She bristled at the question. “If it’s not around my neck, it’s in my purse—and nobody’s touchin’ my purse.”
“What about any boyfriends?”
She laughed. “Honey, I ain’t got a boyfriend smart enough to pull off a heist.”
Banks folded her arms. “But you do have a boyfriend?”
“He’s downstairs in the basement if you want to question him yourself. Just be forewarned—he’s crazy.”
Flynn flashed a quick smile at Banks. It’s exactly what they wanted to do, though they never imagined they’d catch such a break with him being in the house.
Flynn and Banks followed Davis to the top of the basement stairs. Davis yelled down. “Get some pants on, Frank. We’ve got visitors.”
“Geez, Felicia,” came the response from below. Some heavy footfalls followed by a door slamming in the basement provided the soundtrack as they descended the steps.
Once they reached the bottom of the steps, a large man wearing an Oakland Raiders jersey and gray sweatpants with a large stain entered the room. He wiped his right hand on the side of his pants before offering it to the agents.
“Frank DeMillo,” he said.
Flynn and Banks introduced themselves and took a seat on the couch at his behest.
“So, what do you guys wanna talk about?” DeMillo said.
Flynn pulled a picture out of his folder and held it up in front of DeMillo. “Is that you?”
DeMillo leaned forward and squinted at the picture. “Looks like me—definitely a handsome fellow.”
Flynn withdrew and slid the photo back inside the folder.
“Mr. DeMillo, that picture is security footage from the San Francisco airport—and it coincides with the time that federal money was stolen by a parachuting thief,” Banks said.
DeMillo snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I saw that. He’s that Cooper Copycat, right?”
Banks nodded.
“Crazy, huh? That guy’s got steel balls, I’ll tell you that much. I’ve done some crazy stuff in my day, but jumpin’ out of a commercial jet? Not my thing.”
“So, who is this in the picture?” asked Davis, who wore a scowl on her face.
“I’ve got no idea, baby, but it ain’t me.”
Banks took a deep breath and exhaled before speaking. “Where were you on Friday evening, around seven o’clock?”
“I was teaching a class at my sky diving school,” he said.
Flynn’s eyes widened. “You’re a sky diver instructor?”
“Yeah, I don’t jump much any more—thyroid issue blew me up and landing is difficult on my knees. But I still teach a class. I got a dozen people who can vouch for me.”
Banks bit her lip. “I’d like a roster because we’re going to need to check that out.”
DeMillo shrugged. “Sure thing. It’s crazy how much that guy looks like me, but it couldn’t have been me.”
“Do you have a twin?” Flynn asked.
DeMillo broke into a hearty laugh. “I’ll tell you what my momma told me when I was growin’ up. She used to say, ‘Frank, when they made you, they broke the mold.’ And I can tell you that there’s only one person that looks like me, though I’m sure that comes as a disappointment to all the ladies out there.” He looked at Banks and winked.
Banks pursed her lips and nodded slowly. “Okay, why don’t you write down a list of the people in your class so we can follow up with them directly—and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“You got it. Give me a minute.” DeMillo stomped up the steps in search of pen and paper.
Flynn glanced back up the stairs to make sure DeMillo was out of earshot. “Now that Frank is gone, you want to tell us if there are any other people who might have been able to access your card and steal it.”
“My card’s never been stolen,” she said. “I have it in my purse right here.” She reached down on the table and started rifling through it. Nothing. “I know I have it here somewhere.”
“Miss Davis, when was the last time you went to work?” Banks asked.
“I had surgery over a week ago on my back, but doc told me to avoid lifting heavy objects. That’s how I got some free vacation.”
“So, it’s been over a week?”
Davis nodded.
Flynn held his gaze on her. “I don’t think you answered my question. Were there any other people who perhaps had access to your badge?”
“I know I had it the other day,” Davis mumbled, still digging in her purse. Then to Flynn, “I don’t know if I understand what you’re sayin’.”
He sighed. “Let’s see. How should I put this? Did you have a romantic rendezvous lately with someone other than Frank?”
She laughed. “All the time, honey. Frank and I have a very open relationship, if you know what I mean. It’s the only way I can keep him, though he couldn’t keep me satisfied if he tried.”
Banks chuckled uncomfortably. “Did you have one of these encounters recently?”
Davis looked up and rolled her eyes around. “Let me think. There aren’t many regulars, though I have a few who come into town and hit me up when they’re lonely.”
“Does the name Carlton Gordon ring a bell?” Flynn asked.
She shook her head. “Nope. Never heard of him.”
He pulled a picture out of his pocket and held it up to her. “Still unfamiliar?”
She took it out of his hand and studied it closely, squinting as she scanned the photo. She then slowly shook her head. “Doesn’t look like anybody I’ve ever seen.”
“You sure about that?” Flynn asked.
“Yep. I’m sure,” she said as she handed the picture back to him. “I have no idea who that guy is.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss Davis,” Banks said as they headed up the stairs. Once they reached the top, Banks handed Davis her card. “Give me a call if you think of anything else and update me on the status of your badge, one way or the other.”
