Electing To Murder (33 page)

Foucault occasionally checked his phone, awaiting any update or further instructions from Kristoff. For now, they were still in the watch and follow mode. Thus far there was little more to report. From their time at DataPoint, McRyan and the woman, other than a quick stop at their hotel, drove aimlessly around town it seemed for an hour before coming to this point and heading into the pub. He and his partner had given some thought to one of them sliding into the pub to see what they were up to but decided against it. If they had another two men or two vehicles, it would have been done. However, with just the two of them, they thought it better to hold their position and see where McRyan and his lady friend were off to next.

Foucault looked in the review mirror and caught Vigneault pushing out the front door of the Starbucks with a cardboard drink carrier holding four coffees and a paper bag containing sandwiches.

“What do you have?”

Vigneault shook his head, ever the Frenchman. “American coffee is passable at best. They may call this espresso, but please, a weak imitation. And the sandwiches?” He wrinkled his nose, “I will eat them because I have to.” He bought an assortment of ham and turkey wraps.

Foucault was not as picky, having spent more time in the States and was well accustomed to American fast food. He took a sip of his coffee and it was agreeable and the turkey wrap wasn’t bad either. Was it like home? No, but it would get the job done. On his third bite, McRyan and Wire emerged from the front of the pub. “There they are.” He set his coffee in the cup holder in the center console and reached for the keys and started the Traverse.

McRyan and Wire crossed the first half of the street, waited at the center median for traffic to pass and then jogged across the northbound side of Water Street to their Acadia. After a moment, the lights for the Acadia came on but the vehicle didn’t move. After a couple of minutes, McRyan pulled out and proceeded north on Water Street.

“That traffic will keep them well back, I should think,” Wire said, looking back behind them.

“Good,” Mac answered. “I need about a two-block lead on them for this to work.”

* * *

Foucault looked in his rearview mirror and had traffic right on top of him that he needed to let pass.

“I’ll watch for a break,” Vigneault said, his view north blocked by the vehicles parked in front of them. “You keep your eye on them.”

The traffic passed.

“Go.”

Foucault quickly pulled out, McRyan still visible two blocks ahead. He wanted to push his way closer but the traffic that passed them was now between them and McRyan, clogging the path forward.

“He’s turning left,” Vigneault exclaimed and then took a look at the GPS. “Left on … Knapp.”

Foucault reached Knapp about ten seconds after McRyan and turned left. Now away from the traffic, he could accelerate some and he needed to as the Acadia was already at least three blocks ahead across the Milwaukee River where Knapp became McKinley Street.

“We need to get a little closer,” Vigneault ordered.

“Working on it,” was the reply as the Traverse reached the west side of the Milwaukee River, still two blocks back but closing quickly. “It looks like he’s turning right. What’s that on?”

* * *

Mac caught a glimpse of the quickly closing Traverse in his rearview mirror. He took a right turn off McKinley onto North Sixth Street, accelerated a half block and took a hard right onto a narrow alleyway halfway up the block. He powered down the alley and took another quick right behind a building into an alleyway running south back towards McKinley.

“If this works, we should circle around and come in behind them,” Mac said as he drove south down the alley and turned right back onto McKinley Street. Once on McKinley, he took an immediate right on North Sixth Street and a block and a half ahead was the Traverse, which was followed by a black Ford Edge. “Bingo, and Ring’s man fell in right behind them.”

* * *

“Where did they go?” Vigneault asked. “There wasn’t another street to turn right on, at least not that quickly.”

“I don’t know,” Foucault answered and then looked in his rearview mirror. “I think I see a black Acadia one block behind us.”

Vigneault turned left to look and McRyan was two cars back, a Ford Edge between them. He looked to his partner, worried. “We’re made.”

“What do you think we should do?” Foucault replied anxiously, the adrenaline causing his foot to slowly but surely depress the accelerator and pick up speed. The Traverse had a powerful enough engine.

The two men shared a look.

Foucault looked down to his feet, “I’m wearing the same shoes I wore when we killed Checketts.”

