Chapter 73
Cam braced as they moved through the security checkpoint, but it turned out to be wasted worry. They made it through without issue.
They’d timed it so the flight was already boarding, avoiding another risky wait. Right after takeoff, Roxie seemed to morph back into Sam. A petrified look overtook her face, and her milky white skin turned a shade of green. She urgently reached for the airsick bag.
Cam recoiled in horror as he watched.
“Sorry, I forgot to warn you that I get airsick every time I fly,” she said between upchucks.
“Way to keep the attention off us,” he replied with a grin. But while he attempted to comfort her, he felt anything but comfortable. His eyes were locked on the other passengers. He wondered if one of them was a federal air marshal who had been given a heads-up from Henson.
Cam didn’t know why they were the ones feeling like the criminals, and forced to run from the law. But that didn’t mean the real predator wasn’t on the plane. And based on the bombing of Anna’s apartment building, it was obvious that they were the ones being chased.
Cam dabbed some remnants off the corner of her mouth with a cocktail napkin. She looked like she wanted to open the door and jump out of the plane.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with embarrassment.
“Hey—you’re my wife. Through sickness and health … right?
“I wouldn’t blame you if you want a divorce.”
“Despite your dual personality disorder, and that you’re no Amelia Earhart when it comes to flying, I am honored to be married to Roxie Foye. And besides, my mother will be thrilled I finally got hitched … and to someone who isn’t Heather Hayden.”
“I actually read that you broke up with Heather Hayden so you were free to hookup with your mother’s news rival, Lauren Bowden, to spite her for a falling out you had.”
“I would never spite my mother. Infuriate, yes, but never spite.”
“I read it in the Skeleton Closet, so it must be true.”
“That’s also the same tabloid that has claimed my father is alive for years …”
He never finished the statement. He didn’t have to. The enormity of the situation hung over them, and they settled into a long silence.
Somewhere over the plains of Nebraska, Cam noticed that Sam was beginning to look squeamish once again. He tried to get her mind off it, hoping to avoid a repeat performance. And while he was at it, maybe learn a little something more about this woman he found so intriguing.
“Anna mentioned that you’re some brilliant legal scholar. Do you plan on practicing law, or are you going to take the Cam Myles post-law-school route—or what my mother calls: an aimless wander through the desert of life?”
If his goal was to comfort, he failed miserably. Her eyes moistened. “What is it?” he asked.
“Tim and I had planned to team up. I was going to go into divorce law. He would catch the cheating spouse, and then send the business my way for the divorce.” Her tone turned despondent, “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“You could foolishly quit your job and try to make a baseball comeback,” he tried a different subject matter, hoping for better results.
The mention of baseball seemed to perk her up. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“You played?”
“All the way up until high school.”
“Why did you stop?”
“The girl thing.”
“They didn’t let girls play baseball in your high school?”
“No, my boobs got too big. They restricted my ability to swing the bat.”
“Out loud again.”
“I was afraid of that.”
She seemed to lack a filter, which Cam envied—he always had to choose his words carefully, as far back as when he was a child.
She continued, “But the bigger reason was that my boyfriend thought the only connection I should have to baseball was cheering him on when he played. I always tried to please him.”
“Are you still together?”
She snorted a laugh. “Oh, God no. I didn’t even know what love was back then.” She turned serious. “Luckily, I have someone really special in my life right now who has taught me what love is all about.”
Cam wasn’t sure why he was surprised. How many young, attractive women in this city weren’t attached? Still, for some reason it caught him off-guard, and his stomach sunk.
And then it sunk again.
The plane hit a patch of turbulence that shook the cabin. The petrified look returned to Sam’s face, and the Fasten Seatbelt sign blinked on. Cam buckled up—it was going to be a bumpy ride.
Chapter 74
The plane glided down onto the runway at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport.
He spotted the two police officers waiting for him the moment he exited the gate. One was squat heavy with an east coast mustache. The other was tall with snow-white hair and looked like he enjoyed an occasional cocktail.
The tall one greeted Henson pleasantly. But the shorter one, named Lewis, didn’t look happy about his presence. Henson had met a million of these turf warriors in his days, who hated the idea of the feds swooping in to their investigation and stealing their credit. Henson was way past needing credit—the only thing he wanted was to get Cam and Samantha to safety, before they ended up like their brothers. That’s why he jumped on the next flight, once he figured out where they’d run off to. But as usual, when it came to this case, he was trying to play catch-up.
The long flight was frustrating, but did allow him to put the most recent events together, helped by new developments. They hadn’t been able to trace the alias that Jack Myles used to board that flight to Miami, not that Henson expected they would. But they were able to track an abandoned Dodge Durango found outside Anna’s apartment. It led them to a shady used-car dealer in New Mexico named Eggert. And when a couple of federal agents showed up to ask him a few questions about it, they found Eggert dead, and the whole place had been burned to the ground. It seemed that the Jack Hammer was going west. Or more likely, returning.
