“Why’s that?”
“Because Shannon Hisle is a Type I diabetic. She can get very sick if she doesn’t receive insulin. She could die if she doesn’t get her medicine.” Mac let it hang in the air for a moment. “Do you want that on you? Do you want to go to your grave with that on your conscience? You wanted revenge. Your son was killed in prison. You blame the chief and Lyman Hisle. So you strike back in a way you know that will hurt them. And you’ve succeeded. Trust me, I know both of those men, and they are hurting. You saw that yourself a few hours ago.” Mac paused, and then asked quietly, “But do the girls have to die?”
“I had nothing to do with this,” Wiskowski answered. “I can see why you would look at me, I really can. And I don’t know what Frank McDonald is doing, but he’s done with my company I can assure you. But I have nothing more…” Another coughing fit shook him, the sixth time in the last hour. “I didn’t do this.” He coughed and wiped his hand across his mouth. “I have nothing to do with this.” Wiskowski slumped back into his chair, his head tilting to one side.
As Wiskowski coughed again, an FBI agent stuck his head in and called Burton out.
Mac slumped back into this chair, checking his watch. It was nearly 4:00 AM, and he felt nearly as tired as Wiskowski. The old man’s lawyer sensed it as well.
“My client has nothing more to say detectives,” the lawyer said. “He’s answered your questions time and again. He has nothing to do with the kidnappings. He’s weak and tired. He needs to be allowed to go home and rest.”
“Sorry Counselor, but we obviously think otherwise,” Mac answered, although the old man’s persistence was causing him to start to wonder if he was involved. He wasn’t breaking, and he should have by now.
Burton stuck his head back into the room.
“I’ve got something you need to see,” he said, looking at Mac.
Mac and Lich moved back into the hall, joined by Riley, Rock, and Duffy.
“What’s up?” Mac asked, yawning.
“You said we should look at recent real estate purchases, right?” Burton asked.
“Yeah, so? Did your people find something?”
“Maybe. Most of the recent purchases are at least six months old, development parcels in the suburbs. There are multiple acres, clearly for residential housing, either high-end houses or townhouses. But there is one that’s odd. It’s for a single-family home down east of Northfield. It was bought by one of his smaller subsidiary groups, DSW Inc., which is run by Drew and Steve. And it was bought in the last month or so.”
“After he found out about the cancer,” Mac said.
“That’s right,” Burton said. “What could be the possible point?”
“Are there other houses around?” Lich asked.
“We did a satellite search of the property,” Duffy answered. “It’s off by itself. Well in from the county road. There are no other homes nearby.”
“Nice country house, perhaps?”
“Doesn’t appear to be. Rambler, fairly large, but just a nondescript rambler out in the country.”
“How big a piece of land?” Mac asked.
“It was a twenty-acre parcel, maybe a hobby farm, but it’s in the middle of nowhere,” Duffy replied. “It wouldn’t be developed for years, if ever.”
“What’s Northfield have to say about it?”
“I called out and had them do a drive-by,” Duffy answered. “They said a couple of vans are parked in front of the garage. Otherwise, very little going on.”
Burton looked to Mac.
“What do you think?”
“Let’s ask the old man.”
Mac and Burton went back into the interview room. Wiskowski’s lawyer looked up.
“I said, we are done.”
“I got just one other thing I want to ask about.” Mac said.
“What’s that?”
“What do you know about this,” Mac slid a sheet of paper in front of Wiskowski and his lawyer. It was the property listing for the Northfield house.
Wiskowski’s mouth opened and then his shoulders slumped, like he’d been caught.
“What’s out at that house?”
Wiskowski shook his head.
“Maybe that’s why McDonald is involved.”
“McDonald?” Mac asked, standing now, leaning down to the old man, his voice rising, “McDonald? What’s at that house damn it?” He pounded the table, “What’s out there?”
Wiskowski looked at the picture.
“Ohh Steve.” Drew Sr. put his hands to his face. “I wondered why he bought that place. Why would he do this?” he pleaded to his lawyer, who just shook his head.
“Steve?” Mac asked. “Your son?” They hadn’t been able to find Wiskowski’s son as of yet. “What’s Steve have to do with this?”
Wiskowski pleaded with his lawyer.
“Why would he do this?”
Burton grabbed Mac by the arm.
“We’ve been looking at the wrong Wiskowski. Let’s go.”
4:32 AM
Mac and Lich were in the back of an FBI Suburban with Duffy and Burton in front. Two additional Suburbans followed. Just outside the east side of Northfield, the group met up with the Rice County sheriff and three deputies in a parking lot behind a church.
Burton leaped out and was greeted by the sheriff.
“You must be Agent Burton.”
“I am.”
“George Glenning, Rice County sheriff. The place you’re looking for is four miles or so up the road on the right side. House is set well back from the road in a light grove of trees.”
“You do a drive-by?”
“Did it myself, fifteen minutes ago. Looks pretty quiet. A few vans are parked in front of the garage, but no activity. Lights off on the main level, although I thought I could detect some light out of the window wells. Someone might be awake in the basement.”
“Pretty sleepy, huh?”
“That’s my read,” Glenning answered. “You have, what, twelve men? Plus my four. That should be plenty of power. How do you want to hit the place?”
“Let’s go up nice and easy, without the Suburbans,” Burton answered. “If the girls are in there, we don’t want to give these guys any warning.”
“So we pull up to the end of the driveway and walk in quietly, then.”
“Yeah,” Burton answered. “From what you’re telling me, we’ll have a little bit of cover as we approach the house.”
“A little. The trees are tall but not terribly thick — cleared out around the bottom. The grass is pretty high, but no brush or anything to hide behind. So you can get to a tree and have some cover, but we’ll be exposed when we go for the house.”
“Let’s do it then.”
The Suburbans made the four-mile drive to the house.
“Do you think the girls are really there?” Lich asked, looking at Mac.
“I don’t know,” Mac answered, checking the clip for his Sig. “But the way Old Man Wiskowski reacted when we showed him the picture of the house, it was as if he put the puzzle together himself. It makes sense. The house is isolated. Steve Wiskowski was torn up about his brother. His dad’s going downhill and has been talking about Drew Junior’s death. How it’s Charlie Flanagan’s and Lyman Hisle’s fault. The old man is dying in front of him and can’t do anything about Flanagan and Hisle, so the kid does. We haven’t been able to find the kid. The old man claims he doesn’t know where he is.” Mac shrugged his shoulders. “This could be it.”
“I’ve heard of crazier things,” Lich said, pulling on his vest.
“It at least makes some sense,” Mac answered and then added, “We’ll know soon enough.”
The Suburbans stopped at the driveway, and everyone jumped out. They carefully made their way up to the house, a single-story with white siding and brick halfway up the front. To the right, the driveway swung around to a detached three-stall garage with two vans parked in front. As the group approached the edge of the tree line, there was a noise to the right. A man in blue jeans and a dirty white T-shirt came out the side door to the detached garage, wiping his hands with a rag. The man saw them, dropped the rag, and took off running towards the woods behind the garage.