Flight 12: A Novella

by J. Carson Black

  He just looked at me, like: what are you doing here? But then we went to lunch and he was like his old self. We made love afterwards . . .

  She wrote about her troubles finding a job. Her skimpy unemployment check. How hard it was to stretch a dollar, how her savings were running out. There was a strained quality to her writing now. She and Steve were supposed to go to a concert, but he couldn’t make it. He didn’t answer her texts for days at a time.

  “Whoo-boy,” Anthony said. “Breakup City.”

  I’m beginning to think we’re over, started the entry on October 5th. It’s just not the same. I think he’s avoiding me.

  And: I called him Monday, and it’s Thursday now.

  And: He still hasn’t called, didn’t even bother to text me. Should I text him again? Maybe . . . oh fuck THAT. Who am I kidding?

  I guess Christmas plans are off. How could he just avoid me like that? Should I drive down there? Maybe there’s something wrong . . . ”

  And she did drive down to Cascabel.

  The next entry: It’s over. Oh, God. He told me he doesn’t want a relationship anymore, his exact words. He said I’m too needy. Needy! As if he didn’t court me first!

  “Court.” What an old fashioned word for a Millenial.

  She described in painful detail the way he had looked at her when she drove onto his property. His coldness. His face an impassive mask—the face of a stranger.

  Laura had seen that selfsame look in Steve Lawson’s kitchen.

  Payton: Like it wasn’t real. He would hardly even look at me, just said he was busy and I needed to go.

  They’d had it out. She described it word-for-word, in mind-numbing detail. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Especially the moment the woman driving an old truck showed up.

  The woman had long black hair. She was beautiful. Hispanic.

  Exotic.

  The woman had come to pick up Steve. They were going to an outdoor concert somewhere.

  Her heart was broken. She remembered crying, screaming. He was so cold. “So, so cold!”

  “I take it he was cold,” Anthony remarked.

  “Have some compassion,” Laura said. She remembered what it was like to be with the wrong guy. How many times had that scene played over or could have played over in her own life, before she’d finally figured it out? Before she realized that wanting something didn’t make it so, that sometimes a breakup really was a blessing.

  Steve Lawson, in her view, was a cold s.o.b.

  Anthony said, “It’s kind of . . . lurid reading this stuff. The lovemaking parts? Jesus!”

  “Doesn’t look like there’ll be any more of that. You can breathe easy.”

  “It’s your everyday love story with a bad ending. Boy meets Girl. Girl falls for Boy. Boy gets tired of Girl being such a pest, and—”

  “Sometimes it happens the other way around,” Laura said.

  “Yeah. But at least guys don’t write about it.”

  They looked through her bank accounts. Low across the board.

  “When it rains, it pours,” Anthony said.

  There were other folders. Car insurance, rent.

  “No health insurance I can see.”

  “Wonder if she has to pay the fine,” Laura said. Added, “The ACA.”

  “What’s cheaper?”

  “Maybe the fine, if she’s healthy. She’s young. Works out, cooks healthy foods. She has a gym membership. That’s where I met her.”

  “Tell me about that again. She came up to you and said that someone was going to kill her?”

  “Her exact words were, ‘I want you to investigate my death.’ ”

  “Why all this bad-tasting stuff if she thought she was going to die? Granulated seaweed? Life’s too short—why not live a little? Jesus, she has a yoga mat. In my house, having a yoga mat is worth ten demerits.”

  They bagged and tagged the journal, every folder, every receipt, every paperclip.

  Not that there was all that much. Other than the inexpensive clothing and the slapdash folders with few records in them, there was little to go on—except that Payton seemed to have been on the edge. Broke, looking for a job, her love life gone south.

  “If she hadn’t been shot point-blank,” Laura said, “I would have bet on suicide.”

  They made one last pass through her apartment.

  It was then that Laura found something she’d missed before.

  Anthony was hunkered down near the books, shaking them to see if anything would fall out. “Hey,” Laura said, holding up a blue box. “Guess what this is?”

  8

  Anthony stared at the box, “Clearblue? Holy crap. What you bet Payton was about to be a mama?”

  “She doesn’t mention anything in the diary,” Laura said.

  “Let me see the last entry.”

  Laura handed it to him and he leafed through it, Laura leaning over his shoulder.

  “He was so cold,” Anthony read. “Even after I told him. It was like he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with her.”

  “Could be she told him she was pregnant.”

  “Yeah, what I’m thinking.” Anthony tapped the journal against his thigh. “It’s classic. Boy meets girl, boy gets tired of girl, meantime the girl gets pregnant, there’s a big scene, and—”

  “It’s the ‘and’ that’s important,” Laura said.

  “Been done a million times,” Anthony said. “Throughout history. Looks like another trip to the boondocks to see ol’ Steve. I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “We’ll have to rectify that.”

  “Long drive,” Anthony grumbled as their Crown Vic shuddered over the washboard dirt road. “Hope there’s something at the end of it.”

  “You never know,” Laura said. “I’ve heard that detective work is exceedingly unrewarding. Hours of sleuthing punctuated by just minutes of arresting.”

