The senator managed to fly beneath the media radar long enough to get away to his cabin on Cedar Lake, an hour west of the Twin Cities. It was a large A-frame cabin that had four bedrooms on the main level and a loft that slept six more. It had been his parents’ place, and, since he was an only child, he had inherited it upon their deaths. He had arranged to have it stocked with food and drink at all times. Upon his arrival, he went immediately to the liquor cabinet and found an unopened bottle of tequila. He was going to get drunk, plain and simple. Tomorrow, Lyman and his crew were going to come out and start discussing defense strategy. They would be there at 10:00 a.m., but for tonight, he was going to take the bottle of tequila, watch television and drink his problems away.
He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and the ice bucket from the counter. He filled the bucket with ice, headed for the couch, sat down and poured a drink. He knocked it back and poured himself another and put that one down as well before grabbing some ice and pouring a drink for sipping.
A classic movie was in order, and he grabbed the remote. A little channel surfing struck pay dirt. To Catch a Thief was on, a Hitchcock classic with Cary Grant and the hypnotically beautiful Grace Kelly. An appropriate movie, he thought, since it was about a man framed for a crime he did not commit. His feet up on the coffee table, he leaned back on the couch and took a long drink from his glass.
Mac and Sally slept for a couple of hours until the sound of the furnace kicking in caused her to wake. She snuggled her head on his chest. She felt good, like a woman again. It had been a long time. A year and a half she thought upon reflection. She’d let off a lot of pent-up frustration and pain.
The first time had simply been sex; both of them so horned up, ripping their clothes off, struggling with each other on the bed. The first time was always awkward, she thought. Not that she’d had lots of first times. She had some friends who went through a lot more men than she had, who always said the first time was awkward. Her friends said that if the second time was bad, he was probably no good in bed.
She wasn’t sure she subscribed to that theory, but she didn’t need to worry. The second time, which occurred about fifteen minutes after the first, had been much better. McRyan knew what he was doing; there was no doubt about that. He was an energetic lover. The second orgasm was a result of McRyan bringing her there. She couldn’t help herself when it happened. He’d given her a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time. She smiled inwardly, she felt good, although her breasts were a little sore, and she realized it was probably beard burn. He’d certainly gone for them time and again.
She felt a little shiver and moved her body a little closer to his. He was warm, and she moved her arm slowly up and down his chest, playing with his chest hair. He awoke. She turned her head to him and gave him a soft little kiss. She stroked his face and looked into his dark-blue eyes. They were attractive eyes. “Sorry I woke you.” She didn’t really mean it.
“That’s okay.” He rolled slightly onto his side. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.”
He leaned down and gave her a little kiss. He lingered there, and she kissed him back, holding the kiss, sweeping with her tongue. She was ready for a third time. She couldn’t remember ever wanting or even going a third time. “You know,” she said as she rolled on top of him, and kissed him a little more deeply, “They say there are three periods in a hockey game.”
“Yes, there are,” he replied, lightly moving his fingers up and down her back.
“Well, we’ve only played two,” she said as she could feel him stiffening beneath her. She kissed him again while reaching back down to slide him in.
“Let’s play hockey.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m a regular crimefighting hero.”
Mac woke up and looked at the clock, 8:00 a.m.. The sunlight blazed through the shades of the windows. Normally an early riser, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept in so late. He rolled his naked body slowly to the side of the bed, not wanting to wake Sally.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes a little and looked for his boxers. It took a few minutes to find them as their clothes lay everywhere. Finally, he saw them over by the door. Quietly, he pushed himself out of bed, walked over and pulled them on. He grabbed his robe from the hook behind the door.
Looking back at her, she looked wonderful. Her shoulder-length hair falling across her face, the blanket covering only the lower half of her body. The rays of light coming through the shades brushed across her, making her look almost angelic. He tiptoed out of the room and headed for the bathroom, engaged in some morning mechanics and left a new toothbrush out for Sally. Once finished he headed for the kitchen.
He was tired and exhilarated all at the same time. It had been quite a night. His legs felt heavy-sex legs they had called them when he was in college.
He started a pot of coffee and went down the steps to the backdoor to grab the newspaper. The arrest was front-page news, with Mac and Lich pictured above the fold, side by side with a picture of the senator and Hisle. A smaller picture below the fold had Sally and Helen Anderson from their press conference. As he walked back up the steps, he scanned the stories, reading the facts that had already become intimately familiar. Inside the front page, the political wags were frothing at the mouth, discussing all of the possible political ramifications. It was speculated that Senator Johnson would need to resign in the very near future.
By the time Mac wandered back to the kitchen, the coffee was ready. He poured a cup and grabbed the sports page, wanting to see the Gopher hockey score. He had tickets for tonight’s tilt and wondered if Sally would want to go. He wouldn’t need to wait long to ask.
Sally was up and walking down the hall to the bathroom. He heard her laugh, probably at the toothbrush, and heard the water start running. A few minutes later she came walking into the kitchen, wearing his white dress shirt. She’d managed to fasten a button or two, and the shirt hung mid-thigh, revealing her thin, shapely legs.
