The St. Paul Conspiracy (24 page)

“No bet.”

“Anyone disagree?” Mac asked. Nobody did.

They knew for sure Monday night. After Knapp finished his Monday shift he went to dinner at Applebee’s. After his dinner he went to Dick’s, arriving at 8:00 p.m.

Riles got on the radio, “Mac, you go back in tonight.”

“Okay.” Mac slipped on an old softball jacket and stocking cap. His razor stubble and glasses topped off the ensemble.

Mac got on his cell phone and called Riley.

“Where’s our boy?” Riley asked.

“Sitting in the middle of the bar again.”

“Where are you?”

“End of the bar, by the entrance.”

“How’s our boy look?”

“Fine. Focusing alternately on the TV and on the bar back. I can’t imagine how he doesn’t get distracted by the bartender. I am,” Mac said, admiring Sheila again.

Knapp left the bar at 11:30 a.m. Once he jumped in his car, he didn’t drive away. Rather, he sat and watched from the back parking lot, well down from the back door of the bar. He watched well past the 2:00 a.m. closing time. At 2:10, the cute bartender came out and got into her little sports car. A couple of lights remained on. At 2:45 the lights inside went out, and the bar back, Linda, came out the back door, by herself. She walked thirty feet to her Chevy Trailblazer, jumped in and drove away.

Mac, Lich, Riley, and Rock kept watching as well. They weren’t leaving until Knapp did, which was at 3:00 a.m., slowly driving by the back of the bar, stopping briefly to scan the backdoor area. Then he left for home, with the second shift falling in behind him three blocks east on University, as he headed back to Hudson. Knapp had marked his prey.

* * * * *

Viper, Bouchard, and the rest of their merry band had been following Knapp as well. Viper, disguised with a beard and ball cap had followed McRyan into Dick’s. This was the third time he had gone in following Knapp, a different look each time. One time he had a mustache. Another time he wore out-of style dark-rimmed glasses and false teeth. He never went in with the same look. This time, he sat in a booth with a good view of Knapp.

The bartender came over to serve him. She was an attractive little thing. Viper ordered a Budweiser. When she left him, he whispered into his sleeve, “Come on in. I’m in a booth.”

Bouchard appeared five minutes later and sat down. Sheila came around again and took his order. Knapp didn’t follow, and Viper wondered how he couldn’t. Instead, he kept his eye on the less-attractive woman behind the bar. To the trained eye one could see the hunger in Knapp’s eyes. She was the one.

Viper watched as Knapp got up from his stool and headed down the back hallway. He always hit the can once a trip, good cover to check out the back hallway.

The bartender and bar back, as it turned out, were the co-owners. Dick had been their dad, and they’d taken over when he died. They both ran the bar and worked the late nights. They were making a boatload, a good six figures a year, according to tax records. They kept the overhead low, working most nights by themselves, with one guy working the kitchen. That was it. A cleaning company came each day. There were no other workers or staff. They would probably work it for a few more years, then sell and leave for better environs, Viper thought.

The bartender, Sheila, came from behind the bar again to serve Bouchard his Bud Light. As she walked back to the bar, Knapp came back down the hallway and retook his stool. Viper looked down the hallway for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

The men’s bathroom was all the way down the back hallway on the right. Viper pushed the door in and found himself in a small hallway that after five or six feet turned left, down a longer hallway, a little more than ten feet that ran into a wall that contained the sink and mirror. To the immediate left was the toilet stall. Wrapped around behind the stall was a wall with two urinals. Viper took a piss and listened. He couldn’t even hear the sounds of the bar. It was as if the bathroom was soundproofed. It had potential.

When Knapp left at 11:30, McRyan followed a few minutes later. Viper and Bouchard waited an additional fifteen minutes to leave. They got into a van and left the area, then switched vans and worked their way back towards Dick’s. They knew where the four police vehicles were located and steered clear. From their perch well east and behind the bar, they could see Knapp’s car, him in it and the back of the bar.

“You know, he’s getting the hunger to go for her. He’s doing the recon on her now. It’s not gonna be but two or three nights more, and he’ll go for her,” Bouchard mused.

“You’re right, and there are cops all over the place out here.”

“They’re on him day and night.”

“You have Kraft evaluate going after him at the farm house?” Viper asked.

