by John R. Kess
After a while, Elly stopped shivering. She lifted her head and whispered, “Thank you,” then buried her head into his chest. “How many more times are you going to save me?”
“As many as it takes,” Jay said. He thought about being sent to military prison. “Someday, it may be you who saves me.”
* * *
Agent Beckholm was about to take a bite from his sandwich but stopped when he spotted Nick Wittenbel enter the food court in the LA airport. He lowered his sandwich as Nick walked up to his table and took a seat across from him.
Beckholm wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What are you doing here?”
“Following you,” Nick said.
“Why?”
“You may need my help.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Have you found anything yet?”
Beckholm wondered how he was going to explain this mess to his boss.
“Look,” Nick continued, “I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t tell anyone I’m here, including my family. I won’t get in your way. Think of me as one of those ride alongs.”
“Nick, I don’t do ride alongs.”
“Are you worried about getting fired?” Nick asked.
“And if I am?”
“If you get fired, I’ll pay you ten times your salary, lump sum.”
Beckholm took a gulp of coffee and decided to go back to eating his sandwich. Had he lost his mind? There was so much he didn’t know since he’d been thrown into this case so quickly, and Nick might be able to help him. At the same time, he wondered if letting Nick tag along could put him in front of the Senate oversight committee.
“I get paid $450,000 a year.” Beckholm smiled brightly.
“Elly’s album sales made that much last week,” Nick said, keeping a straight face.
The smile disappeared from Beckholm’s face. “Liar.”
“I’m not the only one,” Nick said, taking his turn to smile.
“Why should I let you tag along?”
“I know a lot about Elly, and I want to find out what happened to her more than you do.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to do better than that.” Beckholm got up from his chair.
“Okay, okay,” Nick said. “I haven’t been the best brother.”
“Really?” Beckholm said, sarcastically.
“I’ve been an asshole. Elly is my twin sister, and I all but pushed her out of my life. I’m an idiot. Please let me help you.”
“Why should I?”
“Look, if there’s even a chance she’s alive, I want her back. Not because of her fame or the money she makes. I love my sister, but I never told Elly that. I want to hold on to the fact that there may still be a chance to do that and apologize. Let me help you.”
Beckholm took his time as he stared at Nick, wondering if he could be useful. “If I let you tag along, do you agree to do exactly what I say when I say it?”
“Yes,” Nick said.
“I reserve the right to send you packing anytime I feel like it.”
“Fine.”
They walked out of the food court.
“What’s next?” Nick asked.
“I’m expecting a call from my contact in the bureau about the about the door.”
“So we just wait here?”
“That’s the job,” Beckholm said.
“Say the door was messed with,” Nick said. “Then what happens?”
“We go after the pilot. We get a warrant and we search everything.”
“Like what?”
“Bank records, his home, his car, his locker at work, everything. We look to see where he’s traveled in the past year. We dig into his life until we know everything about him. We’ll know who he’s sleeping with, who cuts his hair, and who changes his oil. If he was involved in staging an accident, we’ll find out.”
“In other words …” Nick punched the air.
“Exactly. The gloves come off.”
Chapter 15
Beckholm knocked on the door of the Salo residence and waited as a man opened the door only as far as the deadbolt chain would allow.
“Are you Charlie Salo?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Agent Aaron Beckholm, FBI.” He held out his badge. “Can I ask you some questions?”
“What about?”
“Elly Wittenbel.”
The door shut. Beckholm was about to knock again when it reopened without the chain attached.
“Come on inside,” the man said.
The home was small but well furnished. “Is your wife home?”
“No.”
Beckholm pulled out a pen and notepad and set them on the table. “Mr. Salo—”
“Please, call me Charlie.”
“Okay. Charlie, are you still employed at Myers Aviation?”
“That’s correct.”
“And you’re a pilot.”
“That’s right.”
Charlie was the third Myers Aviation pilot Beckholm had interviewed.
“Did you ever fly with Elly Wittenbel?”
“Oh yes, several times.”
“Did you ever have any problems on the plane when she was flying with you? Things like her getting sick, being claustrophobic, or anything like that?”
“No, not at all. She was a real easy passenger, never complained.” Charlie smiled. “I can’t say that for all of our clients.”
“Any problems with her bodyguard?”
“No, none at all.”
“Do you know Michael Belgrade?”
“Yes. It’s a shame what happened to him. To think of all the pilots who have flown in the same plane, and this time the damn door came off.” Charlie sat back in his chair and shook his head. “If my wife knew I was supposed to be flying that poor girl to Seattle, she’d have a fit.”
“What?”
“My wife would just have kittens if she knew I was next on the list.”
“You were supposed to be the pilot on that flight?” Beckholm sat forward in his chair.
“That’s right. We switch off if somebody has a destination preference.”
“And you switched with Belgrade?”
