There's something inherently sexy about being bad, as twisted as it may sound."
Bell paused on the thought. She picked up her knife and fork.
He smirked. "Well?"
"Well what?" She glanced at him and cut into the fish on her plate.
"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" he repeated.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes. I think I do."
"Okay then."
The professional grinned.
"I blackmailed someone."
Although she tried to pass off the comment as no big thing, it was impossible for her to hide her pride. The professional smiled. His question never failed.
"Wow. That is bad."
"It is, isn't it? I thought you might be impressed."
Picking up his knife and fork, the professional started to eat again. Just the confession for which he was looking. He had the reason why Michaels had sold his life policy. Michaels had to have money for the blackmail. "So, what was the blackmail about?"
"That isn't enough for you?" she asked, her tone provocative.
"No. I want details. You've given me the answer. I've seen the menu, but you haven't let me sample the food.
Without the details there's no way for me to judge what kind of person you are."
"I blackmailed a man I was having an affair with."
"Good. Tell me more."
The server interrupted them to check on drinks. The professional asked for another bottle of wine.
"So you blackmailed him over the affair?"
"Partly."
"What was the other part?"
"He once told me he took kickbacks when he was a building inspector. I suppose he was playing true to form. As your friend was saying, he told me his worst to impress me."
The server returned with the wine and topped off their glasses, then moved on to another table.
"Did you blackmail him after he told you?"
"No, I did that when he tried to break up with me."
"Did you know about his wife?"
"Oh, yes."
"So you were under no illusions that he was unattached."
"Oh,
no. I knew about his marriage and I had even met his wife a few times."
The professional laughed. "You are a dangerous woman."
Smiling, she said, "I'll take that as a compliment."
The professional nodded.
"I found it quite stimulating, having a conversation with his wife while she was completely unaware that I was fucking her husband. It used to make sex very intense after seeing her. I liked to have my tete-a-tete with his wife and then screw him afterwards."
"So why the blackmail?"
"He got an attack of the guilts and wanted to break things off. That wasn't acceptable to me. He'd made a decision to start a relationship with me, but hadn't had the courtesy to break it off with his wife. So when he decided that his relationship with me had been a mistake and that it was over, I decided I would make him pay a price for his betrayal."
"To his wife?"
Bell laughed. "No, to me. He betrayed me as well as his wife. I wasn't concerned with her feelings. It was up to her to do whatever she wanted to take revenge for her husband's infidelity."
The professional noticed the more she talked about Josh, the colder she became. Bell's deep-rooted hatred for Josh Michaels became very apparent. This was the kind of woman with whom the professional could do business. He stopped eating and gave his full and undivided attention to Bell.
"So, when did you stop blackmailing him?" he asked.
"Who says I have?" Bell hid her smirk behind her wineglass.
The professional grinned again. He was getting all the information he wanted.
"What's his name? This unfortunate betrayer of trust and breaker of hearts."
"I'm not sure I should say," she said, the smirk still on her face.
"Oh, come on, Bell, you can't leave me hanging. It's not like I would know him or anything."
Bell moved her food around her plate while contemplating the question, deciding whether she should answer.
"But you do know him."
"Do I?" he replied, trying not to show he knew the answer already.
"It's Josh Michaels."
The professional had surmised correctly. He knew the hold she had over Michaels; now it was time to exploit it, and her.
"So is that why you were upset at his party?"
"Yes. He's starting to refuse to play along with my demands and he used one of his friends to try to talk me out of hurting his happy home."
"It sounds like he's trying to call your bluff."
"Maybe. But what can I do about it?"
"Show him that you're not bluffing."
"How would I do that?"
"I could show you."
Surprised, Bell raised an eyebrow. "Could you now."
"Is the money your main concern?"
"No. It's a punishment."
"Well that gives us options."
"Us?"
"Yes. Us."
"I think we should discuss this somewhere else. The dinner table is not the right place," Bell said.
"That's fine with me."
"So, what's the worst thing you've ever done?" Bell asked.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
While sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, Josh leafed through the initial findings of the joint FAA and National Transport Safety Board investigation that had come through the letter slot that morning.
In brief, the report stated that the Cessna had run dry of oil and the elevator and rudder bolts had detached themselves. The reason the engine sump had been devoid of oil was because the oil cooler hoses were not sufficiently tightened. It was assumed that the missing bolts had come loose and fallen from the plane during flight, which meant it was probable that the split pins weren't secured through the nuts and bolts. In the opinion of the NTSB, these simple mechanical failures should have been detected during the overhaul prior to the fatal flight, and the pilot should have taken better care during the pre-takeoff checks. The NTSB planned to put the majority of the blame on the mechanic and the remainder on pilot negligence. The findings were preliminary and were in no way to be taken as final. He read through the brief report again.
Josh refused to accept the findings, and he refused to believe Jack Murphy had failed to carry out a thorough inspection of his airplane. Jack was too much of a perfectionist and too much of a craftsman not to have tightened any bolt to the torque setting laid out in the Cessna maintenance manual. Unsatisfied with the report, he drove to Davis Airfield.
