Electing To Murder (6 page)

“And those two were not a safety concern,” Wire replied.

“That’s right, Dara,” the Judge replied, gesturing with his cigar. “They saw something, something not meant to be seen and we need to find out what that was and right quick, kiddo.”

“I’m on it,” Wire answered as she pushed herself up out of the guest chair.

“What’s your next step?” the Judge asked.

“Fly back to Washington and see if I can track either Stroudt or Montgomery down there. See if either of them went back home. I have a 6:08 a.m. flight to DC to find out.”

The Judge picked up his phone, “Not soon enough, Dara. I want you starting at 6:00 a.m. there, not here. I’m going to get you back there tonight.”

* * *

McRyan and Lich were back at the St. Paul Department of Public Safety and Mac’s first order of business once he reached his desk was to call Delta Airlines regarding the boarding pass.

“I’ll call if I need anything further,” Mac said politely. “Yes, I have your direct number. Thanks much.”

Mac moved his mouse and opened up an e-mail. He clicked print twice and walked over to the printer. “So our Delta passenger is in fact Jason Stroudt and he hails from Alexandria.” Mac took a print-off of Stroudt’s flight information and handed it to Lich.

“Alexandria. So he’s from lake country. That makes him somewhat local then,” Lich said.

“Negative, Ghostrider,” Mac answered as he walked back to the printer. “His current address is Alexandria, in the great Commonwealth of Virginia.” Mac took off another copy, this time of Stroudt’s Virginia driver’s license.

“Virginia? Really?” Lich said, looking at the document quizzically. “What the hell is a guy from Alexandria, Virginia, doing at The Snelling?”

“The better question is: what is a guy who lives in Virginia, but flew in this morning from St. Louis,
now
doing dead at The Snelling in St. Paul?” Mac asked as he walked over to his chair and plumped himself down, exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is something a little different than the usual from The Snelling.”

“When did he get to St. Louis?”

“Good question, Dicky Boy,” Mac answered, turning to his computer. “I asked Delta about that but Stroudt hadn’t been on another Delta flight in two years. So he got to St. Louis by some means other than Delta. We have to look into that to see if we can construct a timeline for his last couple of days.”

“What does Mr. Stroudt do for a living?” Lich asked.

“I don’t know yet. The contact at Delta sent me an e-mail with payment information for Stroudt.” Mac opened the e-mail and scanned the information. “He booked his flight under a corporate credit card for a TCP Enterprises with a Washington DC address. You take this information and start looking into that. See if he rented a car and perhaps track it down.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out when Mr. Stroudt left Virginia and went to St. Louis. Maybe we can find out what he was doing down there and it could shed some light on what he was doing here in Minnesota.”

* * *

“I still don’t get how Wisconsin is close,” Kate Shelby said as she looked at her laptop, once again culling through polling data, their nightly ritual. The Chinese food boxes were now empty yet littered across the conference table.

“It is, Kate, it just is,” Sally responded.

“It should be ours. The governor is from the neighboring state. He’s worked well with their governors over the years. He provided help with the flooding a few years back. Thomson went to DC and worked with the Wisconsin and Illinois governors on the high-speed rail line, of course, until Walker killed it. He’s been visible, yet here we are.”

“We’ve been over it time and again,” McCormick replied. “Wisconsin has shifted a little right the last couple of years. Not completely to the right but enough that it’s in play. No doubt about it. It’s been a struggle this election cycle and probably will be for years to come. They elected Walker governor and he’s a Tea Party guy, so there is a definite conservative streak over there and we’re seeing it in this race.”

“I still can’t believe, even to this day, that they elected that guy two years ago,” Shelby muttered.

“But they did, and to a certain degree, the electorate, other than the Tea Party and hard righties, has probably regretted it, but that’s what happens in wave elections,” McCormick replied, looking at his own set of Wisconsin data.

“Man, Walker has been hard on us, especially the last two weeks,” Shelby continued with concern. He has me worried, the way the numbers started sliding.”

“We’re gonna win it, Kate,” Sally replied. “I think it tightened because Republicans on the fence went home. Some Republicans were sitting on the fence, thinking about voting for the Democratic governor of the next door neighbor, but then decided to go back home and vote red. That explains the recent drop. Now the numbers are holding around three to four points to the good in Sconi. If the status quo holds and nothing crazy happens, I think we’re going to win it. I can feel it.”

