Nate

by Mercer, Dorothy May

  Nate -THE SEARCH –

  Dorothy May Mercer

  Chapter 8 Old Pals Meet Again

  “I f I’m not still at the crime scene, I’ll be in my room,” Nate was speaking on the phone to his Chicago control supervisor.

  “Give me a half hour,” said Cliff. “I will tap on your door four times and hold up my badge.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait for you,” said Nate.

  “What name are you going by?” asked Cliff.

  “N. Sheldon.”

  “Sheldon, got it,” said Cliff. “I’ll be there as Field Officer Cliff Side.”

  Nate chuckled, “Cliff Side, I’ll try and remember that.”

  “Don’t strain yourself,” said Cliff and clicked off.

  No doubt the local cops would want Nate’s identification and tell him to stay in his room for questioning. The hotel would be in lockdown for most of the night.

  It was a bit difficult for the handsome six-foot-three Air Marshal to be a fly on the wall, but Nate hung back and tried to be invisible until they kicked him out of the lobby area. He watched the cops go about their business, securing the area. They were good.

  Eventually the man who seemed to be in charge approached Nate and asked for his identification. “Are you a guest in the hotel, Mr. Sheldon?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m in room 406,” Nate answered.

  “Did you see this happen?”

  “No but I heard gun-shots so I came out of my room.”

  The cop looked at him closely. “Weren’t you afraid of being shot?”

  “I guess that was a dumb thing to do, wasn’t it?” Nate berated himself.

  “What did you see?”

  “Well, actually nothing. No one was in the hallway.”

  “You didn’t see this happen?”

  “Oh goodness, no. I only came down here after I heard all the sirens. Looked out the window and saw all the officers piling out of their cars. Figured it was safe at that point. Didn’t hear any more shots.”

  “I see. Well, in that case, you need to stay in your room with the doors locked until someone comes to take your statement. The hotel is in lockdown until we find the perpetrator of this crime. Don’t admit anyone into your room who is not in uniform. Understand?” He called over one of the cops who was just standing there and instructed her to take Mr. Sheldon to his room and make sure the room was secure.

  A half hour later a quiet tap-tap-tap-tap came on the door. Nate walked up and peered through the peep hole. He saw a badge for three seconds and memorized the number. Nate disengaged three locks on the door, opening it slightly, quickly moved way back and hunkered down, gun drawn, the way he was trained to answer any door.

  Slowly the door swung open. A man was crouched to one side, as he was trained to do.

  “Your name and password,” Nate asked softly.

  “Field Officer Cliff Side, the password is nuts.”

  “Come in with your hands up,” instructed Nate.

  Cliff stepped in, laughing. “My God, man, it’s you! What the hell you doin’ in the Windy City?”

  Nate laid his weapon down on the table. “I wish I knew,” he laughed, stepped forward to envelope Cliff in a bear hug. He leaned back to look him in the face. “How long has it been—years?”

  “A hundred years,” said Cliff, pulling out a chair and laying his weapon on the table next to Nate’s. “Are you involved in this mess downstairs?”

  “Only that I called it in, so far as I know. But, there is other stuff we need to talk about.”

  “Okay shoot,” said Cliff, “No, don’t shoot!” he laughed.

  Nate smiled, “You’re just as crazy as ever. When are you going to grow up?”

  “My wife says never,” Cliff chuckled. “She thinks it’s about time a man with six kids stopped acting like one.”

  “Six kids!” Nate exclaimed. “You’ve been busy.”

  “And you?” asked Cliff.

  “Two, a boy and a girl.”

  “Slacker,” said Cliff. “The Lord told you to populate the earth. What’s holding you back?”

  “I’m doing my part,” Nate insisted. “Two by two, one of each kind.”

  “Well, buddy, we need to conduct some business here, before we can hit the bars and do the town.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid there won’t be any partying tonight.”

  “Too bad,” said Cliff. “So, you called me. What’s up?”

