by Leslie Wolfe
Geneva.
In a trance, he put his hands around her neck and squeezed, tighter and tighter, until she stopped thrashing.
Breathing heavily, he let her body fall to the floor and closed his eyes, taking in the intense exhilaration. What a rush, what a transforming experience!
Before he opened his eyes moments later, he knew he was addicted. He knew he’d have to do this again and again.
Then he looked at the body lying at his feet and panic prickled the roots of his hair.
How could he get rid of the body?
He rushed to the cockpit and stared at the Garmin screen. The plane was over the Gulf again, well outside the range of shore radars. If he threw her body in the Gulf, no one would ever find her.
There was only one problem. He was an experienced pilot and knew he couldn’t open the cabin door because of the immense pressure— at least not under the current flight parameters.
He sat in the pilot’s seat and made adjustments. He started a descent to 800 feet and reduced airspeed to a few knots above stall. Then he turned off the cabin pressure and swallowed a few times to relieve the pressure he felt in his ears. He set the aircraft on a holding pattern above the green-blue waters of the Gulf and went back to the cabin.
It took all his strength to push open the Gulfstream’s door. He dragged Glenda’s body to the threshold and waited until the plane executed a left turn, banking, so that her body wouldn’t hit the steps on its way down. He watched her body fall and hit the water with a splash that quickly disappeared, swallowed by the deep waters. He threw out all her clothes, her purse, and her phone, then he stood for a few long moments in the doorway, naked and erect, savoring the warm air as it brushed against his adrenaline-filled body.
Ninety minutes later, when he landed at his home base airport in Miami, all the ground crew noticed that was out of the ordinary was a tiny hint of a smile on his lips.
“How was your flight, sir?” the mechanic asked.
That unusual smile stretched his lips a little more. He took a photo of the plane with his phone camera, then replied, “Unforgettable.”
Suspect
Tess studied Brad Galloway through the one-way mirror. He’d been stewing by himself in the interview room for about an hour, the time the technician needed to crack open his laptop and get an idea of what he was hiding. Now they knew.
Michowsky had stepped out to make a call and quickly returned with a beaming smile on his face.
“What’s up, M? Did you solve the case all by yourself?”
“See for yourself,” he replied, showing her his phone.
The message displayed was from his wife, and it read, “Not pregnant. Taking diet pills.”
“Ah,” Tess reacted. “So, you’re really not ready to be a grandpa, are you?” she asked, laughing. “You still got time, don’t worry.”
He frowned at her, half-jokingly. “I’m not worried, believe me.”
“Then let’s deal with this piece of human refuse,” she said coldly and entered the interview room.
Galloway looked disheveled and at the end of his wits. He was pale and sweaty, despite the chill coming from the air conditioning vents above his head.
“Finally,” he said, springing to his feet the moment they came through the door.
“Sit down,” Michowsky ordered.
He obeyed without another word, his mouth ajar and his eyes widened in fear.
“I swear I had no idea Myra was dead,” he eventually said, while Tess took her time to review the file she’d brought along, stretching his nerves a little more.
“Let’s say I believe that,” Tess replied. “That doesn’t make you a law-abiding citizen, now, does it?”
He averted his eyes, staring at his feet for a moment. “I didn’t do anything to Myra, and I don’t know who did. You have to believe me.”
This second statement didn’t sound as truthful as his first words, not to Winnett’s experienced ear. He was telling the truth about not having known Myra was dead, but when it came to him having no idea what had happened to the young woman, there was a hint of deception in his voice that she couldn’t place. It wasn’t full-blown guilt, like she’d notice if he’d been personally involved in her disappearance or had witnessed something of any relevance. No, it was more subtle than that, yet relevant and important, because he lied about it every chance he got.
Tess looked at Michowsky and he took over.
“At this point in time,” he said, “I have to ask you if you have any statement to make that would help you with your situation,” Michowsky said.
“What situation?” Galloway replied.
“Listen,” Michowsky continued, lowering his voice as if to keep their discussion confidential from any potential observers from outside the room. “I was assigned to solve a murder, and I don’t really care about other, um, indiscretions.”
He looked at Galloway as he was speaking, noticing the impact his words had on the man. He was close to gaining his trust.
“It’s hard when you’re all alone, with a demanding job like yours, to stay on the straight and narrow all the damn time, right?” Michowsky asked, winking discreetly at Galloway.
The man nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, shooting a fearful glance at Tess, who pretended to be immersed in reviewing his file. “You know how it is,” he added. “Sometimes you just can’t help yourself.”
“So, never mind that, maybe we can make it go away, especially if we wrap things up here before Technical Services has a chance to examine your laptop, that is. Let’s stay focused on Myra.”
“Yes,” he offered quickly, almost excitedly. “What do you need to know?”
“Start from the beginning of the Sanford Wilkes presentation, and walk me through everything, again. Focus on what you might’ve left out earlier. Did anyone speak with Myra?”
