Electing To Murder (41 page)

If he went to the Bishop and convinced him that he wouldn’t crack, that he wouldn’t break and that he would never give him up, he could ride out the storm.

He took another sip of his drink and contemplated his options, running the scenarios through his mind.

Ultimately, in his mind, going to the Bishop seemed like the better play. There was still some time. He wasn’t dead yet and he had a few cards left to play. There was still time, he told himself, still some time to survive this.

* * *

“You said what to Connolly?” Wire asked in disbelief, laughing.

“I said: You’re next,” Mac answered, taking a sip from his Seagram and Seven.

“Oh my God,” Wire replied, smiling ear to ear. “I wish I could have seen that prick squirm.”

They were sitting in the bar at the Marriott having a post dinner drink, or at this point a fourth post dinner drink. Wire’s two brothers and their wives joined them for a late dinner and Mac and Wire cryptically filled them in on the investigation. Not until her family left and they decided to have a nightcap in the bar, could they really talk about Connolly’s interrogation.

Mac took a look at Wire’s drink, “A White Russian now?”

“No, a Caucasian.”

“Ahh, the Dude abides.”

“
The Big Lebowksi
, top ten all-time movie,” Wire smiled. “Of course, I suppose you Minnesotans think
Fargo
is the Coen Brothers best.”

“Ya you betcha,” Mac answered in his best Margie voice. “I do like
Fargo
a lot but I’m a little more partial to
No Country for Old Men
. Javier Bardem is absolutely scary in that.”

Wire transitioned topics back to the election. “So like my brothers asked me, let me ask you, Mac McRyan, what’s it feel like to know you saved the election for Governor Thomson?”

“I liked your answer at dinner. It’s great to have figured that out but really this is about the murder victims. It’s about people like Sebastian or Gabriel Martin. We still don’t know who was really behind it; we don’t know who this Bishop is. Until we do, I won’t feel like I have complete closure on the murders. We won’t have justice.” The victims were always the priority for Mac. It was something Mac’s father used to say: we are the voice of the dead. Michael Mackenzie McRyan had taken that lesson to heart. That’s what being a homicide detective was all about—the victims.

“For the victims,” Mac toasted.

“For the victims,” Wire replied, returning the toast.

“Speaking of closure, did you mention this Bishop name to the Judge?” Mac asked.

“I didn’t,” Wire answered and then looked at her watch, which told her it was approaching 1:00 a.m. “But it’s too late now. I’ll give him a call in the morning and see.”

It was late.

“Dara, are you driving home?” Mac asked. She’d put away at least four more after her brothers left.

“Driving? No. I’ll take a cab home. Could you drive my Land Rover out to me tomorrow and I can drive you back in?”

“Sure,” Mac answered and took the keys from her.

Wire reached back in her purse and pulled out her wallet but Mac stopped her, “I’ve got this.”

“Mac, you bought dinner,” she protested. “And not just for me but my family, I can’t let you do that and buy the drinks. You’re going to be out like $800 tonight.”

Mac grinned sheepishly. “You know the chain of Grand Brew Coffee Shops in the Twin Cities?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them around,” Wire answered, a questioning look on her face. “What about them?”

“Well, there are nearly two hundred of them in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Iowa. I own, or did own, fifteen percent of the entire business until this week. We sold it.”

“Oh my God,” Wire smiled. “You’re rich, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have to live check-to-check anymore, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve had a heck of a week.”

Mac smiled, “Indeed. So I think I can handle a night of dinner and drinks,” he said as he gave the bartender his American Express card. A minute later, the bar tab taken care of, he walked Wire out the front of the hotel and deposited her in a cab.

M
ac woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He pushed himself up and took a look at the clock radio on the nightstand, 9:34 a.m., a little under seven hours of sleep. More would have been better. He took a look at the display on the phone and it was Sally.

“Hey,” he said, groggy, his head pounding. He might have had a few too many. No, there was no might, he did have too many. He needed water, lots of water.

“Hey yourself,” Sally answered, all bubbly. “Rough night there, superstar?”

