Retribution

by T. K. Walls

  He was out of his office and on the interstate in minutes, heading back to the airport. No need to pack: his luggage from his weekend trip was still in the trunk of his car.

  During his trip, he answered several calls pertaining to the crash. Even though the news had not released the name of the pilot, the air traffic controllers at Krannert, as well as those at the airfield in Florida, knew who he was. Eric tried not to think about what the NTSB, Brad’s friends and colleagues, and the media would be considering—that Brad had intentionally crashed the plane. There had been speculation about the first crash, but with Emily’s help, Eric had proved the first crash was simply an unfortunate accident caused by rain, poor visibility, and Brad’s mistake in reading the instruments. It happens. But now, with this new accident, even Eric had misgivings about his friend.

  Brad was a superb pilot. He flew one of the best small jets on the market, and he didn’t make mistakes. Or if he did make a mistake, he didn’t repeat it a second time. The first accident happened during a rain storm at night, but this time the sky had been clear, the weather and visibility were very good, and they had taken off during early-morning hours. It had literally been perfect flight weather. Why did Brad turn the jet around after takeoff? Why was he trying to land after taking off, and how did he miss the landing strip? An immediate landing after takeoff was an elementary skill. Eric had to wonder if Brad was skilled enough to plan and carry out two plane crashes in which everyone died except himself. Brad knew that airfield; he had flown into it several times a year over the past decade. However, Eric still wasn’t ready to accept that Brad intentionally crashed his jet. The question he was fighting to ignore was whether Brad was suicidal and had intended to take himself out with this family—or he had intended to kill just his family and walk away.

  He arrived at the hospital around five p.m. and quickly walked through the front door to the information desk. He gave the receptionist his name and asked for his friend’s room number.

  “He’s in room six thirty,” said the receptionist. “Take the elevator to the right of this hall, and check in with the nurses’ station once you get to the unit.”

  The nurses’ station was in the center of the unit. Eric was confused; this didn’t look like a critical care unit. It looked more like a rehab floor. He approached the nurses’ desk.

  “Do you have a Brad Rivers on this unit? I was told by registration he was in six thirty. What type of unit is this?” he asked as he looked around.

  The older woman sitting behind the desk had gray hair and glasses that rested on the edge of her nose. She quickly glanced at a computer screen and then raised her head so she could see him over the glasses. “This is a medical unit. You can go into the room. I think he is sitting in a chair.”

  Eric looked at her in surprised silence. How could Brad have survived a second crash that killed his entire family yet not be injured?

  The door to room 630 was slightly ajar, and as he approached, Eric heard Brad talking on the phone.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”

  Eric entered the room without knocking. Brad glanced up at him, and for a second Eric thought he looked surprised to see him, but then his friend gave him a thin smile and continued talking on the phone. He motioned for Eric to sit down. He didn’t look upset. In fact, he seemed cheerful and content.

  Eric walked to the side of the bed closest to where Brad was sitting. “What happened?” he asked softly, sitting on the bed, after Brad had hung up the phone.

  Shaking his head and sighing, Brad answered, “I don’t know. We were on our way back. You know, just a weekend trip to Florida to spend some time at the beach house and a couple days at Disney, maybe do a little shopping. Something happened during takeoff. I don’t know what, but something went wrong with the controls. I think maybe the engine stalled. Somehow, I lost power. I turned the plane and tried to glide back onto the landing strip, but I missed it and hit a hangar. I really don’t know what caused it, just that it happened. I was told my family didn’t make it. I am still trying to wrap my head around this. I just don’t understand what happened. I think I am either the unluckiest man alive or God has some strange, cruel plans for me. He spared me again. Did they tell you my family died?” Brad said absently.

  Eric watched his friend’s eyes and realized his reaction to the loss of his second family was shockingly flat. He was distant and unemotional. He spoke as if he had anticipated the question and rehearsed his answers.

