Elly's Ghost (15 page)

Elly placed her
hands on his shoulders. “Jay, look at me.” She waited for him to respond. Rain
dripped heavily from his hair into his eyes. “You think you could have stopped
your friend from dying? Is that what you really think?”

“I did the one
thing the Marines told me never to do. I left a man behind. That’s what I did. He’s
dead because I wasn’t there.”

“He’s dead
because accidents happen. You can’t control that. If you’d been there, you’d
have had no more control over what happened to him than what happened to your
parents. You had no control over what happened at the airport to Kevin. You’ve
got nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t kill your friend. Do you understand
that?” Elly wrapped her arms around him. “You didn’t kill him.”

Sheriff Bernard
Neuhaus stood on the shore of the small lake staring at the two water-rescue
boats. His face had been locked in a scowl ever since he’d left the station. He
was relieved at first, when he heard there were no bodies found at the scene,
but the news of multiple bullet holes in the engine compartment made him wonder
what the hell was going on in his county.

Neuhaus had been
in office for only a year, but he was well known as being good at the job. The
local newspaper kept busy reporting on all the meth-lab raids the sheriff and
his people led.

The divers knew
from the condition of the floatplane that it had not been under water very
long. Grey and his partner spent thirty minutes making multiple trips to attach
balloons to the fuselage of the floatplane and run hoses to the air tanks on
the two boats. They opened the valves and air filled the balloons, lifting the
plane off the bottom.

Within minutes Neuhaus
watched the left wing break the surface. The boats pulled the plane to shore, where
an ATV dragged it out. Water drained from both pontoons through what were
obviously bullet holes.

“I’m no genius,”
Neuhaus said, “but it don’t take one to figure out somebody wanted this plane
to disappear.”

A sheriff’s
deputy took pictures of the badly burned plane.

“But why?” the
sheriff said to himself.

The deputy counted
seven bullet holes in the engine compartment and three entrance and three exit
holes in each pontoon.

“Look at this,”
the sheriff’s deputy said, “the entry hole is on top of the pontoon and the
exit hole is down here.” He pointed at the bottom of the pontoon next to the
integrated wheels.

“The shooter was
standing on the pontoon when he took the shot,” Sheriff Neuhaus said. “All
right, I want the perimeter of this lake searched. Nobody touches anything on
the plane.” He called the dispatcher.

“This is Sheriff
Neuhaus. Patch me through to the Missoula FBI.”

* * *

Agent West held
the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he scribbled a series of numbers and
letters in his notebook. The man on the other line was with the Missoula FBI.
West had put out a notice for any aviation-related events to be reported to him
immediately.

West hung up and
in five long strides was standing at the shared desks of Agents Jessica
Walstein and Gary Schwartz.

“These are the
call letters from a floatplane. I need you to find out everything about it:
owner, home airport, past flight plans, and anyone who’s ever flown it.”

“Got it,”
Walstein said.

West turned to
Schwartz. “How are we doing on tracking the fuel for the Wittenbel turboprop?”

“Of the
eighty-one planes in the area fueled with over one hundred gallons on Sunday
between the hours of seven AM and noon, I’ve got seventy-five confirmed planes
reaching their destinations. The remaining six took off and landed at the same
airport. For the last hour, I’ve been working on other means of fuel delivery,
but they could have used a tanker and filled the plane with fuel purchased
three months ago.”

“I know. Keep
searching.”

* * *

The gray sky
told Jay the steady rain was not going to end. They could walk for a few more
hours before it would be too dark, but one look at Elly and he changed his
mind. Water dripped from her sleeves and she was shivering. Her shoes and the
bottoms of her pant legs were soaked. Jay could see his own breath and knew it
would only get colder.

Jay caught Elly
squeezing her stomach with both of her arms. She’d refused to eat anything when
they’d stopped.

“Are you all
right?” Jay asked.

“I’ll be okay.”