Davis took the card and nodded.
DeMillo wrote down the names and numbers of the people in his class and handed it to Banks once they reached the kitchen.
“Here you go,” DeMillo said. “I even put my number on there in case you wanna follow up.” He winked again.
Banks sighed. “Thank you both. Sorry to have troubled you.”
Once they reached the sidewalk, Flynn didn’t waste any time dissecting the questioning of the two strange characters.
“She’s lying,” he said. “No doubt about it.”
“You think so?” Banks said. “She didn’t seem like a liar to me.”
“She had a few tells. When she was looking at that picture, the corner of her eyes flinched. She definitely had seen him before.”
“What reason did she have not to talk then?”
“Embarrassment? Possible job loss? Hush money? Take your pick.”
Banks nodded in agreement. “Yeah, there are plenty of reasons for her to remain quiet about any connection she might have to Gordon, if he indeed is our man. But she didn’t know that.”
“True, but why else would we be asking her about him? She had to know something was up, then.”
“Maybe I can have the San Francisco office put a tail on her, watch her for a few days and see if she does anything strange.”
“Good idea.”
They continued along the sidewalk downhill until they reached the corner of 22nd and Capp Street, home to a small convenience store.
“Either of you have a cigarette I can bum off of ya?” came a man’s voice.
Both Flynn and Banks turned around to see a man wearing dark sunglasses and clutching a walking stick. They exchanged befuddled glances.
“Yeah, you,” the man said. “I may not be able to see you, but I know you’re both there.”
“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” Banks said. “But I’ll get you a pack. What do you like?”
A wry smile spread across the face of the man. “If you can find me a pack of Raleighs, I’ll be forever in
debted to you. But since I doubt it, I’ll settle for some Marlboro Ice Blasts.”
“Never even heard of such a cigarette,” she said.
The man chuckled. “Well, you’re missing out, ma’am.”
She went inside while Flynn remained outside to talk with the man.
“Did you say you like Raleighs?” Flynn asked.
The man nodded. “Best damn cigarette ever made.”
“How’d you pick them?”
“Red Skelton introduced me to them on his radio show. I’ve never been much for television, if you catch my drift.” He stopped to laugh at his own joke while Flynn joined him. “And then the coupons—got my first harmonica through Raleighs’ redeemable coupons.” He paused and shook his head. “Oh, the irony.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking wind instruments and smoking don’t mix well.”
“True.”
“So, do you ever get to smoke any Raleighs these days?”
The man rubbed his face with his right hand and turned his head in Flynn’s direction. “Not very often, but I’ve run into some luck lately.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, some strange man popped by twice this week and just gave me Raleighs randomly.”
Flynn studied the man intently. “What made him strange?”
“The fact that he collected all my cigarette butts. I mean, who does that? Me and that butt were intimate. It just kinda creeps me out.”
“Are these your butts here on the ground?”
The man put both his hands on his hips. “Are you like this man, too? Is this some strange new fetish that I don’t know about?”
“No fetish, just curious.”
“Yeah, so I smoke a lot. Tell the environmentalists to stick it where the sun don’t shine. I blow smoke often and I’m not ashamed of it.”
Flynn stooped down and collected several butts. “So, when did this man come around?”
“Hmmm. I think maybe last weekend and just a couple of days ago. But don’t quote me on that. He’s been by here before, but never said anything.”
“Not to be rude or anything, but how can you be sure?” Flynn asked.
“When you’re blind, you learn to use your other senses—and that joker smells like he takes a bath in Stallion.”
“Stallion?”
“Yeah, you never heard of it? It’s a cologne for men. And quite frankly, you could use some.”
Taken aback by the man’s frankness, Flynn stood speechless for a moment.
“Didn’t mean to offend you, mister. But I’m old and I’m blind—and I just tell it like it is.”
“No offense taken,” Flynn said. “So, does this strange man have a name?”
“I call him Mr. Money Bags. I don’t really know much about him, but he smells like he bathes in Stallion and he works in a bank.”
“Really? There’s a scent for that?”
“The scent of money. It’s unique—and undeniable. That’s why I call him Mr. Money Bags. It certainly isn’t for any bills he’s pressing against my flesh,” the man said as he pointed to the palm on his right hand.
Banks emerged from the convenience store with a pack of cigarettes in her hand, the cattle bell clanking against the door.
“Marlboro Ice Blast, just like you wanted,” Banks said, handing the cigarettes to him. “Got you a new lighter, too.”
“Your kindness knows no bounds, miss,” the man said.
“You got a name?” Flynn said.
“Everybody calls me Doc,” the man said. “I don’t know why, but it stuck years ago.”
“Well, Doc, I appreciate all your help,” Flynn said.
“I didn’t know you needed help,” Doc shot back as he fired up a cigarette.
“We both needed it more than you know.”
Flynn grabbed Banks by the arm and started across the street.
“Wanna tell me what went on while you were out there talking with him?” Banks said.
“Your first big break in this case.”
Banks shot him a confused look. “I’m not sure I follow?”
