Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  At a gesture from Goliad, Timmy went down on one knee, raised the hem of the bedspread, and looked beneath the bed. He stood up with the box held between his hands.

  “Thanks, shorty.” Before anyone was prepared for it, Rye snatched the box from Timmy.

  Goliad took two steps toward him, but he was drawn up short by the pistol in Rye’s right hand, aimed at his chest. “Timmy, you try sticking me, and I’ll blow a hole through your elbow.”

  Brynn gasped, “Rye, what are you doing?”

  Goliad patted the air. “Last thing my boss wants is trouble.”

  “Well, I’ve already got trouble with your boss for sending you to bang on my door and demand to be let in.”

  “Put the gun down,” Goliad said. “Timmy, back off. Everybody take a deep breath.”

  “My breathing’s fine, thank you,” Rye said.

  “Give me the box, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “No can do.”

  “It doesn’t belong to you.”

  Rye glanced at Brynn. “Are you going to explain, or want me to?”

  Goliad shifted his sizable body to better see her while remaining watchful of Rye. “Explain what?”

  Brynn tried to appear as though she knew exactly what Rye’s explanation consisted of. “Perhaps you had better.”

  Rye addressed Goliad. “Until the box is delivered, I’m responsible for it.”

  “You delivered it last night.”

  “Not technically.” His hand made a jerky movement that shifted the gun’s aim from Goliad’s chest to the ceiling.

  Timmy lurched forward.

  Goliad barked, “Calm the fuck down, Timmy.”

  “Yeah, Timmy, calm the fuck down,” Rye said. “While you’re at it, take two steps back.”

  At a brusque nod from Goliad, Timmy complied. “You’ll get yours,” he snarled.

  Rye ignored him and said to Goliad, “Are we cool? I’m going to put the gun away and reach into my back pocket for the receipt.”

  “Receipt?”

  Moving slowly now, Rye slid the gun back into his pocket and took from it a folded sheet of paper. “A receipt with the name Dr. Lambert printed above the signature line.” He shook out the folded receipt and held it up so Goliad could read the name. “I’ve learned that Lambert’s first name is Nathan. Even without checking her driver’s license, I know that she ain’t him,” he said, tilting his head toward Brynn.

  “I’m supposed to deliver the payload to the person on the receipt unless a courier”—again he indicated Brynn—“has written permission to take delivery. She doesn’t.”

  That was the first that Brynn had heard of this, and she seriously doubted its veracity. Even if it were an FAA regulation etched in stone, Rye wouldn’t rigidly adhere to a technicality that inconvenienced him to that extent, or at all.

  But she didn’t have to believe it, as long as the two other men did. If Rye’s speculations about them were correct, they had tried to crash him and had assaulted Brady White. It didn’t surprise her that Richard and Delores Hunt would occasionally require bodyguards, but these two seemed more suited to protecting a crime boss than a U.S. senator and his wife. They frightened her.

  Rye had threatened to leave her to them if she didn’t play along with him. In the past couple of minutes, he seemed as dangerous as they, but at least he was the devil she knew.

  She continued to play along. “When I volunteered to come up here and get the package, I didn’t realize that written authorization was necessary, nor did Dr. Lambert. I’ve told him it doesn’t matter,” she said, casting a sour look in Rye’s direction. “He’s been mule-headed about it.”

  Goliad’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and said to Brynn, “You had the box with you in the café.”

  “Which is why I got my ass chewed good by the guy I was flying for,” Rye said. “He caught my boo-boo, reminded me that if this box isn’t delivered to Lambert, he can get into all kinds of dutch with the FAA, and I’d get fined or my pilot’s license suspended, neither of which I want to happen.

  “So, I started trying to chase down Dr. O’Neal. This lady at the hospital told me where she and the deputy had likely gone for breakfast. I beat it over to the café, went in through the back, bumped into the doctor outside the restroom. We got to talking and…” He raised his brows suggestively. “Wound up here. Bad call, as it turns out,” he added, looking over at Brynn with irritation.

  “Would you accept an e-signature?” Goliad asked.

