“It’s an interesting dynamic for sure, but from what I’ve seen the vets roll with it pretty well. You can tell they all know he’s the smarter one in the room. Plus he’s a McRyan, a name that means something around here. These guys — Riley, this big guy Rockford, and fat Lich — all try keeping him just enough in line to stay employed, but then run interference for him so he can do his thing.”
“Sharp, then,” Smith acknowledged.
“Damn straight,” Burton answered, taking a pull from his beer. “He knew the safe house was the safe house five minutes after he got there. Long before they got into the house to look around.”
“What told him that?”
“Gut. Instinct. He just knew it was the place. He said he could feel it. Cops like that scare the shit out of me. They see what you don’t want them to see.” Burton took a last pull from his High Life. “I feel much better knowing I got McRyan sitting still.” Burton finished the popcorn, picking out one piece at a time and popping them into his mouth. “So tell me about the plan for tomorrow.”
“The call will come in at 6:00 PM…”
Heather nursed her drink, a small amount of the diluted, yet refreshing liquid remaining amongst the melting ice cubes and squeezed lemon. She looked at her watch, 1:22 AM, and the bar was still going strong. The crowd was whoopin’ it up, including the woman strangling a cat in the corner, or maybe she was just singing karaoke.
Burton was still in the booth and had been talking for over half an hour with the other man. Heather had only seen his profile, except for now. The man looked her direction just briefly and then turned away and back to Burton. The conversation was equal at first, but now the other man was doing most of the talking, counting off on his fingers while Burton nodded along, only occasionally speaking.
“You want another drink darlin’?” the cute bartender was back.
Heather learned that his name was Skeet, which couldn’t possibly be his real name. She contemplated the offer, the first drink having tasted so good. “Sure. Easy on the vodka though.”
“Anything for you darlin’,” Skeet answered, giving her his big cheesy smile and a wink as he started to mix the drink in front of her. Heather smiled inwardly and chatted with the bartender while he poured. This guy was working her, and he thought he was closing the deal, which was the funny part. Skeet put the drink in front of her, smiled again and moved away, beckoned by a loud crowd demanding Kamikazes on the other side of the bar.
The reporter took a small sip of her fresh drink and casually turned her gaze over to the right. Both men were gone.
24
WEDNESDAY, THE FOURTH OF JULY
1:28 AM
Mac, Lich, Peters, and Sally waited at the security guard station of the World Trade Center Tower in downtown St. Paul. Lich chit-chatted the men working the desk, who were retired suburban cops. The three men discussed pensions, benefits, and divorces; as it turned out, all of them had one. Dick got on a roll, causing hoots and howls with stories about getting cleaned out by his ex-wives. Mac’s partner was looking at possible retirement, at least early retirement, in a few years and frequently worked his numbers, figuring what he would have to live on. Dick would have to work long past age sixty-five, whether it be at a security desk or taking up Shamus’ long-standing offer to tend bar at the Pub.
All of the men looked up as Summer Plantagenate pushed through the interior glass doors. Stressed and tired, with bags under her eyes, the tall, thin lawyer arrived with her long blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, wearing a zip-up gray nylon sweatshirt, white jogging shorts, and running shoes. The last two days had been hard on Lyman’s protege, and she answered on the first ring when Mac called. Unable to sleep, she welcomed the chance to do anything to help. Summer led them to a bank of elevators for floors twenty-eight through thirty-seven.
Hisle amp; Brown occupied the entire thirty-seventh floor. The firm resided in ornate offices, their dark-paneled walls appointed with fine paintings and impressive statues. In the spacious lobby, a waterfall separated the reception desk from the leather chairs and sofas of the waiting area. The offices proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac when enticing clients or lawyers to join the firm.
Summer led them through the lobby, past the reception desk and into a large interior room. It was a training room, with a bank of six computers set along one wall, a mahogany conference table surrounded by high-backed black leather chairs in the center, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the other wall, stocked with reference materials, legal reports, and treatises. On one end wall, cherry cabinet doors opened to reveal a large screen television on the left and a whiteboard to the right.
“We can set up shop in here,” Summer said. “We can use all these computers to access our system and the conference table to look through the paper files.”
“Are your other people on the way in?” Peters asked.
“Yes. I’ve got three of our civil lawyers, a paralegal, and two secretaries on the way — all people who’ve been here for years. They all love Lyman and would do anything for him.”
“Good, we’ll need them all, and Sally can help, too. The guy we’re going to have run the computer part of this should be here any time,” Mac answered and then looked to Peters. “You better get Scheifelbein back over to HQ.”
“I’m on it,” Peters answered, pulling out his cell phone and walking out of the room. Lich followed as his cell phone started chiming.
“Why do you need a computer guy here?” Summer asked, grabbing Mac’s arm. “Can’t you just have a guy run it from your place?”
“Problem is,” Mac said, looking around the room quickly and then back to Summer, “we think someone might be working this from the inside.” Mac explained their theory, Sally nodding along. Plantagenate was stunned.
“They could have… been… gaming this thing from the get go.” She put her hand over her mouth, astonished.
Summer nodded. “Do we tell the rest of my people coming?”
“Let’s not if we don’t have to,” Mac cautioned. “I want to keep this part of it quiet for now.”
Two lawyers and a secretary walked into the room. Summer broke off from Mac and Sally to give them the rundown. The three immediately went to the computers and started them up, and Summer waved Sally over, showing her what to do. The idea was to pull every name they could find from the civil side of Lyman’s practice. When Hagen arrived he’d run that information against the database of information at the Department of Public Safety.
Mac went to the whiteboard, flipped open his notebook, and started copying out the thoughts he had at the Pub. He excluded his speculations on the inside job, keeping that close for now. With it all back up on the whiteboard, he scanned once more for the big picture. Lyman and Chief, long list of cases. How long? Mac turned to Plantagenate.
“Can you access all of Lyman’s civil cases here at the office?
“Everything in the last five years or so,” Summer replied. “The rest is off-site.”
Mac sighed. Nothing was ever easy. “Where? Where is the off-site?”
“North St. Paul, up off of Highway 36, place called Old Files,” one of the other lawyers answered.
“We need people up there as well. Get them there with cell phones, laptops, Dictaphones, the works,” Mac said. “We’re on a tight clock here.” Summer started dialing.
Lich came back into the room with an odd look on his face. “We gotta go somewhere.”
Riles and Rock stood with the warden at the front entrance to the Ramsey County Correctional Facility, otherwise known as the County Workhouse. The short and heavyset warden of the facility, a man named Ferm, worked his second Marlboro. He talked about the first-place Twins, the weather, and the circus that often was the Fourth of July event in his hometown of Stillwater.