The St. Paul Conspiracy

by Roger Stelljes

  They went back over it again. Time of arrival, did he notice anything out of the ordinary, any vans in the area, anyone else walking through the lot? Dix had nothing to add. The two other guys on his crew were of no help. As they were walking away, Mac asked one last question, “You guys start today?”

  “Naw, man,” Dix replied. “Noon yesterday.”

  Mac and Lich stayed with Riley and continued on with the canvas. It was painful watching him work it. You could see it in his eyes as the day went along. House after house, witness after witness, nobody saw anything. The case was beating down on Riley, and the despair showed on his face, as they developed nothing other than their seventh dead body. Mac overheard a couple of conversations Riles had with the chief. It wasn’t pretty.

  Mid-day they learned that the victim’s name was Charlene Murphy. She worked at the Hole-in-the-Wall, a diner that wasn’t but five blocks away. She left work at 11:00 p.m. the night before, and the diner’s morning workers found her car in the back of the parking lot, with her keys lying underneath. The strangler likely attacked her there, dragging her back into the alley and to the van they assumed he had. A canvas had been started behind the restaurant, but it was unlikely anyone saw anything. A ten-foot-high fence ran most of the length of the alley. Not only couldn’t anyone see anything, but the fence also created an excellent sound barrier.

  At 4:00 p.m., Riles ordered everyone downtown, leaving two men behind to catch people as they came home. Mac and Lich headed for their car. When Mac got into the car and turned the key, he noticed the gas gauge was nearly empty. Lich saw it too. “Let’s hit the GasUp on the corner.”

  Mac pulled up to the line of pumps closest to Hampden Avenue, got out and started filling the tank. “I’m chilled to the bone, man. Grab some coffee.”

  “Will do,” Lich answered as he headed inside.

  As the tank filled, Mac looked out onto University and watched the traffic pass by. Not much going on other than normal traffic for this part of town, delivery trucks and vans, beat up cars of working-class folks, the occasional cab. Not much pedestrian traffic, especially on such a cold and ugly day.

  He looked back inside and could see Lich at the coffee pots. The GasUp station was big for the neighborhood, with four islands of gas pumps, four pumps per island. A large canopy with the big orange GasUp sign on it rested overhead. Mac looked up and noticed the surveillance cameras looking straight down on each set of islands. He looked up at the one for his island and it was bent, pointing out towards the corner of Hampden and University.

  Hearing the pump pop, Mac looked inside and waved. Lich paid for the gas and the coffee.

  Mac got back in the car, and Lich was there a minute later, with a steaming hot twenty-ounce coffee.

  “Mucho gracias.”

  “I’d have gotten you a cerveza,” Lich cracked, “But we’re on the clock.”

  Mac took a drink and immediately felt better, the Styrofoam cup warmed his cold hands, and the coffee quickly heated his insides. Taking another sip, he looked up at the camera one more time and wondered. He started the car and instead of taking a right onto Hampden to go to University, he took a left, back towards the dump site.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Lich asked.

  “To check something out.” Mac drove back to the construction site, where the crew was still working, minus Dix, who’d gone downtown to give a statement. The road was dug up completely from side to side and into the yards on either side. The hole was down nearly ten feet where they were repairing a sewer line. It blocked the entire street.

  Mac got out and approached the crew. “I was talking to Dix earlier, and he said you guys started yesterday, round noon right?”

  A short guy with a wind-reddened, pock-marked face named Borowicz responded, “Yup, uh huh, that’s right. Started right after lunch.”

  “How late did you work?”

  “We were off the clock at 4:30.”

  “How big a hole did you have going at that point?”

  “Pretty good size.” Borowicz said.

  “What’s pretty good size?”

  “Oh, we had the street dug up good, you know, you couldn’t go past. We had the road-closed sign up on the other side so people on Cromwell wouldn’t turn in. She was big and deep.”

  “You’re saying no way anyone could get by.”

  “Nah, unless they were drunk and wanted to drive through the yards and stuff. Why would anyone want to try that?”

