Trace Evidence (The Heir Hunter Book 2)

by Diane Capri

  “The guy I’m looking for was last seen at a private airfield outside of Reno.” Flint put the transmission in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. “He rented a floatplane.”

  “I’m looking at this place online right now. That lake is surrounded by mountains on all sides. It’s a basin like Tahoe, but it’s a lot smaller. You can get some nasty crosscurrents going in a place like that. Landing’s tricky, too. There’s only one way to come at it and have enough distance to set down.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.” He wound around Houston’s surface streets, moving toward home. “This guy didn’t have those skills, apparently.”

  “He crashed his plane into that lake?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He had two passengers. Their bodies were found a couple of years after the crash. They never found the pilot. He’s the guy we’re looking for.”

  “So you’re hiring deepwater rescue? That’s not my thing. And even if it was, you’re gonna need guys down there with special equipment, which I don’t have.” Drake’s tone changed, his voice deepened. “There’s a lot of stories about the number of bodies on the bottom of Lake Tahoe. I’ve seen some photographs. It can be nasty, deep in those mountain lakes.”

  “We’re not doing any of that.” Flint ran a hand over his hair and cupped the back of his neck. He let out a long stream of air as he exhaled and pulled his car into his garage. “The woman who hired me doesn’t think he’s at the bottom of the lake. She says divers already looked and his body has never been found. She thinks he survived.”

  “How does she know?”

  This was the part that troubled Flint, too. “Dunno.”

  “Who’s the client?”

  Flint hesitated before he replied, “Veronica Beaumont.”

  Drake whistled long and low. “So this is a guy who went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back? Because if I was hooked up with her, that’s what I’d want to do every minute of every day.”

  Flint collected his laptop and left the car on his way to the house. “So are you in or not?”

  “Life is too short, man.” Drake paused and Flint let the silence linger for a long time. Drake finally said, “I take it there’s a big payday at the end of this.”

  “There always is. I wouldn’t take the case otherwise. Especially not for a woman like Veronica Beaumont.” Flint was starting to think this job might not be as bad as it looked at first, though.

  “When do you need to go?” Drake asked. “I’ve got to arrange some things and rearrange some others.”

  “As soon as you can be ready.”

  “I’ll call you back.” Drake ended the call. Flint was inside now. He dropped his car keys on the kitchen counter, grabbed a cold bottle of water, took the laptop into the den, and went back to his research while he waited. One thing he’d learned a long time ago was that he could never be overprepared.

  Almost a full hour passed before Drake called back. “Okay. Fastest thing to do is exactly what your guy did. Fly commercial to Reno and rent a floatplane at the same airfield where he rented his.”

  Flint nodded. He figured that would be the answer. Josh Hallman was looking like a worthy challenge. At least he’d done his homework on the front end.

  After reviewing all the material on the thumb drive, he still felt uneasy about Beaumont in many ways. He had honed his instincts over time into quick reflexes that triggered faster than his brain could work through the facts. Instincts had saved his ass more than once. He wasn’t about to ignore them now. But if she was as desperate as she claimed, why not tell him everything? What the hell was she hiding?

  “I’m not sure where all this is headed, and I don’t want to be dependent on commercial air travel. Let’s take the Pilatus. It will give us the flexibility we need.” The Pilatus claimed to be the world’s first superversatile jet. It was designed to operate from short paved or unpaved surfaces and remote fields. Flexibility was key. The PC-24 could land in well under two thousand feet, and Drake had access to the jets.

  “Flexibility? For what? How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

  “You know how this goes. One thing leads to another. Field conditions change. I hope we’ll be back in less than twenty-four hours, but I never make plans based on assumptions.”

  Drake paused a few seconds longer this time before he said, “I’ll make some calls.”

  “Great.” Flint disconnected.

  It was highly likely that Josh Hallman’s body was at the bottom of Red Maple Lake. He understood why Beaumont didn’t want to believe Hallman had died, but the reality was staring him in the face. Flint didn’t really want the job and he didn’t need the money. He’d promised Maddy. Otherwise he’d give this up now and turn his time to something that was likely to be more successful.

