Dark ambitions, p.24
Dark Ambitions, page 24
“Hanging in. Cal insisted I go home at noon and rest, so I’m getting ready to lie down as we speak. I do have one piece of news, even if you don’t want to be our client anymore.”
“I’ve reconsidered my position. I’m still in.” If she was going to stay on this, he had to be part of it.
“Cal will be glad to hear that—and I am too. For different reasons.”
The warmth in her tone didn’t banish his misgivings . . . but it made them more palatable. “What’s the news?”
“It appears I’ve lost my tail. Have you spotted yours today?”
“No. I haven’t seen either of the cars that followed us on Saturday—but I don’t have your eye for detecting a shadow. I assumed I’d missed them or they’d changed vehicles.”
“I don’t think so. I took a rather odd route on the drive home, and I’d lay money no one was on my tail.”
Rick frowned, watching the mechanic run the Bell through a standard post-flight check. “Why would the person behind this stop the surveillance?”
“I’ve been pondering that.” A squeak came over the line, like the give of a mattress. “It’s possible that despite what’s on Boomer’s computer, the perpetrator has decided we’re no longer a threat. It isn’t as if any names were mentioned in the emails.”
“Or they could have sufficient information on our comings and goings to implement whatever plan they have in mind for us. If Weston is our guy, the stakes in this game are high. He may not want to take any chances with potential loose ends.”
“That’s why I’m not letting my guard down. You shouldn’t, either.”
“I’m still putting my concealed carry permit to use.” The owner of the aviation company waved at him from across the hangar, and he lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “I have to run. I think another job may have come in. It’s feast or famine with this flying gig. Worse right now with the other first-string pilot on vacation.”
“But you love every minute of it. Your eyes lit up when you were telling me about that search and rescue course you’ll be teaching next month.”
He hiked up one side of his mouth. The types of helicopters he flew now were child’s play compared to the Chinooks and Black Hawks and Little Birds from his Night Stalker days, but the adrenaline rush at liftoff was always the same.
“Yeah. I do. So what’s your next step?”
“I’ve already been in touch with CID and the PDs in Lexington and Lubbock. I saved the good news for last. Thanks to everything we’ve discovered, my contact at Fort Leonard Wood is going to try to muster enough substantive evidence to get a subpoena for Weston’s financial records.”
“That is good news.” If they couldn’t get Weston on a murder charge, maybe CID could nail him for fraud—or another equally serious crime.
“In terms of Beth and Boomer, I want to dig deeper into Weston’s background. Talk to a couple of former employees from the early days of his start-up.”
“Why?”
“Ex-employees often know inside information about their employer—and they have nothing to lose by sharing it. If there are any cracks in his armor, we may be able to exploit them to smoke him out on the murder cases. It could go nowhere . . . but I’ve seen the technique work.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“I’ll touch base with Beth’s neighbors. The detective on the case would have talked to them about what they saw the night she died, but I want to delve deeper.”
The lady was thorough.
“Busy week. Any time to give me an in-person update, since I’m funding this effort?”
“The investigation has broadened far beyond your original scope. Cal won’t expect you to pay for my hours on Beth’s case.”
“We’ll work it out. The cases are connected.” He strolled toward the owner’s office. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I thought you were going to be in the air all week.”
“I don’t have anything booked yet on Friday. We could discuss the case over dinner. Or if I end up flying that day, Kaldi’s on Saturday is an option. Doesn’t matter to me where we meet, as long as you’re there.” Women like Heather didn’t come along every day—and he wanted no doubt in her mind about his intentions.
“Ditto. And either one works for me.”
He smiled. “Easy sell.”
“Smooth talker.”
His smile morphed into a chuckle. “I’ll call you again tomorrow. Let me know if anything interesting turns up before that.”
They said their good-byes, and he picked up his pace as he crossed the hangar.
The risks Heather was taking with this investigation were troubling—but the case wasn’t going to last forever. Within the next few days she’d either uncover useful information or hit a dead end.
As long as she’d insisted on pursuing this, the best outcome would be a fast resolution that nailed the perpetrator—and removed the danger.
That’s what he’d pray for.
Because the longer this dragged on, the more perilous it would become.
Maybe no one was on their tail anymore . . . maybe the emails that had convinced the two of them they were on track with all their theories were gone . . . but that didn’t mean the mastermind had written off the threat he and Heather posed.
And if Heather continued to make waves, those storm clouds massing along the western horizon on this January afternoon might be an omen of more than impending nasty weather from Mother Nature.
It was worse than I’d expected.
As Jackson Dunn’s laptop finished shutting down, I rummaged in the drawer for my stash of cigarettes. Slid two in my pocket, along with a book of matches. Stowed the laptop and its case in my gym bag, beside the miniature screwdriver and hammer I’d already tucked inside.
