Competition Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  “Drake! Look out!” My heart felt like it had gotten an injection of white lightning.

  He pulled up and swung the aircraft in a sharp right arc. “Damned idiot!” he cursed. “What was that fool doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I panted. “I just saw him at the last second.”

  He brought the aircraft in a complete circle around the rig and hovered beside the landing pad for a full minute, waiting to see if there were any other problems or anyone trying to get our attention. Everything appeared perfectly normal and quiet. He finally eased her to the left and set the skids gently down.

  “I’m gonna have a word with their crew chief,” he told me over the intercom as we waited for the turbine engine to wind down. “You can go ahead and open the cargo compartment so they can unload their gear, if you’d like.”

  “Okay, no problem.” I glanced sideways at my husband. “You doing all right?”

  He blinked once then looked at me. “Yeah, fine. You?”

  “I’m good. Just scared the hell out of me is all.”

  He reached over and took my hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. He pulled the rotor brake and shut down the engine. Tightening the cyclic and pulling off his headset, he opened his door and stepped down. I followed suit, noticing that Colin Finnie was walking across the platform. He extended his hand to Drake.

  No one else had come out yet, so I followed Drake, curious as to how the conversation would go.

  “Sorry about that, man,” Finnie began. “I don’t know . . .”

  “What the hell was that all about?” Drake demanded. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so angry. “Who was that asshole?”

  “Now wait a—”

  “Okay, sorry. Who was that guy? And what did he think he was doing out there?”

  Finnie shrugged. “I’ll find out.”

  “He’s just lucky I wasn’t coming in any faster. He’d be a dead man right now.”

  “Look, I’ll find out who it was and he’ll get a reprimand. Okay?”

  “Actually, we could have three people dead now and a million dollar aircraft destroyed. I think it’s worth a little more than a reprimand. This wasn’t some cute little teenage prank,” Drake continued.

  Finnie’s mouth closed in a tight line and his face had gone a new shade of pink. I could see that Drake was losing his sympathy. I touched Drake’s sleeve unobtrusively.

  “Thanks, Mr. Finnie,” I interrupted. “We just want him to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  Three men came walking out just then, headed toward the helicopter. None of them wore blue jeans and a green shirt. I walked over to open the cargo doors for them to unload their supplies. Twenty yards away, I watched Finnie turn on his heel and head into his office. Drake turned back toward the aircraft, watching the men carry boxes away from it. As they walked away, he said, “If I got the introductions right, those three guys were Tolliver, Robson and Barrie.”

  I looked after them, wishing I’d paid more attention. Then I noticed, standing in the shadows beside the structure, the man who’d given me such a dirty look yesterday. Brankin.

  Chapter 7

  His dark hair and blue shirt ruled him out as the man who’d run across our path, but I’d just about be willing to bet money that he was somewhere behind the stunt. He glared at Drake’s retreating back before he realized that I’d spotted him. A mocking smile appeared on his face and he touched his brow, as if in salute to me, then turned and went through a doorway.

  My blood pressure went up about ten points. What was this guy’s game? His attitude toward the helicopter was pretty clear, and now it looked like he’d come to include Drake and me in his hatred. Well, know thine enemy, I thought.

  “Can you watch things here a minute?” I said to Drake when he reached me. “I’ve gotta do something.”

  Before he could object, I stalked toward Finnie’s office and pulled the door open. It was one of those like on a ship, where you have to step up a few inches to clear the sill. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me just as he looked up from his paperwork.

  “Mr. Finnie, I want to apologize for Drake’s outburst out there,” I said, stepping closer to his desk. “He’s normally a very even-tempered man. It’s just that whoever did this really gave us a scare.”

  “I know,” Finnie replied. “I didn’t see it happen, myself.” He seemed to remember his manners. “Here, sit,” he said indicating a chair in front of the desk. “And call me Colin.”

  “Thanks, Colin. Look, we don’t want to cause trouble here. We’re just trying to do a job.”

  “I know. And I don’t think this is anything personal. No one knows you and your husband. They’re not out to hurt you.”

  “Then why the dirty looks and why this stupid attempt to crash our helicopter?”

  He fiddled with a pen and straightened the edges of the papers on the desk, stalling for time. “The oil men here are union,” he began patiently. “The boat operators out there are union.”

  I’d seen a number of boats come and go from the rig and wondered about their purpose.

  “The company wants to go toward using helicopters for various services, including emergency evacuations, as well as transporting crews back and forth.”

  “And the union boat operators want the business instead,” I interjected.

  “Exactly. They’ve been lobbying the government to create some regulations that would restrict the helicopter operators so severely that they wouldn’t find it practical to do this kind of work.”

  “As if we don’t already have enough regulations to deal with,” I mumbled.

  “Probably so,” Colin agreed. “That bit of it isn’t my department, as they say. I don’t know what’s involved from any side of it. Except that I’ve got to keep an oil rig running as efficiently as possible.”

  “Do you think any of these guys would actually go so far as to sabotage an aircraft or cause an accident?” I asked, knowing full well that one had just tried it.