Josh parked the car in the same spot he had the day of Mark's death. He walked over to Jack Murphy's hangar. The orange windsock at the end of the runway hung limply against its pole. The sock looked like it was at half-mast in tribute. Josh thought it was fitting, seeing as the airfield had lost one of its own. Davis Airfield had never lost a pilot in its fifty-two-year history.
Josh entered Murphy's workshop. The hangar had the appearance of an elephant's graveyard. A Cessna 172 in flying school colors lay slumped at the mouth of the building. The engine and its cowling had been removed along with the nose wheel assembly. Tubular steel stuck out from the fireproof bulkhead like polished bones, and a tangle of colored wires hung down like veins. The aircraft unceremoniously rested on its tail, no longer able to stand upright without its engine in place. A Piper Archer PA-32 stood propellerless on its wheels looking sadly at the gutted Cessna in front of it. A misshapen object lay hidden under a tarp like a corpse under a mortician's sheet, but it was probably another of Jack's unfinished projects.
The workshop was silent. This wasn't right; it was guaranteed that Jack's workshop rang with the sounds of him and his employees putting their best efforts into keeping these and other aircraft aloft. Josh called out.
The odor of used engine oil and grease filled his nose. A rustle of movement came from the small, shabby office at the rear of the hang
ar. Jack Murphy appeared at the doorway.
Josh crossed the hangar. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.
"Hello, Josh. I thought I might be seeing you." Murphy sounded defeated. "I suppose this is to do with Mark."
Josh raised his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, I haven't come to accuse you of anything. I've just come to talk."
"So you got the news from the FAA?"
"Yeah. Shall we go into the office?"
Murphy didn't look good. It was obvious the loss of a plane and pilot from his workshop had hit him hard.
Murphy looked like dried fruit with all the goodness sucked out of it. To Josh, he had aged ten years in the days since Sunday.
The two men entered the cluttered office. Murphy squeezed past the bulging filing cabinets and sat behind his wooden desk. Josh removed a stack of magazines from one of the two shabby office chairs before sitting.
He remembered seeing these types of chairs in dentist's waiting rooms twenty years ago. Aircraft component manufacturers' calendars, wall planners covered in a graffiti of hastily written notes and magazine articles of aircrafts of interest covered the wall behind the mechanic.
The flying club and the private aircraft owners excused Murphy's clutter because of his first-class abilities as an engineer.
"Do you want a coffee, Josh?" Murphy asked.
"No, I'm good, Jack."
"What did you want to talk about?"
"Why aren't you working?" Josh asked. "Where is everyone?"
"I'm not sure there's much point. The FAA is blaming me for the crash and they're likely to take action against me. They'll probably close me down." Murphy doodled on his desk blotter with a pencil, unaware of what he drew.
"But people rely on you."
"Well, that's not a very wise thing to do. Letting me touch their birds is likely to get them killed," the mechanic said pointedly.
"Jack."
"Jack, nothing. One of my planes went and killed someone."
Josh let the subject die. Murphy wasn't going to see sense right now.
"What do you say to their report that you left the oil cooler hoses loose and tail section bolts without split pins?" Josh noticed Murphy was unaware he now doodled on an invoice on his desk and not the blotter.
"I don't believe it." Murphy threw the pencil down.
It went skittering across the desk and onto the floor. "I always do a wrench check after servicing. I even do an engine run to make sure everything is sealing. The oil cooler hoses shouldn't have been loose in the first place, because I had no reason to take them off. What they found are fundamental errors that no mechanic would make. If I were that bad I wouldn't have been surprised if the prop fell off."
"So did you undo, then tighten the hose connections?"
"No. I didn't need to. The same goes for the elevator and rudder controls. I had no need to touch the split pins. The pins were in good shape. I only tighten them when there is movement."
"How do you know whether there's movement?"
Josh asked.
"I paint a white line across the nut and bolt. If the white lines aren't matched up then the bolt has moved, but they were all lined up. I swear to you that aircraft left me in better condition than it did the day it left the factory."
Murphy's explanation disturbed Josh. Murphy was an honest man and a good mechanic. Josh believed his story. He was sure he'd done everything correctly and hadn't touched the parts of the aircraft that had caused the crash. Josh's paranoia antenna twitched. Why was he getting the feeling that Mark Keegan's death wasn't an accident?
"The thing is, in the twenty-five years I've been involved with aircraft, I've never known the bolts or the hose connection to come undone before." Murphy spoke as if he were in the witness box. With the way things were going, he would have to be before long.
An uncomfortable silence wedged itself between the two men.
Josh knew no more could be learned. He stood up and offered his hand to the distraught mechanic.
"Thanks for talking to me, Jack. I really appreciate it.
For what it's worth, I don't blame you for what happened to Mark."
Murphy shrugged.
Josh left Murphy's office and headed out of the shade of the hangar for the harsh brightness of day. He was only halfway to the hangar doors when Murphy called to his back. He stopped and turned to face him.
