“Four.”
“Where’s that?”
“Over by the front door.”
They all walked over to the table. It was empty, except for the ceramic sugar holder and the glass salt and pepper shakers in the middle. Mac stood on the side that backed up to the front door. He could take in the entire restaurant, including the bar and the hallway to the back door.
“Mr. Haines, do you recall who was sitting here?”
“Vaguely. Black hair, flowery blouse. She was here for a while, reading a book.”
“Was she ever on a cell phone?”
“I think she was from time to time.”
“Have you seen her in here before?”
“Yeah, a few times.”
“Over the years? Last couple of months? What?” Mac asked.
“Probably more recent,” Haines replied.
“Do you recall when she left today?”
“Not exactly when.”
“Do you think it was before or after Shannon left?”
“I really can’t recall. I do know she wasn’t here when the patrol car arrived. She wasn’t here when I asked everyone to stay. She was gone by then.”
“You think she went out the front door?” Lich asked.
“I don’t recall her going out the back.”
“We need forensics to work this table over,” Mac said.
“I’ll go get them,” Lich said and left the group.
“Your entire staff has to remember this woman as best they can,” Riley told Haines. “We need a name, full description, anything and everything they can think of. Call anyone in who has worked Sundays for the last month. We’ll get a sketch artist down here as well.”
“Why?” Haines asked.
Because,” Mac replied, “this person may have sat right here and let the kidnappers know when Shannon bailed.”
Riley’s cell phone went off again.
“Riley,” he answered. He nodded his head a few times. “Where?” He took out a notepad and started writing. “Okay… thanks.”
“What’s up?” Rock asked.
“We might have the van.”
“Where?”
“River Falls.”
3
River Falls, Wisconsin, was a sleepy community half an hour from downtown St. Paul, fifteen miles into western Wisconsin. Mac pulled up to the crime scene tape in front of a bland industrial park. Mac, Dick, Riles, and Rock all filed out of the Explorer and walked up to the officer on guard standing in the opening between two one- story buildings and flashed their shields. The officer took a quick look at their badges and waved them through. Behind the building on the left, they found a burned-out van, a Ford Econoline Cargo. It was white, or at least used to be before it was torched. It was now massively disfigured with the frame and body distorted by the extreme heat of the fire. The van now listed to the right over the slag of melted tires. As they walked around it, Mac noted a distinguishing feature: a dent that ran for two feet just behind the bottom of the driver’s side door.
A stocky man in his mid-fifties approached, a large dip of tobacco in his lower right front lip.
“You guys from St. Paul?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Paul Fletcher, chief here in River Falls.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Riles replied and then introduced everyone. “How’d the call come in?”
Fletcher pulled a little black notebook out of his chest pocket, “Call came in to us around 5:45 PM. The woman over there made the call,” Fletcher pointed to an older lady holding a small terrier, “heard an explosion. She walked around to the back of the building here and found the van in flames.”
“Did she see anyone, any other vehicles pulling away, anything like that?”
“Says no,” Fletcher answered, spitting tobacco to the ground. “She was just walking along the street with her little dog and then heard the boom.”
“How long for you to get here, Chief?” Riles asked.
“We got here about five minutes later, and the fire department just after that to put it out,” Fletcher said, spitting again off to the side. “It was blown up intentionally. There’s part of some sort of detonator in there and what might have been part of a plastic milk carton. The van has a Minnesota plate. And then we started hearing the radio traffic out of St. Paul about the kidnapping and to keep a look out for a white van, maybe dented. We thought this might be of interest.”
“Not much left of her,” Lich said.
“Nope,” Fletcher replied, spitting again. “They did a pretty good job blowin’ ’er up.”
“I don’t imagine we’ll be able to get any prints or anything out of it,” Rock said.
“I seriously doubt it,” Fletcher replied. “The blast and fire probably took care of all that. Then us pourin’ that water on it.” Fletcher scratched his head. “Well shit, there probably isn’t much left. Once we realized what might be going on, we left ’er alone. But at that point…” He squinted and shook his head. “It was probably too late.”
“You run the plate?” Mac asked Fletcher.
“Yeah, the plate is for a van in Willmar. But the VIN number matches a van stolen in Breckenridge two weeks ago.” Willmar was a town in south central Minnesota, and Breckenridge was in far western Minnesota, along the North Dakota border, two hours from Willmar. Mac snorted.
“These guys are being very careful.”
“I’ll say,” Lich said. “So they dump the van here and use a pickup vehicle?” Lich asked.
“I imagine that’s the case,” Mac replied. “However, I suspect that, in putting out the fire, any tracks and anything else was washed out.”
“Probably so,” Fletcher sighed, resignation in his voice.
“Not your fault, Chief,” Riles replied. “Safety first ya know. Gotta put out the fire. I’ll make a call and get some forensics help out here. You never know, we might get something.” He walked away from the group, cell phone already to his ear.
“So, they’re being extra careful,” Mac said. “They drop the van well out of the city, it’s a stolen van with stolen plates, and they blow it up after the abduction. Smart.”
“That it is,” was Fletcher’s reply. A local cop called to Fletcher and he walked away.
“You know what this means,” Lich said.
“What?” Rock said. Mac finished off Lich’s thought.
“Shannon Hisle went over state lines. If the Feds weren’t in already, they’ll be in now.”
Smith and the others came up out of the basement, leaving Hisle bound, cuffed, and gagged downstairs in the bedroom. She’s been cooperative and gave them what they needed. “So, you’re off?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Smith replied, “I’ll be a couple of hours. Keep your ears on your scanner as well. Call if anything comes up,” he ordered.
Smith went out into the garage and jumped in the van. They’d dumped the Econoline in River Falls. Now he was driving a Chevy Express Cargo. Within five minutes he’d maneuvered his way via Shepard Road to a Park amp; Fly lot for the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. He dropped the van next to a light blue Chevy Impala. On a quiet Sunday night leading into a holiday week, the lot was quiet; most of the people intending to fly out were long
