Electing to Murder

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Nice, Mac.”

Mac considered it a miracle that he ever convinced Lich to try sushi, a man who hadn’t changed his suit color from brown in twenty years and rarely ventured beyond burgers, steaks, pork chops and cold beer for his diet. For two years Mac worked him over every time they passed Sakamura’s, Mac’s favorite Japanese restaurant, located on St. Peter Street in downtown St. Paul. “Trust me, Dicky Boy, you’ll love it, you just have to try it.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll buy.”

“Don’t care.”

One day several months ago, Mac upped the stakes. “I’ll always buy.”

That caused Lich, a man who watched every penny after two divorces cleaned him out, to raise his eyebrows. A free meal was a free meal so he contemplated the offer for a few minutes. Then a dirty smile crept across his face. Mac instinctively knew what was coming.

“Do you have a picture of Sally in a bikini on your phone?” Lich always egged Mac on about Sally’s figure, which was fantastic and which usually pissed Mac off. He constantly begged for an invite to Mac’s boat on the St. Croix so he could see her in a two-piece.

“Pictures? Of her individually in a two-piece? No. There are a few of her and I together and she’s in a two-piece.”

“Show me and I’ll try sushi.”

Mac contemplated Lich’s counter for a few minutes. Then he gave in, but with an added condition: “You’ll eat sushi and you’ll do it with chopsticks. And partner, if you ever tell Sally I showed you these pictures, I swear to God I will put the entire clip from my Sig in your ass.”

“Deal.”

For the last six months, every Friday Mac bought sushi for lunch at Sakamura’s. And for the last six months there had been nothing funnier in Mac’s life than watching Dick Lick try to eat sushi with chopsticks. No matter how many times he showed Dick the technique with his thumb and index finger, and his partner, to his credit, tried every single time, the man simply lacked the dexterity.

Mac put the last of his six pieces in his mouth and pulled out his American Express card while Lich chewed on his last piece. “Six months, Dicky Boy, and you keep coming back.”

Lich liked the place so much he and his lady friend Dot were now coming twice a week. “Mac, I love this stuff and I’m even losing some weight.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” Mac deadpanned. Lich, with a well-developed beer gut, looked as round as ever.

“A*shole.”

“That’s Mr. A*shole Sir who pays for this spread every week.”

“Thanks, Mr. A*shole Sir.”

Lunch at Sakamura’s made particular sense this day because it was located across the street from their next stop. Mac signed the receipt, slipped his credit card back in his wallet and he and his partner pushed themselves away from the lunch bar and stepped out into the cool autumn air. The sky was overcast and a cool northerly breeze threaded its way through the office towers of downtown St. Paul. Mac checked his smart phone and clicked on the weather icon which informed him the temperature was a brisk forty-six degrees. “This weather reminds me of high school football weather,” Mac said, thinking back to his days quarterbacking at Cretin Derham-Hall High.

“Friday night lights,” Lich responded. “Will you be going to the Cretin playoff game tomorrow?”

“I’m planning on it. They’ve got the Stillwater Ponies.”

The dark green glass façade of the Landmark Tower rose twenty-five stories in front of Mac and Lich as they crossed St. Peter Street. Mac opened the glass door and let Lich walk through as they entered the lobby for the Landmark Tower.

“This is a rough day for you,” Lich mentioned lightly.

“How so?” Mac asked, not picking up on his partner’s comment.

“Not only did you have to buy me lunch, but now we have to meet with a bunch of political operators. Sucks to be you.”

Mac exhaled, and uttered, “A politician will never …”

“… Find a better job,” Lich finished. They must have said it to each other a thousand times.

Mac didn’t care for politicians or their aides. In most cases, he could barely conceal his disdain for them. It didn’t matter the political party, Democrat or Republican, most of them failed in his eyes. There was the occasional politician he ran across who seemed more interested in getting something done than fighting political battles. Mac usually voted for those politicians, regardless of party. Those types of politicians weren’t overly liberal or conservative. Sure they were on one side or the other, but they were pragmatic, willing to compromise, make a deal and solve a problem. Those politicians got Mac’s support because that’s the way he looked at problems. In fact, that’s the way most people looked at problems. Find a solution and get it done. To McRyan, it didn’t matter if it was his solution or someone else’s, if it would work, do it. That’s what the best and the brightest did, whether it was politics, business or education. The best saw a problem, evaluated the possible solutions, picked what they thought was the best one and went with it.

