by Leslie Wolfe
Michowsky pulled over at the main entrance of Southern Chemical and Paper and flashed his badge at the security guard who rushed to send the Suburban on its way to a parking spot.
They were escorted quickly into Galloway’s office by a flustered and gossip-hungry assistant who did her best to uncover the reason why law enforcement was visiting her boss. When she opened the door to Galloway’s office and showed them in, Tess saw a glint of amused excitement in her eyes. She’d probably paste her ear to the door as soon as she closed it.
Galloway stood abruptly as they walked in and barely glanced at the credentials Tess presented. He was an overweight and sweaty individual with a worried look on his face. He wore his tie too tight around his neck, which might’ve contributed to the congested aspect of his skin and his overall demeanor of panicked discomfort.
Or maybe their presence had that effect on Galloway.
He invited them to sit, and Tess obliged, noticing a laptop bag open under the man’s desk. Inside, she could see a laptop, but there was a second laptop in use on his desk, among scattered paperwork and several pens bearing the company logo.
“What is this about?” he asked, clearing his voice before he could speak clearly.
Fear had that effect, to constrict the throat and dilate the pupils. One look at Galloway’s eyes confirmed Tess’s theory.
“We’re looking into the disappearance of your employee, Myra Lambert,” Tess replied.
“Disappearance?” Galloway reacted. “When she didn’t show up for work this morning, I assumed she was jet-lagged, nothing more.”
“You two were on a business trip together, right?” Michowsky asked.
“Yes,” he admitted, his nervousness through the roof. He constantly rubbed his hands together, and his eyes moved from Tess to Michowsky and back, and then focused on various points in space, avoiding them altogether.
“Was there anyone else with you and Ms. Lambert?” Tess asked. “From Southeast, I mean.”
“N—no, just us. Usually, we don’t need engineering staff to make a presentation and close a deal.”
“When did you fly back from Houston?” Michowsky asked.
“Um, yesterday evening,” he cleared his throat again and continued. “The flight landed at seven or so.”
“And wasn’t Ms. Lambert supposed to fly back with you?”
“She was . . . but I believe she missed her flight.”
“She didn’t show at the airport? That’s what you’re saying?” Tess asked.
Galloway was definitely hiding something. He was scared and elusive, but, at least so far, he wasn’t lying.
“She didn’t show, yes.”
“Weren’t you two supposed to share a cab from the hotel?”
He lowered his panicked gaze before replying. “She, um, didn’t like traveling with me. I don’t know why, but she even told me once she preferred to be by herself.”
“Was she booked on the same return flight with you?” Tess asked.
“Yes,” he replied reluctantly, after hesitating for a long moment.
“So, when she didn’t show, what did you do?”
“I called her, but the call went to voicemail,” he replied, touching his face briefly and shielding his eyes.
Tess didn’t need to consult Myra’s phone records to know he was lying. He hadn’t called her.
“Are you sure about that, Mr. Galloway?” she asked calmly. “I have to remind you at this point that making a false statement to law enforcement is a felony.”
“Ugh, sorry . . . I wanted to call her, but now I remember the flight attendant told me to turn off my phone.” He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, leaving a wet stain on the blue fabric. “I assumed she decided to change her flight, that’s all. I don’t micromanage my employees. It’s a free country.”
“How did the presentation go?” Tess asked, changing direction abruptly. She noticed the tension in his shoulders dissipating a little. He swallowed and breathed a little easier.
“It went really well. I had my doubts, being it’s such a big account, but we did our work really well to prepare for the presentation, and everyone showed up, so we were able to close the deal.” Satisfaction seeped through his words, a bit of pride too.
“Who was it with?” Michowsky asked.
“With Sanford Wilkes,” he replied without skipping a beat. “The company will buy its industrial packaging materials from us. It’s a ten-year contract. We’re hoping to add janitorial to that, for the entire enterprise.”
Michowsky pushed a page torn from his notepad in front of Galloway. “We’ll need the names of everyone who attended the presentation.”
“Sure,” he replied, sounding relieved. “Young Mr. Sanford was there, and all his top executives from finance, operations, and marketing,” he listed, while scribbling names. He consulted the calendar on his laptop every now and then and kept writing. “Sanford’s assistant was there too, and someone from the warehouse, and that’s about it.”
“Did anything unusual happen during the meeting?” Tess asked, frowning.
What was he afraid of? His reaction was paradoxical.
“No, not that I can think of,” Galloway replied. “Sanford was a bit cold and rushed at first, but that’s not unusual with the billionaire types. I was surprised he stayed through the entire thing. He had good questions though.”
“Did anyone interact with Ms. Lambert more than others or in an unusual way?”
He shook his head. “No. She did her thing, then I took all the questions and we sealed the deal. There was no dinner invitation for us, nothing like that. They’re just too big to care. We’re not a strategic vendor to them, but we hope to be.”
The more corporate lingo the man spewed, the more confident he sounded. Tess needed him thrown off his game, and quickly.
“When was this presentation? Yesterday?”
“No, the day before,” he replied, without skipping a beat.
