Category: Dominic Roo

(Jump to: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six)

Chapter Seven

Tuesday

Dom continued his story, watching Fred’s face. “Mr. Cain flew here from Detroit on a Tuesday morning. Very early on a very gloomy morning, when it was unlikely he would be observed.  He took on fuel — to suggest a reason for stopping here, I suppose — and then started his airplane and taxied toward the runway, passing several rows of hangars as he did so.  It so happened that as he moved in this direction, you — in your own airplane — were taxing away from this very hangar, leaving the door open.”

Walt consulted the notes he had made on the back of an envelope while Roo was talking.

“All right, Dom, you make an interesting case, but parts of it seem needlessly intricate.  By your theory, Fred took an airplane out and brought it back, impersonating Mr. Cain.  Why?  Why would Cain not do it all himself, with no need for impersonation?”

Roo shook his head and said, “Well, you see, the reappearance of a deceased pilot or his demolished airplane at any time after they have perished would be unusual.  People might talk, you know, whether of ghosts or insurance fraud, and word might get to the authorities.  Fred’s airplane, on the other hand, could be seen that morning with no risk to the plan.”

“All right, then, why not scrap Cain’s airplane, instead of Fred’s?”

“For several reasons.  First, from an evidentiary point of view, you’re right — Fred assumed it would make no difference.  He did not recognize the surviving distinctiveness of Mr. Cain’s airplane or did not expect it to be detected.  Unluckily for Fred, Judy Cain is probably the only person in the world who would have recognized it.  Second, Mr. Cain’s airplane was in a better state of repair.  According to Fred’s plan, only one of the airplanes could survive.  Why not the better one?”

Walt protested, “But all the effort to strip the paint…”

“That had to be done in any case.  It’s easy to disfigure an expensive and distinctive paint job, such as Mr. Cain’s, and this had to be done whether his airplane was to be scrapped or repainted.  The discovery of Cain’s airplane in any scrap yard would prove the fraud, so it had to be disfigured.”

Walt nodded and grunted assent.

“Third, Fred’s wings really did have corrosion, providing an easy answer to the question of why they were scrapped.  The discovery of a perfectly good component buried in the woods — when said component might just as easily have been sold at a considerable profit — would also raise questions.”

“Fourth, I think Fred felt safer with this solution to his problem.  Once he got his trick past the painter, he thought he was in the clear.  After he replaced the data plate, Cain’s airplane had the right serial number.  Legally, this airplane really became Fred’s old airplane.  So, the painter saw no problem.  A mechanic might have noticed that the serial number of some component didn’t match a number in the logbooks, but that was unlikely, and the records could also be lost or changed if he thought that necessary.” 

Walt shook his head, raised his hand to his chin and thought hard.  “Wait!” he shouted, raising his hand.  “When Fred got back, he had to break up his own airplane, right?” 

Dom nodded, and Walt continued with excitement. “But Cain’s airplane was in his…” Walt’s mouth remained open but his face suddenly fell.  “OK, don’t tell me.  That’s why you asked if there was an open hangar nearby.”

Dom nodded.  “Yes, they needed it to hide Cain’s airplane while they sawed Fred’s apart.  It wouldn’t take long.”

“Why not leave Cain’s airplane in Fred’s hangar?”

Dom pointed toward an electric motor bolted to the back of the hangar.  “Didn’t you notice the winch?  Hardly need that to park a little 172.  That’s how they got a fuselage on a trailer inside a closed hangar.”

Walt nodded, subdued.  “Then they threw a tarp over the trailer and just hauled it away.”

“Well,” Dom corrected, “Fred hauled it away after the cooperative Mr. Cain climbed into the trunk.”

Walt shuddered.  “You have a devious mind, Dom.  I’m glad you’re on our side…  Say, you are on our side, aren’t you?”

Dom smiled and said, “Well, I think we’ve explained the crime, and if Fred had not invited Judy for an airplane ride, he might have gotten away with it.  Now, for a broader view.  Clearly, Fred has done terrible things.  Probably, he was offered money to assist in Cain’s disappearance.  Presumably, he murdered Benjamin Cain and committed fraud.  Very likely, he attempted to shoot my friend and I.  But I would also point out that Fred is an ineffective — I would even say accidental — criminal.  He’s clever but careless. He failed to get rid of evidence.  He failed to distance himself from Judy Cain.  We don’t know if he profited at all and I think his primary motive for this whole sad business was to free Judy Cain from Ben Cain.  For that, at least, we can feel some sympathy.”