“Good morning,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee. She leaned up and kissed him, then took the cup.
He handed her the front page, and she went over to the small kitchen table to sit down and read. “We both received front page treatment,” he said, pointing out their pictures. They spent a few quiet minutes reading the paper.
“So,” she said, looking up directly at him, “What are we doing here?”
“Drinking coffee, reading the paper,” he replied, momentarily ducking the question.
“You and me here, buster. Is this a one night gig?”
She was direct, and he rather liked it. It was not a one-nighter. Mac liked her, but he didn’t really know her yet. He wanted to change that. “Well, I thought we could go to breakfast,” he replied.
She smiled. “That’s a start.”
“I have tickets to the Gopher game tonight.”
“St. Cloud State?”
“Yup.”
“I’m game.”
“Well, why don’t we get dressed, I was thinking of the Cleveland Grille.”
“A big, greasy breakfast?”
“I need it, woman, because you wore me out. I haven’t checked the bedroom yet, but I think we embedded the headboard into the wall.”
She smiled, stood up and slowly walked over to him. She pulled the string on his robe, allowing it to fall open. She put her hands around him, burying her head in his chest. They silently held each other for a minute. “Last night felt good,” she said quietly.
“Yes, it did.”
She pulled back, looked up and kissed him, lightly at first, and then deeply. He undid the few buttons keeping her shirt closed, pushing it open to her shoulders. She pulled her arms back and let it fall to the floor. He admired her beauty. She had a wonderful body and looked incredibly sexy, her hair falling messily around her face. He pulled her close again, kissing her. He picked her up and carried her back to bed.
Two hours later, they were off for a late break
fast at the Cleveland Grille. Mac wanted a greasy breakfast burrito to get some fuel into his system. And he had another reason for hitting the Cleveland.
He saw Dot as he walked in, and he looked to his left. Lich was sitting back in the corner, his usual spot, reading the paper and drinking coffee. Sally looked at Mac with a sheepish smile, and he nodded his head to walk back. Lich looked up to see them coming, a big smile spreading across his face. “Well, what are you two doing here on this fine morning?”
“We couldn’t get in anyplace reputable, so I said we’ll go to the Cleveland and eat with Dick Lick.”
Lich cackled, “Fuck you,” and to Sally, “How are you, counselor?”
“Fine, thanks. Reading your press clippings?”
“That I am. I’m a regular crime-fighting hero. They’ll be putting the statue downtown in Rice Park any day now.” Lich grabbed the front page and looked at it, pointing at the picture of Mac and himself, “Of course, I’d be a hell of a lot happier if they’d just used my photo. My partner here is just bringing me down.”
It was Mac’s turn to cackle, “Yes, we all know how big and bald sells papers.”
“I’d imagine they’re selling tons this morning,” another voice piped in. It was Dot. “Good morning, detective, and I assume this is Ms. Kennedy?”
“And you must be Dot,” replied Sally.
Dot flashed her a smile. “What can I get you two?”
Sally took a quick look at the menu. “I’ll have a ham and cheese omelet and coffee.”
Dot looked at Mac, who had no need for a menu. “I assume you’ll have your usual?”
“Absolutely.”
“Coming right up.” With that Dot turned and went to hand in their order.
Lich didn’t waste any time. He seldom did. “I figured you would finally get together last night.”
“Why is it,” Sally asked curiously, “that Mac and I have become such a topic of gossip?”
Lich smiled. “Well, Ms. Kennedy, I can’t speak for what’s going on around your office, but us cops, we happen to like our boy here. We just want to see him happy. This morning he looks happy.”
Mac wasn’t going to argue the point. The world felt a little different today. Lich was right. Women were a mistake worth making. He planned on making more mistakes with Sally. But first, he wanted to eat.
Their breakfast came, and he and Sally dug in while Lich continued to sip his coffee, reading the paper. They had a good time, laughing, Lich telling old stories. He was funny and could spin a yarn. The last week had given Mac new-found respect for him. He’d worked the case hard and had been masterful in the interview with the senator. Lich was back to being a good cop, working the job, and Mac liked it.
They finished their breakfast, and Mac was waiting for Dot to return with his credit card, when his cellphone burped. He looked at the number. The Public Safety Building. “McRyan,” He said, his body going cold. He listened a moment, then said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” That caught Lich and Sally’s attention.
Sally asked, “What is it?”
Mac put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Mason Johnson’s dead.” Then into the phone, he said, “Where? How do we get there?” Mac gestured towards Lich, who handed him his notebook and pen. Mac jotted the directions. “Take us about an hour. Right. Thanks.”
“What the fuck?” Lich said.
“Hisle heads out to the senator’s cabin this morning, apparently to start working on the case. He shows up, looks in the back door and sees the senator hanging there. Suicide. Cabin’s out on Cedar Lake by Annandale.”
Sally put her hand up to her mouth. “I guess he really did it, didn’t he?”
Lich, regaining his composure, “I knew he did, but man I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it.” Mac replied. “I’m heading out there. You guys coming?” They both nodded.
