First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set

by Roger Stelljes

  In the middle of the library was a long conference table with four high-backed leather chairs on either side and one on each end. The floor was wood, but a large Persian rug sat in the center under the conference table. As they entered the library, Mason Johnson stood looking out the window. Casually dressed in tan slacks, he also wore a navy blue sweater and white button-down collar shirt. Handshakes were exchanged, coffee poured, and they moved to the conference table. Johnson shook Mac’s hand, held it briefly, gave him a long look and smirked just slightly as they sat down. Inside, Mac smiled. So, the senator isn’t exactly impressed with me. Mac sat down next to Lich, smiled slightly, and nodded. Let’s go with the game plan.

  Lyman opened. “Marion, how should we proceed?”

  “It’s McRyan’s case,” Peters said, nodding towards Mac.

  Lyman looked at Mac and asked, “Well?”

  Mac, pleasant to start, said, “I appreciate your and the senator’s willingness to meet with us. We were hoping the senator might be able to clear up a few things for us.”

  “Like what, Michael?” Lyman asked.

  “For example, was he at Ms. Daniels’s place the night she was killed?”

  The senator looked at Lyman, who nodded. “You know I was.”

  “What time did you leave?” Mac asked.

  “Around 1:30 a.m.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “I was seeing Claire.”

  “Describe ‘seeing,’ senator,” Lich asked.

  “Claire and I were … involved,” Senator Johnson responded evasively.

  “In other words, you were having sex with her,” Mac said bluntly. It was a statement, not a question, intended to push.

  “Yes,” Johnson replied tersely.

  “Did you use a condom?”

  “No.” That made DNA less of an issue.

  “How long had you and Ms. Daniels been sleeping together?” Mac asked.

  “A couple of months.”

  “How did you meet?” Lich inquired pleasantly. The senator spent fifteen minutes detailing his relationship with Daniels, where they had met, and how the relationship had grown over time.

  Mac thought about asking whether the senator’s wife knew about Daniels, but because Sally had said Hisle would likely shut that down, he decided to wait. Instead, he asked, “Were you there two nights before Claire was killed?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Mac, gratuitously, trying to push just a little, “Getting a little action that night as well?”

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” the senator replied sharply. Lyman grabbed his arm. Mac smiled. The senator didn’t like him.

  Lich, good cop, jumped in all calm and respectful, “What time did you leave that night?”

  “Similar time, around 1:30 a.m.”

  “I was wondering … how did you get in the last night at Daniels’s place?” Lich asked.

  “Claire let me in.”

  Lich, conversational, “Was that always the case? How about the other nights, how did you get in those times?”

  “Claire would let me in or I’d use a key she left under the front doormat.”

  The senator relaxed a bit, so Mac decided to push a little again, “How’d Claire like it?”

  Senator Johnson stared at him. “Like what?”

  “Having sex. A little rough perhaps? Kinky?” Mac asked.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Johnson growled.

  Lyman jumped in. “My client isn’t going to answer that.”

  “Fine, Lyman,” Mac replied, then turned back to the senator. “Ms. Daniels seeing anyone else besides you?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Only me.”

  “How can you be so sure? Did you ever ask her if she was sleeping around?”

  “Yes, I did. She said I was it. I had no reason to doubt her.”

  “She tell anyone she was sleeping with you?”

  “No. She understood that it had to be kept quiet.”

  That comported with what they’d learned about Daniels. Nonetheless, Mac kept the heat on, pushing, digging. “Yeah, because if word gets out about this, that could play havoc with your political career and the little missus at home.” Again, it was a statement more than a question. The senator glared at Mac but didn’t respond.

  Lich, good cop, stepped in. “Did Daniels ever mention any problems she had with her neighbors, ex-boyfriends, people she reported on or with, anyone prowling around her place?”

  The senator, turning away from Mac and towards Lich, replied, “Not that I recall.”

  “You ever see anyone hanging around that didn’t look right? Anyone suspicious? Weird?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Mac took over. “And the night Daniels was killed, you left at 1:30 a.m.”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone know you were at Claire’s that night?”

