talking to Hisle’s family, her roommates, her friends to see if anyone unusual was hanging around, any strange phone calls, angry ex-boyfriends, etc.”
“Anything from the cafe or over in River Falls?” someone asked.
“Not yet,” was Peters’ response. “BCA and FBI are going through it all, but our sense is, don’t hold your breath.”
“How about from the Clearwater phone?”
“Ditto,” Peters replied.
“These guys know what they’re doing and probably have a pretty good idea of what we’ll be doing,” Mac added. “So we’re not just looking for someone who would have something against Lyman. We’re looking for someone who has something against Lyman and the mental acuity to pull it off without a trace.”
“Mental acuity?” Lich whispered mockingly. “What the fuck’s mental acuity?”
“Something you don’t have, knuckle-dragger,” Mac snickered back, though Lich possessed plenty of it.
“One other thing,” Captain Peters added, pointing to four other people who entered the room. “These are lawyers from Hisle’s office. They’re in a…” the captain struggled for the right works. “…a difficult spot. There are some attorney-client issues related to our reviewing the files. These lawyers will help with that.”
“How will they help?” Lich asked.
“By helping us work through the files. They have clearance from the Minnesota Lawyers Professional Responsibility Board for us to access the files. But at the same time, we don’t know if anyone in these files is even involved with this. So there needs to be some sensitivity to that.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Double Frank asked. “Are they going to read it first and tell us if something’s relevant? What we think matters and what they think matters could be entirely different.”
Summer Plantagenate, one of the Hisle’s lawyers, spoke up.
“We’re not going to pre-screen for you. You can look at everything. We’re more concerned with where the information goes after you review it, especially for people you conclude are not involved. My firm needs to protect those folks, so that’s where we could have issues. But you can access everything and we’ll go from there.”
That answer satisfied everyone. Coats were jettisoned, more coffee was brewed and poured — and boxes were opened. Mac sidled up to Summer, who he’d know since law school, they’re time at William Mitchell overlapping. She had recently been named a partner at Lyman’s firm and was viewed by many as his protege. Always immaculately dressed, Summer was a cool customer, and an attractive woman with icy blonde hair and a cool demeanor to match. That demeanor caused some to call her “Winter.” But at the moment, it wasn’t hard to see the anguish on her face. Not only was Lyman like a father to her, she also knew Shannon Hisle well.
“So you guys get to work the other side of a case, huh?” Mac asked.
“Yes, we have to,” was her short reply. The attorneys were there to help, but also ethically bound to protect their clients’ interests. Letting the police rifle through clients’ files created an ethical quandary for any attorney.
“So what do we have here?”
“All of Lyman’s criminal files, both from the office and from off-site storage,” Summer replied.
“How about his civil stuff?” Mac asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Burton walked up as Summer answered.
“It’ll be here soon,” Summer answered. “Agent Burton and the chief think this is coming from the criminal side, and I tend to agree with them, but the civil files are coming just the same. We’ll get them over here by early afternoon.”
Mac nodded, recalling the conversation from the night before, and began to survey the mass of files, running a hand through his hair.
“You’ve worked for him for awhile.” He asked, “Does anyone come to mind that would have the ability to pull this off?”
“I’ve been wracking my brain on this, but no,” she replied. “But some of these files go back long before my time, so there are names I’m not familiar with. I mean, there are files that have old dittos with the yellow and pink carbons.”
Mac and Lich flipped the top off a box and started working a file. The folders had notes, photos, statements, news clippings, and listings of evidence. For the next four hours, the group worked through the file folders, reading through cases and names, some of which were familiar to the cops in the room. Detectives made frequent comments on the file notes and the lawyer’s written evaluations of the detectives involved in the case. A few inspired snide comments directed at the attorneys in the room.
Possible suspects went into a pile so that current whereabouts could be determined. Detectives, vice cops, uniforms in plain clothes, and local FBI were already out of the streets, interviewing potentials. If something didn’t seem right, the cops or agents were to bring the potentials in for further questioning. It was tedious work, reading through case notes, getting a feel for Lyman’s clients, their families and witnesses in the case. Problem was, everyone was a potential suspect, whether a client, witness, or victim.
Mac was reading through a file when he ran across the name Bobby Jacobs. The name rang a bell.
“I remember this guy,” he said to himself. Bobby Jacobs was the debonair leader of a clever crew that the chief, a detective back then, had busted after a jewelry store heist. It was suspected that Jacobs had been involved in many high-end robberies: a bank, an armored car, and even homes, but the chief had no evidence to tie Jacobs to any of the others. None that was, until the chief busted a fence, who, in an effort to avoid a long prison stretch, spilled the beans about fencing for the Jacobs crew. Jacobs ended up with a much longer sentence, even though he’d been represented by Lyman. That might be motive.
“Riles?”
“Yeah”
“You remember Bobby Jacobs?”
“Hell yes,” Riles said with a smile. “One of the best damn crews I ever saw. Best the chief ever saw. They were damn good.”
“He had fourteen years in the can; he’d be out by now wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah he would, except…”
“Except what?”
“He’s dead.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, he died of cancer a few years ago while still serving the tail end of his sentence out at Stillwater.”
“How about the rest of that crew?”
Riles looked skeptical.
“Jacobs was the brains of that operation. The other guys made for a good crew, had good skills and all, but Bobby ran the show. But you know what?” Pat added, “Bobby Jacobs and people like him are what we should be looking at.”
Mac kept at it. He was looking through a file covering a builder who defrauded a loan company when Peters burst into the room, white as a ghost, shock on his face.
“What is it?” Riles asked, seeing the fear in Peter’s face. “Is it Shannon?”
Peters shook his head. “No. It’s worse than that. There’s been another abduction.”
“Who?” Mac asked, getting out of his chair and grabbing his suit coat.
“Carrie,” Peters responded. “Carrie Flanagan.”
That stopped everyone in their tracks, the room falling deathly silent.
“Flanagan? Any relation to the chief?” Burton cautiously asked Peters, who nodded slowly, responding in almost a croak.
“It’s his daughter.”
7
