Blood Silence (10 page)

“What else?” Lyman asked.

“We need to learn more about Callie Gentry. Who is she really? What’s her story? We learn of our victims’ story, and we may find out why they were killed. If we’re right, it’s no coincidence they were killed
together
.”

“Two birds, one stone?” Lyman suggested.

“Exactly,” Mac answered.

“So when will you start?” Ann asked Mac.

“Tonight,” he answered, holding up the large folder Lyman had given him. “Tonight.”

T
he Cleveland Grille rested, as the name would suggest, on Cleveland Avenue, not far from Mac’s St. Paul home.

Breakfast was Mac’s favorite meal to make and eat. He was on a lifelong quest to find the best breakfast around. In all of his years and all of his searching, in Minnesota and environs more distant, he’d found few places able to approach his love for the breakfasts of the Cleveland Grille.

The food and the décor were what did it for Mac. A throwback joint if ever there was one, the Cleveland was filled with red-vinyl booths, faded yellow-and-brown-striped wallpaper, and dated black-and-white photos of St. Paul’s past. The place was a total character-filled dive. The big, greasy-egg breakfasts were its specialty. It was what brought people back time and again, with the best being, in Mac’s opinion, the breakfast burrito, simply called the CG. Lunch would be unnecessary if you finished the concoction of eggs, sausage, bacon, ham, cheese, hash browns, peppers, onions, sour cream, and salsa wrapped in a freshly made from scratch tortilla. The only missing component was a liquor license so they could include Bloody Marys with breakfast.

Another reason Mac loved the place was the company. Lich ate there every day, in large part because of his love, Dot. Dot owned the place now but still dressed in her waitress uniform and waited tables for her regular customers. With his relocation to Washington, Mac’s appearances were now few and far between. So when he unexpectedly strolled in just before 7:00
A.M.
, he received a boisterous hero’s welcome, followed by a personal escort to his seat from Dot, who proceeded to fuss over him, ask about Sally, and then ask the question on everyone’s mind: “Have you two set the date yet?”

“Not yet,” Mac answered as he stirred cream in his coffee. “We’re working on it, though. Whenever we set a date, you’ll be two of the first to know. I mean, getting married is worth it, if only to see Dicky Boy here in a tux.”

“I’ll look like the Penguin,” Lich moaned.

“Burgess Meredith or Danny DeVito?” Mac cracked.

“Funny, asshole.”

“Well, I’m just glad to hear it, Hun,” Dot said, smiling. “You know I just love you two. I’m so happy for you.”

“How about you and Dicky Boy here? Are you two ever going to tie the knot?” Mac asked with an evil grin, which garnered a dirty look from Dick. He’d already asked her—many times.

“Come on, Mac, you know I’d love to marry the big lug,” Dot answered, her arm around Mac’s shoulder, smiling at her man. “We just have to finish getting his ass out of debt first. He’s getting there.”

“You see, Mac, with women, it’s always about the money,” Dick quipped. “Men are an ATM—nothing more, nothing less.”

“Well, maybe I can help with that,” Mac answered and looked at Dick, dropping the jovial tone. “I’m here to talk a little business.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Dot answered and turned away, seeing another regular customer coming in the front door to greet with great fanfare.

Lich held up the front page of the newspaper, which showed pictures of Meredith and the lake house above the fold. “You have to be cackling at your ex-bitch’s predicament. Killing the douchebag she left you for because he was having an affair? You can’t make that shit up. I love it.”

“Actually”—Mac pointed to the front page—“that is why I’m here.”

He explained in detail.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dick bellowed his disbelief. “After what that whore did to you?”

Mac was often amused at the fact that Dick always seemed angrier with Meredith than even he himself was. “Her parents and Lyman came to me and asked me to help.”

“So the fuck what? Why help her?”

“Because I don’t think she did it,” Mac answered.

“Is that you or your dick talking?”

“Come on, you know better than that.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do,” Mac replied with an edge. “And since you do, you’re going to hear me out.”

“Okay,” Dick replied, his hands up. “Okay, okay.”

