Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

Everyone took their coats off and threw them over the railing to the staircase and headed in different directions.

“Surprised they went back to Daniels’ place?” Bouchard asked.

“Nope. Nothing there though. We went through that place, what, four times?” Alt replied. They were sitting on Summit Avenue, looking from the north down St. Albans at the front of Daniels’ condo. Another van was parked on Grand to the south.

“Yeah.”

“And we knew what we were looking for,” Alt added.

“Pointless exercise in other words?”

“That’s my thought.”

“They don’t know that.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re cops. Pretty smart ones from what I’ve seen.”

“I’m not suggesting they aren’t. We’re here watching them after all,” Alt replied. “I just don’t think those documents are at Daniels’ place.”

“Where are they?”

“Heck if I know. We’ve looked everyplace I can think of. Hell, we’re still looking.”

“My worry is somebody’s going to stumble onto them,” Bouchard said, frowning.

“I have the same worry. So does Lindsay,” Alt replied. “You ready to bail on a moment’s notice?”

“Everything’s in place. You?”

“Definitely.”

They sat in silence, the wind gusts lightly rocking the van and MPR softly coming through the radio.

Bouchard sighed. “Going to be a long day watching these guys.”

Mac and Lich searched the upstairs while Riley and Rock took the main level, basement, and garage. They all pulled out drawers, sifted through papers, looked at pictures, went through boxes, searched closets and cabinets, pulled plates and dishes out of cupboards, looking for anything about Jones or PTA.

Mac found nothing. He went through every file on her computer. Nothing about PTA. He went through all of her filing cabinets, checked the hallway buffet cabinet, sifted through her closet, pulled clothes out of drawers and off shelves, went through all of her personal belongings. He even looked under her bed. Nothing about PTA. Nothing about Jones. He pulled a chair up in front of the cabinet that held the television. He stared at the columns of DVDs. He’d remembered her voluminous collection. There had to be over one hundred movies including lots of romantic comedies, but some steamy movies as well. Basic Instinct, 9? Weeks, Body Heat , even some of those steamy B-movies that found their way to Skinamax late at night. There were videos and DVDs of her news reporting. He remembered the sports reporter at Channel 6, Joe Elliott, talking about Daniels’s perfectionism. She even videotaped her golf lessons, he said. She was a total perfectionist. While an interesting little side note, the perfectionism didn’t seem to help here.

Everyone else crapped out as well. “Mac, we’ve been through the whole downstairs, storage, garage, everything,” Riley said. Nothing had been found.

Mac looked at his watch-12:30 p.m. “Let’s get some lunch.”

They went to Bobby’s Bar, along Grand Avenue, six blocks to the west of Daniels’s place. On the way, Mac took another look at the Daniels file. Over burgers, they discussed the case.

“So what’s next?” Lich asked.

“We go back and re-interview people in the neighborhood,” Mac answered. “I called Paul Blomberg, that guy who saw someone in the alley. Lich and I are going to talk to him again, run through what he saw. Maybe talking through it again will bring something.” Then to Riley and Rock, “I want you guys to go back and talk to her neighbors. In particular, talk to John Chase. He was next door and saw the senator leaving Claire’s place one night. Also, go across the street. Talk to this guy.”

“Who’s this?”

“Our eyeball witness who saw the senator leaving Daniels’ place the night of the murder, one Juan Hernandez.”

“Why are we talking to him again?”

“He was pretty observant and Johnny-on-the-spot the night Daniels was killed. I want to know if he saw anyone else hanging around. I’m not sure we asked because he gave us the senator, and we moved on that.”

Bouchard and Alt were in the Persian Rug store parking lot east of Bobby’s Bar, watching out the back of the van. Bouchard bought a couple of cold sandwiches and cups of coffee from the deli across the street. Hansen and Berg were in the other van parked on Victoria to the south, watching the front of Bobby’s.

Alt was reading the paper when Bouchard said, “Here they come.”

Fat Lich and McRyan got into the Explorer, while Riley and big Rockford jumped into a Ford pickup. McRyan turned into the Kozlak Foodmart lot, while Riley kept going east on Grand. Alt ordered the other van to follow Riley and Rockford. He and Bouchard would stay with McRyan.

“Deja vu all over again,” Bouchard quipped.

Blomberg didn’t have anything more for Mac and Lich. He gave his story again, almost word for word what he gave Mac a month earlier. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the alley that night or any other night.

“Anything come into your mind since I was here last?”

“No. Nothing. Like I said, I just saw the guy get in the van. He was dressed in dark clothing. I never saw his face or anything. It happened really fast.”

Lich showed him a picture of Jamie Jones. “Ever see her around here?”

Blomberg shook his head. “No. Not that I recall.”

They ran through it again, but Blomberg simply had nothing more to give. The detectives turned to leave when Mac’s cell went off.

Alt saw McRyan come out of the apartment building, talking on his cell phone.

“They didn’t spend much time inside,” Bouchard remarked.

Before Alt could respond, his phone chimed, it was Hansen. “Yeah?”

“We have a problem.”

* * * * *

Mac and Lich pulled up in front of Hernandez’s apartment building. Riley and Rock were standing in the entryway with another man. “He’s gone?” Mac asked.

“Yeah,” replied Riley. “This is the apartment manager, John Higgins.”

“When did he leave?”

“Three weeks ago,” Higgins replied.

“What about his lease? Didn’t he have a one-year lease?” Mac asked.

“Normally he would, but he offered to pay two-months worth up front and then was willing to live month to month. Anyone I would find to take a one-year lease probably wouldn’t take possession for a month or two anyway, so it seemed like a good deal to me. Guy kept to himself, caused no problems.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Lich asked.

“No. Never heard from him personally. Just found the keys in my mailbox one day. No note or anything.”

“Have you rented the unit out as of yet?”

“As of the first-of-the-year I have. Right now I have his stuff boxed up in case he calls for it.”

They went up to the unit and looked around. It had been sparsely furnished to begin with and now there were just a few boxes lying in the middle of the floor. There were some clothes, a few dishes, and some papers.

Mac looked back at Higgins. “No forwarding address?”

“No. Like I said. One day he was here, the next he was gone. Didn’t say good-bye or anything.”

“Anyone come looking for him?” Riley asked.

“Nobody that I know of.”

“Was he friendly with any of the other tenants?”

“I don’t think so.”

“And he paid the two months in full up front?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Cash.”

“As in check?” Mac asked.

“Nope. Cash.”

“Mr. Higgins, didn’t that strike you as odd?” Mac asked, since it certainly struck him as odd.

“A little perhaps.” Higgins shrugged, tilted his head and lazily raised his eyebrows. “Guy offers cash, wants two months. What’s the big deal?”