  “No.”

  They worked the facts for another half hour, working through the details, time of arrival, how the senator entered, the nature of the relationship, time of departure. Senator Johnson held tightly to his story, finishing with, “Like I said, I left at 1:30 a.m. and went home to my condo downtown.”

  Mac paused, folded his arms, and stared at the senator for a moment. He had been there that night, admitted leaving at the right time, and didn’t force his way in; they’d cemented everything, including his departure at the time of death. So, how did Daniels die? Time to ask. “Senator, I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything.”

  “What?” the senator snapped, disbelieving.

  “You’re not telling me everything. You’re leaving things out.”

  “Listen, Detective, when I left Claire’s place, she was alive.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mac replied, arms folded, rocking in his chair, a smirk on his face.

  “Maybe I wasn’t clear, Detective McRyan,” Senator Johnson replied angrily. “She was alive when I left her place. I’m here to help you guys, and now you call me a liar.” He looked at Peters and pointed towards Mac. “This is the guy you having running the case?” Mac smiled inwardly.

  Lyman put his arm in front of his client, and spoke to Peters. “Look, the senator is concerned because his friend was found murdered. He came here in good faith, to help you out. He’s been cooperative.” Pointing towards Mac, he continued, “McRyan is out of line, and if he continues in this fashion, we will be done here.”

  “Sorry, Lyman,” Mac replied flatly. “But before you try to pull the plug, let me tell you what we’ve detected thus far.” Mac flipped his notebook back a few pages. “Daniels was found dead Tuesday morning in her bed by her housekeeper. Her windpipe was crushed. There was extensive bruising around her throat. Someone got on top of her, straddled her, and pressed down on her throat like this,” Mac put his hands out in front of him, thumbs pointing up, demonstrating the grip.

  He took a sip of his coffee, pausing for effect, and then lowered the hammer. “Time of death, confirmed by autopsy, occurred between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m.” Mac looked directly at the senator, who sat back in his chair at the comment on time of death, his eyes going wide, a look of horror replacing the one of derision. Mac expected more of a worried look and wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He hesitated for a moment, then continued. “She’d had sex the night she was murdered. We have a single male semen specimen of which we will be doing DNA testing. It undoubtedly belongs to you, Senator.”

  Mac stopped briefly, took another hit of his coffee, and while looking at his notes, continued, “We have no evidence of forced entry into her home. We have no evidence of robbery. Nothing is missing. The house wasn’t ransacked or disrupted in any way. The housekeeper confirms that. Whoever killed her had a key or was let in.” Mac paused, waiting.

  A barely audible, “Oh, my God,” escaped the senator’s lips. Mac noticed the look of horror replaced with disbelief.

  Lyman lightly grabbed Johnson by the ar
m, and quietly asked, “Anything else?”

  “That’s what we have,” Mac replied, then looking squarely at the senator, ticking off his fingers. “I have you leaving her place at the time of death. I have your prints and will get your DNA. I have no evidence of forced entry or robbery, but you had easy access. I have a murder victim dying a violent death, strangled by someone of obvious strength. I have you, tall, strong, and physically capable.” Then back to Lyman, “I’ll agree with you, the senator’s been cooperative. The only thing he hasn’t confirmed is that he killed Claire Daniels, but the evidence says he did.” Mac folded his arms and sat back in his chair, “So, at this point it would seem that Senator Johnson might want to think about helping himself, not us.”

  The senator, flushed, glaring at Mac, growled, “I don’t fucking believe this.”

  “Believe it,” replied Mac flippantly, pushing, pouring gas on the fire.

  “Mason, quiet,” Lyman ordered in a sharp voice.

  Mac smelled blood, pressed, leaning across the table, getting as close as he could without leaving his chair, a little extra gravel in his voice. “I’ve got you leaving her place around the time of death. I have prints all over the place—yours. I’ve got semen—yours. You killed her, Senator. Fess up.”

