The St. Paul Conspiracy

by Roger Stelljes

  “Who’s that?” Lich asked.

  “Rock. He’s calling from the can. He can’t piss because Bradley gave him a woody.”

  “Speakin’ of pissin’, I gotta go bad.”

  Rockford heard the discussion, “Who’s that? Lich?”

  “Yeah, your call has given him the urge to piss.”

  “He can switch up for me?”

  Mac thought a second and turned to Lich. “You want to cover the bar?”

  “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  “Okay, Rock. Lich’s heading in.”

  Lich jumped out of the van and briskly walked the couple hundred yards to the back door of the bar. He opened the door and hustled down the back hall, suddenly realizing he’d passed the men’s room door. He stopped and walked back a few feet and pushed the men’s room door in.

  Viper took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving the back hallway. Bouchard should be doing Knapp about now, he thought. Suddenly the back door opened. It was that fat fuck Lich. Viper tensed and then relaxed as Lich walked past the men’s room door. Then Lich turned back and went into the can. Shit. “Abort! Abort! Abort!” Viper urgently whispered into his mic.

  Bouchard had the knife out of his coat pocket and was ready to pop it open and move on Knapp when his earpiece exploded, “Abort! Abort! Abort!” It caused him to wince, which Knapp noticed.

  “You all right.”

  “Yeah, fine,” Bouchard replied, quickly slipping the knife back into his coat pocket. He glanced right at the mirror and saw the fat detective approaching. Lich, noticing them both, darted into the toilet stall. Knapp finished, walked over to the sink, gave his hands a quick wash, took a quick look at his face in the mirror, ran his hand through his hair and headed out. Bouchard waited fifteen seconds and did the same.

  Viper stared at the backdoor. What the hell happened? He got his answer soon enough when Knapp, no worse for wear, came back into the bar. Fifteen seconds later Bouchard shuffled down the hall and retook his stool at the end of the bar.

  Bouchard spoke softly into his collar, “Do we bail?”

  “Hold tight, we might get another shot.”

  They didn’t. Knapp quickly finished what was left of his beer, dropped a five on the bar, nodded good night to the bartender and walked out the back, where the eyes of at least ten cops would be on him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “It’ll be tomorrow night.”

  Before Knapp went home, he gave them all something to chew on. He sat in his car, not leaving, waiting on Linda. After she left to go home, he waited five minutes and cruised the back of the bar. He stopped, got out and walked between the bar and the building next door, a small paint store. Mac had walked in the gap earlier in the day. There was five or six feet between the two buildings. It was a weaving dirt path, strewn with weeds, broken glass and crushed beer cans. It was dark, lit only by an occasional second-floor light turned on in either of the two buildings. It was the perfect hiding place.

  “That’s where he’ll wait,” Mac uttered into the radio, watching Knapp through a night scope borrowed from the feds.

  “You bet your ass,” Riley responded.

  Knapp got back into his Pontiac and headed home. The second shift followed him home to Hudson and put him to bed.

  It was 3:15 a.m. and they were at the Gas amp; Shop lot.

  Riley and Rockford were waiting when Mac and Lich pulled in. When they were getting out of the van, Riley bellowed, “Is he getting ready?”

  “I think he is ready,” Mac replied. “What do you think, Dick?”

  Lich shrugged, “Still haven’t seen the van.”

  Riley nodded. “That’ll be the sign. We’ll know for sure then. The four of us meet with the chief in the morning for an update. He was nice enough to give us till 10:00 a.m.”

  Everyone nodded. Everyone was exhausted. Everyone headed home.

  Viper admired the thoroughness of Knapp in stalking his prey. She was always alone when she left at night. The area behind the bar was dark. It was a good spot. Were it not for the police being right on top of him, he’d get away with it. Again.

  The police were thorough in stalking their prey as well. Viper, while frustrated by it, admired the tracking job they were doing. They had a large crew and had been masterful in following him. There was a different cop in the bar every night. They had different cars and vans every day. They rotated the tail well, never getting too close. The familiarity with Knapp’s movements and routes had made that easier, but they had done well nevertheless.