  “You arrested a Mr. George F. George, arriving on United flight 302 earlier, right?”

  “Yes, we did on the say-so of some idiot agent that only gave his badge number. Was that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can only hold him so long. We had no idea what the hell was going on. Mr. George clammed up. You know about this?”

  Nate nodded and walked over to the closet where he had stowed his luggage. He pulled his jacket off the hanger and brought it to the table. Using a clean towel from the bathroom, he spread it out on the table and carefully shook an item from the coat pocket. “I took this out of his pocket while he was arguing with the flight attendant. Haven’t looked at it myself, but my prints are going to be on it. Maybe we can still retrieve his prints.” Nate peered at a six-inch switch-blade. “Haven’t looked at this, myself,” said Nate.

  “Oh-oh,” said Cliff. “Hmm, in his pocket, you say?”

  “Yup.”

  “On an airplane?”

  “Yup, United Airlines’ flight 302.”

  “But, how did he get this through security?” Cliff wondered.

  “Same way I get my weapons through,” said Nate. “It’s not metal.”

  “No kidding?”

  “The real question is, where did he get his hands on a weapon like this. You don’t just order one on Ebay.”

  Nate looked closely at the weapon. “I’ll be able to get a serial number off this. It’s either American or Russian made.”

  “How can I get one of these?” asked Cliff.

  “Not sure. Could be they are only issued to Air Marshalls, you know. The technology is top secret.”

  “So, how did the Russians get it?”

  Nate gave Cliff a meaningful look. “Good question.”

  “You think Georgie-boy is a Russian spy?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Would the Russians be trying to ditch an American passenger plane into Lake Michigan?”

  “Oh,” said Cliff. “Well, if this new string of murders wasn’t the doing of George, then who was it?”

  “We don’t know it had anything to do with George, do we?”

  “Only that the perp got a cab driver, too.”

  “Oh no, what cab driver?”

  “Yellow cab number 203-9642, waiting out at O’Hare, in the taxi lane. You know anything about it?”

  “Well, I took a Yellow cab from the airport to here. But, I didn’t take down his number. What time was it?”

  “Tonight about an hour after United flight 302 came in. Found him with his throat slit, nice and neat.”

  “Dear Jesus.” Nate held his head for a minute. Looking up he asked, “Any other clues?”

  “Only the fifty-dollar bill and the Kentucky Fried Chicken wrappers in the front seat, covered in blood.”

  “Kentucky Fried? Oh no!”

  “Hey, lots of people shop there. What’s wrong with KFC anyway? It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Nothing wrong, except that I had my cab stop at a KFC takeout window. What was he eating, do you know?”

  “A chicken sandwich and medium coffee. Mean anything to you?”

  Nate nodded, feeling sick.

  “Funny thing was,” Cliff continued, “the sales receipt was in the bag.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It showed the chicken sandwich, coffee and a meal.”

  Nate turned white.

  “There wasn’t any meal,” said Cliff. “We didn’t know what to make of that, unless there was someone else in the
cab at the time.”

  “It was me,” Nate said, forlornly.

  “You?”

  “’Fraid so. And I took the meal with me. Look, here’s the wrapper.” Nate reached into his waste basket for the remains of his meal. “Only thing is, I didn’t give the poor man a fifty-dollar bill.”

  “Ah … ” said Cliff, thoughtfully. “Then it must have been a later fare. Someone was in there after you were.”

  “The murderer?” Nate mused.

  “Could be. Yes, it must have been the murderer. The cabbie had not had time to put the money away.”

  “You have the bill, I hope,” said Nate.

  “Of course. What do you take us for, Sherlock?”

  “How did you get it?”

  “Oh wait. You’re right. I’m sure the local cops have it.”

  “They bloody-well better have it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a shame if the murderer left behind his prints and DNA? Gotta love stupid criminals.”

  “I wish,” said Nate. “More likely these folks are terrorists.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The switchblade.”

