Mac and Lich stood on the front steps of the Public Safety Building and watched as Hisle’s limousine pulled up punctually at 10:30 a.m. The media was punctual as well, having been camped out since the crack of dawn. The arrest was a national story, with all the networks and cable news channels present and accounted for. The local channels were there as well, battling as best they could for space. FOX politicos like Fred Barnes and Mort Kondracke were already opining on what impact the senator’s involvement would have on party politics. Mac could never remember seeing so many microphones and cameras or so much hair spray in all his life.
Mac and Lich and a couple of uniform cops walked down to the curb. The senator would require an escort, not because Mac wanted any airtime, although Sylvia Miller kept saying it would be good for the department to be seen on camera arresting the senator, but more so because, if they didn’t, the media might crush him.
Hisle got out first and issued a perfunctory, “Good morning,” to Mac and Lich. He examined the crush of media forming around them.
“Sorry, Lyman, not much we can do,” Mac said as he leaned down into the open door to see the senator sliding over to get out. He looked back at Hisle. “Are you guys going to say anything to the media on the way in or-”
“Just get us in,” Hisle replied.
Mac looked back down at the senator, who was obviously not happy to see him. Mac ignored it. “Senator, when you get out, we’re just going to plow through them. Keep your hands on my back. Lyman’ll be on your side and Detective Lich and the uniform cops’ll be behind you.”
The senator nodded and climbed out of the limo. Everyone looked ready, so Mac turned and headed up the steps, everyone right behind him. They plowed through the media. Mac was hit a couple of times by microphones, and he pushed a camera guy from CNN a little harder than he would have liked, causing him to fall to his knees, hearing a, “Hey, man,” as he pushed past. They eventually got inside, the doors closing the media out.
“This way, Senator,” Mac said, pointing to an elevator that would take them down to booking. Johnson and Hisle had a brief discussion, and Mac heard Hisle say, “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” That would be the arraignment hearing.
The rest of the process, including pictures and fingerprints, took a good hour. Since the senator was going to the arraignment this afternoon and was likely to get bail, they didn’t put him in jail clothes. Once the processing was complete, Mac and Lich walked the senator to an isolated jail cell away from the rest of the general populace. He entered the cell and stood with his back to them, hands on hips, surveying his new temporary digs.
“We’ll be down for you in a couple of hours,” Lich said.
Mac and Lich took the elevator back upstairs. “I want to see if I have any messages,” Lich said. Mac chuckled, figuring Lich was looking for something from Dot. Old Dick Lick had a definite spring in his step the last two days. Instead of complaining about his divorce, he was focused on work and had been masterful the day before with the senator. Mac was starting to see why people said Lich had been a good detective. Lich’s new-found vigor caused his mind to briefly drift to Sally. She had been flirting again last night, and he’d basically admitted his interest. Bill Clark snapped him out of his daydream, handing him a pink message slip.
“This guy just called in,” Bill said. “He lives in an apartment along the alley behind Daniels’ place. You left your card for him.”
Mac searched in the back of his mind for a moment, “Oh, yeah, out of town or something.”
“Right. Anyway, he called.”
“Say anything?”
“Nope. He just said you should call him.”
Mac dialed the number.
The senator sat on the bed and looked at the floor. Two days before, he had been lunching in the Senate dining room. Now, he was sitting on a bed in a gray cinder-block jail cell, with no window to the outside world, accused of murdering the woman he loved. How had it come to this?
Somebody had set him up. They would have to figure out whom. He realized his political career was probably over. Even if he was acquitted, the taint would never go away. If Lyman could actually prove he was innocent, well that might be a different story. However, at the moment, he feared that he might not be able to do that. But if he could, it might help save his career for some future point in time. Of course, if he ever did run again, this whole thing would be brought up. And, even proven innocent, it would be known that the woman who died was his mistress; at least that’s how the public would perceive it. He was cheating on his wife, caught red handed. While not fatal if already in political office, it would make it a hell of a lot harder to get back in.
Lyman had set him straight the night before. For now, he had to forget about his career. They needed to focus on keeping him out of jail. He was looking at a life sentence. This was what had to be avoided. This would be Lyman’s focus. Hisle had already hired a private investigator to look into other possible killers.
Mason leaned back on the bed, his head against the cold cinder block, closed his eyes and thought about his last night with Claire. He’d never been with a woman like her-beautiful, energetic, passionate. She said she was probably coming to Washington. He had been so happy.
Telling his wife about all of this had been awful. He suspected Lyman heard her screaming from the other end of the house. Not only did she find out that her husband had been cheating on her-no, that wasn’t bad enough-but her husband, having embarrassed her in that fashion, was now implicated in the murder of the woman. Not only that but Mason had waited too long; she had heard it first from a reporter and not him.
He admitted to the affair; no sense hiding it now. He had intended to ask for a divorce. The timing just hadn’t been right to do it. “Don’t you worry, the divorce will be coming,” was her response. There would be no supportive wife through this.
He just had to get through this somehow. He had plenty of money put away. Between what he inherited from his parents as an only child, and his private sector and senate earnings, he was in good shape. Gwen earned more than he had for years, so the divorce would not be financially crippling. Upon reflection, if he could beat this, he could go somewhere far away and live. It would not be the life he envisioned for himself two days before, but things could be worse-he could be living in a cell like this for the rest of his life. An island somewhere, with the ocean, the sun and a cocktail, while not the senate dining room, it beat the alternative.
