Blood Silence - Thriller (McRyan Mystery Series) Read online

  BLOOD SILENCE

  McRyan Mystery Series

  by

  Roger Stelljes

  BLOOD SILENCE (McRyan Mystery Series) By Roger Stelljes

  Copyright 2015 Roger Stelljes.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of the author’s experience and opinion. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by: Roger Stelljes www.RogerStelljes.com

  ISBN 978-0-9835758-6-3 (e-book)

  E-book version 6.1.2015

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, it takes a lot of talented people to bring a book to press. First, I’d like to thank my good friend Scott, for his continued patience and fortitude in reading through rough drafts of the manuscript and providing his feedback with only a modicum of ridicule. Finally, and as always, there is my wife, the one who makes it all happen. I write the books but she makes sure they reach you the reader with all of her work behind the scenes. It constantly amazes me how much work is involved after the book is written and she does an amazing job. I hope you enjoy Blood Silence.

  (To receive a message when a new release becomes available visit www.RogerStelljes.com)

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the memory of Kirsten, wife, mother, friend and one heck of a great lady. While her family and friends mourn her loss at far too young an age, heaven is now most assuredly filled with her infectious laugh and big sunny smile. May we all have the strength to one day face our own mortality with the same courage and positive mental attitude that she exhibited. This one is for you, Kir. (www.Komen.org)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Books by Roger Stelljes

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “What the…?”

  Washington, DC.

  Shane Weatherly took a last drink from his beer while he finished packing the rest of the binder-clipped documents into his backpack, fitting them snuggly just behind his laptop and tablet. The documents represented two weeks of geological research—very important, very lucrative, and potentially very damaging work to some people. With a smidge of paranoia running through him, he slyly peered around the long and narrow tavern, checking on the others inside. A few of the tall booths along one wall were filled with people in groups of two or three merely drinking and conversing. At the long bar were two pairs of people sitting close together, drinking and talking. Two others in baseball caps were sitting and drinking alone, watching the Monday Night Football game on the big screen over the bar, while a third man in a straw cowboy hat, who had just paid up his tab, was sliding his chew tin into his back pocket as he strolled out the front door of the tavern.

  Isador returned to the table, rubbing his hands together and then shaking them. “I hate hand dryers. They never get your hands dry. I miss paper towels.”

  “I’d think an employee of the EPA would prefer the blow dryers,” Shane replied wryly. “Aren’t they better for the environment?”

  Isador snorted his disapproval. “Yes, but I still hate them anyway,” he replied, watching his friend zip up his backpack and shaking his head in wonderment. “I’m still amazed at what you’ve found, Shane,” Isador stated enthusiastically. “Fantastic stuff, and to me, the research, the numbers… everything looks super solid.”

  “Yes, but like I asked earlier, will your boss do anything with it, Isador? Your agency”—Shane shook his head derisively—“well, your agency has a less-than-stellar record in this regard. To be blunt, you’ve been pussies.”

  Isador nodded knowingly in resignation. “Yes, no doubt we could use a spine implant.” He sighed. “Look, I can’t guarantee you anything, because of the politics, but I know we’ve wanted another shot at what these guys do in general, and what these guys, in particular, do, so I think the boss will definitely hear you out, especially given what the people you work for have planned. That will give us some cover and maybe some courage.”

  “That’s what we were hoping and thinking,” Weatherly answered. “I mean, like I said, the people I’m working for are going after these guys anyway. However, if you’re on board, that is so much the better, particularly for their long-term plan. Their goals go beyond this one case.”

  The two men sauntered down the back hallway of the tavern and out into the parking lot and into the chilly fall night. “So where’s your car?”

  “To the right. It’s the last car up on the left between the two delivery vans,” Isador answered as he hit the key fob to unlock his Hyundai Sonata. “Drop your stuff in the backseat.”

  Weatherly did as Isador suggested, closed the rear passenger door, and then opened the front passenger door and slid himself down into the front seat of the car, securing the seatbelt.

  “Set?” Isador asked.

  “Yup.”

  Isador leaned down to put the key in the ignition and start the car when he looked up. “What the …?” he uttered.

  Shane looked up and out the front windshield to see a tall man with a straw cowboy hat. The man he’d seen inside the bar. He was pointing a long gun.

  The first shot ripped through the windshield, hitting Isador in the head and snapping his head back into the headrest of the seat.

