Blood Silence (42 page)

“So what actually happened?” Leah asked as Borland joined them.

Mac described the chase.

“That’s quite the story, McRyan,” Chief Borland stated.

“No story—it was real,” Mac answered testily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply …” The Williston chief had his hands up.

“It’s okay, Chief, you and I—”

“Got off to a bad start,” Borland finished the thought. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Brock added.

“There is one thing,” Mac reported. “Wheeler told me he took his orders from a man named O’Herlihy.”

“O’Herlihy?” Brock asked.

“Yeah. That would be Selwyn O’Herlihy,” Mac answered. “He’s the owner of Deep Core. I mean, not a surprise, but he told me that. Last words he uttered.”

She flipped through some notes. “I was researching Deep Core when the call came in. It’s a privately held company and”—she flipped the page—“it’s owned by a Selwyn O’Herlihy.”

“Where is Deep Core based out of?” Borland asked Brock.

“Houston, Texas.”

“Leah,” Borland indicated, “I think we need to call Houston PD.”

The two Williston officers walked off, freeing Mac to make some calls. He started with Lyman, then Riley, Lyman again, and then Sally, who simply pleaded, “Come home.”

His final call, at least for a while, was to Antonin Rahn.

“Mac, please put this Detective Brock you speak so highly of on the line.” Rahn and Brock spoke for five minutes. “Mac, Ms. Brock has my number now. She will be able to reach me if need be, and I will come to Williston when the time is right, if that becomes necessary.”

“I’m sure she appreciates that,” Mac replied and then added, “I’m grateful you called last night when you did. I’m not sure I’d have figured all this out without that call. That information was a catalyst for a lot of things.”

“As am I, son, as am I. And for the record, I think you would have figured it out in time. But all the same, I’m pleased we had a chance to meet and talk, and please let me extend to you congratulations for what you’ve done here. Listen, Mac, I want you to also keep this number. I’m indebted to you for finding and bringing Callie’s killer to justice, and frankly, my kind of justice. Death in a North Dakota ditch is what all of those bastards deserved. So if you ever need anything that you think I could help with—anything at all—you are not to hesitate to call me.”

Mac thought quickly and laughed. “You said something about a private island down in the Caribbean.”

Brock collected evidence at the scene, taking pictures of all three bodies, taking prints, collecting cell phones and weapons. “I doubt we’ll get a ballistics match. I’ll run these cell phones and see what I get.”

“You might for last night,” Mac replied. “They might not have had the chance to dump the guns from last night for new ones. Check it against that, at least. As for the Bullers, Murphy, and the others, I suspect you’re right, but it doesn’t matter—we know they did it.”

Given the condition of the back of Mac’s truck, the glass shattered, the back bumper hanging, the sides torn apart—not to mention the weather conditions—a tow truck hauled the Yukon down to Dickinson and dropped it at the local GM dealer. It was going to require a lot of work. As he looked at it and considered its age, he knew it would likely end up totaled. Mac wasn’t going to hang around to get the answer. If it was totaled, he’d take the check. If it was fixable, he would pay someone to drive it back to St. Paul.

Because he was carrying three guns, the state of North Dakota arranged for Mac to avoid check-in and airport security and dropped him on the tarmac, where his bag was packed in the luggage hold, and he was shown to a seat in the front of the plane. He would be allowed to avoid security in Minneapolis as well. Exhausted, he fell asleep before the plane ever took off. The little over one hour flight landed in Minneapolis just after 8:00
A.M.
Lyman was awaiting his arrival.

“Are you up for a drive to Hennepin County right now?”

He gave a tired yawn as he tossed his bag in the back of Lyman’s car. His phone rang. It was Brock.

“I have a surprise for you, Mac.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“This Wheeler guy had a burner in his pocket. It matches up to a burner the guy named Hutchinson had in his pocket, so no question Deep Core
was
heavily involved in this.”

“That’s more confirmation.”

“Even better, Wheeler’s regular cell phone had him in daily contact with Selwyn O’Herlihy, president of Deep Core.”

“Okay, but I’m still waiting for the surprise,” Mac responded while yawning. “I mean, Wheeler was their main guy up in North Dakota—of course he was talking to O’Herlihy.”