A search of Geoff Myles’ credit card purchases showed a few items he bought at the Blue Marlin Mall the day of his murder—a leather jacket, a couple of suits, and some pricey sunglasses. The items themselves had no value to the case, but like airports, malls have extensive security video. And this particular video showed a man intentionally bump into Geoff Myles, which led to a heated argument. It was shot from a distance, and didn’t feature any audio, but it was clear the man in the sunglasses had sought out Geoff, who didn’t recognize the danger that was approaching him. But Henson did.
Henson followed Lewis and Carthage through the airport crowd. Carthage cracked jokes, while Lewis brooded.
“I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I need to see the O’Connell crime scene, and I was told you two were the experts on that subject,” he tried to play nice, which really wasn’t his thing. It’s probably why he never made Director.
They marched out of the terminal and into a waiting sedan. Then made their way northbound on I-17 to the place where Tim O’Connell was left for dead, or left already dead.
“So how did O’Connell get involved with Natasha Kushka?” Henson asked
“Are you with the FBI or the Skeleton Closet?” Lewis shot back.
“You’re the ones who made a whole scene of interviewing an international superstar, and then her equally famous ex-boyfriend. I’m just trying to see the connection.”
“She had words with him at a press conference, following her win in Scottsdale … and then had more disparaging things to say about him in Las Vegas. We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t interview her. And this Modino character had recently confronted Kushka, and threatened her about another man she was allegedly involved with. If that guy turns out to be O’Connell, we’ve got motive,” Lewis said.
“O’Connell was following her around the country, from tournament to tournament. Might have been a blackma
il scheme going on,” Carthage said.
“Sounds like a reach,” Henson replied.
“Do I think Natasha Kushka did the deed on O’Connell, or hired someone to get rid of him? No—but I wouldn’t rule out others in her entourage, including her mother. They would do anything to protect their cash cow.”
Henson shook his head. “I know Irina Kushka personally, and she wouldn’t be involved in anything like that. But I wouldn’t rule out Natasha’s father.”
“One intsy-teensy problem with that, Henson,” Carthage said. “Her father has been dead for over ten years. Killed himself back in Russia.”
Henson shrugged. “Well, I guess we can scratch him off the suspect list. Let’s move on to the accident.”
As Carthage described the scene, Henson was taken back to the July night that began this long journey. He was a young policeman in Montgomery County, Maryland, and was first to arrive at the fiery scene. A Porsche had wrapped itself around a large oak tree at high speed, and burst into flames. He could still feel the heat against his face all these years later. He remembered how helpless he felt. All he could do was to watch in horror.
When he called in the plate, the cavalry arrived like the presidential motorcade was on fire. He would soon learn the man behind the wheel was someone much more popular than the president in those parts—Jack Myles … the Jack Hammer. The man who’d been bigger than life was now without life, reduced to the unrecognizable remains that were being removed from a burning sports car.
Lee Henson had been a Washington Monuments fan since he was eight years old. His devotion began the day his father took him to what was then known as Grover Cleveland Stadium, and later renamed for Jack Myles. And it wasn’t easy being a Monuments supporter—losing season after losing season, where escaping last place served as a moral victory. But then came the moment that made twenty years of misery pay off—the Summer of the Jack Hammer. As he stared at the burning wreckage that night, he realized he should have known it was too good to be true.
Like many Jack Myles fans, the accident was personal for Henson. And when things started to not add up, he began digging. When his digging led to the discovery of some interesting artifacts, word made its way to those in high places, leading to a clandestine meeting with some very powerful men.
He learned that there was more to the story than he could ever imagine, including a connection to the death of Senator Arthur Barrett. The powers that be had been impressed with his initial work on the case, and offered him a position in the FBI, where he could continue to pursue it. Looking back, he saw that it was a way for them to search for Jack Myles, but also control the information, and the PR nightmare that would have resulted if the press had found out he’d been looking into the death of an American hero. He threw his life into the case, but when the Cold War ended, and many of his leads ended up dry, the case died … even if Jack Myles never did.
The accident Carthage described was eerily similar to the one that night, and the “suicide” of Geoff Myles had much in common with that of his grandfather, Senator Barrett. Henson wasn’t sure what the Jack Hammer’s angle was for the repetition. Maybe he was out of ideas, or perhaps he took an ‘if it ain’t broke why fix it’ approach to killing. But being in his late fifties himself, Henson thought something else might be at play here.
When you hit the autumn of life, it’s only natural to want to turn back the clock, and recapture the glory years. His actions screamed of someone who was restless, and desperately seeking to return to the past. The logical move would be to go further into hiding, but he chose the opposite.
Lewis abruptly cut Carthage off, “The FBI didn’t come down here for no blackmail case, no matter how famous the person is—there’s something bigger going on. So either come clean with us, or shut up and take a nap. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Lewis was right. But Henson didn’t have the time or the energy to go into a story three decades in the making, which took him from Montgomery County, Maryland, to Dead Man’s Wash, Arizona, with too many dead ends in between to count. And who would believe it, anyway? So he leaned back and shut his eyes.
