by T. K. Walls
“Go on, Brad. Don’t stop.”
“OK, OK, just stay calm. I am answering your questions. I met this priest when Rachel and I went to the Vatican. He offered me a job—or opportunity, so to speak. Once the gold was sold, melted, and reformed, it would need to be transported out of Europe. He needed someone to fly it, convert it to cash, and then deposit the cash into various accounts. Eric and I would be paid twenty percent of the profits.”
“How much, Brad? How much money over the years did you get paid? How did Rachel find out?” Seth was still looking out the window, but he was fully aware Brad was trying to get out of the restraints.
“I don’t know the exact amount, maybe a little over a million each. I have no idea how Rachel found out. All I know is that I overheard her talking to Emily about the charters. She was upset and threatening to report us.” As he talked, Brad was carefully scanning the hangar, looking for anyone he could call out to for help.
“No need to look for help, Brad, it isn’t coming. I locked the gate into the airstrip, and it’s Sunday; none of your members have flights scheduled. What happened with the phone call between Rachel and Emily?” Seth slowly poured the capful of gas onto Brad’s groin and waited for him to speak again.
“You’re nuts, you know that? I answered your damn questions!” Brad felt himself losing control and truly feared Seth would light another match.
Seth poured another capful of gas and held it to Brad’s chest. “Is this why you killed her and the kids, to keep the charters secret and to save yourself and Eric? And yes, you answered my questions, but you lied to me. You know how Rachel discovered what was going on in Italy. You also know who the gold belongs to. Remember, Brad, I already know the answers. Rachel told me.”
Brad’s arrogant cockiness was now slipping away as he felt more gas being poured onto his chest. He was trying to remain in control, not that he had any as he was strapped to the pilot’s seat.
“Seth,” he said, trying to calmly speak in the hope he could reason with the other man. “We both know you aren’t going to kill me. OK, you win, you have my attention. Cut the duct tape, let me go, and this will remain between the two of us. I won’t talk to anyone about this.”
Ignoring Brad’s pleas, Seth continued with his questions. “Why were Beverly and Stephanie killed? I know it wasn’t an accident.” Seth poured another capful of gas, watching Brad and patiently waiting for an answer.
Brad was no longer calm. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his voice quivered when he spoke. “Because I didn’t want a divorce. I couldn’t stand another day with her and her kids. Stephanie was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t want Stephanie on that trip, but Beverly insisted on all of us going, and it was a holiday! I couldn’t leave her!”
Seth got out of the plane, closed the copilot’s door, and walked around to the pilot’s door.
“Seth, let me go! Now!” Brad pleaded.
Shaking his head, Seth said evenly, “No, you aren’t going anywhere. You are going to die the same way Rachel, Elizabeth, and Stephanie died, the same way you killed the boys, the same way you killed Beverly and her boys. And you are going to die in your new private jet. This time you aren’t walking away.”
Seth opened the rear passenger door and poured the remaining gas onto the seats and the floor of the plane. Before closing the door, he leaned over the back of the pilot’s seat and whispered to Brad, “I truly hope you live long enough to feel the pain of every part of your body burning. I disabled the fire alarm before I came into the hangar. Just like no one rescued Rachel and the children, no one will be coming to rescue you, Brad.”
He tossed a lit book of matches onto the passenger seat of the plane, closed the door, and walked away without looking back. Before he got to the hangar door, he could hear Brad screaming. He stopped for a brief moment, fighting the temptation to turn around and watch. Then he walked out and closed the door behind him while Brad was still screaming.
TWENTY-EIGHT
COUNTY DISPATCH RADIOED SHERIFF MCNEIL LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON ABOUT A POSSIBLE FIRE NEAR KRANNERT AIRPORT. EMS and the fire department had already been notified and were en route. According to the dispatcher, the person reporting didn’t see the fire but saw smoke billowing from the area. While Mac was talking to the dispatcher, he could hear several other calls coming in that the airport was indeed on fire. Mac interrupted the dispatcher and instructed her to immediately notify the county coroner in case there were any bodies that would need to be recovered. He also gave orders to notify the owner-operators of Krannert Airport, Dr. Brad Rivers and Eric Wilkerson, that their business was on fire.
