March 18th, 1980
I awoke. The room was dark. Moonlight bled through the window blinds, casting shadows throughout the bedroom. The phone rang on the table next to me and I could feel my partner, Charles, stirring.
Picking up the phone, I was met with the voice of Justin Walker, CEO of North Am Airways, a budget airliner running out of Seattle to and from locations in Washington, Nevada, Arizona and California.
“Hello Victor, sorry to wake you.” He said “We’ve just had a plane explode mid-flight north of Portland, we need you to come and take a look at it.”
I sighed, looking at the cold digits on the digital clock on the bedside table. 04:22AM.
“I’ll meet you at your head offices, shall I?” I said.
“Yes. As soon as possible.” He replied.
I staggered to my feet. “It’ll cost extra out of regular hours.”
“The cost is worth it. Justice waits for no-one.”
“Understood. Set up a meeting, I’ll be with your receptionist in a few hours.” I said.
“You don’t need directions?”
“I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I couldn’t look up an address.”
He agreed and I hung up the phone.
I washed, then returned to the bedroom to get into my suit, sun beginning to dribble over the hilltops.
I felt Charles’ arms wrap around my shoulders.
“Be careful.” He whispered, pressing his nose to my cheek.
“I promise.” I said, leaning my head back to give him a kiss, then making my way out to the car.
-
“Morning leem’” Rhys said, climbing into the car. A wolverine. Big guy, small eyes, built like a battle tank. My assistant. Solving crime alone is like booking your own funeral. He was dressed in a large red and white varsity jacket, jeans and a t-shirt.
“Good morning.” I said, waiting for him to strap in, then driving off towards the North Am building. Rhys lived in Seattle, which made our case right in his back yard.
“Mr. Walker’s in quite the hurry.” He grumbled, toothpaste still smeared on his lips.
“Apparently so.” I said, turning onto the street bearing the offices of North Am. A large office block. 1960’s architecture. Lazy Brutalist. Nested squares. Tiny windows. Chipping paint.
The forecourt was slowly beginning to fill with news crews, but it wasn’t bustling just yet.
Rhys remained quiet. More quiet than normal. I parked the car and undid my belts, looking over to him as I prepared to leave the vehicle.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m fine.” He said, in a way that heavily implied the opposite.
Leaving the car, I reached into my suit pocket, pulling out a small microphone and clipping it to my shirt, snug under my collar on the left side. I hid the wire down my shirt to a cassette recorder in my jacket pocket. A small click of a heavy button and I was ready to document the occasion. I had a notepad and pen, as did Rhys, but nothing convicted like irrefutable evidence.
We walked up the steps into the reception. Mr Walker was waiting for us. A raccoon. Slender physique. Pale blue striped suit. Pressed. Spotlessly clean.
“Ah, Victor Tremblay, thank you for coming.” He said, holding out a paw to me, that I took and shook.
I noted that Rhys held out his hand and was ignored.
“Please, gentlemen, join me upstairs where it’s more suited to discussion.” Mr Walker said, turning and leading us across the smart foyer towards an elevator.
The trip up to the conference room was silent. He didn’t speak, and neither did I.
Out of the elevator, a high floor. We walked down the brown corridor to a large room.
This conference room contained a big oval table, a view of the city in the blooming sun on the right, with little models of various aeroplanes on the left. It was a rich abode indeed.
“Take a seat.” Mr Walker instructed, we complied. Rhys took out his notebook immediately, me following. He sheepishly went to put his away but I rested a hand on the book to stop him. Why he was so hesitant I didn’t know, but that could be dealt with later.
“Tell me what happened to the aircraft.” I said.
“It was Flight 44, took off from Seattle, bound for Tucson, and crashed just north of Portland, near the Lewis river.” The raccoon said, sitting down.
“What do we know of the cause?” I enquired.
“From initial reports, there was a detonation aboard and the plane plummeted into the ground.” He explained.
“Do we have the black box?”
“They’re recovering it now.”
I nodded. “Let me know when it comes in.”
“Absolutely.” He said.
“How do you know it’s an explosion?” Rhys asked.
“The fragments they’ve recovered show excessive burns.”
“Which fragments?” I asked.
He gulped. “The bodies, Mr Tremblay.”
I stared into his eyes, then over at Rhys, then back out of the window.
“They’ve recovered the bodies and are waiting on the box?” The wolverine clarified.
