Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

“I know it’s thin, but is it possible?”

“Well…” Lyman exhaled and looked down, almost sad, “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

“If I’m right, any chance this is going on at PTA without Lindsay knowing about it?”

“No.” Lyman replied, shaking his head. “Lindsay knows everything that goes on at that company. Like I said, he’s serious about security.” Lyman scratched his chin, looked at the ceiling, “I’m certain offices are wired. There are video cameras everywhere that you can see, and I’m sure many you can’t. You have to use a personal code to make copies; all e-mail and Internet usage is monitored. Not randomly, constantly. I’m sure somebody eavesdrops on phone conversations.” He paused a moment and then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, “So, if PTA did this, Mac, Ted Lindsay not only knows about it, he ordered it.”

“Interesting,” Mac replied, stroking his chin.

Lyman cut him short, “But you know what your problem is?”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll never find what you’re looking for.”

Mac snorted.

“You don’t believe me?”

“There’s always a way.”

Lyman shook his head. “If Ted Lindsay did this, he would have taken care of all loose ends. He would have left nothing behind. If they did this, they’ll have anticipated your every move and covered all of their tracks.”

“There’s always something.”

Lyman snorted. “I have great admiration for your abilities and those of your imbibing friends downstairs. You know that.” He squinted and slowly shook his head, “But I have no idea how you get at PTA on what you have. I mean, think about it. You have not one piece of physical evidence, do you?”

“Not yet.”

“Then good luck finding it.”

“Jesus Christ, Lyman, you act as if these guys are infallible.”

“They’re pros is what I’m saying, Michael. If they did this, they did it without leaving a trace of physical evidence. I mean, where is your evidence? All you have is a theory at this point, and that wouldn’t cut it. Most judges would never let you get to the courtroom with that and if you did, you’d go down quick and easy anyway. I’m talking an elementary defense here. Your girlfriend would tell you that. Shit, you know that. You went to law school.”

“Lyman, we haven’t started even looking yet.”

“If they did this, they have a huge head start on you to cover their tracks.” Lyman started ticking his fingers off again. “If they did Jones, they blame Knapp, reasonable doubt. If they did Daniels, they have the senator, reasonable doubt. You think they might have done Johnson, but it sure looked like he committed suicide, reasonable doubt. Knapp? You’ve got family members of the victims with plenty of motive, reasonable doubt. The only way you get them is if you can find a smoking gun. Ted Lindsay’s too good at this sort of thing to leave something like that behind.”

The three men went silent. Lyman had given Mac a lot to think about. If PTA had the juice to kill Jones, Daniels, and the senator, they had the resources and people to accomplish it. They’d have the resources and people to stymie them if they tried to go after the books, to look for some financial irregularity, which was the only reasonable supposition as to why to take out Jones. If the auditors, board, SEC, or anyone else didn’t find it, how would Mac? What resources would have to be expended to get at the records? What damage would their pursuit do to the department? Would the department even let them go after PTA? Mac’s theory looked good when he was mind mapping. But the devil is in the details. How could he go after PTA, without knowing what he was looking for?

The enormity of the task hit Mac. He got up and walked to the back window and looked down at the back parking lot. You think you’re so fucking smart.

Uncle Shamus, sensing what Mac was thinking, ended the silence, “What are you going to do?”

Good question. But Mac had never backed down from anything in his life, and he wasn’t about to now. “Lyman, with all due respect for your view of Ted Lindsay and company, first thing tomorrow I’m going to start taking a look at PTA and a second look at Jones, Daniels, and the senator.” Mac hoped he wouldn’t be alone. He would have to convince Riles and the others if he was going to have any chance.

“You have any idea what you’re looking for?” Lyman said.

“No. The only thing I can think of is a financial issue of some sort. Why else take out Jones. But…”

“But what,” Lyman asked.

Mac met his eyes and held them.

“I’m thinking Jones was killed because she found something they didn’t want her to find. Maybe she left it behind or maybe she shared it with Daniels, so maybe that’s where we look.”

“Well, good luck to you. But one thing,” Lyman asked.

“What’s that?”

“If you do find anything that harms the company, you let me know. That’s the quid pro quo I want for speaking with you tonight,” Lyman stated. “I want to know. There are thousands of employees at PTA. If you’re right, Lindsay ordered it. That could literally kill the company. So, I need to know so I can inform those who remain on the board. I may be gone from there, but I care about the company. Its health is important to this city.”

“Fair enough.”

“Mac, why don’t you get back to the bar?” Uncle Shamus suggested.

“Yeah, okay. Shamus, I need to use Patrick’s Room.”

“Go ahead.”

“I need to get going as well,” Lyman added and gave Mac one last look. “I’ll hear from you?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck,” Lyman said as he shook Mac’s hand. Shamus opened the door and patted Mac on the back as he walked out. Lyman would wait a few minutes and leave on his own down the back steps.

Kraft had loitered thirty or so feet away from the door to the office. With his back to the wall, he alternately watched the door, a couple of attractive thirtyish women sitting at the bar, and a Wolves game up on the TV.

As he put his beer up to his lips, the door opened and McRyan came out, with his uncle closing the door behind him. But he also noted legs sitting in a chair. Kraft decided not to follow and waited to see who the other person was. Five minutes later, Lyman Hisle exited the office.

Mac came back down to find Sally listening to Riley, Rock, and Lich talk about Sheila Bradley and her two big assets.

“I’m telling you, they were the size of cantaloupes,” Riley was saying, cupping his hands in front of his chest. Obviously the drinks were feeling good as Riles was revving up. “Mac, am I lying?”

Mac looked at Sally, who just smiled. “No, you aren’t. I want all you guys to join me in the basement for a minute, I want to show you something.”

“What’s that?” Rock asked.

“Just come down. Rounds on me,” Mac replied neutrally. He grabbed five beers off the bar and turned for the backstairs, joined by everyone. In the basement was the Pub game room with dartboards, pool tables and a few video games. A couple of big screens added a sports flavor, the Wild game playing in the background. Behind the stairs was a hallway. In the hallway was a built in cabinet in the wall. Mac slid open the middle drawer, reached under the ledge and popped a latch. The cabinet, a remnant from the bygone era of prohibition, was the hidden door to Patrick’s Room.

Patrick’s Room was a conference room, that during prohibition was a place one could get a drink and socialize without fear of trouble with the authorities, as the place was owned by the authorities. Despite its legendary history, Patrick’s room was now simply a well-furnished conference room with a white board, conference table, couch, and a TV/DVD, which was used for bartender and waitress training for dram shop liability. Shamus often made it available for cop poker games and Texas Hold’em tournaments. Once inside, everyone grabbed a seat at the conference table.