Destruction and disposal were my priority.
Meaning that on this warmer-than-average January Monday, I’d be making a short drive to a secluded lake.
After I placed a critical call.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the slip of paper containing the ten-digit number, tapped it into my burner phone, and began to pace.
Too bad it had come to this. I’d never wanted so many people to get hurt.
But even though the correspondence between Dunn and his female friend hadn’t contained any names, there was sufficient detail to pique the interest of law enforcement.
And it would certainly have energized the woman PI and her client. Unless the funding ran out, she’d continue to poke her nose into shadowy areas best left undisturbed.
It was time for Phoenix Inc. to lose a client.
My mechanic-for-hire answered after five rings, and I got straight to the point. Why waste social niceties on paid help?
“I’m ready to pull the trigger—rhetorically speaking. How soon can you move?”
“I’ve already done the homework. I was waiting for a green light from you.”
“You have it. But remember—this has to be ruled accidental.”
“Understood. There are several methods I can use that will read as mechanical failure.”
“What about security at the facility?”
“Easy to circumvent. Small businesses like Palmer Aviation don’t spend big bucks on fancy systems. It’s a perimeter setup, and the staff is lean. I’ll slip in through an open hangar door, hide till they close for the night, take care of my business, and slip out in the morning. Piece of cake.”
“How will you know which helicopter to . . . work on?”
“They post a list of the flights on a bulletin board in the office, including pilot names and assigned aircraft. Easy to see through the office window with binoculars. I have one question. Passengers aren’t identified on those printouts. Only the number of people traveling. Some outbound flights are pickups, and in that case the pilot is alone. Do you want me to wait for one of those?”
I stopped pacing. “Is anything like that on the board now?”
“No.”
Frowning, I stared out the window at the barren branches of a massive maple tree. Killing innocent people had never been part of the plan.
But every day that passed increased the risk. Who knew what else that PI might uncover if I dallied?
If there were other passengers, I’d have to live with the guilt. View them as collateral damage, like the military did when innocent people were killed.
“Don’t wait.”
“You’re the boss.”
“How fast can you get it done?”
“Before the end of the week. The other main pilot is on vacation, so our target will be picking up most or all of the flights.”
“How do you know that?”
“The owner’s wife was more than happy to discuss the available pilot’s credentials when talking by phone with a potential customer.”
The guy sounded buttoned up.
This operation should be smooth and easy.
“Keep me updated. I’ll wire the rest of the money once the job is finished.”
“You’ll hear from me soon.”
The line went dead.
Pressing the end button, I picked up my gym bag. I was a creature of habit who maintained a strict schedule—but a person was entitled to take a break in the middle of the day on occasion to work off stress . . . and shed a little weight.
At least that would be my story if anyone asked about this unscheduled trip to the gym.
And if the weight I was shedding consisted of an incriminating laptop—no one but me need ever know that.
22
He wasn’t going to show.
Heather checked her watch again . . . sighed . . . and picked up her purse from the ledge next to the fireside table she’d claimed at Panera.
Sources didn’t always follow through on agreed-upon meetings, but Weston’s former employee had sounded sincere during their phone conversation.
Oh well.
She dug through her purse for her keys. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d call the other two ex-employees on her list and—
“Ms. Shields?”
Heather lifted her head.
Yes!
Adam Bennett had come through after all.
She rose and extended her hand. “That’s me. Thank you for coming.”
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bear.”
“Don’t worry about it. Would you like a drink or some food?”
“No thanks. I’ll get a sandwich to go after we’re finished.” He claimed the empty chair at the table as she retook her seat, giving her bruised jaw a discreet perusal. “In the interest of transparency, I want you to know I googled your firm before I returned your call. You can’t take any chances in this crazy world we live in.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“However . . . I’m glad you told me you’d be wearing purple, since the Phoenix site didn’t include any photos of the PIs.”
“In our business, we do a lot of surveillance and undercover work. It’s better if we remain anonymous.”
“Makes sense.” He linked his fingers on the table. “You said you wanted to talk about Brad Weston. What would you like to know—and why would you like to know it?”
“Let me answer the latter part of your question first. While I was working on a missing persons assignment, Weston’s name came up. After further investigation, he appears to be integral to our case, which has morphed into quite a different—and much more complicated—situation than we anticipated.”
“Have you found the missing person?”
“Yes.” She sipped her tea. Best to say as little as possible about that. “But Weston is still on our radar because of other information that came to light. As a result, we’re digging deeper into his background. I thought it might be productive to talk with a few people who knew him during the start-up phase of his business. As I said on the phone, your name was mentioned in a newspaper article I found on Google.”
“I’ll help you out if I can.”
She ran through her list of questions, but none of Adam’s answers raised any red flags. Weston sounded like he’d been a perfect boss, fair and generous with his employees.
