Final Approach (4 page)
Authors: Rachel Brady
“You there?” Richard asked.
“They found Casey,” I said, thinking immediately of his mother.
“No,” he said flatly. “Eric.”
I collapsed back onto my pillow. At least it wasn’t Casey. Then I felt horrible for preferring any one person’s murder over another’s.
“A fisherman found him an hour ago. Eric’s father phoned me.”
I imagined that call. “How awful for his parents.”
“And awful for his ex,” Richard added. “She was sure Eric took Casey. At least she could believe her baby was being cared for. If Eric’s dead, who has their son? Is he even alive? She’s terrified.”
I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled toward the coffee pot, flipping light switches and stretching the phone cord as I went. At the sink, I filled the pot with tap water. “How’d it…happen?”
“Shot twice in the chest. Police are shifting gears now, treating this as a stranger abduction. Mr. and Mrs. Lyons told Karen what we’re doing. I’ll share your video and list of names with her today.”
“What can I do?”
He exhaled. “Put this news in a separate place in your mind. Show up smiling at the drop zone today. See what you can learn.”
It seemed impossible.
“Good luck,” I said, and we hung up.
I dropped the handset into its cradle and stood by the bed. Something else was wrong. The room wasn’t quiet.
Soft, rhythmic taps at my window meant it was raining.
I walked to the window and separated the drapes. Droplets stuck to the other side of the glass. I focused past them, on the wide Texas sky. It was gray in all directions. Below me, shrubs in the hotel’s landscaping leaned in the wind.
I hoped conditions were better near the Gulf. When the DZ opened in a few hours, I’d call and ask. Bad weather meant no skydiving. No looking for clues.
Since it was too wet and windy to run Tuesday’s route, I used a treadmill in the hotel’s fitness room and thought about what to do. By mile two, I decided to visit Gulf Coast Skydiving, no matter the weather. Staying at the hotel would do nothing for Casey. It might improve my standing with Bowman, if I could concentrate long enough to get some work finished, but impressing Bowman wasn’t high on my list.
During mile three, I changed my mind. Showing up at a drop zone in the rain would be suspicious. How would I explain it?
By the time mile four rolled around, I had a side stitch, but no plan. I toweled off and stalked to my room.
It was only seven thirty, and I didn’t expect anyone to show up at the drop zone until ten or eleven. That left hours.
I showered and dressed and called Jeannie at work.
“Got your message yesterday,” she said. “Gimme the scoop.”
I heard a second call ringing on her phone.
“Wanna get that?”
“I’m already taking a call,” she said. “The scoop?”
“I made a few jumps at that drop zone yesterday. Met some good looking men.”
“Yummy!” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Everyone was nice, though. No one seemed creepy or weird.”
“The M&M jar on your desk is empty,” she said.
“Thank you so much for your rapt attention. There’s back-up candy, but just for that, I’m not telling where.”
I imagined her pouty mouth. Lip liner, ColorStay gloss, and all. “What am I missing at work?”
“Oh. Bad news.” She lowered her voice. “Bowman’s panties are in a bunch. When are you coming back?”
“I was thinking Monday. Why? What’d he say?”
“He didn’t mention you by name, but in our staff meeting he reviewed leave policies from the handbook. He talked about ‘proper channels’ and ‘misuse,’ particularly of discretionary leave.”
“That would be me.”
“Well, you can’t tell him the truth.”
I didn’t answer.
“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”
“Why can’t I tell the truth?” I sighed. “Maybe I can patch this up if I call and explain why Richard asked me—”
“Em. Come on. You didn’t tell him Monday. You won’t tell him today. If he finds out this is about another kid, he’ll push you back into counseling.”
She was right, and I didn’t like it. Bowman would hang my past over my head. After my family died, I’d swallowed a bottle of pills. Some mistakes follow us because we can’t forgive ourselves. Others linger because jerks like Bowman won’t let us forget.
“Emily? You’ve thought of that, right?”
In fact, I hadn’t.
“Of course I have.”
“Now you’re pissy.”
“I’ve worked at BioTek for seven years. Four patents, and how many publications? I had one bad year. A long time ago, I might add…and he still treats me like a time bomb. I should quit.”
“Please don’t do that. I couldn’t hack it without you.” She paused. “Say, did I mention your M&M bowl’s empty?”
Her levity cheered me a little. She’d earned some chocolate.
“Top left drawer.”
“You’re awesome.”
“I try.”
“How’s Cole, anyway? Is it weird?”
“Weird for me. Who knows what goes through his mind? Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning when he gave me a map and a car and basically said ‘see ya.’”
“I don’t think it’s good for you to be around him. But, I admire your trying to find that kid.” She changed to an authoritative tone. “Purchasing said it’ll be here Friday.”
“Gotcha,” I laughed. “I’ll call you at home later.”
Busted again.
No matter how much time passed, some people would always see me as the unstable, depressed woman I was after my family died. Sometimes, even years later, the ghost of that woman still rattled chains in my heart. It seemed Bowman heard them too.