  “Only thing I’m getting from this trip so far is kidney trouble.”

  They pulled in to Steve Lawson’s place. The horses were in the same place, but the Range Rover was out front, a woman spraying it with a hose, rinsing off suds. She was medium height but very slender. She wore jeans that hugged her narrow hips all the way down long legs to red-leather cork sole sandals that tipped her up in such a way that made her even sexier.

  Anthony had stopped the car and stared through the windshield like a kid ogling presents under the tree on Christmas morning. “Jesus! I’d tap that. She looks as good as the girls in L.A.”

  “Maybe you could put her in your movie.”

  “It’s a property, not a movie.”

  “The script’s already written though, right?”

  “Uh-huh. But, early stages. We’re not even in pre-production yet.”

  “You mean you sold it to Hollywood?”

  “No.”

  “Then who’s the ‘we’re?’ You have someone attached?”

  “Where’d you learn all these words? No, no one is attached. It’s just in script form right now. I haven’t started the next phase yet.”

  “Oh.” Laura had decided it was time to stop with the teasing. The movie biz was tough, especially if you lived in Tucson and lacked industry connections. The Arizona State Legislature continually refused to put a tax credit program in place for film productions and the industry went elsewhere.

  “Man,” Anthony added. “That is one hot babe.”

  Long black hair down to a tiny waist. Heart-shaped face—what they could see of it behind the sunglasses. She had that something, Laura thought, that set her apart from other good-looking women.

  Whatever it was, this girl was the whole enchilada. Everything about her made Laura feel dumpy, frizzy and short, even though she wasn’t any of those things.

  Anthony had gone in to movie producer hand-frame mode, index fingers and thumbs creating a wide rectangle in front of his face. Then he whistled, long and low. “You know who that is?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s the woman who re
placed Payton in ol’ Steve’s affections.”

  They got out of the car and walked toward her.

  The girl saw them and ran to turn off the hose.

  All her grace seemed to fall away. There was an almost cringing movement as she bent to turn off the faucet at the house, as if she were trying to make herself smaller.

  Their Crown Vic was unmarked, but it still looked like a cop’s car.

  The screen door to the pink house rapped open, hitting the wall, and Steve Lawson came out. He addressed the girl in Spanish—too quick for Laura to understand, except for andale and la casa. And her name, Jazmin.

  The girl bowed her head, and the thought that she was Hollywood actress material went out the window. She darted inside the house.

  Steve Lawson glowered at them. He looked bigger than Laura remembered, taller, and she fancied she could see steam coming from his nostrils. Her right hand inched back to her hip and hovered there. She kept her posture casual, though. Keeping her eyes on Lawson, watching his hands. They were empty.

  Laura heard the drone of an engine. A beat-up Chevy Suburban followed the bend in the road and slowed near Lawson’s driveway. Laura could almost see the driver hesitate, as if he planned to turn in. Then the Suburban sped up, disappearing around the next curve.

  She heard Anthony shout, “Police! Stay-where-you-are!”

  Lawson frowned. He looked angry and confused. “You’re on my property! You can’t tell me what to do.”

  He started across the yard and Anthony shouted, “Stop right there!”

  “But it’s my property!”

  “Stay where you are. Show me your hands.”

  Lawson looked like he was about to argue, but then he held up his hands. “You could see I had nothing,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You people never give up, do you?”

  “Put your hands on your head, turn around so you are facing the house, and back up toward me.”

  Lawson did so, taking small steps—but he kept up the running commentary. “What’s this all about? This is my place. You have no right to hold a gun on me. This is harassment plain and simple. You never give up, do you, Laura? What are you going to do? Follow me around until the day I die?”

  “Keep your hands on your head where we can see them,” Laura said,

  “Fine.”

  Anthony was closest, so he patted Lawson down, stood back, and said, “Nada.”

  They holstered their weapons.

  “This is becoming routine,” Lawson said as he turned and glared at Laura. “And I thought we had such a good relationship.”

  Laura hated SB1070, the “Papers Please” law that Arizona had passed and the governor had signed, but it was a tool and she decided to use it now. “Does that young woman have identification?”

  “Ask her yourself.”

  “Ask her to come outside.”

  “I won’t.”

  Laura called out in Spanish for her to join them.

  No answer.

  Laura looked at Anthony and he looked back at her.

  “No probable cause?” Lawson grinned. “Of course not. If you’re going to ask me if she’s—what do you people call it? Illegal? Like she’s some kind of miscreant or something? I couldn’t tell you.”

  Anthony said, “You don’t know?”

  “How would I? She’s a guest, and I’m not rude—I don’t ask guests where they come from.” He held Laura’s eyes with his own. “You know this smacks of racism. But then I’d expect it from the state police.”

  Laura ignored that.

  Anthony said, “You must have us confused with la migra.”

  Laura gave him a warning look.

  “So what do you want, Detective?”

  “Some more questions about your friend Payton Hatcher. Can we go inside?”

  “I think we can stay right out here. It’s a nice day.”

  In light of their previous interactions, Laura decided it would be best if she stood back and let Anthony take over. She glanced at Anthony and he gave her a short nod.