“Correct.”
“Any other information you have at this point?” I asked.
“Yes.” He said. “I’ve got the manifest and the names of everyone on the flight, as well as a couple people of interest you may want to pursue.” He said, sliding a few documents across the table.
The top document was details on the aircraft in question, a small Boeing craft. The second one down was the manifest, detailing all cargo onboard. The third was a passenger listing, giving a full list of everyone on board. And the rest were files on individuals of interest. I began to look over the first one.
“Jack Anderson, one of our employees.” The raccoon said. “We’ve had a tough time with Jack. Doesn’t seem happy with the changes to his role, his hours and so forth. His standard of work became sloppy. We suggested that if he didn’t buck his ideas up that he wouldn’t be keeping that job much longer. He’s got a bee in his bonnet and he checked the plane over before it departed Seattle.” He said. “Our prime suspect in many respects. He’s been turned over to the feds. I suggest you start with him.”
“Noted", I said, glancing over the remaining suspects I had been offered, then gathered the documents together neatly.
I looked to Rhys, he nodded.
“Alright, we’ll get to work." I said "Do keep in touch and inform us when the black box arrives.”
-
“You seem troubled.” I said to Rhys as we climbed into the car and I turned off the cassette recorder.
He signed and nodded. “There’s a lot of dead folk on that craft.”
“Before that.” I said. “You seemed troubled from the moment you got in the car this morning.”
Rhys gulped and sighed as I started the engine and proceeded towards the office.
“I don’t feel like I contribute anything to our cases.” He said. He had a habit for speaking blunt as a brick. It was a quality I valued like solid gold.
“What makes you say that?”
He seemed to mull it over. I could hear him starting sentences, not finishing them.
“You’re the smart one. You’ve got a cassette recorder in your pocket, you ask all the clever questions.” He said. “I only ask the dumb ones.”
I parked outside our office block. “If nobody asked the “dumb” questions”, I said, “Then we’d still be banging rocks together.”
-
“Jack Anderson. Flight Engineer for North Am Airways for the best part of 8 years.” Rhys began, reading from a large pile of documents he’d assembled. “He used to fly inside the planes, though as microcontrollers in jumbo jets have gotten more advanced, his duties have become an on-the-ground only role. This seems to correlate with his increased dissatisfaction with his work.” He said. “He was recently threatened with termination of employment by North Am, something it is noted that he took poorly.”
“That’s a possible motive. He hates his employer, he’s about to lose his job, probably has a lot of bills to pay and feels hard-done-by.” I said. “Any significant fiscal oddities in his file?”
“Nothing.” Rhys said. “Though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a few fiscal oddities in the pipeline.”
I nodded, bringing a coffee to the table and sitting down. “Who else do we have?”
“Bruce Edgar.” Rhys said. “A wanted criminal, who made it aboard the plane, we believe, on a faked ID.”
“Do you think he smuggled anything aboard?”
“Possibly. You’ll have a tough time asking him, his last known location was in a body bag.”
I grumbled, taking a sip of coffee. “A hard one to rule out definitively.” I ponder, “What’s the presumed scenario?”
“Presumption is that Bruce got on the plane, tried to hijack it, or otherwise got in a scuffle. Then, either a bullet was fired or something else happened and caused it to explode, tumbling into the ground.” Rhys explained.
Rhys nodded. “How about we start with Mr. Anderson, since he’s still breathing the same air we are.” He suggested.
I nodded. “Perfect. Gives the salvage team more time to look into the aeroplane and find any extra pieces of Mr. Edgar.”
-
Inside the station, we were taken into a small room where Mr. Anderson was being held. He was a fox. Slender build. Wearing his overalls. They were grubby. He had hate in his eyes. Though he seemed acutely aware of both myself and Rhys entering the room. He was alert. On edge.
“Hello Mr Anderson. Detective Victor Tremblay and Detective Rhys Jones.” I said, sitting down, Rhys next to me. “We’re here to ask some questions.”
“Sure, but let me ask one first.” Jack said.
“Go for it.” I said, shrugging. No reason to object.
“Are you hired by North Am?” He asked.
“Yes.”
He groaned. “So much for impartiality.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you distrust me?”
He grunted. “I distrust North Am.” He said.
“Why’s that?”
