The St. Paul Conspiracy

by Roger Stelljes

  Viper and Bouchard were parked, watching Riley and his crew a block south of the Italian restaurant. Suddenly the two vans and a Crown Victoria pulled out and sped by, disregarding the local speed limit. Two minutes later, a Ford Econoline van came by.

  “There’s our boy, I bet,” Bouchard uttered.

  “See if McRyan comes by.” He did, thirty seconds later, keeping his distance.

  Viper and Bouchard waited and pulled in well behind Lich and McRyan, trailing Knapp back to St. Paul.

  “You’re comfortable with everything?” Bouchard asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How about Hagen?”

  “He said it would be easy. He even showed me how he does it.”

  “And the get away?”

  “Got it covered. It’ll take thirty seconds to a minute at best for them to figure out what happened. By the time they do, I’m gone.”

  Doug Long was up on the second floor at the bar. His car was parked next to Linda Bradley’s Trailblazer. When Knapp was two minutes out, Young, another cop sitting down in the bar, jumped in Long’s car and pulled away three blocks north on Arundel.

  Unfortunately, as Knapp pulled into the lot, a spot opened right along the back of the bar, three spaces from Bradley. It was not Long’s spot. He backed the van in, killed the motor and went inside.

  Mac and Lich heard all of this on the radio and skipped the Dale Street exit, going further west on Interstate 94 to the Lexington Parkway exit and doubling back to Ray’s. Lich dropped the van in the parking lot on the west side of the garage, hidden from view of the bar parking lot. They entered the security code to the building and slowly worked their way to the back and to the door looking directly across Arundel into the parking lot behind Dick’s. There were no lights on in the back of the garage, and Mac and Lich slowly made their way to the window.

  Mac moved to the right side of the garage door, and as if he was peering around a corner, looked out the window. There were a couple of problems. The snow, coming down in large, heavy snowflakes made visibility across the street and into the parking lot a problem. It was melting as it hit the pavement, but was gathering in the grass between the street and sidewalk. More important, Knapp’s van blocked his view of the back door. It wasn’t on the other side of Bradley’s Trailblazer, as they had planned. They wouldn’t be able to see Knapp move. They called it in. Riley told them to stay put and move when the call came.

  Knapp came out of the bar at 1:15 a.m. and got back into the van. A half-hour later he slowly got out of the driver’s side of the van. Mac watched as Knapp slowly walked to the rear of the van and peered around to his left. Seeing nobody, Knapp moved left and disappeared from Mac’s view. His earpiece told him that Knapp was to the side of the back door, sneaking a peak in the back to see if anyone was coming down the back hall. He then scooted over to the gap between the bar and paint store.

  Knapp was dressed all in black, with a stocking cap. Long, looking down at him from the dark second floor, reported that Knapp was set back about fifteen feet, having leaned against the bar wall, into an indentation where a door used to be. The boys across the street could make him out through the infrared vision on the video camera.

  Everyone was in position.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Have a nice day.”

  Patience. A difficult thing to have when waiting for something to happen, when you know it is going to happen and even when it will happen. Mac must have looked at his watch every thirty seconds since Knapp left the van. Radio chatter quieted. Mac had noticed a light go on upstairs. Bradley was now up working the books, putting the money in the safe for tomorrow’s deposit.

  At 2:15 a.m., per normal routine, Sheila Bradley left. She was well aware of what was going on with her little sister. She had been told to drive way away and not hang around. Everything needed to look normal. It seemed like an hour since she’d left. It had been five minutes. Upstairs Linda Bradley, Mac knew, would be sliding on a neck brace with Long’s assistance.

  At 2:42 a.m. Mac’s earpiece cracked with Long’s voice. “She’s heading down now.”

  Mac and Lich had moved to the left side of the garage door window, close to the back door. They were glued to the window, not that it did much good. They couldn’t see a thing.

  Office building: “Knapp has moved to the edge of the gap.”

  Mac whispered to Lich, “Alarm won’t go off when we open the back door?”

