First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set

by Roger Stelljes

  “Who’s this?”

  “Our eyeball witness who saw the senator leaving Daniels’s place the night of the murder, one Juan Hernandez.”

  “Why are we talking to him again?”

  “He was pretty observant and Johnny-on-the-spot the night Daniels was killed. I want to know if he saw anyone else hanging around. I’m not sure we asked because he gave us the senator, and we moved on that.”

  • • • • •

  Bouchard and Alt were in the Persian Rug store parking lot east of Bobby’s Bar, watching out the back of the van. Bouchard bought a couple of cold sandwiches and cups of coffee from the deli across the street. Hansen and Berg were in the other van parked on Victoria to the south, watching the front of Bobby’s.

  Alt was reading the paper when Bouchard said, “Here they come.”

  Fat Lich and McRyan got into the Explorer, while Riley and big Rockford jumped into a Ford pickup. McRyan turned into the Kozlak Foodmart lot, while Riley kept going east on Grand. Alt ordered the other van to follow Riley and Rockford. He and Bouchard would stay with McRyan.

  “Déjà vu all over again,” Bouchard quipped.

  • • • • •

  Blomberg didn’t have anything more for Mac and Lich. He gave his story again, almost word for word what he gave Mac a month earlier. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the alley that night or any other night.

  “Anything come into your mind since I was here last?”

  “No. Nothing. Like I said, I just saw the guy get in the van. He was dressed in dark clothing. I never saw his face or anything. It happened really fast.”

  Lich showed him a picture of Jamie Jones. “Ever see her around here?”

  Blomberg shook his head. “No. Not that I recall.”

  They ran through it again, but Blomberg simply had nothing more to give. The detectives turned to leave when Mac’s cell went off.

  • • • • •

  Alt saw McRyan come out of the apartment building, talking on his cell phone.

  “They didn’t spend much time inside,” Bouchard remarked.

  Before Alt could respond, his phone chimed, it was Hansen. “Yeah?”

  “We have a problem.”

  • • • • •

  Mac and Lich pulled up in front of Hernandez’s apartment building. Riley and Rock were standing in the entryway with another man. “He’s gone?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah,” replied Riley. “This is the apartment manager, John Higgins.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Three weeks ago,” Higgins replied.

  “What about his lease? Didn’t he have a one-year lease?” Mac asked.

  “Normally he would, but he offered to pay two-months worth up front and then was willing to live month to month. Anyone I would find to take a one-year lease probably wouldn’t take possession for a month or two anyway, so it seemed like a good deal to me. Guy kept to himself, caused no problems.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?” Lich asked.

  “No. Never heard from him personally. Just found the keys in my mailbox one day. No note or anything.”

  “Have you rented the unit out as of yet?”

  “As of the first-of-the-year I have. Right now I have his stuff boxed up in case he calls for it.”

  They went up to the unit and looked around. It had been sparsely furnished to begin with and now there were just a few boxes lying in the middle of the floor. There were some clothes, a few dishes, and some papers.

  Mac looked back at Higgins. “No forwarding address?”

  “No. Like I said. One day he was here, the next he was gone. Didn’t say good-bye or anything.”

  “Anyone come looking for him?” Riley asked.

  “Nobody that I know of.”

  “Was he friendly with any of the other tenants?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “And he paid the two months in full up front?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Cash.”

  “As in check?” Mac asked.

  “Nope. Cash.”

  “Mr. Higgins, didn’t that strike you as odd?” Mac asked, since it certainly struck him as odd.

  “A little perhaps.” Higgins shrugged, tilted his head and lazily raised his eyebrows. “Guy offers cash, wants two months. What’s the big deal?”

  Mac snorted and shook his head.

  They looked through the boxes. They found nothing to give them a hint of where he went. The only paper of any use was a check stub from Dynastar, his employer.

  • • • • •

  “Cut him loose a little early I guess,” Alt remarked.

  “Where did he go?” Bouchard asked.

  “Far away, and they won’t find him. He’s not in the country. He’s not living under the name of Juan Hernandez. He won’t be found unless we need him to be found.”

  “Don’t you think it’ll look odd that he bailed?”

  “A little. They might even suspect we did it. And of course, they’d be right,” Alt said lightly shaking his head, a bit perturbed. All things being equal, he thought, this was a hiccup he would have preferred to avoid. Hernandez’s disappearance only served to heighten their suspicion. Of course, had the police bothered to remain in touch with Hernandez, Alt would have kept him around. Once they killed the senator, the Daniels case was over. Once he was certain of that, he cut Hernandez loose. Alt lightly sighed, shook his head and said, “They won’t be able to find him.”

  “Nothing to worry about?” Bouchard asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  • • • • •

  Mac and Lich went over to Dynastar and spoke with the Human Resources manager. Hernandez left without notice and hadn’t picked up his last paycheck. He left no forwarding address for sending the check, and they hadn’t heard from him. When hired, he’d completed a W-4 and immigration I-9 Form. For the I-9, he provided a Minnesota driver’s license and Social Security card to verify identity and ability to work in the United States. Dynastar did not make copies of the documents, although some employers did, even though it wasn’t technically required. Lich called the license and Social Security number information to Riley and Rock, so they could check it downtown.