At least Sally sounded confident. McCormick and Shelby were not but they were seasoned political professionals. Politics could change on a dime and five days was plenty of time for something to happen. Wisconsin needed to stay in the governor’s column. Shelby and McCormick had to watch the entirety of the campaign. They had tasked Sally with keeping a close eye on Wisconsin. They didn’t have an electoral vote to spare. The campaign had put Governor Thomson in the state eight times in the last month, along with the copious amounts of time he was spending in Iowa, Ohio and Virginia. Surrogates galore flooded into Wisconsin, senators, governors, the governor’s running mate, the senior senator from North Carolina, not to mention two former presidents. The effort seemed to pay off. The numbers had stopped dropping and Thomson might have even picked up a point. The extra attention paid by the governor and the campaign seemed to be paying off, at least for now.

Ohio, on the other hand, was dead even, as it had been since the summer. Shelby, Kennedy and McCormick all stared at computer screens and ran through Ohio polling data when there was a knock on the door. It was the Judge, with four beers in his hands. “I see three weary workers in need of a bump.”

The beers were gratefully accepted and all three took long drinks. It was after 10:00 p.m.

“So, team, do we remain at a three-point lead?” the Judge asked. He knew the answer but wanted to get the conversation started.

“Appears so, Judge,” McCormick responded.

“And what of Ohio?”

“Same. Dead heat any way you slice it. Unless something seismic happens in the next five days, that state will go until late into the night on Tuesday.”

“That’s no surprise,” the Judge replied with a rueful smile. “As my good buddy Timmy Russert used to say, it’s all about Ohio, Ohio, Ohio.”

“Looks like that’s the way this thing will break,” Sebastian said. “We were just discussing the schedule for the governor and we think we need to get him into Ohio at least three more times before the election. We need to get every last voter we can to the polls there.”

“Let’s hope that’s all we have to worry about in Ohio.” The Judge couldn’t help but think that whatever was going on in Kentucky last night would have something to do with Ohio.

“You think something else is up in Ohio, Judge?” Kennedy asked.

“Don’t know, my dear, but let’s just say I’m not leaving that to chance,” the Judge answered, looking at McCormick, who knew about Wire and the events in Kentucky the prior evening.

M
ac hung up the phone and walked over to Lich’s desk. The two of them had spent the better part of three hours on the phone tracking down the movements of Jason Stroudt and by necessity his business partner Adam Montgomery. They obviously knew Stroudt’s final destination. They were unable to get in contact with Montgomery as of yet. They had his cell phone number and Mac had placed three calls now. The phone was going unanswered and it appeared that it was turned off.

“Seem odd to you that we can’t get this Montgomery on the horn?” Mac asked.

“Perhaps, but do you always answer your phone if you don’t recognize the caller?” Lich asked back.

Mac shrugged his shoulders and had to agree, “No, you’re right but I’ve left two voice mails and nada.”

“Heard you boys picked up a body at The Snelling?”

Mac turned to see Detectives Pat Riley and Bobby Rockford approaching, dropping some paperwork off on their desks.

“You know what’s coming,” Mac said to Lich. “Just say no.”

Riles and Rock were partners and, along with Mac and Lich, they would work bigger cases together. As a group, they were unofficially known as The Chief’s Boys. Riley and Rock were a startling pair. Both were massive men, well over six feet tall, the only difference being that Riley was white and Rockford was blacker than the night. Riley, despite being Irish, looked like an Italian mobster, jowly face, heavy five o’clock shadow at all times of the day, jet black hair slicked back and a pin stripe suit, colorful tie and matching pocket square always hanging comfortably on his burly body. Rock, on the other hand, had been a Division II college defensive tackle. His shoulders, arms and hands were massive and when he smiled, the gap between his two front teeth made him look like Laurence Fishburne. The two together were as intimidating a pair as you could find. During an interrogation, Mac would often sit across the table and have Rock stand and lean on the table on one side and Riley on the other. Suspects generally cut to the chase. Riley had been something of a mentor to Mac, having been his father Simon’s partner at the time of his death. Mac had known Rock for years, having grown up playing city league football together. They were his good friends. The two of them also got more hall passes than any ten married men combined.

