by Dan Ames
"I've never been out here before," Pauling answered, her voice relaxed and cheerful, as if she hadn’t put two and two together. "I was curious to see this area and figured maybe I could help."
The young man stepped past Ted and wore an easy smile on his face. He stuck out his hand.
“I'm Jim," he said. Pauling shook hands with him and Jim turned to Ted.
“We should get back, he said. “I've got to start work in about a half hour."
Ted’s gaze lingered on Pauling for a moment and then they walked past her.
She stood there in the sun, pretending to flip through the field notes.
Pauling waited the requisite amount of time to make sure Ted and his companion were well on their way and then she put everything back in place, turned and began the long walk back to the Nest.
This little island is just full of secrets, she thought.
Chapter Fifty
Pauling had been right about Nathan, but in a way she had also been wrong.
He had, in fact, moved heaven and earth and probably spent a prodigious amount of money greasing the right hands. But it took him more than three days to get the remains exhumed and sent off to the medical examiner of her choice, Dr. Milton Killibrew.
Dr. Killibrew had been one of the most famous pathologists in all of law enforcement. Pauling had gotten to know him when she was at the FBI.
They had worked together on a particularly vicious case and Pauling and Dr. Killibrew had bonded. She had even gone to his retirement party where he’d said that if she ever needed any help he was always available for her. Pauling laughed as she remembered him saying that he didn't golf, fish or like the beach.
He just liked to work.
When the first message came through via email encrypted, Pauling opened up Dr. Killibrew’s report.
It began with the usual disclaimer that this was just preliminary and that he planned to spend at least several more days with various body parts under the microscope to get a better understanding.
Once she’d gotten past the obvious vital details, he confirmed shark bite marks and agreed that there were several wounds that were inconclusive. But it was the last thing on the report that caught Pauling’s attention.
It had also obviously intrigued Dr. Killibrew.
The renowned pathologist described discovering a very small piece of lung that had been hidden in a mass of cartilage and bone. He stated that under the microscope it appeared to him that the level of salinity and oxygen could lead to only one basic conclusion.
Again he provided a bevy of disclaimers but in the end he said he would be willing to testify to a 95% certainty rate. The conclusion made Pauling sit back.
Paige had been dead before she went into the water.
Chapter Fifty-One
Murder.
There was no other explanation.
Pauling sat back and thought about her next steps. The investigator’s name was on the report. And it belonged to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, but not the officer on Catalina Island. The report had been generated in Los Angeles proper.
She toyed with the idea of emailing or calling him, but then she quickly dismissed it. She knew she would get nowhere on the phone or online.
It was time for a different tactic. She thought it through and came up with a plan. She went to her things, dug through to the bottom where she had hidden Nathan's stash of money and peeled off three thousand dollars worth of bills.
Next, she commandeered a truck.
She drove up to the airport and waited for the plane from the mainland to come in. It arrived every day of the week except Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. Its usual arrival time was early afternoon, but that could sometimes change depending on weather but with a clear sky and no sign of storms, Pauling was confident it would land at its regular time, in about a half hour.
She used the time to think.
If Dr. Killibrew’s finding was true, it meant beyond almost all certainty that Paige had indeed been murdered.
There could be no other explanation for how she had been dead before she went into the water.
That would mean she hadn’t drowned.
So if she had already been dead, how did she get in the water?
The easy answer was a boat. Somebody who had access to a boat most likely killed her, took her out into the middle of the ocean and dumped the body.
Of course, there were a lot of military guys who had access to the boats. And probably quite a few who used them even if they weren’t authorized. So it was a pretty big pool of possibilities.
Still, there was only one person she knew who had both a boat, and a beautiful set of blue eyes.
Michael Tallon.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The plane landed and Pauling stood up. She went to the window and watched the half-dozen passengers disembark. They all appeared to be military personnel.
The engine gradually shut down and the pilot, Jamison, got off the plane but stood outside talking to some of the military guys.
The flight coordinator came into the building and went into the office just off the main room. Pauling remembered him from the bar when Deb had tried to pick a fight with her. She remembered his name was Troyer. Josh Troyer.
Pauling walked over to the doorway and looked at him. "Hey, when is the next flight out?" she asked
Troyer looked up at her. He shook his head. "That ain't how it works," he said.
"I know," Pauling said. "But I really have to get to Los Angeles as soon as possible."
The flight coordinator shook his head. "We're going later today but you know there's a two-week waiting list to get on the flight plus all of the paperwork. You're usually looking at almost a three-week wait before you can get on the plane. This isn’t exactly Delta Airlines."
Pauling walked over to him and slid the bundle of cash out of her jacket and put it on the desk.
"Consider this an expedited rate," she said, “for a round trip.”