“Yeah, but two things. First, there’s almost no way to approach the place without being seen. Day or night. Second, he’s a former Marine and a damn good one until he went haywire. Who knows what kind of security he might have set-up. He’s got to be thinking he might have to run at any moment, and he could have some sort of security signal or trigger that’d let him know if someone’s been in or out of the house. That’s Kraft’s speculation anyway. So, you better think of something else.”

“I did get one idea tonight. We might have to do it in the bar.”

* * * * *

The group met at the Gas & Shop at 3:15 a.m. This time Riley was there first. “What do you guys think? Maybe two or three more nights, he’ll go for her?”

“That’d be my guess,” Lich replied.

Everyone else nodded in agreement. Mac confirmed it for them, giving a run down of how Knapp was staring her down in the bar. “It’s not an obvious thing, unless you are looking for it, but he’s getting hungry. You can just see it. It’s in the eyes.” Mac rubbed his eyes, stifled another yawn.

Riles jumped in, “The chief wants to meet tomorrow. We’re all going in at 10:00 a.m. Mac, I’m thinking one thing, though.”

Mac knew, “We gotta talk to Linda, right?”

“Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Abort! Abort! Abort!”

It was Tuesday morning, chilly and the weather forecasters on the morning news had uttered something about snow. If the newsies weren’t talking about snow, they were talking about the University Avenue Strangler. Last night, Channel 6 had gone with an in-depth story about the investigation. The morning show then played excerpts, which Mac caught. He’d seen more flattering depictions and, in an ominous tone, Channel 6 was promising an additional installment tonight.

Sylvia Miller was getting butchered. She’d had enough, demanded an update, and the chief acquiesced. That’s why Mac was rubbing his eyes as he exited the elevator on the way to Flanagan’s office. He’d gotten to bed at 4:00 a.m. and it was 8:00 a.m., the meeting with the chief was moved up two hours.

When Mac walked in, Miller and Flanagan were waiting, along with Helen Anderson and Sally. Mac had fitfully slept at home. Sally, with a full night’s rest, looked like a million bucks by comparison. The chief nodded to the couch where Mac grabbed a seat and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. He drank it as fast as the roof of his mouth would allow. As he poured himself another cup, Riley came in, and the meeting came to order.

The Chief started everything off. “Riles, where you at on Knapp?”

Miller jumped in with, “Who’s Knapp?”

Riles smiled tiredly. “Sylvia, let me tell you about our serial killer.” He flipped open his notebook.

The chief jumped in before he started. “Sylvia, you can’t repeat any of this. At least not yet.”

Riley gave everyone the run down. When he’d finished Flanagan looked relieved, Anderson looked excited, and Miller was just plain incredulous. Sally knew all about it, pillow talk of the strangest kind.

“How long have you been on this guy?” Miller asked.

“A week now,” replied Riley.

“How have you kept it so quiet? I haven’t heard even a whisper of this?”

“Because if anyone did, they wouldn’t have a badge,” replied the chief. “And, Sylvia, you can’t talk about it either.”

“I know. I know,” she replied, the relief showing. “I’m just glad to know you’re getting somewhere. That this thing might come to an end. I assume you think he’ll hit soon?”

Mac jumped in. “Next couple of days. Everyone agrees who’s seen him inside the bar, watching the woman. The hunger’s building.”

“Have we seen the van yet?” asked the chief.

“No.”

“Doesn’t that concern you?” Anderson asked.

“Not really,” replied Riles. “We think he uses it only when he takes the women. We think it’s stored in one of the outbuildings at his place.”

“You going to talk to the bar back?” Sally asked.

“Mac and I are going today,” replied Riley.

* * * * *

Mac and Riley got to Dick’s as Linda was pulling up in her Trailblazer. When Mac got out of the unmarked car, she looked at him quizzically and then smiled.

“A little early isn’t it?” a shy smile creased her face.

“It would be, Linda, but that’s not why I’m here.” Mac pulled out his badge, introduced Riley and explained the investigation and Knapp. She led them into the bar and to the upstairs office. Whereas the lower bar was a throwback to a bygone era of a hole-in-the-wall bar, upstairs was a well-furnished office with a distinct woman’s touch. There was a large tasteful offwhite couch and two sitting chairs, which surrounded a coffee table sitting on a Persian area rug that covered a good portion of the wood floor. Two antique oak desks, each with a new laptop computer on them, allowed the women to do business. A thirty-two-inch TV sat in a corner, along with a CD player. The office served as a pleasant alternative to the bar below.

