Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

“No bet.”

“Anyone disagree?” Mac asked. Nobody did.

They knew for sure Monday night. After Knapp finished his Monday shift he went to dinner at Applebee’s. After his dinner he went to Dick’s, arriving at 8:00 p.m.

Riles got on the radio, “Mac, you go back in tonight.”

“Okay.” Mac slipped on an old softball jacket and stocking cap. His razor stubble and glasses topped off the ensemble.

Mac got on his cell phone and called Riley.

“Where’s our boy?” Riley asked.

“Sitting in the middle of the bar again.”

“Where are you?”

“End of the bar, by the entrance.”

“How’s our boy look?”

“Fine. Focusing alternately on the TV and on the bar back. I can’t imagine how he doesn’t get distracted by the bartender. I am,” Mac said, admiring Sheila again.

Knapp left the bar at 11:30 a.m. Once he jumped in his car, he didn’t drive away. Rather, he sat and watched from the back parking lot, well down from the back door of the bar. He watched well past the 2:00 a.m. closing time. At 2:10, the cute bartender came out and got into her little sports car. A couple of lights remained on. At 2:45 the lights inside went out, and the bar back, Linda, came out the back door, by herself. She walked thirty feet to her Chevy Trailblazer, jumped in and drove away.

Mac, Lich, Riley, and Rock kept watching as well. They weren’t leaving until Knapp did, which was at 3:00 a.m., slowly driving by the back of the bar, stopping briefly to scan the backdoor area. Then he left for home, with the second shift falling in behind him three blocks east on University, as he headed back to Hudson. Knapp had marked his prey.

Viper, Bouchard, and the rest of their merry band had been following Knapp as well. Viper, disguised with a beard and ball cap had followed McRyan into Dick’s. This was the third time he had gone in following Knapp, a different look each time. One time he had a mustache. Another time he wore out-of style dark-rimmed glasses and false teeth. He never went in with the same look. This time, he sat in a booth with a good view of Knapp.

The bartender came over to serve him. She was an attractive little thing. Viper ordered a Budweiser. When she left him, he whispered into his sleeve, “Come on in. I’m in a booth.”

Bouchard appeared five minutes later and sat down. Sheila came around again and took his order. Knapp didn’t follow, and Viper wondered how he couldn’t. Instead, he kept his eye on the less-attractive woman behind the bar. To the trained eye one could see the hunger in Knapp’s eyes. She was the one.

Viper watched as Knapp got up from his stool and headed down the back hallway. He always hit the can once a trip, good cover to check out the back hallway.

The bartender and bar back, as it turned out, were the co-owners. Dick had been their dad, and they’d taken over when he died. They both ran the bar and worked the late nights. They were making a boatload, a good six figures a year, according to tax records. They kept the overhead low, working most nights by themselves, with one guy working the kitchen. That was it. A cleaning company came each day. There were no other workers or staff. They would probably work it for a few more years, then sell and leave for better environs, Viper thought.

The bartender, Sheila, came from behind the bar again to serve Bouchard his Bud Light. As she walked back to the bar, Knapp came back down the hallway and retook his stool. Viper looked down the hallway for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

The men’s bathroom was all the way down the back hallway on the right. Viper pushed the door in and found himself in a small hallway that after five or six feet turned left, down a longer hallway, a little more than ten feet that ran into a wall that contained the sink and mirror. To the immediate left was the toilet stall. Wrapped around behind the stall was a wall with two urinals. Viper took a piss and listened. He couldn’t even hear the sounds of the bar. It was as if the bathroom was soundproofed. It had potential.

When Knapp left at 11:30, McRyan followed a few minutes later. Viper and Bouchard waited an additional fifteen minutes to leave. They got into a van and left the area, then switched vans and worked their way back towards Dick’s. They knew where the four police vehicles were located and steered clear. From their perch well east and behind the bar, they could see Knapp’s car, him in it and the back of the bar.

“You know, he’s getting the hunger to go for her. He’s doing the recon on her now. It’s not gonna be but two or three nights more, and he’ll go for her,” Bouchard mused.

“You’re right, and there are cops all over the place out here.”

“They’re on him day and night.”

“You have Kraft evaluate going after him at the farm house?” Viper asked.

“Yeah, but two things. First, there’s almost no way to approach the place without being seen. Day or night. Second, he’s a former Marine and a damn good one until he went haywire. Who knows what kind of security he might have set-up. He’s got to be thinking he might have to run at any moment, and he could have some sort of security signal or trigger that’d let him know if someone’s been in or out of the house. That’s Kraft’s speculation anyway. So, you better think of something else.”

“I did get one idea tonight. We might have to do it in the bar.”

The group met at the Gas amp; Shop at 3:15 a.m. This time Riley was there first. “What do you guys think? Maybe two or three more nights, he’ll go for her?”

“That’d be my guess,” Lich replied.

Everyone else nodded in agreement. Mac confirmed it for them, giving a run down of how Knapp was staring her down in the bar. “It’s not an obvious thing, unless you are looking for it, but he’s getting hungry. You can just see it. It’s in the eyes.” Mac rubbed his eyes, stifled another yawn.

Riles jumped in, “The chief wants to meet tomorrow. We’re all going in at 10:00 a.m. Mac, I’m thinking one thing, though.”

Mac knew, “We gotta talk to Linda, right?”

“Yes.”

It was Tuesday morning, chilly and the weather forecasters on the morning news had uttered something about snow. If the newsies weren’t talking about snow, they were talking about the University Avenue Strangler. Last night, Channel 6 had gone with an in-depth story about the investigation. The morning show then played excerpts, which Mac caught. He’d seen more flattering depictions and, in an ominous tone, Channel 6 was promising an additional installment tonight.

Sylvia Miller was getting butchered. She’d had enough, demanded an update, and the chief acquiesced. That’s why Mac was rubbing his eyes as he exited the elevator on the way to Flanagan’s office. He’d gotten to bed at 4:00 a.m. and it was 8:00 a.m., the meeting with the chief was moved up two hours.

When Mac walked in, Miller and Flanagan were waiting, along with Helen Anderson and Sally. Mac had fitfully slept at home. Sally, with a full night’s rest, looked like a million bucks by comparison. The chief nodded to the couch where Mac grabbed a seat and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. He drank it as fast as the roof of his mouth would allow. As he poured himself another cup, Riley came in, and the meeting came to order.

The Chief started everything off. “Riles, where you at on Knapp?”

Miller jumped in with, “Who’s Knapp?”

Riles smiled tiredly. “Sylvia, let me tell you about our serial killer.” He flipped open his notebook.

The chief jumped in before he started. “Sylvia, you can’t repeat any of this. At least not yet.”