Deadly Stillwater (5 page)

“Lyman’s political friends have been on the horn,” Peters added. “And apparently one of the bureau’s best on kidnapping is in town this week to work with local agents. He’s coming in on this.”

“Who’s the guy?” Mac asked.

“A fellow named Burton. John Burton,” Peters replied.

“
That guy
!” Riley replied, surprised. “I’ve heard of
him
.”

“Is he the guy who brought that judge’s daughter home?” The one who was kidnapped by the white supremacists in Montana last summer?” Mac asked.

“He is,” Peters replied.

“I remember that,” Rock added. “That’s this guy? He won’t need us much.”

“He is
that
guy,” the chief replied. “But don’t worry, you boys are working this. That’s the way I want it. That’s the way Lyman wants it, and that’s the way the FBI will deal with it.”

“I saw the mayor hanging around out there,” Mac noted. “The four of us aren’t exactly his favorites.” That all stemmed from the PTA case last winter, not to mention a recent investigation into a cop killing. Rock and Mac, with Riley and Lich in tow, finished a controversial chase and shootout with an African-American suspect in the old Rondo neighborhood. There were complaints of excessive force and the shootout was in the news for weeks. The chief was unyielding in his support of his men, which led to political discomfort for the mayor. And if there was anything the mayor hated, it was political discomfort.

“Hizzoner pushed hard for the FBI’s involvement,” Peters said. Everyone groaned.

“Nice he has confidence in his department,” Mac commented.

“It is what it is,” the chief said. “But listen, I want to get Shannon back, so we eighty-six the political bullshit. Do you boys read me on that?”

Everyone nodded.

“How’s Lyman doing?” Mac asked

“About as well as could be expected,” the chief answered. “I can’t possibly imagine what he’s going through.”

“He wanted to see you guys when you got here.” Peters opened the door. “He’s back in his library.” Everyone fell in behind Peters, walking down the back hallway and into the library, where they found Lyman sitting at his desk. He was talking with Detective Frank Franklin, better known as Double Frank, as well as a few other dark suited men that they all recognized from the local FBI field office.

Mac made eye contact with Lyman, who broke away from the group and walked over. Mac gave him a hug.

“Michael, I’m glad you are here,” he said. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know Lyman, I know,” Mac answered quietly. “We’ll get her back.”

Lyman gripped Mac’s shoulders and looked at Lich, then to Riles and Rock as well.

“Gentlemen, it’s good to have you working on this.”

“We’ll do everything we can Lyman, you know that,” Riles replied. Everyone else nodded.

“I know you men will; I know you will. Now, tell me where you’re at and don’t bullshit me. I need to know.”

Riles gave Lyman the rundown of what they had and then asked, “And I assume we haven’t heard from the kidnappers yet?”

“No,” Double Frank replied. “We’ll be ready when they call.”

Just then there was a commotion in the hallway and a rangy man with a shaved head strode into the room with Ed Duffy in tow. Duffy made the introduction, “Chief, Mr. Hisle, this is Special Agent John Burton.”

“Burton.” The chief replied, taking his hand. Then Flanagan paused and gave the FBI man a long look. “You look familiar for some reason.”

“I worked out of the Minneapolis office way back in the early nineties, Chief,” Burton replied. “Our paths crossed on occasion. I wondered if you would remember.”

“Good to have you,” Flanagan replied. “This is the girl’s father, and a friend of mine, Lyman Hisle.”

Hisle took Burton’s hand. “Word is you’re pretty good at this sort of thing,” Lyman said.

“I’ve had some success, Sir. We’re going to do everything we can to get your daughter back.”

“Well, let me tell you one thing that will help you,” chief said. “You keep my boys over here in the loop,” Flanagan waved toward Mac and the others. “They’re damn good.”

Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Burton replied blandly, shaking hands and getting names. When he got to Mac, he held his hand an extra moment, “
McRyan?
Are you a relation of Simon McRyan?” Burton inquired with an unmistakable tone of respect.

“He was my father.”

“Burton held the handshake and pointed, “He was a hell of a cop son, a hell of a cop. You worked that PTA case with the CIA guys, right?”

“With these three,” Mac answered, gesturing to Riley, Rock, and Lich. Burton turned to the chief.

“Damn right I want to work with these guys.” There was noticeable approval in the FBI man’s voice. Then he looked to Riley, the senior officer.

“What do we know?” Riley gave the run down for what seemed like the tenth time. It didn’t sound any better no matter how many times he told it, Mac thought.

“Well, probably not a nut then,” Burton said.

“No,” Mac replied, “it was a well-orchestrated attack. These guys knew
exactly
what they were doing.”

* * * * *

It was dark now, approaching 10:00 PM, but the temperature was still in the mid-seventies. It if weren’t for the fact he had just completed a kidnapping, it would have been a lovely night to be out for a drive, Smith thought. Apparently, many Minnesotans agreed. During the summer, Minnesota cabin owners tended to stay up north at their lake places as long as possible before trekking home for another week grinding away at their jobs. As a consequence, even at this late hour, an endless stream of headlights glowed for miles in the distance, coming in the opposite direction on Interstate 94. The mass of traffic heading back into the Twin Cities would be of assistance to him soon enough.

Smith approached the Clearwater exit, which was forty-five miles from the Twin Cities and eleven miles southeast of St. Cloud. He took the exit ramp up, turned right, and drove a quarter mile before turning right into the parking lot of an abandoned fast-food restaurant. The lot was full of weeds, plastic soda bottles, and discarded fast-food bags. He pulled his car up to the single pay phone on the side of the building, the back of the car facing the road.

