Blood Silence (7 page)

“Tony Soprano called. He wants his sweat suit back,” Mac joked.

“Fuhuhk you, and tell Tony to fuhgeddaboutit,” Dick answered as they warmly shook hands.

“Well, a guy dressed like that could probably use a beer.” Mac bought beers, grabbed menus and two trays of popcorn, and they retired to a back booth.

“So how are things, Engagement Boy?” Dick asked, sipping from his Summit Pale Ale. “I take it she still hasn’t come to her senses.”

“Not yet, but I live on edge every day. How’s Dot?”

“She’s great and said to say hello. Now that she owns the diner, she’s working her ass off, so I don’t see quite as much of her as I’d like.”

“I know you—that’s to your benefit. People can only take so much,” Mac needled. “I mean, I had to go to Washington to get a break.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I miss you,” Dick replied, rolling his eyes.

“So, vacation? Seriously?” Mac asked, surprised. He could never remember Dick taking paid time off, even in his days when he was mailing it in after his second divorce. “Since when do you take vacation?”

“Since I was ordered to,” Dick answered, sipping from his beer. “I had to. I have so much time built up, I needed to start using some of it, or it would go bye-bye. Now, I have a great many weaknesses, my boy, but throwing money away ain’t one of them.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Easy to say when you have plenty of it,” Dick scolded.

“Fair point,” Mac answered, suitably admonished. “Lunch is on me. So, how long are you off for?”

“Through next Tuesday,” Lich answered, tossing some popcorn into his mouth. “So really, what’s new?”

Mac shrugged and then smiled. “Well, Sally and I did see Meredith last night.”

“Oh, do tell.”

Three hours later, Mac was done talking about his former wife and was now waiting on his future one. “Sally, are you almost ready?” Mac bellowed up the steps, checking his watch. They were supposed to be on their way to a restaurant in downtown Minneapolis.

“Just about, just about,” she yelled down.

In his experience, he knew that a double “just about” meant at least ten minutes. They were going to be late.

He hated being late.

Sally, on the other hand, seldom seemed bothered by the concept.

Mac took the last sip from his glass of wine as the television played in the background. He grabbed the remote, plopped himself down on the couch, and flipped around the various channels, eventually stopping on the Wild game, which was just starting. When he and Dick left the pub a few hours ago, it was just starting to fill up with fans looking to pre-game.

One minute into the game, the Wild lit the lamp. “Nice play, Mikael Granlund,” Mac cheered loudly as the Wild’s crafty center slid a pass to a wide-open Zach Parise, who went bar down on the shot past the goaltender, 1-0 Wild. “That goal was sick.”

“Wild score?” Sally asked as she hustled down the steps, casually dressed in a tight V-neck black top, red leather jacket, skin-tight blue jeans, and black stiletto-heel boots. She could be late all she wanted, looking like that.

“Yes, a beauty for Parise.” Mac answered, turning down the sound and flipping away from the game to channel six, which was promoting the ten o’clock news for later with footage from a double murder out on Lake Minnetonka. Something about the house looked familiar to him.

“Are you ready?” Sally asked.

“Yes. We’re going to Brock’s Steak over in Minneapolis, right?” Mac asked for final confirmation as he grabbed the keys for his Yukon off the counter.

“Yes. I hear the food is to die for. They do it family style—pick your steak, then your sides. It’s so your kind of place.”

“It sure looked good online,” Mac answered, leading them out the door. “And they have these bourbon flights. I’m looking to get into those.”

“Well, then, I better make sure I have my license,” Sally said, checking her purse. “Sounds like I could be driving us home.”

• • •

Brock’s Steak was as advertised. Everyone sat around the table, stuffed full of steak, buttery mashed potatoes, seasoned asparagus, rich spinach, red wine, and many flights of bourbon. There was no dessert, simply some coffee and light talk about a possible nightcap at a bar across Hennepin Avenue from the restaurant. While these were Sally’s friends, Mac liked them all. The husbands were all good guys he had plenty in common with and bonded with. One of the husbands, a big Wild fan, was checking his phone.

“Jeff Peterson, put your phone away,” his wife, Stacy, admonished teasingly, lightly punching him on the arm. “I swear to God, you can’t go ten minutes without checking that thing.”