  Anthony said, “You were friends with Payton Hatcher? Were you anything more than that?”

  “That’s an odd question.”

  “Were you seeing each other? Romantically?”

  Lawson said nothing for a moment. His gaze wandered over to Laura, and his eyes were like ice. “Okay. The truth is we were together for a while.”

  Anthony said, “Would you characterize it as a long-term relationship?”

  He laughed.

  “How many months, would you say?”

  Lawson looked as if he would argue, but in the end he didn’t. “How long? I don’t know. A few weeks.”

  “A few weeks,” Anthony said. “Few meaning what? Two, three, four?”

  “Do I really have to spill all this dirty laundry?” Lawson said. He was aware that the young woman was listening at the open window. “It wasn’t even a relationship. Just . . . . I don’t know what you’d call it. Dating?”

  “During what time span?”

  “I don’t have to answer that, but I have nothing to hide. I’d say more than a week, but less than a month. But I really can’t remember, because it was a while ago.”

  “How long ago?”

  Lawson wrinkled his brow. Laura thought he was trying too hard.

  “Sometime last summer? She came out here once or twice.”

  “This was when you were . . . ” Anthony strived to come up with the right wording. “When you were a couple?”

  Laura watched Lawson’s expression—he looked surprised. Or maybe, insulted. “A couple? Are you kidding? We slept together a few times, but that was all. Trying it out. Trying it on, you know? Like clothes. We didn’t fit.”

  Anthony paused. He didn’t seem to know where to go from there. Finally, he said, “Were you aware that Payton Hatcher was pregnant?”

  Lawson stared at him. “Pregnant?”

  “Were you aware?”

  “No. Why would I be? She didn’t say anything.”

  Laura wondered if he was being casual, or acting casual. Usually she had a good idea whether or not someone was lying, but he was sending mixed signals.

  “So you didn’t know?” Laura persisted.

  Lawson glared at her as if it were all her fault. “That’s your theory? You think I got her pregnant and . . . what? You think I killed her because she was pregnant?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We were not together. We had sex three, maybe four times. In case you don’t know, I have a woman. A good woman. A beautiful woman.” He kept his eyes on Laura, and she thought for a moment he was trying to intimate that she wasn’t a beautiful woman. It was the kind of thing the new, bitter Steve Lawson would do.

  Laura said, “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Payton earlier?”

  He stiffened. It was a very small movement. His jaw seemed to harden, his eyes turned back into marbles. “This is my property. You can certainly look around if you can get a warrant.”

  “And what would that be for?” Laura asked, holding his gaze.

  “Nothing. Because there is nothing.”

  Anthony said, “Did you take Payton Hatcher to Mount Lemmon to see your old cabin?”

  Lawson did not reply.

  “Mr. Lawson? It’s a simple question? Did you take Payton Hatcher to Mount Lemmon to see your old cabin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that during the time you said you were seeing her?”

  His eyes seemed to slide in his face. He was thinking, hard.

  Up until that moment, Laura thought they were on the wrong track, despite Payton’s journal entries.

  “Mr. Lawson?” Anthony prompted.

  “We did go up there. For a day.”

  “When was that? What month, week, day? Best you can remember.”

  “In the fall. October.”

  The next question was obvious. Before Anthony could ask Lawson, he provided the answer. “I think it was the second week of October.”

 
; “So you were reconciling?”

  “Reconciling? Hardly. I told you, we had no relationship.”

  “But you went up to the cabin months after you saw each other romantically, is that right?”

  “That’s enough.” His face turned impassive, and Laura could tell he wasn’t going to say anything more. Try a new tack. “Did you work at The Desert Geological Institute?”

  He stared at her. “Yes, for a couple of years.”

  “When was that?”

  He seemed to be trying to catch up. She could see it in his eyes—confusion. “A couple of years ago.”

  “A couple of years, a couple of years ago?” Laura said.

  “Something like that.”

  “And why did you leave?”

  “Why is that your business?”

  “Could you answer the question, please?”

  “We were called out on jobs for developers, to make sure that the archaeological and geological places could be developed without bumping up against federal laws.” He shrugged. “I didn’t like it—it made me feel like a sellout. I didn’t like the people I was working with, so I left.”

  “You hired on with them after you were acquitted? How did that—”

  “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “What about the Suburban?”

  Lawson did a great job of looking mystified. “What Suburban?”

  Laura nodded toward the road. “The one that was about to turn in here. A friend of yours?”

  He just stared at her—his expression unreadable.

  Anthony said to Laura, “Was that a Sonoran license plate on that Suburban?”

  Lawson looked from Anthony to Laura. “This is bullshit. It’s also a free country. I’m done here.” He started to walk back into the house, but turned around. “If you’re trying to prove something outlandish like I got her pregnant and somehow, for some reason, I killed her to cover it up—if you think that, then you are really barking up the wrong tree. Do me a favor, will you, Detective Cardinal? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

  He slammed the screen door behind him, and they heard the latch turn.

  Anthony looked at Laura, and Laura looked at Anthony.