Deadly Stillwater Page 14

  “We gotta… gotta… find these guys,” Lich ground out, running his hand over his bald head. “We don’t have much time.”

  “We need to go over this video with a fine tooth comb, find anything and everything,” Mac said. “I know a guy. We need to get this to…”

  “We’ve got that covered,” Burton interrupted. “This is the FBI’s bailiwick. Technology is our deal.”

  “Yeah, but wait a minute…” Mac persisted. “I know a guy…”

  Burton steam rolled him and took control of the room.

  “Duffy,” he said, pointing to the laptop, “let’s get our video people on this, every second of that video. I want them going over it, picking it apart, find something that we can use.”

  “I’ll make it happen,” Duffy answered.

  “Wait,” Mac pleaded, but Riley grabbed his elbow.

  “Keep your powder dry for now and let Burton do this thing,” Riles whispered into his ear, “this is the FBI’s show. Let them play it out.” Riley gave him a look that recommended patience.

  “We don’t have the luxury of time,” Mac retorted under his breath.

  “See what Burton does,” Riley replied, equally quiet. “Let’s see if he’s as good as they say he is.”

  “And thinks he is,” Mac replied, with just a touch of skepticism, Riley returned a knowing smirk. “I like the guy,” Mac added in a whisper, “but I only see him reacting to events. We need to push this thing.”

  “We need to stay at the table. The mayor’s here for a reason. He’s just waiting for us to fall out of line.”

  “What about that pipe for air from the…” Lich asked the room, struggling for what to call it.

  “Grave. It’s a fucking grave,” Mac said, finishing the thought out loud, drawing looks from the room. “And that’s how they want us, the chief, Lyman, all of us to think of it. If we don’t find these guys, that’s where those girls will die.”

  “They’re not going to die,” Burton replied with fervor. “We’re going to find them.”

  “How?” Rock asked.

  “First,” Burton answered, “We’re going over that videotape. If there is something there, we’ll find it. Something in the van, an identifying characteristic or mark on one of the kidnappers, I’ll bet that there’s something there. The road and land they’re on, we need to see if there’s any identifying landmarks or features on it. We just have to break it down and look.”

  Mac joined in.

  “We need to, at a minimum, get this out to local sheriffs and chiefs within an hour of the cities. The girls are buried somewhere rural, but they can’t be that far from town. They need to be somewhat close, so maybe, just maybe, some county mountie will recognize something.”

  “Why don’t you think they’re farther away?” Riles asked.

  “They want isolation for sure, they need to have it to bury the girls and not draw any attention with those lights. That takes time and privacy. But they can’t be working two or three hours away. That’s not convenient enough. They’d want to stay close,” Mac shook his head. “They’re not up in Brainerd and then driving two, three hours down here to plant laptop computers under football bleachers. They’re centered somewhere around here and then driving from the Twin Cities, or somewhere nearby, up to Clearwater or down to Ellsworth. They’re not that far away.”

  “McRyan, the last phone call was from Duluth,” Duffy noted. “They made it from a city park. They could be prowling around up there. That creates an awfully wide net.”

  “Fine then. Let’s send the thing out to the whole state as well as western Wisconsin,” Mac said. “But I doubt they have the girls up in Duluth or any place that far from the Twin Cities. They’re in closer somewhere.”

  “Then why go to Duluth?” Duffy pressed.

  “Because now they’re not on as tight of a timeline. They’re not calling us until 6:00 PM tomorrow night. So they have time to go a little farther away, gain that extra layer of safety. And at the same time, they get the chance to make us think they’re that far away. They want us expending resources casting that wide of a net, spreading ourselves that thin. But I just don’t think they’re that far away. They’re closer than that. They have to be.”

  “Still an awfully big area… essentially the fifteen-county area,” Lich said, looking at the map pinned to the bulletin board. “And we don’t know this for sure.”

