Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

“And who authorized that?” the mayor interjected. “Obviously this is news to the chief.”

“Couldn’t tell the chief,” Lich added.

“Why not?” Flanagan, surprised.

“Sir, we were trying to protect you. If we found something, we’d come to you. If we found nothing, then you’d never know that there were some possible questions, not so much about Knapp, but about the Daniels killing,” Mac said.

Riley jumped in. “It’s been rough enough for the department as it is, sir. We didn’t want to come to you with this, unless we found something to support the theory.”

“Well, on that account, I’d say you’ve failed,” Anderson replied.

Mac held up two fingers, “We’ve had two days! TWO! If we’re right, PTA has had five weeks or more to try to cover this up, which puts us way behind. But in two days of poking around, we found this Cross lead and link between Landy Stephens and Jamie Jones. We’ve already linked Jones to Daniels. And I just can’t get past two women, lifelong friends, both from a small Ohio town who die in St. Paul on the same night. Something’s going on here. If we keep looking, we might find more.”

“If you keep looking, all you’ll do is embarrass the department and my office.” Anderson answered. “You have a theory that, while I can see where you’re going, doesn’t have any evidence to support it. PTA’s lawyers would make monkeys out of us if we went after them with this. They’ll paint you as a bunch of rogue detectives who investigated without authority. It’ll be a disaster for you, the chief, the mayor and, yes, my office.”

“I thought we were on the same team?” Mac replied, disbelief on his face. “We haven’t asked to go to court yet. Who knows what we might find if we keep looking. If we develop a good case, then you can decide.”

“I won’t take this into court against PTA.”

Mac, pissed, raised his voice. “We wouldn’t ask you. We’d ask someone who’s actually seen the inside of a courtroom, not a chicken-shit politician more interested in protecting her bony little ass and her senate run.”

“That’s enough, detective!” the mayor replied angrily.

Mac ignored the mayor and glared at Anderson, not backing down.

“Calm down, everyone,” the chief stated, a wry smile on his face. “Let’s have a drink and cool down.” He got up and went to his desk and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and several glasses. While filling them, he asked, “Mac, what would you and the boys here suggest is your next move?”

“We were discussing that when you called, sir. I don’t know that we had decided as of yet.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” the mayor replied. “You go poking around PTA without more than you have, we’ll lose them.”

“Sir?” Riley asked.

“I got the call from Ted Lindsay over at PTA. We’re currently in discussions with PTA to keep them here in St. Paul. Their lease is up next summer, and they bring over four thousand employees downtown alone. My office is working with the building owner, trying to keep PTA and all those jobs here in St. Paul. If we’re investigating them on something as thin as what you’ve put forward here, we’ll lose them, especially if the media gets wind of it. I don’t need to tell all of you what the loss of those jobs would do to this city.”

Rock, stunned. “Jobs? What about murder? Does that count for anything, Mayor?”

“Yes, detective, it does,” the mayor replied. “I’m no lawyer, but from what you’ve laid out here, you don’t have a case, do you?”

“Not yet,” Mac replied.

“Not ever,” Anderson interjected. “Ever heard of reasonable doubt, detective McRyan?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mac replied with a wicked grin. “Graduated summa cum laude from law school.” He knew Anderson didn’t have any Latin on her diploma.

She only blinked once. “Then you know that PTA’s lawyers would have no problem creating reasonable doubt.”

“For once tonight, Ms. Anderson, you’re right,” Mac replied, restraining himself as best he could, “Neither I, nor Pat, nor any of us, though, have asked you to go to court yet. We just want to look into this more.”

“The more you look into it, the more likely it is that PTA leaves the city,” the mayor jumped back in. “Ted Lindsay said as much today.”

Rock, exasperated, said, “Fuck ’em. Just because someone employs a bunch of people in this city means they get a free pass?”

“Not on my watch,” Riley added.

“Chief,” the mayor replied, “put a leash on your boys here, or I will.”

“Mac,” the chief brushed off the mayor, “What if we could talk to PTA tomorrow?”

“Sir?”

“If I could put you in a room with Ted Lindsay tomorrow-what would you say to that?”

“Might that be the only option you’ll give us for going forward?”

The chief nodded.

“I’m game.”

“Charlie, No!” the mayor replied. “We’re not going to do that. We’re meeting with Lindsay tomorrow to smooth this over. This won’t help.”

“Tell you what, Mayor. I’m a cop, not a politician. These boys are cops, not politicians. They investigate homicides. Now I’m not sure they have anything yet. But coincidences like these?” the chief shook his head. “I’ve been a cop for thirty-three years. If I ran across something like this, I’d like to think I’d do exactly what these boys did.” Flanagan took a sip of his drink and sat back in the high-backed leather chair. “Now, if Ted Lindsay has nothing to hide, he’ll talk to me and the boys here. If he talks tomorrow and answers their questions, and he provides satisfactory answers, then that’ll be the end of it. And my word matters on that, does it not, boys?” the chief asked, looking at Mac and Riles in particular. They both nodded. Flanagan continued, “If Mr. Lindsay doesn’t have answers for us, then my boys’ll continue to look into this.” He took a last sip of the dark whiskey, smiled and asked, “So what’s it gonna be, Mayor?”

Mac smiled inwardly. Chief Flanagan backed his boys’ play. That’s why they loved him. He was the chief of police, not a police chief, not a tinhorn politician.

The mayor, on the other hand, looked like he’d just choked down a serving of Nyquil. “I’ll talk to Lindsay and see what he says. He may not go for it.”

“Ask the man. If he has nothing to hide, he’ll do it.”

The mayor sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and left the chief’s office to go make the call.

“Charlie, I’d be careful if I were you,” Anderson warned, ever the politician. “You’re playing with fire here and not just the department’s hide, but the city’s.”

“Helen, if I gave a shit about politics, you would be right.” The chief took another sip of his drink, smiling. “But I don’t. Never have. If the mayor and the City Council want to get rid of me, I got a big old cabin up north waiting for me.” The chief had some dough; his wife came from a wealthy family. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Well, good luck to you all,” Anderson replied. “I may have been a little confrontational. Of course, should something turn up, our office, as always, would work with you,” she finished, extending an olive branch.

The chief accepted, “Thank you, Helen.”

Anderson left. The chief grabbed the bottle of Irish whiskey and gave everyone another touch. He took a long drink and a little smile creased his face.

“Well, boys. I was all ready to read you the riot act.”

“We figured that to be the case,” Riley replied.

“But I just can’t be mad at you. I still don’t know if you have anything here, but, damn, if I don’t want to let you have a shot at it.”