The morning had been a blur, spent in a number of meetings. It started with a meeting with Captain Peters, which then moved to the chief’s office for his daily briefing. Sylvia Miller sat in on that one to discuss what to do if the media showed.
Before they left for Stillwater, Mac finally had time to meet with Lich about last night’s meeting with Sally. They discussed her theories about how Hisle might handle their interview with the senator. Lich snorted, “In other words, she acted like a typical lawyer and didn’t really answer your question.”
Mac had to chuckle. Given his divorce terms, Lich had caskets of animosity stored up for attorneys. “She was a little evasive. Yes, but that’s because we don’t know what Hisle’s going to do anymore than he knows what we’ll do.”
“So,” Lich said, grinning, “how evasive was she?”
“Evasive?”
“Listen, son, you put the wood to her or what?”
“Jesus,” said Mac, giving Lich a disbelieving look.
“Sheesh, you really are out of practice.”
“Well, how’d you do with Dot?”
“A hell of a lot better than you did,” Lich said with a big shit-eating grin.
Mac winced, suddenly developing a bad mental picture of bald old Lich and big-breasted Dot flopping around. “Spare me the details.”
Mac exited 35E, onto Highway 36 for the drive east to Stillwater. The drive would have been a lot prettier three weeks earlier when the leaves were orange, red and yellow at the peak of the fall colors. Now, the ride out towards Stillwater was strewn with leaves blowing across the highway, the trees barren, waiting for the coming cold and snow of a Minnesota winter.
Stillwater, a burgeoning suburb twenty miles east of St. Paul, was located on the St. Croix River, which also served as the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin. Up on top of the bluff overlooking the St. Croix was “new” Stillwater, with big-box retailers and various other suburban amenities. The amenities were surrounded by suburban homes with large yards and three-car garages. The part of Stillwater sitting two hundred feet below the bluff and right on the St. Croix was the quaint old downtown. A lumber town, Stillwater had morphed into an elegant tourist trap of old red-brick and stone buildings full of little antique stores, restaurants and marinas for river boats.
Lyman lived just north of Stillwater, with a place on a little cliff overlooking the river. Once off the road, Mac took a long driveway that might have been a hundred yards long that circled in front of the house. The house itself was a sprawling prairie-style rambler, the back of which overlooked the river. Lyman undoubtedly had a groundskeeper of some sort in the summer, as there were flower beds and trimmed bushes appropriately scattered over the grounds. The flowers were now in hibernation, but the bushes were all in well-trimmed condition, rounded and squared appropriately. It was impressive.
“Representing criminals pays, don’t it, Mac?” Lich commented.
“Yeah, but Lyman’s a good guy.”
“Maybe I should have hired him for my divorce.”
They dropped the Explorer just past the front door. As they approached the house, Lich asked Mac, “Just thought I’d ask, you know so we’re prepared and all, how are you going to handle this?”
“My guess is the senator isn’t going to be so impressed with a young buck detective running things. If so, you look at me when we start, my look will let you know. Let’s play on that and see if we can’t get him riled up.”
“Good cop. Bad cop?” Lich said.
“Exactly.”
Lich smiled and moved to push the doorbell. Before he could, Hisle opened the door. “Good afternoon, detectives. Please come in.”
They entered into a large open foyer. “I thought we’d head into the library,” Lyman said, pointing down a hallway to their right.
The library was exactly that. There were windows that looked out over the river. The rest of the walls were built-in bookshelves, with an impressive collection of works. Mac saw an old collection of Charles Dickens tales. There were a few shelves with old legal treatises. Lyman also liked more modern fare, with many bestsellers.
In the middle of the library was a long conference table with four highbacked 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’ 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’ 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 door mat.”
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 re
ason 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 misses 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 had gotten on top of her, straddling 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 had 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 anyway. 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 arm, 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, calmly, the old 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?”
The St. Paul Conspiracy Page 10