Jay wondered if
she was getting sick. She’d complained of stomach pains, and her nose was
running. It could have been a cold, or maybe she was going through Vicodin
withdrawal. He still hadn’t seen Elly take any pills since she shoved him.
Either way, it complicated their effort to get out of the woods.

“Oh, no,” Elly
said quietly.

“What is it?”

Elly put her
hand on her stomach and turned away from Jay.

“Are you okay?”
he asked.

Jay got his
answer when Elly leaned against a tree and vomited. She coughed and spit before
wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Oh, that’s
gross,” Elly said.

Jay offered her
some water, which she gladly accepted.

“We’re stopping
to set up camp,” Jay said.

“How close are
we?” Elly asked.

“Not close
enough. I can’t chance either of us getting hypothermia. We’d never make the
road if that happened.”

“This s-s-s-sucks,”
Elly said.

Elly helped Jay
set up the tent. Once it was up, Jay put his backpack and shotgun inside and unrolled
his sleeping bag. He pulled a wrinkled gray T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts
out of his bag and laid them on the sleeping bag.

“Come here,” he
said. “Put your arms up.” Jay pulled the garbage bag over her head. “Take
everything off that’s wet. I’ve left some clothes for you to change into. I’m
going to take a look around. I’ll be back in five minutes. The code word is
still Joanna.”

Jay walked in
the direction they’d been heading for about a minute. He turned to walk in a
large circle around the tent, keeping the clump of trees that towered over the
tent in sight at all times.

He completed his
circle and returned to the tent.

“Joanna. Are you
decent?”

“Yeah, come in.”

As he unzipped
the door, Jay could hear Elly’s rapid breaths. He took off his rain gear and
went inside to find Elly curled up and shivering, with the sleeping bag cinched
so tight only her face was showing.

Her teeth
chattered as she spoke. “I can’t … I can’t get warm.”

Throughout his
time in the Marines, Jay had passed several winter survival training courses. He
quickly changed clothes and then unzipped the sleeping bag and climbed in facing
Elly. He zipped it closed, and their bodies pressed together and their legs
intertwined. Elly folded her arms between her chest and his as Jay wrapped his
arms around her.

Jay was shocked by
how cold she was. Her hair was wet, and he felt the warmth being sucked out of
him, but he was glad it was going to her.

He closed his
eyes and tried to imagine what would happen once he got Elly out. He thought of
the invitation to her cabin and the kiss they had shared. Then he thought about
how she walked away, leaving him wondering if it was rejection or if there was
another reason. He forced himself to forget it so he could focus on getting
both of them to safety.

The only thing
Jay knew for sure was there was a media nightmare waiting for them when they left
the forest. He could protect Elly in the woods of Montana, but back in front of
the media, he knew he couldn’t. There would, of course, be questions about the
men he’d just killed. He wondered if he’d be able to stay in the Marine Corps
and out of prison. He knew it would come down to the authorities believing it
was self-defense. He pushed the thought of being dishonorably discharged from
the Marine Corps out of his mind.

After a while,
Elly stopped shivering. She lifted her head and whispered, “Thank you,” then
buried her head into his chest. “How many more times are you going to save me?”

“As many as it
takes,” Jay said. He thought about being sent to military prison. “Someday, it
may be you who saves me.”

* * *

Agent Beckholm
was about to take a bite from his sandwich but stopped when he spotted Nick
Wittenbel enter the food court in the LA airport. He lowered his sandwich as
Nick walked up to his table and took a seat across from him.

Beckholm wiped
his mouth with a napkin. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you,”
Nick said.

“Why?”

“You may need my
help.”

“What makes you
think that?”

“Have you found
anything yet?”

Beckholm
wondered how he was going to explain this mess to his boss.

“Look,” Nick
continued, “I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t tell anyone I’m here, including my
family. I won’t get in your way. Think of me as one of those ride alongs.”

“Nick, I don’t
do ride alongs.”

“Are you worried
about getting fired?” Nick asked.

“And if I am?”

“If you get
fired, I’ll pay you ten times your salary, lump sum.”

