Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

He took his suit coat off, loosened his tie and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to nap. About the time he felt himself dosing off, the steel door to the cell opened, and the older detective, Lich, appeared with another detective he hadn’t seen before.

“Time to go, Senator,” Lich said.

“Where’s your partner?” the senator asked.

“He’s working on something.”

It took Mac a minute to realize that Paul Blomberg was worth a look. Blomberg lived in an apartment building that backed up to the alley that split Daniels’ block in half. He had left for Las Vegas on the morning they found Daniels’ body and hadn’t known anything was going on. He returned late the night before and found Mac’s card. He wasn’t sure what he saw exactly, but it might be easier to show him.

Blomberg was the typical late-twenties single professional living on Grand Avenue. His apartment was like many found in the area, a one-bedroom job, wood floors, built-in wooden buffets and tiny kitchens. Blomberg had just gotten back-his suitcase was sitting in the middle of the apartment, three days of newspapers and mail stacked on top. Blomberg may have been a professional, but he looked worn out, his hair disheveled, a few days of growth on his beard and dark circles around his eyes. He was drinking coffee out of an oversized mug.

After shaking his hand, Mac asked, “You always look like this?”

“Funny guy,” replied Blomberg, “Vegas for three days’ll do this to you.”

“I imagine it might. How’d you come out?”

“About even. No good at the craps table, but the sports book wasn’t bad.”

“Yeah? What treated you good there?”

“The Wild, man.”

Mac smiled, “Put a little money on the road win at Colorado did you?”

Blomberg returned the smile, “Man knows his puck.”

“I know a thing or two about the game,” Mac replied. “So, tell me about what you couldn’t explain on the phone.”

Blomberg waved him back to the kitchen. It was small, a little fridge and stove and barely enough counter space for a sink and microwave. There was a side window overlooking a parking lot. A small dinner table in front of the window had a toaster and a wood spire that held four mismatched coffee cups. Mac looked out the window. On the other side of the parking lot was Kozlak Foodmart, where Mac often grocery shopped.

“So?”

“Well, she was killed when?”

“Monday night or Tuesday morning.”

“Hmm. I wonder,” Blomberg said.

“What did you see?”

“It was 2:45 to 3:00 a.m., and I was up. Just couldn’t sleep. Wish I could have that night, too, because there wasn’t much to be had in Vegas,” Blomberg said, and he paused, his mind obviously back on the Vegas trip again.

“Yeah, so?” Mac replied.

“Anyway,” Blomberg said, sipping his coffee, “I decided I’d make a piece of toast and have a glass of milk, figuring maybe that would help me sleep.”

“That’s nice,” a little impatient.

Blomberg picked up the pace, “Anyway, as I’m waiting for the toaster to pop, I see this van pull up in the parking lot, lights out. Kind of odd at that time of night, I thought.”

“So the lights are out. What happened then?” Mac asked, peering out the window.

“Anyway, it pulls up, and it looks like the passenger-side sliding door opens.”

“What do you mean looks like?”

“If you look out the window, you’ll see. The van turned away from me. It pulled up parallel to the guardrail there. As it was turning to go to the guardrail, the door looked like it started to open.”

Mac peered down, then looked back at Blomberg. “Then what?”

“Some guy came from across the alley, jumped in, and they pulled away.”

“Some guy?”

“Yeah, he just ran from over there on the right, across the alley and jumped in the van, and they pulled away.”

“Did you get a look at the guy?”

Blomberg shook his head. “It was really dark, and he was dressed in dark clothes.”

“See a face, anything like that?”

“No. Not at all. Like I said, it was dark.”

“Tall, short, heavy, slight?"

“Sorry man. I couldn’t make any of that out.”

Mac took a look out the window. The lot had parking spaces on the east and west side, as well as a row down the middle. There was a short guardrail that separated the parking lot from the alley. The guardrail prevented someone from pulling into the lot from the alley. “Let’s go down and take a look.”

They got down to the parking lot, and Mac walked to the guardrail at the back. He looked up to the apartment and Blomberg’s window.

“So the van pulled up here?” Mac pointed to the area in front of the guardrail.

“A little further away.”

Mac walked another ten feet, “Here?”

“Yes.”

“Now where did the guy you saw come from?”

“I didn’t see where he came from really. I saw him come from the alley and jump in the van. The van pulled away pretty fast, and I don’t think the door was even closed when they drove away.”

“Show me where he was in the alley when you saw him.”

Blomberg climbed over the guardrail and stood in the middle of the alley. “I didn’t see where he came from. I was watching the van, and I noticed him out of the corner of my eye.”

Mac walked over to where Blomberg was standing. He looked back east down to the other end of the alley and the left turn into the back of Daniels’ place. Mac walked down the alley towards Daniels’ place. The alley was narrow, but there were all kinds of garages along the left side and a few interspersed between the various businesses and apartments on the right. There were several tall trees and a couple of large weeping willows. Mac thought about when he was a kid playing kick the can. He could have hidden forever in this alley.

Whoever Blomberg saw could have come from anywhere, Mac decided. He could have been coming from a party, the Mardi Gras bar, maybe getting a little action from someone in one of the apartments. He could have been robbing one of the businesses. Of course, he could also have killed Daniels. How likely was that? Mac scratched his head, looking around. Blomberg seemed on the level. “What time was this again?”

“2:45 to 3:00 a.m. Something like that. I remember looking at my clock when I got up, and it was 2:45. I’m not sure how long I was in the kitchen.”

“Why didn’t you call it in that night?”

“It didn’t seem like that big a deal to me. You see all kinds of weird stuff these days. I see people get picked up in the alley all the time. They’re going on a date or getting dropped off from one. Just didn’t seem like much at the time.”

Mac thought a little more. Time of death was between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m., and they had the senator leaving her place at that time. There was no evidence of forced entry, no evidence of anything being stolen, no evidence that anyone came in the back. Odd though. Mac figured it was probably nothing, but he would have to go back and write it up.

Viper and another member of his crew, Allain Bouchard, trailed McRyan. When McRyan came down with the guy and walked to the guardrail in the back of the lot, Viper got nervous.

He climbed out of the van and walked over to the Foodmart. There was an awning that ran one-third of the way along the east side of the building, offering cover for the entrance. Underneath the awning was a Pioneer Press newspaper box. Viper popped in a quarter, took out a paper and walked to the far edge of the awning. He could see where McRyan was walking around and looking at the alley and where they had pulled the van up on the night they took out Daniels.

He saw the guy point to the exact place they had stopped the van, then climb the guardrail and stand in the alley. Viper had come from the garage on the other side. McRyan joined the guy in the alley and then began walking down towards Daniels’ place. Too close already, Viper decided not to follow any further. Five minutes later McRyan came walking back. The guy and McRyan walked back towards the front of the apartment. McRyan didn’t go back inside the building, instead stopping on the sidewalk, jotting down some notes.