  Colin rubbed his scalp with both hands. “I think most of ’em are men, just like men everywhere, and they want to do their work and get their paychecks and go out for a beer on Friday night and that’s about it. I just don’t know how serious their leaders are about getting rid of the competition.”

  “Some of them are pretty openly hostile, though.”

  “Some are,” he admitted. “And I’ll try to keep an eye on them.”

  I sensed he was being straight with me. I thanked him for the information and headed back outside.

  Drake gave me a questioning look as I approached the aircraft, but he didn’t say anything. Two men were carrying away the last of the tools we’d brought in the cargo.

  “Shall we go in and see if they’ll offer us some lunch?” he asked.

  “Um . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if we don’t leave the ship unattended.”

  “Why? What did you find out?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Do we have any passengers or cargo to take back with us?”

  “I thought that’s what you went inside to ask Finnie,” he said.

  “No . . . that was something else. Let’s just see how soon we can get off this rig. I’ll stay with the aircraft if you want to find out,” I suggested.

  He gave me a look of curiosity but didn’t push it. I found a bottle of window cleaner and a soft cloth while he went to ask for the manifest. I proceeded to wipe the salt spray off the Plexiglas windows of the aircraft while keeping a sharp eye out toward anyone who might approach.

  Drake returned in a couple of minutes, shaking his head. “Nothing going back this trip,” he said. “That was certainly an expensive run for the company.”

  “That one express shipment from Houston must have really been urgent, huh?”

  I put away the cleaning supplies and we took our seats, this time with me at the controls. We put on our headsets and Drake went over the startup procedure with me.

  Onc
e we’d lifted off and safely put the oil rig behind us, I told him what Colin Finnie had explained to me about some of the rig’s crewmen siding with the boat operators. He clamped his mouth shut and didn’t say anything, but I could tell it was eating at him because he has this way of grinding his teeth so one little jaw muscle jumps. I gave him fifteen minutes before I spoke.

  “So, what are you thinking?” I finally asked.

  He turned to stare out the side window for a minute, then his eyes came back to me. “I’m thinking that I’d like to go back there, find that black-haired SOB who’s probably the one behind all this, and thrash him.”

  I started to open my mouth with some platitude about how that really wouldn’t do any good, but thought better of it.

  “And I’m thinking that for our safety,” he continued, “it would probably be smarter to call Brian and tell him we’re off the job. He didn’t exactly warn me that we had enemies out there.”

  I waited again, rechecking my GPS heading and making a minor course adjustment.

  “At the very least I should talk to him tonight and let him know what’s going on. Whatever it comes down to, I’m gonna do what it takes to protect your life and mine. But he stands to lose a couple million dollars worth of equipment if things get really nasty.” His voice had become calmer during this last statement and I figured the worst of the storm was over.

  “I wonder if Brian would want to consider putting the two helicopters in a hangar at night, too. They’re pretty vulnerable out there on the ramp after everyone goes home,” I suggested.

  “True. I better see if I can get through to him before we leave for the day.”

  In the distance, I could see the coastline looming ahead. Twenty minutes later, we’d crossed it and were making our approach to the airport. Drake had me practice a couple of touch and goes once we’d determined that no other air traffic would be affected. I had a little trouble getting used to the fact that the pedals operated in the opposite directions than those I was used to, but otherwise I was beginning to feel much more at ease with the French machine.

  By the time we’d shut down and tied down the rotor blades, I was starving. I suggested heading into town for lunch, as I peeled out of the clumsy survival suit.

  “I think I’ll see if Meggie has a daytime phone number for Brian. I want to get in touch with him before the end of the day, if I can.”

  I could see this stretching into another hour, minimum--more if Brian gave him alternate instructions for storing the aircraft overnight. I left Drake to the final cleanup and I opted to walk over to the main terminal building and see what I could come up in the way of sustenance. The General Aviation building was only a hop away from the main terminal if one could cross part of a runway to do it, but since that’s severely frowned upon, I had to follow a chain-link fence for about a quarter of a mile before I found my way into the other structure. Once inside, I located a vendor who sold sandwiches and chose two that looked fairly fresh. Bottled iced tea and tiny bags of potato crisps rounded out the meal. I fished through the pockets of my jeans until I came up with some Scottish pound notes and was soon on my way. The hike back went more quickly, now that I could smell the bread and ham scent from my purchases.

  Balancing everything precariously in the crook of my arm, I turned the knob of the little office at Air-Sea Helicopters and nearly dropped the whole burden as I looked inside.

  Meggie was sprawled on the floor in Drake’s arms with blood running down her cheek.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh my god,” I groaned, the words coming out no louder than a whisper. Meggie’s face was dead-white, her body completely limp.

  The room had been trashed. File folders and papers carpeted the floor and every other horizontal surface. Brown liquid—accompanied by the sharp scent of coffee—coated the papers on the desk and trailed across the room where it saturated the cushions of an upholstered sofa.

  “Get me some wet paper towels,” Drake ordered as soon as he saw me. He continued to pat Meggie’s cheek calling out to get her to wake up.

