Wings in the Dark

by Michael Murphy

  “Putnam.” I gestured toward the blonde still studying the plane. “Who’s that?”

  “Fanny Chandler. She and Amelia have been friends for years. She’s a damn good pilot herself and the best aircraft mechanic we have. She arrived in Hawaii a month before we did, to work with the organizing committee to make sure we had everything we needed. Let me introduce you.”

  I followed him toward the back of the plane.

  “Fanny, this is Jake Donovan, a former detective.”

  Her blue eyes stood out, even without makeup, and like Amelia’s, her skin was sun- and wind-damaged. I shook her hand. There was grease under most of her nails. Like Amelia and her husband she appeared to have adjusted to a dead body in the hangar. She looked more concerned about the aircraft.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Chandler. How’d you get mixed up with this?”

  “I came by to check out the hydraulic system. It’s been acting up since the plane arrived in Hawaii. We didn’t need any more mechanical troubles.”

  Amelia had mentioned that during our sightseeing flight earlier in the day. “Troubles?”

  Putnam looked at the red glossy plane. “We took every precaution during the ocean voyage, but we’ve had more than our share of mechanical issues, particularly the hydraulic system.”

  Fanny swallowed hard. “If there’s a small leak, it might not show until Amelia was halfway to California. She’d lose control of the rudder, and she wouldn’t be able to regulate the…Well, you get the picture.”

  Were they describing something more than routine mechanical problems? “Sabotage?”

  Putnam blew out a puff of air like I’d socked him in the gut. “I hadn’t considered that until now.”

  “Miss Chandler.” I hoped to come across as less threatening than Tanaka. “You arrived before or after the shots?”

  “I guess I was in my car when that happened. I parked in back and climbed out. George was running toward the back door. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Did you see anyone leave in a hurry?”

  She shook her head. “Seeing George run like that, I thought maybe Amelia was hurt, so I ran inside and saw the body. I couldn’t believe it. Amelia was standing beside the plane, looking like I felt. I didn’t know it was Mr. Kalua until later.”

  “Fanny, I have to ask this.”

  She nodded, looking fearful of my question.

  “Was Mr. Kalua meeting you here?”

  Fanny scoffed. “Why would he be meeting me?”

  I didn’t like rhetorical answers to yes or no questions.

  Fanny shrugged. “I only saw him around the hangar once before, when he took a tour with a bunch of other suits.”

  Putnam shook his head. “He had no reason to be here.”

  I rubbed my forehead and glanced back at the body. A chilling possibility crossed my mind. Perhaps the shooter came for Amelia. When Kalua arrived, he might have surprised the killer, tried to stop him, and was shot for his troubles.

  “What’s wrong?” Putnam’s eyes widened.

  I didn’t want to share the theory quite yet, and not in front of Fanny. “Just trying to wrap my brain around what happened.”

  As Pete approached, staring at me over the top of his glasses, I ended my talk with the mechanic.

  Tanaka returned to the body and began to search the contents of the man’s wallet. He looked up and tapped his watch.

  I shook Fanny’s hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Chandler.”

  “Fanny.”

  She got the message, lit another cigarette, and went out back.

  I checked my watch. “I need your story, George.”

  “I can’t add much to what Fanny said.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I heard two shots, then another, and came running, half expecting…the worst. This is horrible. It could postpone Friday’s attempt to cross the Pacific.”

  Three days. A man was dead and Putnam’s own wife might be a suspect in the murder, and this guy seemed more worried about Amelia’s next record-breaking flight.

  He apparently read my mind. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive.”

  The signs suggested the dead man came to talk to Amelia or George, whether or not either was aware of his intentions. “I need to find out why Kalua showed up here tonight.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then give me your best guess.”

  “I suppose he must’ve come by to talk to me or Amelia, perhaps both. Now we’ll never know what about.”

  Tanaka signaled to Pete, and the two men chatted quietly.