  It made it difficult for Viper and Bouchard to get at Knapp. They’d missed their best shot.

  Knapp left his hiding place, got into his car and drove away.

  Tonight’s little recon mission left no doubt he was ready to move. It wouldn’t be long now and one thing was clear. Viper had to find a way to get to Knapp before McRyan and company did.

  Bouchard shook his head, “It’ll be tomorrow night.”

  Viper agreed. They needed to move fast. But how?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Jupiter, you the man.”

  The meeting started at 10:00 a.m., the night crew still with Knapp, watching him making his way to work. Captain Peters, Helen Anderson, Sylvia Miller, Riley, Lich, Rock, Sally, and Mac were all in attendance. As expected, Channel 6 had run another scathing story on the serial killer and the lack of progress on the investigation. The force was carved in the sweeps story, and Flanagan was seething. Mac had never seen him so mad. He wanted Knapp, if for no other reason, to stick it back in the media’s face.

  “Pat, where are we at on Knapp?”

  “Could be anytime now, Chief.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We hope so,” Riles replied, perverse as it sounded, wanting a serial killer to make a move. “Obviously, we can’t predict for-”

  “I know, I know,” Flanagan replied, waving him off. “I’m getting fuckin’ inpatient. That Channel fucking 6 is skewering us, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Can’t force Knapp to attack, Chief,” Anderson said.

  “I know, it’s just… frustrating. You boys are doing good work here. We have our guy, and then those fuckin’ bastards at Channel 6 with this story.” City council members and the mayor had already been on the chief, demanding answers, as if finding a serial killer was a political problem one could solve with a phone call.

  “I hear you, Chief,” echoed Miller. “But when we catch this guy, we can spin this. This Knapp isn’t an idiot; we’ll make sure that gets out. We’ll play the work these guys are doing, how they broke the case, tailing this guy while Channel 6 was putting together it’s carve job.” Then she flashed a vicious smile. “Maybe, we’ll give Channel 12 an exclusive, since they’ve showed some restraint.”

  “That all assumes we’re going to catch this asshole,” the chief noted. “Pat, where we at on that?”

  “We’re good.” Riles went over the planning with everyone. “We have the place covered, and air support’s set up. I’m inside the bar with Doug Long. Rock’ll be next door. Mac and Lich are across the street. Linda Bradley is with us and ready. We’ll get him.”

  “Is it just you five?”

  “No, no. We’ll have other units in the area, but we have to keep them back until he moves. We don’t want to spook him. The guy was a Marine. He’s got to be checking behind him from time to time. I don’t want to have him abort.”

  “I don’t want him getting away,” the chief said, concern in his voice.

  “He won’t,” Riles assured.

  “Once we get him, then what?” Rock asked.

  “I want this bastard in court quickly. I want his arrest to be public. I want a fuckin’ perp walk,” the chief said. “Sylvia?”

  “I can handle that,” Miller replied. “We’ll have as early a press conference as possible. We’ll set the time for the perp walk so the media can cover it. Riley and Rockford can walk him in. It’ll be great theatre.”

  “How about you,
Helen?”

  “Publicity? Moi? Far be it from me to stand in the way,” replied a smiling Anderson, drawing a knowing chuckle. “We could have him in court the next day, I think. Sally?”

  “We can. Detective Riley has kept me in the loop,” not to mention Mac, nocturnally. “I’ll have things ready for a quick hearing if need be.”

  “Good. I want a public spectacle of this thing. The department needs that. Sylvia, Helen, Ms. Kennedy, Marion, I want you to stick around so we can discuss that further. Riles, you and the boys go catch that piece of shit.”

  Viper contemplated his next move while sitting on the boss’s couch, drinking a bottled water. They missed Knapp. It was a good plan. Dumb luck really. If Lich hadn’t walked in, Knapp would have been gone. Shit happens. Viper didn’t explain it quite that way to the boss, but that was the gist of what happened.

