by Diane Capri
Images of an idyllic alpine lake reminiscent of Lake Tahoe filled the screen. Craggy mountains thick with pines, aspens, and other high-altitude trees surrounded a basin filled with sparkling blue water. In several places, the tree line reached the water’s edge. On the south and west edges, rocky beaches extended fifty feet or more from the waterline.
Flint had been to Lake Tahoe, Crater Lake, and other alpine lakes many times. The water was always clear and beautiful, but much too cold. He preferred the warm water of the Caribbean for water sports.
The news reporter said that a small Cessna Turbo 206 floatplane carrying three passengers had crashed six weeks before. He said the three men aboard, a pilot and two passengers, had been traveling to the Red Maple Lake Resort but never arrived. It wasn’t until they failed to return home at the end of their planned weeklong fishing trip that their families became alarmed and contacted authorities in the area. The Cessna had not filed a flight plan, and search-and-rescue operators couldn’t find the plane right away. The crash site was ten miles west of the resort, as the crow flies.
As news stories generally do, this one seemed to develop over time. The first report ended and a second began. The second story aired three days after the first. Deepwater search-and-rescue divers had found the plane resting on the bottom of Red Maple Lake. The plane was hauled out of the water by a helicopter.
The Cessna T206 was severely damaged, the reporter said, as if the images on the screen were not self-explanatory. The left float had been sheared off and was missing. The left wing had been torn almost in half. The back door was open and the cabin was flooded. No bodies were found inside. The three men remained missing. One of the divers said, “Red Maple Lake filled this valley when the glaciers passed. The bottom is as deep and as jagged as the mountaintops. Bodies may float to the surface. If they don’t, we may never find them.”
Flint glanced at Beaumont. If the idea of three drowned men floating up from the depths bothered her at all, she didn’t show it.
The video continued.
The next dateline was two years later. A reporter narrated while a montage of video played. He said deepwater search-and-rescue organizations had approached the area with cadaver dogs. The reporter explained how cadaver dogs could locate a body below the surface. Cadaver dogs had been used to retrieve drowning victims in Red Maple Lake before, but none had found the three men from the Cessna. Until this time.
Next was a short interview. One of the divers, still dressed in his underwater gear, said they had retrieved two bodies trapped on the bottom of the lake. The bodies were remarkably well preserved, probably by the extremely cold water temperatures.
Made sense to Flint. Alpine lake water would function like a liquid deep freeze.
The brief pictures of the recovery operation, obviously filmed from a distance, were chilling. Glimpses of portions of the bodies looked almost as if the men had been lost the day before.
“The two men were identified as Dan Shafer and Skip Evans,” the reporter said, showing headshots of each man in happier times. He asked the diver, “What about the pilot?”
The diver wiped a palm over his face. “We looked everywhere we could. We didn’t find him.”
“Will you be going down again?”
The diver cleared his throat. “If we get another lead, we will go back. For now—” He shook his head.
The reporter closed with an eerie reminder that seemed to stretch the facts. “The divers have assured us they will not give up the effort to find Josh Hallman.”
When the story ended, Beaumont clicked off the screen and pushed another button on the remote to raise the window shades. Diffuse sunlight flooded the room, causing momentary blindness.
“I need to find Jamie’s father.” She nodded toward the screen. “He was the pilot on that plane.”
“It’s an underwater search-and-rescue operation. You need someone with equipment and skills in that line of work.”
Beaumont sighed. “I don’t believe Josh Hallman is at the bottom of that lake. I think he escaped the fate of the others.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I know Josh. Let’s just leave it at that.” She didn’t sound the least bit sad.
“Let’s say you’re right. It takes more than instinct to find a man. Have you ever tried it?” Flint cocked his head and leaned a little farther back in his chair. “If a man is simply missing, the authorities do a pretty good job of locating him, usually in the first forty-eight hours. If he stays missing longer than that, things get tricky. After what? Six-plus years? Nobody’s looking anymore. Know why? Because it’s usually pretty pointless.”
“So I hear. You’re not the first investigator I’ve contacted.” Beaumont nodded. “But I’m told you are the heir hunter of last resort for people like me. And I’m at the end of the line here, Flint. If you can’t find Josh Hallman, then . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.
“Then what?”
“Then I don’t know what happens to Jamie.” Beaumont folded her hands on the table. Her nails were short and well manicured and without polish. She bowed her head for a moment and then raised it to look at Flint again. “Maddy must’ve told you that Jamie is very sick. Now the doctors say he needs a bone marrow transplant.”
That had been Scarlett’s guess. “And you think his father could be a donor match?”
She shrugged. “No guarantees from the doctors, but I hope he is. We’ve tried everything else. Jamie is in the database and hoping for a match that way, but if we could find Josh . . .” Her voice trailed off again. She took a deep breath. “It might be a waste of time. Or not. Do you have kids, Mr. Flint?”
He shook his head. “In my line of work, I’ve seen a lot of dysfunctional families. I’m in no hurry to jump into that situation myself.”