Beckholm took a
gulp of coffee and decided to go back to eating his sandwich. Had he lost his
mind? There was so much he didn’t know since he’d been thrown into this case so
quickly, and Nick might be able to help him. At the same time, he wondered if
letting Nick tag along could put him in front of the Senate oversight
committee.

“I get paid
$450,000 a year.” Beckholm smiled brightly.

“Elly’s album
sales made that much last week,” Nick said, keeping a straight face.

The smile
disappeared from Beckholm’s face. “Liar.”

“I’m not the
only one,” Nick said, taking his turn to smile.

“Why should I
let you tag along?”

“I know a lot
about Elly, and I want to find out what happened to her more than you do.”

“Sorry, you’ll
have to do better than that.” Beckholm got up from his chair.

“Okay, okay,”
Nick said. “I haven’t been the best brother.”

“Really?”
Beckholm said, sarcastically.

“I’ve been an
asshole. Elly is my twin sister, and I all but pushed her out of my life. I’m
an idiot. Please let me help you.”

“Why should I?”

“Look, if
there’s even a chance she’s alive, I want her back. Not because of her fame or
the money she makes. I love my sister, but I never told Elly that. I want to
hold on to the fact that there may still be a chance to do that and apologize.
Let me help you.”

Beckholm took
his time as he stared at Nick, wondering if he could be useful. “If I let you
tag along, do you agree to do exactly what I say when I say it?”

“Yes,” Nick
said.

“I reserve the
right to send you packing anytime I feel like it.”

“Fine.”

They walked out
of the food court.

“What’s next?”
Nick asked.

“I’m expecting a
call from my contact in the bureau about the about the door.”

“So we just wait
here?”

“That’s the
job,” Beckholm said.

“Say the door
was messed with,” Nick said. “Then what happens?”

“We go after the
pilot. We get a warrant and we search everything.”

“Like what?”

“Bank records,
his home, his car, his locker at work, everything. We look to see where he’s
traveled in the past year. We dig into his life until we know everything about
him. We’ll know who he’s sleeping with, who cuts his hair, and who changes his
oil. If he was involved in staging an accident, we’ll find out.”

“In other words
…” Nick punched the air.

“Exactly. The
gloves come off.”

Beckholm knocked
on the door of the Salo residence and waited as a man opened the door only as
far as the deadbolt chain would allow.

“Are you Charlie
Salo?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Agent Aaron
Beckholm, FBI.” He held out his badge. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“What about?”

“Elly
Wittenbel.”

The door shut.
Beckholm was about to knock again when it reopened without the chain attached.

“Come on
inside,” the man said.

The home was
small but well furnished. “Is your wife home?”

“No.”

Beckholm pulled
out a pen and notepad and set them on the table. “Mr. Salo—”

“Please, call me
Charlie.”

“Okay. Charlie,
are you still employed at Myers Aviation?”

“That’s
correct.”

“And you’re a
pilot.”

“That’s right.”

Charlie was the
third Myers Aviation pilot Beckholm had interviewed.

“Did you ever
fly with Elly Wittenbel?”

“Oh yes, several
times.”

“Did you ever
have any problems on the plane when she was flying with you? Things like her
getting sick, being claustrophobic, or anything like that?”

“No, not at all.
She was a real easy passenger, never complained.” Charlie smiled. “I can’t say
that for all of our clients.”

“Any problems
with her bodyguard?”

“No, none at
all.”

“Do you know
Michael Belgrade?”

“Yes. It’s a
shame what happened to him. To think of all the pilots who have flown in the
same plane, and this time the damn door came off.” Charlie sat back in his
chair and shook his head. “If my wife knew I was supposed to be flying that
poor girl to Seattle, she’d have a fit.”

“What?”

“My wife would
just have kittens if she knew I was next on the list.”

“You were
supposed to be the pilot on that flight?” Beckholm sat forward in his chair.

“That’s right.
We switch off if somebody has a destination preference.”