“We’re off to the pub, boys, care to refresh with us?” Riles asked.

“First rounds on me,” Rock added, probably as an inducement to tip Lich over to going; the man rarely turned down a free round, or a free anything for that matter.

“Can’t,” Lich answered before Mac, but only to get in a verbal dig. “Boy wonder here is all hot to trot on this one.”

“On a body at The Snelling? Seriously?” Rock inquired skeptically. “Case like that? That one can wait.”

“Normally you’d be right and I’d be following you out the door,” Mac answered. “But this one might be a little different.” McRyan gave Rock and Riles the two-minute rundown on their case. They read Mac. The boys picked up the scent, but while mildly intrigued by the case, they were not interested enough to break off their plans. There was beer to be drunk, stories to tell and perhaps a skirt or two to be chased.

“Well, if you boys change your mind, you know where to find us.” The two would be holding court at the far end of the bar at McRyan’s Pub. The Boys left with a wave and smile and strolled out, grabbing a couple extra people to join them along the way. Such was the case with Rock and Riles—always a party to be had. It was a miracle they both remained married.

After Riles and Rock’s departure, Mac and Lich got back to work and talked through their notes for a few minutes and realized that they needed to put together a timeline. Mac rolled a whiteboard into a vacant office, grabbed some dry erase markers and went to work laying out the timeline in black along the top of the board.

“Okay, so let’s see if we can put together the last two days for these guys,” Mac looked down at his notepad. “Stroudt and Montgomery flew out of Washington DC on Tuesday afternoon at 12:34 eastern time, direct to Nashville, arriving at 1:23 p.m. central time.” Mac jotted the times down on the board.

“Upon arrival in Music City,” Lich said, “Stroudt’s and Montgomery’s credit cards tell us that they checked into the airport DoubleTree Hotel.” Mac jotted that down on the whiteboard in green.

“Green for dollars?” Lich asked.

“Intuitive, isn’t it?” Mac quipped. “What did they do once they were in Nashville?”

“It looks like they go out to dinner at Cash’s Steakhouse on Tuesday night. They spend $249 on dinner, have themselves a couple of steaks, maybe a nice bottle of wine and then go back to the hotel.”

“How do you know they went back to the hotel?”

“Hotel bill shows two rounds of drinks later on Tuesday night at the hotel bar,” Lich responded, holding up a copy of the bill.

Mac jotted that on the board. “Okay, so they return to the hotel and presumably spend the night there.”

“They do,” Lich answered. “They get a late checkout of one o’clock from the hotel. Hotel bill shows they had breakfast at the hotel coffee shop. From there,” Lich flipped over the pages on his notebook, “they travel north into Kentucky and stop at an Erma Lou’s, which, based upon a little map search, is near Oak Grove, Kentucky. They spend $28.77, presumably on a meal. The credit card is closed out at 4:47 p.m.”

Mac jotted that on the timeline.

“Then an hour later Adam Montgomery uses his credit card at a gas station in Cadiz, Kentucky.”

“Where is Cadiz, Kentucky?” Mac asked.

“I haven’t found that yet,” Lich said.

Mac sat down at his computer and did a Google Map search for Cadiz. It was a town in southwest Kentucky, ninety miles northwest of Nashville. Mac printed off the map and taped it on the board.

“So these two fly into Nashville and drive up to Cadiz on Wednesday, which is here,” Mac pointed to Cadiz on the Kentucky map. “So after they stop in Cadiz, Kentucky, around 6:00 p.m., the next time we get a scent of these guys is this morning, fourteen hours later, in St. Louis when Stroudt jumps on a plane to get here.”

“No hotel anywhere?” Lich asked.

“No credit card record of one,” Mac answered, flipping through his notes. He shrugged, “They could have paid cash for one, like Stroudt did this afternoon at The Snelling.”

“Possible, I suppose,” Lich replied. “So the next hit we get is this morning in St. Louis.” “That’s right,” Mac answered jotting it down on the timeline. “Stroudt takes the flight out of St. Louis this morning and comes here.”

“And Montgomery probably drops off the rental car about the same time and there is no other credit card activity for him,” Lich noted and Mac added it to the timeline.