“Who knows what they have from when we took out Martin,” Vigneault added.

* * *

“Now, here’s the interesting part,” Mac said, looking in his rearview mirror as Ring pulled up behind in his Crown Victoria with a patrol car right behind him. Ring passed McRyan and raised an eyebrow and Mac nodded. Ring pulled ahead and then in front of Mac and the patrol unit passed them both as well as the Ford Edge and pulled in behind the Traverse, which had been slowly increasing its speed and was now at least fifteen miles over the limit for this two-lane city street.

“This is where we learn if they were the ones that did Checketts and Martin or were at least involved.”

The patrol unit turned on its lights.

“Oh, I think they were!” Wire exclaimed.

* * *

Foucault blew through a red light and accelerated hard north, the patrol unit now at least two blocks back.

“It’s pretty dark out now,” Vigneault exclaimed. “Maybe we can lose the patrol unit and dump the car.”

“We’ll have to lose more than one unit,” Foucault answered as he buried the accelerator. “I have at least three sets of rollers behind us all of the sudden.”

He flew down the entrance ramp for northbound State Highway 43.

* * *

“Why are you slowing down?” Wire barked as Mac eased back while going down the entrance ramp, letting the chase unfold in front him.

“This is Milwaukee’s show,” McRyan replied calmly. “I don’t have a flashing light so we’ll just hang behind and follow.”

The chase charged north on 43, the Traverse expertly weaving in and out of traffic.

“This guy’s had training,” Wire observed. “He’s no novice driver.”

“We’re good as long as he’s on the highway.”

The Traverse was in the left lane and suddenly cut sharply across in front of a car in the right lane. The car was forced to brake, which caused the following car to hit it from behind, creating a pile up that sucked in the three patrol units blocking all of the lanes.

Ring swerved hard right onto the right shoulder just slipping past the pile up. He fishtailed his Crown Victoria but regained control before ending up down in the ditch. With control regained, Ring followed the Traverse up the exit ramp. Mac veered right to the highway shoulder, scooted around the pile-up and accelerated up the exit ramp.

“He turned right, Mac! He turned right!” Dara exclaimed, now with her Sig Sauer out.

“I got it. I’m going to get in right behind Ring. Let him know.”

“Copy that,” Wire replied to Mac and then to Ring, “Darwin, we’re right on your six.” Then back to McRyan, “He’s got you, Mac. He’s called all cars.”

The Traverse was now screaming down East Keefe Avenue.

“This is dangerous,” Mac warned. “We’ve got residential on the right and if they turn in there, we’ve got to back off. What we really need is a chopper.”

“I know he has a call in for one, should be here any second.”

Just then a chopper dropped out of the sky and painted the Traverse two blocks ahead. “Now we’re talking.” Mac quickly looked right and saw flashing lights coming down a residential street. To his left was an industrial area and as he looked ahead it was industrial on the left for several blocks. “Atta boy, Ring!” Mac exclaimed. “Way to know your town.”

“What?” Wire asked.

“He’s bringing the patrol units in from the right. He’s going to drive these guys into this industrial area up on the left. Look at the chopper, it’s flying on the right, trying to drive them that way as well.”

* * *

Foucault thought he had a chance when the pile-up happened, but he still had one unit on his tail as he sped down Keefe. He should have turned right into the residential neighborhoods but now it was too late. Every time he looked right, there were flashing lights and now he saw flashing lights ahead, stationary.

“We have to turn left,” Vigneault yelped.

Foucault turned hard left onto North Holton Street and accelerated only to find another patrol unit closing from the north.

“I have to go left again!”

He turned too late.

* * *

The Traverse tried to turn left onto Elm Street to go west, but at its high speed it couldn’t make the turn. The left-side wheels were off the ground when its right wheels hit the curb. The Traverse flipped high in the air. It landed on its roof, violently rolling over twice and then crashing upside down into a red brick building. The brick wall collapsed upon the impact, bricks and debris crashing down on the Traverse.

Two patrol units closed in on the vehicle, followed by Ring and then Mac pulling in behind.