  “But, we don’t know that the murderer had any connection with George, do we?”

  “Can’t rule that out. Not if the same guy did the dirty business downstairs.”

  “You’re right. Probably it’s no coincidence. Well, pard, there is another curious thing about this George F. George fellow.”

  “How’s that,” asked Nate.

  “It seems another passenger by the very same name took the Alaska Air/Virgin America flight out of D.C. for Dallas, around noon.”

  “Same guy?”

  “How many George F. Georges do you know?”

  “Now it makes sense—the unusual name I mean.”

  “Oh why?”

  “The name is so silly. They wanted it to be memorable.”

  “So you think it was the same man?”

  “Could have been. Doesn’t matter really. It was either a distraction or a test.”

  Both men fell silent, deep in thought.

  “Oh, I forgot something,” said Nate. He got up and went to his closet again. He retrieved the small novel wrapped in a handkerchief, walked back and laid it on the table in front of Cliff. Gingerly he unwrapped the bundle, so as not to smear any possible prints. “Not sure I know what this means, but I took it out of the magazine pocket at seat 14B.”

  “Hmm,” said Cliff, “Well, it’s another piece of the puzzle. We’ll book this as evidence. What’s it about?”

  Nate looked closely. “It appears to be written in Persian.”

  “Oh really? Now that is interesting,” said Cliff. “Can you read it?”

  “Only a very little bit,” said Nate. “We’ll have to send it to the lab for testing, first. You never know what all they can pick up from something like this. I mean he has handled it personally, had it on his person, in his house, his car, office, bathroom—anywhere he went. The lab can analyze everything that ever touched this book.”

  “Amazing.”

  “There might even be chemical residue picked up from surfaces where the book has laid. They can tell you what pages he read. In luck, they may even get his DNA, if he licked his fingers before he turned the pages.”

  “Wow,” said Cliff. “Boy, I sure hope you used a clean handkerchief when you wrapped this thing.”

  “You betcha’, My mother didn’t raise no dummy,” he laughed.

  “Can you swear to that?”

  ~~~~~

  Des Plaines PD

  The suburban police department had done their job. By morning, every guest in the hotel had been interviewed and nearby streets and roads had been scoured. The evidence included the blood and fabric residue left on the fence at the swimming pool. Clearly the murderer had escaped over the fence, but he was bleeding, and so police tracking dogs were brought in to follow his trail. It led them to the spot where he had paused behind the building. Several drops of blood were there, where he evidently stood for some time.

  The trail then went further away from the scene, continuing on behind buildings, until it crossed over to another street. He hid behind another building for a time, and then he came out to the curb and disappeared. The investigators reasoned that he had gotten into some kind of conveyance and left the area.

  Records of all the local buses, taxicabs and Uber services would be examined to see if any fares were picked up at that exact spot. But, the murderer probably had an accomplice whom he called to pick him up. Cell phone records would show all the calls made from that area around that time and to whom.

  There would be a lot of work involved in checking all those records and leads, but that was police work—a lot of drudgery and thousands of details to investigate a crime. Nevertheless, in the end, they would get their man.

  ~~~~~

  Sea-Tac to YVR

  Today was not going as well as Sally hoped. First the 8:05 AM plane was grounded for mechanical problems. Then she went on standby for the 9:40 AM flight, and missed that by just one—she was the first person cut off. The 12:04 PM flight was overbooked.

  It was Sally’s day off in Seattle. She had hoped to fly up to Vancouver today and see her mom. Of course, her only choice was to fly Alaska Airlines as an employee. Otherwise on another airline she would have to pay for a ticket. Unfortunately, her budget would not allow for that.