  Exactly, thought Mac. “Thanks guy. Stay warm.”

  “I fuckin’ wish,” replied Borowicz, heading back to work.

  They walked back to the car. “What the heck was that all about?” Lich inquired.

  “I’ll show you.” Mac backed up and turned back towards the GasUp station. “This morning I was looking at the big map of the city where they plotted out all the locations where the victims were found, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Rock and I were looking at it, and he made the comment that the guy always leaves himself multiple routes out. He goes in one way and probably out another.”

  “So?”

  “With Myrtle closed like that, the only way in and out of here is Hampden. We take Hampden in, one block it’s a dead end, and you can only go right on Myrtle. Now, if Myrtle isn’t closed…”

  “He can go any number of ways.”

  “Right. He can go straight ahead on Myrtle then right or left on Cromwell.”

  “But, as far as I know, Riley had the gas station canvassed.”

  “Right. And there was nothing,” Mac replied. “But let me show you something.”

  Mac pulled back into the GasUp station, this time in front. They got out, and Mac said, “Look at that.” He pointed up at the camera he had been looking at earlier, under the canopy, pointing right out to the corner of Hampden and University. There was a large street light on the corner.

  Lich, seeing it, turned to look at Mac with a little grin, “Long shot.”

  “Humor me.”

  The store manager was taking inventory in one of the aisles, making notes on his clipboard. His name was Harold, a short, curly-brown-haired guy dressed in a white shirt, orange tie, and khaki’s that had seen better days. He wore glasses with large, round, clear, plastic frames ten years out of style. Mac imagined the job didn’t pay enough for new ones. Mac and Lich identified themselves.

  “A couple of your guys were in earlier. I gave them the names of our people who worked last night.”

  “So, the store’s open twenty-four hours, right?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are the security cameras always running?”

  “Yeah, far as I know,” Harold replied.

  “Did our guys ask about those?”

  “No.”

  “How come the one on the far left out there, underneath the overhead, is pointing out to the street like that?” Mac asked.

  “Ohh, is that what this is about?” Harold replied, shaking his head, exasperated. “Guy who changes the gas pricing numbers hit it with a ladder the other day. I’ve warned him about that before, that he could hit it and sure ’nuff, he did.” Harold stated, satisfied that he’d predicted it right. “I have a call in to get it fixed, but it might be a day or two.”

  “Is it still operating?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Mind if we take a look?”

  Harold waved them to the back of the store. “Would I have a choice?”

  “No, but it’s all right for us to let you think you have one,” Lich quipped.

  Harold took them into the security room. After a store clerk in northern Minnesota had been abducted and murdered a few years back, convenience stores started putting in more cameras, and GasUp had gone the whole nine yards. Two monitors that showed eight cameras, four inside and the four outside. “Here’s the one you’re looking for.” Harold said, pointing to the upper left-hand corner of the right screen.

  It was camera five, and it was loo
king right out at the corner. A truck pulled in front of the camera as they were watching. You could see most of the truck and the back end. You could even make out the plate. Of course, it was still daylight and that helped immensely, but the picture quality wasn’t bad for black and white. Mac felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Harold… do you mind if I call you Harold?” Mac asked.

  Harold didn’t mind.

  “Do you record?”

  “Oh, yes, we keep it back several weeks.”

  “What do you record on? Video tape?”

  “No, no, no,” Harold replied, shaking his head with some pride, “We actually have a pretty good system. We record onto these DVDs. You can store a lot more on them and if you need to review them, the quality isn’t bad.”

  Mac and Lich exchanged a look and a little smile. “Still a long shot,” Lich said.

  “Harold my friend,” Mac said, and right now he was liking Harold a whole lot, “we need to borrow the DVDs for the last week. What do you say?”

  “Would I have a choice?” Harold asked, a little smile coming across his face.

  “No,” Mac replied.

  “And in this case, I’m not gonna even let you think you have one,” Lich added.

