Smith's Monthly #22

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  Central Idaho Mountains. August 19

  THE SOUND OF the government van echoed for over ten minutes through the canyon before popping out of the trees and starting across the meadow, a cloud of dust swirling behind it.

  I always found it amazing how well sound traveled in the mountains, especially on clear, windless days like this one. Every summer, I warned the people on my rafts that a conversation about another person in another raft might be overheard as clearly as if the person were sitting beside them. No one ever really believed me until they got out on a calm area of water between the steep canyon walls and heard it for themselves.

  As I reached the SUV, Fleet and the sheriff climbed out, Fleet staring around for any snakes.

  Now I understood why yesterday and today were the first times I had seen Fleet any farther into the wilderness than the rough of Hillcrest Country Club. Fleet’s Christmas joke gifts were going to get a lot more interesting this year.

  The green van pulled slowly past us and off the narrow road into the grass and weeds. I caught a glimpse of two men in the front seats and a woman’s face in the back.

  “Three of them?” Fleet asked. “Seems like one too many.”

  “It is,” Ray said. “Usually they only need two on small planes.”

  “Maybe a trainee,” Fleet said.

  I had a hunch it wasn’t a trainee. My guess was that the crash was causing Eric and his NTSB crew some extra headaches. Three-point-six million in a duffel bag could do that.

  We all moved toward the van with the sheriff leading, Fleet watching for snakes with every step.

  The sheriff got to the van just as Eric climbed out.

  “Sheriff,” Eric said. “Good seeing you again.”

  I liked Eric, the head of the regional NTSB unit. I had from the moment I first met him on the dive into the lake for the kid. The guy seemed solid. He had on a Mariners baseball cap and a light, long-sleeved shirt over a tee shirt. He carried himself like he was in charge of every situation. He acted the same way, and people just naturally followed him.

  “You, too, Eric,” Ray said. “You get that little one born all right?”

  “Two weeks ago. Healthy baby boy. Came in screaming.” Eric beamed at just the mention of his new baby.

  “Congratulations,” Ray said. Then he turned. “Attorney Fleetwood Korte from Boise. This is Eric Berry. And you know Doc.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Eric said to Fleet, shaking his hand.

  “Congratulations on the new arrival,” I said.

  “Thanks. We love him.” Then Eric hesitated, his eyes showing concern. “You sure you want to be here, Doc? I know this was your father and all, but I just can’t let you up on the crash site.”

  “No need. I took a look from the other side of the canyon. That was enough for me.”

  Eric nodded and patted my shoulder as the other two members of the NTSB team came around the back of the truck. Eric introduced them.

  Bud, Eric’s normal second, had a pockmarked face and dark eyes that didn’t meet another person’s gaze. He had been at the lake search as well, and had seemed to be nothing more than manual labor.

  I studied the third member of the team as she was being introduced. Heather Voight. She wore her hair blonde and stylishly mid-length, but it didn’t look natural. She had on some makeup that accented her brown eyes, her skin was tanned and slightly freckled, and her build gave her the appearance of exercising a lot.

  Nice package, but very out of place with Eric’s NTSB team. Any western NTSB team for that matter. I figured her for an East Coast city type.

  She took longer that she should have, staring into my eyes in our introduction. Not that I would have minded if there had been any hint of sexual tension about the stare, but there wasn’t. She was studying me like a good poker player studied other players at a table, like I was a problem to be handled. Why, I had no idea, but I could hold anyone’s gaze, and I held hers until she looked away.

  Her hand was smooth, not work-worn like Eric’s. A desk job was very recent in her past.

  The three team members went to the back of their van and started getting equipment out. Heather bumped into Eric twice, and after a moment stood to one side and let the two men do the unloading.

  “Sheriff,” Eric asked as he kept unloading and checking equipment, “have you had the scene sealed off and guarded?”

  “Since one hour after the crash,” Ray said, a touch of pride in his voice. “My son has been on a ledge across from the crash site for the last two nights. He’s not coming down until you reach the scene.”

  “Perfect,” Eric said. “Thanks for the good work on that. And what about the money?”

  “It’s in the bank vault in Cascade, suitcase and all. You can look at it tomorrow, or whenever you get done here.”

  “Good,” Eric said. “You did the right thing with that as well.”

  I motioned for Eric. “Got a second?”

  Eric nodded and followed me a few steps away from the van, letting the other two finish unloading.

  I kept my voice at a low whisper. “What’s her story? She new to the area?”

  “Totally,” Eric whispered back. “Washington all the way. My guess is that someone stuck me with her because of the amount of money reported in the plane. Pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

  “But it makes sense.”

  “Only if you think like a government flunky,” Eric whispered, shaking his head. “Paperwork on this is going to be a monster. Now she has to file a report as well. It never ends.”

  “I can imagine.” I patted Eric on the shoulder.

  “I’ll keep you posted on what we find,” Eric whispered, then louder he said to me, “Please stay here.”

  My plan had been to see the crash site, meet the NTSB team, and then head back to Boise, but now because of Eric’s promise, I wanted to stay longer, see what they might come up with.