“So did the Wild win?” Mac asked. He knew Jeff the best of the guys at the table.

“Four to two. They’re on fire,” Jeff answered. “But I was also checking out this story about this double murder out on Lake Minnetonka. Some bigwig, downtown lawyer named Sterling was killed.”

Mac and Sally immediately shared a look.

“Did you say Sterling?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, the lawyer’s name was Judd Frederick Sterling, age forty-nine, of Minneapolis. Why? Do you know him?”

“And you said double murder?” Sally asked.

“Yes,” Jeff answered. “Why?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mac answered as he stood up, reached in his pocket, and walked quickly away from the table and into the restaurant’s small side bar, where he found a quiet corner. Sally followed him.

He began working his phone.

“Meredith? Are you thinking Meredith?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, but her name doesn’t appear anywhere in the story,” Mac answered as he scrolled down with his thumb. “If they were releasing Sterling’s name, you’d assume her name would be in the story. But all it says is Sterling and
another
woman.” He read down further. “The Hennepin County sheriff and Orono police are investigating the case.” Mac clicked out of the story and went into his phone directory, thumbed down, clicked a name, and put the phone to his ear.

“Who are you calling?”

“A friend. Heidi Laine at the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office. She always has the 4-1-1 on things.”

“We should go,” Sally suggested.

“Yeah, I’ll get the car, and you say good-bye.”

Mac and Sally skipped the post-dinner drink. Twenty minutes later while driving home, Mac had an answer. He hung up and shook his head. “Not good.”

“So?”

“The other woman was
not
Meredith.”

“Thank God,” Sally replied with some relief.

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” Mac answered. “But there was still
another
woman. A woman named Callie Gentry. Sterling and Gentry were shot a combined thirteen times in the bed at Sterling’s house out on Lake Minnetonka. Heidi said she heard it was just a grisly scene, blood everywhere.” He shook his head. “I knew I recognized that house on the channel six promo back at home.”

“How?”

“Because when Meredith was running around on me, one of the places she and Sterling went was that lake place. Johnny Biggs, the investigator I hired, had the photos. That was one of the places Sterling took her to.”

“Poetic justice, I suppose,” Sally answered.

“Supposedly, this Gentry woman was at the reception last night. When I was talking to Meredith, I saw Sterling talking to a pretty attractive brunette, and I could tell Meredith wasn’t happy about it.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Sally asked. “The spouse is always the prime suspect if their husband is murdered.”

“She’s more than a suspect, Sally. My contact says she’s going to be arrested and charged.”

“That quickly?” Sally asked, shocked. “What did she do, admit it?”

“No, she didn’t do that,” Mac answered. “But Heidi says the word is, the case is solid. Flimsy alibi and tons of motive, because apparently Meredith had just learned he was having an affair earlier in the day.”

“That’s not good.”

“It gets worse,” Mac replied. “Her prints are on the murder weapon, and witnesses have her fleeing the scene in her Mercedes.” He ran his left hand over his face and sighed. “It doesn’t make sense, though.”

“Why not? I’m envisioning Meredith finding those two in the act and snapping. I mean, that sure sounds like what happened.”

“Exactly, Sal,” Mac answered. “But Meredith, I know her. She wouldn’t react like that. That’s not her.”

Sally laughed, still the former prosecutor. “Come on, Mac. You know as well as I do that you should never underestimate the volatility of a spouse betrayed. I’ve seen it too many times, and from plenty of people you’d never, ever have thought capable of such a vicious act. People who didn’t have a violent bone in their body. But in the heat of the moment, anyone is capable of it. Anyone. I mean, remember, we saw her when Sterling left—she was pissed.”

Mac couldn’t disagree. “Yes, she was.” He couldn’t really argue with Sally’s logic. In that moment, seeing what she may have seen, her husband and another woman, in their lake house, in a place he’d taken her a few years earlier, engaging in the same pattern, all her well-laid plans and dreams going up in flames.

Everyone has their breaking point.

That would be what the prosecutor would argue. Heck, it was the base outline of their opening statement. He shook his head slowly and blew out a sigh. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right but … man …” His words drifted off, his head still shaking in disbelief of it all. “I can’t believe it. If she did do it, her life is toast, Sally.”

