Electing to Murder

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I want justice.”

As Mac looked out the plane’s window, he thought about the fact he’d never worked a case like this with the ramifications that it potentially had. The investigation had a tremendous momentum all its own and it wasn’t ready to stop any time soon. It was like pulling at a loose thread. If you pulled one out, three more appeared ready to be pulled until the whole shirt fell apart. The case had so many potential permutations; it was hard to know which one to follow.

The McCormick and Montgomery murders were largely closed. A double murder solved in less than twelve hours plus possibly another one from two days ago. He had the killer at Lupo’s office. There were two impeccable witnesses to identify him. If the man survived his wounds, he was going away for life. That they didn’t know who the man was wasn’t an issue, they’d get his identity eventually. If someone showed to pick him up, so much the better and easier.

The question nagging him, and Wire, not to mention the chief and the Judge, who had now made common cause, was who hired the killer? Someone let the dog out to hunt. Who?

Judge Dixon was emphatic it wasn’t the vice president. Mac thought back to something he learned long ago from his father and that was that politicians always leave themselves a way out. If the night’s events were being orchestrated by Vice President Wellesley, he wasn’t leaving himself a way out. Mac wasn’t going to vote for Wellesley, but from what he’d seen and read on the vice president through the years, he thought him to be a pretty decent and smart man.

In Mac’s mind, Dixon was right. This wasn’t the vice president’s play. It may have been the play of a smart man, but not a decent one.

At this point, that left Connolly, and perhaps Checketts and the other two men at the Kentucky meeting.

Were they the ones behind all this?

Mac and Wire’s operating theory said they were. They were at the Kentucky meeting and everything seemed to start there. That’s when the bodies started dropping. The two men had some hard questions that needed answering. Sometime, and sometime very soon, Connolly was going to be confronted. In Mac’s mind, that’s what should be happening right now, Connolly was the bigger fish. But Judge Dixon put on his old prosecutor hat. “Mac, it’s time to start building a case. When you’re building a case, you start with the smaller fish and get them in line for when you go after the big one. Connolly is the big fish. Checketts is a smaller fish and I’m betting the more frail fish. We go after him first.”

We? How did Dixon become part of we? How did Mac become part of we?

Mac was starting to wonder who he was working for, the city of St. Paul or had he unwittingly been loaned by his boss to Dixon. His gut told him the latter and that gave him some pause, simply because in whatever he did as a cop, he was not partisan, he was not political. His political views he kept close. Mac never told anyone who he voted for, other than Sally.

His name was well enough known and he had done enough as a cop in St. Paul, closed enough important cases in a short period of time, that if he’d wanted, he could have built himself a political platform. The chief before Flanagan was still in the Minnesota Legislature as a State Senator. Mac had been approached twice by the DFL to get involved in politics. Given his success, background, education and brain power, there was more out there for him and politics could be one avenue, but he steadfastly refused. First, Mac couldn’t be pigeonholed politically as strictly a Democrat or Republican, he’d voted for both over his life. His views did not toe either party line. Generally speaking, he was fiscally conservative and socially liberal but even within those broad political philosophies there were many exceptions. Second, and more importantly, Mac couldn’t stand most of today’s politicians, hated their handlers even more and found the whole process distasteful simply because nothing ever got done. All people did was run for office so they could run for office again. It was about saving their job rather than doing the work that needed doing. What was the point of participating in that? As a cop, as a detective, he could solve a problem and see a tangible end result. He explained that to the mayor five months ago when politics came up again and he declined to even take a meeting on running for office. Mac had no interest in pursuing a new job, particularly one in politics.

The mayor asked: “Politics aside, Mac, let’s talk about your future given your education, background and brain power; is being a cop enough for you?”

“It’s enough for now.”

What Mac did was not political but he suddenly found himself embroiled in politics and doing the political bidding for one side. And the stakes of this political game couldn’t be higher.

Of course, the stakes are what piqued his interest. Where did this whole thing lead? What was really going on? Was Heath Connolly really behind all of this?

It was like the chief said: “Mac, you’ve been offered a chance to play quarterback in the Super Bowl. Are you going to walk off the field or are you going to get under center and call a play?”

* * *

Wire felt the plane start to gently descend and knew that they were on the approach to Milwaukee. She sat back and a wave of sadness washed over her and her eyes again teared. Since the shooting, she had been on the go, saving Shelby and the Judge, dealing with the crisis, investigating with McRyan and finding Sebastian’s killer. The adrenaline of that had kept her going and suppressed her emotions.

But now, for the first time since seeing Sebastian lying dead on the floor, there was time to think about his death, about the loss, of what life would be like without one of her best friends. While there was a certain feeling of satisfaction in finding the killer, in identifying him, in knowing that he was caught and would go away for life, it did little to alleviate the sadness or the emotion of the loss.

At first, she kept thinking that if she’d only gotten there sooner. If she’d driven faster, ran to the house instead of being so cautious in her approach, Sebastian wouldn’t be dead. It was only a few seconds between him being dead or alive.

“Dara, honey, how could you have known?” the Judge had said to her as they walked from McRyan’s Yukon to the plane. “You handled it like a pro and you’re not dead because of it. This is not your fault. You saved one life and maybe more. It was just Sebastian’s time and when it’s your time, it’s your time.”

She was amazed by the Judge. The man was broken up inside, she could tell, but he had such a capacity to shut that emotional drawer for now and focus on the immediate problem, the election and making sure it wasn’t stolen from them.

Wire did not have that capacity, at least not right now. Everything was mixing together in her mind and she couldn’t stop thinking of Sebastian.

They’d briefly dated but it wouldn’t have worked long-term. They were too much alike. Hard chargers, alphas, Type As. There was no yin to the yang. A long-term relationship would have been one battle after another in a long and drawn-out war. The short attempt at a relationship was just that, a daily battle and then intense make-up sex at the end of the night. It was intense, it was hot, but it wasn’t a recipe for long-term success.

Oddly enough, out of that experience they formed a close friendship.

Sebastian was there for her when she’d been forced out of the bureau. His phone calls, texts and e-mails of support were part of what helped her get through those trying times. Sebastian, and the Judge, helped her start her consulting business, feeding her potential clients that allowed her to move on and flourish personally and financially. When Sebastian and Dixon called six months ago, the chance to work for and with her friend again, the chance to help him achieve this ultimate goal of the White House, had been a gift.

Now he was gone.

She thought of what he might say to her if he could see her right now. Sebastian was one for tough love. He was not one to provide a soft shoulder to cry on. Rather there was encouragement and there was motivation, a constant reminder to get up off the mat and get going. If he were here right now he’d tell her to suck it up and get back to it. Don’t just sit there. Do something.

She exhaled, sat up in her chair, dabbed at her eyes, sniffled and caught McRyan looking right at her.

“What?”

“There’s someone out there who called the shot on McCormick. What do you want to do about that?”

“I want justice.”

“Then let’s go get it.”