  Shane stared in horror at the narrow stream of blood running down the center of Isador’s face as his friend, dead, slumped down and into him. “Oh my God!” Shane shrieked and then looked back to his right, out the windshield. The man coldly turned the gun toward him.

  “No! No! N—”

  Everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Because you’re not a shill.”

  Washington, DC.

  Mac drained the last dregs from his coffee cup as he finished up the scrambled eggs and plated them next to the toast, pineapple slices, and cut strawberries as Sally hustled into the kitchen, staring at her phone, furrowing her brow and shaking her head.

  “A bad e-mail?” Mac asked as he slid the plate in front of his fiancée as she took her seat at the cente
r island. He poured her a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice.

  “No,” she answered, looking up, smiling and kissing him as he sat down next to her. “Thanks for making breakfast.”

  “Anything for my lady.”

  “Hah?” Sally laughed. “Right.”

  “What? I’m a chivalrous guy.”

  “You are, you are,” Sally replied, smiling, patting him on the knee. Then she returned to her phone. “My frown is related to our little talk about setting a date last night. I decided to look ahead on my calendar for the next six months.”

  “And?”

  Sally exhaled, dropped her phone onto the counter, slouched down, and put her face in her hands. “I have no idea when we could get married. No idea. My job is just insane.”

  Mac laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  They’d been engaged exactly a month, and both of their mothers called last night, one right after the other, in what Mac later deduced was a well-coordinated and ultimately highly effective ambush. Rather than letting them bask in the joy of their engagement for a while, both pestered the two of them about when they were getting married. The mothers wanted a date.

  Mac was quite willing to let their mothers’ desires wait. He wanted to be married to her, but they had two things—Sally’s hectic job and plenty of time. Mac argued the plenty of time part, but their mothers’ pleas got to Sally.

  Setting the wedding date was now a thing.

  Reluctantly, Mac allowed himself to be sucked in. He was pretty much willing to let Sally have whatever she wanted, but she wouldn’t make it that easy for him. She wanted it to be their joint decision, and she wouldn’t let him get away with simply saying, “Sally, whatever you want.” He subtly tried that, and she just wouldn’t have it. No, she wanted his opinion, she wanted him involved, and she wanted it be what they together wanted. Now, as a man, Mac completely understood that what they together wanted really ultimately meant what Sally wanted, but he was going to have to go through the process with her.

  As a result, after the phone calls, there was a long discussion over a late dinner. Then there was an extra bottle of wine in the living room. The wine and wedding talk had Sally revved up, in a good way, which led to another lengthy and active discussion in bed.

  Out of all that discussion, they determined they didn’t want a massive, multi-hundred-guest wedding, nor did they want to simply go to the courthouse and get a quickie, ten-minute marriage either. Instead, they agreed on a small and intimate wedding with their family and closest friends. Of course, if you included close friends, the guest list could end up big anyway. Mac tended to collect friends the way the Yankees collected World Series titles. When they actually got to putting together invite lists, he knew he’d have to engage in some serious whittling.

  But first, he had to ease Sally’s immediate concerns.

  “Listen, Sal. It’s early November. I know that, politically, things are crazy through the winter,” Mac offered. “Maybe we should look further out, maybe late spring or next summer. Back home even, maybe up north at a resort, way far away from the rat race of DC.”

  “But then we start looking at the next campaign in the summer, the midterms, and you know the president. As popular as he is right now, he’ll be going all over the country, and so will I.”

  Mac smiled, unworried, and slid his right arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe, we will figure it out, and we’ll find a time. Somehow, the White House has survived for 225 years without you. There will be a week to ten days where that building will have to make it work while you’re absent, because we are not just getting married—there will also be a proper honeymoon in an exotic location where you are in an extremely skimpy bikini.”

  She looked up to him. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

  “Then don’t worry. This is not an impossible task.” It always amazed him that someone who had such a cool head in a work storm could get so easily frazzled when it came to her personal life.

  “I know, I know,” Sally answered as she worked her breakfast plate. Then she pointed her left hand enthusiastically toward Mac with a big smile. “But I do have to say, now that I have this gorgeous engagement ring, I want an equally beautiful wedding band to go with it.”

  “Like I said last night, Sal, I don’t care what our moms say—we don’t have to rush it. I mean, you have me whenever you want me,” Mac replied and then deadpanned. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  “Especially after that little tumble we had upstairs last night,” Sally cooed seductively at him and pecked his lips. “Nevertheless, now that we’re engaged, I kind of like the idea of you being legally required to be here in the morning. I want to lock that great ass of yours down.”

