The St. Paul Conspiracy (17 page)

After having finished their drink, Mac looked at Lich, who nodded, time to go. They shook hands with everyone on the way out. Flanagan walked them through his door out to the waiting area, obviously happy, “Off to the Pub for you, boys?”

“At least for me,” Mac replied.

“What about you, Dick?”

Mac jumped in, “Well, Chief, I think ole Dicky boy here has a hot date with Dot.”

Lich gave him a dirty look. The chief was amused. “Haven’t learned your lesson yet?” Lich’s messy divorces were the subject of many a humorous story, usually told by Dick himself.

Lich shrugged his shoulders, “Chief, I’ve found that women are the one mistake continually worth making. Something my partner should realize.”

Flanagan laughed, a happy laugh, and put his arm around Mac’s shoulder, “I’m sure our young friend here will get around to Ms. Kennedy sooner or later.”

Even the chief knew about this, good grief. Mac stared at Lich who had another one of his shit-eatin’ grins on his face. Pay back was a bitch, boyo. Mac decided to cut his losses and turned to leave, “Come on, Dick Lick, give me a ride to the Pub.”

The chief laughed again, patted them both on the back, “You guys have a good time tonight. You’ve both earned it.”

They left Flanagan behind and jumped in Lich’s little purple Dodge Neon. Mac laughed every time he saw the heavyset Lich get behind the wheel. He made the Neon look like a toy car. Mac looked in the backseat. It looked as if half of Dick’s closet was in the backseat. “Geez, you living in the car?”

Lich smiled and said, “I haven’t been home much this week.”

“Does the backseat maybe turn into a Murphy Wallbed?”

Lich laughed, “I’ll mention that to Dodge. Maybe that could be an upgrade in this thing.” Lich dropped him off in front of McRyan’s Pub, “Have a good one, Mac.”

“You, too.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, boyo.”

Mac closed the car door and Lich was off. He walked in the front door and took in the crowd. Friday night was always a good night for the Pub. Cops always stopped off for a beer before heading home. Beers were cheap for any cop on Friday night, a never-ending happy hour. But this night was different. There were cops everywhere, double—maybe triple—the normal crowd. Mac could tell immediately that a cloud had lifted over the department. Everyone was in a good mood. Mac tried to reach the bar unnoticed. No dice. Once he was spotted, the place erupted.

As expected, Uncle Shamus made a spectacle of his nephew. There were backslaps all around, and Mac knew he wouldn’t have to pay for a drink all night. Of course, there was plenty of good-natured ribbing for being on television. Bonnie Schmidt, who had been at Daniels’s the morning they found her body, was in a happy mood. “You looked great on television.”

“Thanks, Bonnie, although I’d just as soon avoid the attention.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

Mac winced. He didn’t want to be some billboard for the department. He shoved that aside; it was Friday night, time to celebrate.

He soaked it up and enjoyed the next hour.

* * * * *

The boss took the news calmly. The operation on Daniels had been planned in three days. They only had that amount of time to conduct surveillance and form a plan. They were lucky that the senator was involved. It had created great cover. But with that narrow of a window, any number of things could go wrong. McRyan checking out their pick up point was one of those things. The unearthing of their pick up spot had not stopped the hearing from going forward. Viper seriously doubted that finding it would have caused that. However, McRyan would make a report of what he had learned, and it would be disclosed to counsel for the senator as part of defense discovery. The defense would obviously investigate other scenarios. Once they started looking, what else might they find?

“You’re concerned about this?” the boss asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you really think this would be enough to create any sort of reasonable doubt on the case?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer. But once they start looking—”

“Who knows what they will find,” the boss finished it for him and took a sip of coffee. No drinks. This wasn’t a happy hour. “I think it’s obvious what we need to do.”

* * * * *

Mac had a few beers and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Backslaps and thanks came one after another. He wanted to advance on merit as a cop. He wanted to live up to his father’s name. On this night, he felt like he’d done that. A couple of veteran detectives came up and gave him the, “Your dad would have been proud today,” made the night that much sweeter. Any doubts he had about the case had been washed away by the last couple of hours. People a lot more experienced than he were happy, so why shouldn’t he? The beers had given him a little buzz, and he was feeling good.