  “I would,” Rye said. “But the codger who sent me has probably never even heard of an e-signature, and wouldn’t trust it. He’s leery of technology, and he’s even more leery of people showing up in the wee hours to claim cargo not addressed to them.

  “He said get Lambert’s John Hancock, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll hand-deliver the box. After Lambert signs off, what happens to it, or to any of you, is none of my concern. I’ll be out of it, free and clear, and so will the charter company.”

  “We’ll deliver it to Dr. Lambert,” Goliad said. “Get his signature and email you a copy.”

  Rye scoffed. “Cross your heart?”

  Unfazed by the taunt, Goliad said, “Dr. O’Neal and I will take full responsibility. This won’t come back on you or the charter company. She and I will see that Dr. Lambert gets the box.”

  Rye hugged it more closely. “I’m supposed to trust that? Sorry, but I have no confidence at all in your truth-telling. Doll face here has been lying to me from the get-go. Now you two show up, looking like B-movie muscle, claiming to work for somebody who tracks other people’s cell phones. I don’t know who that person is, don’t know you one-named wonders, don’t know her, and, if Dr. Lambert doesn’t produce a photo ID when we meet, he’s not getting this box, either.”

  Timmy was restless, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Why don’t we just kill him and take it?”

  “Tell him why that’s a bad idea, Goliad,” Rye said. “No? Okay, I will.” He looked at Timmy. “Because it would create a lot of time-consuming problems to deal with. My corpse. Trace evidence. A mess to clean up. According to Goliad your boss doesn’t want any trouble, and, besides that, he’s obsessed with the ticking clock.” Going back to Goliad, he added, “Am I right? If not, I would already be dead.”

  Brynn’s heart was in her throat. He was all but daring them. Goliad, however, didn’t respond, leading her to believe that Rye had tapped into the heart of it.

  He continued, “Look, I don’t know what your racket is, nor do I care. It can be innocent or criminal in nature, makes no difference to me, except that if it’s criminal, I want to be clear of it so my license isn’t jeopardized.

  “So I’m sticking to the rules. I’m going to deliver the box to the name on my sheet. Once it’s in Lambert’s hands, I’m gone, and it can’t be soon enough to suit me. We can wrap this up real easy, real quick by loading up and getting on the road to Atlanta.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Sound like a plan?”

  Brynn was trying to read Rye’s mind and discern what his actual plan was. But how it would play out wasn’t left to either of them.

  Goliad made the choice. “It’s an excellent plan, Mr. Mallett. We’ll all ride together.”

  Chapter 14

  2:02 p.m.

  When Deputy Rawlins answered his cell phone, Wilson asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to watch a football game, but one of the nephews vomited crab dip all over the rug, so I had to pause the game while they’re cleaning it up.”

  “I’ve got the game on. Want to come over here?”

  “The wife would kill me.”

  “Tell her we’re working a case.”

  “Are we?”

  “The guy who quarreled with Brady White? His alibi is solid. He’s skiing in Colorado.”

  “I wasn’t sold on him anyhow.”

  “Then you’re gonna love this. Dr. O’Neal didn’t take delivery on the car I arranged for her. She skipp
ed.”

  “Be right there.”

  “Bring a bag of chips. Never mind the crab dip.”

  They lived no more than a five-minute drive from each other, but by the time Rawlins got to Wilson’s apartment, Wilson had a six-pack iced down in his Igloo. He uncapped two bottles and, as he sank into his recliner, passed one to Rawlins. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  They clinked bottles and drank.

  Rawlins took a seat on the sofa, opened the bag of chips and munched a couple, then got down to business. “Where’d she go?”

  “To the restroom.”

  Rawlins stopped chewing and looked quizzically at Wilson.

  Wilson explained what he’d gleaned from the car dealer and the waitress at the café. “Nobody’s seen her since.”

  “Wanna bet?” Rawlins drawled and took another sip of beer.

  “Mallett?”

  Rawlins shrugged. “He’s the type.”

  Wilson nodded in grudging agreement. “Damn his hide.”

