The employees of Hanburg’s hardware started filing in. Mac and Lich were talking to them back in Hanburg’s office, showing the photos. It was going nowhere. Nobody recognized any of the pictures. There were some comments about people being vaguely familiar, but nobody said, “Yeah, I’ve seen Dean or David or Monica Reynolds or Smith Brown in here recently.”
“Fuck me,” Mac said, leaning over the desk.
“What next?” Lich said. We’ve got what?” He looked at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes until the call?”
Mac looked at the floor, “We put out the description. Brown and the Muellers are probably hanging around for the money drop. Maybe we pick them up that way.” He said it without much conviction. Mac didn’t believe it was going to be that simple.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Lich replied. “At least give it to our people. People we know we can trust. We still keep it close to the vest, but at the same time, we’ve got eyes out looking.”
“Do it,” Mac replied. “Call Riles. We should start driving back that direction anyway.”
Lich pulled out his cell phone and started dialing and walked down a back hallway, away from Mac.
“No go, huh?” Hanburg asked sympathetically.
“Long-shot to begin with,” Mac replied, exhaling loudly as he collapsed into a folding chair. He felt like they were close. If only they had more time, they might have pulled this off.
“Hey! I know her,” a voice belted out from the front of the store.
“Who said that? Who said that?” Mac said, flying out of Hanburg’s office into the front of the store.
“I did,” said a short, heavyset man who was a dead ringer for Larry the Cable Guy. “My name’s Todd Crawford.”
“How do you recognize her?”
“That’s Monica Mueller, and those are her brothers Dean and David. I went to high school with them back in the day.”
“That’s great Todd,” Mac answered. “But were any of them in here recently?”
Todd nodded. “Monica was about two, maybe three or so weeks ago.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“Oh it was her. I went to high school with her. I was a couple of years behind, but everyone knew who Monica was. She was a looker back then. She still is now, for that matter.”
“Did she recognize you?”
“I doubt it,” Crawford responded with a laugh. “She didn’t have much time for my kind back in high school.”
“Which was what?”
“Burnout, smoking, in the back forty,” Crawford said, and then added smiling, “Of course, Detective, that was back then. Now I’m a fine, upstanding family man.”
Mac ignored the jocularity and asked, “Recall what she bought?”
Crawford nodded, “Sure. Pipe — PVC pipe, I think — and a long extension ladder. Odd things for a woman to buy, generally — it’s probably why I noticed her to begin with. It was a Saturday. It was real busy here in the store, people everywhere. I was working my register on one side of the counter and she went to one on the other side. She’s a smaller gal, and she was carrying this big piece of PVC pipe, and she asked for somebody to get the extension ladder for her, so that’s what drew my attention at first.”
“How’d you recognize her? Was it obviously her?” Mac wanted to make sure Crawford was on the level.
Crawford shook his head. “Not at first. She had on a visor and sunglasses, so I didn’t recognize her right away. But she took her sunglasses off, put them up on top of the visor, you know, like golfers do?”
Mac knew what he meant. He did it himself when he played, usually when he putted.
“It was her. No doubt about it.”
“You’re sure she bought the pipe?”
“Yeah. I remember carrying it to her van. We had to strap the ladder on top and we put the pipe in the back.”
Crawford seemed sure of himself. He wasn’t bullshitting. But it still wasn’t getting Mac anywhere. So Monica bought the pipe; that confirmed that and nothing more. The Mueller boys bought the lumber. Again, they knew who they were up against, but they weren’t any closer to finding them or the girls. Mac exhaled and thought a little more about the pipe and ladder. How far away would they drive with the pipe and ladder strapped to the roof? Probably not too far, he surmised. Mac took a shot in the dark. “I don’t suppose you have any idea of where she was going with it, do you?”
Crawford shrugged, “I assumed to her aunt’s place.”
“Aunt’s place? What aunt?”
“Yeah, her aunt, or at least I think it’s her aunt. Maybe a second aunt. Some relative of hers had a farm place, or at least a big piece of land, over by Marine on St. Croix. I figured they was makin’ repairs. The place is kinda run down.”
“What’s the aunt’s name?”
“Anita something? Anita, Anita…” Crawford stroked his chin. “God, it’s Anita something.” Crawford grabbed a phone and dialed a number. “Mom. What was the last name of Anita, you know, the relative of the Muellers.” There was a pause. “Yeah, that’s the one Mom. What was her name? Russell? Anita Russell. Thanks, Mom.”
Mac’s mind was already moving. “Dick, get up here,” he yelled as he dialed his cell phone. Sally answered right away. “There’s an aunt or something of the Mueller’s. Her name is Anita Russell. She has a farm over by Marine on St. Croix. Start looking.”
Lich came into the room. “What?”
Mac filled him in and then said to the Chisago sheriff, “Marine on St. Croix is back down in Washington County, right?” Washington County was the next county south.
The sheriff nodded.
“Can you call your opposite number and tell him to call me? And do it so that it isn’t broadcast?”
“Where you gonna be?” The sheriff asked as he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.
“We’re driving out that direction,” Mac replied.
“Mac, these guys have been awful careful,” Lich said. “You really think they would bury the girls on family property?”
“I don’t know,” Mac answered, “But it’s worth a look.” His cell phone went off, Sally again.
“What do you got?”
“This access to the FBI system is something,” Sally said. “Anita Russell must be a more distant relative or something, because we didn’t find her earlier. Anyway, she has a place maybe a mile or two north of Marine on St. Croix. It’s on eighty acres.” She gave him the address and general directions from Wyoming. “Here’s an interesting thing about the property.” Sally added.
“What’s that?”
“It backs up to William O’Brien State Park.”
“That is interesting. See what else you can find out about it,” he directed and then hung up. He looked at his watch — 5:45 PM — and stormed out the front door saying, “We gotta hustle and right now.” Lich chased him.
“Mac?” Lich asked, “What are you thinking? Clue me in, eh?”
“Anita Russell has eighty acres over by Marine on St. Croix. The land backs up to William O’Brien State Park. I’m thinking it’s worth a look.”
“A look for what?”
“The girls.”
33
5:44 PM
Riley and Rock walked into the conference room. The shades were pulled and the television turned off. Cups of cold coffee and half-eaten donuts littered the table. Burton, Duffy, and an FBI technician wearing a headset stood around a phone and laptop computer at the far end of the conference table. Peters, the chief, and Lyman milled around the other end. The room was quiet as they waited for the call. Sitting unattended in the middle of the conference table were two large nylon bags, one black and one navy, with five million dollars split evenly between them.
Riles and Rock immediately went to the chief, who, under cover of a hug, asked Riley, “Anything?” The chief and now Lyman both knew about Brown and the Muellers. It had gone no further.
“Mac’s working it, Chief,” Riles replied, equally quiet, having just got off the phone with McRyan.
“ What’s he working?”
“Something up around Marine on St. Croix,” Riles answered cryptically, his voice just a whisper.