“Jamie has been special to me from the moment he was conceived.” Her voice grew low and it softened her features. She seemed less like a ballbuster and more like a mom all of a sudden, and he liked her a little better, even though he suspected the transformation was temporary. “He’s a wonderful child. He has his father’s ways.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you know what an alpha male is, Mr. Flint?” He nodded. The epithet had been hurled his way a few times, usually by angry women on the way out the door. Not that he disagreed with the label. He was as alpha as a man could possibly be. He didn’t consider that a bad thing, but Beaumont obviously did.
“Imagine the opposite. Josh Hallman is all man, but he has a deep feminine side and a lot of emotional intelligence.” She cocked her head and gave him a steady stare. “You don’t find that in very many guys. Jamie’s like that now. Imagine what he’ll be like at thirty.”
Pushed around by a woman like his mother, probably. Flint nodded again because he didn’t know what else to do. “I’m not sure what you’re asking of me, exactly.”
“I think Josh Hallman is alive.” She leaned forward on the table. “Before you ask me, no, I can’t prove it. But they didn’t find his body when they found the others. And, sometimes, a mother simply knows things.”
“So what you want me to do is find Jamie’s dad, dead or alive?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I guess that’s it. But I really don’t believe he’s dead and I don’t think you should make that assumption. And frankly, he won’t be of much use to me if he’s dead, so I’d rather not go with that right off the bat.”
They could go around in circles on the point for hours, so instead he asked, “Did you know the other two guys he was with?”
“I did. They didn’t like me and I wasn’t crazy about them, either.” She wasn’t apologizing for anything. He might be able to like her a little for the strength of her convictions, at least.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small data storage device. She put it on the table and pushed it toward him. “Everything you need to know is there. All the information I have. I’m sure you have access to reco
rds and databases and things that I don’t have, but I’ve hired investigators before, as I said. They’ve been very thorough. This will save you some time. And there’s a video of Jamie. Show it to Josh when you find him. It will help.”
“You seem to like him well enough. Why did you two split up?” The last thing Flint needed was a nasty domestic situation on his hands.
She shrugged. “Our relationship was a fling. Never intended to be permanent. It ended. That’s all.”
“What about Jamie? Hasn’t he ever seen his son?”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “No.” She offered nothing further on that score.
It was Flint’s turn to shrug. As long as the ex didn’t try to shoot him, he didn’t really care why they broke up. “Do you have a deadline of some sort?”
“I thought I told you?” She blinked. Maybe she was a little glassy-eyed, but the sunlight was still strong in the room. “Jamie’s doctors say he needs the transplant now. They can’t keep him alive indefinitely. Sooner is better.”
Flint felt himself being drawn into a deep quagmire from which he might never extricate himself. Like quicksand tugging on his ankles. The truth was that most people were not that hard to find. There weren’t many places to hide in the modern world. Most average Joes and Janes couldn’t manage the feat.
Death and witness protection were the two most obvious answers when a missing person couldn’t be located with a few hundred keystrokes and a dozen phone calls. After that, Flint concluded that the missing were making an active effort not to be found. Usually for valid reasons. Which made the hunt exponentially more difficult.
Assuming Josh Hallman wasn’t dead, which was a big assumption, he had managed to stay unfindable for almost seven years. Which required some serious motivation, and Flint wondered what his motive was.
Flint picked up the thumb drive from the table and slid it into his pocket. “I will look at this stuff and let you know whether I can help you. But it’s likely Josh Hallman’s body is at the bottom of Red Maple Lake. Because of the temperature down there, his body should be well preserved. You might be able to get bone marrow for the transplant from the cadaver.”
Beaumont was shaking her head before he finished. “I know Josh is not dead. I feel it. My instincts have carried me a long way in this world, Mr. Flint. Keep an open mind.”
He shrugged, but he didn’t believe her. Beaumont wasn’t the kind of woman who operated on instinct. She knew something. He couldn’t refuse the job and move on. He’d promised Maddy that he’d try to help her friend. “It’s your money.”
“I’m well aware of your fees. I’ll deposit the first five million dollars today. I’ll pay the rest when you find Josh.”
“Plus expenses. Which will be hefty. You can count on it.”
She nodded. “No problem. Another five million to start, and more if you need it. Will that be enough?”
“I’ll let you know.” He paused until he felt he had her full attention. “Have you considered that he might not agree to the transplant, even if he is alive and even if we do find him?” He picked up the business card she’d laid before him and handed her one of his own containing the information she’d need to deposit the funds into his Cayman Islands account.
“I know this is a long shot, Mr. Flint. But it’s the only one I have and I have to take it.” Beaumont stood and he followed her to the elevator. She pushed the call button, and when the doors opened he stepped inside. “Keep me posted. Let me know if you need more money.”
On the way down, Flint sketched out a quick plan in his head.
He tossed his visitor badge on the security desk, and as he left the building, he made the first call.
CHAPTER NINE
His contact picked up the call immediately. Flint had spent years in the service of Uncle Sam. Everything from combat to covert ops. He kept his former colleagues close. Even did a bit of business with them now and then. Mutual back-scratching was the only form of payment they required.
