“And that’s why you thought he drowned,” Maggie said.
“Yes. Until yesterday, that was still what I thought.”
“Were you acquainted with Ned prior to his disappearance? Did the two of you know each other or have any history together?”
“No, I met him that one time at the Deeps, and that was all. We had no other contact.”
“You indicated to me at the time that you met with Ned to discuss his investigation into the allegations against Devin Card,” Maggie said. “Were the police also investigating those allegations?”
“No. There was no basis to look into an anonymous claim of sexual assault from more than two decades earlier. Even if a victim had come forward, the accusation would have fallen outside the statute of limitations. Our hands were tied.”
“So what did Ned want to know?” Maggie asked. “Why did he ask to meet with you?”
Stride felt as if he were a teenager atop the cliffs at the Deeps. Ready to jump. Unsure of what would happen when he hit the water. He’d avoided this moment for the last seven years.
“He didn’t,” Stride replied.
Maggie knitted her brow with confusion. “What?”
“Ned didn’t contact me for a meeting. I was the one who sought him out.”
His answer froze her into silence. She reached for the button on the voice recorder again, but Stride shook his head and wagged a finger at her, directing her to keep going. He watched emotions whipping in quick succession across her face. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Betrayal.
She reached into the folder in front of her and removed a single sheet of paper. She began talking faster and breathing hard.
“Lieutenant Stride, didn’t you tell me seven years ago that Ned Baer contacted you about a meeting, because he wanted to discuss your personal memories of the time in which the alleged assault by Devin Card occurred? And didn’t you tell me that the two of you had a brief conversation at the Deeps, lasting no more than five minutes, during which time you told him that you had no recollection of being at a party with Devin Card twenty-two years earlier and had no recollection of any rumors in Duluth that Attorney General Card had been involved in a sexual assault that summer?”
“Yes, I did tell you that.”
“Are you saying that was not true?”
“It’s true that I had no relationship with Devin Card and had no knowledge of any rumors about his behavior that summer. But that wasn’t why I met with Ned Baer.”
“You lied to me?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why did you meet with Ned Baer?” Maggie asked.
Stride shook his head and didn’t answer.
“Stride?” Maggie demanded sharply, leaning across the table. “What was the meeting about?”
“I have nothing to say about that,” he replied. “Ned and I had a conversation, and when it was over, I left. He was alive. As I’ve already told you several times, I didn’t kill him. I also didn’t see Steve Garske anywhere near the Deeps, and he and I never talked about Ned then or ever. I had no knowledge that Ned had been shot and no knowledge that Steve had found the body and buried it on his property. That’s all I have to say.”
“That’s all...?” Maggie sprang to her feet and pounded her fist on the recorder to shut it off. “Boss, are you out of your damned mind?”
“Everything will be fine. It’s okay, Mags.”
“Okay? No. It is not okay. You do not sit here and tell me you lied to my face and then shut up when I ask you a question. That is not how you and I work. You do not hide shit from me. You tell me what’s going on and then we figure out what to do about it. And if we need to smash this recorder into a million little pieces and start over, then that’s what we do. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to protect you.”
He reached out and put a hand over hers. “I know you are. And you can’t do that, Mags. I won’t let you. This is my problem, not yours. Right now, your job is to figure out who murdered Ned Baer, and I can’t help you with that. Now why don’t you call the chief and get him down here? Because we both know that what happens next is me getting suspended from the department.”
5
Peter Stanhope swirled Courvoisier in a bell-shaped glass and waited as the warmth of his hand raised the temperature of the brandy. Then he took a sip — the first sip was always the best — and tasted toffee on his lips and felt the glow spread throughout his chest. Afternoon brandy was one of the finest rituals of his day. He had another glass already poured and ready for Devin Card, but Card was usually late for their meetings. That was life in politics. Even the biggest donors had to wait.
Rain tapped against the glass of the top-floor windows in his downtown law office. Gray clouds stretched over Lake Superior like a circus big top, and he could see whitecaps dotting the vast expanse of water. The dark Duluth weather matched his mood. As a lawyer, he had a sixth sense for trouble, and trouble was definitely coming.
He tugged on the collar of his starched dress shirt. His office was warm. The air in the century-old stone building was always a little hot in the summer and a little cold in the winter. He could have moved to one of the modern bank buildings on Superior Street, but he liked sharing space with the ghosts of previous generations of his family. It kept him connected to his past.
The Stanhopes were Duluth royalty, alongside legendary names like Congdon, Merritt, and Cooke. Peter’s great-grandfather had built Stanhope Industries, one of the original companies on which Duluth’s fortunes had been founded. That empire had made the family rich. But Peter had seen the writing on the wall when it came to the future of the steel business, and the writing was in Chinese. He sold off his interest in the family company when he was still in his twenties and opened a law firm instead, which would have horrified his father. Thirty years later, Peter had built an empire of his own. His litigation firm was one of the most successful and feared in Minnesota.
His money had also made him a kingmaker in the state’s Democrat-Farmer-Labor party, and Peter had spent the last decade fitting a crown for his college roommate, Devin Card. The trouble with kings was that they had a nasty habit of getting their heads cut off. Peter had invested a lot of time and money getting Card into the US House of Representatives, and now his old friend was in the middle of a hotly contested campaign for the US Senate.
This was a bad time for old rumors to come back to life.
Peter had never craved the limelight of politics for himself. He liked power, not people, and he had no interest in worrying about how his personal life would look in the headlines. He bought what he wanted, traveled where he chose, and slept with women without caring who they would tell. He didn’t apologize for his lifestyle or for being one of the richest men in the state. People called him cocky, which was true. He’d been comfortable with his privileges since he was a boy.
He wasn’t tall, but he worked out daily and maintained a muscular physique, even at the age of fifty-one. He had Lasik surgery a few years back to correct his eyes, so he no longer wore glasses. His face was freckled, with a large nose and pronounced chin. His hair had gone prematurely silver at a young age, and he now kept it swept back so it wasn’t readily apparent that he didn’t have much of it left.
The intercom on Peter’s desk buzzed. He heard the brittle voice of his assistant, Louise. “The Congressman is here for you, Mr. Stanhope.”
Peter grabbed his suit coat off a hook and put it back on. He crossed the plush brown carpet and opened the office door. Devin Card leaned against Louise’s desk as he flirted with the sixty-one-year-old assistant. Two Congressional aides hovered nervously behind him. Card saw Peter, and his face lit up with a snow-white smile.