“N—no,” he replied, his voice carrying hints of the same fear and deception. “Myra did her thing, and then we were gone, after I took all the questions from the client.”
“Tell me, Mr. Galloway,” Tess intervened. “Since Sanford Wilkes is headquartered here, in Miami, why fly to Houston to do this presentation?”
“That’s how the client wanted it,” he replied quickly, sounding almost relieved. “The distribution center is in Houston, and the client wanted us to meet with some of the local executives.”
“You said the client had questions, right?” Tess asked. “After the presentation?”
“Yes, quite a few,” Galloway replied, the hint of a frown appearing on his forehead.
She was getting closer to whatever the man was hiding. Now, she had to patiently peel the onion and carefully watch his body language, the behavioral analyst’s version of the hot and cold game that children play.
“Give me some examples of such questions,” she asked.
Galloway clasped his hands together, probably to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
“Um, their operations wanted to know how often we ship product, and if we’re willing to abide by their just-in-time schedules. The VP of finance wanted to know if we would accept payment at ninety days, that kind of stuff. All pretty normal.”
Cold again.
“How about any casual, friendly, or personal interactions you might have observed around Myra?” she asked.
He fidgeted in his seat and quickly ran his hand to the back of his neck, then clasped his hands together again.
Warmer.
“Nothing that I can think of,” he replied. “Maybe there was something, but I don’t remember.”
Tess sprung to her feet and slammed the folder against the metallic table, startling Galloway.
“Mr. Galloway, we found child porn on your laptop, and that’s a federal offense with a ten-year prison sentence. So, if there was ever a time for you to remember, that time is now.”
Blood drained from his face, leaving him shaking, his entire body trembling badly, as if he were about to come apart at the seams.
He stopped talking, shielding his eyes from Tess’s scrutiny.
“What else?” Michowsky demanded impatiently.
“Then he signed the contract right there, which almost never happens. I was happy, of course.”
“Walk us through it,” Tess asked, after exchanging a quick glance with Michowsky.
“When the questions were done, Sanford said something like, ‘Okay, let’s get this done already. Where do I sign?’”
“That’s it?”
He hesitated for a short moment. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Think harder,” Tess whispered in his ear. “Your life depends on it.”
“Usually, the lawyers take it to the next step and pore over contract details until both parties are satisfied,” he explained. “I’ve never seen a multimillion-dollar contract signed on the spot like that.”
“But that’s not it, am I right?” Tess pushed. “What happened after the contract was signed?”
“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.
All Tess had to do was scowl at him.
“Sanford asked where we were staying,” he blurted. “I remember thinking it was a good thing we reserved rooms in a good hotel, so we’d make a solid impression. Then I was expecting a dinner invitation to come, which is very common when big contracts are signed and relationships are being built, but that invite never came.”
Tess glanced quickly at Michowsky. Maybe the dinner invite hadn’t come for Galloway, but it had for Myra. Young Mr. Sanford was their only lead into Myra’s death, albeit very thin, almost invisible.
“Had Myra and Sanford met before the presentation?” Michowsky asked.
“No, they were introduced in my presence.”
“How did Sanford react to the introduction?” Tess asked.
“He was cold and distant, distracted. I already told you. He didn’t behave like he wanted to be there. That’s why I was so surprised when he decided to sign the deal.”
“What did he do after signing it? Sanford, I mean?” Michowsky asked.
“Said thanks and disappeared.”
“He didn’t linger, didn’t speak with Myra?”
“No,” Galloway replied calmly. “He almost rushed out of there. Five minutes later, I saw him leaving the office in his Porsche.”
Cold again. Icy cold.
“Mr. Galloway, this is the last chance I will give you,” Tess stated formally. “What are you hiding?”
He lowered his gaze and shook his head slowly. “It might be nothing,” he said bitterly. “Last thing I want to do is cast suspicion on a good client or jeopardize a deal like that.”
“Out with it already,” Tess demanded.
“There were rumors in the hotel that someone had closed an entire section of the most expensive restaurant on premises for one woman, who dined there alone, a young and beautiful brunette. I don’t know who that was, I swear.”
This time, his voice rang true.
“When we met for the client presentation the next day, I asked Myra about it, and she said she didn’t know what I was talking about. So, I guess it was someone else, not her.”
Tess and Michowsky exchanged a long glance.
It was time to go back to where it all started, The Post Oak Hotel in Houston. Just like Galloway, the hotel staff seemed to have some answers, but just like the sleazy piece of scum in front of them, they withheld information to protect the lining of their pockets.
“What’s going to happen to me now?” Galloway asked, jumping to his feet as soon as Tess opened the door. “Can I go home now? I told you everything I know.”
“You mean to tell me you lived to the ripe age of fifty-one years and you don’t know what happens to pedophiles in our justice system?” Michowsky replied.