“Overworked, underpaid, they ignore everything we say. Maintenance times and budgets are cut back over and over again. Which, given how much cocaine is being smuggled on those flights, is ridiculous.”
“Cocaine?” We asked together.
“Yes, those planes are full of drugs, animal skins, you name it. Coming in and out from all over the place.” Jack said, leaning back in the chair. “I reported them all to my superiors. But since I don’t trust them not to shred them.” He added, reaching into a pocket and handing over a folded document. “I handed them this report 3 months ago, my superior signed it, stamped it. It’s been seen and it’s in the system, with a log file.”
I took it, looked over it, then handed it back. He wasn’t going to let me keep it, I saw his eyes stare unflinchingly at it the entire time, paw outstretched to receive it's return.
“What do you know about Flight 44?” I asked.
“Runs from Seattle to Tucson.” He said. “I did the checkover before boarding. I checked everything I was given time to. Including over a dozen pallets that I was told I wasn’t allowed to interfere with. But that was normal for North Am. I just figured they were full of drugs. Not full of explosives.”
I nodded. “Your problems with North Am, what have you proposed to do about them?”
“I filed a lawsuit a month ago, I have a lawyer and we’re going to court in June.”
“Who’s your lawyer?”
“Maria Campbell, I can give you her information and the case reference.” He explained.
-
With Maria Campbell’s information in hand, we got back in the car and headed back to our offices.
“What do you think of Jack?” Rhys asked on the way.
“It really hinges on this lawsuit. I’ll have a look into it, you see if you can find the location of the next suspect on the list.” I said.
Back at the office, Rhys looked through the documents as I made enquiries with the local courts about the case reference I was given and laterly spoke with Maria, who confirmed what Mr Anderson had told us.
“Case seems to be real, and, though I’m no legal expert, it seems that Jake has a good chance of winning it. If that document about the drugs he’d passed on to his superiors is fake, then he wouldn’t have minded me keeping it. Wouldn’t have made good evidence because they’d probably be able to prove a forgery.” I explained. I sat down at the table where Rhys was sifting through paperwork.
“And if he’s got a court date with the company that wronged him, and he’s got a good chance of winning it, why would he blow up a jetplane belonging to them, heavily jeopardising his case?” Rhys appended.
“Exactly. I don’t think he did it. It’s not in his interests to.” I suggested. ”As for Mr. Edgar, I’m not sure he’dve brought drugs along only to attack the plane. It’s strange for someone to try and go down with their haul. And, for that matter, to accompany it on it’s journey. Surely you’d want to be as far away from it as possible in case it gets caught.”
Rhys nodded. “Unless he needed it to be taken elsewhere?”
“Filling a plane with drugs and then hijacking it to get it to where you want it feels like more work than is strictly necessary. If he was trying to fly cocaine and poached skins out to… Japan, Australia, Belgium, Brazil, surely you’d just load them onto the plane going there and have someone on the other end unload.”
“You expect competency?”
“I expect logic. Especially from someone capable of faking ID convincingly enough to get aboard the flight.” I stated. “That being said, the black box would hold the key to that one. You’d be able to hear if he burst into the cockpit, or any other struggle. But I’d argue that if he attempted something, then he wouldn’t have put the drugs there, if there are any.”
Rhys nodded. “I think the next best idea is to look through what stuff they’ve found from the craft so far.”
“Sounds good.” I said, getting to my feet again.
–
We had been provided the location of the crash site. The plume of smoke was still visible and vivid, fluttering up into the sky. We parked up on a backroad not far from the Lewis River, north-east of Portland, and met up with some of the investigators. We were taken to a nearby hangar where the evidence had been moved to, passing an ID check to enter. People in white coveralls were regularly walking in and depositing things carefully onto the floor, in cases of large metal chunks of craft, or onto tables in terms of documents, cargo and other non-aeronautical objects.
I didn’t take much interest in the large chunks of aeroplane they’d recovered. I trusted them to know what different types of damage meant for the fate of the craft. That was far from my area of expertise. Some things showed signs of being buckled and bent, some things charred, some things relatively unscathed by comparison. They’d know what this meant in terms of plotting out its last moments, I just believed what they told me.