He was standing in the back when he saw Sally come in the front. She’d dropped her hair down, and her glasses were gone. Nonetheless, she was immediately recognized and swarmed once inside, taking in some of the good cheer from the crowd. She’d said nice things about the police on TV. Any prosecutor who did that would earn goodwill, and tonight, free drinks.

They made eye contact, and she slowly worked her way back to him. She looked at his beer. “Buy me one of those?” Mac looked at the bartender, holding up his beer. Another one appeared immediately. She took a long drink.

“A pretty happy group in here.”

“I’d say so.” Mac took a quick look around. Lots of people were looking his way.

“You look happy too,” Sally said.

“I am. It’s been a good day.”

They both took a drink. He took a long look at her. She was attractive. She was interested, and he had pretty much admitted the same. Enough screwing around, it was time. “Everyone seems to think you and I are an item.”

“So I hear,” she replied with a little smile and put her beer up to her lips.

“Well then, why don’t we act like it?"

She dropped her beer from her lips and gave him a serious look.

“I’m parked out back.”

She nodded and put her beer on the bar. At this point, neither of them cared if anyone saw them leave. They walked down the back hallway, and Mac said, “My place?”

“Okay.”

Mac held the back door open, and she walked through. Mac followed, and she stopped, turned around and kissed him, deeply, a long, slow, soft, wet kiss. Months of hurt and frustration were released. They stopped and looked in each other’s eyes. He lightly took her hand and led her over to the Explorer, opening the passenger door for her to get in. He went around and got in, and they embraced again.

“We better go,” she said after a few minutes.

He pulled out of the lot and made his way over to Ramsey Avenue and across the I-35E bridge and up the hill towards Summit. She leaned over and kissed him on the neck and nibbled on his ear as he drove, sending a shiver down his spine. Turning right onto Summit, he accelerated the two blocks to his place. Once the Explorer was inside the garage, he undid his seatbelt and pulled her to him.

“Take me inside,” she whispered breathlessly, her mouth a centimeter from his.

They got out and walked briskly arm in arm to the back door. They made it halfway up the backstairs before they embraced again. Carefully he moved up her skirt and picked her up so she was straddling him, carrying her up the rest of the steps, while she nibbled, breathing heavily in his ear. He dug in his pocket for his keys while she kissed him on the neck. The door opened, and Mac dropped the keys on the table, shutting the door with a back kick. Quickly they moved to the bedroom, where they feverishly took off each other’s clothes and fell into bed.

* * * * *

The senator managed to fly beneath the media radar long enough to get away to his cabin on Cedar Lake, an hour west of the Twin Cities. It was a large A-frame cabin that had four bedrooms on the main level and a loft that slept six more. It had been his parents’ place, and, since he was an only child, he had inherited it upon their deaths. He had arranged to have it stocked with food and drink at all times. Upon his arrival, he went immediately to the liquor cabinet and found an unopened bottle of tequila. He was going to get drunk, plain and simple. Tomorrow, Lyman and his crew were going to come out and start discussing defense strategy. They would be there at 10:00 a.m., but for tonight, he was going to take the bottle of tequila, watch television and drink his problems away.

He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and the ice bucket from the counter. He filled the bucket with ice, headed for the couch, sat down and poured a drink. He knocked it back and poured himself another and put that one down as well before grabbing some ice and pouring a drink for sipping.

A classic movie was in order, and he grabbed the remote. A little channel surfing struck pay dirt.
To Catch a Thief
was on, a Hitchcock classic with Cary Grant and the hypnotically beautiful Grace Kelly. An appropriate movie, he thought, since it was about a man framed for a crime he did not commit. His feet up on the coffee table, he leaned back on the couch and took a long drink from his glass.

