Code of Justice

by Liz Johnson

  “The box. Are you going to look in it?”

  Maybe her leg injury was affecting more than her ability to stand up without falling over. She should have thought to open the box immediately. “Of course. Yes.” She hoped he couldn’t see the heat tinting her cheeks as she pulled the white file box toward her, resting it on the seat next to her leg brace.

  She set the cardboard lid to the side, pulling out a picture of her and Kit as kids, standing in their parents’ front yard, arms draped across the other’s shoulder. Heather hadn’t seen the picture in ages. The ornate silver frame had been a birthday gift from Heather to her sister years before, but Heather thought the last time she had seen it, there might have been another picture in it.

  Setting the picture on top of the box lid, she pulled out a small potted plant and from habit checked it for bugs. Both the biological and technological kinds.

  “Is it clean?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes.”

  Next came a folder, like the one that Tonya had described. Except that this one had been clearly labeled Kit’s Personal Items.

  “There’s a folder in here. It’s labeled, but maybe there’s something of use to us in it,” Heather said. Jeremy nodded as he turned a sharp corner. Leaning even more heavily against the door, she flipped through the pages. “Her cell phone bill. Electric. Receipts for some work on her car.” Snapping the edges of the folder closed, she sighed. “Nothing else in here.”

  “Anything else in the box that might be of use?”

  She sifted through the few other pictures, a law book, an engraved fountain pen and Kit’s wooden name plate.

  “Not a single thing that’s useful. It’s all just stuff that you’d find on anyone’s desk.” Only knowing the ache it would cause kept her from hitting her head against the window. “I’m sorry. I guess we should’ve gone to check out the wreckage first.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find the information we need.”

  “I know we will. But today was a complete waste. Now our guy is one more day ahead of us.”

  He waited until she looked at him in the rearview mirror. “No, it wasn’t a waste.” She tried to interrupt him, but he shot her a stern glare. “Now we know that Kit was looking into something that she wasn’t sharing with anyone else at work. And it might be related to the drugs she warned you about.”

  “Yes, but we have no idea what it was.”

  He smiled. “But we can figure that out. Before we went to her office, we didn’t even know for sure that we should be looking for something she was investigating. Now we do.”

  He was right. She knew he was. But she just couldn’t admit it.

  She groaned, pushing her hair off her face and tucking a curl behind her ear. “You didn’t even want to go to her office today.”

  His laugh was quiet and assured, completely free from embarrassment. “Guilty as charged. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t know a good investigative tactic when I see one. You’re pretty good at this.”

  The offhanded compliment made her smile, despite the yawn that suddenly cracked her jaw. “Imagine how much better I’d have been today if I’d had my mug and drinkable coffee.”

  This time his laugh was deep, rumbling right along with the engine. “And you’re funny, too. Is there anything you can’t do, Special Agent Sloan?”

  “Nope.” Covering another yawn with the back of her hand, she battled the fog that reminded her of her time in the hospital. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the supposedly nondrowsy painkillers prescribed by the doctor at the hospital had kicked in. She’d had her doubts about the “nondrowsy” part, and sure enough they made her want to curl up and take a long nap.

  Fighting that urge, she asked, “What next? Should we go to the hangar to see the wreckage?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Jeremy pulled a U-turn at the next stoplight, and they sailed toward the hangar where agents of both the FAA and the sheriff’s department inspected the remains of the helicopter.

  They were silent for a long while as he expertly navigated the Portland streets. He appeared deep in thought, and Heather wasn’t interested in starting a conversation just to pass the time. But she couldn’t help but wonder what they might find when they saw the twisted metal and shattered glass that could easily have taken her life, too. “Did Anita say anything else on the phone this morning—other than the location of the new hangar?”

  “Nope. I’m sure they’re still analyzing what’s left of the chopper to confirm the cause of the crash. When I worked for the FAA, we could usually nail down the reason behind a crash long before we could give the official word on it.”

  “Wait. You worked for the FAA?”

  He turned the car down onto a long street lined with industrial warehouses, many red with rust and looking like a sturdy rain would level them. “It was a while ago.”

  She waited for him to expound, but the tight clench of his jaw didn’t look as if it was going to relax at any point. “So then, how did you end up at the sheriff’s department?”

  He didn’t respond, only turned onto a gravel street that crunched under the tires and stones went flying when he stomped on the brakes in front of a relatively sturdy metal warehouse. It appeared just as beaten by the elements as the structures on either side of it, but it seemed to stand a little straighter, a little stronger than its neighbors.

  Jeremy helped her out of the car and into the wheelchair, the lines of his cheeks still tense as she offered him an apologetic smile.

  He still didn’t speak as he pushed the chair through the bed of rocks toward a small unmarked door near the left corner of the building. When they reached it, he pulled out his phone and punched one key. “We’re here.”

  Several seconds later, the door hummed low, and he pushed it open with his back, wheeling Heather in backward. Immediately she began blinking, trying to adjust to the lights that illuminated rows of long tables.

  On the far side of the room, the skeleton of the wrecked chopper sat. Dents and scratches from the crash marred the white and blue exterior.

