Mac pulled the Explorer in behind the bar. It had been a long and exhausting day, yet exhilarating all at the same time. His first truly “big” case and in the first day his prime suspect looked to be a sitting United States senator. “Top that,” he thought. He doubted anyone in the bar could.
The bar was McRyan’s Pub, the other family enterprise and a true St. Paul institution. The Pub sat on West Seventh Street, just on the southern outskirts of downtown and one block from the Xcel Energy Center, home of the NHL’s Minnesota Wild. It was the favored watering hole of hockey fans, and the St. Paul police.
Opened in 1907 by Mac’s Great-Grandpa Pat, the Pub had a colorful history of serving drinks before, during, and after prohibition. The during prohibition occurred in the now infamous Patrick’s Room, located in the basement and hidden behind what looked like a typical built-in wooden buffet one might find in an older home. A latch inside the middle drawer of the buffet opened the door into a large, hidden room. During prohibition, the police, politicians, and citizens together enjoyed illegal drinks and fun. Currently, the inside of Patrick’s Room was adorned with black-and-white photos of that colorful era, while the outside was marked by a plaque denoting the room’s colorful history. Patrick’s Room was now used for private parties, meetings, and cop poker games.
Mac walked into the left side of the main level, a classic, old-fashioned bar, the counter of which stretched half of the length and width of the room, leaving barely enough room for people to stand three or four deep, as it was tonight. Behind the bar was a long mirror with MCRYAN’S PUB and a big green shamrock stenciled on it. Two retired cops were tending bar, pouring drinks and trading stories with the crowd, which, from the looks of it, was entirely made up of cops. The room was abuzz. There was plenty to talk about with the Daniels murder and the fifth serial killing.
Most nights, when Mac walked in, he went in like everyone else, got a few, “Hi” and “How’re ya doings” as he worked his way through the crowd of cops. Tonight was a little different. He got looks, stares, and nods. He was working a big case, one people all around town were talking about. Undoubtedly, the boys would be looking to grill him for the facts on the case, his list of suspects, and, for those cops not involved with the serial killer, queries if he needed any help.
He made his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a Guinness. He preferred darker beers, especially if he was only going to have a couple before going home. That was his plan, too. Mac took a long swig, saw a couple bar stools open up and grabbed one.
“Mac, boy, mind if I grab a seat?”
Mac turned to find an old family friend giving him a tired smile. Pat Riley was having one of his specials, a Dewers on the rocks. Mac suspected it wasn’t his first, and he saw in Pat what he himself might look like in a month if he didn’t clear the Daniels murder.
Riles was heading the detail on the serial killer. After seven weeks of investigation, he looked worn down, tired, and tonight, properly drunk. The stress could be read all over his large, round face. A big man, Riles was six three, with a developing pot belly and a large mane of black hair. His face was jowly, and his five o’clock shadow made him look Nixonian. His bushy hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, and his face pale except the dark circles around his eyes. It had been a long couple of months for him.
Any cop in Pat’s position wanted more than anything to find the bastard who was killing these women. You lived with it twenty-four/seven. It consumed you, especially the longer it went on. Mac remembered his dad telling him that when he first starts working a case such as Pat’s, there was a certain excitement. But, if it went unsolved, the excitement went by the wayside, replaced by stress and pressure. These mounted with time.
Usually, the pressure started with the media. With a serial killer, the media pressure was constant, with daily stories and special reports. And now it was November 1st, a sweeps month for television. Investigative reports would be coming. The media pressure in turn created political pressure. Media stories scared politicians from the mayor down to members of the city council. Mac’s dad, Uncle Shamus, the chief, and Captain Peters all said at one time or another: a politician would never, ever, find a better job. They would do whatever they could to keep it, too. Consequently, they all had an innate, almost instinctive ability to apply pressure on the police, the fire department—whomever—to provide cover for themselves.
Naturally, when the media and the politicos got together, the pressure built on the detectives involved. Such was the case with Pat. The serial killer case was getting to him. Mac could see it. He was drinking more, sleeping less, and looking beaten down. No wonder. The case itself brought tremendous stress and pressure. Add media and political attention, and it was understandable why one would be driven to drink.
“Welcome to my world,” Pat said wearily.
“It has been an eventful day,” Mac agreed.
“Careful what you wish for, boyo. If your thing goes on like mine, it’ll wear on you.”
“You look beat.”
“Shit, this case is kicking my ass,” Riles replied, taking a sip of the Dewers. “You watch, it’ll do the same to you.”