  “I don’t want you to worry, but you need to be careful. I’d suggest more security…around Amelia.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Reluctantly, I shared my theory that the shooter might have been targeting Amelia.

  Putnam placed his hand on the wall and steadied himself.

  “It’s just a theory. One theory.”

  Putnam ran a hand over his face, straightened his suit coat, and appeared to regain his composure. He looked to the corner and snapped his fingers. “William.”

  The young man hopped off the stool and shuffled toward us like a kid summoned to the principal’s office.

  Putnam made the introduction. “William Thornton, this is Jake Donovan. He’s married to Laura Wilson, the actress.” He pointed to Laura.

  It was obvious the kid hadn’t heard of either of us. The young man with round wire-rimmed glasses couldn’t be more than twenty. He shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  He stood with his back to the body, as if making a big deal of avoiding seeing the dead man. “What can I do for you, Mr. Putnam?”

  Putnam spoke to me. “William is my personal secretary. He’s prelaw at Yale and works for me part time. He’s organized, efficient, and resourceful. He’s learned a great deal about aviation and studied up on Hawaii before we left. I’d like him to go with you to be at your disposal.”

  “What!” Was he joking?

  The kid’s eyes darted between Putnam and me. He didn’t want to come along any more than I wanted him to.

  Having him tag along would only complicate the investigation if things got dicey. “Mr. Putnam…George, Laura, and I don’t need any help. We’ve—”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder and walked me away from Laura and the young man. “You say that now, but if you’ll give William a chance, the kid can help.”

  I suspected Putnam wanted the kid along to fill him in on anything I was reluctant to share. I didn’t like the idea of a spy one bit. “You got me to investigate this case. Don’t make the job any harder.”

  Putnam’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at the kid and lowered his voice. “Jake, in case you hadn’t guessed, until this plays out, you work for me.”

  I’d guessed it, but I didn’t have to like it.

  He led me back to his assistant. “William, go with Mr. Donovan.”

  “Go where, Mr. Putnam?”

  The kid deserved an explanation. “Son, your boss wants you to come with my wife and me while we investigate the murder.” I gestured toward the corpse.

  William gasped. “What? I don’t…I mean…how can I…”

  Putnam didn’t notice, or didn’t care about, his secretary’s concerns. “One more thing, Donovan. In case you’re right and Amelia might’ve been the target, I’d appreciate you taking her back to our hotel.”

  “She’d be safer in a patrol car.”

  Putnam rolled his eyes. “And a nosy reporter gets a front-page picture. No thanks.”

  As if I had any choice. “Come on, kid.”

  I checked my watch again. My time was up, and the investigation into the murder of Hank Kalua was about to begin. Problem was, I had no idea where to start.

  Chapter 6

  The Giant Fan

  A soft breeze stirred the trees growing beside the hangar as Laura as I stepped outside and waited for William and Amelia.

  Trying to remain calm about Putnam using his influence against my p
ublisher, I took a deep breath and gazed at the bright stars overhead. In the space of two hours, our carefree, romantic honeymoon had come to an end. Now Laura and I were involved in something I never would’ve imagined, investigating the murder of a prominent local businessman and hopefully removing suspicions police might have about America’s sweetheart, Amelia Earhart.

  The movie star waiting beside me was no stranger to investigations. Years ago when Mickey and I opened our detective agency, Laura was struggling to catch a break on Broadway. She helped out around the office and made sure clients paid for our services.

  As business picked up, her duties expanded to helping out with a few investigations, mostly involving cheating spouses or people who didn’t show up in court. Her acting ability and good looks came in handy more times than I could count and, at her insistence, I showed her how to handle a gun. She’d proved her courage and skill with a handgun more than once, but a murder investigation was different and often dangerous. Murderers possessed two traits that kept me up at nights: they’d demonstrated they were capable of taking a life and they used that capability to keep from being caught.

  Laura’s career as an investigator ended when she landed her first Broadway lead. By that time, I’d started my first novel.

