“Cripes, what a crowd,” Rock stated, noticing all of the media and people in front of the courthouse.
“Lots of hair spray and makeup,” Riles replied. “Make sure to smile for the camera as we walk in. Let the media see that big gap in your teeth.” An evil grin spread across Riles’s face.
“Keep it up, and I’ll give you one to match,” Rock retorted.
Laughing, Riles got out of the back left of the car, and Rock exited the front passenger side, opening the rear door. Riles leaned into the car and helped lift Knapp up out of the car and onto his feet. “We’re just going to head right on in,” he said to Knapp, who simply nodded.
“Let’s go.” Rock lightly grabbed the back of Knapp’s left arm and Riles had the right.
Lich called down to them. “Hey, guys, come on up. They got it on TV. Riles and Rock are about to walk Knapp into court.”
Mac, Patrick, and several others gathered around the TV in Knapp’s living room.
“Lot’s of media,” Lich remarked.
“Just in time for the noon news,” Mac replied. “The whole town’ll be able to see this.”
Viper had them in the scope as they lifted Knapp out of the backseat. He wanted them a little more to his left for a slightly better firing angle.
He looked through the scope with his right eye, his finger on the trigger. “Don’t hit the black cop,” he said to himself, training the crosshairs on Knapp. They were moving now, away from the car, the black cop on his left arm, Riley on the right. Forty-feet to the courthouse. As they moved towards the courthouse, the firing angle improved, Knapp’s head was no longer obscured. The assassin exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
Riles felt something hit the back of his head, moist, he reached with his right hand and felt it. Bringing it around to his eyes it was red, and Knapp was suddenly heavy in his left arm. He looked at Knapp, slumped over now, a large red hole where the back of his head used to be. Riley realized his left side was covered in blood.
People saw it now, the blood, Knapp down. Panic set in as bystanders started screaming, running or hitting the ground.
“Where did it come from?” Riley heard Rock yell, looking back and to the east.
People were pointing in all different directions, at the various buildings and parking ramps in the area. Chaos broke out as uniforms ran up to Riley checking on him. Others had weapons drawn, scanning the area for the shooter. Riles heard another uniform yelling into a radio for backup.
“Pat, you hit?”
Riles was unresponsive.
“Are you hit?” Rock asked again, grabbing Riles on the left arm.
Riles, getting his head together, “N… n… no. I think it’s just Knapp’s blood.” He was coated in it.
* * * * *
“Direct hit,” Bouchard said matter of factly, looking down on the area with a high-powered set of binoculars.
“His head’s turned to mush,” Hennessey confirmed.
“Viper move. Subject’s down,” Bouchard ordered into the radio. “Switch it when he gets to the skyway,” he said to Hagen.
Bouchard needn’t have bothered with the order. Viper saw the hole in the back of Knapp’s head. Quickly down on a knee, out of sight from the outside, he pulled the rifle apart and put it into the case. He was on the move in ten seconds, a black blur, moving between the vans, across the parking lot, towards the stairway.
Through the stairway door, he was quickly down one flight of steps to the skyway level. He pulled at the Velcro collar on his coat and it opened into a sport coat, with an open-collared white button-down-collar shirt. The stocking cap was off, replaced by a hounds-tooth driving cap. A fake beard concealed his face, along with a pair of stylish tinted glasses. While walking towards the skyway, he flipped his case over, so the outside looked like canvas. An empty Starbucks cup fished out of the case finished off the ensemble. As he walked out to the skyway, and into surveillance camera view, he blended in and looked like any one of a thousand people walking downtown over the noon hour.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“We got ourselves another Lee Harvey Oswald?”
The van pulled up to the curb in front of the Vincent Ramp, and Mac, Lich, and Patrick piled out. It had taken them fifteen minutes to get back downtown from Knapp’s place in Hudson. Their fears had been put to rest on the way in, when it was confirmed that other than Knapp, nobody else had been hit. Rock and Riles were okay, which was what they were most concerned about. Riles had gone back to the station to get cleaned up from Knapp’s blood.
