Chapter Twenty-Six
The engine’s never-ending roar thumped in Kelly Ingersol’s ears while the overhead speaker twanged, the pilot announcing the plane’s descent into New York.
The exhausted woman called the flight attendant to take her tray. The long flight, and an entire bottle of champagne, had left her both dehydrated and mentally worn out. All she wanted now was to get on the ground and into a hot bath at a good hotel.
The in-flight news broadcast droned on in her earphones as she leaned against the window and the jet circled Manhattan. She snapped out of her quasi-slumber when the standard headline fare was interrupted by a special bulletin. The reporter’s voice scratched her ears as he rehashed the story.
“Boston Police said they have identified a man found dead by two construction workers early yesterday as Jackson Verde, 43, of Braintree.
Police officials said two electricians found Verde’s body in a trash dumpster behind the Boston Tower building at around five a.m. Saturday morning.
Police confirmed Verde was Director of Research at Tower tenant Diversified Research Incorporated.
Police listed the cause of death as a gunshot wound and said they are investigating the case as a homicide, but released no additional information.”
Her pulse quickened, dusting the cobwebs from her mind as the words washed over her. She had no real interest in this Verde character, but she did have an interest in anything having to do with Diversified Research. It was widely known in her circle of “associates” that projects developed at Diversified were high-dollar, very high-dollar.
If they’re going through chaotic times, this is the stuff golden opportunities are made of.
Her mind raced with the possibilities.
As the plane made its final approach to Kennedy Airport, she ignored the rest of the news and began to formulate a plan to do some digging in Boston and see what came up. Intuition tingling, she pulled the phone out of the seat in front of her and dialed the ticket counter. “I’d like to book a seat on your next flight to Boston, please.”
The hop from JFK to Logan went by in an instant, compared to her tans-Atlantic crossing. As her second flight of the day touched down, she replayed the news broadcast in her head.
There is money to be made here. I just have to figure out how. If one of their senior people is gone…mistakes get made…things turn up missing.
Those thoughts occupied her feverishly working mind until the plane coasted to a gentle stop at the gate. Her skin prickled with tension and excitement as the timeless quote of Arthur Conan Doyle’s great detective, Sherlock Holmes, flashed across her mind. The game’s afoot, Watson!
"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I Page 35