“Yes. He told me he had seen there was a trip coming up on our flight schedule from Memphis to Baltimore, and he wanted to go there. He asked me about a month before if it would be okay to switch.”
“Did he say why he wanted to switch?”
“Yeah, shoot, what did he say?” Charlie stared down at the table as if searching for an answer in the grain of the wood. His head popped up. “A brother, that’s it. He has a brother in the Baltimore area and wanted to go see him.”
Beckholm’s phone rang and he saw it was Agent West. He quickly thanked Charlie for his time and excused himself to answer it.
“Whatcha got?” Beckholm asked as he walked down Charlie’s driveway to his rental car. Nick was waiting inside.
“They found the door,” West told him.
“Where?” Beckholm asked, excited to have some good news.
“Western Montana. According to the FAA field supervisor onsite, at least half of each door hinge had been ground away.”
“Ground away?”
“They told me someone made a cut on each door hinge to severely weaken both of them. It was clear to him that the remaining material yielded and failed when the door opened in flight.”
“Are you sure?” Beckholm asked.
“He told me once he gets the hinges to the lab, he can tell me the diameter of the cutting wheel,” West said.
“We need a warrant, and we need it now,” Beckholm said.
“There’s something else you should know.” West filled Beckholm in on the downed floatplane reported in Montana. “And get this,” West finished, “the airport where the floatplane was kept is right on the turboprop’s flight path.”
Beckholm knew this detail might connect the floatplane to Elly. “How far was the door from the floatplane?”
“It was found about a hundred an
d twenty miles west of the lake where they fished out the plane. We know Belgrade was licensed through the United States Parachute Association. We’ve got local law enforcement in Montana trying to track down the owner of the floatplane to see if it was stolen.”
Beckholm told West about his interview with Charlie Salo and asked him to check if Michael Belgrade had a brother in the Baltimore area.
“How is the fuel search coming?” Beckholm asked.
“We’re working on it,” West said. “Give me a couple hours, and I’ll get you a name.”
* * *
West was still in his office at 7:30 PM when Schwartz called him to come to his cubicle. West nearly ran down the aisle, hoping for some good news. “Tell me you have a name.”
Schwartz smiled. “I’ve got that and more.”
“What did you find?”
“First of all, Michael Belgrade didn’t have a brother in Baltimore. Belgrade didn’t have any siblings.”
“Okay. What else do you have?”
“Two weeks ago, five hundred gallons of aviation fuel was purchased by someone using a fake ID, and I’d bet it was this man.” Schwartz tapped the photo on the screen. “Keith Darwitz. He used the same alias five years back when he was arrested for being in a drunken brawl. Guess who his roommate was for three years?”
“Belgrade?”
“Yes, and do you remember how Belgrade spent six months in juvenile detention for stealing a car?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess who was with him when he stole it?”
“Keith Darwitz.”
“Bingo.”
“They were teenage crime buddies?”
“Yes, and I’ve got one more thing for you.”
“What?”
“Guess who worked as a security guard for a year at Revolution Records and quit about four months ago?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. Keith Darwitz.”
“I want to know everything about how the transaction occurred,” West said. “Whose fuel hauler was used and who signed for it.”
“It’s already on my to-do list.”
“Where’s Darwitz now?”
“I’m still digging.”
“I want to know in five minutes,” West said, reaching for his phone. He called Beckholm and told him everything.
* * *
Beckholm brought the rental car to a stop and turned off the lights. He and Nick were parked in the lot of a small strip mall facing Ned’s Hardware. The parking lot in front of the store was empty except for a Honda Civic parked near the back that Beckholm knew belonged to Keith Darwitz. They watched the store for ten minutes to make sure no one else except Keith was in the store.
“Remember,” Beckholm said, as Nick stuffed the earpiece in his left ear, “he’s the only person we have access to who may know anything about your sister.” Beckholm squinted, then added, “So, don’t kill him.”
“That would be too kind,” Nick said.
Beckholm held up his microphone. “Can you hear me?”
Nick nodded. “And you can hear me?” Nick asked, glancing down at the microphone under his shirt.
Beckholm nodded. “You remember what to ask?”
“Yes, I do.”
“If he won’t talk, just get out of there.”
“I’ll get him to talk.” Nick climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He stepped inside just in time to hear the store phone ring. Keith sported an overgrown goatee and wore a Ned’s Hardware shirt that was having trouble containing his huge gut.
Nick’s lip curled in disgust as he turned down the nuts-and-bolts aisle, looking around to make sure no one else was in the store. He walked the perimeter, seeing no one. “The store is clear,” Nick whispered into his microphone.
Keith answered the phone. “Ned’s Hardware.”
“Keith Darwitz?” Nick could hear Beckholm through his earpiece as he talked with Keith on the phone.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“I’ve been asked to give you some information.”