“I’ll explain more later, but first let me ask you this: how well do you know your colognes?”
CHAPTER 28
COLEMAN HANDED EDITH an icepack and sat down next to her on the couch. She groaned as she set the pack on her forehead, which sported a purplish bruise.
“If I hadn’t told you to slow down last night, we might be in the hospital right now,” she said.
Coleman nodded. “It definitely could’ve been worse. I’m just grateful it’s not.”
He shifted in his chair and looked at his wife, stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand.
“You’ve got to stop this, Harold,” she said. “I mean, look at me.”
“I never meant for you to get involved in any of this.”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I’m married to you. I’m always going to be involved in anything you do, whether I’m physically present with you or not.” She paused. “What I think you meant to say was that you didn’t mean for me to get hurt.”
“No! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt—in any way. Sometimes I get so driven—”
“Sometimes? Sometimes? Harold, I’ve been married to you for a long time and you can get driven about all sorts of things.” She paused and held up her index finger for effect. “But there’s only one thing that gets you so driven that you’re pushed to the brink of insanity. It’s an unhealthy obsession.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch, unsure of what to say next.
“You know I’m right,” she snapped.
“I wish it wasn’t this way.”
“You’re the one who makes it this way. It doesn’t have to be like this. You can just drop it, like normal people do. Admit you got beat. Get over your bitterness about this case and quit blaming it for costing you all those promotions. Live the life you’ve got left so this doesn’t tear you apart—tear us apart. I want to enjoy the time I have left with you.”
He nodded. “I know you’re right, but it’s more than just about making up for my past failures—for me, this is about righting a wrong.”
“News flash, Harold—this guy isn’t D.B. Cooper. He’s a cheap knockoff and the FBI doesn’t need your help to catch him.”
Harold grunted and shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been two, if not three, steps ahead of the Bureau the whole time on this case, yet they won’t listen to me.”
“Maybe that’s your sign to move on.”
“And just let this guy get away with all that he’s doing? You know I can’t do that.”
“But you must move on. This case is not so important that you should risk your life. Whoever this guy is, he’s dangerous. He almost got us killed last night.”
“I almost got us killed—and he’s clearly not that dangerous. I’ve come to the conclusion that he wants to get caught.”
“Based on what?”
“He’s taunting the FBI agents on the case. He wants nothing more than to become famous for what he’s done, though I think he’s misjudged the perception of the public as it pertains to his actions. He’s universally hated instead of universally loved.”
Edith sighed. “If he’s taunting the FBI, let them catch him. You know my perspective of you isn’t going to change whether you catch him or not.”
“I know it won’t—but the public’s will.”
“And the almighty Bureau too, huh?” She stopped and eyed him closely. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“If you did, Edith, you’d know to save your breath. I’m going to catch this bastard if it’s the last thing I do.”
She shook her head. “That’s what I’m afraid of—it just may very well be the last thing you do.”
CHAPTER 29
TOMMY SPURLOCK TURNED AROUND and looked at Gordon. The engine on his plane hummed but the aircraft remained stationary.
“You ready back there, Mr. McDonald?” Spurl
ock asked.
Gordon didn’t say a word but flashed two thumbs up and nodded.
Spurlock eased the throttle up and the plane began to rumble down the runway. Less than a minute later, they soared upward and took in a view of Seattle’s sprawling metropolitan area.
Though Gordon knew this venture would create a link that might be traced back to him, he didn’t care. It likely wouldn’t matter. The FBI never rushed into action, making sure its cases were airtight before they made an arrest. And by the time the FBI figured it all out, he’d be long gone—just like Cooper. But he couldn’t vanish just yet, not with people despising him.
Gordon glanced at his watch. On most early Sunday afternoons, he was gathered with his friends at Ridgeline, enjoying Scotch and watching the Seahawks play. But not today. Today, his friends would be watching him, though unknowingly.
Spurlock fell in behind the short line of planes gearing up to pass over CenturyLink Field. The plane in the lead toted a banner that advertised a local sports bar chain in an effort to attract fans for the Sunday- and Monday-night games. The next one carried a banner for a budget phone company. And then there was Spurlock’s plane. No banner attached.
“Do you need me to climb higher?” Spurlock asked.
“No. This is good,” Gordon said.
“If you jump out at this height, you might not make it.”
“I’m not jumping out.”
A few minutes later, Spurlock announced that they were almost over the field.
Gordon slid the door open.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna jump,” Spurlock said.
“That’s right. I did. And I’m not going to either.”
“Well, what are you doing with the door open?”
Gordon grunted. “Just keep flying the plane. You’ll see soon enough.”
In a matter of seconds, Gordon hooked his harness to an O-ring built into the side of the cabin wall. He adjusted his white gloves and his beard.
“What do you think? Do I look like a good Santa Claus?” Gordon asked.
“Best I’ve ever seen,” Spurlock said. “But please don’t jump.”
He turned around to see Gordon scooting closer to the edge.
“Mr. McDonald!”
“Just keep you eyes forward and fly the plane. I’m not going anywhere,” Gordon said.
The Cooper Affair Page 12