Galloway fell back on his metallic chair, his mouth agape. “But you said—”
“I said you had the right to remain silent,” Michowsky said with a quick laugh. “I suggest you take me at my word on that.”
10
Meeting
Richard found it difficult to focus these days, especially when he was trapped in endless meetings about one boring aspect of the business or another. The best he could do was pretend to be preoccupied by something important or stare at a stack of papers, letting his mind wander. Because rich, powerful people like him were never distracted or daydreaming; they were preoccupied.
Whatever it was called, he welcomed the escape from the grinding routine of the life he hated, savoring the moments of blissful reminiscence as he remembered the girls he’d taken up in the sky.
To him, taken meant so much more. He’d taken those girls in every possible way, taken ownership of their bodies, then taken their lives. He was the last thing they saw, his was the last name they screamed. And they’d all been wonderful.
His mind wandered into the past, thinking about Glenda.
She would always remain his first, none other able to kindle a fire in his groin like the memory of her.
Others had followed after Glenda, all memorable in their unique ways, their names forever carved in the darkest recesses of his mind. But his first would always be more special than all the rest.
After Glenda, he’d waited almost an entire year until he had the courage to invite another girl for a plane ride, afraid that one day the cops would bang on his door and his life, albeit beyond miserable as an eternal slave to his viciously vengeful wife, would end in a fate worse than his wildest nightmares. But days passed and, while the cops never showed, his old urges surfaced, more and more demanding with each day.
Every time he wondered if the new girl could recreate or exceed the intensity of the thrill he’d felt when Glenda’s life was extinguished in his hands. Yet somehow, they all fell short of delivering the exhilaration he was looking for. Like a veritable addict, he needed bigger and bigger doses of the drug to get high, and the high he reached was never really high enough. Constantly yearning for something he couldn’t reach and never fully satisfied, he kept trying.
Just as a spiraling addict, he needed his fix more and more often, willing to take any risk to get another jolt of that incredible feeling. He made mistakes and he knew it; unwilling to acknowledge the need for change, he kept on going. But he’d become smarter at how he did things, isolating himself from the girls who would soon be reported missing.
He’d recruited a young, male prostitute he found on the streets of the San Francisco Tenderloin, a man who’d readily kill for him with no questions asked. He found a kindred spirit in Michel, short for Michelangelo, the name his Italian mother had cursed him with. He was the one who’d deal with the girls, deliver his messages, and, if ever needed, assist with anything he needed. Michel was perfect for the job; he’d never been on the grid. He’d never had a driver’s license, yet he moved through the world effectively and completely unseen, like a ghost. With Michel by his side, Richard had much better odds of never being caught.
He wasn’t afraid; he’d never been afraid in his life, only prepared. And he definitely didn’t want to stop.
Every woman he met, he evaluated instantly, deciding whether he wanted to take her or not. If he didn’t, the woman would never realize how lucky she’d been. If yes, he’d immediately start making plans, arranging things so that when his invitation would come, she could only accept.
His evaluation criteria remained the same, a strong resemblance to Geneva would be an instant qualifier for the girl who would soon have her life taken without beginning to understand why. A gratifying rehearsal after another, all in the hope that someday, when things would be just right, he could get the bitch from hell aboard his plane for a final, masterful fix that would make the earth move like never before.
One da
y he’d ask Geneva to fly to Houston, or someplace else with him. One day soon.
It was about bloody time.
He’d been married to her for ten endless years, celebrated without joy only two days before with an excruciating family function that brought the Sanford and Wilkes clans together for hours of mindless chatter and political plays.
Ten long years.
All this time, waiting for the opportunity to break free, making plans that never turned to reality, and squirrelling away cash in decent quantities to have, if his proclivities ever caught up with him and he needed to make a quick exit.
Since Glenda, he’d pushed himself to be the best husband possible, willing to take his wife’s wrath but taking it with dignity and a little humor, slowly eroding her distrust and dissolving her anger. Just because he’d seen what it felt like to have someone’s life end at his will, just because it pleased him. In a way, he’d killed Geneva over and over, his fantasies so real he was sometimes startled when he ran into her in the living room of his huge mansion.
It didn’t matter that Geneva had given him a son, or so everyone thought. Little did they know that the boy came into existence as a coldhearted plan conceived by the two warring spouses. Richard, pushed by his father’s demand for a son, took the request to Geneva as coldly as a business proposition, knowing exceedingly well he had no chance to land in her bed ever again. His wife, after the shouting match triggered by his request, took the matter into her own hands. He was promptly invited to make deposits at an in vitro clinic, whose chief doctor used them, in theory at least, to impregnate his wife. Seeing how the boy’s hair was a reddish blond, reminding him more of his wife’s doctor than of his own physiognomy, Richard never grew close to the boy. He’d never challenged him either, knowing that while Geneva was still alive, little could be done about the bastard living in his house.