“How can I help you?” she asked. He could hear keys clicking in the background and she seemed distracted.
“I need intel on a person.”
“Full name and date of birth?” He gave her the information. “Got a social security number?”
“Not on me. But last known address was probably Chicago.” He heard more keys clicking, and enough time passed for him to reach his car and open his laptop. He shoved the thumb drive into the port and opened the data. “Okay. Here’s his social.” He gave her the number.
A few more clicks and then she said, “This guy looks pretty normal. The only odd thing is I’ve got no data in the past six years. Which I gather means he is missing?”
“Roger that. Anybody been looking for him?”
“Not lately. There was activity from creditors and the like for a while. Nothing in the last couple of years. But there may be trigger traps installed, if anybody’s looking for your guy. They’d send out an alert when he accesses any of this stuff.”
“So they’ll get an alert because you’re looking at the files now?”
“Pretty much. Assuming they still care enough to bother looking.”
“Got it. What else?”
“It’s like he fell off the face of the earth six years ago. I’ve got birth records, school records, employment records, military records. Credit cards.” She paused while she scanned the data. “If he’s alive, he has not filed a tax return in six years. Uncle Sam takes a dim view of shenanigans like that. If he shows up, he might find himself staring through bars.”
“Roger that. What else?”
“He hasn’t paid any property taxes. In fact, it looks like his home was foreclosed and sold a few years back. Credit card balances sent to collection a while ago, probably written off.”
Flint nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. Pretty much what he expected.
She kept talking as if she was looking at lists on a screen, which she probably was.
“Driver’s license is expired. Passport expired.”
“Death certificate?”
“I don’t see any. Did he have family? Because usually family makes the report and requests the certificates.”
“I’m still chasing that down.” He fingered the thumb drive.
“One thing, though. He had a couple of bank accounts at small community banks. Untouched for the same six years as everything else. Looks like they’re flagged to turn over to the government for inactivity. One has a balance of more than fifty thousand dollars.”
Flint whistled quietly through his teeth. “That’s a lot of money for most folks to walk away from.”
“I’ll say. If he doesn’t want it, maybe he’ll give it to me.”
“Maybe he will. When I find him, I’ll ask.”
She laughed. “You do that. But you’ll need to be quick about it. He’s got to claim the money by the end of the month.”
“Okay. Send me everything you have on those accounts. Any parents or siblings in the files?”
“It’ll take me a bit to find, if we have it, and I’m in the middle of something else at the moment. Can I call you back?”
“Yeah. And upload whatever you’ve got to my secure server for me. I’m traveling to an area with limited cell service. I’ll take a satellite phone, but you may not be able to reach me right away.”
“Got it.” She disconnected.
He spent about half a second thinking about what she’d said before he started his car. He did a quick search on his laptop for Red Maple Lake and the exclusive resort mentioned in the newscast.
Locating Red Maple Lake Resort online was pretty simple. Like everyone else these days, they had a website. Originally built decades earlier as a private lodge by some Hollywood types with money to burn for a place to play away from the prying eyes of media and fans. To say the place was remote was like saying the ocean was wet.
While it was not possible to drive directly to the resort itself, the website explained, vehicle
s were secured in a nearby parking lot where visitors would be collected by the resort valet and driven to the main lodge in an off-road vehicle.
Problem was, traveling from civilization to the resort parking lot was tricky, too. The closest commercial airport was Reno, Nevada, which supported regional jets with limited service. The resort was an eight-hour drive from there because of road conditions.
The easiest way to reach the resort was exactly what Josh Hallman and his friends had tried to do. Bush pilots could land a floatplane on the lake. If they landed close enough to the resort, the ORV could pick them up from there.
Flint had flown just about every kind of airborne vehicle at one time or another, but he knew when to call in a specialized professional. He pressed the number three speed dial button on his phone.
The closest thing Flint had to a sidekick, Alonzo Drake, picked up immediately. “What’s up?”
“I’m working on a new case. I don’t think it should take very long, but you never know how these things will go. I need to travel from here to a place called Red Maple Lake Resort in California, tomorrow.”
“Anybody going to be shooting at me?” He sounded a little cranky. Even back in their military days, Drake didn’t crave the excitement of combat.
“Possible.” Flint grinned. “But not likely.”
“Because I’m tired of getting shot at. And for that matter, I’m too old for bar fights.”
“Quit whining. It’s conduct unbecoming.” Flint grinned again and he knew Drake could hear the humor in his voice.
“Reno has a pretty good airport. You could fly in there and get a car.”
“I could, but I don’t want to spend the next two days in the wilderness. What I need is a good bush pilot. You used to be one of the best. Still got your skills?”
“Once a bush pilot, always a bush pilot,” Drake said. “But I don’t like the sound of this. You wouldn’t need me if you were going somewhere normal.”
“If heir hunting were easy, anybody could do it. Clients wouldn’t need high-priced talent like us now, would they?” Flint grinned. He felt energized. He loved the challenge of his work. Drake, not so much. He didn’t reply.