  Lich, for the fifth time. “Nope, disarmed.” He was twirling the keys to the van in his hands. He’d be in the van if Knapp ran.

  Long: “She’s at the back door.”

  Mac left the window and went to the back door, hand on the knob, staring at the floor, waiting for the word.

  Office building: “She’s opening the door… she’s turned her back, putting the key in the lock.”

  As Mac heard it told later, as she put the key into the knob, Knapp sprung from the gap. He was on her in an instant. The key was still in the lock, and the force of his attack on her had snapped it off. Riley and Long were trapped inside.

  Office building: “Go! Go! Go! He’s on her!.. He’s on her!..”

  Mac bolted out the back door, sprinting across Arundel, leaving Lich behind. He heard Riley in his right earpiece. “The door’s jammed. We can’t get out! We can’t get out! Go, go, go…”

  Chaos.

  As he was sprinting across Arundel, Mac heard a voice yell out, “Freeze, police.” As he hit the grass between the street and sidewalk he saw a black blur to his left sprinting out of the parking lot north on Arundel. Knapp. Mac instinctively planted his left foot to turn, but it gave out underneath him as he slipped on the snow. He fell hard onto the cement sidewalk, jarring his left shoulder. He pushed himself right up and gave chase.

  He heard his earpiece blurt. “He’s north on Arundel. All units converge.”

  Falcon had dropped from nowhere out of the sky, the spotlight searching for Knapp.

  Mac was running north and gaining speed. He saw Knapp sprinting north on Arundel, just about to pass the alley on the block between Sherburne and Charles streets, when the lights appeared and the sirens sounded, closing rapidly from the north on Arundel. Knapp stopped abruptly and turned left, ninety degrees into the alley, slipping on the wet street, but catching himself with his left hand. He’d lost some momentum. Knapp turned down the alley, throwing a couple of garbage cans into the way.

  Mac, at full speed now, half a block behind Knapp, turned left to the sidewalk on the north side of Sherburne, sprinting hard, parallel to the alley, looking to his right through the houses, not able to see Knapp but getting a general fix from Falcon’s spotlight. He wanted to cut to his right, get to the alley, but there were too many fences, bushes. He kept running, looking right. Another house. Then a break, a clean shot through to the alley. Mac veered right. As he crossed the back of the house he saw Knapp running peripherally to his right, with Falcon’s light painting him. Knapp, sensing things closing, abruptly veered right between two houses on the other side of the alley, losing some speed but also losing the spotlight from Falcon.

  Mac, flying, stayed dead straight, on a beeline to the other side of the house, rapidly closing the gap. He lost Knapp briefly behind the house but picked him up around the front, to his right. Mac had the angle on Knapp, as if he was running along the sideline of a football field. Knapp looked back over his right shoulder for pursuers. He didn’t see Mac coming from his left.

  Mac didn’t break stride down the incline to the sidewalk. Knapp, coming from his right, ran behind a parked car. Mac burst in front of the car and at full speed, drilled the serial killer, ran through him, with his right shoulder, a textbook tackle. The tackle took Knapp off his feet and drove him into the pavement, with Mac rolling over him and landing with his back against a parked car, his head slamming into a tire. Dazed, his head pounding, Mac could see Knapp five feet away, starting to push himself up. Mac told his body to move, but he was reacting slowly, no
t moving fast enough, foggy from crashing into the car.

  Knapp was up on a knee, pushing up with his hands, ready to take a step.

  Mac rolled to his right, setting his hand on the pavement, trying to push himself up, wanting to give chase.

  Knapp, up now, took a step, but only one. A blur from the left wiped him out. Rockford, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, finished the job for Mac, steamrolling Knapp. Subdued by the force of the tackle, Knapp was easily cuffed by Rock, who just might’ve taken an extra shot or two in the process. Falcon, having caught up, provided a guide for all of the other vehicles and cops, who circled the area now like moths to a flame.