Mac gave a little chuckle, “It’s only been one day, Pat. It better not get to me yet, or I’m not long for this line of work.” Mac thought he might mention something more about Pat’s drinking, but quickly put it out of his mind. It wasn’t his place.
“True enough. So, what’s up with your case?”
This was tough for Mac. He’d love to tell Pat about the senator and what they had learned about Claire Daniels. About what the autopsy report might say in the morning. But the chief had been clear; he couldn’t tell anybody anything about the case. Not the media, not fellow cops, not even his dog. Mac, however, couldn’t shut out Pat completely. That wasn’t the way it worked either. Quietly, he gave him pretty much everything but the senator.
“So, Pat, quid pro quo?”
Pat took a long sip of his Dewers and said, “Fair nuff.” The fifth victim was found in a vacant lot behind O’Neill’s Bar by a delivery driver. Like the first four, she had been strangled and sexually assaulted. The killer had used a Trojan condom when he assaulted the victim. Like all the other victims, a smiley-faced balloon had been left as a calling card.
“So, it’s number five, eh?” Mac finished.
“Looks that way.”
Mac hated to ask, “Anything new?”
“Nada, and that fuckin’ balloon,” Riles sighed. “Cripes, the guy’s mocking us with that damn thing.”
“You guys trace the balloon?”
“Yeah. You can buy them at forty-seven different locations in the Twin Cities by last count. No way to trace a specific balloon to a specific package or box. We’ve had guys go to all the stores, but we’ve got nothing.”
“What about this victim?”
“That’s one thing that’s a little different this time. This one was a CFO at a local company. The other victims weren’t professional, educated type ladies. We got a couple waitresses, one convenience-store clerk, and a gal who worked a drive-thru. This one was a professional. So, that’s a little different. The rest is pretty much the same.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Pat was running the show on the serial killer case and he already had a few meetings with the chief. The mayor was putting the pressure on about the murders and wondered if increasing the detail or changing the detail leadership would be necessary.
“What did Flanagan say to that?”
“What do you think he said?”
Mac smiled. “Told the mayor to go fuck himself, huh?”
A small smile creased Riles’s face. “Yeah. I’m sure there was a certain level of political-speak involved, but that’s basically what he said. Of course, he can only do that for so long. We need to bring this sucker home.” Pat took another sip from his drink. “Man, do we need a break in this thing.” He shook his head and looked down.
They chatted for a few more minutes. Pat was drunk. Mac made eye contact with the bartender and nodded towards Pat and made a steering motion with his free hand. The bartender returned the nod and scampered off. A minute later, Bobby Rockford, a member of Pat’s detail, ambled over and offered Pat a ride home. Well, it wasn’t really an offer, it was a “try to drive and I’ll kick your ass” proposition. Pat, too tired to argue, took the last sip of his Dewers and headed out with Rock.
Mac ordered another beer, grabbed a newspaper and menu from behind the bar and took an open booth by the front window, away from the crowd. His cousin Kelly came over and chatted him up for a few minutes, then took his order for a BLT. Mac flipped open the Business section when he heard, “Mind if I join you?”
Mac looked up to see Sally Kennedy. “Evenin’, Counselor. What brings you here?”
“Some friends were supposed to be here, but I’m a little late. They seem to have left.” Kennedy took a look around. She obviously wanted to have a drink, but who wanted to drink alone, other than George Thorogood?
Mac offered, “Grab a seat. I just ordered something from the kitchen. Hungry?”
Kennedy smiled her thanks. “No. What’re you drinking?”
“A Guinness. Can I order you one?”
“Sounds good.”
Mac motioned to Kelly, held up his glass and one finger. A beer was there thirty seconds later.
Kennedy thanked him and took a sip. “Quick service.”
“Helps when my cousin’s waiting on the table.”
Kennedy took a long drink. “I like the dark stuff. Especially if I’m only going to have one or two.”
“Exactly,” Mac replied. “If I have any more than three or four of these, I start getting full. I’ll usually switch over to vodka tonics or something.” Mac took a drink and a long look at Kennedy. “I couldn’t help but thinking that you and I met before?”
“We have.”
“Where?”
She smiled, and it was a nice smile. “Law School. William Mitchell. I knew who you were at the U of M because I went to the hockey games, but you’d remember me from Billy Mitch.”
Mac connected instantly. “That’s right! Now, I remember. We had a class or two together, I think, maybe third year?”
“Yes, I think that’s right. Stiffs and Gifts perhaps?” That was Estates and Trusts to most people.
“Could be.” Mac nodded.