"If I didn't know better..." He paused. "I would say that someone wanted that plane to go down." Ominously, Murphy's words echoed throughout the hangar, ricocheting off the walls like bullets, each one burying itself in Josh.
Josh opened the front door to let Abby and Wiener into the house. He unclasped the dog's leash from his collar and hung it on a coat hook. The dachshund shook himself and trotted over to his water bowl. The dog was tired after his walk to the park and thirty minutes of chasing a ball around.
Abby rolled a squeaky ball after the dog. "We're home," she called.
Kate came halfway down the stairs. "You're just in time. I'm running a bath for my little girl."
"Oh. Do I have to?" Abby whined.
"Yes. If you don't, I don't think we can let you stay up this late on vacation." Kate kept her tone firm, but not unkind. She was just negotiating her position with her daughter. It was a regular occurrence for Abby to take Wiener for an evening walk with one of them, but because Abby was on spring break Josh had taken them late, after nine o'clock.
"Dad." Abby turned to Josh for support.
"I think your mother's right. A bath before bed." He paused. "Or you could go to bed now. Your choice?"
The child thought for a moment. "I'll have a bath."
"Good girl," Josh said.
Turning on her heel, Abby ran up the stairs, following her mother.
Josh sat in the living room reading a book and could hear the noise of splashing and giggling coming from the upstairs bathroom. Wiener sat on the floor in front of Josh washing his tufted feet. The phone rang and Josh picked up the cordless handset from the coffee table.
"Hello," he said.
"Josh, it's Bob. Have you got the television on?"
Bob's tone was urgent.
"No, I was reading. Is everything okay? You sound--"
Bob cut him off. "Turn on Channel Three. Look at the news. It's on the TV."
Whatever it was, it was bound to be bad news. Josh looked at the remote control on the coffee table and hesitated. If he didn't turn the television on he would be ignorant. Ignorance sounded nice.
"Hold on, Bob. Let me turn the TV on."
Channel Three was in the middle of a commercial break.
"Bob, what am I meant to be watching?"
"It was on the headlines. It's the next story up."
"Can't you just tell me?"
"Here it comes."
The commercials ended and the cameras went to the news anchor, a sharp-looking black man in his thirties with a pencil moustache and glasses.
"We have a breaking story of corruption in the building industry. An anonymous source contacted the station this evening and made the allegation that the Mountain Vista Apartments in Dixon were built to unsafe construction standards. We don't have exact details, as yet, but Channel Three will be investigating all angles of this claim when we receive more information.
We now go live to Howard Decker outside Mountain Vista Apartments in Dixon," the anchor said.
The television image switched from inside the studio to the reporter, illuminated by television and security lights. He stood outside the apartments, kept out by security gates. The reporter looked serious and concerned at the same time. He was conservatively dressed in a blue suit and white shirt.
"Thanks, Doug. Howard Decker reporting live from the Mountain Vista Apartments in Dixon. The apartments behind me were built eight years ago. The development consists of over three hundred apartments and condos. The anonymous informant alleges the apartments were built to inferior standards to save money.
"Our inform
ant, who wishes to remain nameless, says they have information detailing the major players involved and the shortcuts made.
"We've spoken to some concerned occupants who didn't want to be filmed tonight but expressed their concern at the revelation. We, of course, will be pressing for an investigation by the apartment management company to establish the validity of the claim made exclusively to Channel Three. This is Howard Decker reporting live from Dixon. Back to you, Doug." Howard Decker's serious face immediately brightened as he switched on a broad smile at the end of his report.
The screen returned to the grave-looking anchor. "A disturbing story--let's hope we can get to the bottom of it. Debbie?"
The camera went to the female coanchor and she began a story about a farming policy going through the state capitol. Josh turned off the television before she could finish.
"Josh, is that the apartment complex you were telling me about?"
Josh didn't answer.
"Josh, are you there?"
Josh had known as soon as they mentioned the name of the apartments that it was the construction project he had taken the bribe on. He couldn't believe Bell had gone and done it. A chill ran through him, as if a chunk of ice circulated through his bloodstream.
Gooseflesh broke out along his arms and down his back. Josh fell back onto the couch, relieved to be sitting down.
Bob was still asking if he was there. Josh interrupted him. "Yeah, that's the project I worked on."
"Do you think it was Bell?"
"It wouldn't be anyone else. She came around after I came back from Forget-Me-Nots. She said if I refused to play along with her, she would do something to hurt me."
"At least she didn't mention any names."
This is a warning. She will if I don't comply with her demands."
"Which are what?"
"I have no idea, but I'm sure I'll find out."
"Hey, man, are you okay?" Bob said. "You don't sound good."
"Everything just seems to be going to hell. I think I'm losing this one."
"Well, if you feel that way, you might as well give up and concede defeat. Tell Kate about the blackmail and the affair, walk into the cops and tell them about the kickback and tell Bell to go fuck herself," Bob said sharply.
Simon Wood Page 12