  Mac sat back against the tire, breathing hard, his head pounding, seeing some stars. Perhaps not stars, but little flickering bright lights, like used to happen when he got checked hard into the boards when he played hockey.

  Riles approached. He squatted down in front of Mac. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, just got my bell rung, I think,” Mac replied, trying to focus his eyes. “Help me up.”

  Riles reached his right arm around Mac’s left side and helped him up. Mac set his feet underneath him, and while he was a little lightheaded, he felt okay. “How’s Linda?”

  “She’s fine. Brace did the trick,” Riles responded, smiling, relieved.

  Having steadied Mac, Riles walked over to a face-down and handcuffed Knapp. Squatting down again, Riles pushed Knapp onto his right side and looked him in the eye.

  “Have a nice day.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “There’s a piece missing here.”

  The press conference ended at 10:30 a.m. Mac, Riley, Rockford, and Lich retreated to an empty interview room, found some coffee and relaxed, a few hours of sleep having temporarily refreshed them all. Riles was particularly chipper, the long investigation over, his efforts vindicated.

  “What time you taking him to court?” Lich asked Riley.

  “Noon. Rock and I get to walk him in the front door.”

  “Better you than me,” Mac replied.

  “You should be there as well. Lich too. You guys broke this thing open.”

  “Thanks just the same. I’d as soon avoid the media. I had enough of it on the Daniels case,” Mac replied.

  “Agreed. Besides, I’m not the most photogenic guy,” Lich replied, in a huge understatement.

  Just then Dan Patrick stuck his head in the room. “Thought I might find you guys here. We’re heading out to Knapp’s place in Hudson. Guess there’s some interesting stuff out there. Anyone care to join?”

  “I’d love to,” Riles replied, “but I have orders to hang around for the walk over to the courthouse.”

  “Me too,” Rock added.

  “I’ll go,” Mac said. “Dick?”

  “Yeah, why not.”

  “See you boys later?” Mac said to Rock and Riles.

  “Yeah, party tonight over at the Pub,” Riley replied, “And you all will be there.” It wasn’t a question. “Anyone who doesn’t show will be summarily shot. We deserve a little celebration.”

  Bouchard slid the card into the reader, saw the light turn green and pushed his way into the tenth-floor hotel room. Hennessey, Hagen, and Skogman were with him and carried in their equipment.

  Skogman opened the shades, and Bouchard looked out the window.

  Hennessey came up behind and looked out as well. “This should work.”

  “Agreed,” Bouchard replied. “Let’s get set up.”

  Mac had driven by Knapp’s driveway many times over the last ten days. It felt odd to finally turn in and go up to the house. The Hudson cops were already there, with the crime scene tape up and lights flashing everywhere. A few curious onlookers were hanging out down on the county road, gawking.

  Knapp’s farmhouse was maintained to military cleanliness on the main level and upstairs. The furniture was plain, vintage seventies in color and style, but well kept. The personal effects were sparse, except for a few family photos. There was nothing unusual, at least until they went down to the basement.

  As they went down the stairs to the basement, it looked and smelled just like a farmhouse cellar. Dark, dusty, filled with crates, boxes, assorted junk with a musty smell, like old potatoes. However, under the steps was an old oak plank door that opened into the back foundation wall. Behind the door was a room underneath the four-season porch. Mac estimated it at fifteen by fifteen. Knapp had kept the room sealed with a combination lock, which now sat on the floor in two pieces, victimized by a bolt cutter.

  The room was partially furnished with a television, desk, and computer. Above the desk was a shelf, which contained half a used box of Trojan condoms, the kind used in each killing. There was also a box with the balloons. Knapp had one of each in the van the night before. However, that wasn’t what really caught his attention.

  On the left wall was a bulletin board, a monument to Knapp’s work. The bulletin board was filled with news clippings, pictures, maps, and diagrams. It wasn’t too different from the bulletin board they had in the detail conference room. In a disjointed way, it told the story of what Knapp had been doing for the last couple of months. It was altogether creepy and fascinating at the same time.