What was immediately of note was that a rather large amount of identifiable stuff had been salvaged. I didn’t bother to look at the bodies. I intended to eat later this week. The first thing I went to examine were the ID’s. There was a small stack of them on one of the tables. With a deep, disquietened breath, I picked them up and started to look through. Comparing the names to the manifest, I quickly came across a driving license belonging to “Butch Williams”. The photograph matched the face of Bruce Edgar, I had a hunch it was him. It was charred in many places, but it was intact. Further scans of the others didn’t look too critical yet, though they may have uses in evidence later.
I twirled it in my fingers for a moment and then put it in my pocket. A further scout of the table revealed a large, rather heavily damaged container. Scorch marks covered the mangled panels of the exterior and shrapnel was dug into the polystyrene inner container within.
Pulling on some gloves, I eased the container open, taking each panel and placing it down neatly, as to disturb it as little as possible, making a note of how it went back together. I was now at the polystyrene itself. Some of it had deformed enough for further access. A modestly sized, loose segment was removed and I was able to access what lay inside. Ontop was cookery powder, stored in multiple small packets. Each packet had it’s contents labelled on it. The top few were flour, a few further down were baking soda, before I pulled out another bag labelled “Nose Candy”. A formal test would be required, but the label wasn’t exactly subtle.
I collected the evidence that I felt was worth examining, Bruce’s drivers license, the “nose candy” and associated bags and Rhys took some photographs of the box cases and collected some statements from the investigation team. The team were informed and shown what I had taken away, and we returned to the office, dropping off the substances at the laboratory for inspection along the way.
-
I sat down and gave the driver’s license a more thorough examination. Up close, the fake was more clear. The font was wrong, it had a general cheapness to it on a purely tactile front. Most damning of course is that the picture of Mr Edgar on his actual ID, per the records we had, matched the photograph perfectly on the drivers license. A definite fake.
“So, in conclusion, we’ve got someone with a criminal record flying on a fake ID, evidence of an explosion aboard the craft and, I do believe, a fair amount of cocaine.” I said.
“Motive?” Rhys probed.
“Not sure, potentially a deal went bad somewhere and somebody wanted to recoup lost costs.” I said. “A trap disguised as a test of faith, perhaps. Although, that being said, why would a cartel throw away a perfectly good amount of product and cause a national incident just to get rid of someone they didn’t like? There are much more subtle ways to do it.”
The wolverine nodded. “So, if the voice recorder shows signs of Bruce entering the cabin, I would suggest a hijacking gone bad. If there are no signs of that, I’d wager it’s more likely that he and the drugs are unconnected. Two different jobs happening at once. An attempted murder or suicide of a criminal kingpin and a drug run by an unrelated client.”
I smiled. “Astute suggestion. I concur entirely. Though I think killing him in a mass, public plane crash would be overkill. If it was a murder, I think it would be a quiet headshot in a controlled environment. Too much to go wrong, too many variables, too high-concept. Occam's Razor. I would err on a murder-suicide on his behalf if it were not a cockpit intrusion.”
“You wouldn’t have any leads who know anyone in the drug or crime world who might know more about Mr. Edgar or drug flights in and out of Seattle, would you?”
“No.” I lied.
At this point I was interrupted by the phone.
Picking it up, I was informed that the cockpit voice recorder was ready for me to listen to.
I thanked them and placed the phone back on the hook, then relayed the information to Rhys.
He didn’t want to do this, and neither did I. But, it had to be done, and it was going to be done.
“You check in at the lab, I’ll go listen to this tape.” I instructed, standing up.
Rhys thanked me silently and I made my way out to the car and the offices of the department of aviation.
On site, I sat down in the room with the reel to reel machine, notepad out. I took a deep breath and they began the tape.
“Nobody burst into that cockpit. The only struggle was between the crew and the plane.” I said to Rhys down the phone. “I’ll have more later.” I added, then confirmed our next meeting tomorrow morning and hung up.
I took a small walk up a few blocks, down a couple alleyways, my eyes scanning the buildings and trying to forget what I had heard. In a small back street, I ducked into an unscrupulous club.
I passed the ID check on autopilot. I needed drink. Lots of it.
I made it to the bar, ordered some of their strongest eau-de-vie and started drinking. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was numbing and that’s what I needed.
I made it through a few glasses of whiskey in quick succession before I placed the glass down on the counter and asked for the bill. Thank god it wasn’t an addiction, just a coping mechanism. Wasn’t exactly the cheapest one, but the good ones cost even more.