  A few years ago, when I was in Florida, Laura helped Mickey out on a case that ultimately took his life. When I returned to New York, I got involved and took a bullet in the leg, but Laura somehow escaped unscathed. Still, I wouldn’t endanger her life for Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, or my career, if I didn’t have to.

  I considered suggesting she stay at the hotel with Amelia until morning while I pounded the pavement, but she’d never go for it.

  As we waited, I couldn’t shake the possibility Amelia might’ve been the target all along and Kalua had interrupted the plans and got shot for his trouble. But that didn’t explain why he showed up at the hangar at night. With Amelia’s transpacific flight scheduled in three days, how had her chief promoter ended up dead alongside her plane?

  Laura’s instincts often turned out more accurate than mine. We moved out of earshot of the young cop guarding the hangar entrance, and she outlined two possible motives. One, someone wanted to derail Amelia Earhart’s career by making her a suspect in the murder of one of her promoters. Two, a rival aviator was trying to stop Amelia’s flight, like Fanny Chandler or someone else whose name we’d yet to learn.

  I shared the possibility that Amelia was the intended target, then suggested Laura wait back at the hotel with Amelia.

  Laura’s eyes widened. “We need to get the police to offer her protection. Why don’t you take this up with Tanaka?”

  “You think he’d listen to my suggestion?”

  I was impatient to get started, but inside the hangar, Amelia and her husband appeared to be dictating to William, who was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

  I glanced toward the black Cadillac. The bored-looking cop was smoking a cigarette, a half-dozen butts at his feet. “Does the Caddy seem out of place to you?”

  “I bet it’s Kalua’s. Want a peek inside?”

  I doubted if I’d get anywhere near the car.

  Laura winked. “Honeylamb, are my seams straight?” She turned her back to me and lifted the hem of her skirt.

  The officer’s cigarette almost dropped from his mouth. My wife had fabulous legs, I’d come to know and appreciate over the years. One of those trashy movie magazines even ran a story about them.

  “Perfect, dollface.”

  Laura checked inside her purse then stepped toward the cop. “Officer, I was wondering if you could spare an extra cigarette. My date doesn’t smoke.”

  The cop practically snapped to attention. He slipped a pack of Camels from his pocket and offered her one. She hated cigarettes and only smoked when a role called for it.

  She remained where she was and held the cigarette between her fingers.

  The cop pulled a lighter from his trousers and lit her cigarette.

  I calmly walked to the passenger side of the car. The cop wouldn’t notice me if I were wearing a clown suit.

  Laura feigned interest in his career while I checked the door. It was locked. Damn.

  The car looked clean as a whistle inside, except for a business card on the dashboard with Kalua’s name and an office address. I pulled a piece of paper from my wallet and jotted down the location then flashed Laura a thumbs-up.

  She crushed her half-smoked cigarette and coughed. “Thanks, Officer.”

  He tipped his cap. “It was a pleasure, Miss…”

  She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, showing off her diamond. “Mrs.”

  As we walked away, a blue Model A belching smoke skidded to a stop in the lot. The reporter Hunter Conway jumped out and hurried toward the open hangar. He ran past us then slid to a halt. “Miss Wilson, Mr. Donovan. I got a report of a shooting next to Amelia Earhart’s plane. What are you doing here?”

  Within hours, reporters would climb all over this case. It was our luck this guy was the first.

  To my surprise, Laura deferred to me.

  “I received a call from George Putnam, an old publishing buddy. He asked me to come down and take a look at the crime scene.”

  Conway cocked his head. “So, you’re investigating the shooting?”

  I held up both hands. “Nothing to investigate. Looks like suicide to me.”

  “Suicide?”

  If Conway had been at a crime desk, he would have crossed paths with Tanaka. “You’re probably wasting your time but check with the lead detective. His name is Tanaka. You’ll want to talk to him.”

  Conway let out a grown. “If Tanaka’s involved, he won’t speak to me.”