“I remember seeing you over at Billy’s on occasion as well. I think with your wife.”
“Yeah, I was married back then,” Mac replied.
Kennedy sighed, “If it’s any consolation, Detective, I’ve been divorced a year myself.”
“Ahhh. So, I have joined elite company?” Mac replied ruefully.
That caused Kennedy to smile. “Why, yes, Detective, yes you have.”
Mac raised a mock toast, “To the newly divorced, and you can call me Mac. Everybody does.”
“Well, then, cheers, Mac. Call me Sally.” They clinked beers.
“Sally, let’s talk shop.”
“Good idea, but where’s your partner?”
“Lich? He stopped in briefly, but I think he went home. He’s in the newly divorced club as well, and not for the first time, either.”
“Man, marriage—not exactly a solid institution is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’re lots of people who make it work. I’m just glad we didn’t have kids. How about you?”
“Kids? No, although it’s probably what led to the end of things. He was ready. I wasn’t. We had a big blow-up about it, but I refused. Few days later, I come home to find he’s cleaned out his part of the closet and dresser. Said he was staying at a hotel. Couple of weeks later, I got papers from his lawyer and, as they say, the rest is history.”
“I remember now, you were married when we were in law school, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, my ex was a year ahead of me. We’re both lawyers. He figured he could continue with his career, and I’d stay home and be the happy homemaker. I was the prosecutor, in a government job making 50K, and he’s up for partner in Fitzgerald and Bush, making 150K. We didn’t need my salary, so I should just stay home.” Kennedy shook her head. Mac could relate to a spouse who didn’t value a job where one served the public good.
Mac’s food came just then. He took a bite of the sandwich. “You haven’t always been a prosecutor in Ramsey County, though, have you?”
“No. Just came over in the last couple of months. I was over in Minneapolis, with Hennepin County,” Sally replied, taking a pull from her beer. “Thing was, I kept running into my ex over there. He tries a number of cases. Knows the judges. I knew the judges. Too many rumors going around. Then he started seeing another lawyer I saw all the time, and it got to be a bit much. Ramsey County had a position open, and here I am. But enough about me.” Sally’s voice went quiet. “Let’s talk Mason Johnson.”
“Okay. What happens when Senator Johnson comes in?”
“You mean if he comes in?” Kennedy responded.
“Oh, he’ll be coming in. Question is, how he’ll do it. Voluntarily or involuntarily.”
“What makes you think he’ll do it voluntarily?”
“If I was him, I’d want to get in front of this, especially if I’m innocent, which I’m sure he’ll claim to be.” Kennedy furrowed her brow. “You disagree?” Mac asked.
“I’m not sure. I see what you’re saying. He’d look better if he came in to help.” Kennedy took a drink. “Thing is, he may not know if we know about him. He might be thinking, ‘Why implicate myself if the police don’t know about me?’”
“If that’s the case, he’s gambling we didn’t find Hernandez.” Mac took a sip of his Guinness, looked out the window and continued, “But I see what you’re saying. He’s got to anticipate we’ll find Hernandez. He’s got to think that maybe a neighbor somewhere saw him. That maybe Claire told someone at the station about the relationship, if there was one. Sooner or later we’d get to him. So, why not come out front. My question is whether he’ll seek legal counsel first. If so, how much will his lawyer get in the way?”
Kennedy smiled and nodded. “I’d be stunned if he didn’t show up with legal counsel. Good legal counsel.”
“Of course, Johnson’s an attorney, isn’t he? He might just show up himself.”
Kennedy waved him off. “You know what they say, Mac. A lawyer who represents himself …”
“… I know, I know. He has an idiot for a client.” Mac chuckled, remembering the old maxim from law school.
It was Kennedy’s turn to peer out the window. Then she said, “So how will you handle it if he comes in?”
“I haven’t thought about it much—yet. I suppose it depends upon when and where. I know the chief’s going to call either tonight or tomorrow. I won’t know much until that happens.” Mac finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers with his napkin. “Want another beer?”
“I was thinking about it, but it’s getting late,” Sally said, looking at her watch. “I should get home.”
“Where’s home?”
“I have a little place over in Highland Park. How about you?”
“I’m up on Summit. I have an apartment on the third floor of one of the old mansions, a couple houses south of the James J. Hill mansion.”
“Wow. That’s nice. How’d you swing that?” A hint of skepticism in her voice. Where did a detective get that kind of money?