“May I ask why you left the company?” She’d promised to keep the man no longer than thirty minutes, and that mark was approaching.
“A better offer. More money, more responsibility, and a more impressive title. But to tell you the truth, I wish I’d stayed. If I’d known the company was going to take off and end up attracting buyout offers, I’d have turned down the other job. Although I suppose I may have ended up hunting for another position anyway if Brad wins the governor race and sells the business.”
“Speaking of the race—did he have any political ambitions while you were with the firm?”
“Not that I know of. He worked insane hours. The man ate, lived, slept, and breathed the company. I know he believed in the concept, but I also think grief was part of the reason he poured himself into the job. You knew he lost his wife suddenly not long after he left the army, right?”
“Yes.”
“To be honest, I think work saved him in those early years. He had difficulty adjusting after she died.”
“That’s understandable.” She closed her notebook. All Adam had done was confirm what they already knew about the man’s character and history. “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me today.”
If the other two employees offered no new insights, either, she may have to take a different tack and talk to Beth’s neighbors.
Adam pulled out his keys, faint creases denting his brow. “May I ask you a question about your case?”
“Yes—but I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer. Clients expect us to keep our findings confidential.”
“I respect that. I just wondered if your investigation involves Brad’s . . . personal life?”
A subtle nuance in his inflection raised her antennas.
“Define personal.”
He shifted in his seat. “You know . . . relationship stuff.”
“If you’re asking me whether his love life is a focus of our investigation, the answer is no. However . . . it’s possible a relationship could be pertinent to the larger case.”
“Does that case involve criminal activity?”
“Yes. We’re in the process of trying to figure out how—or if—your former boss fits into it.” A slight stretch of the truth, since they’d already pegged him as their prime suspect in both the fuel scheme and murder cases.
“Did you happen to get that”—he indicated her jaw and tapped his own—“while investigating this case?”
There was no reason not to answer his question.
“Yes. It’s taken a violent turn. I got caught in some crossfire.”
He took a breath. “Well . . . I don’t see how this will help you . . . but I’ll share one other piece of information if you promise not to go public with it.”
“I won’t leak it to the press, if that’s what you mean. Or contact law enforcement—unless what you’re about to tell me involves an illegal activity.”
“Not illegal . . . but of questionable morality. In light of Brad’s squeaky-clean image and traditional values platform for the governor’s race, this could hurt him if it got out. And I’m not 100 percent certain what I saw was what I thought it was. This is just an observation.”
“Understood.” She opened her notebook again.
“Three years ago, not long after I left the company, I was at a corporate retreat with my new firm at a resort in the Ozarks. One night, while I was walking to the dining room, I spotted Brad through the trees having dinner with a woman on the terrace of one of the more secluded cabins.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“No, and there was never any scuttlebutt around the office that he was dating anyone. I tried not to jump to conclusions about what I saw, but the body language suggested they were having more than a business discussion—if you know what I mean.”
“I get the drift. But why would that be an issue in terms of Weston’s image? I’m not saying I approve, but lots of single people take weekend trips together.”
“That’s the problem. The next day, while I was in the gift shop at the resort, the woman he’d had dinner with made a purchase. After running her credit card, the clerk thanked her by name for her business. Turns out I knew her husband.”
As the implications of Adam’s revelation sank in, Heather tried to maintain a neutral expression.
Boy Scout Weston had had an affair with a married woman.
That was a brand-new piece to add to the puzzle.
How—or if—it fit in, she had no idea.
But it was worth further investigation.
As the silence grew, Adam spoke again. “Look . . . I’m not judging him, okay? I know he missed his wife—and loneliness can tempt people to do things they would never consider doing under normal circumstances.”
“That’s true.” She picked up her pen. “Would you mind sharing the woman’s name?”
“Ellen Chambers.”
She jotted it down. “Do you keep in touch with Weston?”
“No. Our relationship was strictly business. I haven’t spoken to him since I left the company.”
“I won’t keep you from your lunch any longer. But if you happen to think of anything else that could be of interest, please give me a call.” She passed him one of her cards.
“I’ll do that.” He stood and extended his hand. “Good luck with the case.”
She returned his firm shake. “Thank you.”
While he joined the line forming at the order counter, she slipped her notebook into her purse, put on her coat, and left the eatery, still digesting this new twist.
Of course, the fact that Weston had taken a married lover might be insignificant to their case. The indiscretion had occurred after his activities at the forward operating base and before the murders.
However . . . it did confirm that the morally upright image he presented to the world wasn’t altogether accurate.
And a conversation with the woman who may have been privy to the man’s most intimate secrets could yield a bountiful harvest.
Especially if he’d dumped her.
A woman scorned could be a font of information.