  And I wanted to know why Heather Voight had been sent along. The money seemed like a logical explanation, but even the amount Carson had with him wouldn’t get her sent from a desk job in Washington out here.

  There was something more.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Central Idaho Mountains. August 19

  AFTER THEY FINISHED getting all their equipment ready, Eric said, “Sheriff, would you give us a quick tour of what you know of the crash site?”

  “Glad to,” Ray said, starting up the road, followed by the other three. Both Eric and Heather had cameras slung over their backs, and both carried black suitcases. Bud hauled enough modern survey equipment to weigh down a large packhorse.

  As they moved off, Fleet turned to me. “Why are we—”

  I stopped him with a quick hand in the air and a headshake, fearing the question would be heard in the mountain air. I then pointed to the SUV.

  After Fleet got the air-conditioning going, he asked. “So what was that all about?”

  “The woman doesn’t belong with the other two men.”

  “Hell, even I noticed that. Three-point-six million in cash can sure cause a lot of strange reactions.”

  “That’s what Eric thinks. He said he’d keep me informed on what they find, so I figure we just wait around here long enough to see what comes up, and what their next move is.”

  “You worried about them, or the money?” Fleet asked.

  “Actually, neither. I’m just doing what Ace asked me to do.”

  Fleet nodded. “Still, when we get closer to civilization, I’ll get a judge on the phone, have him issue a court order stopping the NTSB from doing anything with the money besides checking it in the presence of you or me. I should have already done that. We might as well stay on top of that as well.”

  I nodded. “Good idea.”

  Fleet sighed and sat back in his chair. “This is going to take time, you know?”

  “Yeah. You up for some fishing? There’s a second pole in my gear from the river. Luckily, we didn’t unload it last night.”

&
nbsp; Fleet looked at me as if I had suggested we both jump off a tall building. “In this snake-infested wilderness? No thank you.”

  I laughed at my best friend. “Oh, come on, just on the river over there on the other side of the meadow. If we see a snake, I’ll take care of it.”

  Fleet pointed to the briefcase in the back seat, his face as white as the frosting on the doughnuts he loved in the morning. “I brought some reading. I think I’ll pass.”

  I gave him my best serious look, like I was actually trying to talk him into going across the meadow with me. “You know, a rattlesnake bite won’t kill you. Maybe put you in the hospital for a day or so if we don’t treat it right, but they’re not deadly. Cute things if you don’t bother them.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Fleet’s face got whiter, and even with the brisk air-conditioning, he started sweating and shaking his head.

  I chuckled and sat back, enjoying the coolness, staring out the front windshield at the rock walls and towering mountains that locked in this valley.

  Fleet took a deep breath and then sat back. “Sometimes, you just drive me crazy.”

  “One of my hobbies.”

  “I know that.”

  We sat there in the coolness for a minute, just watching in the general direction that everyone had gone.

  “Why fishing?” Fleet asked finally. “Why now? Why here? That makes no sense to me, unless you just want to kill some time.”

  “There’s that. But in case you didn’t notice, sound carries out here. Especially in this kind of closed-in canyon.”

  “I caught that. I could hear you talking to the sheriff’s kid up on the rocks when...” Fleet stopped, finally understanding what I was thinking. “You’ll be able to hear every word the team says if you are sitting down by the river.”

  “On the money. Sometimes using what Mother Nature gives you is the best way to solve a problem.”

  Fleet stared around the outsides of the car like the snakes were circling and trying to get in. “I suppose that would be worth risking the snakes for.”

  I laughed and patted my friend on the shoulder. “I think I can handle it. You stay in the car.”

  I hadn’t seen Fleet look that relieved since his future wife said yes to his stammering request for a first date.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Central Idaho Mountains. August 19

  I SAT ON a high rock above the small flow of water called the Middle Fork of the Payette River, doing my best to listen to the few words of conversation among the members of the NTSB team on the crash site above. They had spread out over the rock field, taking pictures and measuring and recording every detail of every piece of the wreckage.

  I had crossed over the water to get to the exact right spot with the best sound, and also so I could face back up toward the crash site. Now my pole rested on the rock, tucked under my right leg, the line draping uselessly into the water. There was a hook on the line, but no bait. The last thing I wanted to do at this point was to actually catch a fish.

  In the past three hours, the sun had left the valley floor, slowly working its way up the side of the mountain, but the heat seemed to have increased, with no wind to cool the valley floor down. I wished I had brought my DEET from my gear in the Lexus. The mosquitoes were starting to drive me nuts. Normally, they didn’t bother me, but normally I was covered in protection. If the biting got much worse, I’d have to go get some repellant and take a chance on missing something that was said.

  So far, there hadn’t been much talk at all from the investigators, but what there was I could hear as clear as a church bell on a summer night in a small town. Measurements had been called out, a rattler scared away from one piece of tail section, conversation about how much work it was going to be for the recovery team to get the plane out of the rocks.

  But mostly there was nothing.

  Mountain silence and the faint sound of running water.