I paid the bill and got up to leave, before taking pause and looking around the building. Upon further review, it seemed to be a dancing club. And not the disco kind. As I looked around the room, I spied a contact of mine sat in a booth off to the side. Well, it was otherwise to be a wasted trip. I figured if anyone would know Mr. Edgar, these people might.
I walked over to my contact, a rat in a beige trenchcoat.
“Good evening.” I said, sitting down beside him.
“Well, well, if it ain’t the lemur himself.” He smirked, looking around to see if we could speak freely. “Odd place to find you” He said with a smirk.
“A detective in a strip club?” I said dryly. “Practically my habitat.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Having a poor day. Heard some shit I’m trying hard to unhear.”
He nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
I sighed. “Got any of my usual?”
“Of course.” The rat smirked. “How much d’you want?”
I handed him a couple twenty dollar bills, he smirked and handed me back a packet of cannabis. I rolled myself a joint and lit it, putting the rest in my pocket.
“Thank you.” I said politely.
“Pretty unlike you. You’re often fairly well stocked, by all accounts.” The rat grinned.
“Yes, well.. fortunately most days of the week I don’t have to listen to the last words of a flight crew plummeting into the ground.” I grunt, trying not to cough as I smoked. A macho display, nothing more. “It’s just today wasn’t one of those days.”
The rat gulped. “I guess you ain’t allowed to tell me anything detailed about it.” He mumbled.
“Correct. Though I can ask you questions.” I replied. I'd wished I had my cassette tape, but I couldn’t risk contamination, nor revealing my misgivings.
“Do you know anything about Bruce Edgar?” I asked.
“Yeah, I knew of him. Bank job guy, big money shit. He came in here all the time.” The rat said.
“Is that so?” I asked. “Did he seem like he was having a good time lately?”
The rat blinked. “He’d just got off scot-free from a bank job, bought himself an Armani suit and was getting his dick sucked by Sandra Snugglepuss every day, so I’d think he was doing alright.” He said, nodding his head towards the centre stage. “He walked in here a month ago, climbed up on that stage in an Armani suit, with Sandra wrapped tight in his arms, telling proud tales of his last bank job and how many beds they intended to shred that night.” His tone wistful and reverential.
I blinked. “Sandra…?”
“Snugglepuss” The rat said. “Stripper. Beautiful woman. Black cat. Gorgeous tits. Can’t miss her.”
I peered around to see if there was anyone in eyeshot that fitted her physical description. “How’s she taking the news?”
“Poorly, seems like she really loved the guy.”
“I can see why.” I said.
“You can? Guy was a criminal and she’s a stripper. Not exactly Romeo and Juliet, is it?” He grunted.
I raised an eyebrow at him. It was the kind of grunt a man makes when he’s pretending not to be hurt. This man was no great pretender. “Given that you’re a drug dealer, I think you’re doing her, him, and indeed, yourself, quite the disservice.” I said. I’d not admit to it, but I’d spent many lonely moment of weakness wishing to have been wrapped around a powerful, lawless man like that. Even if it’s not an honest lifestyle, the mind does dream of sin. I got the impression the rat had similar fantasies.
The rat scoffed. “People like us don’t matter, you know that?"
I finished my spliff, stubbed it out with my foot. “Don’t be so sure about that.” I said, standing up. "You matter a lot, if not to someone, to the grand puzzle we live in."
The rat sighed and shrugged. Perhaps it was a bad time for philosophy. I placed the remains of the spliff in the small plastic bag he’d given me and thanked him for his time.
He nodded and I walked out of the club, keen to get myself back on track if I could.
There were, of course, ethical concerns to any of this information I'd just gathered being brought forth in evidence, given that I was drunk and high at the time, but anything to almost justify my coping mechanisms were worth exploring. Speaking to Ms Snugglepuss was unlikely to be immediately useful, but I kept in the back of my mind just in case.
I arrived back home, showered and climbed into bed, apologising for being so late home.
I knew Charles knew what I’d done. It’d take a little time for the smells to fade, but he didn’t seem to mention it.
–
Next morning, I sat down with Rhys and I explained the tape to him. He had the investigator’s transcript of the tape and the feedback from the lab.
“The lab’s done tests on all the packages. The ones labelled “baking soda” and “flour” were, indeed, baking soda and flour, but “nose candy” was exactly as expected; cocaine.” The wolverine explained.
