by Simon Wood
he remarked on my past clients with Pinnacle Investments and he raised your name, Margaret Macey’s and
some other guy who died a couple of years ago. We discussed your files.”
Josh stopped pacing. James Mitchell was his would
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be killer, and apparently Josh wasn’t the only one Mitchell had his sights on. But why? What was the point? The invisible spider crawled across his face.
Mitchell claimed he was an employee of Pinnacle Investments, but he wasn’t. Josh could hear the penny
dropping, but he didn’t know what he was getting for his money. “I’m not insane. That bastard wants to kill me and this woman, but for what possible gain?” Josh asked.
“You’ve got me, pal,” Bob said.
Josh started pacing again, this time faster. His mind worked through events as he lapped the first floor of his home at a brisk pace. Wiener, fascinated by his master’s actions, joined him on his walk. “He must have used the phone here to call Margaret Macey. I gave him the chance when I told him about Pinnacle Investments sending the wreath.”
“He’s got some balls on him—big brass ones. You’ve got to admit that,” Bob said.
Josh agreed. He couldn’t deny it, but he didn’t have to like it. The man had been in his home and committed a crime for which Josh was now the primary suspect.
“But why use your phone?” Bob said.
“God knows. Maybe he didn’t expect Margaret Macey or me to be in any state to get the cops involved.”
“Maybe. It all sounds risky.”
“Only if it doesn’t work.”
“And it hasn’t so far,” Bob said. “Where do we go from here?”
Josh thought. The answer was to the cops. The more menacing this situation became, the more he knew he was out of his depth. Also, it was an opportunity to stick it to that disbelieving bastard Brady. That would be especially sweet. He now had a reason for his telephone number to be on Margaret Macey’s telephone
records. It was his chance to get the police off his back and prompt an investigation into James Mitchell.
“I’ll talk to the two officers who were here and at the hospital. I’ll tell them that not only did James Mitchell run me off the road, but that he had been checking up on Margaret Macey and me, then came to my party
and made the phone call to Margaret while he was
here,” Josh said.
“You’re forgetting he doesn’t exist. We couldn’t find him. If these two cops think you’re their man, they won’t really give a shit about this invisible man.
They’ll think it’s a bullshit story to get you off the hook,” Bob said.
“But they have nothing better on me. Suddenly I decide to call a woman I have never met and threaten to
kill her? What sort of case is that to convict on?” Josh asked. He knew Bob had his best interests at heart. Bob was right—the police could dismiss him for putting up a smokescreen. Nevertheless, he knew he needed to apprise the authorities of the latest developments.
“I don’t know,” Bob said.
“I’ll see the cops in the morning,” Josh restated.
“No, don’t.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I’ll go to the cops. I’ll tell them I had James Mitchell at my office. I have a record of his appointment and Maria saw him. And I’ll tell them he made a call from your house and that you believe that he was the man on the bridge,” Bob said.
Josh paced in silence, considering Bob’s offer. “Okay.
You’re probably right. It’ll sound better if someone independent can verify the story.” He gave Bob the police
officers’ names.
Josh felt tired and excited at the same time. Tired because he’d walked at least a mile around the first floor of his home and excited because he felt he was finally getting somewhere.
“I’ll tell you something I do know,” Bob said.
“What?”
“Mitchell may have missed you so far, but I guarantee he’ll try again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The noise of the landing twin prop drowned out the minivan’s radio. Josh knew the FAA building was close to Sacramento Executive Airport, but did not know its exact location. He spotted it on the opposite side of the road from the airport and made a U-turn at the light.
Pulling up in the parking lot, the jitters took hold of Josh. He had a plan, but now he wasn’t sure how to play it. How could he convince the FAA the plane crash had been intentional? When he received the initial findings from them, he was just unsatisfied with the report; after seeing Jack Murphy, he was convinced it was not an accident.
According to Jack, the mechanical failures were possible, but unlikely. If the attempts on his life hadn’t occurred, Josh would have brushed Murphy’s comments
off as ludicrous. However, recent events told him it wasn’t that insane to believe his aircraft had been tampered with on purpose. And deep down he really knew
Mark’s death hadn’t been an accident—the same way he had known it was his plane that had crashed with his friend aboard as soon as he heard the newsflash on the radio.
With the knowledge that his aircraft had been intentionally disabled to kill him came guilt. Mark wasn’t
the intended victim. Christ, did he feel like the scum of the earth. He’d been leaving Jack Murphy’s hangar when it hit him and the sour river taste returned to his mouth. His mistakes had killed an innocent person.
Josh didn’t know how he would live with himself, but one way was to get the FAA and the NTSB to look for signs of foul play and nail the bastard who’d done this.
Josh knew James Mitchell was Mark’s killer. Mitchell had forced him off the road into the river and he was at his birthday party. He knew Josh and Mark were flying partners and he knew when and where they
would be flying next. Josh had remembered the details and put it all together once Jack Murphy had made it click for him. All he needed was a look at his airplane to be sure.