Dick agreed with his characterization of Meredith as a cold, calculating woman, but he was otherwise unsold. “Mac, what about Sally? She can’t be happy with this. How can you put what you have with her at risk for Meredith?”

“Actually, it was her idea.”

“Her idea?” Lich clearly didn’t believe him, so Mac held his look. “You’re serious.”

Mac nodded. “I said no a couple times. I was actually kind of angry I was being asked, and then Sally said I should do it.”

“No way.”

“She did,” Mac answered. “She said I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I could have done something to keep Meredith out of prison for the rest of her life. Sally is …”

“Probably right about that,” Dick finished, with a slow nod of his head, and then pointed at Mac. “That Catholic guilt of yours is no good for you, boyo.” Lich sighed and slowly shook his head. “Still, I can’t believe Sally would encourage this. She knows what your ex-wife looks like, right?”

“She also knows
what
she’s like. She’s not worried about that. That ship has sailed,” Mac answered quickly. “I feel nothing for Meredith that way. Hell, I get in a room with her, and I tense up and turn all hostile. And to your earlier point, there
is
a part of me that says I told you so. Sterling was a philanderer when she hooked up with him, and leopards don’t change their spots. But there’s a difference between being cheated on and going to prison for the rest of your life.”

Dick nodded his agreement. “On that, I guess I hear you. Still, the bitch had it coming.”

“She had something coming but this?” Mac shook his head lightly while he refilled each of their cups with the pot Dot left behind. “Look, I’m doing this, and I could really use your help as long as you can give it. Heck, I’m even getting you paid.”

“Well, since I’m getting paid …”

“I knew that was the ticket.”

“For you, buddy, I’d do it for free, you know that. I just wanted to make sure your head was in the right place, which means not up your ass. I mean, that ex-wife of yours, bitch that she is—she could model for the
SI
swimsuit issue.”

“I’m fully aware of how fetching Meredith is, and you should have seen her last Thursday night at the presidential reception.” Mac gave Lich the rundown. “She looked ridiculously good. Lots of heads were turning.”

“And you felt nothing?” Lich asked, still somewhat skeptical.

“Nada,” Mac answered with a shake of his head. Then his eyes brightened, pushing Dick’s buttons. “Besides, you should have seen how fantastic Sally looked. I even have the pictures.”

“Let me see, let me see,” Dick begged.

Mac laughed and reached for his cell phone.

• • •

The Hennepin County Government Center was an ode to late 1970s drab office building design, square, with a brown façade and narrow dark windows. Yet there was some cleverness to the building, if you looked at it from the southwest or northeast. From those views, the building comprised two towers that formed the shape of a somewhat-stylish H. The two towers were connected by a large, glass-window atrium, with catwalks connecting the towers every few floors. The eastern tower was the courts tower, and the western tower was the county administrative offices.

It was the courts tower that naturally drew Clint’s interest late on Monday morning.

In an effort to be a little less conspicuous, Clint had exchanged his usual cowboy hat for a brown-wool outback hat to match up with his brown leather coat, black flannel shirt, and blue jeans. He rested in the atrium in the middle of a bench with a good view of the elevator bank for the courts tower. The
Star Tribune
and tall Grand Brew coffee made him look as if he were just relaxing and waiting for someone, which he was.

While Clint waited in the lobby, his partner, Royce, sans his usual Stetson, was doing his best impression of a reporter, dressed in a wool sport coat, navy-blue flannel shirt, black-rimmed glasses, jotting down notes on his steno book while squeezed into the back of the courtroom on the seventeenth floor. Meredith Hilary turned herself in first thing in the morning. For convenience, she turned herself in at the Minneapolis Police Department, where she was processed, printed, and then transported over to the Hennepin County courts.

The assistant county attorney was a veteran attorney who seemed competent enough to Royce. He argued for bail to be set at one million dollars. “The defendant has the means and financial resources at her disposal that make her a risk to flee.” It wasn’t an irrational argument, and the judge seemed receptive, at least until Lyman Hisle stepped forward.