  With the senator looking as if he was going to jump across the table after Mac, Lich jumped in, putting his arm in front of Mac and pulling him back. With a calm, smooth, respectful voice, he said, “Look, you’ll have to excuse my partner here. He could stand to dial it back a little.” Lich shared a knowing look with Mac. Then, conversationally to the senator, “But, the point he’s so indelicately trying to make is that this is an unfortunate situation. If it was an accident, now’s the time to get out in front of it and give us your side of the story.”

  Lyman tried to stop him, but the senator, raging, was not to be controlled now. He plowed right through. “What side? Seems like you guys, especially your little prick partner here, have pretty much already decided what happened.”

  Lich, in his even tone, said, “Senator, tell us what happened Monday night?”

  As the senator opened his mouth, Lyman both ordered and pleaded with his client, “Don’t answer that, Mason.”

  Senator Johnson was having none of it. “Nothing. She was alive when I left. I got there just after 11:00 p.m. and left at 1:30 a.m. She was alive when I left. I had not one thing to do with Claire’s death.”

  “Well, Senator,” Lich said, his arms spread out, leaning back in his chair, “given what we’ve found thus far, we have good reason to suspect that you did kill Ms. Daniels.”

  Lyman grabbed the senator’s arm firmly and, with a sharp biting voice, said, “Don’t respond to that.”

  Senator Johnson had already opened his mouth, but he listened. He sat back in his chair, calming some.

  Mac stirred the pot again. “Your wife know you were fucking Daniels?”

  “Michael!” growled Lyman.

  “You arrogant little fuck,” replied the senator.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” smirked Mac, adding, “There’s motive right there, along with everything else.”

  Lich, back in the old calm pro, said, “Look, Senator, the question really is, did your wife know about your relationship with Daniels?”

  “Mason, you will not answer that question,” ordered Hisle.

  Lich kept going, talking over Hisle, “Say she doesn’t know, maybe the more relevant question is, did Claire ask about it?”

  The senator leaned forward, wanted to answer, about to answer, but Hisle stopped him, “Don’t.”

  “That’s okay,” Lich continued conversationally. “But what we were wondering is if perhaps Claire started putting on some pressure, for a divorce or something like that?”

  “Or, better,” Mac, combative, interjected, “if you don’t tell your wife, maybe she will. Claire’s sick and tired of being your bed sheet. So, she puts the wood back to you: tell your wife or she will.” His voice rising, “Now as these things go, that’s not good for a husband cheating on his wife. All you want is a little something on the side, especially something as hot as Claire Daniels. But you can’t have that little something stirring up problems at home. It wouldn’t be good for the political career.” Mac pointed at the senator. “And we’ve seen time and again how that political career, that power, that ambition outweighs everything else.”

  Lich back in, calm. “So, you two naturally start to argue. But it escalates. It gets physical. It goes too far and, before you know it …” And then quietly, “You didn’t mean for it to happen, Senator. It was an accident.”

  Captain Peters, having admired the performance of his two detectives, spoke directly to Hisle, “Manslaughter. Work with us and the district attorney will go that direction.”

  The senator rolled his eyes. “Helen Anderson? I bet she’d sign off on this and file for my office the next day.”

  “Mason, enough,” growled Lyman, obviously upset with his client. To the detectives, “You will excuse us.”

  With that, Mac, Lich, and Peters headed out of the library and stepped outside.

  • • • • •

  Lyman and Senator Johnson headed downstairs to his game room. The senator was about to speak, but Lyman waved him off. This conversation would require some courage. He went to the bar, grabbed two glasses and put them up on the counter. He snagged the bottle of Wild Turkey off the back shelf and poured each glass a quarter full, shots. The senator sat down on a barstool, grabbed his glass, and knocked it back. Lyman did the same. Lyman looked at his glass and thought for a moment, another one? He decided the better of it. “Mason, we have issues here.”

  “I’m sorry, Lyman. I spoke too much, but that little punk—”

  “Did a number on you. And so did his partner.”

  The senator jumped back in his barstool, thought for a moment, cognizance dawning. He nodded. “Yeah, they did.” He lifted his glass and Lyman poured him another small drink. He slammed it. “What do we do now?”

