Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

Mac snorted and shook his head.

They looked through the boxes. They found nothing to give them a hint of where he went. The only paper of any use was a check stub from Dynastar, his employer.

“Cut him loose a little early I guess,” Alt remarked.

“Where did he go?” Bouchard asked.

“Far away, and they won’t find him. He’s not in the country. He’s not living under the name of Juan Hernandez. He won’t be found unless we need him to be found.”

“Don’t you think it’ll look odd that he bailed?”

“A little. They might even suspect we did it. And of course, they’d be right,” Alt said lightly shaking his head, a bit perturbed. All things being equal, he thought, this was a hiccup he would have preferred to avoid. Hernandez’s disappearance only served to heighten their suspicion. Of course, had the police bothered to remain in touch with Hernandez, Alt would have kept him around. Once they killed the senator, the Daniels case was over. Once he was certain of that, he cut Hernandez loose. Alt lightly sighed, shook his head and said, “They won’t be able to find him.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Bouchard asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Mac and Lich went over to Dynastar and spoke with the Human Resources manager. Hernandez left without notice and hadn’t picked up his last paycheck. He had left no forwarding address for sending the check, and they hadn’t heard from him. When hired, he’d completed a W-4 and immigration I-9 Form. For the I-9, he provided a Minnesota driver’s license and Social Security card to verify identity and ability to work in the United States. Dynastar did not make copies of the documents, although some employers did, even though it wasn’t technically required. Lich called the license and Social Security number information to Riley and Rock, so they could check it downtown.

Mac and Lich interviewed people in the production area that worked with Hernandez. He wasn’t at Dynastar long. He had been pleasant enough but kept to himself. He didn’t mention where he was going and everyone was surprised when he just stopped showing up for work.

It was dark as they walked out of Dynastar, having found nothing helpful about Hernandez. Riley called. While there were plenty of Juan Hernandezes, they couldn’t find any with the Minnesota driver’s license and Social Security numbers this Juan gave to Dynastar.

At the Pub, Sally joined them, and they went down to Patrick’s Room.

“Not much today,” Rock said.

“Hernandez is missing. That’s something.” Lich replied.

“Guy was probably an illegal. People get a fake driver’s license or state ID card, along with false Social Security number and work as long as they can. If the employer sniffs something is up, they bail and go to the next unsuspecting employer,” Sally said. “I have some friends who do employment law and they said their clients run into this all the time.”

“His absence seems awfully convenient,” Mac replied, not buying it.

“You suggesting PTA had something to do with it?” Riles asked, a smile on his face.

“Hell if I know,” Mac replied. “It seems as if he skipped town after it became clear that the Daniels investigation was over.”

“It is convenient,” Riles said agreeably. “But that’s about it. If PTA did take care of him, he’s either dead or paid off, drinking an umbrella drink in a foreign land.”

“So what’s next?” Sally asked.

“Tomorrow we go over to the Jones place,” Mac said. “See what we find there.”

“And what if we don’t find anything?” Rock asked.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Mac replied.

Mac turned off the bathroom light and went over to his side of the bed, turned off the nightstand light, rolled over and kissed Sally.

“So, not much today, huh?” She said, snuggling up to Mac.

“Just that Hernandez thing,” Mac said, lightly scratching her back. “Daniels’ place was the same as I remembered it.” Something odd about her place though. I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s like I’m missing something.”

“What?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. I’ve looked at something there that’s important, but I don’t know why yet. I haven’t put it together.”

“So tomorrow you’re going to look at Jones’?” she said, running her fingers through Mac’s chest hair.

“Yeah, see if we find anything.”

“What’ll you look for?”

“You know, anything that ties Jones and Daniels together. Something that tells us why PTA might have killed them. Like Justice Stewart once said, ‘I’ll know it when I see it.’”

“It was ‘I know it when I see it,’” Sally replied, “and he was talking about pornography.”

“Speaking of which.” Mac replied, sliding her panties down.

“Men are animals,” Sally replied, not the least bit disappointed.

“Do we take them out?” Bouchard said, having heard the conversation through the headphones.

“All of them? Including Riley, Lich, and that Rockford?” Alt replied, shaking his head. “No way. You’d have to throw in Hisle and probably that uncle of McRyan’s, as well.”

“So? Take some time, a few more resources, but it could be done. It might have to be done.”

Alt sighed. “You might be right. Start making plans, but only just in case. The idea of being at war with the St. Paul Police Department is not my first choice.” He grabbed his cell phone. Lindsay needed to be updated.

“I obviously went into the wrong line of work,” Rock quipped as they pulled up in front of Jones’s place. She’d lived in the new high-end condo development along the Mississippi called River Highlands just southwest of downtown along the river-another of the developments in St. Paul’s ten-year quest to take tax advantage of river real estate. The condos had brown stone exteriors, with white trim and black shutters; a colonial look that one might find in Georgetown.

They went through the same drill as they had at Daniels’s place, splitting up and looking for something, anything, that would tie Daniels, Jones, and PTA all together. Mac took the upper-level, Lich and Riley worked the main level, and Rock the lower level. Everything was as it had been at the time when she was killed. Her mother hadn’t been able to bring herself up to clean the place out.

Mac attacked her office. She was like Daniels, an absolute neat freak. They must have drilled neatness into kids from Bristol. Everything was perfectly organized. Perhaps it was because she had an accounting and finance background. These were usually neat, organized people, and Jones fit that description to a T. Everything in its place, undisturbed for five weeks now, much like Daniels’ place.

Mac booted up her computer. Like Daniels, she didn’t bother to password protect it, and he was able to search her files. There was little if any PTA information, and he suspected she probably just dialed into the company system from home. He looked through her personal correspondence and e-mails, nothing out of the ordinary or from Daniels. There were a number of unopened e-mails from a fantasy football website. Mac smiled, she played a little fantasy football. He took a look at her team, not bad.

He looked through her file drawers, nothing much. All of her bills were organized, and she paid online. She had a number of investments, all of which seemed to be looking good. Her bank statement showed a large balance. He found no record of a safe deposit box, although he would call and check with her bank. Her bedroom was well organized, her clothes neatly stored in her dresser and closet, her bed neatly made. Everything was perfectly in its place; almost too perfect, “unnatural,” he thought.