I hadn’t eaten yet, and needed to. I took my journal to the hotel restaurant and paged through it during breakfast.
***
April 10—10:30 a.m.
Conference, coffee break
I skipped yesterday’s morning session to meet Keith and Nora at the airport for brunch. Nora could hardly look at me without bursting into tears and gushing thanks. Mattie sat through lunch, cute as a button, munching tater tots and smearing ketchup on his face. I have to wonder about that kid. Three weeks away from his parents and none the worse for wear.
I said goodbye to them at the security checkpoint and called home to assess the damage. So far, it’s surprisingly minor. Jack’s biggest lapse has been sending a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich to daycare for Annette’s lunch.
When the last session finished yesterday, I walked to the Cineplex and caught a movie. Some would say that’s a bad use of time in a new, exciting town, but to those people I say: you don’t have a toddler. It was great to see a movie on the big screen with a giant bag of overpriced popcorn. A DVD in our living room with a slightly burned bag of the microwave stuff isn’t the same. I hardly missed the company of unfolded laundry and an overflowing toy box at all.
Tomorrow I’ll catch a 5:20 flight back to Cleveland. It would be so nice to walk into a clean home, but I’m afraid it will be a successful three days for Jack if our house is still standing and he brought the right child home from daycare.
April 11—10:25 p.m.
Home again
This is funny. Jack thinks I’ll sleep with him. When I unpacked my underwear, he winked at me and told me I wouldn’t need them. A while ago he gave me a dopey grin and asked if I was “ready for bed.”
Sure, after I pick up the living room. Pack a lunch for Annette. Move the clothes from the washer to the dryer. Put away bath toys. Pay the gas bill. And unload the dishwasher. All while he watches sports highlights on ESPN.
It must be nice to live in a self-cleaning house, watch sports, and think you’ll get lucky at the next commercial break. I’m not sure if he’s expecting I-Missed-You sex or Thank-You sex. The Thank-You variety in these circumstances would seem unlikely, but he did keep Annette clothed and fed.
It’s so wonderful to be home with her! I hugged her so hard tonight I thought I’d squish all the goo out of the poor kid. There’s no better feeling in the world than a hug from my baby!
But the sex? Not happenin’. The only thing that could turn me on is the sight of Jack with a mop and a bottle of Mr. Clean.
April 12 – 12:05 a.m.
Home again II
…or, the sight of him turning off sports, jumping up from the couch, and chasing me around the kitchen table.
I pushed him off at first. I mean, really—the nerve. But, let’s be reasonable. What he had in mind was more fun than housework. I made it twice around the table before I slipped and he caught me. He spun me around and started kissing my neck. I accused him of trying to get out of trouble. He said he was trying to get into trouble. Then there was more kissing, less of the socks, less of the shirts, way more laundry on my floor…And to summarize: Welcome home to ME!
I give it a 9.5. Technical merit was certainly there but I think he might have been trying to wrap it up in time to watch an interview with the Indians’ coach.
Now he’s sleeping, but I’m wired. I checked voicemail and e-mail.
Detective Cole sent a photo line-up to the local FBI office. I’m supposed to go tomorrow morning. That’s intimidating. He explained that because Mattie was kidnapped and taken across state lines, the FBI is investigating. The truck we saw on the surveillance tape was registered to a body shop, but no employees resembled my computer sketches. Detective Cole said after they put some “heat on”—his words—during questioning, one employee admitted loaning the truck to his cousin. They later discovered the cousin did resemble my sketch. Thus, the photo line-up.
I won the eBay auction for the baby jogger. It shipped yesterday and should arrive by the weekend. I browsed for guitars, but held back. Must. Wean. Self. Off. eBay.
***
Baskets of overflowing laundry on the couch and a dirty plastic lunch box on the kitchen counter would be a welcome sight now. Even Jack on our couch, wielding his remote, would be a blessing. I’d die a happy woman to have him chase me around the table one more time, the way he did that night.
And sweet Annette. What I wouldn’t give to trip over her toys or wipe peanut butter off my silk blouses again.
When I think about these things too long, I get into a funk. But Dr. Raleigh used to say it was healthy to remember, that I needed to let myself do that. So I do, several times a day—I can’t help it—but not for too long. For example, the stinging in my eyes at the breakfast table meant it was time to close my journal and think about something different for a while.
Marie answered the phone when I called the drop zone later that morning. Skies down south were overcast, but she thought the clouds might burn off by afternoon. What I saw from my hotel window made me skeptical anything would burn off that day, but I decided to make the trip anyway. In the best case, I could spend the afternoon jumping and looking for clues. In the worst, maybe I’d get more names for the list Richard was taking to Karen.
On the coast, the sky was a charcoal dome. Rain assaulted the roof and windshield of my borrowed car to the point the wipers had trouble keeping up. The dirt drive leading through the tiny airport had deteriorated to mud. Clumps of it thudded against the undercarriage of the car.
