She only blinked once. “Then you know that PTA’s lawyers would have no problem creating reasonable doubt.”
“For once tonight, Ms. Anderson, you’re right,” Mac replied, restraining himself as best he could, “Neither I, nor Pat, nor any of us, though, have asked you to go to court yet. We just want to look into this more.”
“The more you look into it, the more likely it is that PTA leaves the city,” the mayor jumped back in. “Ted Lindsay said as much today.”
Rock, exasperated, said, “Fuck ’em. Just because someone employs a bunch of people in this city means they get a free pass?”
“Not on my watch,” Riley added.
“Chief,” the mayor replied, “put a leash on your boys here, or I will.”
“Mac,” the chief brushed off the mayor, “What if we could talk to PTA tomorrow?”
“Sir?”
“If I could put you in a room with Ted Lindsay tomorrow-what would you say to that?”
“Might that be the only option you’ll give us for going forward?”
The chief nodded.
“I’m game.”
“Charlie, No!” the mayor replied. “We’re not going to do that. We’re meeting with Lindsay tomorrow to smooth this over. This won’t help.”
“Tell you what, Mayor. I’m a cop, not a politician. These boys are cops, not politicians. They investigate homicides. Now I’m not sure they have anything yet. But coincidences like these?” the chief shook his head. “I’ve been a cop for thirty-three years. If I ran across something like this, I’d like to think I’d do exactly what these boys did.” Flanagan took a sip of his drink and sat back in the high-backed leather chair. “Now, if Ted Lindsay has nothing to hide, he’ll talk to me and the boys here. If he talks tomorrow and answers their questions, and he provides satisfactory answers, then that’ll be the end of it. And my word matters on that, does it not, boys?” the chief asked, looking at Mac and Riles in particular. They both nodded. Flanagan continued, “If Mr. Lindsay doesn’t have answers for us, then my boys’ll continue to look into this.” He took a last sip of the dark whiskey, smiled and asked, “So what’s it gonna be, Mayor?”
Mac smiled inwardly. Chief Flanagan backed his boys’ play. That’s why they loved him. He was the chief of police, not a police chief, not a tinhorn politician.
The mayor, on the other hand, looked like he’d just choked down a serving of Nyquil. “I’ll talk to Lindsay and see what he says. He may not go for it.”
“Ask the man. If he has nothing to hide, he’ll do it.”
The mayor sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and left the chief’s office to go make the call.
“Charlie, I’d be careful if I were you,” Anderson warned, ever the politician. “You’re playing with fire here and not just the department’s hide, but the city’s.”
“Helen, if I gave a shit about politics, you would be right.” The chief took another sip of his drink, smiling. “But I don’t. Never have. If the mayor and the City Council want to get rid of me, I got a big old cabin up north waiting for me.” The chief had some dough; his wife came from a wealthy family. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“Well, good luck to you all,” Anderson replied. “I may have been a little confrontational. Of course, should something turn up, our office, as always, would work with you,” she finished, extending an olive branch.
The chief accepted, “Thank you, Helen.”
Anderson left. The chief grabbed the bottle of Irish whiskey and gave everyone another touch. He took a long drink and a little smile creased his face.
“Well, boys. I was all ready to read you the riot act.”
“We figured that to be the case,” Riley replied.
“But I just can’t be mad at you. I still don’t know if you have anything here, but, damn, if I don’t want to let you have a shot at it.”
Alt sat on the fine leather couch, close to the fireplace, sipping water and admiring the shelves of books in Ted Lindsay’s study. Seemed like there were hundreds of them, different sizes and colors. They must have all been classics. The boss would have nothing but the best.
Lindsay was on the phone with the St. Paul mayor. This was their third conversation of the day. Alt listened as Lindsay agreed to a 5:00 p.m. meeting at his office. He hung up the phone and strolled over to Alt, grabbing a high-backed leather chair, close to the fire.
“So we have a 5:00 p.m. meeting tomorrow?” Alt asked.
