by Diane Capri
“Will it break when the Sikorsky takes off?”
“If they get enough torque on it, it’ll break. I could break it on takeoff. You could do it.” Drake shrugged. “But we’ve got at least two to three minutes before that can happen. He needs to get the other tie-downs off, for sure.”
Flint lowered his voice so that only Drake could hear. “They’re both still drugged and unstable. Physically and mentally.” He nodded toward Hayes. “Get his gun. I’ll handle Wilcox.”
“Roger that,” Drake replied.
“I’ll cover you.” They watched Hayes until he dropped his right arm and turned his gaze back to the tie-down. Drake used that moment to rush forward. By the time Hayes saw him, it was too late. Drake tackled Hayes to the ground.
Flint used the distraction to run forward and hop into the Sikorsky.
Wilcox’s attention was focused on the dozens of levers, buttons, and dials on the instrument panel. He’d never flown this particular helo before. In his impaired state, he seemed more confused than the situation demanded.
“Wilcox. Come on. You can’t pilot this bird right now. Let’s go back inside.” Wilcox didn’t move his gaze from the instruments.
Flint brandished his Glock.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t think straight right now.” Wilcox shook his head. “But you’re not going to shoot me, Flint. We both know that. You’d never get this bird out of here if you start a gunfight. You’ll damage the helo. Then what?”
He smirked before he reached up and pressed the starter and the engine came to life. The rotors began to turn. The ear-piercing whine drowned all conversation. He turned his gaze back to the instruments.
Flint balanced his weight and changed his hold on the Glock. The grip was slightly exposed from the flat of his right fist. In one smooth motion, he raised his right fist, pushed hard, and lunged with all of his body weight providing momentum. He slammed his fist and the gun butt as hard as possible into Wilcox’s left temple at his skull’s most vulnerable spot.
The blow pushed Wilcox’s head like a bobble doll, hard and fast, against the Sikorsky’s side window.
Wilcox was stunned, but the blow didn’t render him unconscious. The engine had spooled up and the rotors were turning at a speed sufficient to support takeoff. Wilcox pulled on the yoke and the nose of the big helo began to rise.
“Wilcox!” Flint raised his Glock, pointed it, and yelled, “I will shoot you.”
Wilcox turned to stare at Flint, smiled, and shook his head. Quickly, he reached down on his right side and fumbled with something on the floor. He bent his arm at the elbow, raised a pistol, and held it across his stomach, pointed directly at Flint, ready to fire.
Flint’s instincts kicked in. Kill or be killed.
He fired his weapon into Wilcox’s head. The bullet went through his skull and shattered the Sikorsky’s side window. Blood and bone and the gray matter of Wilcox’s brain splattered from the exit wound.
Flint hustled into the copilot’s seat and set the Sikorsky down. He shut the engine down and slumped in his seat.
He looked across the cockpit. Wilcox’s body slumped into the pilot-side door. The irony hit Flint’s gut like a blow. The entire world believed Wilcox had died in this helicopter. Now, in truth, he had.
Flint stood and walked to the still-open door in the back. He looked out to the tail section of the Sikorsky. Drake had Hayes on the ground, right arm bent behind his back, but all the fight had gone out of him.
Drake pulled Hayes up and pushed him ahead as they walked back to the house. “Now what?”
Flint stuck his gun in his belt and used his right hand to massage his sore shoulder. “I’m gonna need some time in that hot tub.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Red Maple Lake, California
Thursday
When they returned to the kitchen, Hayes saw the package marked “Aludra” on the counter. His eyes widened and his breathing quickened. His voice quivered when he asked, “Where did you get that?”
“Why? What’s in it?” Flint picked up the package in his right hand and felt the smooth paper.
Hayes stared at the package and shook his head rapidly.
It was flat, maybe five-by-seven inches, and two inches deep. About the size of a single rib-eye steak. It weighed less than a pound. The freezer paper was heavy and the contents of the package were well wrapped against freezer burn, like a steak would be.
Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out the latex gloves he’d retrieved from the first aid kit in the Sikorsky. He handed the gloves to Flint, who pulled them onto his hands one at a time.
Flint picked up the sharp knife he’d removed from the drawer earlier and used the knifepoint to gently lift the label from the paper at the seam.
He placed the package on the counter to unwrap it. After the label was lifted, the thick paper unfolded easily. Inside was a sealed plastic bag and inside the bag was a hinged purple satin jewelry box.
“Don’t open that. Please don’t.” Hayes began to cry. He blubbered like a baby. Snot ran from his nose and tears from his eyes. He collapsed onto a kitchen stool.
Drake exchanged a puzzled look with Flint. He tore a paper towel from the rack and handed it to Hayes. “Clean yourself up, man.”
Flint opened the plastic bag and carefully pulled out the purple box. He rested it on the plastic bag.
Using both thumbs, he lifted the hinged lid and opened the box. Hayes stared, mesmerized, but he’d stopped blubbering.
The contents rested on the same purple satin that enclosed the outside of the box. Sparkling on the satin bed was a tangled pile of gold and diamond jewelry.
Flint pushed the pieces apart with one gloved finger to separate them. He lifted the largest piece from the box. A wedding crown with an attached bridal headdress frontlet. The frontlet was meant to rest in the center of the bride’s forehead. The crown was not a tiara but three strands of diamonds that fanned from the frontlet and anchored into an elaborate hairstyle.
He visualized the crown and frontlet worn by the ravishingly beautiful Aludra Wilcox on her wedding day. The day she’d married Mark Wilcox. He’d seen her wedding photos when she’d been kidnapped. Her jet-black hair had been the perfect foil for the light dancing from these jewels.
He returned the crown to the box. These pieces must have been valuable. They also had significant sentimental value to her family. Storing them in the freezer was odd, but not necessarily sinister.
The other items in the box supplied the answers. He lifted her distinctive diamond nose ring from its resting place. The one her parents gave her when she became an adult. She’d worn it constantly, her husband had told Flint all those years ago. She’d been wearing it when she was reported kidnapped. But when her head was found in that Las Vegas dumpster, the nose ring was gone, presumed stolen.
Also in the box were six gold bangle bracelets that she never took off, even to sleep.
The last item was her gold-and-diamond wedding band. The band that matched her husband’s. It had never turned up after she died. Or so Wilcox had said at the time and in many interviews since. She was sentimental, he’d said. She had never removed it from her finger with her favorite fuchsia-pink nail polish since her marriage. Not once.
He hadn’t lied.
Flint moved the partially thawed finger around gently on its purple satin bed as Hayes and Drake stared.
Flint reached into his pocket for his phone and snapped a few photos of the contents, the box, the plastic bag, and the white paper. He slid the phone back into his pocket. He closed the box, slipped it into the plastic bag, and zipped it shut. He wrapped the paper around the box and pressed the label firmly to reseal.
He put the box into the kitchen freezer, which had already begun to chill.
Flint looked at Hayes. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Into the dining room. You’re going to tell me everything you know.”
Hayes
sniffled and blew his nose. “And then what?”
Flint said nothing, but what he thought was, And then what, indeed.
Drake started another pot of coffee. Hayes slid off the stool and walked ahead of Flint into the dining room. Flint’s laptop and satellite phone were still on the table. He glanced at both quickly. Nothing on Hallman’s bank account yet.
The news story about the helicopter crash and Wilcox’s death had gone viral on social media. If Hallman was getting broadcast or internet news, he should know about the crash by now. Flint was counting on the deadline for removing his money from the bank, added to the sense of safety that having Wilcox dead would give him, to encourage him to come out of hiding. If it didn’t work, he’d be back to pounding the pavement and the keyboard, hoping Jamie Beaumont would make it until he found Hallman.