  Mac started from the left, was a third of the way down, passively looking at the clippings, when Lich came up to him. “Weird, huh?”

  “Yeah. Creepy. It’s as if in his own warped mind, he was creating his masterpiece or something.”

  “FBI profile said the guy might keep some sort of journal,” Patrick added. “This qualifies.”

  “I’d say so,” Lich replied.

  They stood in silence for a few moments, gazing at the wall.

  “There’s a piece missing here,” Patrick said.

  “Missing?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah, nothing about Jamie Jones.”

  Mac checked his memory, that was one of the victim’s names wasn’t it? “Jones… yeah… which… one was she?”

  Patrick gave Mac a stern look.

  “Hey, Dan, the day Dick and I got on the case, we had the seventh one. I didn’t even have a chance to go through all the files. Never really did because we got on Knapp so quick.”

  Patrick nodded, remembering the sequence of events.

  “Tell me about Jones,” Mac asked.

  “She was the fifth victim. Killed on Halloween.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Mac replied. “That was the day we picked up the Daniels case. So, what was her story?”

  “She was the CFO at some local company.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. We found her by the Capitol. Just like all the others, though. Vacant lot behind O’Neill’s Bar. Balloon tied to her. Sexually assaulted. There was Trojan rubber residue. The whole nine yards.”

  “Copycat?” Mac asked.

  “We kind of wondered about that, but the killing was identical. You can look at the file on it. It had all the characteristics of Knapp’s work. It’s the same in all the details.”

  “Everything?” Lich asked.

  “Everything,” Patrick replied.

  “Then why nothing on Jones?” Mac asked.

  “I guess we’ll have to ask Knapp.” Patrick replied.

  Riles pushed Knapp’s head down and eased him into the back of a Crown Victoria and then joined him in back. Rock was in the front passenger seat, sitting next to Frank Franklin, another member of the detail along for a little limelight. It would be a short five-minute drive over to the courthouse.

  Rock, never one to allow for a quiet ride, asked Knapp, “Get yourself a lawyer yet?”

  “Yeah. Legal aid.”

  “Thought you weren’t going to put up with one of those?”

  “Don’t expect I’ll have to for long. But you all are trying to get plenty of publicity on this, so I don’t have much of a choice right now.”

  Bouchard’s radio crackled with Hansen’s voice. “They just pulled out. Right on time. They’re going south on St. Peter.”


  “Copy that,” Bouchard replied, then to Hagen, “Do it.”

  Hagen was sitting at the desk with two laptops. The laptops had the security cameras of the second and third levels of the Vincent Ramp. A key stroke caused an almost imperceptive blip on the cameras on the left laptop, while the right remained constant. A minute later, Viper appeared on the right laptop, making his way to the southwest corner of the third level of the ramp. The left laptop, which the ramp security cameras were currently seeing and recording, showed the same location without Viper.

  Viper moved into position and kneeled down between two mini-vans. The vans, parked in the last two spots on the southeast corner of the parking ramp, provided him cover from anyone driving through the ramp. His position was kitty corner from the front of the courthouse. He had a good field of fire, with an excellent view of the sidewalk area and the forty-foot walk to the front doors of the courthouse.

  He took one last look out over the street and to the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. A crowd was gathering, waiting for the arrival of the University Avenue Strangler and his arraignment. All of the local television stations were there, reporters making a last check of their hair, and cameramen doing the same with their equipment. All were kept away by a police barricade, creating a fifteen-foot wide walkway into the courthouse.

  He kneeled down and opened his case, which was designed to look like one for a laptop. Inside was his sniper rifle, which he quickly assembled, the last pieces being the silencer and the scope. Three bullets were slid in, two in the magazine and one in the chamber. He locked it in. He slipped a black mask down over his face, which matched his black coat, pants, and thin black gloves. His earpiece came to life.

  “They’re two blocks out.”

  “Copy that,” he replied. He peered just over the edge, and a minute later saw the parade approach in the form of two unmarked Crown Victoria’s.