“Why not return the night before? It’s a short flight.”
“We did the client engagement session yesterday morning. To save time.”
“And?” Michowsky asked, while Tess leaned back against her chair, thinking, studying him closely.
Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened during the business portion of the trip. Whatever he was hiding, it had nothing to do with that.
Galloway shrugged. “Just . . . nothing. An operational readiness assessment, to see how we will engage and when. The deal was signed the night before.”
“Then what happened?” Tess asked. “Walk me through it, step by step.”
No nervousness yet.
“Myra and I shared a cab to the hotel. We each went to our respective rooms. I checked out and left for the airport. The rest you know.”
All his earlier anxiety was now gone.
“How about the night before? After signing the deal? Did you celebrate?” Michowsky asked.
“No. I invited Myra to join me for dinner, but she declined, saying she preferred to order room service and be on FaceTime with her boyfriend.”
“And you didn’t see her that night?” Michowsky pressed, but whatever had been there earlier to cause his anxiety was now gone.
“No. Not until we went to Sanford for the client engagement session yesterday morning.”
“So, you have no idea where Ms. Lambert could be?” Michowsky asked.
“None whatsoever.” He shrugged again; one shoulder rose slightly higher than the other.
Bingo.
“Tell me, Mr. Galloway. Why do you need two laptops?” Tess asked.
Color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly gray. His eyes dropped to the laptop bag at the foot of his desk. Whatever he had to hide was on that laptop and could hold the key to catching Myra’s killer.
“This? It’s easier for me,” he croaked, his throat constricted again. He cleared it and continued. “When I travel, I mean.”
“Could I take a look?” Tess as
ked, extending her hand and waiting, noticing how new drops of sweat popped at the roots of his hair.
He tugged at the knot of his tie, releasing it a good two inches. “Um, don’t you need a warrant for that?”
Tess withdrew her hand. “Sure. We’ll get one right away. Until I’m back with the warrant, my colleague, Detective Michowsky, will keep you company to make sure no evidence is removed from either laptop.”
She stood, getting ready to leave. Michowsky’s eyes met hers in silent agreement, while Galloway tugged at his tie some more.
He sprung from his chair, agitated. “How about me?” he asked, his voice a higher pitch. “Am I supposed to sit here and just wait?”
“We could place you under arrest instead, if you prefer,” Michowsky offered.
He backed away abruptly, panicked. “No . . . please, don’t. I don’t know anything, I swear.”
Tess nodded to Michowsky. She’d seen enough.
The detective took out a pair of cuffs and grabbed Galloway’s arm, twisting it behind his back.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Myra Lambert. You have the right—”
“Wait, murder?” he shouted. “Myra’s dead?”
Mile High
Glenda wiped the blood dripping from her mouth as soon as he untied her hands. Breathing heavily and still sniffling, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks, she sat on the edge of the bed with difficulty, then stood hesitantly, holding on to the handle built into the headboard. Where she’d sat, she left a blood stain on the white leather he’d have to wipe clean before his ground crew boarded the plane.
Damn it.
Richard was a little disappointed.
Glenda had shown lots of potential, seeming full of gumption and promising a fierce fight, but instead, she’d screamed until she’d run out of air, then started whimpering and sat still, letting him do anything he wanted to her, but it was like taking a warm corpse, not a living being. Despite his release, he was still tormented, yearning for the exhilaration he felt after subduing a beautiful creature who’d rather die fighting than be possessed by him.
But not this one. For the most part, she’d just lain there, delivering a deflating concert of wails and sobs that had almost withered him to the point of killing his libido completely.
Bummer.
Now he had all that bloody mess to clean up from the reclined bed, a couple of the seats, and the carpet in countless places, and who knows how much her silence was going to cost him.
In retrospect, taking a member of the fourth estate on the flight might’ve been a terrible idea. What if he paid her off and she decided to talk after all? And what on earth possessed him to take her on the plane? Why not take her to a no-tell motel like he’d done with the rest of them, a place anonymous and discreet, from where he could disappear without a trace.
The plane complicated things.
His intentions had been to impress her, to woo her even. His public image needed some professional help, and she’d seemed like the right person for it. But seeing her aboard his jet, vulnerable, available, and willing had pushed all his buttons. He’d set the autopilot on and took her to the back.
That’s where he lost control, the control he’d promised himself he wouldn’t lose with her, no matter what. Now he had bloodstains to clean and a potential disaster waiting to happen, by the name of Glenda Phelps.
He looked at her and found her wearing her torn dress, shoes in hand, looking disheveled, lost. She had nowhere to go, that was the immense beauty of his Gulfstream G650ER. He loved that plane and was thrilled with the possibilities the bedroom in the aft compartment opened for him. Maybe Glenda wouldn’t be the last guest to be shown the extended tour of the jet. It had cost him a fortune to have that section built, but it was worth every dime of his tax write-off.
“I—I won’t tell a soul,” she whimpered, “just please, let me go.”
He laughed, a quick, cruel cackle. “Am I to assume our interview has been canceled?”
