Electing To Murder

by Roger Stelljes

  Their new favorite restaurant was the Bella Eatery that served authentic Italian. The Bella sat in the middle building of a short block on University Avenue. It was a small place with two rows of four top tables up front, then a small bar that divided the restaurant width wise and then a series of tall booths in the back. When they came to the Bella, Mac and Sally always tried for one of the booths. Tonight, their timing was impeccable as their favorite booth opened up just as they walked in. The booth was a small circular one isolated in the far back right corner. It offered privacy and quiet, as if you were eating at home.

  The greeter seated them at the table and let them know of the specials. The waiter was Johnny, on the spot a minute later: “Can I offer either of you a glass of wine?”

  Mac was a beer man normally but he’d taken a liking to wine in the last year or so. Up until that point in time, he’d never been a big wine fan, not liking the bitter taste and generally being like his family, strictly beer and Irish whiskey. Sally told him it was because, “All you’ve ever drank was cheap Two Buck Chuck or Boone’s Farm, Mac. Funny how much better good wine tastes, you know, wine that comes out of a bottle with like, you know, a cork.”

  Sally was exaggerating to a degree, but when he went to a dinner party with some older lawyer friends of hers last year, he was introduced for really the first time to high quality wines. The friend had a wine cellar in his Lake Minnetonka home stocked with over five hundred bottles of red wine. That night the dinner party of ten polished off twelve bottles and the quality of each left Mac with a new appreciation for wine.

  As was his nature, once he was interested in something, he jumped in with both feet. The day after the party, Mac went online and ordered a subscription to the Wine Enthusiast magazine. Not long after, he joined a law school friend’s wine club and found his way to a half dozen wine tastings in the last year. In his own right, he was now building a wine collection with over fifty bottles of mostly red wine at home and was drawing up plans for a small wine cellar behind the bar in their basement. In no way did he consider himself an expert but he did feel he was learning the wines and matching them better to whatever meal he was ordering. He expected he would order chicken parmesan and knew Sally was having linguini, so he was looking for a good Barolo or Amarone for his meal and found one he recognized and liked. “I’d like a bottle of the Bussola Amarone.”

  Sally too was looking at the wine list and raised her eyebrows at his order. After the waiter left, she asked, “A $185 bottle of wine? Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’ll get to that,” Mac answered, as he slid close to her, slid his right arm around her and kissed her lightly on the lips, “How was your day?”

  Sally gave him an approving look, slid into him a little more and then said, “It was pretty busy, of course. I was working hard on getting Senator Baker around Wisconsin.” Senator Alexander Baker from North Carolina was the vice presidential nominee. He spent the day in Wisconsin campaigning. “We had him going from Madison up to Oshkosh, then Appleton and finally to Green Bay.”

  “Is he spending the night there?”

  “No, we have him on a plane to DC and tomorrow he works Virginia and then his home state. He will be busy.”

  “So how was it you could get away tonight?”

  “The Judge gave us all the night off, at least after 8:00 p.m., even Sebastian and Kate. He told them to go home early, have a good meal and recharge for the home stretch.”

  “Really? I would think the Judge would have you guys monitoring every computer and phone for the latest information until you fell asleep at your desks in a pool of drool,” Mac said as he sipped his water and cut some bread.

  “That’s certainly the way it’s been the last month for sure, but tonight with it being Friday and the way the schedule was laid out and what the networks were doing for programming, it worked out we could bail earlier. Besides, we have other staff monitoring things and if anything comes up that really requires our attention, we’ll know about it. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be on the road through Monday.” She leaned up and kissed him once and then again, softer, her right hand lightly caressing his cheek. “The Judge did ask me something, though, a few hours ago.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He asked if you would be willing to talk with him in the morning.”

  Mac, who was thinking he and Lich would be making another visit to the campaign, readily agreed. “Sure, I can jump on the phone with him again.”

  “No, he wants to meet in person.”

  “The Judge? He’s going to be here tomorrow? I figured he’d be out on the trail with the governor.”

  “He will be, and I get to go with, but after he meets with you first. And he told me he has someone he wants you to meet.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “I don’t really know. He said it was someone who’s been helping him on the campaign and could prove helpful for you in your investigation. That’s all he said.”

  Mac smiled inwardly. He knew the Judge and McCormick knew more than they told and now he’d get the full story. “You don’t say no to Judge Dixon. Just tell me when and where.”

  Their waiter appeared, opened the bottle of wine and poured a small amount for Mac to taste. He swirled his wine glass, took a sip and enjoyed the intensity of the Bussola and then nodded. The waiter poured Sally a glass, added a little more to Mac’s and then left them to enjoy their wine.

  “So what are we toasting?” Sally asked with a smile, holding up her glass.

  “To life-altering events,” Mac answered with a twinkle in his eye. He had a surprise for her. After he accepted her toast and took a sip of his wine, he leaned in close and kissed her softly again.

