apparently a pussy hound.”
“Steven Smith Wiskowski. Lots of money and a fast life,” Lich added, flipping through a file on the kid. Steve had his own run-ins with the law in the past over drugs, minor pot possession mostly. “He’s not much of a winner either. Word is he went after the reporter who did the TV story on Drew Jr.’s death. Apparently he thought it was exploitive.”
“Kind of like Drew Jr. on those Hmong folks,” Rock replied. “A whole family of assholes, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What’s the story on the driver of the car we saw in Ellsworth?” Mac asked, getting back on track.
“Worker named Frank McDonald is the driver. He’s down the hall in an interview room,” Burton said. “McDonald claims he left a construction site in Menomonie at approximately 7:00 PM. Wiskowski is building homes at a development there.” Menomonie was a Wisconsin town, forty-five minutes east of St. Paul off Interstate 94.” He says he closed up one of their models at 7:10 or so and drove back. Says he pulled into Wiskowski Construction over two hours later, at around 9:30 or so.”
“So what time was the call from Ellsworth?” Mac asked.
“7:42,” Burton answered.
“So he leaves the construction site and makes the call on the way home, right?” McRyan followed.
“Yup,” Lich replied, looking at the notes. “Plenty of time to get it done.”
“One other thing,” Burton added. “McDonald has a record.”
“Really,” Mac’s eyebrows shot up.
“He did time for extortion five years ago down in Chicago, so working with Wiskowski on a kidnapping is not beyond the realm of possibility.”
“Or Wiskowski hired him into a good gig when nobody else would, and now his boss calls his marker due,” Mac added. “Either way, he looks good for the call.”
“He does,” Duffy answered. “My guys worked him over. He denies making the call, but he says the timeline is two and a half hours to get home.”
“So what’s he doing along the way?”
“Said he stopped in Ellsworth.”
“Really?” Lich said, surprised.
“And did what?” Mac asked.
“He’s got a little woman down there,” Duffy answered with a wry smile. “Apparently everyone in Wiskowski’s world is a hound. Anyway, she’s married, so he goes through town on the way home while the husband’s out playing softball and running around with the boys. The husband gets home by midnight on game night, so McDonald goes down, gets a little and gets outta Dodge before daddy comes home.”
“And it’s a perfect little cover to make the call,” Burton added.
“Are we checking his story?”
“We are,” Duffy answered. “The Ellsworth cops checked it out. She admits to the affair and that he was there tonight. She says he arrived just before eight, stayed about an hour, finished the job, and left.”
“So he makes the call, goes to her house to cover the trip, and then comes home as if nothing happened,” Lich said.
“This is looking better by the minute,” Mac added as he opened the door into the interview room.
“So what now, I get the junior varsity,” Wiskowski said with a smirk as Mac walked into the room and sat down. The old man noticed the cup and looked Mac over again. “You’re McRyan aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Nice coffee cup. Hockey player at the U right?”
“Back in the day.”
“You played for one of the national title winners.”
“I did.”
“I prefer football myself. I’ve donated a lot of money for the new football stadium,” Wiskowski said.
“And to your church, don’t forget. I know you’ve been very generous with your church in Cottage Grove,” Mac wanted to soften him up.
“I’ve given some money, yes.”
“More than some, Mr. Wiskowski. The new church exists because of your donation.”
Wiskowski nodded.
“I for one am pleased folks like you have stepped up to help fund the new stadium,” Mac continued quietly. “I look forward to going to an outdoor football game on campus.”
“I will not live to see it open.”
“But your generosity will live on.”
Wiskowski nodded but then spoke again.
“Of course, the way my name is being dragged through the mud today, the U might not be so inclined to have my name remain.”
“So why, given those good works, would you take Carrie and Shannon?” Mac was humanizing the girls, not mentioning their last names. “What possible good does that accomplish? All your hard work, all your generosity, all the work to build up your good name and then you do this?” Mac shook his head. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”
2:54 AM
Mac spoke quietly, going on an hour now with Wiskowski, trying to wear the man down.
“Drew, we’ve talked a long time now. You have motive, you have the means, and we have your man making a phone call. We have those things locked down.” McDonald wasn’t admitting to making the call but Wiskowski didn’t know that.
“And I’ve told you that I had…” Wiskowski coughed uncontrollably, doubling over until the coughing fit stopped, and he leaned back in his chair, exhausted. “I’ve told you for hours now, I have nothing to do with nothing.”
“We’ll find the girls sooner or later,” Mac said, taking another sip of coffee, his cup having been refilled twice now. He’d kept Wiskowski talking for over an hour, walking through what happened to his son, the case, his anger at the chief and Hisle, and at the same time playing to his vanity about his legacy. “We’ll find the girls. The thing is, it would be better for you if you told us where they are now.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Shannon Hisle is a Type I diabetic. She can get very sick if she doesn’t receive insulin. She could die if she doesn’t get her medicine.” Mac let it hang in the air for a moment. “Do you want that on you? Do you want to go to your grave with that on your conscience? You wanted revenge. Your son was killed in prison. You blame the chief and Lyman Hisle. So you strike back in a way you know that will hurt them. And you’ve succeeded. Trust me, I know both of those men, and they are hurting. You saw that yourself a few hours ago.” Mac paused, and then asked quietly, “But do the girls have to die?”
“I had nothing to do with this,” Wiskowski answered. “I can see why you would look at me, I really can. And I don’t know what Frank McDonald is doing, but he’s done with my company I can assure you. But I have nothing more…” Another coughing fit shook him, the sixth time in the last hour. “I didn’t do this.” He coughed and wiped his hand across his mouth. “I have nothing to do with this.” Wiskowski slumped back into his chair, his head tilting to one side.
As Wiskowski coughed again, an FBI agent stuck his head in and called Burton out.
Mac slumped back into this chair, checking his watch. It was nearly 4:00 AM, and he felt nearly as tired as Wiskowski. The old man’s lawyer sensed it as well.
“My client has nothing more to say detectives,” the lawyer said. “He’s answered your questions time and again. He has nothing to do with the kidnappings. He’s weak and tired. He needs to be allowed to go home and rest.”
“Sorry Counselor, but we obviously think otherwise,” Mac answered, although the old man’s persistence was causing him to start to wonder if he was involved. He wasn’t breaking, and he should have by now.
Burton stuck his head back into the room.
“I’ve got something you need to see,” he said, looking at Mac.
Mac and Lich moved back into the hall, joined by Riley, Rock, and Duffy.
