“How about, ‘Have you told your wife about your affair with Daniels?’”
“You should ask that question, but Hisle’ll tell him not to answer. That goes right to guilt and motive. Remember our theory the other day?”
“That Daniels pressured him about his marriage, about a possible divorce, and maybe she didn’t like the answer.”
“Exactly,” replied Sally. “That’d be motive right there. I’d be stunned if Hisle allowed Johnson to answer anything near that. He’ll say it’s irrelevant and all that shit, even though it is.” She picked up her beer. “The only way I could see Hisle allowing him to answer that question is if the senator had told his wife he was having an affair and she didn’t care or something like that. I can’t imagine Gwen Johnson going for that.”
“No,” Mac replied nodding. “From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t seem like the type to put up with that. Plus, she wouldn’t have to testify on that point anyway would she?” Mac asked.
“That’s right. Marital privilege.”
“Anything else Hisle won’t let him answer?”
“You guys might go down the path of encouraging the senator to come clean, basically cop a plea. It wasn’t intentional. It was a heat of passion type situation-the manslaughter path.” She took another drag of her beer, “However, if you get to that point, Hisle won’t allow him to answer. He’ll shut him down. We’ll have to charge him before he entertains that. Again, that’s if the interview goes that way.”
Mac sat thinking for a minute, running this all through his head. “Okay. I’ve got a good feel for what happens if Hisle has all the info he needs. But what if he doesn’t. What if he’s flying blind?”
“Hisle wouldn’t fly blind. If he were that blind, he wouldn’t have called the chief.”
“Maybe he’s not completely blind, then. The senator’ll have given him some information. But you said it yourself-Hisle’s probably calling around the department, but he can’t get any information.”
“You’re assuming he hasn’t gotten any,” she replied.
“True.” Mac leaned forward in his chair. “But let’s assume he doesn’t.”
“Then, he won’t let his client answer any questions until you tell him what you have.”
“I don’t have a problem with that. I’d be happy to tell them.” Mac quickly replied. “What will Hisle do then?”
“At that point, he’ll decide whether his client has anything to say.” Sally looked away for a moment, and then continued. “He’ll ask for some time to confer with his client.”
“And then they’ll decide if he’ll answer any questions.”
“Right.”
“And if he doesn’t say anything?”
“Then we’ll decide what to do. Charge him, continue to investigate, whatever. You can give them the standard line that this is his chance to get in front of this, but Hisle’ll tell him not to answer. If so, we’ll just have to see…”
“But… we’ll know a lot more after tomorrow,” said Mac, finishing the thought.
“Yes.”
Lyman and the senator enjoyed a fine meal of steak, potatoes, Caesar salad, and red wine at Lyman’s house on the St. Croix. Following dinner they retired to the library to have a brandy, a cigar and talk about the case.
“So, how do we handle this tomorrow?” the senator asked.
“We’ll have to find out where they’re coming from, Mason.”
“What if they won’t tell us?”
“Don’t worry about that. They will. They want you to talk. Like I said, when I called Flanagan, he was getting ready to call you.”
A frown came down the senator’s face, “If I read between the lines here, they have me in their crosshairs.”
“Perhaps,” mused Lyman. “But they haven’t charged you. They haven’t put your name out there. Heck, my contacts in the department don’t even know who they have for a suspect.”
The senator was skeptical. “These contacts, would they even tell you if they knew?”
“The people I’ve called, yes. They owe me for previous services rendered.”
The senator took a sip of his brandy. “So, if we find out what they have, what do I say?”
“We’ll see. I may not have you answer questions at all.”
“Lyman,” he growled, “I can’t do that. I do that and I’m done. I’m Gary Condit. The media’ll have a field day.”
Lyman knew his friend. He was concerned about his career. He didn’t necessarily see beyond that, and that had to change if Lyman was going to help him. “Mason, I’ll do what I can to protect your career. But we have to see what they have.”
The senator had a panicked look. “What? What the fuck are you saying, Lyman? What, you… you think I did this?”
“NO!” snapped Lyman. The next part would be difficult, he knew, so he took a long drink, a slow drag on his cigar and walked towards his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. He exhaled slowly and spoke. “Mason, I’m with you, but we have to see what the police have. You didn’t do it. I believe you,” Lyman said, looking him right in the eye. “But look at the evidence they likely have. You were there that night. We have to assume they have the guy who saw you. Otherwise, how do they link you?”
“Yes, I was there. What does that prove, Lyman?” the Senator growled, taking a chair.
Lyman sat down next to his friend and continued. “In and of itself, nothing, but they’ll have your semen. It wouldn’t even be worth a fight on the DNA. They’ll get it.” Lyman took a drink. “Now, like I said-in and of itself that means nothing, but…”
“But what would mean something?”
“Time of death, forced entry, and if there was a robbery. If there’s a robbery or forced entry, and time of death is 4:00 a.m., you’re in the clear. You merely help them with their timeline. If this is the case, then the police say thanks, and nobody ever knows you were involved.”
Mason Johnson looked hopeful for the first time. Lyman reassured him, “Your name came up. They have to talk to you. Simple as that. But if the evidence doesn’t point to you, you’ll be fine.”
The senator sighed and nodded. “Look. I didn’t do it. I need to say that.”
“And I may let you. But first, we need to see what they have.”
Mac and Sally finished up with how to deal with Hisle and the senator around ten. Mac offered one more beer, and Sally accepted. She was easy to talk to. They talked about sports, politics, and lawyers. They had similar interests. They were both career focused. She wasn’t stopping at assistant district attorney. She had higher aspirations.
Mac could feel his attraction to her growing. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, and it was a nice change. He had ignored women since the divorce. It wasn’t that there couldn’t have been some. There had been plenty he could have taken home from the Pub. More than one had sauntered on up to make a pass at him, and he almost took a couple up on it. Sooner or later, he figured he’d finally break down and do it. But it never seemed right.
Sally was interested. She was attractive as hell, with pretty dark-brown eyes and a bright smile. She was intelligent and liked to laugh, yet she had a little edge, some street to her-which he liked.
She’d been checking out the Springsteen print all night. “So how’d you get Bruce to sign it?”
“You like the Boss?”
“Is there anyone better?”
“No. I’ve never seen a better live performer.”
She got up to look at it more closely. “So, how did you do it?”
“A buddy of mine, Wren Frane, runs the non-hockey events at the Xcel Energy Center. He got me back stage for the second half of a concert. It was pretty unreal. I saw Bruce, Clarence, Little Steven come off the stage, and it was cool just to see them. Anyway, the arena had emptied, and Wren and I were the only ones left back stage. We’re just talking, concert’s been over for an hour, and here comes Springsteen out of the dressing room, looking to see if they can get a few more beers. Most everyone’s gone, but Wren scares up some brews, and the Boss says thanks. He sees the poster and asks if I wanted it signed.