“Yes, what about the woman?  Was she in on it?”

“No.  Her shock at recognizing the airplane is conclusive and would be difficult to simulate.  Though she attracted plenty of male attention that morning, only one person even noticed her reaction.  Well, two counting Fred, and he also took it as genuine.  That alone is probably enough to exonerate her.  And despite her suave manner, I believe her to be a curiously simple soul.  She received money as a result of her husband’s death but refused to spend it.  She suspects that something out of the way occurred but knows enough of her husband’s cruelty to let sleeping dogs lie.  She does not volunteer information, but she is truthful when she speaks.”

“No, I take her to be innocent, though in one way she did set this whole disaster in motion.  She has the kind of face that launched a thousand ships.  In this case, it sank one.”

*   *   *

Tuesday Night

“Hello?  Miss Sayers?  It’s Dominic Roo.”

He could hear nothing for a few seconds, then a long breath, and then,  “Yes, Mr. Roo.”

“It’s over.  Fred has confessed to murdering your husband and has made it clear that you were not involved.”

Again, a pause.  “Miss Sayers?”

Her voice came back pinched and higher.  “Yes, I’m sorry.  I heard you.  I don’t know what to say.”

“The police will contact you very soon.  Listen, Miss Sayers.  This will be unpleasant, and they may ask you uncomfortable questions, but I think they realize you are innocent.  You do not need to be afraid.”

“Would you…  Would you come, if they allow it?”

“Yes, of course.  They may want me there in any case, but I will certainly come if you wish.”

“Oh, please do.  I need to know someone believes me.

* — *

(Jump to: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five)

Chapter Six

Tuesday

Dom continued his story, watching Fred’s face. “Mr. Cain flew here from Detroit on a Tuesday morning. Very early on a very gloomy morning, when it was unlikely he would be observed.  He took on fuel — to suggest a reason for stopping here, I suppose — and then started his airplane and taxied toward the runway, passing several rows of hangars as he did so.  It so happened that as he moved in this direction, you — in your own airplane — were taxing away from this very hangar, leaving the door open.”

“As you taxied on toward the runway, Mr. Cain taxied his airplane down this very lane, to this open door, shut down the engine, and pushed his airplane into your open hangar.  You did not witness this, as you were in the process of taking off and picking up an IFR clearance from Great Lakes approach.  But here we cross an important line.  You identified yourself to ATC as Cessna 5559B — Mr. Cain’s airplane.”  Fred appeared to waver and reached out a hand to steady himself against the airplane.  “In fact, you continued the flight toward Minneapolis which he had begun, following his planned course and flying at his planned altitude.  In short, you impersonated Mr. Cain flying Mr. Cain’s airplane, and there was no way for ATC to recognize the deception.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Fred said, shaking his head, a tight smile on his face.

Dom ignored him and continued.  “As you may recall, after climbing to your assigned altitude and reaching the midpoint of your flight across Lake Michigan, you reduced throttle and began to descend, very much as an airplane without a working engine would descend.  You transmitted one distress call — doing an unsatisfactory job of disguising your voice, by the way — and glided down, nearer and nearer the surface of the lake until, reaching an altitude below radar coverage, you turned off your transponder.  In the eyes of ATC, you disappeared, having apparently ditched in a very deep part of the lake and, very possibly, having sunk without a trace.”

“But leaving no trace leads to awkward questions.  The right kind of trace would serve your purposes far better, and so I think that you had prepared a tool for this purpose — a very simple but effective tool.  The world is full of garbage bags.  They do a remarkable job of collecting miscellaneous objects and substances and keeping them in a neat package.  Imagine a garbage bag containing a goodly number of documents belonging to Mr. Benjamin Cain and his aircraft.  Further, imagine that this garbage bag contained a quantity of aviation oil and fuel.  If the contents of that bag were released over the water, it might support the idea that a particular airplane had crashed and sunk in that location, don’t you think?”

Fred scoffed, “It would look like a bag full of trash had been dropped in the water, that’s all.”

“If the materials stayed in the bag, yes.  That would raise the wrong questions, but imagine if a rope had been tied to the bottom of the bag and the bag then turned inside-out before it was filled.  Such a bag, held by its rope and passed through the open window, would immediately burst open, releasing its contents in a convincing pattern.  The bag could then be pulled back into the airplane.  At worst, it would break free of the rope and then sink or perhaps float away.”