  “No, we don’t,” Mac replied. “But it feels right, makes sense, and gives us something to work with, a lot of eyes to give us a look. Who knows? Maybe some sheriff’s deputy, forest ranger, or cop gets a look at that video and says, ‘hey six years ago I responded to an emergency call down that road.’”

  “I don’t know,” Duffy said, with apprehension in his voice. “What if this thing leaks? I mean, this is pretty unsettling video. It’ll create a media firestorm if it gets out. I’d rather control this.” Mac got the feeling that FBI control of the investigation was of more concern to him than the girls or the kidnappers.

  “Agreed,” the mayor added.

  “Are you two fucking kidding me?” Mac growled. “Media firestorm’s worth it if someone finds that spot.”

  “I don’t want to create a panic, Detective,” the mayor asserted. “We put this video out there, there’s a chance we’ll create hysteria. Hell we’ve got calls coming in by the dozens from people worried that every van that drives by carries a kidnapper.”

  “So what? You don’t want help from citizens?”

  “No, I do,” the mayor answered. “But I got calls today where we’ve got three different panel vans stopped along Grand Avenue by you guys because somebody called in a tip with two or three big men in a van.”

  Mac looked incredulous. “Heaven forbid we disrupt traffic on Grand Avenue trying to find these guys. “My gosh,” he mocked, “a voter might call City Hall to complain and you might have to do some work.”

  An agitated Duffy interceded. “All the mayor is saying, Detective, is that people are on edge and panicky. If this gets out, that only adds to it. We don’t want a panic. Hell, I’ve heard people on the radio talking about the need to carry a gun to defend themselves.”

  “Great, just great. That’s all we need,” the mayor complained, “someone to up and shoot some family guy driving along in a van because it matches the descriptions all over the news.”

  Mac wouldn’t have it.

  “Jesus Christ, whose side are you two on?”

  “Hey,” Duffy yelled.

  “I resent the implication…” the mayor started.

  Mac thundered on.

  “I could give a flying fuck about your, frankly, ridiculous concerns,” Mac said pointing at Duffy and then to the mayor, “or how inconvenient its release could be politically.” The biggest crime story in the country was taking place in St. Paul, and Mac suspected the mayor didn’t like the glare.

  “Now just a minute…” the mayor started.

  “All I care about — all anyone in this room should care about — is finding those girls,” Mac shouted, slamming his fist on the conference table. “Everything else, everything, politics, who’s running this investigation, whose backside might be exposed, all of that shit is secondary. For Christ sake, I’m only talking about releasing the video to law enforcement, not to the general public. Although, the more I think about it, the more I think we ought to do that as well. By getting this out, we increase our odds of finding the girls. The risk is worth the reward.”

  “You’d like to release it to the whole public?” the mayor asked, stunned.

  Mac, seeming equally stunned, replied, “Hell yes. At least the first part, where they’re driving on the road, path, through the field, sure you bet. Have the media run it every half hour. Who knows what we’ll find. There’s nothing problematic in that. The rest of it, we hold back and only have law enforcement review it.”

  “Christ, we’ll have calls coming in by the truck load and a huge panic. Especially if the whole video gets out,” the mayo
r pressed. “And I bet it will.”

  “Since when does the mayor’s office tell us how to investigate?” Mac asked, up and out of his chair, pointing while Rock reached for his arm to pull him back. “It’s fucking fundamental to do this. We need to get as many eyes on this as possible, not as few. This is not something to cover up. It’s the difference between police work and politics.”

  “ That’s enough,” the mayor bellowed. “If you can’t keep your cool, Detective, you can go grab a barstool at that pub of yours.”

  “Got all the answers don’t ya,” Duffy added derisively.

  Mac kicked a chair out of the way and moved toward Duffy, his fists balled, but Lich and Rock jumped in front of him and pushed him back to his chair.

  “You’re no good to the chief if you’re not in this room,” Lich said quietly through clenched teeth. “So dial it the hell back.”

