Electing To Murder Page 9

  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.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Kristoff, he�
��s coming to you.”

  One fifty-three p.m. Foche yawned and then sipped his now lukewarm twenty-four-ounce Super America coffee as he watched the main entrance to the Landmark Towers. Coldplay’s “Paradise” purred out of the car radio on Cities 97 as the engine hummed and the heater kept the vehicle temperature at 68 degrees. On the other side of the street his second unit watched the front of the building as well, having been stationed there since morning. They had people staked out at numerous locations now, including Montgomery’s home in Maryland and his parents’ home in Delaware, as well as at The Congressional Page offices.

  Foche arrived on the scene as part of following McRyan, something he’d been doing since sunrise. There were stops at the Department of Public Safety, both campaigns for Minnesota’s hotly contested Sixth District and now the national headquarters of the James Thomson Campaign for President.

  Foche was on his own for now. Kristoff was now directing his full attention to tracking down Montgomery and applying all of his technical resources to that problem. Kristoff had immense technical resources at his disposal to throw at problems and the full fusillade was being applied to this one. Kristoff’s last text a half hour ago indicated there were some potential developments on that front. They didn’t have Montgomery yet but new avenues for finding him were emerging. It would just take a little time. In the meantime, they needed to make sure McRyan and his partner didn’t find him first.

  The security specialist, Foche preferred that term to describe what he did as opposed to mercenary or merc, had spent the morning trailing the two St. Paul homicide detectives. His tablet sat on the passenger seat to his right. Kristoff had forwarded him the full profile on McRyan and Lich, the two men he was tailing.

  Detective Richard Lich made for interesting reading. To say the man had a colorful personal history would be putting it mildly. His professional history, however, was fairly pedestrian—a functional cop with many years on the job.

  Mac McRyan, on the other hand was an entirely different story. He did not fit the profile in any way, shape or form for a cop. Summa Cum Laude from the University of Minnesota and William Mitchell College of Law. His test scores, all the way back to his nearly perfect SAT in high school, revealed a brilliant mind. His record on the force revealed an unusually high closure rate on his cases and a dogged approach to his investigations. As he read through the profile, what jumped out at Foche most was the detective’s relentless nature. It oozed out of the background information he was reading. And what this little trip to the Thomson campaign, as well as the others McRyan took this morning told him, were that the detectives weren’t buying that Stroudt’s death was a random drug buy gone bad. They were rightly thinking that it was what Stroudt did professionally that led to his death. He and Kristoff thought a killing at a seedy hotel would be met with bland indifference. Clearly this was not the case.

  McRyan was, if not on the right track, at least was looking in the right direction. Providence had not smiled on them either. With McRyan’s live-in girlfriend working high up in the Thomson campaign, he was able to get quick access to the top of the Thomson campaign. After killing Stroudt, they learned that he went to law school with McCormick. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to think Stroudt would be looking up his old law school classmate when he came to the Twin Cities instead of trying to head back to Washington DC. Thus far, based on a review of cell phone records, it did not appear that before his death, Stroudt had actually contacted McCormick.

  The green glass doors burst open and McRyan and Lich strolled out the front door with smiles on their faces. Foche’s heart skipped a beat for a minute but as he assessed their demeanor he determined that the looks were more of laughter than of satisfaction. They were reliving an event as they walked to the parking ramp across St. Peter Street.

  Foche waited until McRyan exited the parking ramp and pulled out onto St. Peter to follow while placing a call to Kristoff.

  * * *

  Henri Gerstner sat on the metal folding chair in the dank crumbling warehouse in Landover, Maryland. Behind him rested the panel van from which he and others were pulling their haul from the home of Jason Stroudt and the offices of The Congressional Page.

  The expert thief was a long way from the comforts of his Zurich apartment, the warmth of the fireplace, female companionship and a bottle of red wine. The comforts of life he so enjoyed resulting from his prolific success. When he wanted, there was little in the world he couldn’t steal. All he needed was time and the tools of his trade. Twenty years of world travel stealing jewels, paintings and information left him wealthy and quite comfortable. He now only worked when he was motivated to do so, or when Kristoff called.

