Deadly Stillwater

“We’re cutting into our regular programming to bring you breaking news about the kidnappings of Carrie Flanagan, daughter of St. Paul Police Chief Charlie Flanagan, and Shannon Hisle, daughter of prominent St. Paul attorney Lyman Hisle. Right now we’re going to Channel 12’s Heather Foxx in St. Paul, who’s been tracking this story for us. Heather.”

“Paul, we’re at the St. Paul Police Department headquarters, where the FBI and police have just arrived with a laptop computer found under the stands in Griffin Stadium at St. Paul Central High School,” Heather said perfectly to the camera. She loved doing this on the fly, the rush of excitement, pulling it off without a hitch. Reports like this got you a network or cable gig, she thought, when you were quick on your feet, looking good, totally under control, regardless of the adrenaline pumping through your veins. “And, in another Channel 12 exclusive, we’ve learned that the police have received a ransom demand for the two girls.”

“Do we know what the ransom demand is, Heather?” Phillips piped in.

“At this point, no, Paul,” Heather answered. “We’ve been unable to learn the amount.”

“Did the FBI and police learn of the ransom demand from the laptop, Heather?”

“No, Paul. The ransom demand was received by phone. At that time the authorities were apparently directed to the laptop at Central High.” “Do we know what is on the laptop?”

“No, we don’t. It is my understanding that the police were bringing it back here to analyze it.”

“Heather,” Phillips asked, tacking in a different direction. “What about the police and FBI takedown in Northfield that you reported earlier? Any further developments?”

“The police have released Drew Wiskowski, although his son Steve is now in custody. However, it appears that neither of them are involved in the kidnappings of Shannon Hisle and Carrie Flanagan,” Foxx answered.

“Well,” the anchor smiled, showing unnaturally white teeth, “it has indeed been a busy day for the FBI and police.”

“Indeed it has, Paul,” Heather replied seriously. “They continue to ask for the public’s help, particularly with regard to the vans and the descriptions we have of the kidnappers.” The pretty reporter provided the now-familiar general description of large men, likely dark hair, operating in delivery or panel vans common throughout town. Foxx finished by providing the phone numbers to contact the police and FBI and then signed off.

“Reporting from the St. Paul Police Department, this is Heather Foxx, Channel 12 News.” She held the pose for a moment and then her cameraman waved her off.

“Nice report,” he said.

“Thanks, but cripes it’s hot,” she replied, wiping a film of perspiration off her forehead.

A Channel Six van pulled up, and reporter Scott Crossman climbed out of the van in a navy blue, button-down collar shirt and blue tie. His dress shirt was sticking to his body, and sweat rings showed around his pits and collar. He wasn’t going on camera any time soon.

“Christ, Heather, who’s your fucking source for this stuff?” Crossman was pissed, but there was admiration in his voice.

The detectives and agents filed into the conference room and set the laptop on the conference table. The chief and Lyman wanted in, but Burton, with the help of Peters and Riley convinced them to wait outside while the group took the first look. The mayor, for reasons Mac couldn’t quite figure out, joined them. An FBI tech with rubber gloves and a lab coat flipped the top open to the laptop. He spent the next few minutes checking the laptop keys for prints. Not surprisingly, there were none. While the techs worked, the rest watched Heather Foxx’s report.

“She has a good source,” Burton said.

“She usually does. She bats her eyes or loosens a button or two on that blouse of hers, and some puppy-eyed cop spills the beans,” was Mac’s wry reply.

“Speakin’ from experience, Detective?” the mayor asked, his tone just a little accusatory.

“If that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black,” Mac replied, not looking up from the laptop. He heard the mayor snort behind him.

“You will live dangerously,” Lich warned in a quiet, albeit amused voice as he leaned over Mac’s shoulder.

“So what do we really have here?” the FBI tech said as he powered up the computer. The laptop was a Compaq and looked new.

“Can we track where the laptop came from?” Riley asked, looking at Mac.

“I should think so,” Mac replied, and then looked at the FBI tech, a little edge in his voice. “Can you?”

“Sure, we just need to take this serial number,” the agent answered, pointing underneath the computer, “and get with Compaq.” He jotted down the serial number and gave it to another agent. “It’ll take a little time to track it down,” he said to the group at large.

“Pray they bought it with a credit card,” Riley replied.

“I doubt we’ll be that lucky.” Mac replied.

“Might get something,” Riley said pointedly. “We gotta have hope,” he added through clenched teeth, staring a hole through Mac.