  “Eric, I will need you to represent me again. I don’t want to lose anything more than I have already. You know how important the charter service is to me. I believe you know how important it is to us and our partnership.”

  “OK, Brad, slow down. We first have to deal with the local police and of course the FAA and the NTSB again. They will investigate, and this time I am fairly certain you will lose your license. I am not even sure if you will be allowed to operate Krannert this time.” He could see his friend was becoming angry the longer he spoke.

  Brad leaned over and spoke in a low, controlled voice. “I don’t think you understand the implications here, Eric. We aren’t losing the charter business. We have clients who rely on us, and let’s be honest with each other: we rely on them too. In other words, you do whatever you have to do to protect the business, and that includes my license.”

  “How can you possibly be worried about the business and your license?” Eric said. “Do you hear yourself?” Eric wanted to shout at him but had to keep his voice low. “Seriously, your wife, her children, and yours and Rachel’s daughter are dead! Hell, even the damn dog is dead! What’s wrong with you?”

  Brad sat unmoving in his chair, his legs crossed, and turned his head to look squarely at Eric. “Don’t ever again ask me what is wrong with me,” he said icily. “There is nothing wrong with me. Last I checked you are not a physician, you are my attorney and my business partner, and you have a job to do. That’s what I pay you for, and that’s what Krannert pays you to do, so do it. I want that airfield funded by the end of the year, if I have to fund it myself. As for losing my family, don’t begin to imagine how I feel. I am coping the best way I know how, which is to focus on business. Just because you don’t see me crying or upset doesn’t mean I’m not upset. If you have any reservations about the business, I suggest you think about Tedesco and what happens when he doesn’t get the services he pays for. And, Eric, don’t ever question me again.”

  Eric slowly stood up and spoke quietly into his friend’s right ear. “Brad, I don’t know what exactly is going on, and I have no idea how you managed to crash another plane, but this puts us in a very tight situation. Just as you have pointed out, we have clients who have already paid, and we can’t back out of Tedesco’s deal. I don’t need to think about Tedesco. I am well aware of who he is and what he is. We have a deadline that can’t be missed. If I could, I would quit. Whatever the problem was, we could have fixed it. Your family didn’t need to die. My God, Brad, Stephanie didn’t have to die!”

  Gesturing at Eric to sit back down, Brad answered, “Sit down, and stop the grandiose act. You don’t care who dies as long the business continues and the money flows. So stop the act.”

  Brad sighed and waited for Eric to sit back down. “Good. Now we have work to do, and I am not referring to the NTSB. I don’t give a shit what they think they know. I am not losing my license, and we aren’t losing Krannert or the charters. I am sure you are aware, Eric, that everyone has a price.” Brad paused, watching Eric’s reaction. “We just need to find the right price and the right person.”

  “Fine, Brad. I will fix your mess. But once we are done with this next charter, I am out. No more of this shit. We have each made a lot of money, and I don’t need any more. You need to find another pilot if you want to continue the charter.”

  Brad nodded. “Make sure you notify Emily. I will give her a call in a few days. It wouldn’t be good if she were to find out watching the news.”

  “Do
you want to listen to the conversation?” Eric responded.

  “Sure, that will probably be the best step so our stories are the same. Go ahead and call her.”

  * * *

  Eric and Emily had been classmates and friends in high school. They lost touch with one another during undergraduate school but quickly reconnected during law school. Learning came easy for him; it always had. He knew she was smart, but the material was not as easy for her. Every time he saw her, she was studying, whether it was in the law library or sitting outside on a bench in the courtyard. While other law students gathered at the Legal Beagle to drink beer and argue over case briefs, Emily was studying.

  Eric and Emily separated after law school when their careers took two sharply different directions. Even though they lived only a few hours apart, they barely spoke after that. Now he needed to talk to her about the second accident.