  Lyman gave his friend another long look. “They’ve got you nailed pretty good, my friend. Do we need to discuss the offer made upstairs?”

  The senator gave Lyman a quizzical look. “You think I did this?”

  Lyman ignored the pleading voice, his own voice deep, hard. “I’m asking you this once, do we take the deal?”

  The senator didn’t hesitate. “I did not do this.”

  Lyman gave him one last long look and decided he believed his friend. Even if he didn’t, so what? He was the lawyer. He now had a job to do and a big one at that. “Okay, then, my friend. First thing you’ll do is shut the fuck up.” He couldn’t say that to most clients. Mason was his friend, and he needed a serious dose of reality. He couldn’t act like a United States senator anymore. He needed to listen to, instead of give—hell, ignore—direction. He’d also have to give some thought to giving up his seat, but that wasn’t Lyman’s call. That was one for the political people. Johnson just nodded, and Hisle continued. “I’m going to tell the detectives that we’re done.”

  “They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. You were there that night. You admitted you had sex with her. And we learned a few more things.”

  “Like?”

  “No forced entry, nothing stolen, and, most importantly, time of death between 1:00 a.m. and 2:00 a.m.”

  The senator pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we beat this?”

  “Don’t know yet,” replied Lyman honestly. “We have a lot of work to do to create reasonable doubt.”

  “Reasonable doubt?” growled Johnson. “Shit, reasonable doubt ain’t going to cut it. My career. Shit. My life is fucked if we don’t find who did this.”

  “We’ll try, Mason,” Lyman replied.

  “I’ve been fucking set up.”

  “Like I said, we’ll try, but you better think about something else right now.”

  �
��What’s that?”

  “Gwen.”

  • • • • •

  They stepped outside, and Peters closed the door. Still standing on the steps, he took one long look at Lich and McRyan, smiled, and stated, “Boys, that was good work in there.”

  “Shit,” replied Lich, laughing out loud. “Mac, just so you know, I wouldn’t expect a Christmas card from the senator.”

  Mac smiled. “No, I don’t imagine I’ll make the list.”

  Peters, chuckling along with his detectives, said, “Jesus Christ, Mac. ‘Your wife know you were fucking Daniels?’ I thought he was going to lunge across the table.”

  They all shared a brief little laugh, and then Mac, back to business, said, “What’s next?”

  “Well, much to your enjoyment, I’m sure,” replied Peters lightly, “you’ll be working with Sally Kennedy on writing up the summons and complaint.”

  Mac wanted to say, “Fuck you,” but one didn’t respond that way to a captain. “You think we’re ready to go?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Peters was going to say something else, but looked beyond the two of them out to the road, “Ahh, shit.”

  • • • • •

  Viper had followed them out from St. Paul. Once they’d reached Hisle’s, he’d scoped out his current position, half a mile away, standing in a park on the bluff, two hundred feet above. There were swing sets, slides, and sandboxes all over, abandoned since kids were in school and the cool weather of November had rolled in. He was by himself, looking down from the bluff with a pair of high-test binoculars. He would have been able to look inside Hisle’s house if the shades weren’t drawn.

  Once he found his spot, he made the call. The boss wanted the heat turned up and fast. The first call was to Channel 12 and then to Daniels’s Channel 6. Once the call was placed, it took the Channel 12 news truck forty-five minutes to get out to Stillwater. Just as he saw the truck coming out of downtown Stillwater, the detectives walked out the front door. He was briefly concerned, would the media miss them? No. They weren’t leaving. Rather they were loitering around in front. The one Viper had learned was named Peters was standing on the front steps, facing him while McRyan’s and Lich’s backs were turned. Peters had a smile on his face, and it looked like the group was enjoying a laugh. Things must have gone well inside. Viper moved his head to the right and down slightly, picking up the van as it pulled up. He looked back up to Peters, and saw his smile vanish when the news van pulled up. He could read Peters’s lips, and while his smile may have vanished, a small one creased Viper’s face.