“It actually doesn’t cost me that much. Family friend. I help out in the summer, mow the grass, trim the hedges—that sort of thing. I look after the place in the winter. She’s a snowbird. She charges me little rent. She doesn’t need the money. Of course, I do, so it’s a good deal.” Mac actually was just fine financially, but he didn’t want people to know that. They might start asking how a detective did so well, which was from a combination of factors, both the Grand Brew and the divorce. Mac had received all of the investments. Added to the McRyan Pub dividends and his salary, and he was living quite comfortably.
Getting back to business, he said, “I’ll tell you one thing. I’d like to keep my little visit with the senator quiet until we nail this down.”
“Press?”
With a sigh, “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of the media, especially television. And with Daniels being the victim, well, this is gonna get ugly.”
“You know, Mac, I’m a hockey fan. I had Gopher student tickets when I was at the U and you were playing. You didn’t seem to mind the media then.”
“That was different. The sports guys weren’t like the rest of the media. They like sports and for the most part knew something about it. They were mostly interested in the real story, especially when they were covering college.” Mac took a last drink from his beer. “Besides, it wasn’t like heads could roll because of them. But the media now?” Mac shook his head. “The newspaper guys are good. They usually take the time to get it right. I’ve always got time for them. Especially a couple of those old time scribes from the Strib or Pioneer Press that hang around the crime scenes. They’re kind of fun to talk to.”
“Guys who have been doing it for forty years?” Sally added.
“Yeah, exactly. But television? I don’t know about them. It seems like it’s all about entertainment, ratings, looks—less about real news. You have to tell the story, say about our serial killer, in thirty-second sound bites,” Mac said skeptically, shaking his head. “There’s no way to do a good job that quickly, and we usually come out on the short end of the stick. And the thing that really burns me is that, with the exception of a couple of them, most don’t know shit about police work.”
“They don’t know much about the law either,” Kennedy added. “I agree with you, Mac, but they’ll be a fact of life on this case.”
Mac sighed, nodded his head and ran his hand through his thick, blond hair. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’ll be a circus if word about the senator gets out. I’m not looking forward to that.”
Kennedy finished her beer, “You’re right about that. Shall we?”
“Yup.” As they both put on their coats, Mac looked back in the bar to wave good night and saw it immediately. Cops, seven or eight of them, had been watching him and Sally talk. He knew what they were thinking. He could see it in their eyes—Mac’s going to get some. Mac shook his head at them and, with his back turned to Kennedy, mouthed, “Fuck you.” They all just laughed. He turned to Kennedy, who hadn’t noticed, “Where are you parked?”
“Just across the street,” Kennedy nodded out the front window, “the Camry. You?”
“Out back. I’ll walk you across the street. You never know.”
She shared a warm smile. “Thanks.”
They walked across the street in silence. Mac stopped about fifteen feet short of her car. She dug out her keys and continued to the driver’s door. As she opened it, she looked back, flashed him a smile. “I suspect I’ll be seeing a lot of you now?”
The smile, the comment, the way she said that—which could be taken a couple of ways, one of which made Mac’s heart skip a little beat. He played it cool. “I suppose so.”
Kennedy nodded, flashed him another smile, and got in her car. Mac turned and walked back across the street. He would be seeing a lot of her most likely and that wasn’t an altogether bad thought. It had been the longest conversation he had with a woman since the divorce. As he was walking around to the back of the Pub, he looked in the front window through the MCRYAN’SPUB letters and saw his friends, laughing, waving their arms and giving him the look like he struck out. Mac chuckled. He imagined his couple of beers with Kennedy would be the talk of the town tomorrow. Cops—they loved the gossip. He thought about going back inside and trying to stop it before it started, but he knew better. He’d only make it worse.
• • • • •
Sally turned into her driveway, hit the garage door opener and pulled into her one-car garage. It was late, 11:30 p.m., but she smelled like a bar—smoky. She knew she couldn’t sleep like that. She took a quick shower. The warm water felt good, and she instantly knew she would sleep better.
She got out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried her shoulder length hair. Looking at herself in the mirror, she liked what she saw. She was thirty-two and took good care of herself. The Stairmaster in the spare bedroom, used daily, helped. With no husband and a lot of extra time, she spent it on herself. Not that anyone could ever really tell when she was in her business suits, but that was the way she wanted it. The last thing she wanted to attract was another lawyer. But, she was starting to stir. The divorce would always be with her, but a lot of the pain was behind her now. She thought maybe she wanted to start seeing people, wanted to start dating. McRyan. She hadn’t spent that much time talking with a man in months, at least a good-looking one, and he was that. Might have to try to get to know him a little better, she thought.