Ring popped out of his car with the radio in his hand, calling for an ambulance and fire truck.

Mac was out, Sig Sauer in his right hand and flashlight in his left. He ran over and stopped ten feet short and crouched down to look into the Traverse, its roof caved in. The two men were restrained inside by their seat belts, hanging upside down, their bodies limp. Wire came up behind him with another flashlight and shined it inside the vehicle.

“No movement,” Wire noted.

“And lots of blood,” Mac answered and then looked up into the sky. Not only did he see the State Patrol chopper that had swooped into the action, but now there was a television news chopper for the local FOX station hovering overhead as well.

“Keep your box on FOX,” Mac muttered.

S
ally, Shelby and Dixon sat casually on the couch in a locker room at the Bradley Center in Milwaukee. The governor would be speaking in fifteen minutes and was in an adjoining room, freshening up and spending some time with his family.

Michigan was the target earlier in the day, their last tour through the state. The candidate had two stops in Milwaukee tonight. The campaign wanted to hit Madison as well, but with the football game between Wisconsin and Minnesota at Camp Randall Stadium, the campaign thought the better of it. That might be especially true as the Golden Gophers were looking for an upset, leading 13–3 early in the second quarter.

Hitting the hustings and the small towns on bus tours was over. The campaign was now in big venue mode, hitting arenas, stadiums and airplane hangars for the big crowds, getting to as many people at a time as possible. For Sally, on her maiden big time political voyage, it was intoxicating. “It’s like a concert tour,” she remarked with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child when they were at Joe Louis Arena in downtown Detroit over the lunch hour.

The television was on CNN. A reporter was now standing outside of the DataPoint building and reporting on the deaths of Checketts and Martin. “That didn’t take long,” Sally stated.

“It’s something new to report on,” the Judge answered, taking in the news report. “I know for a fact, that this reporter has more background information than she is letting on.”

“Such as?” Sally asked.

“I’m sure the names of Montgomery and Stroudt might have been mentioned.”

“But not Heath Connolly?”

“Not yet, but soon,” the Judge answered. “Tomorrow, in time for
Meet the Press
and the rest of the morning shows. Give the media a taste of this thing and then drop the big name in and they will be relentless in their pursuit. It’s good for us if the media starts looking at that company. If we need to pressure states to inspect their machines, the media will prove an ally for us.”

Kennedy was quietly amazed. Sebastian had not been dead twenty-four hours yet the Judge soldiered on, completely locked into campaign mode. There was a cloud of sadness that hovered over him that everyone could sense. He tried to suppress it but it was there. After Tuesday, it would be tough on him with the election over and there was time to stop and reflect. But for now, the adrenaline and urgency of the race and what they were facing was enough to keep the Judge focused on the election. What Sebastian’s mother said to the governor had spread throughout the campaign staff now. “You better win.” The Judge was determined not to let Sebastian, or his mother, down.

CNN switched stories and the byline was Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and it was video of a police chase. The reporter indicated the chase ended just fifteen minutes ago and then what grabbed their undivided attention was: “The chase included detectives involved in the investigations surrounding the deaths of Peter Checketts and Gabriel Martin from DataPoint.”

The Judge and Sally stood up and walked to the television.

The footage from the news helicopter caught the chase directly from behind as it went through a combination residential and commercial areas of Milwaukee, a police chopper shining a light on a crossover vehicle while an unmarked police car and another gave chase.

The crossover turned hard left into an industrial area and then tried to turn left again but was unable to negotiate the corner and crashed violently into the building. Two cars pulled up, one unmarked police car and another vehicle. The cop out of the police car was on the radio while another cop was out of the second vehicle, in plain clothes and approached in a crouch with a gun and flashlight.

“Oh my God,” Sally croaked.

“What?” the Judge asked.

“That’s Mac.”

“How can you tell?”

“The crouch,” Sally replied. “I saw that twice last night and now as he’s standing up, that’s Mac, no doubt. I recognize his brown leather flight jacket. That’s him.”

“He sure does know how to find trouble,” the Judge remarked.