  * * *

  Moriarity and Holmes sat in the back of a Ford panel van parked on West Berkeley Avenue in St. Paul’s Macalester-Groveland neighborhood. This stretch of Berkeley was dark and quiet as the lights in the many homes were starting to dim as the clock pushed past 10:00 p.m. The main levels of a majority of the homes were dark with the only light providing illumination for the sleepy street that which fought through shades and curtains in bedrooms on the upper levels. The clouds kept the moon at bay and the cool temperatures kept pedestrians to a bare minimum. There hadn’t been a walker in forty-five minutes. Only the light but consistent traffic from the busier thoroughfares of Cretin Avenue, a half block to their west, and St. Clair, a block to the north, provided any sense of activity.

  The van was parked two houses down from the white stucco two-story Colonial Revival styled home of Sebastian McCormick. The van blended with the assortment of cars, sports utility vehicles and minivans parked along the sleepy boulevard of the decidedly upper-middle-class neighborhood filled with Queen Anne, Craftsman Bungalow and Colonial homes.

  The temperature outside was plunging south steadily with a predicted low of twenty-eight degrees. Given the dropping temperatures, both men were thickly dressed in black, with turtlenecks, fleece pullovers and thickly lined nylon jackets.

  Moriarity worked the audio surveillance equipment while Holmes handled the video equipment.

  “So what are you hearing?” Holmes asked.

  “Lots of dinner planning, an occasional cell phone ringing and now he’s opening another bottle of wine,” Moriarity replied, handing another set of earphones to his partner. “You can listen in as well.”

  * * *

  McCormick looked at the display on his cell phone and didn’t recognize the number. It was the second time the number appeared and for the second time, he let it go. Whoever it was could leave a voice mail, although the icon for a voice mail message had yet to appear.

  Ignoring the phone, he went back to work on the bottle of Cabernet, pulling the cork out of their second and setting it on the counter to breathe for a minute or two. Next, he pulled open the oven door and looked inside at the two filet mignons sizzling on the broiling pan, nearly cooked to perfection.
He poked at the steak with a long fork. They both liked their steaks medium and the steak still felt a little rare in the middle yet, so in his estimation, the cuts needed another minute or two.

  With the oven closed, he moved back to the kitchen counter and poured another glass of wine for himself. Kate walked back in waving her long-stemmed wine glass looking for more.

  “Can you give that salad an extra toss?” he asked. “While I give you a refill.”

  Kate smiled and did as asked, using the salad spoons to work the Caesar dressing into the mixture of lettuce, tomatoes, croutons and parmesan cheese. They were following orders from the Judge, which were to go have a good meal, enjoy some quiet time and get a good night’s rest. Then tomorrow, come ready to be on the road through Monday. It would be a campaigning marathon.

  McCormick opened the oven door again; poked at the filets and decided this time they were ready. He grabbed his long serving fork and placed the cuts onto the large serving plate, along with two baked potatoes, which had been cooking in a smaller countertop oven. Along with the Caesar salad, they would have a good healthy meal, a rarity for them as of late. Kate grabbed the salad bowl and the wine and the two of them moved through the archway and to the dining room.

  “I can’t remember the last time I did this,” Sebastian said, as he sat down and grabbed his steak knife and immediately dug into the filet.

  “Me neither,” Kate replied, sipping her wine. “This is a great Cabernet, by the way, super smooth,” she added, taking another deep sip. “God that beats the beer we’ve been drinking every night.”

  “No kidding,” Sebastian answered, and then raised his wine glass for a toast. “To winning on Tuesday.”

  “To us,” Kate replied and leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

  “I like that kind of talk,” Sebastian answered. He liked Kate very much and she seemed to return the feeling.

  “Is that your cell phone again?” she asked.

  “Yes it is,” Sebastian sighed disgustedly. “You’d think people could leave me alone for once.”

  “I thought you told everyone no calls tonight.”

  “I did. I did.”

  “So who is it then?” Kate asked questioningly. Most people in the campaign feared the second in command so she was surprised anyone would dare tempt fate with constant calls.

  “I don’t know. I don’t recognize the number.”

  “Well, whoever it is, they are being awfully persistent. Answer it quick so they stop calling and we can enjoy our night,” Kate said.

  “Okay,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out the phone and answered: “Sebastian McCormick.”

  * * *

  “This is Adam Montgomery. Do you know who I am?”

  There was a hesitation and then an uncertain, “I do.”

  “Did Jason Stroudt get in contact with you before he was murdered?”

  “No.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Adam?”

  “Mr. McCormick, I have something I think you should see. Jason said I could trust you.”

  * * *

  Moriarity and Holmes shared a look. Holmes took off his earbud out and reached for his cell phone. “Kristoff, we have a problem.”

  * * *

  Sally was astonished.

  Her eyes were wide, her jaw hung open, not believing what she’d just heard. But the look on Mac’s face told her otherwise, “You’re not joking, are you?”

  Mac shook his head, “Not about this, Sal.”

  “You’re really going to get $12,300,000 for your share of the Grand Brew? I heard that right, twelve point three million dollars?”

  Mac just nodded.