“Ah, I see you glancing at the wall, Fred, and I did the same.  That very rope would suit the purpose admirably, wouldn’t it?  In fact, a fragment of the garbage bag is still present, captured within the knot.  The knot itself and several inches of rope near it are also stained with an oily substance.  Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Dom studied Fred’s face for a moment then said, “Well, let’s move on.  The task of flying low over the lake is not trivial, but not so difficult for a skilled pilot.  He might well continue even so far as to this airport without identification by radar or the human eye, remembering that his transponder has been turned off and that he flies an indirect path over uninhabited areas.  In fact, I think that is what he did.”

“Meanwhile, let’s say that Mr. Cain has been busy.  As you recall, he has quickly moved his airplane into your hangar and closed and locked the door.  He then begins the process of using your air compressor to apply paint remover to the airplane, especially the tail numbers.  He does not need to do a good job; just good enough to scrape away the patina of his very nice paint job and make it look like a project airplane.  In fact, rather like your own project airplane, which was — as you know — the same model.”

“Now, what is an airplane?  In the eyes of the FAA, the very soul of an airplane is the data plate: that little metal rectangle on the tail which identifies its model and serial number.  I notice that the data plate attached to this airplane matches the serial number of your project airplane.  I also notice that the four rivets used to secure the data plate to the airplane are not of the type used by the factory.”

“That is a curious coincidence, made even more curious by the fact that, in the woods behind your home, we find several airplane parts that match your project airplane, including an airplane tail from which the data plate has been removed.  I think that data plate ended up here, Fred.  In fact, I think we are looking at Mr. Cain’s airplane, which we had supposed to be lost at sea.”

Walt’s eyes grew more focused and he turned to Fred, who again muttered, “This is ridiculous.”  Just then, the deep whoosh of a large motor became audible, grew in intensity, and suddenly ceased.  A moment later, the bright doorway darkened, the sun eclipsed by the shape of a large man. 

“Well, howdy, boys”, the police officer said, stepping into the hangar.

“Hey, Mike”, Roo said.  “I was just telling a story that may interest you.”  Dom turned again toward Fred.  “Well, so far we have a collaboration.  Mr. Cain seems to have been a willing party to your impersonation and to the changes made to his own airplane — and yours.  I think he was even a willing party to what came next — his entry into the trunk of your car.”

Here, the police officer stiffened and looked at Fred.

“Now, why would he do that?” Roo continued.  “Why would he be a part of any of the events I have described?  I believe that Mr. Cain had offended powerful friends and decided it might be safer to disappear.  His thought, I take it, was to cooperate in his own apparent death and then, once he was officially deceased and all financial benefits had been transferred to his wife, he would compel her to support him, perhaps by suggesting she was a party to his fraud.”

Mike gave a low whistle, which Dom ignored.

“But we have another motive at play.  Our friend Fred was a long-time admirer of Mrs. Cain — now known as Miss Sayers.  Fred was aware of Mr. Cain’s unsavory character and perhaps suspected some mistreatment of Mrs. Cain.  Perhaps he was even interested in renewing his friendship with Mrs. Cain.  It thus occurred to him that he might make a small improvement to the plan he had worked out with Mr. Cain, and that improvement was the actual — and not only apparent — decease of Mr. Cain.”

Fred jerked and glanced toward the door.

“So we have Mr. Cain stepping willingly into the trunk, ready to be spirited away from his troubles.  But Fred had provided himself with a hose — very like this one, by the way”, Roo said, lifting the hose from its nail on the wall.  “Note that it fits easily over a car’s tailpipe and even shows signs of being partially melted, as if by the heat of exhaust.  Note also that it is long enough to reach easily to the trunk, where it can be wedged and caused to pump carbon monoxide inside.”

Officer Mike noticed Fred’s shifting feet and moved closer to the hangar door.

“Now, Mr. Cain, smelling the exhaust and noting that the car was not moving, sensed a problem.  Here he lay, trapped inside a car which was locked inside a hangar, and he realized he was being slowly poisoned.  He did what any of us would do.  He pounded with his hands and feet  in a desperate effort to free himself or get help.  Even now, on Fred’s trunk, we find dents, pushed out from the inside, perhaps by Mr. Cain’s feet.  The trunk lid has been slightly deformed, perhaps by the violence of Mr. Cain’s protests, and it will no longer close without further violence.”

Fred could take no more.  “Nonsense!”, he screamed.  “This is slander!  That’s it.  I’m leaving!” and he started for the door.