  They grabbed the DVDs and signed a form for Harold. He’d been helpful, and they wouldn’t want him to get in trouble with GasUp management. Mac could feel the adrenaline running through him as he bounded out the door to the car. Lich picked up on it, but cautioned, “Don’t get your hopes up, son.”

  Mac knew he was right, but he didn’t care “Have you read the file on this case yet?” Mac asked back.

  “I read the Readers Digest version Riley gave us last night. Not much there.”

  “That’s right. And you know what? They haven’t caught a break yet. Not one,” Mac replied. “Well, maybe they just caught one. Lord knows Riles could use it.”

  Lich picked up on the feeling, “That he could, my friend. That he could.”

  Mac wasted no time getting back downtown, taking University over to Robert Street into downtown and pulled into the parking garage. He finally had some warmth returning to his body, having already put much of the twenty ounces of coffee away. Once inside the building, he began to feel human again. They headed for the detail conference room. Riles and Rockford were inside, looking at the map, putting pins in for where the victim lived, worked and where they’d found the body. Mac assumed the others were working the phones or maybe had already gone back out. Riles saw them and had a slightly perturbed look on his face. “Where have you guys been?”

  Mac explained what they’d found. He could see just a little color return to Riles face. “You’re not suggesting we’re going to see anything on there? I mean I’d never get that fucking lucky in my lifetime.”

  “What have you got to lose, Pat?”

  “Only my hair, a clump of which I found in the shower drain this morning. Pretty soon I’ll look like Lich,” Riles replied ruefully and with his first smile of the day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Those ain’t pine trees.”

  Mac, Lich, Riles, and Rockford spent a few hours putting together a list of vehicles from the neighborhood and then went to forensics to watch the video.

  Riles was pumped. If they were right about the Ford Econoline and that Hampden was the only way back to the vacant lot, there was a chance they would see the van. Could they get anything else of use off the video? Well, that would be another story.

  Mac had planned to spend the night with Sally. When he called, she understood and was excited. “Call me if you guys find anything,” she said. She had been assigned as legal counsel to the detail. Of course, she managed to torture Mac a bit, mentioning her disappointment that he wouldn’t see what she’d bought at Victoria’s Secret over the lunch hour. “That’s playing dirty,” he said.

  Linda Morgan stayed to help them, and popped the disk for the previous night into the computer and projected it onto a larger screen.

  Rockford, in his best boxing announcer voice, said, “Let the tedium begin.”

  And begin it did. Black and white video of a surveillance camera pointing out to a street corner-can’t get much better than that. They started the video at 10:00 p.m. store time, 8:00 p.m. their time, and let it run real time.

  The GasUp station was plenty busy for the first couple of hours, with vehicles coming and going. Many turned on Hampden to get to the GasUp and many then left the station on the Hampden street exit, turning right and then going either left or right on University from the corner. There were a few dark-colored vans that turned into the GasUp station. None of them looked promising. None of them were Ford Econolines. They took down license numbers anyway. When the vans would leave the station, if they turned left on University they could see the back of the van and, if the lights for the plate box on the back were on, they could just barely see the plate, although not the license number.

  “A little enhancement on that and you might make it out,” Riley mentioned.

  “Possibly,” Morgan replied. “It’ll be tough.”

  About midnight on the video, 10:00 p.m. their time, the action started slowing down. They started slowing down as well. Lich was out, sitting in a plastic chair, his head tilted back and snoring. Rock was doing the head bobs of impending sleep. Mac was fine, being a night owl most of the time. Riles was with it as well, desperate for something to break. Yet a fifth pot of coffee was brewing in the corner.

  Two hours later, 2:00 a.m. GasUp station time, Lich got up and said he was going home. He would see them in the morning. Rockford woke up as well. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He stared at his watch.

  “Rock, if you want to go, go,” Riles said. “We’ll let you know if we see anything.”

  Rock nodded, staggered up out of his chair, put on his coat and left without saying a word.