The FAA district office in Sacramento looked unassuming for its significance and was nestled uncomfortably amidst a number of drab commercial enterprises,
from mini-storage centers to breakdown recovery services to a smog check center. The office’s jurisdiction stretched out from Sacramento to the Sierras and up to the Oregon State line. Responsible for enforcing FAA rules and regulations from aircraft safety to pilot certification, the officials had the unenviable task of crash
investigations as part of their duties.
The district office was the headquarters for the investigation into the crash of his Cessna. The fatal nature
of the crash caused it to be classified as an
accident and not an incident. The Safety Board called the shots, and they’d assigned an investigator and sent him to Sacramento.
Josh entered the building. The sign at the entrance Said, WARNING—ALL ACTIVITIES ARE RECORDED ON
VIDEOTAPE TO AID IN THE PROSECUTION OF ANY
CRIME COMMITTED AGAINST THIS FACILITY. That message didn’t offer a warm welcome. In the reception for pilot certification, a small middle-aged woman met Josh with a broad smile. Her shoulders barely cleared the L-shaped service counter.
“Hi there. How can I help you?” she asked.
“Yeah. I wanted to speak to Terrance Reid of NTSB,”
Josh said.
“Sure thing. Can I tell him who is calling?” She picked up a phone on her desk and punched in a number.
“Josh Michaels. I’m the owner of the Cessna he’s
investigating.”
She relayed Josh’s request and put the phone down.
“I’ll take you up to him.”
She led Josh along a corridor and up the back stairs of the building to a small office in the corner of the second floor. She knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply.
“Josh Michaels,” she said, ushering him into the office before closing the door.
&n
bsp; The twelve-by-twelve office had several cardboard storage boxes on the floor and a desk strewn with papers on either side of a laptop computer. Terrance Reid was in his mid-fifties and efficient looking with a bald head edged with a rim of iron gray at the sides and back. A small portly man, the investigator stood up from behind the desk and shook hands with Josh. His welcome was businesslike. He was neither happy nor annoyed to see Josh. Reid offered Josh a chair and he sat down.
“Apologies for the room—I’ve got this while its
owner is on vacation. What can I do for you, Mr.
Michaels?” Reid asked.
“I wanted to speak about the investigation,” Josh said.
“There is little I can tell you at the moment. An initial report is not due for another few days, and the final report will not be due for another month. And that won’t be the end of the matter.”
“I know you’ve spoken to the mechanic.”
Reid nodded.
“You suspect the mechanic was negligent?”
Reid raised a finger and interrupted. “The mechanic may have been negligent, but no accusation has been made. However, initial findings have shown that several components were found unfastened, and the mechanic should have detected these at the time of inspection.
Especially as this was the aircraft’s maiden flight after a major overhaul. But Mr. Michaels, we are a long way off from a decision. Please don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Jack Murphy is convinced you’re going to have him convicted for negligence,” Josh said.
“I assure you that negligence hasn’t been proven, but we do have concerns regarding Mr. Murphy’s conduct.”
“What about foul play?”
Reid looked puzzled. “I’m not sure there is any
grounds for it. What makes you think that?”
“Jack Murphy is a good mechanic and Mark Keegan
is …,” Josh corrected himself, “was a good pilot.”
“However, things can go wrong and obviously did.
There’s nothing to give us grounds to suspect foul play.”
Reid’s response gave Josh an answer and a problem. The NTSB didn’t think foul play was a factor, so how was he going to get them to consider it since Reid had dismissed the notion? He saw no point in explaining himself, as it was likely Reid would react to his claims the same way as the police had. “Can I see the aircraft?”
Josh asked.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“But, it’s my plane,” Josh protested.
“I have to inform you that it’s not.”
“Excuse me?”
“The aircraft became the property of the insurance company once you made the claim. The plane is in the ownership of the NTSB and the FAA until our investigation is over, then we hand it back to them.”
“But I might be able to show you something you
haven’t seen.”
“Mr. Michaels, my FAA counterparts and I are very experienced in this type of work. If we need you, we’ll contact you. Anyway, the aircraft is still potentially a biohazard.”
“A biohazard?”
“Yes. In a fatality, blood is spilled. Toxins, poisons and all manner of potentially dangerous hazardous materials may have been released as a result of the accident and may still be harmful to the investigation
team.” Reid sighed. “Look, Mr. Michaels, we investigate everything—toxicology, metallurgy, pilot performance, as well as mechanical failures. Rest assured we
look into every aspect of an aircraft accident.”
“How long before I’ll be told what is happening?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. I believe this case to be a straight forward one and a final result should be published in six months.”
Josh frowned. He wondered if he’d still be alive in six months.
“Some cases can take years,” Reid concluded.
“What about Jack Murphy?”
“If we find that he was at fault, then the NTSB will take action. We only have the power to fine or suspend.
Only the federal justice system and you or Mr. Keegan’s family may take things to another level—
criminally, that is.”