  Mac and Lich interviewed people in the production area that worked with Hernandez. He wasn’t at Dynastar long. He had been pleasant enough but kept to himself. He didn’t mention where he was going and everyone was surprised when he just stopped showing up for work.

  It was dark as they walked out of Dynastar, having found nothing helpful about Hernandez. Riley called. While there were plenty of Juan Hernandezes, they couldn’t find any with the Minnesota driver’s license and Social Security numbers this Juan gave to Dynastar.

  At the Pub, Sally joined them, and they went down to Patrick’s Room.

  “Not much today,” Rock said.

  “Hernandez is missing. That’s something,” Lich replied.

  “Guy was probably an illegal. People get a fake driver’s license or state ID card, along with a false Social Security number and work as long as they can. If the employer sniffs something is up, they bail and go to the next unsuspecting employer,” Sally said. “I have some friends who do employment law and they said their clients run into this all the time.”

  “His absence seems awfully convenient,” Mac replied, not buying it.

  “You suggestin’ PTA had something to do with it?” Riles asked, a smile on his face.

  “Hell if I know,” Mac replied. “It seems as if he skipped town after it became clear that the Daniels investigation was over.”

  “It is convenient,” Riles said agreeably. “But that’s about it. If PTA did take care of him, he’s either dead or paid off, drinking an umbrella drink in a foreign land.”

  “So what’s next?” Sally asked.

  “Tomorrow we go over to the Jones place,” Mac said. “See what we find there.”

  “And what if we don’t find anything?�
�� Rock asked.

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Mac replied.

  • • • • •

  Mac turned off the bathroom light and went over to his side of the bed, turned off the nightstand light, rolled over and kissed Sally.

  “So, not much today, huh?” she said, snuggling up to Mac.

  “Just that Hernandez thing,” Mac said, lightly scratching her back.”Daniels’s place was the same as I remembered it. Something odd about her place though. I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s like I’m missing something.”

  “What?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. I’ve looked at something there that’s important, but I don’t know why yet. I haven’t put it together.”

  “So tomorrow you’re going to look at Jones’s?” she said, running her fingers through Mac’s chest hair.

  “Yeah, see if we find anything.”

  “What’ll you look for?”

  “You know, anything that ties Jones and Daniels together. Something that tells us why PTA might have killed them. Like Justice Stewart once said, ‘I’ll know it when I see it.’”

  “It was ‘I know it when I see it,’” Sally replied, “and he was talking about pornography.”

  “Speaking of which,” Mac replied, sliding her panties down.

  “Men are animals,” Sally replied, not the least bit disappointed.

  • • • • •

  “Do we take them out?” Bouchard said, having heard the conversation through the headphones.

  “All of them? Including Riley, Lich, and that Rockford?” Alt replied, shaking his head. “No way. You’d have to throw in Hisle and probably that uncle of McRyan’s, as well.”

  “So? Take some time, a few more resources, but it could be done. It might have to be done.”

  Alt sighed. “You might be right. Start making plans, but only just in case. The idea of being at war with the St. Paul Police Department is not my first choice.” He grabbed his cell phone. Lindsay needed to be updated.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Stephens was a lucky man.”

  “I obviously went into the wrong line of work,” Rock quipped as they pulled up in front of Jones’s place. She’d lived in the new high-end condo development along the Mississippi called River Highlands just southwest of downtown along the river—another of the developments in St. Paul’s ten-year quest to take tax advantage of river real estate. The condos had brown stone exteriors, with white trim and black shutters; a colonial look that one might find in Georgetown.

  They went through the same drill as they had at Daniels’s place, splitting up and looking for something, anything, that would tie Daniels, Jones, and PTA all together. Mac took the upper-level, Lich and Riley worked the main level, and Rock the lower level. Everything was as it had been at the time when she was killed. Her mother hadn’t been able to bring herself up to clean the place out.

  Mac attacked her office. She was like Daniels, an absolute neat freak. They must have drilled neatness into kids from Bristol. Everything was perfectly organized. Perhaps it was because she had an accounting and finance background. These were usually neat, organized people, and Jones fit that description to a T. Everything in its place, undisturbed for five weeks now, much like Daniels’s place.

  Mac booted up her computer. Like Daniels, she didn’t bother to password protect it, and he was able to search her files. There was little if any PTA information, and he suspected she probably just dialed into the company system from home. He looked through her personal correspondence and e-mails, nothing out of the ordinary or from Daniels. There were a number of unopened e-mails from a fantasy football website. Mac smiled, she played a little fantasy football. He took a look at her team, not bad.

  He looked through her file drawers, nothing much. All of her bills were organized, and she paid online. She had a number of investments, all of which seemed to be looking good. Her bank statement showed a large balance. He found no record of a safe deposit box, although he would call and check with her bank. Her bedroom was well organized, her clothes neatly stored in her dresser and closet, her bed neatly made. Everything was perfectly in its place; almost too perfect, “unnatural,” he thought.