  I planted my burden of food in the midst of the coffee soaked papers on the desk and ran to the cubbyhole bathroom in the corner. Ripping a length of paper towels from the roll, I doused them in cold water and squeezed out the excess. I dashed back to Drake with the sodden mass dripping in my hands.

  “What happened here?” I asked stupidly.

  “She was unconscious when I came in,” Drake said. “I’ve gotten a few groans out of her, but she hasn’t—”

  I pulled the bunch of wet towels in half and handed one gob to Drake, who pressed it to Meggie’s forehead. I dabbed at the blood on her cheek, then decided I might do more good by cleaning her up later. I ran the cold towel over her wrists and forearms, then dabbed her eyelids and temples, anyplace I could think of.

  Gradually, her eyes began to twitch behind closed lids and she mumbled.

  Drake coaxed her. “Meggie . . . Meggie. Wake up and talk to me. It’s Drake and Charlie. We’re here and everything’s okay.” His soothing voice that had comforted me many times began to reach her.

  “What . . .” A little color rose in her face and she began to look less dead.

  “Meggie,” I said, “you’re at the office. Charlie and Drake are here. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I looked at Drake as her eyelids fluttered. “Should we call 911 or whatever they have here?” I whispered.

  “No, no, I’ll be okay,” Meggie moaned, stirring awkwardly. Her eyes opened and she jerked when she realized Drake was cradling her in his arms. “What happened?” she asked, pulling free of him and sitting up.

  “We were going to ask you the same thing,” Drake told her, smiling at her progress. “Get a little frustrated with the paperwork?” he joked.

  Meggie propped her elbows on her jeaned knees and held her head. Her eyes focused for the first time on the layer of papers carpeting the floor.

  “What!” She reached out and noticed blood on her hand. Turning it carefully, she examined the palm and the back. “What has happened to me?” she queried with frantic eyes.

  “We found you here,” Drake said. “We’ve just come in from Platform 6. We left early this morning, before you came in. Someone must have attacked you.”

  “That man—” she said. Her eyes darted between Drake and me, then around the room.

  “No one’s here now,” I assured her. “Who was it?”

  “A man . . . I’m trying to remember . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Drake said. “It’ll come to you. Let’s just find you a more comfortable place to sit.”

  He helped her to her feet and kept an arm around her waist as she tested her legs.

  “Sit over here,” he said, pointing her toward the couch.

  “Not there,” I interrupted. “It’s been soaked with coffee. How about the chair?”

  I held Meggie’s office chair steady and Drake led her to it.

  “Coffee?” Meggie said, as she settled into the chair. “There was . . . I was just making the coffee . . .”

  “Do you remember what time you got here?” Drake asked.

  “Oh, eight o’clock. My usual.”

  Drake and I exchanged a look. Had she been unconscious nearly four hours?

  “But I got your message about the extra early flight, so I didn’t make any coffee right away. I—I think I returned some phone calls first.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple.

  “We better get you some medical attention,” I suggested. “If you don’t want an ambulance, let me at least drive you to a doctor.”

  She nodded. “That man came in . . . I didn’t know him.” Her face went white again and I put my hand on the back of her head and shoved it down between her knees.

  “Do you know where there’s a hospital?” I asked Drake. He nodded. “You better drive her to the ER. I’ll stay here and straighten up. Maybe I can find some evidence that will tell us who did this.”

  “Lock yourself in
,” he said.

  Meggie’s color had returned somewhat when she raised her head, but I wasn’t confident that she wouldn’t faint again any minute. Drake and I got on either side of her and helped her to the car. He got behind the wheel while I fastened her seatbelt and reclined the seat to make her a bit more comfortable.

  “Wait just a second,” I said. I rushed back into the office and located her purse, apparently untouched by the assailant, and carried it out to her. “She’s bound to need her ID and some kind of insurance card or something at the hospital,” I told Drake.

  “Meggie, you just relax. I’ll call your mother and she can meet you there.”

  At the mention of her mother, her eyes welled with bright moisture.

  “What’s her number?” I asked.

  “Two four two nine,” she said.

  That meant it was local. The prefixes in the area were all the same. And it meant Meggie probably wasn’t in too bad of shape, if she could call numbers to mind that quickly. I squeezed her hand through the open window.

  “Take care. I’ll come along later.”

  I watched Drake slowly back the car out of its spot and gently guide it past the speed bumps in the road. I turned back to face the mess in the office.

  It hadn’t miraculously gone away, and I wasn’t sure how much help I’d be in getting it straightened out. I had no idea about Meggie’s filing system, but it was a good bet that the intruder had scattered most of it to the wind. I slumped into her chair to reconnoiter the situation. All four drawers of the tall file cabinet stood open, most nearly empty. My guess was that the man had pulled handfuls of folders out and flung them across the room. The floor of the entire office was at least an inch deep in paper. He’d then evidently grabbed a pot full of coffee and flung it as well.

  Was Meggie watching all this, or had he hit her first and she lay unconscious on the floor as he ransacked the place? If we were lucky, maybe she’d remember more details and help fill in some of the blanks.

  Thinking of Meggie again reminded me to call her family. I punched in the digits and listened as it rang four times, five, six. I was just about to hang up when a breathless woman answered.