  “Like I said, it’s a suicide.”

  Even Laura’s acting ability couldn’t hide the smile that threatened to turn into laughter.

  At the front of the hangar, William, in his three-piece suit, and Amelia finally appeared. When Amelia saw us talking to Conway, it was like she sensed his occupation. She pulled a New York Giants cap from her pocket and set it on her head, tucking her hair inside. She tugged the bill of the cap over her face.

  Giants? Didn’t anyone root for the Yankees anymore?

  The reporter removed his fedora and scratched his head. “You know anything about the deceased?”

  I shook my head. “I hope he’s a lawyer.”

  I pointed out the cop who liked Laura’s gams. “That man is a wealth of information.”

  “Thanks.” Hat in hand, Conway hurried to the black Cadillac.

  As we reached the Olds, the kid looked like someone about to attend his own funeral.

  I nodded to Laura. “Why don’t you and Amelia wait in the car a second?”

  I led the kid away from the Olds. Since he was coming along, I had to find out if I could trust him. “You smoke?”

  He shook his head.

  “Drink?”

  “I’m not quite twenty.”

  “You might want to start.” I waited for him to laugh or at least smile, but it never happened. I had a lot of work to do. “Putnam calls you William. What do your friends at Yale call you?”

  He cocked his head. “I don’t have that many friends at school, but when I was a kid, everyone called me Billy.”

  “Billy it is.”

  His voice trembled. “Mr. Donovan, I don’t think I can be much help.”

  I took another look. He was young and wiry. I bet he could be tougher if someone took the time to show him how. “Just stay out of the way. I expect the rest of the night will be strictly routine. You’ll probably be bored. These types of things often require long hours of stakeouts or digging through people’s trash, that sort of thing.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought investigating a murder might be dangerous.”

  “Naah. Just in the movies.” I couldn’t tell him the truth. I led him to the car and opened the back door.

  Billy sat beside Amelia, who glanced back at the
hangar, clearly impatient to leave.

  I smiled when I glanced toward the open door, where the reporter was trying to talk the cop into letting him inside.

  The starter coughed for several seconds. I slapped the steering wheel, as if that would do some good. Mikayla’s damn car wouldn’t start.

  “Mr. Donovan.” Billy leaned forward from the backseat. “Pump the gas a couple of times to prime the engine. Oldsmobile carburetors aren’t as good as Ford’s. They need a little help, especially in humid climates.”

  “Really?” What did this kid know? He was barely old enough to drive. To humor him, I pumped the pedal and tried again. The engine caught right away, but smoke again billowed from the tailpipe.

  Amelia smiled. “She coughs like my first plane.”

  I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “It’s a rental.”

  We drove away from Wheeler Field. I couldn’t wait to drop Amelia off. “Where are you staying?”

  Amelia’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re not taking me back to the hotel.”

  “Where am I taking you?”

  “I’m going to help you and Laura find out who killed Hank Kalua. You’re not going to risk your lives without me doing the same.”

  “Risk our lives?” Billy wheezed.

  I wasn’t going to back down, even if she was Amelia Earhart. “You’re not coming with us. This could be dangerous work. There’s a killer out there who doesn’t want to be found. He has a gun, fired three bullets—one dead center in Kalua’s back, then a bullet to his head to make sure the job was finished—and got away without anyone spotting him.”

  “But…but…” Billy stammered. “Mr. Donovan, you said it’d be routine and boring. Do you really think it might be dangerous?”

  I told the truth for Amelia’s benefit. “Sure. Murderers don’t take kindly to being apprehended, especially by a group of amateurs.”

  It was bad enough I had to take a kid along, but I wouldn’t put Amelia Earhart in harm’s way. “I’ll drive you to your hotel or back to the hangar.”

  Amelia crossed her arms. “I got you two into this mess when I let George convince me to call you for help. Besides, I know Kalua and his associates and can save you a lot of time. And time is of the essence, right?”