The three of them moved up the steps to the third level where they found Rock and two other detectives in the southeast corner of the ramp, looking back towards the courthouse. Rock saw them coming and walked over.
“Christ, what a mess.”
“What the hell happened?” Lich asked.
“We think a sniper hit Knapp from the corner area over there.”
“Why here?” Mac said, not seeing anything indicating otherwise.
“Somebody claims they saw a muzzle flash from up here.”
“Anybody hear the shot?” Lich asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Rock replied. “Probably had some sort of silencer.” Rock wiped his shaved head with his hand. “I gotta tell ya, we’re out of the car, walking Knapp in, and next thing I know he’s slumped down and Riles is coated in blood.”
Mac walked over to the corner between two mini-vans and looked out over the street towards the courthouse. It was a shot of maybe a hundred yards. The spot provided a good field of fire towards the front of the courthouse. If a person were going to take a shot, this was a pretty good place. Nonetheless, it took pretty good aim and a steady hand to make the shot, Mac thought.
Lich walked up behind him. “We got ourselves another Lee Harvey Oswald?”
“We got someone who was a pretty good shot,” Mac replied.
“Don’t look that far to me,” Lich said.
“Rock, how many shots?” Mac asked.
“Only one I think.” Rock replied.
“One shot from here, not bad,” Mac said. “Probably a scope, with a silencer, a pro job?”
“Who knows? Hell, you can get a scope and silencer for a hunting rifle,” Rock replied.
“Any of the victims of this guy… they got family members maybe who hunt or are good with a rifle?” Mac asked.
Rock shrugged, “Don’t know.”
“How long before you guys were up here?”
Rock grimaced. “Probably three or four minutes at best. It was pretty chaotic. The person who saw the muzzle flash didn’t get to us for a minute or two. Then we ran over, but whoever did it was long gone by then.”
“Where to? Where do you go from here?” Lich asked.
“There’s a stairway to the skyway, there’s another stairway down to the street. They might have jumped into a car in the ramp and left. Hell, they could have taken the elevator down, although I doubt it. We’re pulling the surveillance cameras. We’ll see what we find,” Rock replied.
“No rest for the weary,” Lich replied. “I thought we were going to get some days off.”
“We are,” Rock answered. “Chief’s already got a whole group down here looking at it. He says we’re off it. We’ve done enough. If they need to know anything about the families, they’ll ask us, but otherwise we’re done. We finish up some loose ends tomorrow, then we all get the rest of the week off.”
“Fine by me,” Lich said.
“Let’s go check on Riles,” Rock said.
Mac took one last look out over the street and to the front of the courthouse. A large blood spot marked where Knapp went down. Police tape marked the area off, and the crime scene guys were collecting what little evidence there was. He shook his head. Something didn’t seem right.
Viper pulled up to the front of the boss’s house, parked his car and walked up to the front door. The housekeeper opened the door, took his coat and escorted him to the dining room. The boss was sitting at th
e table, reading some papers, sipping a glass of wine.
“What would you like?” the boss asked, holding up his wine glass.
“One of those would be fine.” Viper sat down while the boss poured him a wine. He waited for the staff to leave.
“How’re we doing?”
“Good so far,” Viper replied. “I was six blocks away before the police even made it up to the ramp. I was out of downtown within ten minutes. We look clean.” Viper sipped his wine, a lovely red. “Did the police get anything out of Knapp before-”
“-his untimely demise?” the boss finished. “No. He immediately asked for a lawyer. That was that.”
“So, we should be good then,” Viper stated. “Although I have Kraft and a few others keeping an eye on things from my end, just to be sure.”
“Good. I’ll be doing the same,” the boss added. “Now we need to get back to looking for the Cross documents.”
“Yes, sir. Now that this is over, we’ll refocus our efforts in that direction.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“We may still have a problem.”