  He tossed a few clothes and supplies into a bag. After that, he ordered a pizza and settled in for the night. He thoroughly reviewed everything Beaumont had supplied, noted the missing pieces, and then moved on to more research of his own. By the time he’d consumed the pizza, he’d formed a fairly complete picture of Beaumont and Hallman. He’d also researched Jamie’s medical condition and the bone marrow transplant procedures.

  Everything he found pointed toward a watery grave for Josh Hallman. And a sad outcome for Jamie Beaumont. Flint thought long and hard about Maddy. Would she be satisfied if he found Hallman dead and her friend was no better off than before Flint had taken on the hunt?

  Not only no, but hell no. Maddy believed Flint could do anything. She was seven. Until now, he’d never let her down. But the facts here simply did not look promising.

  He opened a beer and paced, thinking about the situation, as well as he knew the facts. One thing didn’t seem to fit. Veronica Beaumont was a smart and successful bitch. Would she pay him five million dollars in advance, and another five when he found Hallman, if it was more than likely that the man was lying at the bottom of that lake somewhere?

  She would not.

  Which meant Veronica Beaumont had something more than a Ouija board telling her that Hallman was still alive. She was that kind of woman. She kept secrets.

  Screw that. He would do the job, but he wouldn’t leave Houston without full intel. He glanced at the clock. It was late, after midnight. He called Beaumont’s cell phone. “I’m on my way over. I have a couple of questions before I head out tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll be available for thirty minutes,” she said, and hung up.

  He pressed the disconnect button and dropped the phone into his pocket, shaking his head. What a piece of work. If he hadn’t promised Maddy, he’d give Beaumont walking papers right now and move on. He had better things to do.

  He poured the half-full bottle of beer down the drain, snagged his keys off the kitchen counter, and headed out the back door to his car.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Red Maple Lake, California

  Six Years Ago

  After Josh opened the door, he moved deeper inside the Cessna’s cabin. They had to get out of the plane. Otherwise, they were headed for a watery grave for sure.

  Both Dan and Skip had been injured in the crash. Dan’s scalp was bleeding from what looked like a laceration inside the hairline above his left ear. Josh wasn’t a doctor but he’d been trained in basic field first aid. He’d rarely had to use that training before, but he knew from experience that scalp wounds produced a lot of blood, even if they were not serious. He needed the first aid kit, which was in the back.

  “Skip? Hand me the first aid kit. It’s on the floor behind the seat.” Skip moaned in response. There was very little room inside the cabin. It was difficult to see behind the copilot’s seat, where Josh had been tending to Dan. The left side of the plane was sinking. Water seemed to enter the cabin much too fast. Dan had to get out of that copilot’s seat or he’d soon be submerged.

  Skip groaned again, louder. Dan’s blood had begun to coagulate. The flow from his sc
alp laceration slowed, but he seemed dazed. Not quite with it. Josh checked his vital signs quickly and he seemed okay, considering.

  He patted Dan’s shoulder and removed his harness. “Come on. You’ve got to move.” He tugged on Dan’s right arm, reinforcing the message.

  Josh contorted his body to move into the back of the plane again. Instantly, he saw why Skip was moaning in pain. He had not been secure in his seat at the time of the crash, and now he was sprawled on the left side of the plane, half on the passenger seat and half floating near the floor in the rising water.

  Skip’s face was pale. His eyes vacant. His lips opened to moan.

  Both of Skip’s hands were holding his right thigh.

  His blood-soaked cargo pants were ripped, and the jagged edge of his femur poked through a broad gash in the fabric about four inches above his knee. Blood was pulsing from the open wound around Skip’s hands, even as he tried to slow the volume.

  Josh felt bile rise in his throat when he saw the gaping wound. He clamped his jaws together and swallowed to stop his gag reflex from bringing up his lunch. Nothing he’d learned about rendering emergency medical care had prepared him for something like Skip’s open femur break. But there was no way to call a doctor and Dan wasn’t much help.