  I could go hours without playing a hand in a poker game if the situation called for it, waiting until just the right cards came along, the right position, the right opponent. Waiting for something that might not happen was a strength of mine. I suppose that wasn’t a skill a person could put on a resume, but it had earned me a fortune over the years at poker tables.

  A couple hours earlier, the sheriff, after showing the site to the investigators, had come back down the trail helping his son carry camping gear. Ray had packed his son into the unmarked car and sent him on his way, more than likely to a shower, a good meal, and a good night’s sleep. Then, with a word to Fleet, Ray had headed toward the river, stopping on the other bank across from me and shading his eyes so he could see me.

  “I’m planning on waiting around until they tell me it’s clear,” Ray said. “Normally, on small planes like this, it takes about three or four hours. I’ve had them take longer, not much shorter.”

  “Good.”

  I knew that every word the two of us said could be heard by the team, and I needed to be careful.

  Ray went on. “After they get finished with this preliminary survey and photographs,” he said, “the recovery team comes in tomorrow and moves the plane into a hanger in Boise. There just isn’t much to do here.”

  I shrugged. “I think we’ll wait as well. It was my father after all.” That was what the NTSB team would have expected me to say, and I didn’t want to disappoint since I was sure they could hear me.

  Ray nodded.

  “Besides, the fish are going to start biting at any moment.” I moved my pole a little and smiled at Ray.

  “I’ll be in the car with your friend,” Ray said, shaking his head and turning away. “It’s too damned hot to fish out here.”

  Ray was right. It was too hot to fish, at least for trout.

  I went back to waiting and listening and slapping at mosquitoes.

  At just a little over three hours after the team started, Bud called out. “Eric, I think you should come and look at this.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I watched as both Eric and Heather headed toward Bud, carefully working their way over the rocks. For a desk jockey, Heather looked to be holding her own pretty well. But I had no doubt she was going to have bruised and cut hands and banged up shins by the time this was over.

  “What do you have?” Eric asked, kneeling like a golfer studying a break on a putt.

  Heather got to a spot beside them and remained standing, watching the two men and occasionally glancing down at me as if she were afraid I might do something. I had no idea what that might be, but she kept a careful eye on me anyway.

  I knew the crash site from my time on the ledge. They were looking at the engine and engine compartment.

  “What do you see there?” Bud asked, pointing at something.

  Silence.

  It was as if the boxed canyon had just swallowed every sound, not letting anything escape.

  “Take a picture of that,” Eric finally said. “From all angles.”

  Both Heather and the other man started snapping pictures, the sound echoing down the canyon, their flashes lighting up the shadows around them.

  It was all I could do to not drop my pole and run up there and see just what the hell they had found. But I stayed still, as if I actually were fishing and couldn’t hear them.

  “Could this have been caused by the crash?” Heather asked.

  “Didn’t happen that way,” Eric said. He made a clear motion of glancing at me, then went on. I had no doubt Eric wanted me to hear what he was saying. He knew how sound traveled in the mountains, he knew exactly what I was doing, and he didn’t seem to mind as long as I stayed off his crash site.

  “See the staining in the wall of the compartment?” Eric said, pointing at something. “That shows it happened during flight.”

  I took a shallow breath, making sure I didn’t miss a word.

  “Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?” Heather asked, her voice almost a whisper, yet still very clear to m
e down near the river.

  Not an accident? For some reason, this being anything but an accident hadn’t crossed my mind.

  I took a deep breath and braced myself on the rock. Not an accident meant Carson’s death was a murder.

  What the hell had Ace known?

  “It’s starting to look like this plane was brought down intentionally,” Eric said. He pointed at something else. “Get pictures of that as well.”

  “What is it?” Heather asked, snapping away beside Bud.

  “Small remote detonator,” Eric said. “Still intact. We might be able to trace it.”

  It took every poker skill I had at that point to not jump to my feet. I kept taking shallow breaths, working to keep my heart from racing and beating so loud it covered up what I needed to hear.

  “A bomb?” Bud asked, his voice so powerful it echoed over the meadow. “You’re saying this plane was brought down by a bomb?”

  “Looks that way,” Eric said, again glancing down at me to make sure I heard.

  I didn’t move.

  Eric pointed at something again. “See right here? The detonation was set to shut down the engine and the hydraulic controls. A small, but perfectly placed charge, from the looks of it. But we won’t know one hundred percent for sure until we get this all out of here.”

  “Sounds like a stupid way to try to kill someone,” Heather said. “No real guarantee it will work. He might have landed safely.”

  “Have you looked around you?” Eric asked, his arm sweeping around at the canyon and rocks and trees. “No engine, no controls. He would have to have been amazingly lucky to survive.”

  “This guy’s luck ran out,” Bud said.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid it did,” Eric said, looking down at me. “Someone clearly wanted it to.”

  The three of them went back to work, taking pictures and studying the engine.

  I sat on the rock, completely stunned, not even sure if I trusted my legs to get me back to the car.

  My father had clearly been murdered.

  My grandfather might have known about it. Or at least known the reason behind it.