  Thereafter, the action on the video was almost nonexistent. There was an occasional car that turned onto Hampden and went by the GasUp station. At 2:47 a.m. on the video, 12:47 a.m. their time, a minivan turned onto Hampden and went by the camera. Mac checked their notes. “Didn’t we have someone who said they got home between 2:45 and 3:00?”

  “Yeah, what was her name? Something funky. Oh, yeah, Lemonjello Hardy.”

  “Lemonjello?” Mac replied quizzically.

  “Yeah, spelled just like lemon Jell-O, but run together,” Riles replied with a tired smile.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Nope. What’s unbelievable is that she has a sister that lives with her, guess what her name is?”

  “What?”

  “Orangejello.”

  “No way,” Linda replied. Mac just shook his head. First Dick Lick and now the jellos. What next? Someone names their daughter ESPN?

  At 3:25 a.m. GasUp Station time, another vehicle looking like a van went by. “Anyone coming home around this time?” Mac asked.

  Riles yawned and consulted his notes. “Yeah,” he took a sip of coffee and flipped a page in his notes. “Mike Moriarity, dropped off by Kevin McReynolds, who drives a Ford pickup with a topper.”

  Morgan replayed the DVD and got close to the screen to look at the truck as it went by. It looked like that’s who it was. Playing the DVD another minute or two confirmed it as the truck came back out and turned left onto University.

  Virtually nothing passed after that. At 2:50 a.m. Riles got up and hit the head. Mac, who had started to nod off a little, sat up and rubbed his eyes. He put his coffee up to his lips when he saw it go by. “Linda, run that back.”

  Morgan yawned first, and then did as ordered. Mac got up and stood in front of the big screen. The van turned left onto Hampden from University. The headlights were square. The headlights on an Econoline were square. This van had a snout nose on it. An Econoline has a snout-nosed front. He couldn’t see the plate at all. The left side of the front bumper looked to be caved in. The time in the lower left hand corner was 4:33 a.m.

  Riles came back into the room,
“What?”

  “Anybody dropped off around 4:30 a.m.?”

  Riles flipped through his notes, then shook his head. “Nope.”

  Mac pointed to Morgan. “Again.”

  Morgan replayed the video. Riles stood next to Mac and watched the van go by. “That’s a fucking Econoline!”

  “You sure?” Mac asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve studied those damned vans for weeks. That’s an Econoline.”

  They let the DVD run, checking their watches. It seemed like an eternity. The van came back out at 4:42 a.m., nine minutes later. It came into the screen and turned left onto University Avenue. They could see the back and the license plate holder was partially lit, but they couldn’t make out the plate. Morgan took it back and ran it again. But it was too far away, and they couldn’t make it out other than the tiny white speck of a box on the dark big screen. She rewound it a third time, and they practically put their faces up to the screen. No dice.

  Riley went nuts, pacing around the room, waving his arms, “Fuck, fuck, fuck! That’s our asshole, guys. That’s our asshole.” He kept pacing and waving. “We gotta find someone or something. See if we can enhance that.”

  Morgan shook her head, “That’s going to require a lot of work and equipment we don’t have.”

  “Who does?” Riles asked.

  “The BCA,” Morgan replied. “Jupiter Jones is the man we need.”

  “Jupiter,” Mac added, nodding and smiling. “He’s definitely what we need.”

  Jupiter Jones was a longtime friend of Mac. He had met Jupiter in a computer science class at the University of Minnesota. While Mac went on to major in business and criminal justice, Jupe kept up on the computer studies. He was a computer genius.

  Jupiter and a math wizard friend of his had started a little computer software business after college. Jupiter developed an intelligence program that helped businesses determine what their customers bought, when they bought it and how much they would spend. His math wizard friend was able to add mathematical equations to the program. Within five years of his graduation, Jupe’s little company had grown to one hundred-fifty employees. However, running the business required long hours and business acumen he didn’t have or really care to develop. He sold the company for sixty million dollars, which he and his partner split. After taking care of many of their employees with severance packages, they each walked away with twenty million. Jupe didn’t need to work.