Unfortunately, the best and the brightest rarely ran for public office in these polarized political times and the country ultimately suffered for it. Sally, the love of Mac’s life, a top notch county prosecutor, was still idealistic enough to believe in the political process. She’d readily jumped at the chance to work with her old college friend Kate Shelby on Governor James Thomson’s campaign for president. That experience had given Sally an up close and personal view of why great people, brilliant minds, the best and the brightest, avoided politics.

“Mac, you wouldn’t believe the scrutiny Thomson is under, the questions that are asked, the parts of his life he has to expose. The microscope he is under. It is all so intrusive. Basically his life is an open book. I can understand why so few good people are willing to subject themselves to it. This country needs the best and the brightest, but why, if you’re worth millions, would you put yourself through all of this?”

So the government ended up with extremely liberal and conservative politicians more interested in ideological purity than getting anything accomplished. All around them Rome was burning, yet the politicians spent all their time fighting each other, constantly jockeying for political position for the next election, all the while problem after problem, whether it was health care, Social Security, Medicare, the tax code, the environment, infrastructure, the budget deficit or the national debt, went unaddressed.

The only thing that gave Mac some solace was that Governor James Thomson was one of the few politicians he admired and Judge Dixon was as good a man as there was. Those two men gave Mac a modicum of hope. He knew his vote on Tuesday would be for a good man.

James Thomson was a Democrat but for eight years he’d run the state of Minnesota in a pragmatic and practical fashion. The state had its share of problems like the rest of the country, but he had success bringing people together across the aisle to get things done and was smart enough to let all share in the credit. Minnesota had universal health care, a balanced budget and the third lowest unemployment rate in the country. The state’s economic growth rate far exceeded the national average and Minnesota was one of the few Midwestern states to come through the recession in good shape. It was that level of success that allowed a governor, little known outside his own state eighteen months ago, to capture the nomination. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Judge Dixon was running his campaign, not a, but the master political operative.

“So you think these guys will have heard of Stroudt?” Lich asked as they waited for the elevator to open.

“Probably,” Mac answered. “Collins and Brach up in the sixth were familiar with him from his writings, particularly Brach, since Stroudt has written thoroughly …”

“ … and negatively she added …”

“… on the Republican Super PACs,” Mac finished. “But they didn’t know him or why he’d be here.”

They’d spent the morning following up on Mac’s to do list items and had struck out. Mac had Paddy McRyan review the surveillance cameras from the Grand Brew on Snelling. The footage showed Stroudt sitting at a table for two hours, using his laptop and making one phone call. There was nothing otherwise remarkable on the surveillance footage. Strike one. The GPS for Stroudt’s rental car that was rented in Nashville and returned in St. Louis showed they traveled to Lake Barkley in western Kentucky. The car stopped for a little over an hour in a driveway for a cabin owned by Hugh and Mabel Curran. The Curran’s were unfamiliar with either Stroudt or Montgomery, had no idea why they would park in their driveway and the elderly couple hadn’t been to their cabin since Labor Day, having moved early down to Fort Myers, Florida, for the winter. Strike two. Finally, a review of the security cameras around the Rosedale Mall failed to pick up Stroudt’s rental car prior to its being dropped at the Penalty Box. Strike three. In addition, Mac and Lich went up to the campaign headquarters for the candidates in the Sixth Congressional District, a hotly contested election involving a firebrand Republican congresswoman, and neither her campaign nor that of her opponent were familiar with Stroudt or Montgomery. All in all, the morning was a bust. Mac hoped their visit to the Thomson campaign would prove more helpful.

Mac and Lich walked off the elevator on the fifteenth floor for the Becker, Marino and Oliphant law firm. Sally was waiting for them in the lobby of the thirty-two-attorney law firm that had been an early legal home for Judge Dixon. The Thomson Campaign Headquarters were five floors above. However, with the election less than a week away and the razor thin lead, having a locally recognizable homicide detective walking through the campaign offices and meeting with campaign staffers would raise questions, even if there was no reason that it should.

“Hey there,” Sally said, walking up and giving Mac a soft kiss on the lips.

“Hey yourself,” Mac answered, smiling as Sally wiped some of her lipstick from his lips. They smiled longingly at each other.

Lich rolled his eyes. “After two years I would have thought the PDAs would have stopped.”

“It feels like two years since we saw each other,” Sally retorted, last night notwithstanding.

“Just a few more days,” Mac added, “and maybe we can get back to normal.” Then Mac got things on track. “So where are we meeting, the conference room?” He pointed to the ornate conference room with black leather chairs, dark paneled walls and the majestic view out over the Mississippi River.

“No, we’re going to a back conference room,” Sally said as she laced her fingers through Mac’s and led them back. “One that people can’t see into.”