“So, what does your investigation have to do with me?” Linda asked, as she fell into one of the chairs. Mac and Riles took seats on the couch.

Riles, cutting to the chase. “You’re his next target.”

Linda quickly put her hand to her mouth, a look of horror overtaking her face, her voice stammering, “You’re su... su... sure... he’s after me?”

“After last night, we’re real sure,” replied Mac. “He’s been in your place the last several nights. We’ve had a cop in there every night as well as all over the place outside. He leaves the bar and watches from the parking lot until you leave to go home.”

“But why me? Why me? I mean, what did I do?” She asked loudly, her voice anxious, full of alarm.

“He goes for shy, reserved women; you’re that. He goes for workingclass women. I know you own the bar with your sister, but you have a working-class look and manner about you. He goes after women who are smaller physically, which you are,” Mac replied. “You fit the profile to a T.”

“So when do you think he’ll come after me?”

“Any night now.”

“Tonight?”

“Possibly.”

“Why don’t you just arrest him now?”

“We can’t,” Mac answered. “Without going into the legal niceties, we don’t have enough. We’re very lucky to have stumbled onto him so to speak.”

“But so are you,” Riles added. “So, we need your help.”

She didn’t look relieved. “What do you need?”

Riles didn’t sugar coat it, “Him to make a move on you.”

More stammering, “You... you... you mean, letting him come after me? What? You want to catch him in the act?”

Riles and Mac nodded.

She excused herself and went downstairs and returned a minute later with a glass and bottle of Beam, no ice. She sat down, poured herself a shot and knocked it back. She poured herself another one and offered the bottle to both of them. They declined. The second shot went down easily, hardly a grimace on her face. “I assume you have something in mind?”

The detectives smiled, nodded reassuringly and laid out their plan.

* * * * *

Viper was wearing yet another disguise, long black hair, mustache, with a duck-hunting cap and coat to finish it off. He was sitting alone in a booth near the back of the bar, facing the back hallway. Bouchard was disguised as well, all in black. Long black hair down past his shoulder, a black leather biker jacket, black jeans, black leather biker boots, a chained wallet, along with a beard and dark-tinted glasses. He was sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. The long wigs covered their earpieces. They had small, extremely sensitive microphones hidden in their coat collars. They were waiting for Knapp.

He strolled in at 8:30 p.m. and sat on a stool in the middle of the long bar, his usual spot. The good-looking bartender sauntered over and took his order. She would draw the desires of any man tonight. Skin-tight blue jeans and a tight, bright-white top with long sleeves that left her midriff exposed. She apparently had never heard of a bra. Not that Viper was complaining. He caught a quick glimpse of the bar back, in her blue jeans, white sweatshirt and blue turtleneck. How were these two women sisters?

Knapp was watching the bar back and a Gopher basketball game with equal intensity. At 9:30 p.m., almost finished with his second beer, he hopped off the bar stool and headed down the hall. When Knapp went into the men’s room, Bouchard waited ten seconds and then casually got off his stool and followed down the hall.

Bouchard pushed in the door to the men’s room, turned left and as he reached the sink, he could see Knapp in the mirror, at the far urinal on the opposite wall. He walked over to the open one. Knapp glanced over and gave him a slight nod, which Bouchard returned, uttering, “I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“I hear ya.”

Bouchard unzipped his pants and faked arranging to piss with his left hand. With his gloved right hand he reached in his coat pocket for the switchblade.

* * * * *

Mac figured tonight was not the night. No van. He and Lich were sitting in a van, a block away looking at the back of the bar. Tonight Rockford was inside. He called Mac from the bathroom.

“What’s up?”

“My dick. You outta see what she has on tonight.”

Mac had to smile. Linda had told her about Knapp. Sheila probably decided to pull his chain a little. “Is she drawing any attention from our boy, or is he keeping it on Linda?”

“Pretty much Linda, although even he took notice of this chick tonight. There isn’t a guy in the joint who isn’t undressing her with his eyes, not that they’d have to work hard to do that.”