  “Latham, good to see you, man.” A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and large girth pumped Jeremy’s hand, while never taking his eyes off Heather.

  The hair on her arms stood up, and if she had been mobile on her own, she would have slid a little closer to Jeremy. As it was, she leaned heavily on the armrest closest to him, keeping a wary eye on the older man.

  “Udahl.” Jeremy’s voice didn’t indicate any of the pleasure in the other man’s tone. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Sure has. Who’s your friend?”

  Jeremy’s gaze darted in Heather’s direction, and he took a minuscule step in front of her, blocking her from Udahl’s view. “We’re working a case together.” He nodded toward the tables. “This one. What do you have?”

  Just then a woman, at least a couple years younger than Heather, trotted up to them. She grabbed Heather’s hand right out of her lap. “You must be Heather. I’m Anita. Anita Brigget. I’m so glad to meet you.” Heather just nodded as the other woman babbled along. “Jeremy said you’d be coming with him, and I was just so eager to meet you. He said you’re working the case together. What do you do?”

  Jeremy cut in, shooting Heather a pointed stare. “She’s working the case with me.”

  Anita’s forehead wrinkled as she looked back and forth between them, but she was undeterred. “So you met Agent Udahl.”

  “Agent?” Heather swallowed the sudden urge to cough as the smarmy man rubbed his hands together. No way was he with the Bureau. Of course, she’d know him if he were in the Portland office. But even if he was from another office, he could rat her out to Nate.

  “With the FAA.”

  The breath she’d been holding let loose, but she still didn’t smile at him.

  “All right,” Jeremy interrupted. “We’re all introduced. What have you got for us?”

  Udahl puckered his lips to the left and wrinkled his nose as though debating i
f he was ready to move on. Thankfully Anita had no such qualms, and immediately walked toward the nearest table, where pieces of metal and plastic lay across the entire table. Next to each piece from the wreck rested a tag identifying what part of the aircraft it came from. A group of lab techs in white coats continued the identification process at another table across the hangar.

  Snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, Anita picked up the black metal joystick. Turning it over gently, she lifted several wires at its base.

  Jeremy immediately leaned in. “Those were cut.”

  “Yes, but not all the way.” Anita turned them over. “See here? This edge is frayed.”

  Jeremy caught Heather’s gaze and grimaced. “So someone severed the controls to the cyclic. They left just enough control to get the chopper back in the air, and then the wires would have frayed the rest of the way.”

  Udahl nodded. “It had to have been done when the pilot stopped to refuel. Would have taken less than ten minutes for someone to get in there and get it done.”

  Heather rubbed her throat and chest, fighting the pain building there. How could someone be so cruel? She pressed her lips together, biting down to keep from saying anything that would force her to relive the terror of the crash.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “Like what?” Anita asked.

  Jeremy shrugged. “Anything unusual. Out of the ordinary. Criminal.”

  “No. Not yet, at least. Why?”

  He lifted one shoulder again. “Just curious. Will you let me know if you do?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. Then we’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Drop by anytime,” Udahl said, his eyes again roaming over Heather’s seated form.

  She shuddered as Jeremy pushed her toward the door, and she mumbled, “Not likely.”

  Back on the road, she couldn’t contain another jaw-cracking yawn. It was the middle of the afternoon, and even though they’d skipped lunch, what she really wanted was a nap.

  “It seems very strange.” Jeremy seemed to be talking to himself.

  “What’s that?”

  “I guess I just figured there would be something on the helicopter that would point to something criminal, to a reason to bring it down.” He stared straight ahead, and she could still see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he worked out his thoughts.

  “Maybe they just haven’t gotten to it. It’s only been nine days since the crash.”

  “Maybe.”

  Heather could tell he wasn’t convinced. “Or maybe it’s at the crash site.”

  His head snapped up at that, and he nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  “Should we head over there and see if they left anything behind by accident?”

  “Let’s wait until tomorrow. By the time we’d get out there today, it’d only be light for an hour or so.” He braked as the light in front of them turned yellow, and peeked at her over his right shoulder. “You look beat. Why don’t you get some rest this afternoon while I do some paperwork?”

  “I told you that I wouldn’t slow you down, and I’m not tired,” she fibbed, a little bit of her hoping that he’d insist anyway.

  “Well, I really do need to stop by the office and check in. I’ll drop you off at your place, and then I’ll be back in just a little while.”

  With a silent sigh, she sank lower into the door against her back. Why did she still have to feel so weak after the crash? She hadn’t needed a nap since she was six, but now tremors in her hands signaled that something was definitely off. Lack of sleep was probably the least of her concerns, but all she really cared about was seeing the person responsible for Kit’s death punished. Justice had to be done. Swiftly.

  SEVEN

  “How was your physical therapy this morning?”

  Heather looked up from her favorite mug filled with what she called “not just drinkable coffee, but coffee that actually tastes good.” Her shoulders relaxed as she leaned into the back of the kitchen chair. “Good. The knee is still a little stiff, but I’m doing the exercises just like the therapist said.”

  “How long until you can sit in the front seat of the car?” Jeremy couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, so he covered it by turning back to the sink, washing his own coffee mug. He could practically hear her scowl as the legs of her chair scraped along the tile.