As they scrambled in the kitchen this morning, Mac told Sally what he knew about Stroudt. She didn’t know who Stroudt was but thought Sebastian McCormick or Kate Shelby might know him or have some idea as to why he would be in town. That had been Mac’s hope in planting the seed with Sally. He figured she could get him in to ask questions quicker than if he contacted the campaign on his own and had to wade through fifteen layers of bureaucracy to get to the top.

Sally opened the door into the conference room and led them in. Kate Shelby was standing just inside the door. “Hey Mac,” she said as she gave him a quick hug.

“Kate, this is my partner Richard Lich,” Shelby extended her hand to Lich. Sally was an attractive woman but Shelby looked like a lingerie model. Mac smirked as Lich tried not to drool.

Sally guided Mac to the other side of the conference table, “Mac, this is Sebastian McCormick, our deputy campaign manager,” Mac recognized him from television, having seen him on Meet the Press two weeks ago. The two men shook hands. Then a deep voice came booming out of the telephone on the conference table.

“Michael MacKenzie McRyan, is that you, son?” Judge Dixon’s unmistakable voice came over the conference call phone in the middle of the table.

Mac went on alert. He didn’t expect Judge Dixon. “Judge, where are you calling in from?”

“Ohio, my boy. The only place to be during election season.”

“How are you, sir? It’s been a long time.”

“I’m fine, young man, and you’re right, it has been a while.” The Judge and Mac chatted for a minute or two about friends and acquaintances with the Judge finishing by asking about Mac’s mom and talking up Sally. “Thank you for loaning us Sally these last three months,” Dixon said. “She’s really doing a phenomenal job for us, just phenomenal, a real natural.” Mac looked over to Sally who beamed.

“I’m not sure I was left much of a choice, Judge,” Mac replied smiling back at her. “But my better half is scary smart, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, son, indeed.” Mac and Lich took a seat on one side of the large table, and Shelby and McCormick on the other. Sally sat on the end to Mac’s right. “So what can we do for the St. Paul Police Department?” Dixon asked.

“Judge, I’m working a murder that happened yesterday at The Snelling and I’m wondering if you or the campaign can help me. The reason I’m asking you about it is the victim was Jason Stroudt.” Mac spent a minute giving the ten-thousand-foot version of what they knew about Stroudt and his trip to the Twin Cities. “So do any of you know Mr. Stroudt?” Mac looked to Shelby first.

“I know of him but I don’t know him, Mac,” Kate replied. “I’ve read some of his articles but other than that, I don’t know him.”

“I know Jason, or should I say I knew him,” McCormick volunteered. “I went to law school with him.”

Mac’s eyebrow shot up. He didn’t know McCormick well and hadn’t done any research on him, although he had on Stroudt. “So you went to the University of Virginia Law School then?”

“Yes.”

“How well did you know him, Mr. McCormick? Was he in your class? Your law school section? Did you graduate together?”

“All of those.”

“Really? Was he a friend?”

“I would say he was. Not a real close one but we certainly knew each other and ran in similar circles.”

“Did you stay close after law school?”

“No, we really didn’t,” McCormick answered, shaking his head. “I moved back here and got into state politics and he stayed out east, moving up to DC.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“It was a couple of years ago. It was at a UVA law school reunion back in Charlottesville. I saw him then, chatted for a bit, talked some politics and that was that.” Mac noted the matter-of-fact nature of the response from McCormick, as if he had planned for it and knew the question would be coming. And there was no emotion. The political operative leaned back in the leather chair with one leg crossed over the other. There was no shock at the death of a friend. Even if he hadn’t seen the friend in two years, even if it wasn’t that close a friend, he should have registered some emotion. Instead, Mac saw nothing but ice.

“Have you seen or spoke with him since?”

“I haven’t.”

“He was here in St. Paul, Mr. McCormick, and you didn’t hear from him? I find that kind of hard to believe.”

“He didn’t call me and I didn’t see him, Detective,” McCormick answered casually.

“Can you think of any reason why he might have come here to town?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Really, I mean, you’re running a campaign for president of the United States,” Mac replied skeptically. “Don’t you think it could have had something to do with that given Mr. Stroudt is involved in politics?”

“Maybe,” McCormick conceded. “But I don’t really know because he never contacted me, Detective. I don’t know why he was in the Twin Cities.”

“Do you think he would have intended to contact you if he’d had the chance?”

McCormick shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe, Detective, maybe. But again, he never did call, so I don’t know. I can’t be the only person he knows here in the Twin Cities.”