  The only one Josh could rely on right now was himself.

  Carefully, he moved Skip around to sit closer to the right side of the plane. He lifted Skip’s leg onto the slanting passenger seat, steeling himself against Skip’s screams and the icy rising water.

  Josh remembered the advice that returning the damaged leg to a position that was at least closer to normal could alleviate some of the pain. How could he do that under these conditions? Elevating the leg slowed the blood flow somewhat simply by thwarting gravity, but that was no help with Skip’s pain.

  He found a cold, wet towel on the floor and wrung it out as well as he could. He folded it and covered the blood pulsing from the gash, pressing hard. Even as he applied pressure to the wound and felt the blood slow, he knew it wouldn’t stop. Skip could die from blood loss before they had a chance for rescue.

  Josh found Skip’s bag and used it as a weight to hold the towel in place. He maneuvered around his friend’s splayed body until he found the first aid kit. He opened it. No medical tourniquet. And nothing else inside the kit was a suitable substitute to encircle Skip’s heavily muscled right thigh. He’d need to improvise.

  He climbed over Skip and rooted around quickly, sorting through the fishing equipment they’d brought on board until he found a leather belt in Dan’s gear. He did his best to apply the makeshift tourniquet to Skip’s leg and to ignore his friend’s excruciating screams of pain.

  The belt worked to slow the bleeding, but not to stop it.

  Josh glanced at Dan. His eyes were unfocused, as if he’d zoned out or something. Nothing would matter if they all drowned. And Josh couldn’t get the three of them to shore alone.

  He rummaged quickly through the first aid kit until he found the smelling salts and reached up to wave them as close to Dan’s nose as he could. Whether he was close enough or whether Dan was already coming around, Josh couldn’t say. Dan coughed and moved his head and pushed the smelling salts away.

  “Skip? Can you hear me?” Josh pressed a palm to Skip’s clammy forehead. He was sweating and his skin was pale and cold. He was breathing rapidly but seemed confused, as if he didn’t understand where he was or what was happening to him. He continued moaning and crying out. Josh recognized the signs of shock.

  Dan groaned from the front seat. He raised his fingers to the gooey mess above his ear and pulled his hand away to look at the blood. “What the hell?”

  Josh’s relief escaped in a shout. “Dan! Get the hell back here. I need help.”

  Dan seemed groggy and slow to react, which was probably due to the head trauma, or maybe he was suffering from shock, too. But when he turned around, he saw Skip. His eyes widened. His mouth flopped open like the largemouth bass he’d planned to catch in Red Maple Lake. He fumbled out of his seat and stumbled toward Josh.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said, his voice shaky. At least he was trying.

  Josh shook his head. He didn’t really know what to do. He only knew they couldn’t stay in the plane. The water was midcalf now, and the left side was almost totally submerged. They had to get out and get help. And Skip could not swim in his present condition.

  The floatplane had tilted sharply to the left side now. Soon, it would flip over onto its roof. Josh looked out of the windshield. The shore was at least fifty yards to port. The mountain water temperature was probably well below sixty degrees.

  Skip had said he’d packed his wetsuit. “That’s stupid, Josh,” he said quietly to himself. He couldn’t have stuffed Skip into the suit under the best of circumstances. And he’d only brought one suit. No. They couldn’t swim to shore from here without protection. Hypothermia would set in quickly once they entered the water.

  There were life vests in the plane. And he’d seen an inflatable life raft in the cargo area of the Cessna.

  The weight of the engine pulled the plane down, but with momentum and one buoyant pontoon, the aircraft rolled over and tumbled upside down. The roof became the floor.

  Skip flailed to keep his head above water as he was twisted and lifted, flopping onto the roof.

  Dan and Josh held on to whatever was closest as the plane rolled over.

  Water poured in through the open door at an alarming rate as the dark curtain of icy water crept relentlessly over the windows beneath them.