Mac was pulling into his driveway as he finished talking with the dispatcher. The one thing he hated more than getting a call for a domestic was getting called out to investigate a fire. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to work, let alone driving to the airport. If he was going to have to go inside the building after the fire department extinguished the blaze, he wanted his waders. Sitting in his driveway, he remembered the waders were at the police department hanging from his coatrack. Slapping the steering wheel in frustration, he backed the car out of the drive and headed back to the station.
The main hangar was still smoldering when he pulled onto the airstrip. The hangar had burned almost to the ground, but at least the fire was out. Getting out of the police cruiser, he scanned the growing crowd, apparently looking for Brad or Eric. Not seeing either of them, he made his way to the entrance of the hangar where the coroner was standing. “Ryan, you actually made it to a scene before me,” Mac said to his friend.
Ryan nodded and pointed to the hangar. “I can see a few planes in there. One looks like there could be something in it, but honestly, it could just be the way the plane burned. Maybe the pilot’s seat fell forward during the fire. It’s still too hot to go inside, and until the building inspector says it’s safe, I am happy to speculate out here!”
“That’s fine,” Mac said as he scanned the ruins. “I can see the planes, but I don’t see what you see. It just looks like a burnt plane to me. When it’s safe to go in, wait for me and I’ll go in with you. Never know if this mess is going to be a crime scene.”
Mac walked over to where his deputies were hanging out. “Guys!” he shouted, waving his arms to get their attention. “I don’t see any cameras out. You think you can take some pictures while you are standing there?” Mac gestured toward the hangar as he approached. He looked back at the ruins; from where he stood one aircraft did look like something was inside. “Insurance is going to want pictures, and the feds are going to be all over this mess.” Mac scanned the crowd again and yelled back at his deputies, “Hey, anyone know if the owners were contacted?” Getting no answer, he threw his hands up in frustration and started pacing in front of the hangar. He turned around toward the entrance of the airport just in time to see a black BMW racing toward the hangar. He knew the car was either Brad’s or Eric’s, as both drove the same car.
The BMW screeched to a stop behind one of the police cars; Eric Wilkerson jumped out of the car and ran up to Mac. “What happened? My God, was anyone hurt? I keep trying to call Brad, but I can’t reach him!” Eric frantically ran back and forth in front of the building, trying to look inside.
Mac stopped him by reaching out and grabbing his arm. “OK, look, Eric, we can reach him later. Right now, I need you to focus. Was there anyone scheduled to be here today, or anyone that you know could be inside? Anyone who is usually here on a Sunday afternoon?” Mac shook Eric by both shoulders. “Eric, look at me! You need to focus, OK? Is there a schedule? Is there anyone other than Brad you can call to check on the pilots who rented space from you?”
Eric slowly responded, “Uh, let me think, yeah, that’s a good idea. I think I have everyone’s numbers. I can make some calls. But no, I don’t think anyone was scheduled to be here, and we don’t keep a calendar or a schedule for the pilots and mechanics. I would have no way of knowing. I mean, the pilots don�
��t schedule their time. If they want to do maintenance, they just use their key and do their thing. They would only schedule a flight plan if they were planning to go anywhere. Otherwise, we don’t keep track of anyone. I don’t see any cars in the lot, either.”
The fire inspector and building inspector approached Mac as Eric was looking up the numbers of the other pilots and staff. “Sheriff, you can go inside. The structure is secure, and the power has been turned off to the hangar. All the wires you see down are dead. Just don’t trip over them.”
“Inspector, the cause of the fire? Do you think this was an accident or arson?” Mac asked.
“This fire is definitely arson. There is a distinctive burn pattern around one of the planes, and a hot spot. If there hadn’t been an accelerant, the fire couldn’t have advanced as far as it did. There is evidence the fire started at that plane. Unfortunately, it looks like there is at least one victim,” explained the fire investigator. He spoke with a flat, absent tone, as though he were reciting a piece of old news.