“How about an e-mail or a text anything like that?” Lich asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Do you know why he would have been killed?” It was a sneaky question.

“Umm …” McCormick hesitated, just a second, but just enough that Mac noticed and enough that McCormick knew he noticed before he could recover. “I don’t … know why he was killed,” the deputy campaign manager answered haltingly.

Mac stared at McCormick for a minute and glanced to his right for a second to Sally who saw the hesitation too. The deputy campaign manager knew more than he was letting on. Mac wasn’t getting the vibe that McCormick had anything to do with the murder but he knew something about what Stroudt was doing or might have been doing. He wanted to dig into that more but needed a moment to think about how best to do that. So he did what he always did when he needed a minute, he wrote on his notepad. As he did so, he looked up from time to time at McCormick and then over to Kate Shelby as well. The political operatives were stoic, trying to look relaxed but they were a little uncomfortable now. Mac started thinking about his next series of questions when Lich jumped in, as if on cue.

“Judge Dixon, sir, how about you? Did you know Jason Stroudt?” Lich asked.

“I knew of him, Detective. He wrote fairly prolifically with his blog site, The Congressional Page, so that is what I know him from.” The Judge went on for about five minutes about what he knew of Stroudt’s writing and political commentary. It was a filibuster, a combination of the Judge pontificating and giving his political operative time to recover from McRyan’s questioning.

“Did you know him personally, Judge?” Mac inquired, jumping back in.

“I don’t think I do, Mac,” the Judge responded, his deep voice booming over the phone. “And I know that sounds like an odd answer but intentionally so. I have a good memory of whether I’ve ever met someone. I don’t believe I ever met Mr. Stroudt but I am familiar with him and his work.”

Mac had a thought and asked, “Judge, how about Adam Montgomery?”

“His business partner?” the Judge asked.

“Yes, what do you know about him?”

“About the same as I know about Stroudt,” Dixon answered, and proceeded to give a shorter but similar answer as before regarding Stroudt, The Congressional Page and articles on campaign finance reform and Super PACs. “Why do you ask about Montgomery, Mac?”

“We can’t find him,” Mac answered and was looking right at McCormick and Shelby when he said it. Neither of them was surprised. No raised eyebrows, no frowns, just stoic, as if they knew that to be the case. Judge Dixon was silent as well. Mac just let the statement dangle in the air for a minute and let the unease build.

From Ohio, the Judge must have sensed the discomfort as well and asked a question of his own. “Detective McRyan, may I ask a question?”

“Sure, Judge, go ahead.”

“Have you found anything in your investigation that would suggest why Mr. Stroudt came here to town? If we knew that, maybe we could be of some help.”

McRyan smiled inwardly. They did know something and now the Judge was fishing. Mac decided to play along. “I can tell you, Judge, that as of now, there was nothing we found in his hotel room that told us why he came here.” Mac emphasized the why intentionally. The Judge took the bait.

“But you found something?”

Mac shot a glance over to Lich who shrugged his shoulders as if to say “why not.” “Judge, we’ve reconstructed his last couple of days as best we could. Stroudt and Montgomery flew into Nashville on Tuesday, had dinner, drinks and stayed overnight. On Wednesday they rented a car and it looks as if they drove into Kentucky as we have a credit card receipt for a gas station in Cadiz, Kentucky. Do you know where that is?”

“Southwestern part of the state, lake country I think,” McCormick replied quickly, too quickly.

“How do you know that?” Mac asked suspiciously.

McCormick snorted, “Detective, my job requires me to know where the votes are. I know every county in every state of the country and Cadiz is the county seat for Trigg County.”

“Really,” Mac replied skeptically, his bullshit detector on full alert. “So you’re familiar with a little town of 2,700 people in western Kentucky?”

McCormick shrugged, “What can I say, that’s the job.”

“In a state you have no shot of winning,” Mac retorted and then added, “last I saw on Real Clear Politics you guys were down over twenty points in Kentucky. I bet you haven’t run an ad in that state, in the primary or the general.”

Mac and McCormick stared at one another, smirking, while everyone else sat silently.

The Judge broke the silence, “Where did he go from Kentucky, Mac?”

McRyan just glared at the political operative, so Lich answered. “Our next hit is that he bought a plane ticket in St. Louis and flew up here to the Twin Cities yesterday morning. So he was driving through Kentucky, Wednesday afternoon, and then ends up in St. Louis yesterday. I would note that he had a return flight to DC booked out of Nashville for yesterday morning but obviously didn’t make that flight. Neither did Montgomery. Stroudt arrived here from St. Louis at 10:00 a.m. and checked into The Snelling sometime around 2:45–3:00 p.m. We put time of death around 4:00 p.m.”