I thought back to the Sheltons. Mattie’s kidnapper walked free, thanks to a botched trial. When I’d finally put the pieces together, I accused Richard of being part of that mess. Though he’d never admitted it, he’d never denied it either.
The hangar’s sliding door was open enough for a person to squeeze through. I parked next to two other cars, as close to the building as I could, and dashed for shelter.
Inside, the little Cessna seemed enormous. I wiped my wet forehead on a damp sleeve and pulled open the office door. Marie peeked from behind a computer monitor to greet me. Her smile was strained. An open and partially disassembled computer case was on the table beside her. I was surprised to find Big Red’s friend in the office too, kneeling over an open tandem rig on the floor.
Rick popped up from behind the counter and grinned when he saw me.
“This is Craig Clement,” he said. “Newest hire, meet newest regular.” He winked at me when he said that last part.
Craig nodded wordlessly and returned his attention to the parachute cells spread before him. He not only had the face of a rat, but was so quiet and unobtrusive, I could imagine him sneaking around like one in the dark.
“Son of a gun,” Marie muttered. She smacked her mouse on the desk. “I hate this machine.”
She eyed the disassembled computer suspiciously, like a creature might crawl out.
“What are you trying to do?” I moved closer.
Craig rose onto his knees and looked from the fabric he was folding toward Marie. He opened his mouth to say something, but Marie spoke first.
“I bought a RAID card and another hard drive to back up the computer, but I’m doing something wrong. When it boots up, it doesn’t find the second drive.” She stared at the instructions in front of her like she was missing something obvious.
Rick shoved a stack of papers into an accordion file. “That’s the reason I leave the techno mumbo-jumbo to the little woman. Sure, she’s got brains. But how ‘bout my good looks?”
He flashed me his cheesy grin.
For once, I was thankful for Peter Bowman’s anal-retentive micromanagement style. BioTek scientists were responsible for our own data archival and backups, and he routinely audited our files. I knew I could help Marie. A bonus would be getting a glimpse at her computer files in the process.
“I’m glad you’re backing up,” I said. “One power surge in weather like this…you could be in a world of hurt.”
I lifted the instructions and looked them over. “What would you say to a free balloon jump Saturday in exchange for this hardware installation?”
Rick answered before she could. “Sold. To the good looking red head with brains and nice legs.”
“Good riddance,” Marie said into the open computer case. She crossed the room to a table stacked with several boxes and began pulling out sacks of party supplies. I took her seat and plotted my first theft since high school. Back then, it was a lipstick from the corner drug store. Today, it was files.
“We’re getting ready for the weekend,” Marie said. “We’ve got plates, cups, and utensils for the barbecue. We’ve got kegs. Cameras and videotapes are handled. Stereo equipment’s handled. There’s extra soap and shampoo for campers—this’ll be our first boogie since we got our indoor plumbing…”
She sounded like a bride planning reception details. I glanced at Rick. He made gabbing gestures with his fingers pointed toward his ear.
Craig kneeled over the canopy and arranged its navy and gray cells. He seemed oblivious.
Installing the new card and hard drive into the Hanes’ computer didn’t take any time. They tracked their finances with Quicken, like I did. But what really popped out at me was an Access database called Clientele. Would I find Casey’s abductor there? Richard could never have foreseen this windfall.
I opened a web browser and brought up the Weather Channel’s homepage, then minimized it.
“You a tandem master, Craig?” I aimed for distraction.
“Tandem and Accelerated Freefall,” Marie bragged. “And a rigger.”
Craig didn’t seem one for words. He kept on with his work without looking at us. I wondered if he found us just as boring.
Rick ducked into the rigger’s loft and returned with my repacked equipment.
“If I’d known you were going to jump yesterday,” Marie said, “I’d have loaned you my one-twenty.” She shot a frown at Rick. In her mind, evidently, he’d been rude to put me under the enormous Manta.
“Slow ride’s better than no ride.” I tried to give a reassuring smile. But I was nervous. Marie’s financial data was open on my screen. My hands were leaving wet marks on her mouse and keyboard.
I copied the Quicken data into a webmail application, all the while considering what it would be like to pee with no privacy in jail.
I addressed an e-mail to myself from my own webmail account, pasted in the financial files, and pressed Send.
Craig stood and stretched, then walked toward me.
I changed to my decoy screen and told him things looked good for the computer, but bad for the forecast, and when he came around to inspect my screen, we looked at cloud coverage on a Weather Channel map of southern Texas.
He went back to close the tandem rig, and I e-mailed myself the drop zone’s clientele database.
When I was satisfied with the file transfer, I pronounced Project Free Balloon Jump a success and collected my gear.
Rick and Marie asked me to come back the next day if the weather broke. Craig only gave a weak wave in my general direction as if to say “don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”
Yeah, you have a good day too, Prince Charming. I hoisted my gear onto a shoulder and headed back to the rain.