  Riles jumped in, casual.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Mayor,” the veteran detective said, shaking his head. “We’re talking about the chief’s daughter. There isn’t a cop out there who would compromise this and release the whole video. McRyan’s right, we should get the whole thing to other law enforcement agencies and the front end out to the public.”

  The mayor looked at Duffy, who then looked over to Burton, who’d remained passive through the whole blow up, taking it all in.

  “What do you think?” Duffy asked Burton.

  “Like I said,” Riles added one last time, staring straight at Burton, “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

  Burton stood quietly for a moment, scratching his chin with his right index finger. After a moment, he nodded and spoke.

  “I think McRyan is right. We should get the video out. It can only help. And we get it out to both the public and law enforcement. Mac, one part that maybe I disagree with is, does law enforcement need to see the part where the girls are going into the ground? What can other cops tell us about that?”

  Mac shrugged, “Probably not much.”

  “I think that’s right,” Burton answered. “We get the first part out to the public and police and see if anyone recognizes the road, area, or any landmarks.”

  “Thanks,” Riley said. Mac nodded his approval from his chair, and tension drained from the rest of the boys.

  “I’ll get it started,” Peters said, and then he turned to another. “Paddy, get a copy and then let’s get this e-mailed to all the police and sheriff’s departments. I’ll start making some calls.”

  “Done,” Paddy said.

  “What else?” Riles asked.

  “I gotta work on Plan B,” Burton answered.

  “Which is what?”

  “Talk to Flanagan and Hisle. We have to let them know what’s going on and prepare the ransom,” Burton answered. “If we don’t find these guys, we’re going to have to make a money drop.”

  16

  “ Hello, girls.”

  The first sensation was thirst. Her mouth felt dry as she slowly moved her tongue over her lips, then smacked her lips together and exhaled lightly. She felt groggy and lethargic as she moved her left arm out from under her head and felt the skin of her right bicep scrape along the wood and dirt. Taking in a deep breath, she smelled dirt and wood, new wood, like the plywood she’d smelled two weeks ago up at her folks’ cabin when they were building a gazebo. Was she still asleep and dreaming? The smell wasn’t right. Why would she smell that? Where the heck was she?

  She opened her eyes to pitch blackness. She blinked her eyes and strained to focus, but no light seeped in through window shades or under a door.

  Carrie Flanagan lifted her head up and banged the right side hard, just above her ear, against something above her.

  “Ow!” she exclaimed as she brought her head back down. The feeling of pain was quickly overtaken by panic. She flipped off her left side and onto her back, and her right hand felt another body.

  “Jesus!” she yelped as she jumped back, hitting her head and back against the hard wood.

  The other body didn’t move.

  “Hello,” Carrie whispered but there was no movement. She reached over with her right arm, looking for the other body, when her hand hit something round and metallic. She grabbed it. It was a flashlight. Carrie turned it on.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  Carrie ran her hands along the top of the box and the left side.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  Shannon Hisle slowly awoke. Carrie reached for her arm.

  “Shannon, wake up! Wake up!”

  When Shannon’s eyes fully opened, her screams matched those of Carrie’s a few seconds earlier.

  “Carrie! Carrie! Oh my God, where are we! What have they done to us? What have they done to us?”

  Both girls frantically felt around the box with their hands and feet, pushed at the top, and kicked at the end of the wood box.

  After a few minutes of frantic pushing, kicking, and screaming, the girls settled some. Both women were breathing hard, sweating, still wildly looking around, disbelieving where they were.

  Where they were was a wood box. It was maybe two feet high, four feet across and six feet long.

  And it was solid. They weren’t going anywhere.

  They were buried alive.

  The girls lay on their sides facing one another.

  “What have they done to us? What are we going to do?” Shannon asked weakly, sniffling, tears streaming down her face.

  “I don’t know,” Carrie answered, using the back of her left hand to wipe away her own tears.

