It took them a little over an hour to get to the cabin. As they drove west, it was apparent the sun wouldn’t last long. Clouds were rolling in, and the radio talked of rain mixed with snow later. They stopped in Annandale to grab coffee and cups as they doubted there would be any at the scene. From their stop in town, it took five minutes to get to the cabin. A sheriff’s deputy was working the end of the road. Mac let the window down, and flashed his badge, “St. Paul detectives and Ramsey County district attorney.”
“They said you were coming.” The sheriff’s deputy took a quick look at the ID to confirm and waved them through. Mac noticed a news van pulling up behind him as he rolled through.
They took the winding road up to the cabin. It was probably five-hundred yards. “Pretty isolated,” Mac remarked.
They came to the cabin clearing and found three Chevy Tahoes with the Wright County insignia on them and an Annandale squad car. There were two other vehicles, one probably the senator’s and the other likely was Hisle’s. Mac parked the Explorer near a Tahoe, and they all climbed out. Mac saw Hisle sitting by himself on a picnic table and walked over to him. Lich and Sally followed.
It was rare you saw Lyman Hisle shocked. He saw Mac walk up, but a blank stare remained on his face. Mac put his hand on his shoulder, “You gonna be okay, Lyman?”
He nodded his head, looking out towards the lake. After a moment he said, “I guess you were right.”
“Lyman?”
Hisle looked up to Mac, shock and sadness on his face, “He did it. Why else do this?” he said gesturing towards at the cabin.
“I’m sorry, Lyman.”
Hisle just shook his head and put his face into his hands. Lich looked at Mac and tilted his head towards the cabin. He was going to go take a look. Mac silently mouthed, “I’ll be a minute.” Then he leaned to Sally, quietly saying, “I think Lyman could use a cup. It’s chilly out here.” She nodded and headed back for the coffee.
After a moment, Lyman, more composed, spoke again. “I gotta tell ya, hell of a shock to find him that way.” Sally was back and handed him a cup of coffee. Lyman took a sip, some color returning to his face, some life to his expression. “He had me convinced, though. I thought we were going to trial with you, Ms. Kennedy.”
“You were inside?” Mac asked.
“Yeah. He hung himself from the rafters. Stood on a barstool, tied himself up and kicked ’er out.”
Mac looked at Sally and nodded for her to sit with Lyman. “I’m going inside.”
As he walked inside, they were lowering the senator’s body. Mac saw Lich in the front of the cabin, talking up the sheriff.
“Mac, this is Wright County Sheriff Rick Hansen.” Hansen was tall, well over six feet, in his early forties, with a developing pot-belly. He was a jovial guy who warmly shook Mac’s hand.
“Thank you for your call, Sheriff.”
“You’re welcome. Saw plenty of you boys on the news last night,” Hansen said. “Hell of a deal here. I met the senator a few times. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Guess he did that murder, though.”
“That he did,” replied Lich.
Mac looked at the coffee table. There was an empty liter bottle of Jose Quervo and an ice bucket, half full of water. A drink glass was tipped on its side. “Looks like the senator required a little liquid courage first.”
Hansen walked over, “Yes, he did.”
“A whole liter? That’s a lot of courage,” Mac replied.
“True enough,” Hansen replied.
He took another look at the ice bucket, half full of water, “Must not have used much ice.” Mac looked at the bottle a little closer, being careful not to touch it. The paper seal for the cap on the neck of the bottle looked freshly opened, “Seal looks pretty fresh, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“Drank this whole thing, huh?” Mac replied a little skeptically. A liter of tequila was a lot of liquor, forty-percent alcohol by volume. “Polishes this thing off and can still get up on the stool?”
Hansen caught his tone. “Yeah, we’re going to get a blood alcohol as part of the autopsy.”
Mac took a look at the rope, a real hangman’s noose with good tight knots. “He did a nice job on the rope.”
“Must have been a Boy Scout,” Lich quipped.
“Hmpf.” Mac nodded and walked over to the bar stool the senator used. “So, he stands on this, puts the rope around his throat and kicks it out?”
“That’s what we think,” replied Hansen.
Mac couldn’t argue with that, the stool was high enough that the senator could have used it. It was lying in the right place on the floor for him to have kicked it out. He probably tied the rope and hung it first, then got drunk on the tequila. Mac got ready to head out. “Thanks again, Sheriff, for the call. Will you send me a copy of the autopsy report?”
“Be happy to.”
Mac handed Hansen his card, shook his hand and headed out with Lich. They walked back over to Lyman, who was talking with Sally.
“Lyman, was Johnson a big tequila drinker?” asked Mac.
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Empty liter of tequila on the coffee table. Looks like he got himself pretty liquored up before he did it.”
“He wasn’t a teetotaler, I know that,” replied Lyman.
Mac nodded and looked around. The wind blew and sent a shiver down his spine. He flipped the collar up on his leather coat and put his hands in the pockets. He took a walk around to the front of the cabin. From the front, it was a flat seventy-five yards down to the shore. There were far fewer trees in the front, as compared to the sides and back of the cabin. They had been cleared out to provide a clear view of the lake. He walked to the edge of the trees and looked back. You could see right into the cabin, see the rope hanging down.
“Yeah, McRyan, you can see right in, can’t you?” Viper said under his breath, watching with binoculars from a boathouse across the small lake. McRyan was standing twenty feet from Viper’s perch the night before.
“He can wonder about it all he wants. We’re clean,” Bouchard said. “No prints. The rope’s clean, and we used gloves. Nobody touched the bottle or ice bucket. No forced entry that they could detect. He can guess and speculate all he wants, he ain’t going to find shit. They’ll have no choice but to call it a suicide.”
At least Bouchard sounded sure. Viper would wait and see. McRyan eventually wandered back to Hisle and put his hand on his shoulder. Hisle nodded his head, and it looked like he said, “I’ll be okay.” McRyan didn’t go talk to the sheriff again or snoop around any further. Instead, along with Lich and Kennedy, he headed back to the Explorer, got in and drove away.
“Do you feel better now?” asked Bouchard.
“A little.”
They were all quiet for a while as they headed back east on Highway 55 towards the Cities. Sally finally spoke, a tinge of disappointment in her voice. “I guess that wraps up that.”
“Yeah, Ms. Kennedy, you lost your shot for the big time,” Lich replied.
“There’ll be others, I’m sure,” she replied wistfully.
Mac just looked at the road ahead, wondering.
Chapter Fifteen
Two Weeks Later
Mac pulled up to the Grand Brew for his usual. He got out of the Explorer and put his gloved hands in his trench-coat pockets. Before leaving, he put the wool liner in his coat for some extra warmth. He would need it. The cold, windy November days were leading up to the Minnesota winter to come. This time of year, most days were cloudy, damp and windy, the sun rarely making an appearance.
These days, he needed his hot caffeine injection to start his day more than ever. Since he started seeing Sally, there had been many late nights, and that was a good thing. Mac often thought the last couple of weeks, that a person didn’t realize how lonely he was, until he wasn’t lonely anymore. Whether it was going to the Pub after work, to dinner or a movie, it was nice to have someone to spend time with again. He was still getting to know her, but it was good to be, as Lich put it, back in the saddle again.