxes and boxes of Hisle’s old criminal files coming, stuff from his firm and an off-site storage place. We need to start digging through it all.”

  “What are we looking for?” someone asked.

  “You’re the cops, you tell me,” Peters replied edgily. He was sleep deprived, all of them were. He stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry, it’s been a long night. What you’re looking for, it’s a little bit of you-know-it-when-you-see-it. These guys yesterday set up and executed a complicated plan. In looking through the client files, does anyone strike you as having the ability to develop and execute such a plan? It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a kidnapping. Lyman’s represented jewel thieves, breakin artists, confidence guys, and the leaders of some crews who specialized in high-end crimes. Not to mention all the white-collar criminals he’s represented. So, if you run across anyone who has pulled off or was accused of pulling off an elaborate, well-planned crime, let’s take a look at them.”

  “It also could be someone who wasn’t a client,” someone else noted.

  “That’s right,” Peters said. “This is just one avenue to pursue. We’re looking at other angles as well. We’re talking to Hisle’s family, her roommates, her friends to see if anyone unusual was hanging around, any strange phone calls, angry ex-boyfriends, etc.”

  “Anything from the cafe or over in River Falls?” someone asked.

  “Not yet,” was Peters’ response. “BCA and FBI are going through it all, but our sense is, don’t hold your breath.”

  “How about from the Clearwater phone?”

  “Ditto,” Peters replied.

  “These guys know what they’re doing and probably have a pretty good idea of what we’ll be doing,” Mac added. “So we’re not just looking for someone who would have something against Lyman. We’re looking for someone who has something against Lyman and the mental acuity to pull it off without a trace.”

  “Mental acuity?” Lich whispered mockingly. “What the fuck’s mental acuity?”

  “Something you don’t have, knuckle-dragger,” Mac snickered back, though Lich possessed plenty of it.

  “One other thing,” Captain Peters added, pointing to four other people who entered the room. “These are lawyers from Hisle’s office. They’re in a…” the captain struggled for the right works. “…a difficult spot. There are some attorney-client issues related to our reviewing the files. These lawyers will help with that.”

  “How will they help?” Lich asked.

  “By helping us work through the files. They have clearance from the Minnesota Lawyers Professional Responsibility Board for us to access the files. But at the same time, we don’t know if anyone in these files is even involved with this. So there needs to be some sensitivity to that.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” Double Frank asked. “Are they going to read it first and tell us if something’s relevant? What we think matters and what they think matters could be entirely different.”

  Summer Plantagenate, one of the Hisle’s lawyers, spoke up.

  “We’re not going to pre-screen for you. You can look at everything. We’re more concerned with where the information goes after you review it, especially for people you conclude are not involved. My firm needs to protect those folks, so that’s where we could have issues. But you can access everything and we’ll go from there.”

  That answer satisfied everyone. Coats were jettisoned, more coffee was brewed and poured — and boxes were opened. Mac sidled up to Summer, who he’d know since law school, they’re time at William Mitchell overlapping. She had recently been named a partner at Lyman’s firm and was viewed by many as his protege. Always immaculately dressed, Summer was a cool customer, and an attractive woman with icy blonde hair and a cool demeanor to match. That demeanor caused some to call her “Winter.” But at the moment, it wasn’t hard to see the anguish on her face. Not only was Lyman like a father to her, she also knew Shannon Hisle well.

  “So you guys get to work the other side of a case, huh?” Mac asked.

  “Yes, we have to,” was her short reply. The attorneys were there to help, but also ethically bound to protect their clients’ interests. Letting the police rifle through clients’ files created an ethical quandary for any attorney.

  “So what do we have here?”

  “All of Lyman’s criminal files, both from the office and from off-site storage,” Summer replied.

  “How about his civil stuff?” Mac asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Burton walked up as Summer answered.

  “It’ll be here soon,” Summer answered. “Agent Burton and the chief think this is coming from the criminal side, and I tend to agree with them, bu
t the civil files are coming just the same. We’ll get them over here by early afternoon.”

  Mac nodded, recalling the conversation from the night before, and began to survey the mass of files, running a hand through his hair.

  “You’ve worked for him for awhile.” He asked, “Does anyone come to mind that would have the ability to pull this off?”

  “I’ve been wracking my brain on this, but no,” she replied. “But some of these files go back long before my time, so there are names I’m not familiar with. I mean, there are files that have old dittos with the yellow and pink carbons.”

  Mac and Lich flipped the top off a box and started working a file. The folders had notes, photos, statements, news clippings, and listings of evidence. For the next four hours, the group worked through the file folders, reading through cases and names, some of which were familiar to the cops in the room. Detectives made frequent comments on the file notes and the lawyer’s written evaluations of the detectives involved in the case. A few inspired snide comments directed at the attorneys in the room.

  Possible suspects went into a pile so that current whereabouts could be determined. Detectives, vice cops, uniforms in plain clothes, and local FBI were already out of the streets, interviewing potentials. If something didn’t seem right, the cops or agents were to bring the potentials in for further questioning. It was tedious work, reading through case notes, getting a feel for Lyman’s clients, their families and witnesses in the case. Problem was, everyone was a potential suspect, whether a client, witness, or victim.

  Mac was reading through a file when he ran across the name Bobby Jacobs. The name rang a bell.

  “I remember this guy,” he said to himself. Bobby Jacobs was the debonair leader of a clever crew that the chief, a detective back then, had busted after a jewelry store heist. It was suspected that Jacobs had been involved in many high-end robberies: a bank, an armored car, and even homes, but the chief had no evidence to tie Jacobs to any of the others. None that was, until the chief busted a fence, who, in an effort to avoid a long prison stretch, spilled the beans about fencing for the Jacobs crew. Jacobs ended up with a much longer sentence, even though he’d been represented by Lyman. That might be motive.