Get through the arraignment, arrange for bail and get out of the Twin Cities. He decided to go up to his cabin afterwards. It was only an hour or so away, so if he had to drive in to see Lyman, he could. Better yet, he could have Lyman come out there. He could ice fish, snowshoe, cross-country ski and snowmobile. There were other cabins around, but he had ten acres to himself. The isolation would be good. He felt better just thinking about it.
He took his suit coat off, loosened his tie and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to nap. About the time he felt himself dosing off, the steel door to the cell opened, and the older detective, Lich, appeared with another detective he hadn’t seen before.
“Time to go, Senator,” Lich said.
“Where’s your partner?” the senator asked.
“He’s working on something.”
It took Mac a minute to realize that Paul Blomberg was worth a look. Blomberg lived in an apartment building that backed up to the alley that split Daniels’ block in half. He had left for Las Vegas on the morning they found Daniels’ body and hadn’t known anything was going on. He returned late the night before and found Mac’s card. He wasn’t sure what he saw exactly, but it might be easier to show him.
Blomberg was the typical late-twenties single professional living on Grand Avenue. His apartment was like many found in the area, a one-bedroom job, wood floors, built-in wooden buffets and tiny kitchens. Blomberg had just gotten back-his suitcase was sitting in the middle of the apartment, three days of newspapers and mail stacked on top. Blomberg may have been a professional, but he looked worn out, his hair disheveled, a few days of growth on his beard and dark circles around his eyes. He was drinking coffee out of an oversized mug.
After shaking his hand, Mac asked, “You always look like this?”
“Funny guy,” replied Blomberg, “Vegas for three days’ll do this to you.”
“I imagine it might. How’d you come out?”
“About even. No good at the craps table, but the sports book wasn’t bad.”
“Yeah? What treated you good there?”
“The Wild, man.”
Mac smiled, “Put a little money on the road win at Colorado did you?”
Blomberg returned the smile, “Man knows his puck.”
“I know a thing or two about the game,” Mac replied. “So, tell me about what you couldn’t explain on the phone.”
Blomberg waved him back to the kitchen. It was small, a little fridge and stove and barely enough counter space for a sink and microwave. There was a side window overlooking a parking lot. A small dinner table in front of the window had a toaster and a wood spire that held four mismatched coffee cups. Mac looked out the window. On the other side of the parking lot was Kozlak Foodmart, where Mac often grocery shopped.
“So?”
“Well, she was killed when?”
“Monday night or Tuesday morning.”
“Hmm. I wonder,” Blomberg said.
“What did you see?”
“It was 2:45 to 3:00 a.m., and I was up. Just couldn’t sleep. Wish I could have that night, too, because there wasn’t much to be had in Vegas,” Blomberg said, and he paused, his mind obviously back on the Vegas trip again.
“Yeah, so?” Mac replied.
“Anyway,” Blomberg said, sipping his coffee, “I decided I’d make a piece of toast and have a glass of milk, figuring maybe that would help me sleep.”
“That’s nice,” a little impatient.
Blomberg picked up the pace, “Anyway, as I’m waiting for the toaster to pop, I see this van pull up in the parking lot, lights out. Kind of odd at that time of night, I thought.”
“So the lights are out. What happened then?” Mac asked, peering out the window.
“Anyway, it pulls up, and it looks like the passenger-side sliding door opens.”
“What do you mean looks like?”
“If you look out the window, you’ll see. The van turned away from me. It pulled up parallel to the guardrail there. As it was turning to go to the guardrail, the door looked like it started to open.”
Mac peered down, then looked back at Blomberg. “Then what?”
“Some guy came from across the alley, jumped in, and they pulled away.”
“Some guy?”
“Yeah, he just ran from over there on the right, across the alley and jumped in the van, and they pulled away.”
“Did you get a look at the guy?”
Blomberg shook his head. “It was really dark, and he was dressed in dark clothes.”
“See a face, anything like that?”
“No. Not at all. Like I said, it was dark.”
“Tall, short, heavy, slight?"
“Sorry man. I couldn’t make any of that out.”
Mac took a look out the window. The lot had parking spaces on the east and west side, as well as a row down the middle. There was a short guardrail that separated the parking lot from the alley. The guardrail prevented someone from pulling into the lot from the alley. “Let’s go down and take a look.”
They got down to the parking lot, and Mac walked to the guardrail at the back. He looked up to the apartment and Blomberg’s window.
“So the van pulled up here?” Mac pointed to the area in front of the guardrail.
“A little further away.”
Mac walked another ten feet, “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Now where did the guy you saw come from?”
“I didn’t see where he came from really. I saw him come from the alley and jump in the van. The van pulled away pretty fast, and I don’t think the door was even closed when they drove away.”
“Show me where he was in the alley when you saw him.”
Blomberg climbed over the guardrail and stood in the middle of the alley. “I didn’t see where he came from. I was watching the van, and I noticed him out of the corner of my eye.”
Mac walked over to where Blomberg was standing. He looked back east down to the other end of the alley and the left turn into the back of Daniels’ place. Mac walked down the alley towards Daniels’ place. The alley was narrow, but there were all kinds of garages along the left side and a few interspersed between the various businesses and apartments on the right. There were several tall trees and a couple of large weeping willows. Mac thought about when he was a kid playing kick the can. He could have hidden forever in this alley.
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.”
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.”