First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set

by Roger Stelljes

  Mac and Lich both looked at the Burger King sign and Lich blurted, “You want fries with that?”

  • • • • •

  At 7:45 p.m., Knapp left Applebee’s. He didn’t head home. He stopped at three bars along University Avenue. At each stop, a member or two of the detail got out and went inside to observe. At each bar, Knapp would stop in and have a beer or two, usually sitting at the bar. Most of the time he watched whatever game was on TV. At Murphy’s Bar, he watched the Wild and Red Wings game. At Pistol Pete’s, he engaged in idle chitchat with a group of men while watching the Wolves game.

  His last stop was Dick’s Bar on the northeast corner of University and Arundel. It was 11:15 p.m. The radio chirped with Riles’s voice. “Mac, your turn.”

  “Copy that,” Mac replied. He grabbed his leather jacket and his beat up old Twins baseball cap and opened the door. He stopped and quickly looked back at Lich, who was chewing on a cigar. “Got a spare?”

  Dick’s was a classic dark hole-in-the-wall bar. On the left side was a long bar that ran forty feet to the back. Along the wall behind the bar were shelves with various unorganized bottles of liquor. Along the right side were booths, with red vinyl seats, hacked up from years of use and inattention. In the back was a narrow hallway with a backdoor to the parking lot. There were bathrooms along the right side and a small kitchen on the left.

  Dick’s was a working man’s bar. No suits, no ties. Instead people wore shit-kickers, dirty pants, work coats, and ball caps. As Mac listened to the conversations, every other word was “shit,” “fuck,” “asshole,” or “cocksucker.” A smoky haze muted the dim light. Along with the bottles along the back wall one could get a pack of smokes, a cheap cigar, or some beef jerky. A quick count told Mac there were twenty-five customers.

  Knapp sat in the middle of the bar, looking up at the TV that hung over the far end of the bar. A hoops game was on ESPN. Mac looked up in time to see Shaq nearly pull the basket down to the floor with a massive dunk, which caused someone to yell, “Jesus Christ!”

  Mac picked an empty stool at the corner of the bar, next to the pull-tabs, just inside the front door. He could sit and look straight down the bar at Knapp. The bartender turned towards him to serve a customer between Knapp and Mac. She took his order, looked towards Mac and flashed him a smile.

  The bartender was not what you’d expect to find at a place like Dick’s. She was attractive as hell. She was a petite blonde wearing a tight white Dick’s T-shirt, no bra, and her nipples were in full bloom. The dirty old boys in here must love it. She had short, kinky hair, kind of spiked on top and a hundred-watt smile that she flashed constantly. No wonder there were a few folks in here. Mac wondered what the heck she was doing here. She could be working a lot of other places.

  She sauntered on over to Mac, flashed him a bright-white smile, “What can I get ya, hun?”

  “I’ll take a bottle of High Life and a book of matches.”

  “Sure thing,” she replied with the smile, heading back to get the beer. Along with the tight shirt, she was wearing snug jeans that hugged her slender legs and little ass. Steady boy, Mac said to himself. He checked out Knapp, who was eyeing up the bartender as well, making a little conversation with her while she reached in the cooler for Mac’s beer. She flashed Knapp a smile as well and then wandered back to Mac. “$3.25.”

  Mac handed her a twenty. “I’ll take fifteen on the pull-tabs. Keep the rest.”

  She grabbed a basket, put the pull-tabs in, and wandered off to wait on the rest of the customers. Mac took a pull off his beer and winced a little at the taste. He wasn’t a real High Life fan, but it was a working-man’s beer, and he was in a working-man’s bar. He lit his cigar and started to slowly work his pull-tabs, a uniquely Minnesota form of gambling. Pull-tabs were small cards, smaller than playing cards with three tabs. You pulled away the tabs, and if you had a match all the way across on any of the three tabs, you were a winner. On the fourteenth card, Mac hit $100 with a line through three cherries; his lucky night. He caught the bartender’s eye, holding up the winner.

  She walked back over casually, flashed him another little smile, “Lucky you.” She went to the cash drawer for the pull-tabs and came back with his winnings. “Here you go.”