Eric stood frozen in his tracks. “Arson?” he stammered. “How—arson—are you sure?”
TWENTY-NINE
WHILE MAC AND RYAN PUT ON THEIR GEAR AND PREPARED TO GO INSIDE, THE FIRE DEPARTMENT SET UP LIGHTS TO ILLUMINATE THE INSIDE OF THE HANGAR. Yellow police tape was placed around the entire building. Eric was instructed to remain outside until the police and coroner completed their inspections. The hangar was dripping water, and with the lights reflecting off the rafters, it looked eerily like the inside of a gutted steel monster.
Ryan let Mac lead the way into the skeletal remains of the once-elite hangar. They were only a few dozen feet inside when they heard Eric yelling that he had found Brad’s car in the back lot of the airstrip. Both men stopped and looked at each other and then at the wreckage of the planes in the hangar. Ryan pointed to the one he had earlier suspected had something in the pilot’s seat. Mac nodded his head, and both men headed toward the aircraft. As they got closer, it became obvious to Ryan that someone who had once been very alive and human was now dead in the seat.
“Mac, do you know who owns this plane?” Ryan absently asked as he peered inside the pilot’s seat. “Whoever this guy was, he’s a crispy critter now. I am going to need the entire front part of this thing moved to the morgue. He isn’t going to be easy to get out of this thing, either.”
Mac tried to hide the growing unease he felt in the pit of his stomach as he slowly walked over to where the coroner was standing. He peered into the cockpit, shaking his head, and agreed with the coroner. “Uh, yeah, this one can’t get any deader, Doc. I have no idea who owns these planes. This could be the owner, someone who rented the plane, or even a mechanic. We need to get Eric in here to tell us which planes are stored where in this mess. I have a bad feeling we are going to find out this is Dr. Rivers. Doc, we need to keep this quiet for as long as possible.”
Ryan backed away from the plane and looked around at the rest of debris. “I agree, this has to be kept under wraps. If this is Dr. Rivers, this town will be flooded with the feds, media, and countless lawyers.”
“Yep, and until we know, we don’t need the company. It’s getting late,” Ryan said.
“I’ll have a few of the deputies set up guard over this place,” Mac replied, looking around the rest of the hangar and noticing what the fire inspector had mentioned. “Ryan, look at the burn pattern. The fire inspector said that one of the planes was where the fire started. He didn’t say which one. I think this was the start of the fire. Maybe I need to stay here overnight.”
“Yeah, I noticed that too.” Ryan walked around the back of the plane and then to the passenger side. As he came around to the front of the craft, he turned and looked at the rest of the planes. “Mac, I think you could be right, and the fire started with this plane. This place is mostly concrete and steel. I don’t see a lot of damage other than this plane. The sides of the building are gone, the roof is a mess, but the worst of the damage seems to be right here. Which means the fire likely started here, and the roof above this plane is completely gone. What I don’t get is how or why the fire was started. Hopefully, this guy can shed some light on what happened tonight.”
THIRTY
SETH WAS EXHAUSTED WHEN HE FINALLY PULLED INTO HIS DRIVEWAY. His neighborhood was still dark except for the street lights. He sat in his car for a few minutes, thinking of his conversation with Brad. He already knew most of what Brad had told him, but now he knew that not only had Rachel’s husband betrayed her, the church she had loved and the monsignor she thought the world of had also betrayed her. The realization caused him to feel an almost uncontrollable anger. For the sake of his plans, to complete his mission, he needed to maintain control. He would maintain control.