  Sally checked her watch and studied the schedule again. She found a computer that wasn’t busy at the moment and began searching. She tried various scenarios. This was going to require some creative scheduling. She couldn’t afford to pay for a ticket. And so she searched every possible Alaska Airlines and Virgin America Airlines flights to see what she could do. Obviously, the closer the airport, the better, and so she tried Portland and then all the Los Angeles area flights. The problem with all of those was none flew directly to Vancouver. They all ended in Seattle, which meant that dozens of passengers from all those flights were changing planes in Seattle and crowding into flight 2242 from Seattle to Vancouver. No wonder that flight was full.

  She was going to have to make at least one stop, maybe two or three. Let’s see, she frowned and bit her lip. What was one of the busiest airports? How about Los Angeles? She could get into LAX easily, but what does Alaska have out of LAX to Vancouver? Nothing until after five. That wouldn’t work. Maybe a smaller airport? She tried Boise, Portland, Sante Fe. No luck. Hey, wait a minute. Anchorage. Could she get out of here on a two o’clock flight and then turn around and fly back to Vancouver? That might work if she could drive out to the elder-care home, see her mom and get back in time to take the evening flight back to Seattle. No, on checking the schedule, it wouldn’t work. The flights were too long and there were no connections that could get her back in one day. Too bad she had to work tomorrow.

  There was only half an hour left before the next flight to Vancouver. Trying one last time for the 12:04 PM flight, suddenly one seat came open. Someone must have failed to check in. Quickly, Sally grabbed it and entered her ID. The good part was that she could make the reservation, no waiting on standby. Great! With a few more clicks, she had her seat on the flight and sent the boarding pass to the printer. Whew.

  Sally walked over to the printer to grab her boarding pass, slipped it into her shoulder bag alongside her passport and new birth certificate.

  The replacement birth certificate had arrived from the Portland County Clerk, just in time, before she had to leave for this assignment. Sally hadn’t had time to study it, but she had seen enough to know that she had to confront her mother before Mom slipped into an even deeper state of dementia.

  Sally was so upset about this. What was her mother thinking? This was craziness. Sally didn’t know whether to be enraged, sad or simply confused. Whichever, she had to know who she was.

  It was already 11:36 AM. Sally had to hustle to catch the 12:04 PM flight to Vancouver. She picked up her shoulder bag, placed the long strap crosswise over her chest
and took off running. She had to go all the way from the end of Concourse A, through the terminal and out to the end of Concourse B. As much as possible she took the mechanical walkways, running down those like superwoman flying, dashing past old people pulling large suitcases and young women pushing baby carriages. Bummer. But, after that effort she was able to grab a ride on a Go-Buggy.

  Totally out of breath and praying for help, she rushed toward the gate just as the “last call” announcement came over the speaker. “All passengers for Flight 2242 to Vancouver should be on board. The gate is closing.” The uniformed employee was already turning off the machines and pulling the door closed. Sally ran up, chest heaving. “Hi,” she said, opening her handbag. “I have a boarding pass right here.” She pulled it out and waved it at the employee.

  “Sorry ma’am, you have missed it,” said the woman.

  “Please try,” begged Sally.

  “I’ll call them.” She picked up the phone. “I have one more passenger,” she said. “Have you closed yet?” As she waited, she reached for Sally’s boarding pass and held it ready to run through the scanning machine. “Oh,” she bit her lip. “Here,” she said as she handed it back, “I’m so sorry. They have already buttoned up the cabin door and are starting to pull away.”

  Sally’s shoulders slumped. Her face fell. “Darn.”

  “I’m really sorry,” said the employee. She could see how disappointed Sally was. “Is there any other way I can help you?”

  “No, the next Vancouver flight isn’t until 5:40,” said Sally. “Afraid that won’t work for me. I need to get there sooner.”

  “Maybe there’s another way—another airline?”

  “Well …” Sally looked around. The counter was deserted now. “Maybe I can use your computer to look for another flight?”

  “That’s for employees, only. I’m sorry.”

  Sally reached for her employee ID and showed it to the women who took it in one hand. “Oh, yes, certainly. Go ahead and use it. Good luck. I hope things work out for you Ms. Millecan.”