  “Keep twenty for yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Another smile. She was cute, in a dirty girl sort of way. She pocketed the money.

  Mac took another look at Knapp, who was staring in a different direction. At the far end of the bar was another woman. She was more ordinary looking. She too was small and petite. But whereas the bartender was attractive as hell, this one was less so. She had long, straight, black hair, which she pushed behind her ears to keep it out of her face. The bartender had her face done up; this one was a plain Jane. She had slender legs, but you couldn’t see her ass. It was hidden by an oversized Dick’s Bar sweatshirt. The bartender was the epitome of “Hey, look at me,” but this one was the “Don’t notice me” type. She approached Mac with a crate of glasses and proceeded to stack them under the bar, near the ice bin. She wasn’t unattractive, Mac thought. If she worked a little, she could probably do pretty well. She just seemed more shy and reserved. And Knapp was checking her out. Mac made a little small talk.

  “Could you grab me a glass of ice water?”

  She looked up at him quizzically. “Don’t get a lot of requests for that in here.”

  “I don’t imagine you do. Just a little parched.”

  “Sure.” She filled the glass up with ice and squirted some water in from the gun. He casually looked beyond her to see Knapp locked in on her. “Here you go,” she said as she put the glass in front of him.

  “Thanks. What’s your name?

  “Linda.”

  “Thanks, Linda.”

  “No problem.” She sauntered back down the bar and past Knapp, who eyed her all the way. He was sly about it, but he was looking.

  “Hmpf,” Mac thought. He looked at his watch, 11:30 p.m.

  For the next half hour, Mac kept his eye alternately on Knapp, Linda, and whatever was on the TV. Knapp watched Linda intently as she came and went. He hardly paid attention to the cute bartender, which made him entirely different from everyone else, including Mac. Linda came in and out of the bar area. She delivered food, took care of the various supplies, and mixed an occasional drink. She was a combo bar back and bartender. The hot bartender just worked the patrons.

  Knapp watched Linda the entire time. Mac gave him credit. He had some skill. No way did Linda know she was being scoped.

  The hoops game ended at midnight, and Knapp settled up, leaving a nice tip behind. Mac imagined that the hot bartender made nice tips, especially if she dressed like that every night. He would have to get her name as some point, so he did not keep thinking of her as the hot chick. The crusty guys in Dick’s weren’t going home to anything like her.

  Mac watched Knapp head out the back, bumping into Linda on the way out. Wonder if that was intentional? There was some small talk, and Knapp continued out the back door. Mac pulled out his phone and buzzed Riles. “He’s on the way out the back.”

  “Got him. We’re meeting in the Gas & Shop lot in five minutes. The second shift will put Knapp to bed.” Riley clicked off.

  Mac took the last drink of his beer. The bartender saw him and wandered back down to him.

  “Can I get you one more, hun?”

  “No thanks. That’ll do me for tonight. But let me ask you, what’s your name?”

  “Sheila.”

  “Well Sheila, my first time in, and I appreciated the service.”

  She flashed him the 100-watt smile and said, “Well, you come back now.”

  Mac smiled. He had a feeling he would.

  • • • • •

  They met in the parking lot. Riley started things off. “So what do we think?”

  “He don’t look much like a serial killer,” Dan Patrick said.

  “True enough,” replied Rockford.

&n
bsp; “It’s not like he’s going to have a sign hanging on him—’Hello, I’m your neighborhood serial killer,’” quipped Lich.

  “I know, Dick,” replied Patrick, “it’s just that usually those guys have a look about them. This guy looks normal.”

  “Ted Bundy was normal looking,” Rockford replied. “Hell, he was good looking, woman were drawn to him.”

  Riles looked at Mac. “What do you think?”

  “I think he knows University Avenue and the surrounding neighborhoods like the back of his hand. He was up and down it all day long, in and out of all of those businesses. Then after work, he’s at Applebee’s and three bars, all on University. He’s in and out of all those streets. And these guys are right, he’s normal looking, so he isn’t likely to draw suspicion.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Riley replied. “Looks like he works hard for his employer; I mean, there was no dickin’ around on those routes today. He was in and out of all those places quick.”