He finally got out of the car, his legs stiff and his body sore. With the smell of smoke on his clothes, he slowly and gingerly walked to the front door, fumbling for his keys as he walked. Opening the door, he went inside and paused in the foyer to look at the picture he kept on the entry table. Killing Brad had given him some satisfaction, but it didn’t last, and it wasn’t enough. There was more work to do, and he needed to be careful not to get linked to either of the bodies. This kill was a first, as he had never killed anyone he could be connected to or who had known him. He had never taken a souvenir, but this time he did. He had taken Brad’s cell phone. He didn’t need a souvenir, and he hadn’t taken it for that purpose. He needed the phone to complete his plans. The monsignor would be calling, and it was one call he didn’t want to miss.
He was physically and emotionally exhausted. Before turning to go upstairs, he gently touched the photo. Once in the bathroom he removed his clothes. He stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at himself, not thinking. Everything around him smelled like death—his clothes, his hair, even his skin. He showered and went to bed, but sleep was evasive. All he could think about was Rachel.
They had been childhood friends, and over the years they’d become lovers. When she told him she was pregnant, he had been elated. They both had accepted long ago that their relationship would have to remain as it was. They wanted their child to be raised in a normal home, or as normal as was possible. Rachel had already married Brad, and he was the father of her two older sons. She knew Seth’s secret, but she loved him anyway. And how could she not? His last kill was for her. After that night, he had promised her he wouldn’t kill again. He kept that promise until Stephanie died.
Lying on the bed under the covers, he allowed himself to cry, not just for Rachel and the boys but for the twins Elizabeth and Stephanie. Killing Brad didn’t stop the pain he was feeling as he remembered the night long ago when he’d made his promise to Rachel.
* * *
“Seth, he isn’t breathing! There’s blood; he’s bleeding!” Rachel yelled. She pushed him away as she struggled to stand. “What did you do? Oh, my God, oh my God. He isn’t moving!”
She was crying and yelling at the same time. Her clothes were soiled, her beautiful golden-brown hair matted with mud and leaves. Her tears left streaks down her dirty face. Finally she got to her feet and looked over at Seth. He was calm, standing over her date with a crowbar. He poked at the young man, and when he was satisfied he was dead, he turned to look at Rachel. “I saw you leave with him after the game. I followed you.”
Rachel struggled to understand what had just happened. Not just that her date had attacked her, but that Seth had calmly struck him in the head with a crowbar. He didn’t seem the least bit upset.
“I don’t understand, Seth! I think you killed him,” she said softly. She was still slightly unsteady and instinctively reached for him to help her, but then pulled away in fear when he reached for her.
Seth dropped the crowbar and pleaded with her. “Rachel, I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. You don’t understand. He was planning to attack you. This was part of your initiation into the sorority you pledged, and it was part of the fraternity he belonged to! I knew about this; it wa
s all over campus. That’s why I followed you! To keep you safe! Look! I can prove it! All the pledges were assigned a number that must be worn on their jackets. Your number is six. It’s on your jacket! His fraternity passed out cards with numbers. His number was six! Look in his pockets!”
“No! I don’t believe you,” Rachel cried, staring in disbelief at Seth.
Seth turned the body over and started going through his pockets, finally finding the card in his front pants pocket. He pulled it out and handed it to Rachel. “I would never hurt you! I could never hurt you! Whatever you think of this guy, he was playing out his frat’s game. I am sorry. I really am, but you don’t deserve to be treated like this. I just couldn’t leave you alone with him, knowing what I knew. I couldn’t let him hurt you,” he said softly as he lowered his head to avoid her glare.
Rachel took the card from him and carefully examined it. It was identical to the card she had been given by her sorority as a pledge. She dropped the card and grabbed Seth, hugging him close and crying.
Seth pulled away and took Rachel’s face in his hands. “I have to take care of the body,” he said.
It was then that Seth told Rachel his secret. He was afraid she would run, tell someone—or worse, hate him. But she didn’t. She offered to help him, but he wouldn’t let her. He assured her he knew what he was doing and that neither of them would be connected to the body. It was hours later, after the body had been disposed of and Rachel had cleaned herself up, that she convinced Seth to stop killing. Her acceptance surprised him. Instead of his secret driving them apart, it drew them closer. He never completely told her whom or how he killed, or even when he had started killing, and she was content not knowing.