  “So, what are you going to do?” the boss asked.

  Good question. Knapp was going to go for Linda soon, probably tonight, tomorrow at the latest. Problem was, the police detail would have cops all over the place. According to the boss’s source, for purposes of prosecution, it would be best to catch him in the act. There would be no shortage of assets in the area. Viper didn’t have many options, so he answered straight, “To be honest, I’m not sure.”

  “The police are on him tight?”

  “As a drum. Bouchard and I think he’ll go for it tonight, and the cops are swarming this guy.”

  “Then we’ll have to come up with something while he’s in custody.”

  “In custody, sir?”

  “Yeah, somehow, some way, we’ll have to get at him that way.”

  Viper, at a loss, said, “How?”

  “Let me see what I can find out,” the boss replied.

  Mac and Lich resumed tailing Knapp at an Arby’s on University at lunchtime. Knapp had an affinity for fast food, which made him like a lot of people. Difference was it didn’t seem to go to his belly. Mac, on the other hand, felt bloated. He hadn’t worked out in what seemed like two weeks, causing him to check his waste line for a paunch. There wasn’t one. Of course, if he needed to, he could merely look over at Lich. He had enough for the two of them.

  “Another day,” uttered Lich as he adjusted in the passenger seat.

  “Another dollar,” Mac finished, trying to get comfortable as well.

  “So he thinks we have to take him out when he’s in police custody?” Bouchard asked.

  “Yeah,” Viper replied skeptically. “I’m not sure how we do it. Any ideas?”

  “Not off hand,” Bouchard replied. “I’d think they’ll have him tightly guarded. Not sure how we could get close enough to do anything. Especially before he starts talking.”

  “If he does talk,” Viper mused.

  “Most serial killers do,” Bouchard replied.

  “Could always be a first time.” Viper’s cellphone chimed, it was the boss. “Well, maybe he has some answers for us.”

  Mac yawned. It was 4:30 p.m., the sun was setting and the night was rolling in. The sports radio station was on low. It was Vikings season and nothing raised the passions of the sporting public in the Twin Cities more than the Purple. The rubes were in full rage, a recent loss to the Bears causing everybody’s bile to percolate. The updated weather forecast had rain turning to snow, and soon. Oh, goodie, Mac thought. He and Lich were watching as Knapp picked up uniforms from Murray Engineering.

  “We’ve been following him how long now?”

  Lich rubbed his eyes, tired of the monotony as well. “A week, I think.”

  “So, next will be the dry cleaning at the 801 Building.” It was. Mac laid out his next two stops, right on the money.

  “What are you now, Columbo?”

  They had his pattern down. They knew his every move, when he woke up, what route he drove to work, his route while working, who he talked too, what he picked up, what he dropped off, what streets he drove, where he parked, where he liked to eat lunch, fill up with gas, take a leak. They had it all. But they couldn’t relax. They had to stay sharp. This would be the time he’d throw them a curve ball, and Mac would drive a van right into the back of him. Then the jig would be up.

  Per his normal schedule, Knapp finished his route at 6:00 p.m. At 6:05, he casually walked out of the building and got into his car. He left the lot and turned left onto University. Then he took an immediate right south on Lexington. He took a left onto the freeway and headed east on 94. This was not part of the normal pattern. Mac and Lich were in the first vehicle trailing Knapp towards Hudson.

  “You don’t suppose?” Lich said.

  “Yeah. Exactly,” Mac replied.

  Riley and Rockford passed them, driving a white Buick Century. Rockford raised his eyebrows as they passed. They were thinking the same thing.

  Knapp pulled into his driveway at 6:45 p.m. Mac and Lich drove past and pulled into the housing development. The rest of the crew were in the parking lot at the restaurant. Mac and Lich watched out the back windows of the van. Thankfully the back of the van had vinyl swivel seats that were moderately comfortable. They could sit and watch Knapp’s place through the night vision scope or binoculars. There was little radio traffic. Everyone was on edge. Something was happening.

  Then nothing happened.