Drake brought the coffee pot and three mugs into the room. He poured the coffee. Flint recognized the effort to return to normalcy for what it was. The sunlight was gone and the cold crept down from the mountains. There were two bodies that needed to be dealt with and authorities to notify. They could deal with the bodies tonight, but everything else would need to wait.
But first, Hayes had answers and Flint had questions.
Drake settled into the chair at Flint’s left elbow and stretched his legs out. Hayes leaned on his forearms on the table, both hands around his coffee mug, shivering, although the inside temperature was at least seventy-five degrees. Vega’s body would soon begin to stink.
“Start with what happened to Josh Hallman.”
Hayes glanced down at the table and then met Flint’s gaze. “I already told you. I don’t know where he is. None of us knew. We tried to find him for a good long while. But we never had any luck. He could be dead. Because if he’s hiding, he’s done a damn good job of it.”
“Okay.” Flint nodded. That story rang true. “What happened to his friends?”
“Skip was injured badly in the crash. He’d lost a lot of blood by the time we found him. I did the best I could with his leg and then gave him a sedative and some painkillers to help him get through the night until we could take him to Tahoe the next day. But he died during the night.” Hayes shrugged. “Nothing I could do.”
“Were you with him when he died?”
“We were taking turns with him.” Hayes cleared his throat.
“So who was with him when he died?”
“Mark was.”
Flint nodded. “You’re sure Mark didn’t kill him?”
Hayes looked away again. “We didn’t plan any of this. When they crashed their plane, we tried to help them. I feel responsible for Skip. I did the best I could with his leg. I must have given him too much morphine.”
“Kevin? Are you sure Mark or Ruben didn’t kill Skip?”
Hayes shook his head. “How would I know? I wasn’t in the room.”
Flint narrowed his eyes. “You believe Mark killed him, don’t you?”
Hayes cleared his throat and took a swig of the coffee. “Maybe I did, at first. But I’ve seen the autopsy report. I know he died of morphine overdose.”
Drake said, “What made you think Mark might have done it?”
“Because,” his voice squeaked and he took another swig of coffee, “because of Aludra.”
Flint said, “Yeah, we’ll get to that. What about Dan? Who shot him?”
“Ruben. He didn’t have much choice. I gave Dan painkillers and I put some in brandy for Josh. They should have slept through the whole thing. But Josh woke up.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Ruben couldn’t let Dan and Josh get away.”
“What did you do with the bodies?” Drake asked.
“You put them in that extra freezer out there,” Flint said. “And then, after the families had stopped looking for them, you came back here and took the frozen bodies out and dropped them into the deepest part of the lake, weighted down, believing they’d never be found.”
Hayes blanched, and then nodded.
“And Josh? What happened to him?”
Hayes shook his head. “He got away. We looked for him. We tried to find him.”
Drake said, “But you never did.”
Hayes shook his head again.
“What about Aludra?”
“I had nothing to do with that. Nothing.” Hayes’s eyes widened and he shook his head.
“She was never kidnapped, was she?” Flint asked. He’d suspected as much back when he’d been investigating her disappearance, but he’d never found any evidence to support his hunch. “She came here willingly. She died here.”
Hayes swallowed hard before he whispered, “Yes.”
“So Wilcox made up the kidnapping story to cover up the murder?” Drake asked.
Hayes looked down and shook his head. “Mark believed Aludra was kidnapped. He hired Flint to find her. That was all real.”
Flint pushed back. “Mark believed she’d been kidnapped, but it wasn’t true?”
Hayes nodded miserably. “She came here with Boyd. They were having an affair. We didn’t know until we found her here with him that weekend.”
Flint shook his head. Mark Wilcox had a hell of a temper. He could just imagine how Mark had reacted to finding Aludra here with Boyd. Flint had often wondered who killed Aludra. After the ransom was paid, there was no reason for the kidnappers to kill her.
“You didn’t know about that purple box, either?” Drake asked.
