Deadly Stillwater

Taking one last sip of her iced tea, Monica put the receipt in her purse, popped a complimentary mint in her mouth, and discreetly wiped down the table and the arms of her chair. She’d never been arrested nor had her prints taken, but she didn’t want to take a chance.

Hisle finished the last of her tabs and handed them to her manager, who gave them a quick look and approval. Monica checked her watch – 4:56 PM – and placed a call as Hisle put her purse over her shoulder. Smith picked up on the first ring.

“Fifteen seconds.”

As Hisle pushed the back door open, Monica slung her purse over her shoulder, walked out the front door and turned right, casually strolling east along Selby Avenue and away from the action beginning to unfold.

Dean, a black ski mask over his head, was out of the van now, crouched down behind a parked pickup truck three cars to the right of Hisle’s Prius. David, his mask down as well, was stationed at the van’s side sliding door. Smith focused on the back door and saw the pretty brunette push her way through. He pulled the van into the alley and turned left, driving slowly down the alley, watching Hisle all the way.

Shannon hustled to her car with her head down and digging with her right hand across her body deep into her black purse, searching for her car keys.

When she reached the back bumper of her car, she halted and dug with both hands, leaning down and peering in.

“Where the heck did they go?” she muttered. Ah ha, there they were, buried in a corner, under her cell phone. She grabbed the cell phone and keys and sensed the sudden flash of movement from her left. She looked up in time to see a mammoth black-masked man barreling toward her.

“ NO!… NO!…”

Dean scooped Hisle, putting his hand over her mouth as she screamed and thrashed against his iron grip.

Smith quickly turned right out of the alley and pulled up along the curb. David slid the door open and grabbed the struggling Hisle out of his brother’s hands. He dragged her inside, sat on top of her, and pinned her arms down. Dean jumped in, closed the door, and grabbed the duct tape as Smith punched the gas and took a hard right turn on Selby and accelerated east to Summit Avenue. Dean and David duct taped the girl’s hands, ankles, and mouth. They then put a pillow case over her head. Hisle squirmed and tried to scream through the duct tape pasted over her mouth. A brief look in the rearview mirror and Smith could see the horror in her eyes. It was only beginning for her.

2 “ How do they know she’s coming?”

Mac McRyan swerved his Ford Explorer through traffic in Spaghetti Junction just north of downtown St. Paul, flasher and siren going strong, as it had been since he left Stillwater and his boat fifteen minutes earlier. It had been a wonderful Sunday up until now. With his sister, Julia, her husband, Jack, and his girlfriend, Sally, he had spent the day on his family’s boat on the St. Croix River, picnicking and soaking up the sun. It was the most relaxing day that he and Sally, a busy Ramsey County prosecutor, had experienced in months – at least until now. As the group was tying up the boat and deciding where to go for dinner, the call came in. Now he skidded to a quick stop just short of the patrol car parked across the intersection of Selby and Western.

Mac’s full name was Michael McKenzie McRyan, but for all of his thirty-three years he’d simply been known as Mac. He’d been in the McRyan family business – the St. Paul Police Department – for eight years. A fourth-generation cop, Mac had relatives sprinkled throughout the department.

He rolled his athletic six-foot-one frame out of the Explorer. Ruggedly handsome, Mac had short blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and a taut face with a dimple the size of the Grand Canyon on his scarred chin. A former captain of the University of Minnesota hockey team, he was still at his 190-pound playing weight and worked hard daily to keep it that way. Sliding on his Oakley sunglasses, he walked toward a uniform cop who waved him through. Mac took in the scene, with squad cars and Crown Vics everywhere. He saw two techs from County Forensics taking pictures and prowling around the parking lot behind Cel’s. And, of course, the chief’s Boys stood just behind them.

The boys were Detectives Pat Riley, Riley’s partner, Bobby Rockford, and Mac’s own partner, Richard Lich. When St. Paul Police Chief Charles Flanagan needed results – when the shit hit the fan – he turned to his Boys. Lyman Hisle was as high profile as it got in the Twin Cities, and his daughter had been abducted in broad daylight. Not to mention, Hisle was a close personal friend of Charlie Flanagan. Needless to say, the chief needed his best cops on the case.

They were a motley crew.