Roger Stelljes - First Case

Busch didn’t respond.

“I know because forensics took your briefcase and found Gordon Oliver’s blood on it right where the brass plate would go,” Mac pointed to the lower right corner of the briefcase and a small area of discoloration.

“You did a pretty good job of cleaning the blood off the briefcase,” Lich noted. “But I would have thought you’d have stumbled onto a CSI episode at some point and have learned that it’s really hard to get rid of blood. Even when you think it’s gone, it’s not.”

“You brought this briefcase to the alley behind The Mahogany. You hit Gordon Oliver in the back of his head, which knocked him down, and then hit him twice again. In the process, this brass plate fell off your briefcase,” Mac thundered on. “You told me to prove it and I have. To quote Gordon Oliver: ‘I’ve used all the tools in the toolbox.’ I’ve proven you were there, you hit him with your briefcase and you killed him. Stan Busch, you’re under arrest for the murder of Gordon Oliver.”

Saul Tobin was a good lawyer and knew that his client was guilty. It was only a matter of how long he would spend in jail. The rest of his life or maybe have a few years of freedom at the end of his life.

Fifteen minutes later, McRyan and Lich got a full confession from Busch.

Stan Busch didn’t go to The Mahogany intending to kill Oliver. He went hoping that he could buy Gordon Oliver’s silence or at least more time to take care of the Harris problem. In the alley, Busch had tried to reason with Gordon Oliver, even offering him $100,000 in cash as a down payment, which he had in the briefcase. Oliver wouldn’t give in, said that Busch had to come clean on Harris and if he didn’t Oliver would. Busch got upset, walked after Oliver and hit him from behind with the briefcase. The $100,000 in the briefcase made it heavier and the blow to the back of Oliver’s head sent him sprawling. Oliver fell and hit his head on the bumper. He looked dead and Busch hit him twice more to be sure and then placed the body in the back of the truck and ran from the scene.

“It’s blackmail.”

Mac pushed his way through the backdoor into his house, a twelve-pack of Grain Belt Premium bottles in one hand and a plastic bag full of Chinese food boxes in the other. Meredith called and was ten minutes away. Mac opened a beer and took a long sip from it. He set the Chinese food boxes out and grabbed a couple of plates. He would wait for her to arrive.

How to handle this situation was something he’d run through his head for the past three hours. He’d considered a myriad of ideas. He’d given some thought to romancing her one last time and then dropping things on her but that didn’t feel right. Packing her bags and having them at the door had been another but that didn’t feel right either and, given the last two days, he was simply too tired to do it. Instead he opted for the direct approach. This would be a confrontation that ended on his terms.

Meredith pushed through the backdoor looking tired from the day. Her look softened slightly at the beer and Chinese food. “Ah, dinner,” she said, sitting down and starting to put some food on her plate.

“More like the Last Supper.”

Meredith stopped scooping food and sat back in her chair. “That sounds a little ominous.”

“Because it is,” Mac answered and slid a manila folder over to her.

Meredith was on guard now as she flipped open the manila envelope. The first picture was one of her walking with Sterling.

She frowned.

The next picture was of the two of them entering a hotel room at the Marquette in Minneapolis.

Her eyes popped open.

The last picture was of her in bed with Sterling.

Her jaw dropped.

“You son of a bitch,” she growled.

“That’s rich. You’re cheating and I’m a son of a bitch,” Mac growled back.

“What gives you the right…?”

“What gives me the right?” Mac railed in response. “Love and honor? For better or for worse? In sickness and health? Till death do us part? Ring any bells for you there, Meredith?”

“This is your fault, not mine,” she answered, pushing away from the table and standing up. “You screwed everything up. This could have been great but you had to go be a cop.”

“How shallow are you?” Mac replied angrily. “Don’t answer because I now know the answer. But you know when we got married I thought it was for love. I really did. I was in love. I thought you were too. But I was wrong. Instead, at the time I simply met your husband criteria. I’ve come to realize you’re like one of those old Andre Agassi commercials. Image is everything.”

“Give me a break.”

“No, seriously Meredith. It is. You wanted a trophy husband who was good looking, rich with the right career so that you could have some sort of perfect looking life. If love was included, well that would be a nice upgrade but it wasn’t required. It was as if picking a husband was like buying a car to you.”

“You could have taken some of my desires into consideration when you made some of your decisions, Mac. The decision to become a cop was not one that we made. You made it. What I thought didn’t matter. If you loved me you would have taken that into consideration. Instead, you just went ahead and did it.”

“I had to.”

“Oh bullshit,” Meredith sneered as she paced around the kitchen. “This whole obligation to your family crap is what has driven us apart.”

“You know what I don’t get?”

“What?”

“What’s been so bad, Meredith? You live in a beautiful home. Was it beautiful when we bought it? Maybe not. But I made it that way. I worked my ass off on it. Do we have money? We do. Sure I don’t make what I would have as a lawyer, but my investment in the coffee shops has paid off. Our other investments, which I manage, are doing well. We have plenty of money together and more on the way. What was so bad? Why isn’t that enough for you? Why wouldn’t a loving husband and all that be enough?”

“It’s just not. Not for me,” she answered. “I had something else in mind when we got together. I envisioned something else and this wasn’t it. I don’t care what you think of my reasons, Mac. I just don’t care anymore. I’m not happy. I want out. I’ve wanted out for a long time.”

“What, so you and J. Frederick Sterling can go and live that life you’re looking for?”

“He’s unhappy like I am. That’s what led to this. We are both unhappy.”

“So he’s who you want to be with?”

“Yes. I’m sorry but I do.”

“He’s a two-time loser you know. You’d be wife number three.”

“I don’t care.”

Mac shrugged his shoulders. “Okay then. But I have terms.”

“Terms?” Meredith asked quizzically. “We’ll just split everything.”

“You see, that’s not going to work for me,” Mac answered, shaking his head. He held up the picture of Meredith and Sterling in bed. “J. Frederick fill you in on his prenup?”

“I know he has one. She gets $350,000 upon the divorce. We’ve discussed it.”

“I bet that was scintillating pillow talk.”

“Jealous?” Meredith replied, satisfied with herself.

“ Riiiight,” Mac sneered, “of you and J. Fred. I don’t think so. But I do have a question for you.”

“Which is what?”

“Has he asked for a divorce yet?”

“No but he’s going to.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mac asked with a tone that caught her attention. “Do you know about the infidelity clause in his prenuptial agreement?” The look on her face said she didn’t. “I didn’t think so. If he’s busted cheating on his wife he owes her $5,000,000.”

Meredith saw where this was going, “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.