“The old prosecutor in me is curious, how was he killed?”

“Slashed across the neck, damn near decapitated,” Dick answered.

“And all you found in the room was a boarding pass?” the Judge asked, still fishing.

“That’s it, Judge. No luggage or carry-on bags. No toiletries, nothing. Odd, don’t you think?”

“I do, Detective. I do. Whatever he had with him the killer must have taken.”

“That’s what we think as well. So let me ask everyone a question. Where were all of you at 4:00 p.m. yesterday?” Mac asked, not looking up from his notepad, pen at the ready.

The Judge laughed through the phone, “Nice, Mac,” he added in a tone that indicated he was starting to tire of the questioning. “To answer an unserious question seriously, we were all on a conference call at that point yesterday in our campaign offices talking to the governor.”

“I can vouch on that,” Sally added with a tone that suggested Mac was pushing it, if not with the Judge, certainly with her.

Mac could see she was uncomfortable and to a certain degree he was now just having fun pushing McCormick’s buttons. He steered back to more probative territory. “Okay,” Mac started, “let me ask a couple more questions. Judge, did you know why Stroudt was in Kentucky?”

“I don’t.”

“How about you, Kate?”

“No idea. I don’t know either Stroudt or Montgomery.”

“How about you, Mr. McCormick?”

“No idea.”

Mac asked a different question of McCormick, sensing he was still on edge, “Did you know he was in Kentucky?”

“Umm … No, I didn’t.” The hesitation gave him away again, even if the answer didn’t. He knew Stroudt was there.

The Judge came to McCormick’s rescue, “Detectives, we all have a conference call we need to get on for the campaign. I’m sure you understand.” And the tone said, even if Mac didn’t, the interview was over.

“No problem, Judge. We appreciate your assistance.” Mac and Lich pushed themselves up from the table and Sally led them out of the room.

Sally walked them to the elevator and then couldn’t contain herself. “You don’t honestly think they had anything to do with this, do you?”

“Nah,” Mac answered for himself as well as Lich. “McCormick, however, would make a lousy poker player. He and the Judge know more than they’re letting on. I know it and …”

“…I know it too,” Sally finished his sentence for him, kissed him on the lips and then stroked his suit coat lapel with her right thumb. “Just proceed carefully. There may be more at play here than a simple murder investigation.”

Mac sensed Sally was right. “Maybe you could find some time tonight for a little dinner and you could warn me some more?” he asked and then with a mischievous smile, added: “Besides, if I get the right phone call later, I may have some really good news to share.”

Sally’s eyebrows shot up, picking up his tone? Mac hadn’t told her about the imminent sale of the Grand Brew. “I might be able to arrange that, the Judge is talking about giving us the night off after eight p.m.,” she answered, and then gave Mac a kiss good-bye.

* * *

“I’m starting to think you’re melting under the pressure, Sebastian,” the Judge said lightheartedly. “Mac raked you over the coals pretty good there. After a while he was doing it for fun.”

“He doesn’t actually think we had anything to do with this, does he?” McCormick asked anxiously, still recovering from McRyan’s inquisition.

“No, he doesn’t, he asked those questions because he knew he was making you squirm. He did that for sport,” the Judge answered. “And it worked. But what was most important to him is he knows that we know more than we let on.”

“So he’ll probably be back,” Shelby anticipated. “That can’t be a good thing.”

“Media will be all over us if we have a homicide detective poking around the campaign the last few days before the election,” McCormick added. “Hell, he could fuel that on his own.”

“He won’t do that,” the Judge answered.

“Why not?” McCormick replied.

“Because Mac McRyan detests the media almost as much as he detests politicians,” the Judge answered and then told them the good news, at least in his mind. “Listen, gang, McRyan knows what is at stake politically and he’s too smart to do anything that would harm us in that fashion. I don’t need to tell him that, and if it does need to be said, Sally will take care of that and I guarantee you Mac will listen to her. I’m not worried about that. McRyan will be discreet. The more interesting development in my mind is that a very savvy, methodical and determined detective is on this case and I can tell he is thinking about the case in the right way.”

“You think he understands that Stroudt’s killing is not some random murder in a local hotel?” Shelby asked.

“Exactly, Kate. McRyan smells that Stroudt saw or did something between Nashville and St. Louis and that’s what got him killed. We know that to be the case and he’s pretty far down the road thinking that as well. If we give him time, I bet he pieces it together and if his history is any guide, he will not stop until he gets answers and the answers he wants are the same ones we want.”

“You think we should help him then?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes.”