  It was time to take stock.

  Carrie used the flashlight to search the box.

  “What are you looking for?” Shannon asked.

  “Air, how are we getting air?” Carrie replied. She found what looked to be the answer. “It’s behind me, two holes with vents over them.” She turned her back on Shannon and flashed the light on the nearest vent. “We’re getting air, so I guess that’s good news.”

  Shannon put her mouth to the opening.

  “Help, can anyone hear me?”

  Carrie put her ear to the grate to see if she could hear any response. She repeatedly yelled and then listened for a couple of minutes. There was no response.

  She scanned the top of the box and upon inspection understood at least one reason why they couldn’t push the top off.

  “Look at that.”

  “What?”

  “The screws. Or at least those little silver tips sticking through the wood. The top of this thing is screwed on. No wonder we couldn’t budge it.”

  She used the flashlight and scanned the box again. Down by Shannon’s feet, in the corner, there was a small black object. Carrie reached with her left leg, caught the object with her toe and dragged it back so that she could reach it with her hands.

  It was a Dictaphone.

  Carrie slid the button up. There was a whirring, then a crackling sound, followed by the voice she heard when lying on the bed.

  “ Hello girls. First, if you haven’t done so already, you will want to turn on the flashlight. But economize its use; you may be in the box for a while.”

  Carrie reached to the flashlight to shut it off.

  “Leave the light on for now,” Shannon said. “I like being able to see.”

  “Okay,” Carrie answered and then started the Dictaphone again.

  “ A little information about your new home,” the voice said. “It is five feet underground. You are in a reinforced plywood box from which you have no hope of escaping, so it would be unwise for you to waste your time and energy doing so. Also, you are in an isolated spot, so yelling is pointless.”

  Carrie stopped the tape.

  “I guess you can save your breath,” Shannon said. “They’ve probably got us buried in the middle of nowhere.”

  Carrie nodded and started the Dictaphone again.

  “ So how long have you been down there, you’re wondering? We gave you a sedative. It
knocked you out for what I expect would be eighteen hours, give or take. By the time you’re hearing this tape it will be mid-afternoon on July third.”

  Carrie showed Shannon her watch, confirming that it was 2:10.

  “ How long will you be in your current abode, you ask? If all goes according to plan, you will be out of that box by tomorrow evening, maybe even in time to see some fireworks. I do apologize for your current accommodations. While I’m sure they are most uncomfortable and frightening for you, they were nevertheless necessary to provide proper motivation for your fathers. This is also why there is no food or water inside. If your fathers follow our instructions to the letter, you’ll be back with them soon enough. If not?” the voice paused.

  “ Let’s just say that there will be no getting out.”

  17

  “ Any problems getting down?”

  Dean pulled the van into the parking lot of the diner across the street from the Bayside Marina in Hudson. Smith climbed out and looked back.

  “We should be up there in about forty-five minutes,” he said.

  “See you there,” David replied.

  Smith slid the door closed and walked away a changed man. Gone were the work clothes of two hours ago. Now, the kidnapper was a skipper in boating wear with flip-flops, a Brewers baseball cap, flowery Speedo swim trunks, a white cotton golf shirt open at the collar, and black mirrored wraparound sunglasses. He hoisted a black nylon carry-on bag over his shoulder as he walked across the street and through rows of luxury cars and high-end SUVs in the marina parking lot. Beyond the parking lot, he came to the massive, ten-foot-wide, graying wood pier jutting out into the dark waters of the St. Croix River.

  The Bayside Marina had four rows of boat slips. His destination was the last row of slips to the north, a guest slip on the outside at the far end of the dock. In the guest slip floated their white thirty-two-foot offshore express cruiser. They’d stolen the boat from a marina along the river in Davenport, Iowa, six weeks earlier. After they applied a new customized paint job of blue and red stripes, they launched the boat in Lake City and spent a great day boating up the river and to the slip in Hudson.