  “Yeah. Hard-working guy,” Mac replied. “We go around asking people where the victims worked, anyone suspicious hanging around. Everyone says no. If it’s this guy, he’s doing nothing to raise suspicion. He’s in and out. I suppose he might throw a little line of bullshit at the ladies. I watched him do that at Dick’s Bar just now with the bartender. But she was a hot little thing so that’s pretty normal.”

  Lich jumped in. “He’s strong too. He’s got that lean body you can tell is strong.”

  Rock agreed. “He carries a lot of that laundry in on those hangers, over his shoulder. I mean there were some pretty big loads. It’s awkward, hard on your hands and arms, and he seemed to be doing it without breaking a sweat. He’s gotta have strong hands.”

  Riley jumped back in. “He walks around like he’s still in the military, almost as if he’s marching. That straight posture, arms swinging at the side with that clipboard.”

  “The military haircut, the spit-shined shoes,” Mac added. “Do we have someone trying to get his military file?”

  “Sally Kennedy is on it. Says we should have it tomorrow.”

  “Medical discharge, right?” Rockford asked.

  “Yeah, that’s what we got with the Wisconsin records.”

  “Wonder if he whacked out or something. I mean, he’s walking and working okay.”

  “We’ll find out when we get the file,” Riley said, stifling a yawn. “Let’s meet at the Cleveland in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

  “One other thing,” Mac stated. “He’s got his next target.”

  “What?” everyone replied in unison.

  “Bar back, bartender, whatever you want to call her, at Dick’s. Her name’s Linda.”

  “How do you—” Riles started.

  “—Know?” Mac described the bar and what he saw between Knapp and Linda. “He was practically ignoring this hot bartender and focusing solely on this Linda, and he had this look in his eyes, like a hunger. He was subtle about it, but I could tell. And the woman, this Linda, she fits the profile from what I’ve seen: smaller woman, working class, not overly attractive.”

  “A little early to draw that conclusion, don’t you think?” Rock asked.

  “Absolutely,” Mac replied. “I’m just saying, from what I saw, I’d be willing to go down to the casino and put a $100 down that she’s the target.”

  “Anything else?” Riley asked.

  “No. Just that you guys are all going to want to take turns going inside Dick’s. Let me tell you, that little bartender in there is smokin’…”

  • • • • •

  Viper saw McRyan’s Explorer pull into Kennedy’s driveway at 1:15 a.m. He and Bouchard were parked a block down. They had another van parked at McRyan’s place, but Viper figured he would go to Kennedy’s.

  “Looks like you were right,” Bouchard said.

  “I figured.”

  “How come?”

  “They’re both fairly recently divorced. They’re back in the game again, and they’re all hot for each other. Were I McRyan, this is what I’d be doing.”

  Viper thought he was done with McRyan. But then they’d gotten word he broke the serial killer investigation open. With McRyan having worked the Daniels case, they feared he’d make the connection between that case and how they used the serial killer to cover their tracks.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We follow McRyan to see what he and that detail are up to.”

  “And.”

  “We may need to find a way to take this Knapp fellow out before they get to him.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “He’s doing the recon on her now.”

  The detail trailed Knapp for another five days. By Monday they knew he was their guy and who his next victim would be. Mac was on the money.

  On workdays, the pattern remained the same. Knapp started at 9:30 a.m. and did his deliveries up and down University Avenue. He’d eat his lunch and then do his pickups. After work, he would go out to dinner and then hit the bars along University Avenue. Each night he hit Dick’s Bar. Each night he’d closely watch Linda. Each night another cop would come out of the bar and tell Mac how hot the bartender was. After Knapp hit the last bar each night, he made the thirty-minute drive home to Hudson, with the St. Paul police department parading behind him.