  Mac went down to the kitchen, where Lich was looking at various items posted on the refrigerator. It might have been the only messy place in the house. It looked like a typical refrigerator—photos and miscellaneous notes held up by refrigerator magnets. There was a white erase board with a note “Get Milk.” A small paper calendar hanging on a magnetic hook, still on October, had notes on various dates, such as “Workout at 7:00,” “Coffee with Landy at 10:00” and “Happy Hour at 5:30.” Lich jotted down some notes and squinted at the calendar, scratching his chin.

  Riley and Rock came in, caught Mac’s eye and shook their heads. They took seats at the kitchen table.

  “It isn’t difficult to know you haven’t found anything with these women. I mean, man, talk about two anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive people. A place for everything and everything in its place. Except, of course, for the fridge,” Riley stated.

  “Almost too neat, artificially neat,” Mac replied.

  “What do you mean?” Rock asked.

  “I’m pretty meticulous about my place, but there’s always something out of place. But these two women are unlike anything I’ve seen. I mean, there’s a little film of dust around here, but you almost get the feeling they would have required you to walk around with plastic gloves on and baggies around your feet. They remind me of an old neighbor we had when I was growing up. He’d sweep out his garage three times a day and wash his car twice a week. His yard was perfect, looked like the infield at Wrigley and he’d have a shit fit if someone set foot on his grass. He was just nuts.”

  “Well, all I can tell you is that I didn’t find anything that seemed related to what we’re doing or looking for,” Rock replied. “These women make it easy to look for stuff. It’s all organized. I mean, if you were looking for something you wouldn’t have to ransack the place, just give yourself time to go through it and find what you’re looking for.”

  “And PTA has had five weeks to do precisely that before we got around to it,” Mac replied.

  “Assuming they had anything to do with this in the first place,” Riley replied. “We sure aren’t finding anything this way.”

  “No, we’re not.” Mac looked at his watch. Noon. “Why don’t we get something to eat and go from there.” Rock and Riley nodded and pushed themselves up from the table. Lich was still looking at the fridge. “You coming?” Mac asked Lich.

  “Yeah. I’ll be right with you.” Lich replied as he continued to stare at something on the fridge, his hands on his hips.

  Mac joined Riley and Rock outside, holding the key to lock the door. The temperature was back up a little, mid-thirties, a bright blue sky. With no wind, it was comfortable, a trench coat sufficient for warmth. None of them wore gloves.

  Lich came out a few minutes later, and they started to file into the Explorer. Mac turned the key asking, “Where should we go?”

  “Franco’s is five minutes away,” Rock replied.

  “Yeah,” Riley added, rubbing his hands together.

  “Franco’s it is,” Mac replied, dropping the truck into gear. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sports station playing on the radio.

  “Was James Stephens’s wife named Yolanda?” Lich blurted.

  “Riles?” Mac asked. Riley opened the Jones file and started leafing through the notes. “Yeah, Yolanda. Second wife it says here.”

  “Is Landy short for Yolanda?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Riley replied. “Why?”

  “Because,” Lich replied, “There was a note on the fridge that said—”

  “—coffee with Landy at 10:00,” Mac finished it for him. “What was the date on that, Dick?”

  “October 25th.”

  “At lunch I’ll give Ms. Stephens a call and see if we can pay her a lit
tle visit.”

  “Probably just a coincidence,” Rock added.

  “Yeah, but so is this whole case,” Mac replied.

  • • • • •

  After lunch, they made their way over to the Stephens’ home, a sprawling two-story stucco mansion in the wealthy Highland Park neighborhood, close to the Mississippi River.

  “My, we are jet setting today, aren’t we?” Rock mused.

  The house was set back a hundred feet from the street, and one could tell that, in the summer, it had numerous flower gardens in the front following a serpentine cobblestone sidewalk from the street. It looked like a home you would find in California, with off-white stucco, red tiles on the roof and tall, perfectly manicured shrubs framing the windows along the front.

  A housekeeper answered the door. She welcomed them in and asked that they wait for Ms. Stephens in the foyer. Mac admired the winding staircase up to the second level and a couple of the art pieces on pedestals.

  Mac recalled having seen a picture of Stephens. He wasn’t a homely guy by any stretch, just kind of an average Joe in his fifties. He had clearly overachieved in his second marriage. The second Ms. Stephens, who had answered the phone “Landy,” was a stunning beauty in, Mac guessed, her late thirties. She was tall, with strawberry-blonde hair that fell stylishly to her shoulders. Two words came immediately to Mac’s mind—Trophy Wife. No reflection on her intelligence, just that he seriously doubted it was Stephens’s magnetism that drew this woman to him.

  Landy was ever the polite hostess, seating everyone and offering coffee. She sounded almost excited to speak with them when Mac called. Now she was serving coffee and what not, and he got the feeling that she was happy to have company. He wondered if having the mansion and the money still left her a little lonely. Stephens probably had her running with an older crowd. Now that he was gone, all she had was the house and the money.

  “So, Ms. Stephens …” Mac asked.

  “Landy,” she replied, smiling warmly at Mac.

  “Okay, umm, Landy. As I mentioned when I called, we’re following up on some things from the Jamie Jones murder, and we noticed that she had met with you shortly before she died.”