  The world outside grew still and silent.

  In mere moments, Josh knew, the only thing that could possibly be seen from the shore was the faint white bottom of one pontoon, holding them afloat.

  Rapid thoughts ran through Josh’s mind. The plane was already partially submersed and going down. The damaged pontoon wouldn’t hold much longer. He’d managed to slow Skip’s bleeding but not stop it. Dan’s head injury was probably mild, but Josh had no idea how either of them would be affected by submersion in cold water.

  He could leave them both and go for help, but how long would it take and where would he find it and would they be dead already by the time help arrived?

  He ran through the rescue possibilities in his head as quickly as he could and found no good answers. He knew he had to do something and do it fast. He just didn’t know what that something was.

  “Josh?” Dan’s panicked question broke through. He was holding Skip’s head above water with both arms clasped around Skip’s chest.

  “What?” Josh forced himself to sound calm even though he was the furthest thing from it.

  “Skip’s not breathing. He’s not breathing. Here.” Dan grabbed Josh’s fingers and placed them against Skip’s carotid artery. “Feel that? Nothing. No pulse.”

  Josh pushed his fingers deeper into Skip’s neck. He felt something. Faint and weak but present. How long could Skip last? He’d lost a lot of blood. He was in a lot of pain. The mountain lake water was like taking a bath in an arctic ocean.

  Josh hadn’t called in a Mayday on the way down, but had anyone seen the plane crash? Was help on the way? He didn’t know, but he knew they couldn’t wait anymore. He had to do something and do it now.

  He scrambled around until he found one of the life vests and put it on. Dan watched as if he was deeply puzzled and didn’t quite comprehend. Josh found a second life vest and put it on Dan. He found a third and put it on Skip.

  He’d found the plane’s life raft when he’d searched for the tourniquet. The raft would inflate automatically, and with Dan’s help, they might be able to get Skip into it and drag themselves to shore. Or they might all drown in the process.

  “We have to get help. We can’t wait here. There’s a life raft. It may or may not work for us,” Josh said. “Looks like you’ve had a pretty sharp blow to your head and you seem like you’re not quite with it. What do you think, Dan? Can you swim from here to shore, if we need
to?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel right. I don’t know if I can swim or not.”

  Josh looked at him, as if he could see straight through to his brain, and explained as simply as he could, hoping Dan would understand him. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m not sure Skip will make it no matter what we do. I just know that if we do nothing, he’s going to die right here. This plane is sinking. We might survive until help comes, but he’ll drown if his injuries don’t kill him first. If we get to shore, we may have a better chance. But I don’t know that, either.”

  Dan nodded as if he was processing Josh’s words at half speed but did not reply. His teeth were chattering. The water was above his waist now.

  Josh wasn’t sure whether Dan understood the seriousness of the situation or the hopelessness of their choices. Either way, he could spend no more time trying to talk.

  He secured Dan’s life vest as tightly around his waist as possible. He did the same with Skip’s and his own.

  He found a coiled rope, enough to tie the three of them together, which he knew might be stupid. They could weigh each other down if they fell into the water. They might all drown. But at least he wouldn’t lose them. He was a strong swimmer. He might be able to pull them all to shore, if it came to that. Which he prayed it wouldn’t.

  He pushed the plane’s door fully open and struggled to move the heavy life raft from the back. He tied the soft valise’s rope securely to the plane to prevent it from drifting away on the choppy water after it inflated. He heaved the valise out of the wide doors. The valise plopped into the lake and bobbed like a fishing lure.

  Josh yanked hard on the rope to trigger inflation, and the raft’s air cartridges deployed as they were meant to do. The black-and-orange raft filled with air and was in position to board in less than ten seconds.

  Josh heaved himself up and climbed out of the plane. He braced his feet on the Cessna’s slippery surface and shouted to be heard over the wind. “Dan, lift Skip up and I’ll grab him. Let the water’s buoyancy help you.”