  At 8:30 p.m. Lich bitched, “What the fuck? He takin’ a night off?”

  A light, cold rain started. Mac felt the temperature drop five degrees in a minute and a shiver go down his spine. After a brief rush of action, the monotony set back in. Mac grabbed a Pioneer Press off the floor, and read the sports page for the fourth time, this time squinting in the dark. Lich was passively watching the house, slouched in the seat in back, his arms crossed, lightly rocking, trying to stay warm.

  At 10:15, Mac’s bladder started barking at him, and he got out of the van to take a piss. He could see his breath in the cool night, the light mist falling around him. Steam rose from his urine as it hit the ground.

  “Mac, get in here!” Lich yelled.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got the van.”

  Mac quickly finished and moved for the van, trying to zip his pants at the same time. Parked in front of an out building they hadn’t seen Knapp go into all week, was a Ford Econoline van, dark in color, lights on, a large dent in the front bumper and, most important of all, the right license plate. “I’ll be damned, Jupiter, you the man,” Mac whispered to himself.

  Mac jumped into the passenger seat and grabbed the radio, “Riles, do you copy?”

  “Here, Mac.”

  “We’ve got the van. It’s outside, and we confirmed the plate number.”

  “Copy that. We’re moving out now. You follow Knapp.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Bout fuckin’ time,” Lich yelled gleefully, as he fired up the van, did a quick U-turn. He turned left onto County 35, half a mile behind Knapp.

  Any exhaustion they had experienced was history. The game was on- finally. The adrenaline was flowing. They’d been waiting a week for this. “Tonight’s the night,” Mac said quietly.

  Riley, Rockford, and the rest made a speed run to St. Paul and the bar to get ahead of Knapp. The highway patrol was clued in, so there wouldn’t be a problem.

  At their meeting with the chief in the morning they went over where everyone would be when Knapp moved. For three days prior, they had pored over maps of the area and spoke with the owners of the businesses surrounding Dick’s Bar.

  Riley would be in the bar. There was a small storeroom in the back across from the bathroom. He’d hang there. When Linda left the bar for the night, he would be right on the back door, which she would only pretend to lock. He could pounce as soon as Knapp made a move.

  Rockford’d be in the back of the paint store, less than a hundred feet away. Mac had lobbied for the spot. Rockford was not that fleet a foot, Mac was.

  Mac and Lich would be across the street to the west in the back garage of Ray’s Auto Repair, at least one hundred fift
y feet away. They had spent a few nights watching from there already. Ray had a son-in-law with the force. He couldn’t have been more helpful.

  Mac would be able to run across the street-less likely Lich, given his body type, girth, and age. Lich said he’d keep the van pointed in the right direction in case they needed a set of wheels. Mac’s concern was if Knapp ran- would they be able to catch him? They had to keep the rest of the vehicles a number of blocks back. Who knows what would happen if Knapp ran? He could slip away, get into someone’s house, take a hostage. There were risks if he ran and got outside their perimeter. It’s why Mac had wanted the paint store.

  There were already two cops on the second floor of the office building to the north, looking directly down on the back of the bar. They could see the gap, the back door and would have the infrared video camera on the back. Neither man would be of any help if there was a chase.

  In addition to Riley, they had detective Doug Long on the second floor in the bar. He would be able to look down on Knapp as he hid in the gap between the bar and paint store.

  Finally, they had Falcon, the St. Paul Police chopper circling at a distance overhead that could swoop in at a moment’s notice.

  In the van, Mac and Lich were two hundred yards behind Knapp, with another unit another two hundred yards further back. The temperature was dropping quickly. The rain was changing to snow. The wipers were going high speed, cleaning the windshield while they sped into St. Paul.

  “I hope Ray left the heat on in the garage,” Lich pleaded.

  “Suppose you want some coffee too?”

  “A man can dream,” Lich quipped.

  Mac, getting back to business, “With this snow, visibility’ll be an issue.”

  “You’re right, boyo. That area behind the bar ain’t well lit.”