It took them a little over an hour to get to the cabin. As they drove west, it was apparent the sun wouldn’t last long. Clouds were rolling in, and the radio talked of rain mixed with snow later. They stopped in Annandale to grab coffee and cups as they doubted there would be any at the scene. From their stop in town, it took five minutes to get to the cabin. A sheriff’s deputy was working the end of the road. Mac let the window down, and flashed his badge, “St. Paul detectives and Ramsey County district attorney.”
“They said you were coming.” The sheriff’s deputy took a quick look at the ID to confirm and waved them through. Mac noticed a news van pulling up behind him as he rolled through.
They took the winding road up to the cabin. It was probably five-hundred yards. “Pretty isolated,” Mac remarked.
They came to the cabin clearing and found three Chevy Tahoes with the Wright County insignia on them and an Annandale squad car. There were two other vehicles, one probably the senator’s and the other likely was Hisle’s. Mac parked the Explorer near a Tahoe, and they all climbed out. Mac saw Hisle sitting by himself on a picnic table and walked over to him. Lich and Sally followed.
It was rare you saw Lyman Hisle shocked. He saw Mac walk up, but a blank stare remained on his face. Mac put his hand on his shoulder, “You gonna be okay, Lyman?”
He nodded his head, looking out towards the lake. After a moment he said, “I guess you were right.”
“Lyman?”
Hisle looked up to Mac, shock and sadness on his face, “He did it. Why else do this?” he said gesturing towards at the cabin.
“I’m sorry, Lyman.”
Hisle just shook his head and put his face into his hands. Lich looked at Mac and tilted his head towards the cabin. He was going to go take a look. Mac silently mouthed, “I’ll be a minute.” Then he leaned to Sally, quietly saying, “I think Lyman could use a cup. It’s chilly out here.” She nodded and headed back for the coffee.
After a moment, Lyman, more composed, spoke again. “I gotta tell ya, hell of a shock to find him that way.” Sally was back and handed him a cup of coffee. Lyman took a sip, some color returning to his face, some life to his expression. “He had me convinced, though. I thought we were going to trial with you, Ms. Kennedy.”
“You were inside?” Mac asked.
“Yeah. He hung himself from the rafters. Stood on a barstool, tied himself up and kicked ’er out.”
Mac looked at Sally and nodded for her to sit with Lyman. “I’m going inside.”
As he walked inside, they were lowering the senator’s body. Mac saw Lich in the front of the cabin, talking up the sheriff.
“Mac, this is Wright County Sheriff Rick Hansen.” Hansen was tall, well over six feet, in his early forties, with a developing pot-belly. He was a jovial guy who warmly shook Mac’s hand.
“Thank you for your call, Sheriff.”
“You’re welcome. Saw plenty of you boys on the news last night,” Hansen said. “Hell of a deal here. I met the senator a few times. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Guess he did that murder, though.”
“That he did,” replied Lich.
Mac looked at the coffee table. There was an empty liter bottle of Jose Quervo and an ice bucket, half full of water. A drink glass was tipped on its side. “Looks like the senator required a little liquid courage first.”
Hansen walked over, “Yes, he did.”
“A whole liter? That’s a lot of courage,” Mac replied.
“True enough,” Hansen replied.
He took another look at the ice bucket, half full of water, “Must not have used much ice.” Mac looked at the bottle a little closer, being careful not to touch it. The paper seal for the cap on the neck of the bottle looked freshly opened, “Seal looks pretty fresh, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“Drank this whole thing, huh?” Mac replied a little skeptically. A liter of tequila was a lot of liquor, forty-percent alcohol by volume. “Polishes this thing off and can still get up on the stool?”
Hansen caught his tone. “Yeah, we’re going to get a blood alcohol as part of the autops
y.”
Mac took a look at the rope, a real hangman’s noose with good tight knots. “He did a nice job on the rope.”
“Must have been a Boy Scout,” Lich quipped.
“Hmpf.” Mac nodded and walked over to the bar stool the senator used. “So, he stands on this, puts the rope around his throat and kicks it out?”
“That’s what we think,” replied Hansen.
Mac couldn’t argue with that, the stool was high enough that the senator could have used it. It was lying in the right place on the floor for him to have kicked it out. He probably tied the rope and hung it first, then got drunk on the tequila. Mac got ready to head out. “Thanks again, Sheriff, for the call. Will you send me a copy of the autopsy report?”
“Be happy to.”
Mac handed Hansen his card, shook his hand and headed out with Lich. They walked back over to Lyman, who was talking with Sally.
“Lyman, was Johnson a big tequila drinker?” asked Mac.
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Empty liter of tequila on the coffee table. Looks like he got himself pretty liquored up before he did it.”
“He wasn’t a teetotaler, I know that,” replied Lyman.
Mac nodded and looked around. The wind blew and sent a shiver down his spine. He flipped the collar up on his leather coat and put his hands in the pockets. He took a walk around to the front of the cabin. From the front, it was a flat seventy-five yards down to the shore. There were far fewer trees in the front, as compared to the sides and back of the cabin. They had been cleared out to provide a clear view of the lake. He walked to the edge of the trees and looked back. You could see right into the cabin, see the rope hanging down.
The St. Paul Conspiracy Page 14
