Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

She turned left and the Public Safety Building was on the right with the parking garage just ahead of them. Unfortunately, a lot of uniform cops were hanging out front. Mac knew them all. Wherever this little conversation was heading, it would have to wait. If they got close here, he’d never hear the end of it. She pulled past all the cops and up close to the parking ramp entrance. Mac didn’t give her a chance to go any further. He opened the door and swung his leg out before he looked back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sally was smiling at him, the kind of smile that said you’re not going to get away so easy next time.

Mac and Lich stood on the front steps of the Public Safety Building and watched as Hisle’s limousine pulled up punctually at 10:30 a.m. The media was punctual as well, having been camped out since the crack of dawn. The arrest was a national story, with all the networks and cable news channels present and accounted for. The local channels were there as well, battling as best they could for space. FOX politicos like Fred Barnes and Mort Kondracke were already opining on what impact the senator’s involvement would have on party politics. Mac could never remember seeing so many microphones and cameras or so much hair spray in all his life.

Mac and Lich and a couple of uniform cops walked down to the curb. The senator would require an escort, not because Mac wanted any airtime, although Sylvia Miller kept saying it would be good for the department to be seen on camera arresting the senator, but more so because, if they didn’t, the media might crush him.

Hisle got out first and issued a perfunctory, “Good morning,” to Mac and Lich. He examined the crush of media forming around them.

“Sorry, Lyman, not much we can do,” Mac said as he leaned down into the open door to see the senator sliding over to get out. He looked back at Hisle. “Are you guys going to say anything to the media on the way in or-”

“Just get us in,” Hisle replied.

Mac looked back down at the senator, who was obviously not happy to see him. Mac ignored it. “Senator, when you get out, we’re just going to plow through them. Keep your hands on my back. Lyman’ll be on your side and Detective Lich and the uniform cops’ll be behind you.”

The senator nodded and climbed out of the limo. Everyone looked ready, so Mac turned and headed up the steps, everyone right behind him. They plowed through the media. Mac was hit a couple of times by microphones, and he pushed a camera guy from CNN a little harder than he would have liked, causing him to fall to his knees, hearing a, “Hey, man,” as he pushed past. They eventually got inside, the doors closing the media out.

“This way, Senator,” Mac said, pointing to an elevator that would take them down to booking. Johnson and Hisle had a brief discussion, and Mac heard Hisle say, “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” That would be the arraignment hearing.

The rest of the process, including pictures and fingerprints, took a good hour. Since the senator was going to the arraignment this afternoon and was likely to get bail, they didn’t put him in jail clothes. Once the processing was complete, Mac and Lich walked the senator to an isolated jail cell away from the rest of the general populace. He entered the cell and stood with his back to them, hands on hips, surveying his new temporary digs.

“We’ll be down for you in a couple of hours,” Lich said.

Mac and Lich took the elevator back upstairs. “I want to see if I have any messages,” Lich said. Mac chuckled, figuring Lich was looking for something from Dot. Old Dick Lick had a definite spring in his step the last two days. Instead of complaining about his divorce, he was focused on work and had been masterful the day before with the senator. Mac was starting to see why people said Lich had been a good detective. Lich’s new-found vigor caused his mind to briefly drift to Sally. She had been flirting again last night, and he’d basically admitted his interest. Bill Clark snapped him out of his daydream, handing him a pink message slip.

“This guy just called in,” Bill said. “He lives in an apartment along the alley behind Daniels’ place. You left your card for him.”

Mac searched in the back of his mind for a moment, “Oh, yeah, out of town or something.”

“Right. Anyway, he called.”

“Say anything?”

“Nope. He just said you should call him.”

Mac dialed the number.

The senator sat on the bed and looked at the floor. Two days before, he had been lunching in the Senate dining room. Now, he was sitting on a bed in a gray cinder-block jail cell, with no window to the outside world, accused of murdering the woman he loved. How had it come to this?

Somebody had set him up. They would have to figure out whom. He realized his political career was probably over. Even if he was acquitted, the taint would never go away. If Lyman could actually prove he was innocent, well that might be a different story. However, at the moment, he feared that he might not be able to do that. But if he could, it might help save his career for some future point in time. Of course, if he ever did run again, this whole thing would be brought up. And, even proven innocent, it would be known that the woman who died was his mistress; at least that’s how the public would perceive it. He was cheating on his wife, caught red handed. While not fatal if already in political office, it would make it a hell of a lot harder to get back in.

Lyman had set him straight the night before. For now, he had to forget about his career. They needed to focus on keeping him out of jail. He was looking at a life sentence. This was what had to be avoided. This would be Lyman’s focus. Hisle had already hired a private investigator to look into other possible killers.

Mason leaned back on the bed, his head against the cold cinder block, closed his eyes and thought about his last night with Claire. He’d never been with a woman like her-beautiful, energetic, passionate. She said she was probably coming to Washington. He had been so happy.

Telling his wife about all of this had been awful. He suspected Lyman heard her screaming from the other end of the house. Not only did she find out that her husband had been cheating on her-no, that wasn’t bad enough-but her husband, having embarrassed her in that fashion, was now implicated in the murder of the woman. Not only that but Mason had waited too long; she had heard it first from a reporter and not him.

He admitted to the affair; no sense hiding it now. He had intended to ask for a divorce. The timing just hadn’t been right to do it. “Don’t you worry, the divorce will be coming,” was her response. There would be no supportive wife through this.

He just had to get through this somehow. He had plenty of money put away. Between what he inherited from his parents as an only child, and his private sector and senate earnings, he was in good shape. Gwen earned more than he had for years, so the divorce would not be financially crippling. Upon reflection, if he could beat this, he could go somewhere far away and live. It would not be the life he envisioned for himself two days before, but things could be worse-he could be living in a cell like this for the rest of his life. An island somewhere, with the ocean, the sun and a cocktail, while not the senate dining room, it beat the alternative.

Get through the arraignment, arrange for bail and get out of the Twin Cities. He decided to go up to his cabin afterwards. It was only an hour or so away, so if he had to drive in to see Lyman, he could. Better yet, he could have Lyman come out there. He could ice fish, snowshoe, cross-country ski and snowmobile. There were other cabins around, but he had ten acres to himself. The isolation would be good. He felt better just thinking about it.