“How about this, though?” Brock answered. “I had Houston PD track down O’Herlihy. He was out at his ranch outside of Houston. He was found dead, shot in the head.”

Mac bolted upright, now surprised. “Someone was unhappy.”

• • •

The meeting with the Hennepin County attorney took an hour, which was fifty-five minutes more than it should have. Mac walked them through his investigation, bringing Coolidge, Subject, and then later Brock, on the line to help add to what he’d laid out.

“So this whole thing is about how an oil company is drilling in North Dakota?” Johnson asked, reviewing the evidence before her. “It’s a bit much to believe.” The prosecutor shook her head. “It is certainly less believable than a scorned wife killing her cheating husband, whom she caught in bed with her lover.”

“It’s all about oil,” Mac retorted. “According to the people I’ve talked to”—which was Rahn but referencing the Murphy memo—“the use of diesel fuel and other chemicals at heightened levels increases the separation on the shale to allow for greater releases of oil and gas. Problem is, the chemicals, in those amounts, cause greater environmental damage, particularly to ground and drinking water. The Bullers were a single family, and they were suffering. It took about a year after Deep Core started drilling that well for the Bullers to start feeling the effects of the drilling on their water and ultimately their bodies. I’ve got the medical records that show it. Murphy’s memo proves it, and I think at this point, it’s safe to say the company knew all about it. The memo is an internal company memo. If this damage to the groundwater were to come to light, there is no way their operation just north of Williston gets off the ground. It would have buried the company.”

“Can you authenticate the memo?” Johnson asked.

“No,” Mac replied, getting irritated. “You really think I need to?”

“You have this Murphy’s findings?”

“No, I don’t,” Mac answered.

“Might be more believable if you had them,” Johnson responded tartly.

“Funny,” Mac replied with derision, “all the people who had the findings ended up dead.”

“Why not change the way they were drilling?” Goodman asked Mac.

“Deep Core was in a financial hole. They needed the wells to pay and pay big and pay big soon. Drilling safer wasn’t as rapidly profitable.”

“I mean, we don’t really know that, do we? You’ve painted a very good picture here, a heck of a story, but you can’t really prove it.”

“One hundred percent?” Mac replied. “At this point, no, but—”

“We don’t have to,” Lyman interjected. “That’s not our burden, to completely prove that. That is for others. Candace and Dan, you’re getting lost in the weeds here. The overall story is a little hard to fathom, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Furthermore, I think what Mac has shown conclusively, particularly with the Mercedes rental, the shot-up SUV pulled from the river, and the travel pattern of Hutchinson and Wilton, is that they killed Gentry and Sterling, not my client. And while we can’t corroborate her alibi, you’re no longer able to disprove it either, because we’ve explained how the neighbors saw her car at the scene. These two attempted to kill Meredith, not to mention Mac, last Sunday, and then last night. Wilton rented a Mercedes exactly like my client’s. The GPS puts that car outside the lake house at the time of the murder. Their travel pattern puts them in the Cities at that time.”

“What more could you possibly fucking need?” Mac barked, the exhaustion having depleted any patience he might have had left. “I mean, seriously?”

Lyman reached for his arm to calm him. “Mac could be more diplomatic, but he’s right. To a certain degree, I can understand your skepticism as to the shenanigans in North Dakota. But Mac has conclusively proven that the murders of Gentry and Sterling were not about a scorned wife but about money, big money—the kind of money that explains the motive to kill nine people. With your ongoing questions, I’m starting to sense that you’re not grasping reality. So let me put it to you this way—if you want to try this case, be my guest. Do it, and you will lose, and you will lose huge. I will wipe the courtroom floor with you—with both of you. And that kind of an embarrassing defeat—and rest assured, I
will
embarrass you with this—will not play well politically, Candace.”

Mac wasn’t content to let it rest. “Pull your heads out of your asses, Candace and Dan. You have the wrong the person. She didn’t do it. She was set up, and I’ve given you who did it. Now pull the fucking plug.”

Candace Johnson sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Lyman, will you and Mr. McRyan give us a moment?” she asked quietly.