He stood and walked to the cockpit, still naked, enjoying the aircraft’s powerful ventilation on his heated body.
“We’ll still do the interview,” she rushed to reassure him. “I’ll say whatever you want me to say.”
He weighed his options for a long moment. He imagined her deplaning upon arrival, blood still trickling on the inside of her leg, dress torn at the cleavage, her lip swollen, her left eye almost completely shut. No way he could have his ground crew see her like that.
The plane was great for his flavor of sex, but motels had benefits. No way he could just up and go now. He had to deal with this mess.
But maybe there was a way. Maybe he could land at a different airport, a small one preferably, so she’d hail a cab and go home without being seen.
He opened an overhead compartment where his flight attendant kept her work clothes and extracted a few items.
“Put these on,” he said, throwing the blouse and skirt at Glenda’s feet. “Wipe yourself clean, and put your shoes on.”
She rushed to obey him, stifling her sobs.
He sat in the pilot’s seat and looked at the maps. He’d flown far over the Gulf of Mexico. It would take him another hour to get above land. A little research found a smaller airport outside of the crowded areas of South Florida. He set the new destination and let the autopilot take over the flying. Then he went in the cabin, where he found Glenda dressed in new, clean clothes, attempting to smile through tears.
“How much do you want?” he asked without any introduction. His voice was cold, businesslike, matter-of-fact. He’d done this part so many times in the past, it felt like routine for him.
“What do you mean?” she asked quietly, glancing at him for a split second, then looking away.
“To keep quiet about the best sex you’re ever had,” he replied, laughing again. “So, how much?”
Her whimpers stopped. They always stopped crying at that particular point in the conversation. Apparently, one cannot cry and think numbers at the same time.
“I’ll give you time to think until we land,” he said, then went back to the cockpit. “Get in here,” he ordered, “I need you seated and strapped in for the landing.”
He was still naked, the promise of a new erection touching his senses when he saw her wince as she took her seat. She’d remember him for a while, that was a guarantee.
“If I drop you off at Pahokee Airport. Will you be okay from there?” he asked, retaking the controls and preparing for descent. “Anyone hears about our little escapade and the deal is off.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, nodding.
“There will be an NDA to sign, later today, and the payment will be cash,” he added, sounding almost courteous, much to his own surprise.
There was no tower to contact at this airport, so he lined up with the runway and adjusted his speed. He extended the flaps and deployed the landing gear, then glanced at Glenda.
The look he saw in her eyes stunned him to the point of almost botching the landing. It was as if Geneva had come to possess Glenda’s body. Her eyes were dry and cold, her swollen lips tight, her attitude completely metamorphosed into something he recognized too well.
“I think I know what I want,” she said dryly as he made the final approach. “This plane would be nice, for starters. And about four million a year, for the rest of your life. If I need more money to operate it, be kind and let me know what to ask for.”
“Huh,” he reacted, his eyes riveted to the cockpit controls. “Not going to happen. You might’ve been reasonably compliant back there and a decent fuck, but you sure as hell ain’t worth that much.”
“Then your pretty, little, rich wife will kick you to the curb for the mile-high roll we just did here. Entirely your call. Unless you’d prefer to go to jail for rape?”
The stall warning came on, an indication that the touchdown speed had been reached.
In a split second, his decision was made. Just as his wheels were touching the runwa
y, he gave the roaring engines gas, pushing the thrust levers all the way up and lifting the nose.
As soon as he could take his hand off the controls, he slapped Glenda into silent compliance, then set the autopilot.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, then grabbed her by the hair.
“No, please, no,” she whimpered. “Forget I said anything,” she pleaded.
“What kind of stupid do you think I am?” he shouted, dragging her toward the back of the plane, unsure what he was going to do with her. All he knew was that he wanted her silenced.
Forever.
“You’re not a killer,” Glenda said. “You like rough sex, and that’s no crime. Please, let me go. Please,” she wailed, letting herself drop to the floor as soon as he let go of her hair.
“How the hell do you know what I am?” he said, feeling waves of rage ripping through his body. Looking at Glenda, he so desperately wished it was Geneva sobbing and pleading at his feet, that he thought he saw his wife’s uncompromising, steel-blue eyes looking up at him through a veil of tears.
“Please,” she cried again. “Just let me go. I’ll do anything you want.” As she said the words, she collapsed to the floor, her shoulders heaving with every shattered breath she took.
Something must’ve changed in his eyes as he decided what to do with her, because she panicked and started hitting him, her arms flailing, her body thrashing desperately to get free of him.
“They know where I am,” she said, spewing the words quickly and out of breath. “My editor knows. He’ll tell the cops.”
He slapped her across the face, his senses awakened by her resistance. Maybe there was still time to erase the earlier disappointment. He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the back of the plane, while she screamed and kicked and clawed.
“You’re a lame piece of shit,” she yelled, staring him in the eyes with dilated pupils filled with rage. “An impotent who needs a plane to rape a woman, a no-good piece of worthless excuse for a human being. I hope you fry for this.” All her fear was gone, and what was left behind he easily recognized.