* * * * *

Mac and Sally slept for a couple of hours until the sound of the furnace kicking in caused her to wake. She snuggled her head on his chest. She felt good, like a woman again. It had been a long time. A year and a half she thought upon reflection. She’d let off a lot of pent-up frustration and pain.

The first time had simply been sex; both of them so horned up, ripping their clothes off, struggling with each other on the bed. The first time was always awkward, she thought. Not that she’d had lots of first times. She had some friends who went through a lot more men than she had, who always said the first time was awkward. Her friends said that if the second time was bad, he was probably no good in bed.

She wasn’t sure she subscribed to that theory, but she didn’t need to worry. The second time, which occurred about fifteen minutes after the first, had been much better. McRyan knew what he was doing; there was no doubt about that. He was an energetic lover. The second orgasm was a result of McRyan bringing her there. She couldn’t help herself when it happened. He’d given her a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time. She smiled inwardly, she felt good, although her breasts were a little sore, and she realized it was probably beard burn. He’d certainly gone for them time and again.

She felt a little shiver and moved her body a little closer to his. He was warm, and she moved her arm slowly up and down his chest, playing with his chest hair. He awoke. She turned her head to him and gave him a soft little kiss. She stroked his face and looked into his dark-blue eyes. They were attractive eyes. “Sorry I woke you.” She didn’t really mean it.

“That’s okay.” He rolled slightly onto his side. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.”

He leaned down and gave her a little kiss. He lingered there, and she kissed him back, holding the kiss, sweeping with her tongue. She was ready for a third time. She couldn’t remember ever wanting or even going a third time. “You know,” she said as she rolled on top of him, and kissed him a little more deeply, “They say there are three periods in a hockey game.”

“Yes, there are,” he replied, lightly moving his fingers up and down her back.

“Well, we’ve only played two,” she said as she could feel him stiffening beneath her. She kissed him again while reaching back down to slide him in.

“Let’s play hockey.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m a regular crimefighting hero.”

Mac woke up and looked at the clock, 8:00 a.m.. The sunlight blazed through the shades of the windows. Normally an early riser, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept in so late. He rolled his naked body slowly to the side of the bed, not wanting to wake Sally.

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes a little and looked for his boxers. It took a few minutes to find them as their clothes lay everywhere. Finally, he saw them over by the door. Quietly, he pushed himself out of bed, walked over and pulled them on. He grabbed his robe from the hook behind the door.

Looking back at her, she looked wonderful. Her shoulder-length hair falling across her face, the blanket covering only the lower half of her body. The rays of light coming through the shades brushed across her, making her look almost angelic. He tiptoed out of the room and headed for the bathroom, engaged in some morning mechanics and left a new toothbrush out for Sally. Once finished he headed for the kitchen.

He was tired and exhilarated all at the same time. It had been quite a night. His legs felt heavy—sex legs they had called them when he was in college.

He started a pot of coffee and went down the steps to the backdoor to grab the newspaper. The arrest was front-page news, with Mac and Lich pictured above the fold, side by side with a picture of the senator and Hisle. A smaller picture below the fold had Sally and Helen Anderson from their press conference. As he walked back up the steps, he scanned the stories, reading the facts that had already become intimately familiar. Inside the front page, the political wags were frothing at the mouth, discussing all of the possible political ramifications. It was speculated that Senator Johnson would need to resign in the very near future.

By the time Mac wandered back to the kitchen, the coffee was ready. He poured a cup and grabbed the sports page, wanting to see the Gopher hockey score. He had tickets for tonight’s tilt and wondered if Sally would want to go. He wouldn’t need to wait long to ask.

Sally was up and walking down the hall to the bathroom. He heard her laugh, probably at the toothbrush, and heard the water start running. A few minutes later she came walking into the kitchen, wearing his white dress shirt. She’d managed to fasten a button or two, and the shirt hung mid-thigh, revealing her thin, shapely legs.

“Good morning,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee. She leaned up and kissed him, then took the cup.

He handed her the front page, and she went over to the small kitchen table to sit down and read. “We both received front page treatment,” he said, pointing out their pictures. They spent a few quiet minutes reading the paper.