  “Oh my God,” Sally said putting both hands to her mouth. She sat back and away from him just shaking her head struggling for the words. “That’s … that’s …”

  “I know, right?” Mac answered with his own smiling look of disbelief. “I wasn’t sure what to say either when I got the call from the guys. I knew I was going to receive a pile of money when they sold, but I had no idea it would be …” he struggled for the right words and blurted, “Like this. This is crazy.”

  “They gave you no indication how much the offer was for? How much you’d get?”

  Mac shook his head, “No, they said I would be happy but … those two really just sandbagged the hell out of me. I think they really enjoyed it.”

  “What are you going to do with it all?” Sally asked with the disbelief still evident on her face.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Buy a Porsche,” Sally blurted.

  Mac snorted, “A rich cop with a Porsche? Kind of cliché, don’t you think?”

  Sally shrugged. Didn’t seem like such a terrible idea to her.

  “I did call my financial guy to let him know we needed to meet. I suppose that’s where I’ll start. Dad left Mom okay, but I can certainly use this to make sure she’s truly set up once and for all. She and Dad set up the college account I used to buy my interest to begin with, so there’s a certain symmetry to that, I guess.” Mac sat back and stared off into space.

  They sat in silence for a moment until Sally spoke up, “Man, now I know why you said we were toasting to life-altering events.”

  Mac just nodded, looking down, quiet. Sally picked up on it and reached for his hand. “Hey?”

  Mac looked up.

  “You don’t look as ecstatic about this as one would expect.”

  He just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Why? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Mac sat back and looked up to the ceiling, “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad this has happened, I really am. I mean, this sets me up for life.”

  “But what?” Sally asked. “Something’s bugging you.”

  He nodded. “I feel like a lottery winner, Sal. I’m thinking I didn’t really earn the money.”

  “That business wouldn’t have started without your investment,” Sally replied matter of factly.

  “I know that,” Mac replied nodding. “But seriously, this is just so out of … proportion.”

  “Mac, it is the American dream to buy low and sell high. That’s what you did. You took a risk with a lot of money when you didn’t have much to your name. You showed real faith in your friends and now you’ve been richly and deservedly rewarded.”

  “But I had very little to do with turning it into what it is.”

  “Maybe not,” Sally agreed, nodding. “But let me tell you what you did do. You gave up a very lucrative career as a lawyer at the best law firm in town to join the family business. You’re out being a cop and putting murderers away and getting paid a small fraction of what you’d be making as a lawyer.”

  “It isn’t all that bad,” Mac answered with a little smile. “I did find you.”

  His compliment drew him a soft kiss from Sally who then pulled away. She took his hands and pulled them to her heart and looked him in the eyes and said softly, “Michael MacKenzie McRyan, I love you. I love what you stand for, for what you do, your conviction to doing it and doing it right. I simply can’t think of someone who would deserve this great fortune more. And I know you. You’ll do the right thing with it.”

  Mac pulled her back to him, embraced her and kissed her deeply. “I’ve missed you.”

  Sally put her right hand to his cheek, “Right back at you.”

  * * *

  Kristoff and Foche cruised in a minivan five hundred yards behind the white Honda Accord being driven by Adam Montgomery. He had another unit following closely behind in an alternating tail. After having driven around the outer beltline of the Twin Cities on Interstate 494 and 694, Montgomery was now moving back up into the cities and was traveling east on Interstate 94, now crossing over the Mississippi River from Minneapolis and into the western edge of St. Paul.

  They knew where he was going.

  The two professionals shared a look and a nod and Kristoff radioed to the other tailing unit, “We are going ahead. Stay on hi
m and let me know if he changes course.”

  “Copy.”

  At the Huron Boulevard Exit sign, Kristoff accelerated and pulled past Montgomery within five seconds. The political blogger was carefully following the posted speed limit of sixty. Kristoff was able to get ahead of Montgomery and reach the Cretin-Vandalia exit a minute before he would. Kristoff turned south on Cretin and proceeded nearly two miles to the intersection of Cretin and St. Clair where he stopped at a red light. On green, he turned left onto St. Clair and drove one block east and took a right on South Finn Avenue. On Finn, he drove three quarters of the block down and pulled to the right curb to park, fifty feet back from the intersection of Finn and Berkeley. He parked just past the front of the house on the corner so that he could see the front of the second house, which belonged to McCormick.

  Kristoff looked over to Foche and said, “We need to move quickly.”

  Foche pulled out his Walther PPK/E, pulled out the clip, checked it and slid it back in. “I agree.”

  Kristoff’s partner put his earbud into his ear and the two of them did a quick com check. “I will let you know when I’m at the back door,” Foche said as he pushed himself out of the passenger seat and onto the sidewalk. Kristoff watched him quickly walk back up the sidewalk and turn left into the dark back alley.

  * * *

  The Judge finished his third bourbon as the wheels touched down at Holman Field in St. Paul, the small commuter airport just southeast of downtown St. Paul. For the small jets the campaign used, Holman was a better option. It allowed for quicker departures and arrivals as you didn’t need to fight through the crowds at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.