Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

“Did you discuss anything else?”

“We chatted about lots of things. Her work. What I was doing…”

“Ms. Stephens…”

“Landy.”

“Sorry,” Mac replied, “Landy, did you talk about anything else related to the box you gave her.”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head, “Not that I recall. We talked for an hour or so, said good-bye and that was that.”

“And the name on the box was Cross?”

“I think so. Cross. There was that ledger book and some other papers that all looked Greek to me. That was it.”

They went through it one more time, but nothing additional came to light. Mac worried that they were pushing it, but Landy never asked what their questions were all about.

They got up to leave, thanking her for her time. She walked them to the door, saying good-bye to each, with Mac being last. He left her a card and asked that she call if she remembered anything else. She promised she would, giving him a warm smile as he left.

Alt and Bouchard watched from a block and a half north, waiting for McRyan and Company to leave. Kraft and Hansen were in another van a half block behind, waiting for their cue. Alt had been on the phone with Lindsay. Finally, they had an idea of where the Cross documents might have come from.

“When they leave, you’ll talk to her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When that’s done, call me. It’s time for us to put a stop to this little investigation of theirs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alt hung up and turned his attention back to the house. The front door opened, and the cops filed out, McRyan being the last. They all got into the Explorer and drove down the driveway, took a right turn, in the opposite direction from Alt and Bouchard.

“Kraft. They’re yours.”

“Copy that.” He heard the engine start behind him and Kraft pulled by, settling in behind McRyan and company along Mississippi River Boulevard.

“Let’s go.”

Mac and company headed back downtown to the Pub. Mac called Sally to fill her in on what they had found.

“Is this enough to go after them?” he asked.

“No. You don’t even know what this Cross thing is. You have to know about that before we could go forward. Sounds like you’re on the right track though. You guys are finding things.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how long we can keep doing this until people start finding out.”

“Hopefully something will pop soon.”

“We’ll be at the Pub. Come when you can.”

Shamus told them to use Patrick’s Room in the basement if they needed and that seemed like the place to go. They each grabbed a beer from the bar and headed downstairs. Mac closed the unique cabinet door behind them and everyone took a seat.

“So, what do we think?” Mac started.

“Stephens was a lucky man,” Lich said, his mind ending up where it usually did.

“Yeah, she was a looker,” Riles replied, “But did we learn anything?”

“Cross. We learned that. Whatever that is. We need to find out what that means. Is it a place, a name, what?” Mac replied.

“How do we find that out?” Rock asked.

“I know somebody I could ask,” Mac replied. “I’m going to go make a phone call.” He left the small conference room, found a spot in the corner of the basement and punched up Lyman’s number. Mac filled him in on what they had learned the last couple of days.

“Mac, as best I remember, Cross was an old explosives facility out in West Virginia. The company owned it for years, but it’s closed now, has been for a while.”

“Anything unusual about the place?”

“Off the top of my head, no. It was an explosives facility we had. It was old and out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing like a modern operation. They finally shut it down a few years ago.”

“Do you know why they shut it down? Any questions or controversies?”

“I’m not sure. I think we just had more modern facilities for producing explosives. I suspect it was determined that it wasn’t worth keeping open, probably because it would have cost a lot to modernize it and what not.”

“What was out there, just a manufacturing facility?”

“Pretty much. There was a big warehouse or two, so I don’t know, we might have been storing stuff there or something. The place was out in the middle of nowhere as I recall. I was never actually there myself, but I looked Cross up on a map once and it was a little town in the hills. The facility itself was well out of town, being an explosives plant and all.”

“Anyone you could talk to about the place?”

“I could try. I still have some friends at PTA.” Lyman didn’t sound hopeful.

“It’s a long shot I know, but I’d appreciate it just the same. We’re kind of up against the wall, and this is the only thing we have found.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Mac flipped his phone closed and headed back to the conference room. When he opened the door, Riley was hanging up his phone. He didn’t look happy. “What gives?” Mac asked.

“We have to go see the chief.”

“What for?”

“He wants to know why we’re looking into PTA.”

A few days earlier, it had been a happy occasion to come into the chief’s office. The Irish whiskey had been out. Smiles and backslaps all around. Not now. One look at Flanagan’s face told the boys that he was not pleased. His tie was loose, his hair messed, the dark circles around his eyes had suddenly returned. “Sit,” was all he said when they walked in.

Helen Anderson was already sitting on the left side of the couch and didn’t look any happier. Her arms were crossed, and she had a stern look on her face. Sylvia Miller sat on the other end and looked pensive. While Mac didn’t like making the chief mad or causing Miller discomfort, he could give a shit about Anderson. What did concern him was Sally. She was conspicuous by her absence from this little meeting. Helen knew they were dating and he imagined that if it hadn’t happened already, Helen would be asking her what she knew.

As they all sat down and the chief came around his desk, the mayor came in, also unhappy. He’d been their friend a few days ago. One look told Mac, the mayor wasn’t here to be friends.

“So,” the chief started, “can someone tell me what in the hell you four have been up to?”

Riley started, but Mac put his hand on his knee and jumped in. The investigation was his idea. “Chief, you can put it on me.”

“What the hell, Mac?”

“Chief, I found some things a few days ago in finishing up Knapp, that caused us to go back and look at a few things related to the Claire Daniels murder, as well as one of Knapp’s alleged victims, Jamie Jones.”

“What?” Helen Anderson replied, aghast. “Why in the world, detective, would you dig up all of that?”

“I’d like to know as well,” the chief added, doubt in his eyes.

Mac walked them through the whole story. Flanagan and Miller looked intrigued, Anderson incredulous, and the mayor sick. They all had their individual reasons.

“Hell of a theory, Mac,” Flanagan said, with a little smile and shake of his head.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pat, you went along with this?” the chief asked, looking over to Riley.

“Yes, sir. We all did,” Riley replied assuredly. “Mac’s onto something here.”

“Excuse me?” Anderson accused. “From where I’m sitting, I don’t see it. You have no evidence to implicate PTA in anything. You have a number of coincidences that make an interesting story, perhaps, but nothing that would hold up in court.”

“We’re not in court yet,” Rock replied. “We’re investigating…”