Mac turned off the bathroom light and went over to his side of the bed, turned off the nightstand light, rolled over and kissed Sally.
“So, not much today, huh?” She said, snuggling up to Mac.
“Just that Hernandez thing,” Mac said, lightly scratching her back. “Daniels’ place was the same as I remembered it.” Something odd about her place though. I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s like I’m missing something.”
“What?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you. I’ve looked at something there that’s important, but I don’t know why yet. I haven’t put it together.”
“So tomorrow you’re going to look at Jones’?” she said, running her fingers through Mac’s chest hair.
“Yeah, see if we find anything.”
“What’ll you look for?”
“You know, anything that ties Jones and Daniels together. Something that tells us why PTA might have killed them. Like Justice Stewart once said, ‘I’ll know it when I see it.’”
“It was ‘I know it when I see it,’” Sally replied, “and he was talking about pornography.”
“Speaking of which.” Mac replied, sliding her panties down.
“Men are animals,” Sally replied, not the least bit disappointed.
“Do we take them out?” Bouchard said, having heard the conversation through the headphones.
“All of them? Including Riley, Lich, and that Rockford?” Alt replied, shaking his head. “No way. You’d have to throw in Hisle and probably that uncle of McRyan’s, as well.”
“So? Take some time, a few more resources, but it could be done. It might have to be done.”
Alt sighed. “You might be right. Start making plans, but only just in case. The idea of being at war with the St. Paul Police Department is not my first choice.” He grabbed his cell phone. Lindsay needed to be updated.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I obviously went into the wrong line of work,” Rock quipped as they pulled up in front of Jones’s place. She’d lived in the new high-end condo development along the Mississippi called River Highlands just southwest of downtown along the river-another of the developments in St. Paul’s ten-year quest to take tax advantage of river real estate. The condos had brown stone exteriors, with white trim and black shutters; a colonial look that one might find in Georgetown.
They went through the same drill as they had at Daniels’s place, splitting up and looking for something, anything, that would tie Daniels, Jones, and PTA all together. Mac took the upper-level, Lich and Riley worked the main level, and Rock the lower level. Everything was as it had been at the time when she was killed. Her mother hadn’t been able to bring herself up to clean the place out.
Mac attacked her office. She was like Daniels, an absolute neat freak. They must have drilled neatness into kids from Bristol. Everything was perfectly organized. Perhaps it was because she had an accounting and finance background. These were usually neat, organized people, and Jones fit that description to a T. Everything in its place, undisturbed for five weeks now, much like Daniels’ place.
Mac booted up her computer. Like Daniels, she didn’t bother to password protect it, and he was able to search her files. There was little if any PTA information, and he suspected she probably just dialed into the company system from home. He looked through her personal correspondence and e-mails, nothing out of the ordinary or from Daniels. There were a number of unopened e-mails from a fantasy football website. Mac smiled, she played a little fantasy football. He took a look at her team, not bad.
He looked through her file drawers, nothing much. All of her bills were organized, and she paid online. She had a number of investments, all of which seemed to be looking good. Her bank statement showed a large balance. He found no record of a safe deposit box, although he would call and check with her bank. Her bedroom was well organized, her clothes neatly stored in her dresser and closet, her bed neatly made. Everything was perfectly in its place; almost too perfect, “unnatural,” he thought.
Mac went down to the kitchen, where Lich was looking at various items posted on the refrigerator. It might have been the only messy place in the house. It looked like a typical refrigerator-photos and miscellaneous notes held up by refrigerator magnets. There was a white erase board with a note “Get Milk.” A small paper calendar hanging on a magnetic hook, still on October, had notes on various dates, such as “Workout at 7:00,” “Coffee with Landy at 10:00” and “Happy Hour at 5:30.” Lich jotted down some notes and squinted at the calendar, scratching his chin.
Riley and Rock came in, caught Mac’s eye and shook their heads. They took seats at the kitchen table.
“It isn’t difficult to know you haven’t found anything with these women. I mean, man, talk about two anal- retentive, obsessive-compulsive people. A place for everything and everything in its place. Except, of course, for the fridge,” Riley stated.
“Almost too neat, artificially neat,” Mac replied.
“What do you mean?” Rock asked.
“I’m pretty meticulous about my place, but there’s always something out of place. But these two women are unlike anything I’ve seen. I mean there’s a little film of dust around here, but you almost get the feeling they would have required you to walk around with plastic gloves on and baggies around your feet. They remind me of an old neighbor we had when I was growing up. He’d sweep out his garage three times a day and wash his car twice a week. His yard was perfect, looked like the infield at Wrigley and he’d have a shit fit if someone set foot on his grass. He was just nuts.”
“Well, all I can tell you is that I didn’t find anything that seemed related to what we’re doing or looking for,” Rock replied. “These women make it easy to look for stuff. It’s all organized. I mean if you were looking for something you wouldn’t have to ransack the place, just give yourself time to go through it and find what you’re looking for.”
“And PTA has had five weeks to do precisely that before we got around to it,” Mac replied.
“Assuming they had anything to do with this in the first place,” Riley replied. “We sure aren’t finding anything this way.”
“No, we’re not.” Mac looked at his watch. Noon. “Why don’t we get something to eat and go from there.”
Rock and Riley nodded and pushed themselves up from the table. Lich was still looking at the fridge.
“You coming?” Mac asked Lich.
“Yeah. I’ll be right with you.” Lich replied as he continued to stare at something on the fridge, his hands on his hips.
Mac joined Riley and Rock outside, holding the key to lock the door. The temperature was back up a little, mid-thirties, a bright blue sky. With no wind, it was comfortable, a trenchcoat sufficient for warmth. None of them wore gloves.
Lich came out a few minutes later, and they started to file into the Explorer. Mac turned the key asking, “Where should we go?”
“Franco’s is five minutes away,” Rock replied.
“Yeah,” Riley added, rubbing his hands together.
“Franco’s it is,” Mac replied, dropping the truck into gear. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sports station playing on the radio.
“Was James Stephens’s wife named Yolanda?” Lich blurted.
“Riles?” Mac asked. Riley opened the Jones file and started leafing through the notes. “Yeah, Yolanda.