Out in the hall, Mac sat down on a bench and fell back against the wall and sighed. “They’re not seriously thinking about going forward with this, are they?”

Lyman shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Candace is a politician, and she wants to spin this the best way possible. She didn’t dismiss this thing on Monday. They haven’t lifted a finger on this thing, even though from that point forward, they should have known their case had some problems. Instead, she let it go for another four days. As a result, a lot of shit went down in North Dakota that maybe didn’t have to. She wants to explain that before someone starts asking why.”

Ten minutes later, Goodman stuck his head out in the hall and invited them back in.

“Lyman, we’re dismissing the charges,” Candance Johnson stated. “In doing so, may I ask for a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can we do the press conference together?”

“Candace, it would be my pleasure.”

“I appreciate that,” Johnson responded appreciatively. Then she looked at Mac. “I’m still curious. This case is quite … unique for me. Maybe not for you, given the cases you’ve come across, but for me …”

“It was a crazy one for me as well,” Mac replied, calmer now, knowing that the charges were finally being dropped.

“One question—well, more than one question bugs me, but the one I’m wondering about right now is, what do you make of the murder of this O’Herlihy down in Texas?”

“Not sure. Maybe the authorities down there will figure out what happened. Wheeler is dead, Hutchinson and this Wilton are dead, and now O’Herlihy is dead. I’m not sure we’ll ever know.”

“The loose ends are all tied up,” Goodman suggested. “All nice and neat.”

“We can let someone else worry about that,” Candace Johnson replied. “I’m very sorry to have put Ms. Hilary through this. I thought we had a pretty open-and-shut case.”

“That’s what the killers wanted,” Mac stated.

Johnson looked at Lyman. “Can you do this in an hour?”

“Works for me,” Lyman replied. “I need to call my client with the news and get her down here.”

While they were talking logistics, Mac was working his cell phone. He found what he was looking for. He looked at Lyman and extended his hand. “I have to go.”

“You’re leaving?” Lyman asked, incredulous.

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“You don’t want to celebrate? You don’t want to go on camera? You deserve to celebrate. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful the Hilarys will be, how grateful Meredith will be—heck, how grateful I am. You’re the one responsible for all of this.”

Mac shook his head wearily. “I never thought I’d say this, but I want to get to Washington as soon as possible. There is a flight in two hours—I’m on it. Please speak highly of Subject, Gerdtz, Lich, Lincoln Coolidge in Washington, and the folks up in Williston. They all deserve a lot of credit.”

“And what about Meredith?”

“Wish her well for me.”

• • •

Mac watched the press conference from the airport lounge.

Lyman, always one to collect favors, was magnanimous at the press conference, singing from Johnson’s hymnal and simply happy to have his client exonerated. As Mac asked, Lyman thanked everyone involved in the investigation, including Mac.

Meredith looked both relieved and gorgeous, dressed in a black power suit, her hair perfectly done, with not a single verbal slip in answering the reporters’ questions.

Much was made of the broader conspiracy involving the case.

Lyman said it best: “The broader case is for others to deal with. I’m just happy my client is free of all charges, is completely exonerated, and can go about getting her life back.”

• • •

“We must celebrate. I will get us a table at The St. Paul Grill,” Lyman proclaimed to Meredith, her parents, and Uncle Teddy after the press conference ended.

“Where’s Mac?” they all asked.

Lyman looked at his watch. “About to get on a flight. He went home.”

“He didn’t stay behind to bask in the glory?” Edmund Hilary asked, shocked. “This was a big moment for him.”

Meredith reached for her phone. “That son of a bitch,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Why won’t he talk to me? I tried to call him like three times last night, and he wouldn’t pick up.”

“Because of what you did to him,” her mother counseled. “For someone like Mac, for someone that prideful”—she slowly shook her head—“I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive that.”

Meredith nodded slowly, her eyes watering lightly, knowing the truth. “I know, Mom. I know. I just wanted to …” Her words trailed off. “I just wanted to thank him and say I was sorry.”

“I think he knows that,” Ann Hilary answered, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “And part of me thinks he doesn’t want to hear that from you.”