  When Kristoff called, he answered, he always answered, for two reasons. First and foremost, he owed his life to Kristoff from long back in the day when both men were in the employ of the General Directorate for External Security for France. Second, Kristoff paid well, very well, for Gerstner’s unique services and no matter how much money he had put away, he was never one to turn down easy money. Accessing Stroudt’s condominium and the offices of The Congressional Page was extremely easy money.

  Adam Montgomery’s place, however, was entirely another matter. A quick look at the condominium complex in Bethesda told him he needed some time to work his way in, it was not a one-hour take a look and then go in like the other two. He would need a few days to properly plan for that. Kristoff told him to wait until dark and then he could start his planning, which would include reconnaissance.

  For now, Gerstner sat with three of Kristoff’s other men at a long metal banquet table in the largely empty warehouse. One man was working through the computer hard drives and e-mail. Gerstner and the other two men worked through the documents they’d taken from Stroudt’s home and The Congressional Page offices.

  Kristoff instructed them to look for two things. First, any manner in which they could track down Montgomery and second, any information on how it was Stroudt and Montgomery knew of the Kentucky meeting. All of the information that was gleaned was being uploaded to Kristoff’s technical people, who were sifting through every component of those two men’s lives. Gerstner knew what happened to Stroudt in St. Paul and fully knew what his friend had in store for Montgomery.

  When doing research on a mark, if he could, Gerstner always liked to look at whatever billing information he could get his hands on. Billing and financial information told you much about a person. From that information Gerstner learned a great deal about those he was targeting. The thief could determine what security company someone may employ, what security system they had and what features it included. Insurance information could tell him what or how much in valuables someone insured. Billing and financial information told you what kind of safe a person had, what type of computer or Internet provider a person used. With all of this information, he could determine how to best approach a particular job. Not once in twenty years had he ever been questioned by the police.

  So when the men sat down to look through the papers, Gerstner gravitated towards the financials. He already went through Stroudt’s and was now looking through the payables for the business. There was rent, office supplies, office equipment, insurance, health insurance, retirement plan and computers. Back in March, the business purchased new Dell laptops through their outside technical support vendor. However, it was what was purchased along with the laptops that caught Gerstner’s attention. The thief reached for his cell phone and dialed Kristoff, who answered on the first ring.

  “Henri.”

  “My friend, I might have something for your technical people. Are you familiar with the term LoJack?”

  * * *

  Wire stirred cream into her coffee and picked with her fork at a piece of apple pie as the late afternoon sun began its rapid descent in the crystal clear western sky, contemplating her next possible move. She occupied a window booth at Boo’s Coffee Shop which sat kitty-corner opposite of Montgomery’s five-story condominium building. The bo
oth gave her an unobstructed view of the front of the building as well as the entrance to the underground parking ramp on the south side. She was also well positioned to take in the two men in the navy blue Dodge minivan parked on the opposite side of the street from the parking garage entrance. The van had been parked for fifteen minutes. It was the second time in the last two hours that this specific van pulled up along the south side of the building. As she watched, she thought there was another silver Ford sedan further up the block to the north that was unnaturally in that position for over an hour.

  It had been a long day.

  It would have been an even longer day were it not for Detective Court. When she was walking out of Stroudt’s condo this morning, she suggested to Court that his next investigative step should be to check out the offices of The Congressional Page. The Alexandria detective readily agreed.

  The Congressional Page’s offices were located on the second floor of an aged three-story red brick and white trim office building in Georgetown. The building itself was occupied by small businesses, including a two-lawyer law practice, an accountant, an interior decorator and a temporary staffing firm. Stroudt and Montgomery’s offices consisted of a small reception area, a galley kitchen just wide enough for a small refrigerator, coffee maker and sink, and two reasonably sized offices.

  The Congressional Page offices were not ransacked to the degree of Stroudt’s home. However, they had been broken into. The computer hard drives were missing as were the contents of filing cabinets in the two offices. In fact, the tops of the desks were cleaned, which the building manager claimed was highly unusual. He was in the offices at least two or three times per week checking on things and when he would check on his tenants, their desks were always cluttered with paper. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know that the desk tops had glass,” he said.