  At one time, they had all been friends. He and Emily often spent weekends with Brad and Rachel. Emily and Rachel were close, and her death was difficult for Emily. After the first accident, Emily had suspicions that Brad had intentionally crashed the plane, but Eric convinced her it was just an unfortunate accident. Not too long after, Emily took a position in Boston and left.

  Eric had followed Emily’s career in Boston and was disappointed at how she had become the poster child for bad lawyering. He knew her better than most, and this loud, unfeeling, and uncaring legal analyst was not the person he once knew. He had often thought of reaching out to her to see if she needed anything, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Her phone rang twice before she answered. “Hello.”

  Eric stammered for a moment before managing to say, “Emily? This is Eric. I know it’s been a while, but something has happened, and I didn’t want you to hear it on the news. I wanted to tell you myself.”

  When she didn’t answer, he pressed his cell phone closer to his ear and could hear her breathing.

  Finally she said, “Eric? I don’t know what to say. It’s been a long time. What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

  Eric slowly explained the latest plane crash involving Brad. As he spoke, he could hear her softly crying. When he finished, he apologized. She had been right from the beginning. But he couldn’t have done anything to prevent the first crash, and he couldn’t have prevented the second crash, either. All he could do now was try to distance himself, and he seriously doubted that was even possible. Brad and Eric were both under contract with Tedesco, and Eric knew there was no way out unless the monsignor didn’t need them anymore.

  FIFTEEN

  SETH’S DESIRE TO KILL WASN’T FUELED BY THE NEED TO RECTIFY A WRONG. He didn’t see himself as a vigilante. He didn’t care about any particular crime or type of crime. He didn’t care about his victims, either. Although his first kill as a child had been purely by accident, he was surprised by the way he felt afterward. He liked the feeling, and that was simply the reason he’d continued to kill.

  Seth couldn’t blame his desire or his actions on abusive or overly permissive parents. He’d had a wonderful childhood. His parents had been wealthy, educated, attentive, and loving. He wasn’t a loner; he’d had friends throughout school. Only one person had known his secret, and that person was dead. He’d stopped killing after college for no particular reason; he just wasn’t getting the rush he had gotten when he was younger. Not to mention he wasn’t interested in getting caught and ending up in prison. However, eventually it was time to start killing again, and he’d looked forward to again feeling the rush that came with controlling whether someone lived or died.

  Seth had decided Detective Connard would be the first. He had deserved to die. Picking him was easy. The guy was a pompous, arrogant ass, and he made other good cops look bad. He bullied and abused people to get their confessions. Not only was he a lousy cop, he was a lousy husband who beat his wife whenever he got drunk. Seth truly didn’t think anyone would really miss Connard, not even his wife. He had been curious to see just how long it would take the coroner to identify the detective’s body and whether Connard’s wife would report him as missing. But the only thing Seth had known for certain before the kill was the name of his victim, and when and how he would kill him.

  He also knew Connard wouldn’t be the last.

  SIXTEEN

  IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, AND SETH WAS STILL WORKING. The office was quiet, and he had several things to complete before he could leave. The television in the office break room was broadcasting the national news. He was focused on the organized pile of reports in front of him when the news reporter mentioned a name that brought him to his feet.

  “Dr. Bradley Rivers crash-landed into a hangar, killing his second wife, her two children, and his daughter. Dr. Rivers survived this crash, which is similar to a plane crash he survived three years earlier.”

  Seth came from around his desk and walked into the break room. The news was showing a photo of Dr. Rivers, his latest late wife, and her two children. They had been an attractive family, just as Rivers’s first family had been.

  “According to the FAA, the first accident Dr. Rivers survived was a result of pilot error. Dr. Rivers misread the instruments, causing him to miss the landing strip. In this current horrific accident, an undisclosed source stated that Dr. Rivers told local authorities the engine stalled, which caused him to attempt to turn the plane around and land at the airport he had just left.”