“Yes. The mayor, Chief Flanagan, McRyan, and Riley.”
“To discuss…?”
“They want to discuss with us some problems they have with the death of Jamie Jones and how PTA might be able to help clear them up.”
“What do they know?”
“At this point, they know that some documents about Cross exist, based on our conversations with Landy Stephens. I want to know more by tomorrow, however.”
“I better go back downtown.”
“Yes. I want to know if McRyan and Kennedy talk about this. So, let’s see if those bugs’ll pay off, shall we?”
“Yes sir. One question. Why take the meeting tomorrow?”
“Because, according to the mayor, if we meet with them and have answers to their questions, the chief has given his assurance that the investigation will end.”
“You believe that?”
“I do,” Lindsay replied confidently. “Charlie Flanagan is a man of his word. He’s backed his boys, which is why that force would run through a brick wall for him. But if they crap out tomorrow, he’s smart enough to know that he can’t let them keep going. Even if he suspects something, he knows that if we shut them down on this Cross business, they have nowhere to go, no way to get a conviction, and he can’t risk exposure of the department on the Daniels case or letting word slip that this Knapp didn’t kill one of the victims. So, if we shut him down tomorrow, we should be rid of the police.”
“Plus, we hammer the city with the threat we’ll leave if they don’t back down.”
“Yes,” Lindsay smiled. “The mayor’s concerned about the loss of all those jobs and the impact on his city. He likes being mayor. So, yes, he’d like to see this all go away. In other words, my friend, let’s see that we make the mayor happy, shall we?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Is that what this is really all about, detective?”
Mac looked out the window of the minivan as they drove through five blocks of rush-hour traffic to the PTA Tower. The Christmas decorations were lighting up the dark 4:45 p.m. sky of downtown. Green wreaths with bright red bows adorned the street lights. Department store and restaurant windows were outlined with red, green and white lights. Santas were working the corners, wringing their Christmas bells, looking for donations to the Salvation Army. It all made for a festive atmosphere.
The scene allowed Mac’s mind to drift, if only momentarily, away from the task at hand: PTA. It was only for an instant, and then it returned, as it had again and again for the past twenty-four hours. The chief, mayor, Captain Peters, Riley, and he were going to meet with Ted Lindsay, the president of PTA, although the mayor would wait outside. Mac had seen pictures and video footage of him for years. He was a prominent man of the town. Now Mac was essentially going to accuse Lindsay and people who worked for him of murder.
And he was going in with less than a full arsenal. He met with Riles, Rock, and Lich all day, discussing scenarios of how to go after PTA and at the same time protect the department. They went back and forth on a variety of approaches, but finally settled on one that tied one hand behind their back. They couldn’t use Claire Daniels. Mac reached the same conclusion with Sally the night before.
Daniels’ name might come up, but not in the context that they thought PTA killed her, even though Mac suspected they did. Her name would come up as a reporter that Jamie Jones knew and talked to, probably about Cross, whatever Cross was. But for now, at least, they planned to leave the death of Claire Daniels with the senator. If this
whole stunt backfired, they reasoned, they wouldn’t have to deal with the mess of putting into play the fact that the investigators of the Daniels’s murder thought they got the wrong man.
Despite the fact they were leaving Daniels out, it was, nonetheless, decided they would be aggressive. As Riles said repeatedly, “We probably got one shot at this, so let’s not leave anything in the bag. Grip it and rip it.”
“Damn straight,” Rock said, a bull in the China shop if there ever was one. “Let’s take our best shot at the bastards. If we crap out, fine, no regrets.”
“Mac,” Lich said. “Go at him like you went at the senator. Smart-ass young prick detective thinks he knows everything. See if you can get under his skin.”
That would be their approach. What made Mac nervous was that when he had gone after the senator, they had had evidence up the wazoo. To say they had less than that on PTA would be an understatement. They had suspicions, but no direct evidence. Somehow they had to prove to the chief and the mayor that PTA was worth investigating further. Lindsay needed to fess up to something or lose his cool. Accomplish either of those things, and the chief might let them keep looking. That was the goal, to keep the investigation alive.
