Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

Rock agreed. “He carries a lot of that laundry in on those hangers, over his shoulder. I mean there were some pretty big loads. It’s awkward, hard on your hands and arms, and he seemed to be doing it without breaking a sweat. He’s gotta have strong hands.”

Riley jumped back in. “He walks around like he’s still in the military, almost as if he’s marching. That straight posture, arms swinging at the side with that clipboard.”

“The military haircut, the spit-shined shoes,” Mac added. “Do we have someone trying to get his military file?”

“Sally Kennedy is on it. Says we should have it tomorrow.”

“Medical discharge right?” Rockford asked.

“Yeah, that’s what we got with the Wisconsin records.”

“Wonder if he whacked out or something. I mean, he’s walking and working okay.”

“We’ll find out when we get the file,” Riley said, stifling a yawn. “Let’s meet at the Cleveland in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

“One other thing,” Mac stated. “He’s got his next target.”

“ What ?” everyone replied in unison.

“Bar back, bartender, whatever you want to call her, at Dick’s. Her name’s Linda.”

“How do you-” Riles started.

“-Know?” Mac described the bar and what he saw between Knapp and Linda. “He was practically ignoring this hot bartender and focusing solely on this Linda, and he had this look in his eyes, like a hunger. He was subtle about it, but I could tell. And the woman, this Linda, she fits the profile from what I’ve seen: smaller woman, working class, not overly attractive.”

“A little early to draw that conclusion, don’t you think?” Rock asked.

“Absolutely,” Mac replied. “I’m just saying, from what I saw, I’d be willing to go down to the casino and put a $100 down that she’s the target.”

“Anything else?” Riley asked.

“No. Just that you guys are all going to want to take turns going inside Dick’s. Let me tell you, that little bartender in there is smokin’…”

Viper saw McRyan’s Explorer pull into Kennedy’s driveway at 1:15 a.m. He and Bouchard were parked a block down. They had another van parked at McRyan’s place, but Viper figured he would go to Kennedy’s.

“Looks like you were right,” Bouchard said.

“I figured.”

“How come?”

“They’re both fairly recently divorced. They’re back in the game again, and they’re all hot for each other. Were I McRyan, this is what I’d be doing.”

Viper had thought he was done with McRyan. But then they’d gotten word he broke the serial killer investigation open. With McRyan having worked the Daniels case, they feared he’d make the connection between that case and how they used the serial killer to cover their tracks.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We follow McRyan to see what he and that detail are up to.”

“And.”

“We may need to find a way to take this Knapp fellow out before they get to him.”

The detail trailed Knapp for another five days. By Monday they knew he was their guy and who his next victim would be. Mac was on the money.

On workdays, the pattern remained the same. Knapp started at 9:30 a.m. and did his deliveries up and down University Avenue. He’d eat his lunch and then do his pickups. After work, he would go out to dinner and then hit the bars along University Avenue. Each night he hit Dick’s Bar. Each night he’d closely watch Linda. Each night another cop would come out of the bar and tell Mac how hot the bartender was. After Knapp hit the last bar each night, he made the thirty-minute drive home to Hudson, with the St. Paul police department parading behind him.

In the interim, they got a copy of his military file. Dirk Knapp had been an excellent Marine. He was with a recon unit and received top marks in his evaluation reports until he met a woman named Shirley Warner, who worked in the administrative offices at his base. Knapp and Warner found themselves in a relationship that went bad. He had become very possessive of her, and she broke it off. Knapp took the breakup hard, but he seemed to be holding it together until another member of his unit started dating Warner. Knapp lost it, went to her home and severely beat the other man in his unit and went after Warner with a knife. The indication was that Knapp suffered some sort of a mental breakdown. He was hospitalized for a number of months and he eventually was granted a medical discharge. That was four years before.

Since his discharge, he’d worked for Quick Cleaners as a driver. Tax records indicated a steady income from his work there. A discreet inquiry uncovered that he was an excellent employee, always on time, courteous to customers and worked hard. He was a bit of a loner and kept to himself for the most part. He wasn’t unfriendly in any way, just not terribly outgoing.

Tax records in Hudson revealed he and his mother owned his home. They’d originally owned forty acres but recently sold thirty-five of them to a developer. Soon, a housing development would start around their five-acre plot. They’d come out well on the sale of the land.

“I wonder why the guy even continues to work?” mused Rockford.

“Mother probably kept it all. Fucking women,” Lich growled.

Mac and Lich had Saturday off, but were back on the tail Sunday. Most of the day was spent in the van, watching Knapp’s place from the housing development. Even with a day off, the tedium of a stakeout gets to one after a while. Fast food, bags of chips, coffee, sodas, nothing healthy to eat. He was cooped up in a van most of the day with the weather turning cold. There were only so many magazines and newspapers he could read. Only so many radio shows he could listen to. Only so many conversations he could have with Lich, especially when he started to talk about what he and Dot were doing.

“Dick, spare me the details.”

“Hell. I’m just hoping you’ll tell me what a fine piece of ass that Sally Kennedy is.”

Mac just rolled his eyes. “I don’t talk.”

Lich snorted, “You’re a cop. Cops talk. Let’s have it.”

Mac was going to reply when he saw Knapp walk out of the house and get into his car “Our boy’s on the move,” and not a second too soon. Knapp pulled down the driveway in the Grand Am. They still hadn’t seen the van.

“It’s Sunday night, he’s probably just going for milk or something,” Lich thought.

Mac grabbed the radio. Riley and Rockford were down the road at the Italian restaurant. “Riles, Knapp’s on the move.”

Lich jumped behind the wheel, and they followed him. He wasn’t just going for milk. He was heading west, back towards the Twin Cities, to Dick’s Bar. Knapp pulled into the parking lot behind the bar and went in the backdoor.

They pulled the van into the Dairy Queen parking lot kitty corner from Dick’s on the south side of University Avenue. Everyone else spread out, finding different parking places along the way.

Mac jumped on the radio, “Riles, what is this, four out of five night’s at Dick’s?”

“Yup.”

“Who’s going in?”

“Rockford.”

“Copy that.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mac’s cell phone went off, it was Rockford. “What’s up?”

“My dick! You weren’t kidding about the little bartender chick in here. She’s the shit.”

Mac had to laugh. Rockford’s wife wasn’t much to look at. Of course neither was Rock.

“Our boy isn’t focusing on her is he?”

“No. He’s all over the bar back.”

Knapp went home at 12:30 a.m., followed by the second shift of followers from the St. Paul Police Department. Mac, Riley, and the rest of them met at the Gas amp; Shop again. Mac and Lich were waiting when Riley’s van pulled up. As Riley got out of the van, Mac said, “I’ll bet you the $100 I won in pull tabs in there last week that the bar back is the one he’s after.