Sally changed directions. “You mentioned she asked for a lawyer. Who did she get?”

“Lyman Hisle.”

“Well, then, at least she’s got the best. She’s got a chance.”

L
yman Hisle was a criminal defense attorney without peer in the Twin Cities. The case of Meredith Hilary—a double murder and the sure-fire local media attention it would draw—was right in his wheelhouse. That, and Edmund and Ann Hilary, as well as Teddy Archer, Meredith’s godfather, were all close, personal friends. Their daughter and goddaughter would get his best in representing her.

And it would be a tough case, which was apparent when Lyman discussed it with Meredith last evening, listened to the detectives question Meredith, and not to mention his conversation with the Hennepin County Attorney, Candace Johnson.

His client, to put it charitably, was in a spot.

“Meredith, kiddo, here’s how I see things. Thursday morning, you met with your private investigator, who confirmed that your husband was having an affair with a woman named Callie Gentry, a woman who was also his client, a woman who’d spent a great deal of time in your and your husband’s law firm for the past several months. He shows you these pictures of her having sex with your husband.” Lyman held them up. “He even has pictures of Sterling taking Gentry to your house out on Lake Minnetonka, not to mention actual video of them having sex. That night, after you’ve confirmed the affair, you and your husband go to the president’s birthday reception and, lo and behold, who is also in attendance? Callie Gentry, of course. So, just after you’ve seen pictures and video of Sterling and Gentry having sex, she shows up at that event, and on top of that, the two of them left the event together. Oh sure, they didn’t walk out of the hall together, but the Hennepin County sheriff’s detectives have pictures and surveillance video of them getting into his car together. Then, the next morning, your husband and Ms. Gentry are found dead, shot a combined thirteen times at your lake home, with your gun, which has your fingerprints on it.”

“Lyman, she didn’t do this,” Edmund Hilary asserted.

“Edmund, I’m talking to your daughter here,” Lyman scolded. “She needs to hear this, as do you, because this is the Cliff Notes version of the prosecution’s very convincing opening statement.” Lyman looked back at Meredith, whose eyes were squarely on him. “The Hennepin County attorney tells me there are no signs of forced entry into the house, and witnesses, shortly after the shots were heard, saw a silver Mercedes sedan racing away from the scene. You own a silver Mercedes S550, and you arrived at the Orono police station in it, and witnesses shown pictures of it say it looks like what they saw driving away.”

“It’s not like it’s the only Mercedes in the world,” Ann Hilary suggested.

Lyman ignored her, keeping his gaze on Meredith. “Neighbors report hearing the shots fired at 1:30
A.M.
, and that’s consistent with time of death. Now, you claim you arrived at your parents’ cabin up north of Alexandria, two hours away, at 2:30
A.M.
or so, which, if true, means you couldn’t have possibly killed your husband and her lover. But nobody can verify your time of arrival at your parents’ cabin, so your alibi is, at this point, essentially worthless.”

“I understand,” Meredith stated, nodding.

“Do you?” Lyman asked. “Because given all of that, you are in a very difficult position here, young lady. So I’m going to ask this question once. Do I need to start talking to the Hennepin County attorney about a plea?”

“No,” Meredith answered defiantly. “I didn’t do this. I can’t sit here and say I’m heartbroken he’s dead, because of what he did. We didn’t love each other anymore—the marriage was not going to last. But I didn’t want him dead, and I didn’t kill him. I don’t know why, but someone is setting me up. No plea deals. We fight.”

Lyman stared her down. “Okay, then. We’ve got work to do. First question: if you didn’t do this, someone went to considerable lengths to make it look like you did. Any ideas of who that may be?”

Meredith shook her head. “I’ve been racking my brain on that, wondering why someone would set me up. The only thing I can think of is it has something to do with Frederick. I mean, my life is fairly mundane. I work on mostly corporate matters, with the exception of my work with the Child Abuse Prevention Network. You can, and I’m sure you will, look into every aspect of my life, but I can’t think of anyone with that much animosity for me. Now Frederick, on the other hand…” Meredith smirked and slowly shook her head. “He had an innate ability to piss people off. Given his law practice and how he operated, there could be a plethora of damaged or ruined people who would want to see him dead.”