I nodded. “This would validate Mr Anderson’s accounts that drugs were regularly being flown around on those airlines. Though it’s quite a small amount for a flight. Might be worth further questioning.”
Rhys nodded. “As for the voice recorder and black box, no sound of distress prior to the explosion, no unexpected flight inputs according to the engineers. Everything points to a detonation mid-flight. Some form of explosive or similar.” He said. “I suppose the next question is whether or not Bruce Edgar would have reason to take a flight down with him.”
“He had no reason to.” I whispered absent-mindedly.
I froze, realising my slip and unable to stop it.
The wolverine looked to me inquisitively “How do you know?” Rhys asked.
“I… met with someone who knew him.” I grunted, shuffling in my chair.
Rhys face turned to a scowl. “You told me you had no contacts of that type.”
I gulped and fumbled for words.
“You lied to me.” Rhys said calmly, but firmly. “Why?”
I took a deep breath, fur running cold. “It’s my job to look at dead bodies, listen to tapes of people trying not to die and failing.” I explained. “Sometimes you… have to turn to less glamorous ways to cope.”
Rhys stared back at me, cogs whirring in his mind. He sighed and shook his head. “Alright… look, this can wait, what did you find out?”
“Bruce had just completed a bank job, had a new suit, a love interest. He was living the high life. I have a distinct belief that it was not suicide.” I explained.
“Murder?”
“That was the next thing I had in mind.”
“You know the name of the love interest?”
I sighed. “Sandra Snugglepuss.”
“Her?” Rhys said, going red.
“Oh?” I probed. “We've met have we? Unbecoming of a married man.”
The wolverine tensed, but I read him like a book. This was cruel of me. Pointless cruelty and I sought to stop it the moment I realized I was indulging in it. He has been merciful with me, and I extended the same grace.
“I see we both have secrets we’d like to take to the grave. Let’s agree to let them lie.” I said firmly. Rhys agreed, both of us struggling to look at each other.
-
We went for lunch, something outdoors away from the paperwork, to give us time and space to think.
“What’s that?”
“Poutine.” I replied, guiding a few of the fries into my mouth. “It’s a Quebec thing.” I explained.
The wolverine nodded, taking a bite of a hamburger and tapping at the table.
“Alright. I believe, honestly, we can rule out Mr Edgar. For reasons we can agree on, but we can also agree not to discuss at this time.” I said. “I believe it’s worth conferring further with Mr Anderson about the drugs onboard. If he knew anything about where they’d come from it would be useful to know.”
Rhys was looking off into the distance. Troubled.
“I’m sorry about Ms… Sandra.”
“No, it’s not that.” Rhys said, having another bite of his burger. “Something… doesn’t feel right.”
“Can you tell me what it is?”
“When I work out what it is… I will.” he said. “I just think there’s a piece missing in here somewhere.”
I nodded. “I think we should go and speak to Mr Anderson again.”
–
Myself and Rhys sat back in front of the fox, this time with his lawyer, Maria Campbell next to him.
“We have recovered a small amount of cocaine from the flight that crashed. Do you know anything about the pallet? Where it was going, where it came from or who put it on there?” I asked.
“It was flying out of Seattle for Tucson, then it was to change flight for Dallas, that’s all I know. If it had come in from somewhere else, I wouldn’t know.” Jack said, but his eyes narrowed in confusion. “But… you said “small amount”.”
“Yes, I did.”
“There were about 15 pallets of that stuff. Most of the cargo on board was cocaine boxes.” The fox said. “I watched them being loaded. I had to make sure they weren’t too heavy for the maximum load weight for the craft. If you look through the wreckage, the rest of the cargo, by and large, will be cocaine, I assure you.” He stated.
“Most of it has been destroyed in the explosion.” I explained.
The fox grunted. “Funny that.”
I grunted in kind. The fox was not in the best place to be flippant, by my wagering.
I was distracted by a firm grab of my arm from the wolverine.
“Can we have 5 minutes?” The wolverine said, firmly.
“Of course.”
He led me into one of the vacant interrogation rooms to the side.
“When Justin called you the first time, what did he say?”
“He told me he’d had a plane explode in flight over Portland.” I recalled.
“How did Justin know what happened to the plane when he called you?” Rhys asked firmly.
My soul trembled.
“Motherfucker.” I gasped. It was the only word I had left.