“Who are you?”
“Let’s just say, a friend who is trying to help you.”
“What?”
“I’ve been asked to warn you, Keith, so shut up and listen. Something bad has happened, and we are working to contain it. Somebody knows. Somebody talked. One of them was caught.”
Nick watched as the spool of rope Darwitz had been holding slipped from his fingers and unraveled across the linoleum.
“Are you still there?”
“Listen, man,” Keith said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m trying to help you, Keith.”
“Look, we shouldn’t be … I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Yes, you do, so shut up and listen,” the voice said. “The good news is the man wasn’t caught by the cops. Someone else caught him.”
“I don’t—”
“Look,” the voice told Keith, “the man who was caught was messed up really bad. We just talked to him after he got out of the hospital. He didn’t say anything about the mission, but he did give a name.”
“Whose name?”
“Your name. That’s why I’m calling to warn you.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Beckholm’s voice grew in volume. “I’m trying to warn you, Keith,”
“I can’t—”
“He cut off all of the man’s fingers! Do you hear me, Keith? This is not someone to be taken lightly.”
“What?”
“The man doesn’t have fingers anymore!” Beckholm shouted into the phone.
“Why me? Why … why did he give him my name?”
“You need to be careful. We know the man who did it, and we think he’s coming for you.”
Darwitz turned his back to the counter and spoke softly. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Beckholm paused before finally saying, “Oh, really. So you didn’t purchase the fuel? You be sure and tell him that when you see him.”
Nick moved in quickly as Keith still had his back to him.
“Who is it?” Keith shouted. “What does he look like?”
Nick grabbed the neck of Keith’s shirt and yanked him over the counter. He crashed into a rack of paintbrushes.
Darwitz yelled as he landed on his stomach. He looked up at Nick, who was holding a large bolt cutter.
“Oh, God.” Darwitz started to crawl away.
“There are three women in this world you never mess with: A man’s wife.” Nick kicked him hard in the side.
Darwitz heaved as he gasped for air. “Oh, God, please.”
“A man’s mother.” Nick swung the bolt cutter around and hit Darwitz on his other side. He dropped the cutter, grabbed both of Darwitz’s arms, and twisted them around behind his back.
“And a man’s sister.” Nick held both of Darwitz’s arms with one hand as he used the other to punch him hard in the kidney.
Nick grabbed the loose end of the spool of rope Darwitz had dropped on the floor and wrapped it around both of his wrists several times. He cut the rope and then dragged Darwitz across the floor to a nearby display of patio furniture. Nick tied Darwitz’s arms to a table leg.
Nick went back, picked up the cutter and held it out where Keith could see it. “As soon as you stop answering my questions, your fingers start coming off.”
Darwitz’s breathing intensified. He dropped his head forward.
“Where is my sister?”
“Her plane crashed, man.”
Nick grabbed Darwitz’s hair and pulled it back. “Now, I didn’t even tell you who I am, and you already know who I’m talking about. I start with the small finger and work my way to the thumb.”
“No. Stop. I swear, I don’t know.”
“Here we go.” Nick fitted the jaws around Darwitz’s left pinky finger.
Darwitz jumped and squirmed. “No, she wasn’t on the plane. Someone screwed up. They
tried to take her. Someone else took her.”
Waves of relief and anger washed over Nick.
“Bullshit,” Nick said. “You expect me to believe that? Her bodyguard was seen on the plane. He’s dead.”
“He was shot trying to help her get away. It was an ambush. I swear.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“They tried to take her off the plane, but they got ambushed. Someone else opened fire. Someone else took her. They must have known they were going to take her. I swear someone else took her.”
“Bullshit! I don’t believe it. Your finger is coming off.” Nick applied a slight pressure to the cutter.
“No,” Darwitz screamed, “I swear. Someone else took her.”
“Someone helped her get away, or someone did the job for you?”
“They took her, man! She was in handcuffs.”
Nick shouted in Darwitz’s ear, “DID THEY KIDNAP HER OR HELP HER GET AWAY?”
“They kidnapped her! It was an ambush, I swear. They had to have known we’d be there. They knew, and they took her.”
“How many people took her?”
Keith shook his head.
“How many?” Nick said, louder.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”
“HOW MANY?” Nick shouted.
“Maybe six or more.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know, man. I wasn’t there.”
“Where is ‘there’?”
“An airport, in Montana,” Darwitz said.
“Which airport?”
“A small one, I don’t know where. I wasn’t there. I swear.”
“What was your job?”
Darwitz didn’t say anything.
“Say good-bye to your finger,” Nick said.
“No, wait, I was just supposed to get the fuel.”
“What fuel?”
“The fuel for the plane.”
“Which plane?”
“The one she was riding in. It was supposed to leave without her,” Darwitz said.