Knapp’s assassination didn’t dampen anybody’s mood. The bastard killed seven women. If someone took his head off, well, that shouldn’t have happened, but nobody was going to lose sleep over it. It saved the public some money was a common view held in the Pub. Two months of built-up pressure and steam were being blown off big time. Every cab in St. Paul would be parked outside at closing time, Shamus would see to that. When Mac walked in, someone shouted out his name. Another yelled, “Hey look, it’s Ronnie Lott.” The room erupted. On his way to the bar, Mac received high fives, pats on the back and even a couple of kisses on the cheek, which he hoped were from women. When he got to the bar, Uncle Shamus was there with a warm handshake and a cold Guinness.
Mac made the rounds, shaking hands, trading smiles and exchanging wisecracks. He finally found Riley, Lich and Rock holding court at the end of the bar. Even Dot was there, her first appearance with Dick. What a way to start, Mac thought. There was already a stack of empties developing around the group. It would only get bigger. If only I owned Tylenol stock, Mac thought, envisioning the bottles of it that would be consumed tomorrow.
“Mac, my boy,” Riles said enthusiastically, acting as if he hadn’t seen him in five years, giving him a big bear hug. Riles appeared no worse for the wear from the day’s activities. If anything, having not been shot earlier made him all the more ebullient. Or perhaps it was the alcohol, of which Riles had already had plenty. Others gathered around to hear Riley tell the story about the take down on Knapp. Riles had it down pat now, probably having told it twenty times already, adding great drama, timing, if not a little embellishment to it. He stood in the middle of thirty people, his arms waving, his voice getting louder, funnier than hell.
“…Falcon’s right overhead. The lights and sirens are everywhere. Problem is, nowhere near Knapp. I can see him in the distance, between these two houses. Rock’s just ahead of me, but we’re probably seventy, eighty yards back, running as fast as our piece-of-shit bodies can go. I see Knapp running into the street between two cars, and just then this blur just comes from his left and wipes him out, takes him off his feet. It’s fucking Mac. And I mean to tell you he was going full fuckin’ throttle. He practically ran right through him. Cut him in half. I mean I think his shoes came flying off when Mac hit him. It was a yard sale. NFL films would have loved to have footage of this.” Riles took a drink. “But Mac’s kind of out of it after the tackle, and we see Knapp startin’ to get up. But then Rock kicks it down, finds a gear I didn’t know he had anymore, and he finishes Knapp off. Total pancake job.” There’s laughter all around. “I get there and check on Mac, who’s a little woozy. I think you were seeing stars weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Mac replied with a smile.
“Then I walk over and Rock looks like he’s gonna puke, he’s breathing so hard. I’m not sure if he’s holding himself up or if he’s leaning on Knapp so he won’t fall down.”
Mac listened as Riley went on, when someone put a soft, delicate arm around him, slowly walking a hand up his back, scratching lightly. He turned to his left to see Sally, who looked him in the eye and planted a big soft wet kiss on him for everybody else to see. Mac, usually not one for public displays of affection, was caught up in the moment and didn’t mind.
After the kiss and some good-natured ribbing from everyone else, he and Sally moved off to the side and out of the commotion surrounding Riley. Mac got her a beer, and they talked for a few minutes when Riles, finally done with the recounting of the take down, came over to join them.
“Case isn’t kicking your ass anymore, is it?” Mac said.
“Got that right,” Riles replied boisterously and put his arm around Sally’s neck, pulling her close and pointing his beer at Mac. “Counselor, did you hear what your boy here did last night?”
“Yes, detective. I heard your last rendition over there. Of course, I’m hoping I’ll receive a more thorough debriefing later,” Sally replied, smiling seductively at Mac. He wasn’t going to make closing time.
Riles loudly jumped all over the comment, “Ohhh, I’m sure Mac will be thoroughly debriefing later.”