Josh gave it one more shot. “With all your years of experience, have you ever known of an accident of this type—loose bolts and unions?”
“Personally, I haven’t. It is unusual, but not impossible.
Don’t let the uniqueness of the accident make you think there was foul play.”
Josh opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He wanted to ask more questions, but he knew it was
pointless. Reid wasn’t interested in Josh’s beliefs. Josh read between the lines. The investigator saw him as a hindrance. His manner said Josh was a man too close to the disaster to be objective. Josh created an uncomfortable silence between the two men.
“Well, Mr. Michaels. I do have a case to investigate, so if you will excuse me.” Terrance Reid went to the door and opened it. He offered his hand to Josh.
Josh stood up and shook the investigator’s hand.
“Thanks for coming in, Mr. Michaels. I’ll be in
touch.”
Josh knew he stood no chance of seeing his aircraft again. Nothing short of breaking into the hangar
would gain him access to his plane. He couldn’t afford to add a federal crime to his list of mistakes.
Josh was still preoccupied with his visit with Reid when he let himself into his home. He decided to leave the NTSB to do their job. There was little point in pushing them. Mitchell had done his job too well. They would never believe someone had planned the crash.
There was too much room for doubt.
He walked into the house as Abby bounded down
the stairs with an unstable looking Wiener sliding down with her. “Daddy, you’re back!”
At least someone was pleased to see him.
“Abby, Abby, please be quiet for a moment, I’m
talking,” Kate said in a firm tone.
Abby stopped in her tracks and bit her bottom lip.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“That’s okay, hon,” Kate said.
Josh bent down to pet the excited dachshund at his ankles.
Kate put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry about
that. Josh just came in. Well, like I was saying, I’ll be coming back to work tomorrow.” She paused while the other person responded. “Okay then, I’ll see you Tuesday,”
she said and hung up.
Kate’s decision surprised him. She hadn’t mentioned returning to work early. He’d assumed she’d return to work when he did. He’d already informed his company he’d be back late Thursday morning after Mark’s funeral.
He felt betrayed. Abby held out her arms and
Josh picked her up. “I thought you were going back to work after Mark’s funeral on Thursday.”
“I’ve decided to go back tomorrow. Abby’s school
started today and you’re okay now. I’ve used most of my leave for this year and I want to keep some.”
He frowned. Somehow he didn’t quite believe Kate.
It felt like she wanted to distance herself from him and his problems. She was pushing him away; rejecting him. He didn’t think her decision was part of a healthy answer.
It wasn’t going as well as Bob Deuce thought it would.
He’d expected the police to be pleased that he had some evidence and logic to support Josh’s wild account of the man on the bridge who now seemingly stalked his every move. Bob detailed Mitchell’s visit to his office under the guise of an investment representative and his inquiry into Josh’s and Margaret Macey’s personal lives. Bob thought that Mitchell’s presence at Josh’s birthday party gave him the means and opportunity to make the threatening phone call. He hoped that his account would be the inspiration the officers needed to go after Mitchell and take the heat off Josh.
It didn’t. The cops weren’t biting. The bait wasn’t juicy enough for them.
Bob had called the Sacramento Police Department
from his office and made an appointment to see them.
Luckily, he’d gotten a hold of Officer Williams, the more open of the two policemen—or so Josh had said.
Williams promised Bob five minutes around lunchtime and he’d made the trip downtown to the city police station and parked opposite the library.
They led Bob to a drab looking interview room with gray walls, plastic chairs and a Formica-topped table. He sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs and Williams did likewise on the opposite side of the table, while Brady parked his rear on the corner of the table next to his colleague.
Brady looked stony-faced and as impenetrable as
a rock. Williams, as Josh described, was amicable and willing to offer his time. Bob could see that the police officers wanted to dump him and get on with their jobs.
“Do you know where we can find James Mitchell?”
Officer Williams asked.
“I have no idea. That’s the problem. I tried to get a hold of this guy after Josh told me about him, but he doesn’t exist. The company he said he worked for has never heard of him.”
“That’s not a lot of help to us, is it, sir?” Officer Brady picked at a fingernail.
Bob felt his irritation grow. “I don’t know. You’re the cops, not me. What does your training tell you to do—eat doughnuts?”
Brady leapt up from the table. “You think that’s
funny, huh?”
Williams jumped to his feet, sending the chair sliding back behind him and snapped a hand to Brady’s arm.
“Cool it. Everyone, please.”
The two men did as Williams demanded and retook
their places.
“Mr. Deuce … can I call you Bob?”
Bob nodded.
“Bob, I appreciate what you are trying to do for Mr.
Michaels and for us, too. But you aren’t giving us very much to work with,” William’s said.
Brady’s eyes smoldered. He looked like a restrained Rottweiler that needed feeding.
Bob took a breath, held it for a moment and released it. “I know it sounds weak, but it’s all I have. I want you to know there’s something to Josh’s claims. I don’t promise to understand it, but there’s something odd happening.”