“Go at him with Cross?” Mac said to the group.
“It’s all we got,” Lich replied. “See what the man has to say.”
Mac smiled inwardly. He had a feeling this would be one of those life events he would never forget.
Downtown St. Paul was mostly a maze of one-way streets. The group actually had to drive all the way around the PTA Tower to get to the building’s parking garage. A security guard waved to them as they pulled in. He directed them towards another guard standing by a chain-link gate that led to a private parking area. As they approached the gate, the guard rolled it open, and Captain Peters pulled the van through and drove to a spot marked with a VIP parking sign.
As Peters put the van into park, Riley, who was sitting next to Mac patted him on the thigh and smiled. “You know this is probably nothing, a waste of our time.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty thin.”
They both felt otherwise as they got out of the van and a blond guy with a medium build approached. “Hello, Chief Flanagan. My name’s Webb Alt,” the blond-haired man said as he extended his hand. “I’m the vice- president of Security. Mr. Lindsay asked that I meet you all down here and take you on up.”
“Alt,” the chief replied, taking his hand and then introduced everyone else. Mac shook Alt’s hand and gave him a look. Was this guy one of those assassins Lyman was talking about?
“We’ll go through this door over here and take the private elevator up to the top and to Mr. Lindsay’s private conference room,” Alt said, and waved them towards the door.
“Hmpf. Private elevator,” Riley said quietly in a sarcastic voice.
“Ain’t like going over to Dick’s Bar, now is it?” Mac replied with a wry smile.
The group followed Alt and filed into the waiting elevator. Mac watched the digital display over the door, which remained blank all the way until it stopped on twenty. It was a private express elevator; it didn’t stop on any other floors. As they walked off the elevator, they were in the lobby where the general public elevators came to a stop as well, two on each side of the hall. Straight ahead was a cherry wood reception desk, vacated for the evening.
Alt, sensing they noticed the vacant receptionist desk, offered, “We appreciate your willingness to come at this later hour. We preferred our employees not see someone as recognizable as Chief Flanagan and Detective McRyan walking through the building to see the president.”
Riley snorted, elbowing Mac in the ribs. “So, you’re recognizable?”
“Guess I’ll need a publicist.”
Alt led them past the reception desk, towards a set of double doors that led into a plush conference room. There was a cherry wood conference table with ten high-backed leather chairs on either side. Fine crystal glassware sat on a silver tray in the middle of the table. A large credenza on one end of the conference room held coffee and soft drinks. Built-in cabinets on the other end probably concealed a television and projection screen of some sort, Mac thought, based on the configuration of the cabinet doors.
As impressive as the conference room was, the view was even better. From the twentieth floor, the windows looked west out of downtown. Mac walked over to the window, which ran from floor to ceiling. He could see the Xcel Energy Center’s large red letters and message board flashing coming events. The height of the building also allowed Mac to look levelly at the St. Paul Cathedral, up on the bluff overlooking the city to the west. It was beautiful, the white stone of the magnificent church illuminated by ground lights, contrasting against the dark-blue, cold, winter sky.
As Mac took in the view, he heard the doors open. He turned to see Alt walking back in with Ted Lindsay and another man, whom he assumed was the attorney. Introductions were made all around. Lindsay skipped Alt, and introduced his lawyer, Larry Zimmer. Mac had heard of him, although he didn’t know him. A Prominent lawyer with a big firm, the name of which Mac couldn’t remember.
The chief introduced his troops. When Flanagan introduced Mac, Lindsay walked over. “Detective McRyan, you have been busy lately, haven’t you?” he said, shaking Mac’s hand, looking him closely in the eye.
“As have you,” Mac replied stoically, not backing down.
“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Lindsay replied evenly. “But why don’t we sit down, and you can tell us why Landy Stephens called me so upset last night.”
