Deadly Stillwater

“Maybe, Mac,” Sally said. “We’re just inferring here. There is nothing in the records that we have that show that Burton was even under suspicion. Burton’s file does not mention the Brown case at all.”

“Nevertheless, Burton worked here at the time, and on drug cases. The timeline works.”

“But how can you know?” Sally said. “This isn’t much to go on.”

“See if he’s been in town lately,” Mac answered. “I’m calling Riley.”

Rock pulled the pictures out of the manila folder, handing them to Foxx. “Is this the guy you saw last night?”

Heather looked through the photos and stopped on one with a left-profile shot of an older man. She leaned back against Rockford’s truck, closed her eyes, and thought back to the night before. The nose looked right, and the graying hair at the temples. The jaw line, the nose, it all looked right. “That’s the guy. Who is he?”

“Heather, your deal just got better. A lot better,” Riles said, but he wasn’t smiling. “But you have to sit on the story now. That guy is named Smith Brown. We’re pretty sure he is the man behind the kidnappings.”

It was Foxx’s turn to be stunned. “Oh my… my… God,” Heather stammered, putting her hands to her throat. “If I’d only said something before now…”

Rock waved her off. “No way you could have known, sister.”

“And Burton’s been sabotaging the investigation from the inside,” Heather breathed.

“Looks like it. You’ve done good, real good, Heather. We appreciate it, we really do.” Riles reached for his cell phone, which was already ringing. “It’s as if the mother fucker reads my mind or something.”

“What?” Rock said.

“It’s Mac,” Riles replied, hitting the answer button. “Listen Mac…”

“It might be Burton, Riles. It’s really a stretch, but I can manufacture a scenario in which that mother fucker has been playing us all along.”

“God, how do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Figure this out, especially from where you are?”

Mac explained Sally’s investigation. “I know its weak, but…”

“It’s not weak. As a matter of fact it’s dead on the nuts,” Riles said, his turn to spring a surprise on Mac. He told him about Foxx’s trip the night before.

“Holy shit,” Mac said. His phone beeped. It was Sally. “Pat hang on,” he said and switched lines. “What do you got?”

“Burton’s been to town three times in the last four months,” Sally exclaimed. “His last trip in was three weeks ago. Five days – he came on a Wednesday and flew out on a Sunday night.” It was at about the time Smith and Monica showed up in Osseo to meet with Dean and David. It was all coming together. “Great work, babe,” he said and switched back to Riles to report the new information.

“It’s him Mac. He’s the source,” Riles said. “He has to be.”

“That’s enough for us to move,” Mac said. “Tell Heather we owe her.”

“She knows. I’ve struck a deal with her, and you’re the bargain, Mac.”

“No problem. But listen, we don’t have much time,” Mac said. His voice went cold. “You two know what needs to be done.”

“With fuckin’ pleasure,” Riles answered, looking over at Rock, who was punching his fist into the palm of his hand. “With fuckin’ pleasure.”

36 “ Right during the rockets’ red glare.”

“Take the Highway 95 exit and drive north toward Stillwater,” Smith ordered, still five hundred yards behind. He’d driven them around the Twin Cities for the last hour and a half, tailing them all the way. Monica had been even further back in a different vehicle, watching Smith’s back and looking for anyone tailing him. When it was apparent that the police were nowhere to be found, Monica went ahead to the boat. At 7:56, noting the sun’s decline in the west, Smith started them on the final drive east on Interstate 94.

Now it was 8:21 PM, and the red minivan wove its way through the small town of Bayport, the St. Croix River occasionally visible to the east down city streets. The van passed a bank and then a retirement home on the left, clearing the town proper. The road ahead was clear. “Past the entrance to the window plant, take a right down the dirt road.”

Flanagan, who was driving, did as he was ordered, turning right and driving slowly down the dirt road. “Stop at the dock. Do not get out of the van.” The van pulled to a stop at the dock.

Smith pulled up twenty feet behind the red minivan, Monica was already out of her car and approaching the front of the minivan, pointing a small 9mm. Dean stood at the end of the dock while David approached the van. The brothers wore blue nylon sweat tops with the zippers opened, revealing holstered. 45s. Monica stopped five feet short of the driver’s side door and threw two sets of disposable handcuffs into the car. “Put those around your wrists.” Both men did as they were ordered and held their hands up to show compliance. “Get out,” Monica ordered.