  “His hide and hair.”

  Wilson, who’d lost more than half of his, gave his partner a wounded look.

  “That hurt.”

  Rawlins chuckled.

  After taking another drink of his beer, Wilson began absently scraping the bottle label with his thumbnail. “I’ve got an ear worm.”

  “What song?”

  “Not a song. Something I overheard, at the department, as we were walking upstairs with them. The doctor and Mallet had an exchange there on the landing.”

  “I remember you telling them to move along.”

  “Right, but it’s what he said I keep going back to.”

  “Relative to—”

  “Nothing at the time,” Wilson admitted. “Not till later.”

  “Okay.”

  “His jacket. He’d folded it over his arm to where the lining showed. White silk, but old-looking, yellowed. It’s got a pinup girl painted on it.”

  “Like they used to paint on the noses of bombers?”

  “Before political correctness,” Wilson said. “It wasn’t lewd. The girl’s got clothes on. More teasing than anything. But when the doctor saw it, she took exception, and let him know it.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing right away. But you know that look they give you. Like, ‘Will you grow up?’”

  Rawlins said, “I know the look.”

  “So Mallett refolded the jacket, gave this mock apology, and told her that there was a world map on the inside.”

  Rawlins listened, crunched, drank from his beer. “Okay.”

  “Well…” Wilson glanced at the muted TV. A receiver had just dropped a perfect pass, but neither was interested in the game any longer. “It got me to thinking that maybe we were shown blood samples to keep us from looking at something underneath them.”

  Rawlins set his beer on the coffee table. “Like inside the foam lining.”

  “Like that.”

  They held each other’s gaze, then Wilson took the bag of chips from Rawlins and dug in. Rawlins stared blankly at the TV as he thought it over. “Brady’s head wound looks like the kind made with the butt of a gun, and Mallett has that pocket pistol. But it’s small, and there wasn’t any blood on it when I took it from his bag.”

  Wilson noshed. “And why would he want to clobber Brady?”

  Rawlins admitted that Rye Mallett had put that same question to him.

  “Did you come up with a motive?” Wilson asked.

  “None that held water.”

  “Dr. O’Neal insisted that I take her to the hospital so she could personally check on Brady’s condition before leaving town. Either her worry was genuine, or she’s one hell of a good actress. I was surprised to see Mallett there.”

  “He was?”

  “There when I dropped her off and there when I picked her up.”

  “He was lurking at the hospital? Why? Worried that Brady would wake up and point the finger at him?”

  “According to Thatcher, Brady doesn’t know who hit him. He was struck from behind.”

  “If Brady had died, whoever hit him would be facing a much more serious charge. Manslaughter, if not murder. That would make a suspect nervous.”

  “Nervous enough to make a visit to the hospital?” Wilson set aside the chips and dusted salt off his hands. “Hell, I don’t know. But if he’s that cold and calculating, I don’t see how he could look Marlene in the eye.”

  “Mallett talked to her?”

  “Dr. O’Neal did, too.”

  “Huh.” Rawlins frowned in thought, then stood up and reached for his coat. “Then I think we should talk to Marlene.”

  Although they were officially off duty, they chewed mints on the way to the hospital so no one would smell the beer on their breath. The admissions nurse knew them by sight, even in plainclothes.

  “Marlene White still here?” Rawlins asked as they approached the window.

  “Some of the relatives have trickled out, but they told me that she won’t leave.”

  The two deputies took the elevator up. In the waiting room, Brady’s wife was surrounded by well-meaning people. Rawlins asked if they could speak with her alone. They stepped out into the corridor.

  Weary as she looked, her concern was for them. “I’m sorry you’re having to work on a holiday.”

  “We’re sorry you’re spending it here,” Wilson said. He inquired after Brady.

  “Holding his own,” she said. “Deputy Thatcher told me that the man Brady quarreled with has been cleared. I don’t know anyone else who could have done this.”

  Wilson waited a beat, then said, “Dr. O’Neal was set on stopping here before she left for Atlanta.”