“Dinner and a lot of drinks with Wire and her family,” he replied. Mac sensed the excitement on the other end of the line. “What’s up, babe?”

“You really are just getting up, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Sal, I was sleeping really well until you called.”

“Oh my God, you haven’t seen the polls yet, have you?”

Mac sat up and rubbed his eyes with his right hand and yawned. “No, honey, I haven’t.” He hunted around for the remote on his bed and found it down by his feet and clicked on the television and flipped to CNN. “From the tone of your voice, they must be good.”

“We’re up anywhere from seven to eight points nationally and the leads are following in the swing states, Mac!” she screamed, a raucous crowd in the background, she was at a campaign event. “In Iowa we’re up eight, Wisconsin nine, Ohio six and Virginia we’re up six as well. There are even a few other states we thought were lost causes and now we’re in the hunt there. We’re even in Arizona and Missouri, and that’s just polling today. This could be a wave election all of the sudden.”

Mac flipped over to MSNBC, which was scrolling through the state polls based on their own Wall Street Journal/MSNBC polling and they mirrored what Sally was saying. “You’re gonna win, honey.”

“We’re gonna win.”

Mac smiled at the joy in her voice. He loved hearing her so happy.

“We’re gonna win and you made sure it would happen,” she said.

Mac shook his head, “No, no, no honey, we just made sure the playing field was level, that’s all; you guys won the election.”

“As usual, you sell yourself short,” she replied sarcastically. “You and Wire, you two saved this thing, Mac. You saved it. Sure we did the work to win, we are ahead and we should win, we deserve to win. But you two made sure all that work paid off. It is going to have a huge effect on the country. Massive. Now we’re going to win and we’re going to win huge.”

She was right. The discovery of the election fraud related to the murders was having a huge effect on the American electorate and in Mac’s mind that made a certain amount of intuitive sense. Regardless of whatever it was in the United States, politics, sports, business, whatever it was, people had an overall sense of fair play. Could you bend the rules? Sure. Could you break them to take something that should go to someone else? No. That particular American ideal was playing out in the polls and not just in the presidential race, but it appeared to be having an effect down ballot as well. The polls for several close Senate races were showing a swing to the Democratic column. Voters were going to take the scandal out not just on the vice president, but the Republican Party in general. Sally was right; Governor Thomson was heading for a decisive victory.

“You know, honey,” Mac said, “you’re right this could be a wave election but …”

“But what?”

Mac exhaled. “I don’t know. This whole electoral fraud thing was pretty isolated to the presidential race, Sally, so the swing there is understandable. I have a feeling a bunch of Republicans, through no fault of their own, are going to get caught in the wave.” That impact affected Mac’s sense of right and wrong. Innocent people were going to lose their races because of the acts of someone else. He didn’t necessarily like that result.

Sally was unbothered by it. “That’s politics, Mac. What the top of ticket does or doesn’t do impacts races up and down the ballot. That’s what’s happening here.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” he could hear her smiling on the other end of the line. “I can’t wait to see you. When are you going home?”

“Not sure,” Mac answered, taking a sip of water and wishing for some Ibuprofen for his headache. “I’m going into the Hoover Building later to check in and see if we’ve made any progress on figuring out who this Bishop is. Do you know, did Wire talk to the Judge about that?”

“I think she talked to him just a few minutes ago,” Sally replied. “Hang on.” There was a huge roar from the crowd in the background and Mac could make out the sound of Thomson’s voice. He wasn’t even sure where they were so he flipped the channels and CNN was covering the speech. They were in Toledo, Ohio. “Mac, here’s the Judge.”

“Mac, how are you son?”

“Fine, sir, just fine.”

“Dara told me you guys were up pretty late cocktailing,” Mac could tell the mood of the Judge was light. Certain victory had a way of doing that. If he didn’t know any better, there was a cigar in the man’s fingers.

“We definitely had a few, Judge.”

“Well I should hope so, you two deserved it. Send me the tab.”

“It was pretty big, Judge.”