  “If I try to escape, will you use handcuffs?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, duh.”

  She slapped him on the arm. “Seriously, though, when will we find time?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Mac answered calmly, taking a bite of his eggs.

  “I want this to be perfect. We deserve perfect.”

  He laughed again, trying to calm her, and reached with his right arm again and pulled her close. “You’re getting overwhelmed by the entirety of the process here. We have to break it up. We know we want something smaller, with only our families and closest friends, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. In my mind, I think the first thing we need to do is find the right venue. Once we do that, then we’ll find the right date, and after that, everything will fall into place.”

  Sally leaned up and kissed him. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Well, we do have the weekend back home to talk about it. Maybe we can figure it out.”

  “That’s the right attitude, babe,” Mac replied, smiling, softly kissing her forehead, and then releasing her and going back to his breakfast.

  “By the way, are you excited for your plane ride?”

  In fact, he was.

  Mac was getting to ride on Air Force One back home for the president’s Thursday-night fundraiser and birthday party back in Minnesota. Then the president was going to spend the weekend in the Twin Cities to celebrate with his family. So were Mac and Sally. He was looking forward to being home and the flight to get there. “Having a fiancée working in the White House leads to all kinds of perks.”

  “Oh, it does, it absolutely does.”

  “What’s next, a romantic night in the Lincoln Bedroom?” Mac suggested, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Riiiiight.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Sally said, smiling and leaning in to kiss him one more time—a soft, lingering kiss, with her right hand placed lightly on his cheek. They locked eyes, and Mac was seconds away from whisking her back upstairs, when she pulled away and looked down at her watch. “Oh man, I have to boogie.”

  “Go,” he replied reluctantly. “I’ll clean up.”

  Sally grabbed her purse and briefcase. “What are you doing today?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Mac answered as he dropped dishes into the sink. “I’m going for a run. After that, I might watch some television, perhaps surf the Internet, and check my investment portfolio—you know, the usual.”

  “I see. The idle millionaire routine, huh?” Sally replied with a whimsical shake of her head. “Man, it must be rough.”

  “I’m living the dream.”

  “So am I,” Sally replied with a smile and a wave as she joyfully bounded down the back steps toward the garage.

  The reality was that he needed to finish his final read of the manuscript for the book he and Wire were writing on their election investigation. They were working with a writer, but the final edits needed to be approved and submitted to the publisher. The book was scheduled to be published in April, but the inquiries on how much longer he was going to take were getting a little more frequent. He
needed to finish. The good news was, he was close—fewer than a hundred pages to go. But before he got to that, he needed to take care of his body.

  Mac enjoyed his midmorning run through DC. There was something special about five miles and a good sweat while passing the monuments along the Mall and yet not having to be one of the thousands of bureaucrats making their way to work. He was often amazed at how historic and awe-inspiring DC could be, and then he would turn on the television and watch the mindless politics of the day and all at once wish he were simply back in Minnesota. He would be but for Sally. For Sally, he was pretty sure he’d go just about anywhere.

  He turned the corner to jog the last block to his Georgetown brownstone and noticed the limousine parked in front of his house. As he approached, the driver stepped out and opened the rear door, and out emerged Judge Dixon.

  Mac had a sinking suspicion the idle millionaire routine was about to be interrupted.

  “Judge, what’s up?” Mac asked as he ran up and stopped to take the Judge’s extended hand.

  “I have some business to discuss. Can we go inside?”

  Judge Joyce Dixon, known to all simply as “the Judge,” was the person, other than Sally, most responsible for Mac living in Washington, DC.

  A former federal prosecutor, judge, and United States Attorney General, the Judge was the political mastermind behind the election of Minnesota Governor James Thomson to the presidency of the United States. During the campaign, the Judge also discovered a previously untapped political talent in Sally. Sally had taken a leave from her assistant county prosecutor position to work on the Thomson presidential campaign, working for a good friend of hers from law school who was the governor’s chief of staff and a deputy director in his presidential campaign. Sally impressed during the election, and in its final days, really stepped up when a key person in the election team was murdered and her good friend was emotionally wrecked because of it. Always a cool head in a storm, Sally, with little political experience, filled in and got the job done. The Judge, a man who loved molding young political talent, realized Sally was the real deal and wasn’t about to let her simply return to her job as an assistant county prosecutor. Ten minutes after Governor Thomson was elected president of the United States, Sally was hired as the White House deputy director of communications.