Sally laughed out loud. Mac smiled and shook his head at Riles. “Hey, I’m a boxer man. I hate those tighty whitey’s you wear, Pat.” Mac added, and then in a more conversational tone, “I’ll tell you one thing new I saw today though.”
“What’s that?” Sally asked, taking another sip from her beer.
“I went out to Knapp’s place. He had the whole thing on a wall in the basement. Each murder. Pictures, maps, news clippings, the whole shootin’ match. I mean right up on the wall. Organized by victim.”
“Kind of creepy,” Sally replied.
“You ain’t kidding,” Mac replied. “But that wasn’t the really odd thing.”
“What was?” Rock asked as he lit his cigar.
“There was one victim missing.”
“Really, who was that?” Riley asked casually, taking a drink.
“Jamie Jones.”
“Really. Hmpf. Wonder why?”
“Yeah,” Mac replied, “I’m thinking I’ll take a-”
Before he could finish, Rock stopped him, “Guy was crazier than shit, Mac, killing those women. He probably left Jones out intentionally just to fuck with us. He’s dead, case is over-let’s get drunk.”
Rock was right, Mac thought, at least for tonight. They needed more drinks. “Shamus,” Mac bellowed. “Another round!”
The group talked idly for a while before Riley drifted off to tell more stories about the case to anyone who’d listen. Tonight he’d have an audience. More cops were coming in by the minute. Mac managed to stay until 10:00 p.m. when Sally finally dragged him out of the Pub. A day that started lousy was about to come to an excellent end.
Kraft had been sitting in the bar, twenty feet from McRyan, keeping a low profile, just a working stiff having a beer or two before heading home. They wanted to keep an eye on the group, just to be sure all was well. He heard McRyan mention the corkboard wall in the basement and the missing victim. Kraft finished his beer, threw five dollars on the bar and waded through the sea of cops to the front door. In his car, he grabbed his cell phone, punching up Viper.
“Yeah.”
“We may still have a problem.”
“What?”
“Apparently Knapp was cutting his clippings.”
“So?”
“Somebody’s missing.”
After a pause, “Shit.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Ever heard of Bristol, Ohio?”
Mac walked into the detail conference room at 8:00 a.m. and started the coffee maker. He imagined the crew would start coming in shortly, hungover to beat all. Having left the bar at a decent hour, Mac felt good.
It was clean-up day, time to file all the evidence in boxes and then take a few days off. A stack of unassembled bankers boxers already wai
ted in a corner. Mac put a couple together and started working on the corkboard that had the St. Paul map. As he started pulling stuff down, Dan Patrick walked in.
“Good morning.”
“Ain’t nothin’ good about it,” Patrick replied, heading for the coffee. Mac chuckled quietly and went back to work on the board. He got to the pin for the body by O’Neill’s Bar, Jamie Jones. She was the one missing from Knapp’s board.
“Dan, you got the file on this Jones woman? The one you were so mad I didn’t know about.” Patrick gave him a “Go fuck yourself” look through bloodshot eyes and threw a folder over.
Jones was the CFO at Peterson Technical Applications, otherwise known as PTA, the single largest business and employer in St. Paul. They had a downtown headquarters plus research and manufacturing facilities around the state and across the country, and soon around the world. It was a diversified company as far as Mac knew, but their calling card was military hardware and communications-related equipment.
“She was CFO?” Mac asked.
“Yeah.”
She was thirty-five years old. “Kind of young for that, wasn’t she?”
“She took over last March for a guy. I forget his name now, but he was killed in an auto accident during a snowstorm. Over on Shepard Road.” Patrick responded as he threw a couple of aspirin in his mouth and washed them down with coffee. Shepard Road ran from downtown west along the Mississippi River over to the International Airport. For an inner-city road, it was notoriously dangerous in spots. Add a March snowstorm to it, and it wasn’t unheard of that a serious accident could occur.
The St. Paul Conspiracy Page 22