Mac took a seat at the conference table, opposite Lindsay. The lawyer sat to Lindsay’s right. Alt, the security guy, stood behind Lindsay, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
Mac began. “It’s funny you should say that Ms. Stephens was so upset.”
“Oh, why would that be?”
“Well, Pat,” Mac said glancing over at Riley, “she didn’t seem too upset when we were invited into her home, did she?”
“No, she didn’t,” Riley replied.
“No. In fact she served coffee and invited us into the living room of her home.”
Lindsay smiled. “Landy is a very nice lady. But when four officers show up on her doorstep, I’m sure she was taken aback. I’m sure she felt that if she was pleasant and nice, you’d leave much sooner.”
“Perhaps,” Mac replied. “Of course, we didn’t just show up at her place. We did call and ask if we could stop by. Did she mention that?”
Lindsay didn’t reply.
Mac forged on. “Because she couldn’t have been more pleasant. So you can imagine our surprise to find out that she was so upset that we’d been to her home and that we were harassing her.”
“Detective, I can only convey to you the phone call I received from Landy,” Lindsay replied calmly. “Her late husband was a dear friend. I feel a responsibility to look after her. When she called upset, well… I felt it necessary to investigate.” Lindsay leaned forward, elbows on the table, “Especially, when she mentioned all of the questions you were asking about Jamie Jones.”
“Mr. Lindsay, I can say that we did not harass Ms. Stephens,” Mac replied. “You know it’s funny though. It didn’t take long for us to get called on the carpet about going to her house.”
“Detective, I’m a man accustomed to getting quick results.”
“I’m sure you’ve gotten to where you are because of that,” Mac replied, “But it was so quick, I mean almost as if someone saw us leaving her place.” Mac didn’t know if that was the case, but Lyman said he wouldn’t be surprised if PTA had been watching them. He threw it out there to see if Lindsay would react. He didn’t. The lawyer jumped in.
“Detective, why don’t you get to the reason you were visiting Mrs. Stephens.”
“Good idea, Counselor.” Mac replied flippantly, opening his notebook, “Mr. Lindsay, I’m going to tell you a little story, and then I’ll have some questions. Sound fair?”
Lindsay n
odded.
“As you know, we recently arrested a serial killer named Dirk Knapp. He’s alleged to have killed seven women in the area around University Avenue. We captured him last week, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Yes, I do, Detective.” Lindsay replied. “As I recall, you were the officer who apprehended him. To that we owe you many thanks, since the bastard killed our Jamie.”
“Yeah, we thought he killed her, too.”
“But… you don’t think so?” Lindsay asked, his brow furrowed.
Mac shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe not. As we all know, Knapp was assassinated the next day. Looked like a pro job. So, we never got the chance to ask him about the killings.”
“Unfortunate for you guys,” Zimmer replied, “But I don’t see how this has anything to do with my client.”
“Patience, Counselor,” Mac replied dismissively, waving Zimmer off while keeping his gaze on Lindsay. “So, anyway. The morning after we caught Knapp, I went out to his place in Hudson. In the basement he had been keeping his clippings in great detail about all his handiwork. He had a display for all of his victims, except one. Who do you suppose that was?”
Lindsay sat back in his chair, folded his arms but didn’t reply.
Mac kept going. “Jamie Jones. Now we thought it odd that she’d be missing. We would’ve asked Knapp about that, but low and behold…”
“He’s dead,” Riley finished.
“Guess you should have done a better job protecting him,” Lindsay replied, pushing back just a little, but his face remaining neutral.
“No doubt about that,” Mac replied. “But I’m still curious about Jones missing from Knapp’s collection. I mean he took all the time to cut all the clippings about the other victims and to tape the news shows, but he completely ignored Jones. Well, we thought it was odd. So, I took a look at our file on Jones and noticed some differences between her and the other victims.”
“Such as?”
“Knapp’s victims were blue-collar, working women. Jones was not.”
The St. Paul Conspiracy Page 29