Kevin shook his head again, more violently than before. His hands gripped the ceramic mug as if he might squeeze it to shards.
“Mark killed Aludra, didn’t he?” Drake asked. “He did it here, in this house. That’s why her jewelry was in that freezer. He took it off her body here.”
Kevin inhaled sharply. “Mark’s dead now. Can’t you let him alone?”
“Why did he do it when he could have just divorced her?” Drake pressed.
Kevin picked up the mug and slammed it down on the table. Hot coffee splashed onto his hands and he didn’t seem to care. His nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed. “I told you. I. Don’t. Know.”
Flint’s satellite phone pinged.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Red Maple Lake, California
Thursday
The satellite phone alerted Flint to one text message. He picked it up and opened the text. 10–18. Repeat. 10–18. Assignment completed. Hallman had taken the bait. He’d accessed his bank account and withdrawn the money.
He texted back. Copy that. Location encryption requested. She would send an encrypted message to his laptop.
He paused a moment and then texted a second request. 10–6. This location at 0900. Send civilian police tomorrow morning.
She replied, Copy that.
He closed the satellite phone and turned to Drake. “Looks like Hallman must have had some sort of trigger set up to move his money. I figured it would take him a few days, but he’s already transferred the balance. The guy is as smart as we gave him credit for. He’s been watching, waiting for his chance. He must have seen the news. Which means that he’s connected to the outside world.”
Drake nodded. “I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping with Ruben’s corpse in the house tonight.”
Flint winced as he used his left arm to push away from the table. “Can we take the Sikorsky out of here tonight?”
“Weather’s good enough. We should be okay.” Drake nodded. “We’ve got to get Wilcox out of it first, though.”
“Hayes and I will take care of that. We’ll bring him inside with Vega.” He looked at Hayes. “Come on. You can help me.”
Hayes shook his head and looked like he might start wailing again. Flint had already had as much of that as he could take. He walked around the table and walked behind Hayes’s chair. He lifted Hayes up and hit him hard in the solar plexus. Hayes crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Drake grinned. “He’s gonna have a hell of a tummy ache when he wakes up.”
“That’s not all he’s gonna have when the
locals come out here and see two dead bodies and Aludra’s finger in the freezer.”
Drake grinned again. “Right.”
“He’ll come around after we’ve gone. Let’s get Wilcox out of the helo and get the hell back to civilization.” Flint collected his laptop and his satellite phone and followed Drake to the helipad.
They opened the pilot-side door and let Wilcox’s body fall to the ground. Flint found his gun and stuffed it into his pocket. They picked him up and muscled his body into Vega’s room and closed the door.
Flint rummaged around in the kitchen until he found the keys to the Range Rover. It was the only transportation Hayes could use to get away before the locals arrived in the morning. He took the keys with him, and before he joined Drake in the Sikorsky, he tossed the keys into the forest. If Hayes could find them, he could be long gone before the cops started asking him questions. But what was the chance of that?
He settled into the copilot’s seat as Drake finished his preflight check and started the engine. In less than five minutes, they were airborne. The broken window made the interior of the Sikorsky even louder and colder than usual, like riding in a convertible with the top down in the winter. “Where to?”
“LAX. You can leave this helo there and fly commercial back to Houston.” When they were far enough away from Wilcox Lodge to get a consistent signal, he fired up the laptop and downloaded the encrypted file. He scanned it quickly.
Hallman had transferred the entire balance of his bank account by wire to Plantain Bank. There were branches of Plantain Bank around the world, but this particular branch was the only one in Fiji.
Flint grinned. “Gotcha.”
He picked up the satellite phone and made a call. When she answered, he said, “What time is my flight to Fiji?”
“You’re on the eleven forty. We’ve located your target. You’ll need a private plane for the final leg. We’ve booked an operative at Nadi Airport.”
He nodded. “Send me whatever you can find about Hallman’s life in Fiji. I’ll read it on the plane.”
“Copy that.”