  In the interim, they got a copy of his military file. Dirk Knapp had been an excellent Marine. He was with a recon unit and received top marks in his evaluation reports until he met a woman named Shirley Warner, who worked in the administrative offices at his base. Knapp and Warner found themselves in a relationship that went bad. He had become very possessive of her, and she broke it off. Knapp took the breakup hard, but he seemed to be holding it together until another member of his unit started dating Warner. Knapp lost it, went to her home, and severely beat the other man in his unit and went after Warner with a knife. The indication was that Knapp suffered some sort of a mental breakdown. He was hospitalized for a number of months and he eventually was granted a medical discharge. That was four years before.

  Since his discharge, he’d worked for Quick Cleaners as a driver. Tax records indicated a steady income from his work there. A discreet inquiry uncovered that he was an excellent employee, always on time, courteous to customers, and worked hard. He was a bit of a loner and kept to himself for the most part. He wasn’t unfriendly in any way, just not terribly outgoing.

  Tax records in Hudson revealed he and his mother owned his home. They’d originally owned forty acres but recently sold thirty-five of them to a developer. Soon, a housing development would start around their five-acre plot. They’d come out well on the sale of the land.

  “I wonder why the guy even continues to work?” mused Rockford.

  “Mother probably kept it all. Fucking women,” Lich growled.

  Mac and Lich had Saturday off, but were back on the tail Sunday. Most of the day was spent in the van, watching Knapp’s place from the housing development. Even with a day off, the tedium of a stakeout gets to one after a while. Fast food, bags of chips, coffee, sodas, nothing healthy to eat. He was cooped up in a van most of the day with the weather turning cold. There were only so many magazines and newspapers he could read. Only so many radio shows he could listen to. Only so many conversations he could have with Lich, especially when he started to talk about what he and Dot were doing.

  “Dick, spare me the details.”

  “Hell. I’m just hoping you’ll tell me what a fine piece of ass that Sally Kennedy is.”

  Mac just rolled his eyes. “I don’t talk.”

  Lich snorted, “You’re a cop. Cops talk. Let’s have it.”

  Mac was going to reply when he saw Knapp walk out of the house and get into his car “Our boy’s on the move,” and not a second too soon. Knapp pulled down the driveway in the Grand Am. They still hadn’t seen the van.

  “It’s Sunday night, he’s probably just going for milk or something,” Lich thought.

  Mac grabbed th
e radio. Riley and Rockford were down the road at the Italian restaurant. “Riles, Knapp’s on the move.”

  Lich jumped behind the wheel, and they followed him. He wasn’t just going for milk. He was heading west, back towards the Twin Cities, to Dick’s Bar. Knapp pulled into the parking lot behind the bar and went in the backdoor.

  They pulled the van into the Dairy Queen parking lot kitty corner from Dick’s on the south side of University Avenue. Everyone else spread out, finding different parking places along the way.

  Mac jumped on the radio, “Riles, what is this, four out of five night’s at Dick’s?”

  “Yup.”

  “Who’s going in?”

  “Rockford.”

  “Copy that.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mac’s cell phone went off, it was Rockford. “What’s up?”

  “My dick! You weren’t kidding about the little bartender chick in here. She’s the shit.”

  Mac had to laugh. Rockford’s wife wasn’t much to look at. Of course, neither was Rock.

  “Our boy isn’t focusing on her, is he?”

  “No. He’s all over the bar back.”

  Knapp went home at 12:30 a.m., followed by the second shift of followers from the St. Paul Police Department. Mac, Riley, and the rest of them met at the Gas & Shop again. Mac and Lich were waiting when Riley’s van pulled up. As Riley got out of the van, Mac said, “I’ll bet you the $100 I won in pull tabs in there last week that the bar back is the one he’s after.”

  “No bet.”

  “Anyone disagree?” Mac asked. Nobody did.

  They knew for sure Monday night. After Knapp finished his Monday shift, he went to dinner at Applebee’s. After his dinner he went to Dick’s, arriving at 8:00 p.m.

  Riles got on the radio, “Mac, you go back in tonight.”

  “Okay.” Mac slipped on an old softball jacket and stocking cap. His razor stubble and glasses topped off the ensemble.

  Mac got on his cell phone and called Riley.

  “Where’s our boy?” Riley asked.

  “Sitting in the middle of the bar again.”