Kleist rubbed his nose hard again, and Mac noticed it was redder along the right side. The rubbing must be a frequent nervous tic.
“Oh, a guy would have a couple of ways to go I suppose.” The cop pointed northeast, “He could go back up 63 and get onto 94 and head back the way you boys came.”
“Or?” Mac asked.
“If a feller wanted a more scenic trip, he’d probably go southeast, out along 63 until it finds 10 over yonder, which would take him west to Prescott.” He rubbed the nose again, “or stay south on 63 until he got to Red Wing. In any event, he’d have plenty of…”
“Options,” Mac replied, shaking his head. “We know.”
The chief was called away by one of his men.
Lich didn’t miss a beat. “He said, ‘yonder.’”
“‘Feller,’ too,” Mac added. “I love small-town folks.” He shut up as Kleist headed back.
“I think I got something you boys might be interested in,” he said. An Ellsworth patrol car pulled up with an elderly man in the back seat, along with a golden retriever. The uniform cop got out and let the man and dog out. The dog came right up to Mac.
“Hey there buddy,” Mac said, kneeling down to scratch the pooch behind the ears.
“Explain,” Kleist said to the uniform cop.
“Henry here,” the uniform said, pointing to the old man, dressed in a striped short-sleeved shirt, plaid shorts, and dark socks, “said he was sitting on a park bench across the street about an hour ago, and… well…” The uniform pointed to the old man. “Tell them, Henry.”
“I was sitting on the bench over there.” The old man pointed kitty-corner from the gas station to an old bench with “Ellsworth Lions Club” painted on it in fading letters. “I was taking a rest with Reggie here.” The old man rubbed the dog’s head. “Anyways, I saw this blue sedan pull into that old gas station and park by the pay phone.”
“When was this?”
Henry pulled out a tarnished gold pocket watch and flipped the top open.
“Oh 7:30, 7:40 or so. Sometime around then.” Mac and Lich exchanged a look.
“What kind of car, Henry?” Mac asked.
“Chevy I think, one of them new ones, what do they call them, Impalas? I’ve never owned one myself; I’m a Ford man…”
“See a license plate number?” Mac interrupted.
“I know the letters because they were odd. They spelled ‘cat,’ I think.”
“Cat? You mean the letters were C-A-T?”
“That’s right,” the old man replied, his glasses sliding down his nose as he nodded. “And it was a Minnesota plate, had the blue color and them pine trees.”
“I’m going to call it in,” Lich said, pulling out his cell phone. Mac continued.
“How about the driver, you get a look at him?”
“Not a good one,” the old man said.
“Black or white? Blonde hair or dark hair? McRyan pressed. “Anything like that?”
“White, I think,” the old man answered. “I think he had a baseball cap on, but other than that, I didn’t really notice anything.”
“And you were sitting on the park bench across the street?”
“That’s right young man, right over there. We come through here just about every night at this time.”
“Let’s walk over there, okay? You can bring Reggie along.”
“Okey dokey,” Henry replied and with his slow gait he followed Mac across the street and away from the abandoned gas station. At the bench, Mac stopped.
“Henry, right?”
The old man nodded, “Henry Finkey.”
“My name’s McRyan, I’m a detective from St. Paul.”
“You’re a Minnesota boy, eh?” Henry replied, mischief in his voice. “I can’t stand them Vikings. You a Vikings fan?”
“I am Henry, I am. They’re going to kick the Pack’s tail this year,” Mac replied, sitting down next to the old man and petting Reggie’s snout.
“We’ll see about that,” Henry answered. “So what’s this all about?”
“I can’t really tell you why this is important, or least not yet sir,” Mac answered.
“Does this have something to do with those girls being kidnapped? I figure that must be it. No other reason for a St. Paul cop to be here in little ol’ Ellsworth.”
Mac remained neutral.
“Like I said, I can’t say. What I need though is for you to walk me through it again, what you saw. Take a minute if you need, close your eyes, whatever, but I need to know everything.
Henry set himself on the park bench, leaned back, and thought for a minute.
“I was out taking my nightly walk with Reggie. We go for a good hour or two walk every night in the summer.”
“Okay.”
“We usually walk through the park each night, and I like to sit on this bench. This used to be a nice park when I was a kid. I like to just sit and remember good times here.”
“So you’re on your walk and you come to the park and sit down?” Mac asked, moving him along.
“That’s right, son. I let Reggie off his leash, and he was walking around, doing a little business on some trees, when I noticed the car pull in off the street and up to the phone.”
“Then what?”
“Well,” Henry stroked his chin and squinted. “Well nothing happened for a minute or two, maybe more. He just sat there idling, which I thought was little odd, I suppose. It caused me to look a little closer I guess. I noticed the car, the plate — you know C-A-T and Minnesota — and then I looked away and back to Reggie. He was getting a little far away, so I called to him. He didn’t come right away, so I had to yell after him a couple of times before he minded and came back to me.”
“Then what?”
“I put Reggie’s leash back on.”
“How long did all that take?”
“A minute or two I suppose.”
“And the car was still there?”
“Sure was, but now the guy in the car was using the phone. I could see the cord from the phone running into the car.”
“How long was he on the phone?”
“Not long. I didn’t time it or anything, but it wasn’t real long. Then he hung up and pulled on out and he was gone.”
“Henry, did you notice anything about the driver? Anything about him?
Henry closed his eyes for thirty seconds but shook his head.
“I’m sorry but I just didn’t get a look or notice anything, son. I just didn’t.” The old man look disappointed.
Mac patted him on the knee.
“Good job, Henry. You’ve helped us out.”
Lich and Kleist came running across the street, Lich smiling.
“We got a hit!” he called.
“Stolen vehicle, right? Mac asked.
“No,” Lich replied, pulling Mac away from Henry. “No report of it being stolen. There’s one navy blue Impala with the tag letters of CAT.”
“And you’re telling me there’s a connection,” Mac said.
“Yes.” Lich said. “Dead on the money.”