Troyer looked at the money, then glanced over at the guys on the tarmac. Finally, his gaze returned and settled directly on Pauling.
He smiled.
"Good news," he said. "We just had a cancellation. There's now an open seat on the last flight out today."
Pauling glanced down and saw that the three grand had disappeared from the top of the desk. She smiled.
"What time do we board?"
Chapter Fifty-Three
The seats on the plane were empty, but the cargo hold was full. Pauling saw the boxes and crates, along with what looked to be some machine parts, packed into the hold at the rear of the plane.
Jamison waved at her from the fold-out stairs. She carried her pack and climbed into the plane.
“No comedy routine today,” he told her. “Pick a seat. Any seat.”
Pauling noted that the plane was completely empty.
She sat in the first seat across from the door opening and tossed her pack into the empty seat next to her.
“It’ll be a quick flight,” Jamison told her. He winked at her and she could tell from the expression on his face that Troyer had cut him in on the deal. He would have had to otherwise there would be no explanation.
Pauling was beyond excited to be back in the real world. She couldn’t wait for her regular cell phone to work again. And she really wanted to spend the night in a hotel and sleep in a real bed. But that would all depend on what she found out.
They finished loading and Troyer climbed aboard. He nodded and grinned at Pauling, then went into the cockpit and closed the door.
The engines revved and very quickly they were airborne. Pauling looked out the window as San Clemente Island fell away beneath her.
The plane banked and she saw the rolling waves of the Pacific. A few minutes later, they passed over Bird Shit Rock and Pauling saw a large, dark shape a hundred yards from the outcropping of land.
A great white, for sure. She shivered involuntarily, thinking of her diving for lobste
r with Michael Tallon. She could‘ve been a tasty snack for that shark.
The flight was short and the landing smooth.
Once on the ground, Pauling took a cab to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, located in the Hall of Justice. Pauling briefly thought of some kind of superhero reference.
She went inside and found her way to the department in charge of accidental deaths. After all, that was what Paige’s death had been ruled.
Ultimately, she found herself seated across from a tired-looking man with dark circles under his eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He had a white shirt with a collar that was just starting to show signs of staining.
“Paige Jones, let me see,” he said. His name was Gianfranco and he thumbed through a file cabinet looking for the name.
At last, he pulled out a folder and set it on the desk between them.
He flipped it open.
“Drowning,” he said, “followed by shark feeding.”
Gianfranco looked up at Pauling.
“So what are you investigating, exactly?” he asked.
“I don’t think it was an accident.”
He sat back in his chair and smiled at Pauling.
“I’ve got twenty detectives working overtime on a backlog of cases. Even with that, we look at every case. If there had been any indication foul play was involved, it wouldn’t have wound up in that file cabinet. Trust me.”
Pauling thought about what he’d said.
“Is there any other reason it would have wound up in that file cabinet?”
His big, dark eyes peered out at her.
“It seems like the investigation was not very thorough. Rushed, almost,” Pauling said. “And when I spoke with one of your colleagues on Catalina Island, I felt like I was practically thrown out of his office.”
Gianfranco gave her a tired smile. “You seem like a sharp lady,” he said. “Can you think of any reason a cop on Catalina might handle a death on San Clemente a bit gingerly?”
“The military, of course,” she answered. “If they were involved in limiting the investigation. But why would they care about Paige Jones drowning?”
“I’m sure they didn’t care then and I’m sure as hell they don’t care now.”
“Wait a minute, you’re not making any sense,” Pauling said. “You’re contradicting yourself.”
“No, I’m not. What I’m saying is they probably didn’t care any more or less about your relative’s death. But they don’t want anyone investigating anything out there. Do you know what I mean?”
Pauling did understand him.
“You’ve been out there, right?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Then you know as well as I do there is a ton of clandestine shit going on. You’ve got FBI guys out there, CIA, Spec Ops. Who knows, maybe they’ve got a part of the island where they torture terrorists.”
“I don’t think so,” Pauling said. “But the point is, they don’t want anyone asking. At all. Period. So there must be some sort of unofficial standing order that if anything happens on San Clemente at all, the military will actually handle it and you guys take a back seat.”
“I would deny that with my last dying breath,” he said.
Maybe she had been wrong, she realized. Maybe there hadn’t been any interference run on Paige’s death specifically, but it was just standard operating procedure for anything that happened.
Gianfranco seemed to read her mind.
“That island is bad luck, though,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Gianfranco closed the folder and put it away before Pauling could sneak a glance at it.
“We had a girl a year ago come back here to L.A. from that island, get in a car and disappear. Never found again. She’s a cold case now.”
Pauling couldn’t keep the awestruck expression from her face. How could no one else have known this?