  “Soon. Very soon.” Balanced on one leg, she set her mug on the counter, and he scooped it into the hot sudsy water.

  Her crutches clattered together, and he snuck a glance over his shoulder to make sure she didn’t need an extra hand as she headed toward the front door. With even strides she lumbered across the living room until she turned, looking at him expectantly.

  “You about ready?”

  The water swished down the drain with a loud slurp. Wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans and then grabbing his keys off the table, he jogged toward her. “All set.”

  Her movements down the steps were still awkward, but she had picked up some speed in the course of just a couple days. And today she didn’t even need help getting into the back of the car. She’d figured out how to slide in without jarring her leg. All he did was hold her crutches and then slide them onto the floorboard when she was situated.

  The gentle rumble of the engine reigned as the car headed southeast along Highway 26 toward the scene of the helicopter crash. At length Jeremy broke the silence.

  “Did you get a chance to look through the things from Kit’s office again yesterday afternoon?” When he’d left her at her house, she had been nearly sleepwalking from exhaustion. And when he’d returned more than two hours later, she’d been passed out in the living room chair, snoring softly, mouth hanging open.

  “No, I… Well, I fell asleep in the chair. I think the painkillers I’m taking for my leg are making me sleepy.”

  “Mmm.” By sheer will, he kept his mouth closed. They both knew the truth. Investigating any crime was tiring on the best day. Throw in recovering from injuries from the crash, a major surgery and the emotional tumult of losing her sister, and Heather had to be drained.

  He made a mental note to be sure he got her back to her house for regular naps and full nights of sleep. If this one was anything like other drug cases he’d worked, it would likely get sticky before it got better. And they both needed to be alert and ready for whatever was coming their way.

  Suddenly Heather chuckled, and it sounded like it was right beside his ear. “Okay. I confess. I was just so tired. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” Her cheeks turned a very attractive shade of pink. Apparently she could make fun of herself. “I don’t think it was the medication.”

  He shot her a smile in return. She needed more rest. Recovery from injuries like hers wasn’t going to be a breeze. He needed to make sure she got just what she required. And maybe a cup of his mom’s chicken noodle soup. “It’s okay. We’ll go back through the box again another day.”

  “But I don’t think there’s anything in there that’ll be of use to us,” she said. “It’s just all so ordinary.”

  “Okay. So what do we know? About the case. And about your sister.”

  She exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling for several long seconds. “We know that Kit thought that something or someone having to do with drugs was behind the crash.” In his mirror, she licked her lips, eyes squinting out the far window.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m just wondering who cut those wires in the…”

  “The cyclic.”

  “Yes.” Worrying the corner of her lower lip, she stared through the windshield into the sparse forest spread out before them like a blanket of green and brown. “It happened just like you said—the fraying giving way and leaving us with no control while we were midair. The pilot said it wasn’t working. He jerked it around, but nothing stopped us from going down.”

  They both mulled over the information at hand for several seconds before Heather veered down a d
ifferent path. “Why didn’t you tell me you had been with the FAA?”

  “I did. I told you yesterday.”

  “Yes, but you haven’t said two words about it since. Why did you leave? Why join the sheriff’s office?”

  Jeremy spotted a dirt road just ahead off to the left of the highway. Slowing down, he pulled the car off the pavement as they bounced over the ruts and roots. Large pine trees shaded them from the unusually bright sun.

  Heather looked like she still expected an answer to her question, but he had no desire to rehash his history. If he told her about his time with the FAA, inevitably he’d have to tell her why he left and moved nearly three thousand miles across the country to work as a sheriff’s deputy. And then he’d have to explain about Reena.

  About faulty gauge upgrades on a Cessna 172 Skyhawk that he should have checked.

  About watching his fiancée and three friends die in a crash he could have prevented.

  He’d much rather just work on the case at hand and put the past to rest, letting Heather begin her own healing. Moving forward here was better than looking back on mistakes that still haunted his dreams.

  A tree appeared in the middle of his barely-there road, which had only been used by the ambulance and service personnel, and he swerved sharply. Heather thudded against the back of his seat, groaning. “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Her hands dug into his back, even through the upholstered seat, as she pushed herself back into a comfortable spot. “Is that it?” she suddenly asked, her neck craning out the side window.

  The scar in the trees appeared to their left, broken limbs and dead pine needles marking the ill-fated path of the helicopter. Several pine trees looked as though they’d taken quite a beating from the rotor but had remained whole. As Jeremy pulled the car closer to the clearing where the chopper had finally come to a stop, he spotted a young pine that had been snapped in half near the tail of the aircraft.

  “This is it,” he finally responded to Heather.

  “It sure didn’t look like this the last time I saw it.”

  He pulled to a stop about a hundred feet from the clearing and slipped out from behind the steering wheel, closing his door before opening hers. He slipped on a bed of needles and stubbed his toe on a hidden rock, as he took the last step toward her. “I don’t think the chair is going to cut it here. I won’t be able to get you over these fallen branches, and the pine needles mean there’d be no traction for the wheels.”