Chapter 75
After landing in Phoenix, Cam had expected to be surrounded by the FBI, and dragged into protective custody. He would then receive the harshest of punishments—a condescending lecture from Henson, followed by an angry one from his mother.
But Peter and Roxie were able to walk freely off the plane, and through the airport without resistance. As far as Cam could tell, they weren’t recognized. Sam had called ahead from New York to reserve a car for them. While she was working out the details at the Avis counter, Cam drifted toward a gorgeous woman who graced the airport wall.
It was a life-size advertisement for High Octane sports drink, featuring a strategically sweaty Natasha Kushka. As he observed the ad, he almost laughed to himself at how absurd this whole thing was—Natasha Kushka might be my sister?
A female voice behind him then said, “Cam? Is that you?”
It wasn’t Sam’s voice, so he didn’t react.
“Cam … I don’t believe it,” she said enthusiastically, walking right up next to him. He wanted to shrink into a hole.
She was an attractive blonde, decked out in an ASU T-shirt and short-shorts—she looked to be eighteen or nineteen.
“I’m sorry—my name is Peter. I think you have the wrong guy,” he said, looking around to see if other travelers noticed their exchange.
The very tan girl rolled her eyes. “I only spent the first ten years of my life living next door to you … I think I know what Cam Myles looks like.”
When he looked closer, he realized he did know her. “Michelle?”
“Yeah, thanks for remembering,” she said with a smile. “Do famous people really think the fake mustache and glasses thing works?”
The Strong family had been their neighbors in Fairfield for as long as Cam could remember. Michelle was their youngest daughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her, and by the looks of things, Little Mickey was all grown up.
“I go to Arizona State. Just finished mid-terms, so I’m flying home for Easter.”
“How are your parents doing?” he made small-talk, but then recalled, “Actually, come to think of it, I just saw them at …”
Her face saddened. “Geoff’s funeral, I know. I wish I could have made it. I cried for days when I heard about it—thought someone was playing a cruel joke on me.”
Cam nodded solemnly. It still hadn’t fully registered that his brother was gone. For a moment he flashed back to those times on the beach—Little Mickey, maybe two years old, trying to keep up with the neighbor boys, Cam and Geoff, as they played Frisbee football on the beach with her older brothers. It was right before Geoff got sick, and Cam had his ‘coming out party’ to the world. If he had the ability to go back in time, it wouldn’t be the big stuff he’d return to—it would be days like that.
Michelle didn’t seem prepared to talk about Geoff any more than he did. She stared ahead at the advertisement. “So is she going to be the new Heather Hayden?”
Cam wasn’t sure when the tabloids became required reading in college. “Natasha? She’s more like a sister to me.”
“Yeah right, I’ve heard that one before. Just FYI—I met her last week, and she seemed more like one of Cinderella’s evil stepsisters.”
He swung his head in her direction. “What do you mean, you met her?”
“She showed up Butte Head’s last Sunday. And she was throwing all this attitude like she was all that. And maybe she is all that, and more, but she doesn’t have to act like it.”
“What is Butte Head’s?”
“This bar on campus we hang out at … which I’d appreciate you not mentioning to my parents, being that I’m still a little short of the legal drinking age.”
She held up her phone, and showed him a photo she’d taken of Natasha that night. But Cam was more interested in the sunburned guy standing next to h
er in the picture—it was Tim O’Connell.
As Cam studied the photo, he heard jingling of keys behind him. He turned to see Sam, unable to hide her annoyed look. “We better get going.”
“Same here,” Michelle said, holding up her ticket. She wrapped a big hug around Cam. “Let’s get together the next time we’re both in Fairfield. We should give him a proper send-off where he was happy … at the beach.”
He smiled. “I will.”
“I’m going to hold you to it, Cam,” she said as she hurried toward her gate, her new womanhood bouncing along with her.
“She recognized you?” Sam asked.
“She’s an old friend,” he said, as they walked out of the terminal, toward their rented Nissan Pathfinder—Cam was still on edge, waiting for someone to jump out at them.
“I see.”
He saw where this was going. “No—I mean I used to babysit for her.”
“Okay, that made it grosser. And it’s none of my business, but do you really think now is the best time to be picking up college girls?”
He thought about the question, and then said, “Actually, I do—and I know the perfect place.”
Chapter 76
On the short trip from the airport to Tempe, Cam explained the sighting at Butte Head’s. He thought it was the best place to start reconstructing those fateful last days of Tim’s life.
The Butte Head’s crowd looked a lot like Michelle—tanned, blonde, and wearing the minimum amount of clothing required.
“I don’t remember a place like this at Queens College,” Sam said as they maneuvered through the crowd. Cam couldn’t recall anything like it at Yale, either—but to be fair, he spent his entire four years at the library, baseball field, and Pepe’s Pizza.
They found the waitress who was working that Sunday—another tanned blonde, this one named Courtney. She wasn’t cooperative at first, as her boss had banned any discussion of the Natasha Kushka visit, and threatened to fire anyone who talked—he didn’t want word to get out that she stormed out after just a few minutes, and the bad publicity that would follow.
The Jack Hammer Page 22