“So much the better,” he replied heartily and then changed gears. “I’m sure Dara is planning on calling you. Sally asked about this ‘Bishop’ business. I don’t know who that is, son. The only recollection I have of that name was a case when I was the attorney general that came up in the last few months of my term. I think it was Younger Investments. The case dealt with a Hedge Fund Manager, which was Younger, and redemptions and how the Hedge Fund had redemptions well in excess of its assets.”

“I kind of remember this,” Mac replied, he routinely followed the market. “Maybe not that specific case, but wasn’t there a bunch of cases of market timing?”

“That’s right,” the Judge replied. “There was a market timing element of this as well and an international component, buying on the Japanese Exchange based on the closing price on the US Exchange. In any event, I recall there being this mystery man called ‘the Bishop’ in that case. This Bishop was an unidentified investor who benefited from the scheme. However, before we could really figure out what was going on, the Hedge Fund manager was dead and by the time we left office, we never identified who this Bishop was.”

“The key witness was dead before you could get to him. That sounds awfully familiar,” Mac deadpanned.

“I hear you, son,” Dixon replied. “I think that case died on the vine with my successor. That’s three AGs ago now, well before Gates’s time. I mentioned that to Dara not fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps Gates could look into that case and that might get you on the road to figuring out who this Bishop is. It might not even be the same guy, probably isn’t, but it’s the only reference to Bishop or the Bishop that I ever ran across or at least remember running across.”

Mac heard another roar in the background. “Thanks, Judge. I’ll mention that to Gates and Mitchell and we’ll see where it leads.”

“Very well,” the Judge answered. “Listen, Mac. After Tuesday, you and I need to sit down and have a few drinks when this is over. Sally too.”

Mac wasn’t sure where that was headed and didn’t really want to think about it at the moment but you don’t say no to someone like Judge Dixon. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, here’s Sally.”

“Where to next, Sal?” Mac asked.

“I just got the itinerary. We made some changes based on the sudden polling swings. We’re going for it. From here we’re going to Tampa, then back to St. Louis and believe it or not, we’re going west, we’re hitting Phoenix late tonight.”

Sally was like a kid at Christmas. The euphoria was clear in her voice. Three months ago she was a damn good county prosecutor who took a leave to help a close friend on the campaign for president. In the last two weeks she’d found her way into the inner circle and she had the political bug now. Mac suspected she would not be returning to Ramsey County. Things were going to change, but that was for later. For now, she needed to enjoy the moment, “Sally, have fun, enjoy yourself, take lots of cell phone pictures.”

“Mac, this is amazing. I can’t believe I’m a part of this. Tomorrow is going to be awesome. You better be back by then.”

“I hope to be.”

“Good,” she replied, and then her voice went a little quieter. “Because I have a big welcome home planned for you.”

* * *

Connolly stood on his balcony, overlooking the courtyard and out to the Potomac River, the gold, rust and yellow of the leaves of Virginia glistening against the sun in the distance. He could even make out a rower pushing to the north on the river, getting in an early Monday morning workout.

In his hand he held the burner cell phone.

* * *

The Bishop answered on the second ring. “How are you my friend?” he asked with concern.

“I am doing okay this morning,” He could hear the relief in Connolly’s voice. “Fine, in fact, all things considered. And you? Obviously things are not going to go the way we’d hoped tomorrow.”

The Bishop sipped his coffee, sitting deep in the dark condo, looking out to see Connolly standing on his balcony, a cup of coffee in his hand. Having spent the past two hours watching the political shows, he knew the election was over, Thomson would be president. After all, when FOX News said it was over, the Bishop knew it was. “No, my friend. They will not. Our plans went awry.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

The Bishop decided to get some information from the political operative. “I understand you were not helpful to the FBI yesterday.”

“No, I wasn’t, not at all,” Connolly replied urgently. “However, you know the St. Paul detective working the case?”

“McRyan?”

“Yes, him. He has your name somehow, not your real name, but he knows there’s a man named the Bishop involved. How he knows I don’t know, but he knows.”

The Bishop grimaced. He had not learned this piece of information. And while he doubted anyone in the government knew ‘the Bishop’ meant him, with a moniker they could potentially work their way back to him. Few men alive knew of him as the Bishop. Connolly was one, Kristoff was another.