He stepped out of the car with a duffel bag. At the phone, he reached into the bag and pulled out a plastic bag with ten dollars’ worth of quarters, a Dictaphone, and a portable voice changer. He attached the acoustic coupler to the handset and adjusted the selector switch for a low voice. He then reached with his gloved hand for the pay phone and put in enough quarters to cover his call back to the Twin Cities. He dialed the number and put the receiver to his head with his left hand and held the Dictaphone in his right hand.

* * * * *

“Here we go,” Burton said, jumping into action as the phone rang. Waving Lyman over, he put an arm around his shoulder, directing him. “Try to keep him on as long as you can,” Burton said to Lyman. “Keep him talking and maybe we get a fix on his position. Keep him going a little longer and maybe we can get somebody there. Get your daughter back! That’s your job, your mission here. Get her back. Keep him talking.”

On the third ring, Lyman picked up, “Lyman Hisle.”

The voice came over the intercom, obviously disguised.

“We have your daughter.”

“How do I know that? How do I know she’s alive?”

There was a muffled sound followed by a click and then the slow, quivering voice that made Lyman cringe.

“Daddy, I am okay. I have not been hurt. Please do as these men say, and I won’t be harmed. I love you….”

The tape cut off. There was another muffled sound, and a few seconds later the voice was back. “Satisfied?”

No, I want to speak with her,” Lyman answered.

“That is all for now,” the voice answered.

“Wait,” Lyman pleaded, “I need to tell you something. Shannon is a diabetic.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

“Are you hearing me?” Lyman implored, stringing it out as best he could. “She’s a Type I diabetic. She requires daily injections of insulin. If she doesn’t get it, she can get very, sick. She could go into a coma without it; she could die. What good is she to you if she’s dead? You have to help her with that.”

“Then you better do as we say,” the kidnapper replied.

“I won’t do that until I speak with her, so I can hear her voice, so I know that she’s okay.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

“Wait, wait…. Her insulin! She needs her insulin!” Lyman yelped, but the line was already dead. He looked helplessly to Burton as he slowly set the receiver back into the cradle. The chief went to his friend, putting an arm around him.

Burton looked to the agent working a laptop.

“Anything?”

The agent held his hand up while watching the screen.

“It’s coming… wait…. Bingo! A landline… payphone, in… Clearwater.”

“Where’s that?” Burton asked.

“An hour northwest, up Interstate 94, toward St. Cloud,” the chief said, turning back to the group. “I take that exit going north to my cabin.”

4

“
He’s got options from here.”

The Explorer sped north, engine roaring, the siren and lights moving traffic out of the left lane as the needle on the speedometer passed one hundred. Mac worked the wheel, with Lich scanning a Minnesota map, checking out Clearwater. Riley and Rock were trailing in an unmarked sedan, alternately on the phone with the Clearwater Police, the State Patrol, Mac and Lich, as well as Burton and Peters.

Five miles from the exit, Mac said, “You know what was weird about the call?”

“What?” Lich asked.

“They didn’t ask for the ransom,” Mac replied. “If this is about ransom, why not ask for it right then?”

“They’ll call back, I’m sure,” Lich replied. “Maybe he figures if he stays on the line too long he’ll get pinched.”

“Maybe. Maybe. But something doesn’t seem right.”

“There’s nothing right about any of this.”

Mac hit the exit ramp, hammered the brakes, and turned hard right. Two state patrol cruisers, a Clearwater squad car, and a Sherburne County Suburban, lights flashing, clustered at a pay phone in the parking lot for an abandoned fast-food-joint. Lich sighed.

“That’s what I feared.”

“What’s that?” Mac asked.

“He’s got options from here.”

“Options?”

Lich pointed at the map, where Interstate 94 and State Highway 10 bracketed their position. Mac understood immediately.

“He could make the call and go north on County Road 24 for four miles, which gets him to State Highway 10, or he could go left and back over to 94,” Lich said.

“Or just stay south on 24, which will take you toward Annandale and Maple Lake twenty miles to the south,” Mac added. “Shit.”

“And if he jumps onto 94 heading back to the cities, with the traffic coming home from up north, he just blends in with everyone else,” Lich said glumly as he climbed out. Riles and Rock were out of their car, and Riles immediately started in.

“Shit, he could go any number of ways….”

“…out of here,” Mac finished.

“We know,” Lich said with disgust. “He has options.”

The area around the phone had been taped off by the locals. Forensics personnel from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) would arrive shortly and begin processing the scene. The Clearwater police chief, a pot belly man named Billy Miller, introduced himself and then ran it down.

“No surveillance cameras, this old burger stand’s been closed for over a year now.”

“How about at the convenience store across the road, Chief? Is there any surveillance over there?”

“A trooper went over and asked and looked at their surveillance system. But….”

“You can’t see anything across the road and into this parking lot,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“Correct,” Miller replied.

“Are we checking with all these businesses, gas stations, and restaurants around here?” Riley asked.

“My two guys are on it,” Miller answered, “along with a couple of troopers. They’ve been at it for a half hour, but as far as I know, they haven’t come up with anything.”

They turned and watched as the BCA folks arrived and began walking around with flashlights, fingerprinting the telephone, bagging everything in sight. The effort was being made.

“Maybe the BCA will turn up something,” Rock said unconvincingly.

Miller shook his head, downcast as the rest of them.

“I don’t suspect much will be found, and when he rolls out of here….”

“We know,” Rock replied, waving to County Road 24. “He’s got options.”

* * * * *