  Seth didn’t believe what he was hearing. Two very similar accidents, and each accident had killed Dr. Rivers’s wife and children. This accident managed to kill the surviving daughter from his first marriage, too. Seth wondered what the odds were of a pilot surviving two plane crashes in which passengers were killed.

  Under the Freedom of Information Act, Seth was able to access the archives of the FAA’s NTSB. It wasn’t hard to locate the first accident report or the decision of the FAA. The report indicated that Dr. Rivers had not misread the instruments, as the news had reported, but that he did not have enough fuel to reach the airport. According to the report, FAA regulations required an aircraft to have enough fuel to reach not only its destination airport but also an alternate airport. This safety measure was designed to ensure the plane had enough fuel to circle if needed or to land at an alternate airstrip should something unforeseen happen. According to the accident report, Rivers had intentionally removed fuel to add shopping items his wife had purchased. Fuel weighs a lot more than shopping bags. Seth wondered exactly what his wife’s purchases had been that required such risk and if she had been aware of the choice. With the money the good doctor had, why hadn’t he shipped the items instead of risking running out of fuel?

  As he skimmed the accident report, Seth recognized another name: attorney Eric Wilkerson. He knew Eric was an attorney, but he wasn’t aware he had a relationship with Dr. Rivers. He wondered if Eric was still Rivers’s attorney and if he would be assisting in this new accident investigation.

  It was dark when he had finished downloading and reading all the documents. He turned off the television in the break room and the lights to the office, locked the doors, and went home. He was already planning his next kill, and he knew how he was going to do it. The stirring of excitement he felt as he developed his plan was better than he had ever felt before.

  SEVENTEEN

  SETH ALWAYS WATCHED OR LISTENED TO THE NEWS BEFORE GOING TO WORK. The evening before, he had spent hours researching the FAA records. He felt it was important—even necessary—to be aware of current world events as well as local events. His home was small and decorated with a modern flair: hardwood floors, sparse furniture, and wall hangings or pictures on painted white walls. He had one flat-screen television hanging on the wall of his living room. He listened to the news while getting ready for work. The usual weather and local news was playing, but he was waiting to hear the national news. He was curious if Dr. Rivers had been charged or was going to be charged with killing his wife and children. He never doubted the good doctor had intentionall
y caused the first crash.

  Finally an update to the plane crash appeared on the ticker tape under the picture: FAA CONTINUES TO INVESTIGATE CAUSE OF CRASH. PILOT STATED HE ATTEMPTED TO TURN THE PLANE AND GLIDE TO A LANDING AFTER THE PLANE LOST POWER. AT THIS TIME NO CHARGES TO BE FILED. Seth slowly nodded his head and turned off the TV. That was interesting. He had expected something more, but that was it. Not another mention of the crash, and no comparison to the first crash.

  He remembered Dr. Rivers and the first accident. That accident had changed his life forever. Nothing was the same after. But this latest accident also had his attention. A few years ago, the plane crash in which Dr. Rivers’s wife and children had perished, leaving only the pilot and his daughter Stephanie, was the biggest news story in Boston, as well as most of the Northeast. Seth knew from watching the news about the plane accidents that Boston’s former prosecutor Emily Bridges had a connection with Rachel, Dr. Rivers’s first wife. He also knew that her former lover was Dr. Rivers’s attorney and close friend, Eric Wilkerson. As a prosecutor, Emily had an opportunity at one time to seek charges against Rivers for the first accident that claimed Rachel and three of her children. But there wasn’t enough public interest, and nothing came of the accident. But Seth understood how difficult it would be to prove Rivers had intentionally crashed a plane while he and one child survived. The doctor had gone on with his life, fought to keep his pilot’s license, and, with the help of Eric, succeeded. He remarried and somehow managed to survive yet another plane crash where he again was the pilot and his wife, her children, and Rachel’s surviving daughter died. He wondered what Emily thought now, and what her former fiancé, Eric, thought.