“How did Justin know that the plane went down because of an explosion from aboard the plane when he rang you at four in the morning, if the investigators hadn’t even got the black box yet? They’d only just made it to the plane at that point.” He said.
I grabbed him firmly by the arms. “Rhys Jones you’ve done it!"
I scrambled back into the other room.
“Thank you, that will be all.” I stuttered. I didn’t stop to remember what response it was met with. My head was racing far too fast.
–
“Of course, this all makes sense now. Blow up the plane full of drugs now that you know people are onto you, pin that blame on an outspokenly angry employee or if that fails, a criminal who can easily be linked to the drugs you have on board.” I said.
“And he rang you up, believing you’d come to the conclusion that it was Jack or Bruce and that his little plan would all come together.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “See, that’s what I told you about asking the “dumb” questions.” I said, as I climbed into the car.
I called in some backup and we made our way back to North Am headquarters. Myself, Rhys and two federal agents entered the building, the rest remaining outside.
“Mr Walker, Detective Tremblay and Detective Jones are here to see you.” The receptionist explained over the telephone.
“Send them up.” I overheard him say. I did what I could not to give away my misgivings to the receptionist. My heart was pounding.
Into the elevator. On went the cassette recorder.
We left the elevator and entered the conference suite.
The raccoon stood up from behind the table when we entered, a smile on his face. One which vanished as he saw the scowl on mine and the two agents in tow.
“Ah, detective. What can I help you with?” he stuttered.
I cleared my throat and buried my stare into the whites of his eyes.
“Justin Walker, you are under arrest for the suspicion of murder and drug trafficking. You have the right to remain silent.”
He did not.
“What?” He gasped, backing up against the window. “What gives you the idea that I had anything to do with this?”
“You knew the cause of the plane crash long before anyone on the ground did. You had ample reason to want the plane destroyed. Drugs had been found on your aircraft before, you had an employee with a track record of reporting drug findings and disagreements with you.” I explained, pacing slowly across Mr Walker’s vision.
“You felt that you could kill two birds with one stone, down an aircraft to get rid of evidence, incriminate an employee who had meddled with your plans to begin with. Bring myself and Mr Jones in to confirm your lie and the job was as good as done.” I continued. "However, you failed to account for Mr Anderson filing a lawsuit against you prior to today's incident. Your backup plan involving bank robber Bruce Edgar's illegal access to the flight backfired when you didn't plant enough explosive to incinerate all of the cocaine onboard. Why would a bank robber smuggle cocaine onto a flight he himself was on? You couldn't afford to simply not ship the drug of course, you'd already booked it in to be diverted to Dallas if it reached Tucson intact."
I placed my hands on the table, looking into the pearly whites of Justin's squirming eyes. "You hired myself and Rhys here, not because we were experts in air crash investigations, but precisely because we are not. You expected us to just convict one of the obvious candidates you'd lined up." I growled, leaning back up and taking a deep breath.
The two agents stepped around and handcuffed Walker, the raccoon staring back at me silently, his eyes welling with tears but brimming with hatred.
The raccoon was led out of the room and I took a moment to revel in the emptiness of the room.
“Well, Rhys. I believe we’ve done it.” I said, smiling at the wolverine for the first time in days. "Thank you, your insights have been invaluable, as always."
Rhys nodded and smiled in return “What shall we do now?”
“Perhaps we should go to dinner.” I suggested. “Oh, and, I might also suggest that you may want to buy your wife some flowers, chocolates and have a… frank discussion about your personal lives.”
Rhys nodded. “And perhaps you should consider getting some more professional help before someone less understanding discovers your… habit.”
I nodded and we departed the headquarters of soon-to-be-bankrupt North Am Airways.
-
A few days later, I found a note in my letterbox.
“I am resigned to admit I recognise that handwriting.” Rhys said when I showed it to him.
I sat down to open it. “It is indeed, from Ms. Sandra. Thanking yourself and I for giving her closure on the fate of her beloved.”
The wolverine rubbed the back of his head. “Ah… interesting. I assume she gathered our address through one of your… contacts?”
I nodded, folding up the letter and placing it in my coat. “I’ll hang on to it, for your safety.” I said. “Have you apologized to your wife yet?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Her thoughts?”
“Disappointed, unhappy, but… we’re still together.” He explained. “Have you stopped smoking dope yet?”
I coughed. “I choose to plead the fifth.”
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