Hisle was a man clearly in his element, even for something as simple as a bail hearing. Dressed authoritatively in a finely tailored three-piece black-pinstriped suit, the man took command of the courtroom smoothly, making the argument that his client should be released for no bail. “Your Honor, my client is a member of the bar in good standing, very well respected in the legal community, having received many awards, most recently for her work advocating for victims of child abuse. She is an accomplished lawyer and fully understands the case against her. In addition, she has long ties to the Twin Cities, her family is here, her job is here, and she has every intention of proving her innocence and will be here for trial—if this case even goes to trial.”

“You question the prosecution’s case, Mr. Hisle? I’m shocked,” the judge retorted, a smile on her face while she looked over the glasses hanging low on her hawk-like nose. This was not her first rodeo.

“I most certainly do, Your Honor,” Hisle replied seriously but in a comfortable tone. “Sure seems like we’ve moved awfully quickly here.” It was a statement that drew a glance and snort from the prosecutor. Hisle noticed it and turned to the prosecutor. “Assistant County Attorney Goodman is doing his job and very well, as always. But as I’ve said to him and I now say to the court, I think there is plenty to question in the county attorney’s case. We certainly plan to explore
all
of those questions fully in the coming months as we approach trial, and my client will be here for that trial, if it comes to pass.”

There were additional arguments made, and while the county asked for a million in bail, the judge ordered bail at one hundred thousand dollars. Ten percent was ten thousand, and Royce noticed that Hisle’s assistant, the tall blonde with the bob haircut, leaned back and took a check from whom he assumed were Meredith Hilary’s parents. Ten grand would not be a problem.

“Counselor, I also note you’ve raised several preliminary discovery questions?” the judge asked Hisle.

“We have, Your Honor. We’ve discussed them with Mr. Goodman as well.” Hisle looked at Goodman, who nodded.

“We have no objections to the defense’s requests, Your Honor,” Goodman replied.

“Then we’ll approve of those as well,” the judge answered.

There were a few other perfunctory items discussed, and then the hearing was ended. Royce pretended to jot down notes as Hilary, her lawyers, and her parents quickly exited the courtroom. Royce eased himself out of his seat and slowly strolled out of the courtroom. Once outside, he placed a call to Clint. “She got bail and was released to the custody of her lawyer, that Hisle character.”

“How was her lawyer?”

“He was very smooth.”

“How was the prosecution?”

“County attorney seemed fine, but if this goes to trial …”

“You like Hisle?”

“The man has some presence to him, and I have no doubt he’ll spin a good story for the jury.”

“I’ll get photos as they come out, and I’ll follow for a bit. My man is outside and mobile. He’ll follow them from here.”

Two minutes later, Clint looked up and saw the swarm of cameras and microphones exit the elevator. A moment later, another elevator emptied, and Hisle and the woman lawyer led Meredith Hilary and her parents through the crowd. Hisle stopped to make a few comments for the assembled media and then pushed through them and out the south doors from the building.

Clint casually followed behind at a safe distance, snapping photos with his phone. The reporters eventually stopped giving chase as Hisle and company walked across the street and met two other men leaning against a black Yukon, drinking coffee. One man was tall and athletic looking, with short blond hair, and the other man was shorter, squat, with a bushy mustache and weathered brown fedora on his head, and was much older than the athletic-looking one. Clint loitered on the corner, a hundred feet away, snapping pictures with his phone.

The group engaged in some brief discussions before those with Hisle jumped into a silver Cadillac Escalade while the other two slipped into the Yukon. Clint kept taking photos, including the plate on the black Yukon.

• • •

“Surprised she got bail?” Lich asked as Mac pulled away from the curb and into the bustle of downtown Minneapolis traffic.

“Nah,” Mac answered. “She has no record, and with Lyman as counsel, it was just a matter of the amount.”

“So we hit the lake house first thing tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Today, we do three things: One, we go back to Lyman’s office, and we walk through the night of the murder with Meredith. I want your take on that. Two, we get down to Gentry’s hotel in Bloomington and do a sweep through there. Then third, we go back to my house and we lay out the case, set up the board, and start—”

“Investigating,” Dick finished.

“It’s go time,” Mac replied, warming to the task.