  “It was so kind of her to come by. Her and Rye both. I think his visit was a tonic for Brady.”

  “He visited Brady?”

  “For only a minute.”

  “They talked?”

  “Oh, yes. Rye felt responsible for what happened. He promised to take Brady flying when he’s well. Brynn was equally sweet. I hoped to say goodbye to her, but she was already leaving when I returned with the key. Rye was watching her through—”

  “Excuse me,” Rawlins said. “What key?”

  “The key to my car. I loaned it to him.”

  The two deputies looked at each other before going back to her. Rawlins said, “You loaned your car to him?”

  She explained how that had come about. “He was reluctant to take it, but I insisted. He was going out to the crash site. I told him to keep the car for as long as he needed it.”

  “Has he brought it back yet?” Wilson asked.

  “No, and he was very apologetic over having to leave it.”

  Wilson held up a hand. “Leave it?”

  “He called…oh, maybe a half hour ago. I’ve lost track of time.”

  “What about the car?” Rawlins said, prodding.

  “He said he had to get to Atlanta. A spur-of-the-moment thing. He wouldn’t be coming back through town.”

  With a renewed sense of urgency, Wilson asked, “He left your car near the crash site?”

  “No.”

  She gave them the name of a seedy motor court about five miles outside of town on a two-lane state road that wasn’t heavily traveled.

  “I told him that it was no problem at all for me to send someone out there to pick it up. My brother and nephew have already volunteered to go. I suggested Rye leave the key with the desk clerk, but he said he didn’t trust him. He told me where he’d left it hidden.”

  2:41 p.m.

  When Wilson and Rawlins walked into the cabin rental office, they understood why Mallett might be mistrustful of the attendant. He was stoned. His lazy grin was comprised of crooked and rotting teeth. “Which one of you is her old man?”

  “Neither.”

  The deputies produced their badges.

  “Awww, ssssshit.” The clerk threw a nervous glance over his shoulder toward an open door, through which could be seen a messy office.
>
  Rawlins said, “We’ll forget that it reeks of weed in here if you tell us whose old man you thought we might be.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try again.”

  “I never saw her. Only the dude came in.”

  “What did the dude look like?” Rawlins asked.

  “Tall, blond hair, leather jacket. Sunglasses.” He looked out the window at the fog. “Can’t figure why.”

  “What time did he check in?”

  “What time?” In thought, he scratched his pimply cheek. “Before nine?” He put it in the form of a question, as though it were the guessed-at answer on a pop quiz.

  “What name did he register under?” Wilson asked.

  “Didn’t. Paid cash and asked we keep it just between us.”

  “Hmm,” Wilson said. “Smoking dope and cheating your employer out of a cabin rental. You’ve had a busy day.”

  The allegations made the clerk considerably more helpful. “He said they ran out on the Thanksgiving get-together to have a shagfest, and that if anybody came in asking had somebody rented a cabin in the last hour or so, I was to play dumb.”

  “That would be a stretch,” Rawlins deadpanned.

  The clerk divided an avid look between the two deputies. He licked his crooked front teeth. “He looked like a dude that’s been around. What did they do?”

  “We can’t disclose that.”

  “Well, whatever, wasn’t much of a shagfest. They’ve already vacated.”

  “Their car is still here.”

  When pulling into the compound, they’d spotted the blue Honda parked outside the cabin farthest from the office and the road.

  “So how’d they leave?” Rawlins asked.

  “With the two guys.”

  Rawlins and Wilson shared another look of misapprehension. “What two guys?” Wilson asked.

  The clerk began to look uneasy. He raised both skinny arms in surrender. “This ain’t none of my doin’, and I want no part of it. I’ll give the owner the money for the cabin. Swear.”

  “What two guys?” Wilson repeated.

  “All’s I know, they drove in here in a black car. Didn’t stop at the office. Went directly to the cabin. A few minutes later, they drove out again. The dude was in the back seat on the driver’s side. Woman with long hair was on the other side of the back seat. Never saw her face. Just the back of her head through the rear window.”