helpful to the investigation. Going this route, Lyman could get them to play ball, keep Mason’s name out of the media. Lyman may be a defense attorney, but he had defended St. Paul police officers on numerous occasions. He knew Charlie Flanagan well and could ask for discretion and would get it. Flanagan was as straight a shooter as there was, and he had no love for the media. If they went this way, it could save the senator’s career. And if there were a trial, at least he’d be able to say the senator came forward voluntarily. If nothing else, he might look better in front of a potential jury pool.
There was a knock on the office door. Summer Plantagenate, an associate specializing in criminal law, stepped into his office. She had assisted him on a number of occasions where he had represented St. Paul police officers. Her last couple of hours had been spent calling her contacts in the department.
“Come in. Care to refresh?” Lyman asked, holding up the bottle.
“Yes.”
Lawyers. The only bar they ever passed was the one for a license to practice law. Lyman filled a glass with Scotch and walked it over to Summer, who had taken a seat in one of the deep leather chairs in front of Lyman’s desk. “Have your contacts been of any help?”
“No,” she said disappointedly. “I tried every way I know how, but the people I know aren’t involved in the Daniels case.”
“Have you learned anything?”
“The detective running the case is named McRyan.”
“Michael McRyan?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
Lyman smiled. “That I do. Mac’s fairly young, but he’s been a detective for a few years, I think.”
“In any event,” Summer continued, “he’s met with Chief Flanagan twice today. The last guy I talked to told me that he heard McRyan was up meeting with the chief tonight, along with District Attorney Anderson.”
“Anything else besides McRyan?” inquired Lyman.
“They’re keeping a tight lid on this one. Nobody seems to know anything.”
“Hmmmm. Does that seem unusual to you?”
“Yes, a little.” Summer took a sip of her drink. “You can usually get something, but nobody involved directly in the investigation is talking.”
“Do you think they have our client’s name?”
“If I were going to Vegas, I’d say yes.”
“Because nobody’s talking?”
“Yes. That, and the fact that the district attorney is meeting with Flanagan. That’s not something that happens on a normal case this quickly.”
Lyman got up and went over to the bar to freshen his drink. He raised the bottle towards Summer. She waved him off. He put the top back on the bottle. He sipped his Scotch and looked in the mirror over the bar. He walked back over to his desk and picked up the phone and dialed.
“Jordan? Lyman.”
Viper took the elevator up to the office. The boss would be waiting for a status report. Viper had worked for him for over twenty years, and the man always loved his status reports. It wasn’t that he tried to quarterback things. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rather, he always wanted to be informed. It’s why he had always been so successful, which had now made Viper a wealthy man and a loyal one as well. In fact, the boss had looked out for Viper for over the last twenty years. He’d do anything for the man.
It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours, and he was ready to go home and get some sleep. It was always that way with a mission. The excitement, tension and adrenaline of it kept you going, as if there was no recognition of the time passing. However, once the mission was over, the exhaustion hit. And he was older now, and the recovery time would be longer. Good thing he didn’t often have to run these operations anymore. In fact, he’d thought he’d been done with them all together. Then Claire Daniels came snooping around, and he came out of retirement.
As he walked in, the boss was sitting behind his desk looking at some papers. He saw Viper walk in and put the papers into a manila folder. He walked over to sit down on the couch, and Viper joined him. The boss was having a drink. He offered, but Viper declined. A drink might put him to sleep.
“So, where are we at?” asked the boss.
Viper smiled, “We’re good.”
The boss gave him a long look, “How good?”
“Like I said, we’re good. Real good.” Viper kept smiling, a tired smile, but he was smiling.
“Ahhh, you’re telling me they already have the senator?”
“Yes.”
“The police did it all on their own, eh? We didn’t have to help them along at all?”
“No. They found our guy this afternoon.”
“Hmpf. That was quick,” said the boss as he took a drink.
“The kid running the investigation seems to know what he is doing.”
“So, this young McRyan seems on top of it?”
“From a distance, yes. He’s young, but he seems to have the respect of those working with him. His partner is far senior but seems to work with him without a problem.” They sat in silence for a minute. Viper looked out the window towards the Xcel Energy Center. It was well lit, and the crowd was strolling in. Must be a concert, the Wild were on the road.
Viper broke the silence, “What does your contact have to say?”
“I haven’t asked, as of yet, son. I’ll be getting to that, I assure you. Whatever I find out, I’ll pass along.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do you have anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Then to bed with you. You look tired. Are you getting too old for this sort of work?”
Viper gave the boss another tired smile and headed out. His bed was beckoning.
Chapter Seven
Mac pulled the Explorer in behind the bar. It had been a long and exhausting day, yet exhilarating all at the same time. His first truly “big” case and in the first day his prime suspect looked to be a sitting United States senator. “Top that,” he thought. He doubted anyone in the bar could.
The bar was McRyan’s Pub, the other family enterprise and a true St. Paul institution. The Pub sat on West Seventh Street, just on the southern outskirts of downtown and one block from the Xcel Energy Center, home of the NHL’s Minnesota Wild. It was the favored watering hole of hockey fans, and the St. Paul police.
Opened in 1907 by Mac’s Great-grandpa Pat, the Pub had a colorful history of serving drinks before, during and after prohibition. The during prohibition occurred in the now infamous Patrick’s Room, located in the basement and hidden behind what looked like a typical built-in wooden buffet one might find in an older home. A latch inside the middle drawer of the buffet opened the door into a large, hidden room. During prohibition, the police, politicians, and citizens together enjoyed illegal drinks and fun. Currently, the inside of Patrick’s Room was adorned with black-and-white photos of that colorful era, while the outside was marked by a plaque denoting the room’s colorful history. Patrick’s Room was now used for private parties, meetings, and cop poker games.
Mac walked into the left side of the main level, a classic, old-fashioned bar, the counter of which stretched half of the length and width of the room, leaving barely enough room for people to stand three or four deep, as it was tonight. Behind the bar was a long mirror with MCRYAN’S PUB and a big green shamrock stenciled on it. Two