“I want her name,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because maybe she knew Paige,” Pauling said, winging it. “Maybe looking into her background can help me put together a cohesive description of what happened, if nothing else.”
Gianfranco eyed her warily, pulled the folder back out and said to her, “Donnellon. Emily.”
He put the folder back in the cabinet, shut it and locked it and then scooped up his coffee cup in one smooth motion.
“I hope you’re not forgetting what we just discussed,” he said.
“Oh, I’m not.”
“Great. I’ll show you out,” he said.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Pauling put in a quick call to Blake and had him run the name Emily Donnellon, making sure she would get the right one. Pauling could have used some of her services back in her office in New York, but since Blake was free, she chose him.
He called her back within minutes.
“Good news,” he said. “She lived in the Valley. Went to UCLA. Her parents still live in the family home, according to utility records, combined with her school records.”
He gave Pauling the address.
She took a cab to a car rental company, rented a sedan and drove directly to the Donnellon family home, a split-level ranch with a GMC SUV in the driveway.
Pauling parked her car and knocked on the door.
A woman looked out, then unlatched the door.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Mrs. Donnellon?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Lauren Pauling and I’m looking into the death of Paige Jones. She died on San Clemente Island. I understand your daughter Emily disappeared after returning home from the island?”
It all came out quickly but Pauling figured it was the best way to do it.
“Please, come in,” the woman said.
She led the way to a living room. It was immaculate, with an upright piano against one wall, a seating area with a couch and chairs facing a gas fireplace.
Mrs. Donnellon sat in one of the chairs and Pauling sat across from her on the corner of the couch.
Pauling briefly studied the woman. She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, with a stylish haircut and a trim body. She looked a little bit like a California beach bunny, all grown up and doing well.
“Do you think they’re related?” the woman asked.
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Donnellon,” Pauling said.
“Please. Call me Julia.”
“Julia, I’m not sure because frankly I just found out about your daughter. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks on the island trying to find out what happened to Paige, and no one even mentioned it. Which surprises me.”
Julia Donnellon shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe they don’t know. Emily only spent a week out there and she landed here in Los Angeles. It was after that she disappeared.”
“Did she come home? To this house?” Pauling asked.
“No. No one saw her.”
“Who was the last to see her?”
“When the passengers disembarked they were all checked off at the airport. That was the last time anyone saw her.”
“Were the police able to find anyone who picked her up? A friend? Did she call a cab? Taxi companies record most of their calls and obviously keep track of who picked up fares and where.”
Julia Donnellon shook her head. “No, they contacted all of the cab companies but no one could find evidence of picking her up.”
“So she was last seen at the airport.”
“Yes. They used her cell phone records to see that her phone was turned on when she landed. But then she didn’t make any calls or send messages afterward. And then she disappeared and the phone was never used again.”
“So she couldn’t have called a friend or a cab, then?” Pauling asked.
“We figured she didn’t have to call. Sometimes there are cabs just waiting at the airport to pick up a fare. That’s probably what happened.”
Pauling thought about the small, military airport with its secured ga
te. Not a place a cab driver would hang out looking for fares.
“Do you have a photo of your daughter I could look at?”
Julia Donnellon got up, left the room and came back with a photo in a frame.
Pauling looked at the girl in the picture. Blonde. Blue eyes. Very pretty.
Not exactly like Paige, but in the ballpark.
“Beautiful,” Pauling said, and handed the photo back.
Mrs. Donnellon set the photo on the coffee table between them. Pauling felt like the girl was looking up at the both of them.
“Now what?” Julia asked.
Pauling stood. “Thank you for talking to me. I’m going to fly back to San Clemente Island and see if I can talk to some people who might have known both Paige and Emily. See if there is any kind of connection. Is there a phone number where I can reach you if I have any questions?”
The woman jotted down a number and gave it to Pauling.
“Good luck,” Julia Donnellon said, her voice heavy with sorrow and fatigue.
“If you find out what happened to Paige, maybe you’ll find Emily.”
Pauling nodded.
She didn’t have a good feeling about it, though.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Pauling was never a big believer in coincidences. And something felt very wrong about the situation. Two beautiful girls, one dead and one missing?
It just didn't add up.
How was it no one on San Clemente Island felt the need to mention that Paige wasn’t the only young woman to have possibly been harmed?
Was it that they didn't know?
Or were they trying to hide it?
Obviously, it wouldn't play well for the reputation of the Bird Conservatory to have young women continually experience harm while working for them. Or, in this case, just after.
Nor would it be good for the military people on the island. There was certainly a fraternity there of men who protected their own.
It wouldn't be the first time a group of men had covered up crimes against women to protect their own.