Lich started.
“No fucking way,” Mac replied. “No way, no how.”
“How about a family member who has a grudge? You know, families can have their own weird politics, grievances, hidden hatreds. Maybe one of the girls is in the way of some money, inheritance, whatever. Someone should at least look at it is all I’m saying.”
“Carrie’s the youngest child of the chief, and her brothers absolutely adore her. As for Shannon Hisle, I don’t know her well, but I know Hisle has good relationships with his kids. He was something of a single parent since his wife died years ago so he’s close with Shannon and the rest of them. I’ve never hear of any problems.” Mac was quiet for thirty seconds. “I know what you’re saying Dick. Nobody notices anything. These guys take the girls at vulnerable spots and obviously were aware of their habits, schedule, and so forth. So you get to thinking that maybe someone from the family tips them off or gives them the place. But I just don’t buy the family angle. Maybe if it was just Flanagan or just Hisle, I’d be more inclined to think that way, but together? I don’t see it coming from the families, conspiring in this way. I suppose it’s possible, but it just doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re probably right partner,” was Lich’s reply. “But somebody should be at least thinking about that angle.”
Mac sighed, “We just thought about it and I talked about it with Riley an hour ago.”
“You did?” Lich responded, turning in his car seat.
“Yup. You said you like my bullshit detector, and I do too — I trust my gut. But I trust Riles as well, and we walked through it for about ten minutes. We both came to the same conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“It’s not family. It’s personal. It’s someone or a group of people the chief and Lyman pissed off somewhere along the way.”
“So we just have to find the connection then,” Lich replied.
“Only one problem with that.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t think it will be that easy. The connection is going to be complicated, hard to make, and…”
“And what?”
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to make it in time. If it’s just Shannon and Carrie and nobody else, we’re going to be talking ransom soon and delivery not long after. We don’t have a lot of time. I’d guess twenty-four hours, forty- eight at the most.”
Mac pulled up to the Flanagan house. The chief lived in the Highland Park neighborhood, an affluent section in the southwest corner of St. Paul. A generally tranquil upper-middle-class area filled with professionals of all kinds, it seemed unaccustomed to the mass of police cars and media trucks parked in front of one of its houses.
The chief’s home was a stately two story revival with a red brick exterior, white trim, black shutters and a white portico entrance. It was a classic beauty in a neighborhood of Victorian, Georgian, Colonial, and Cape Cod- style houses built at the turn of the twentieth century. The house was larger and finer that what you would expect for a career cop, even for a chief. However, Charlie Flanagan married well, his wife’s family having earned a significant fortune in logging in northern Minnesota. In addition to the Highland Park home, the chief had a sprawling cabin on Cross Lake on the Whitefish Chain, prime lake real estate two hours north of the Twin Cities.
As they walked in the front door, Mac immediately noted the massive number of cops, active and retired, ready to help at a moment’s notice. The mere number of people present spoke volumes about Charlie Flanagan. In many big cities, there’s separation between the chief and the force, but not in St. Paul. The chief started as a beat cop in the city, moved up to detective, chief of detectives, and, ultimately, chief, where he’d been for the last nine years. He was one of them. Charlie Flanagan never morphed into a police politician. He wasn’t the police chief; he was the chief of the police. He was a cop and always thought of himself that way. Charlie Flanagan always had the force’s back and supported his men without fail, even when it wasn’t the most politically prudent thing to do. The most recent example of the chief’s support was the recent cop shooting and resulting manhunt. The chief never once wavered in his support of his men, Mac and Rock in particular, despite the media and political pressure. However, the support of his men didn’t come without a price — it meant strained relations with the mayor, a politician tiring of trying to keep his chief of police in line.
Peters spotted Mac and Lich’s arrival and quickly pulled them aside into a small side room. The update finished with their trip to north Minneapolis.
“So Boone was a washout?”
“Waste of time,” Lich answered.
“Okay, I need to tell you boys something, and you’re not going to like it,” Peters said. “With the chief indisposed at the moment, the mayor’s put the FBI, and Burton in particular, in charge of this thing.”
“What the fuck?” Mac railed.
“Political hack,” Lich raged.
“I agree with you both,” Peters answered, holding his hands up. “I agree with you, believe me. The mayor’s issue is that he doesn’t want us getting out of control. He’s falling back on the cop shooting and the involvement of you, Rock and Riles. You’re the chief’s boys and he figures you’ll tear the city up to find Carrie.”
“Goddamn right,” Mac growled.
“Well, that’s what the mayor’s worried about Mac. He wants you corralled.”
“How so?”
“If you don’t follow Burton’s lead on this, you’ll be off the case. Frankly, if the mayor had his way, you boys would be off it completely already.”
“I’m half surprised we’re not,” Lich muttered.
“You’re not because the chief raised holy fuckin’ hell,” Peters answered. “And Burton told the mayor he wants you working it, that you guys are too good to waste on the sidelines. He told the mayor you’d work it anyway, so he’d just as soon have you on his side. So the chief has your back and Burton wants you on it. So play nice and we’re good here.”
“Nice of Burton to do that,” Lich said. “Maybe he’s not too bad a guy after all.”
“So far, so good with him. He’s killing all my FBI stereotypes,” Mac said in agreement and then changed directions. “How’s the chief doing?”
“Let’s go see him,” Peters answered, waving them to follow. He led them up the open staircase to the second floor and then the chief’s home office at the back corner of the house. Formerly a bedroom for one of the Flanagan kids, now grown, the room was converted into a well appointed home office with a large mahogany desk and high- backed leather chairs. The chief stood behind the desk, hands in his pockets, slumped shoulders, staring out the window and Mac felt a lump in his throat and his chest tighten.
Charlie Flanagan was like a father to Mac, and Mac like a son to the chief. The chief was with Mac when Mac’s father was killed in a freak hunting accident. Mac was close to his mother and three sisters. But after his father’s death, Mac became part of the Flanagan family and the chief was his father figure. He spoke with the chief about things a young man sought guidance from a father about. It was the chief who was at Mac’s college and law-school graduations, leading the cheers at college hockey games, providing advice on getting married, buying homes or investing money. Mac was close to the chief’s sons and his daughter, his baby girl Carrie. She was twelve years younger than him, but he looked upon her like a little sister. Mac went to her high school events, attended her graduation, and checked out her boyfriends, making sure they were worthy of his adopted little sister. While Mac liked Lyman and had met Shannon a few times, with Carrie and the chief now involved, it had become all too personal. Mac exhaled, steadied himself, and put on his stone game face. He didn’t want the chief to see him as anything other than ready to go.
The office was full. Burton, Duffy, and the mayor quietly chatted in one group, while Riley, Rock, and a few others talked in another. All were waiting for the phone to ring, for the inevitable call to come. Hearing new people entering, the chief turned around. Mac sucked in a breath as the chief slowly approached and gave him a hug, pulled him close and whispered in his ear.
“You do whatever it takes, you understand? Whatever it takes.”
“Yes, sir,” was Mac’s quiet reply. There was nothing else to be said. The chief pulled back and looked Mac in the eye, and that was that. Mac felt a cool, analytical wave wash over his body. It was time to go to work, and there would be no stopping until Carrie came home.
“When the chief walked back to his desk, the mayor eased over next to McRyan.