Walt nodded to the officer and said,  “Mike, I’m with the NTSB and I want this man detained, if you would, please.  If he refuses, I want him placed under arrest in connection with the murder of Benjamin Cain.”

Fred looked at the imposing blue figure who had stepped in front of the door and suddenly deflated.  “All right”, he said, “but I had nothing to do with it.”

The officer took him by the arm and they moved awkwardly out of the hangar.  Dom looked back at Walt.  “The damage to Fred’s trunk was, by the way, one of two things that caught my attention.  The other, we see here, inside the airplane.  Although Fred changed the color of the original instrument panel, he kept this instrument which, as you can see, is damaged in a distinctive way.  It was Miss Sayers’ shocked recognition of this instrument — which she knew to be from her husband’s airplane — which began Fred’s undoing.” 

“So, Cain died in the trunk?”

“I think so, yes. Fred, quite literally, spirited Mr. Cain away from his many troubles.  The body might be found in Fred’s woods, but that’s only a guess.”

Tuesday

Dom and Walt met in the parking lot and walked into the airport office.

“Walt, this is Julie”, Dom said, gesturing toward the receptionist.

“Hello!”, Walt said, holding up his badge for her inspection.  “My name is Walt Peters, I’m with the NTSB.  May I please have the key for hangar D5?”

Julie stared at him for a moment, then walked stiffly to the key box, picked a key off the hook and handed it to him.

“And, if you would, please don’t mention this to anyone.  In fact, if Fred should happen to appear before we leave, would you please dial this number?”

“Uh…, sure”, she said, puzzled, and took his card.

“It’s OK, Julie”, Dom said.  “We’ll just be a few minutes, and, by the way, were any airplanes from Fred’s hangar row in for maintenance in March, two years ago?”

Julie held up a finger and turned toward her desk.  Walt said, “Why would we care about that?”

Instead of answering, Dom watched as Julie flipped through a calendar.  She looked up and nodded.  “Bill was in for an annual inspection.  He’s right across from Fred.”

“Curiouser and curiouser”, Walt observed.  “I guess you’ll tell me soon enough.”

They took Walt’s car to the hangar and opened the door, turned on the lights.

“OK, Dom, what are we after?”

“Let’s get a picture of this.”  Dom pointed to the coil of hose hanging on the wall and, looking behind it, exclaimed, “Ah!  Here you are.”

“It’s a rope?”, Walt said.

“A rope with a knot at one end and a loop at the other and, inside the knot…”  He brought the rope into the light, pointed to a shred of green material trapped inside the knot. 

“It looks like plastic”, Walt said.

“Rather like the plastic used in garbage bags,” Dom said.  “And I suspect this stain around the knot will be found to contain aviation oil and fuel.”

“I don’t follow…”

“So”, Dom began, “let’s pretend…” but was interrupted by the ringing of Walt’s telephone.

“Hello…  What?  He’s where?”

The sound of squealing tires echoed through the hangar, then a car door slammed, and Fred rushed into the hangar.  “What’s going on here?” he roared.  “Who are—?”  He looked from Walt to Dom, and his eyes widened in recognition.  He raised his arm, pointed at Dom and stepped forward. “You!  What are you doing, snooping around in here?”

“Why, hello, Fred”, Dom said.  “I’m glad you’re here.  This is my friend Walt from the NTSB and in a moment we will be joined by a few other officials.  I wonder if we might have a friendly conversation before they arrive?”

Fred stopped, drew back a step.  “About what?”

“About a dark morning a couple of years ago, a very dark morning, indeed.”

“I…  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very well.  I was not expecting a confession.  How about this?  I’ll tell you a story, and you let me know if, at any point, it contradicts your own memories.  All right?”  Fred stared at Dom and shifted his feet but said nothing.  “The story begins with your friend, Mr. Benjamin Cain.  Not a very pleasant fellow, I understand, and he took something precious that once belonged to you.”

Dom continued his story, watching Fred’s face.  “Mr. Cain flew here from Detroit on a Tuesday morning.  Very early on a very gloomy morning, when it was unlikely he would be observed.  He took on fuel — to suggest a reason for stopping here, I suppose — and then started his airplane and taxied toward the runway, passing several rows of hangars as he did so.  It so happened that as he moved in this direction, you — in your own airplane — were taxing away from this very hangar, leaving the door open.”

“As you taxied on toward the runway, Mr. Cain taxied his airplane down this very lane, to this open door, shut down the engine, and pushed his airplane into your open hangar.  You did not witness this, as you were in the process of taking off and picking up an IFR clearance from Great Lakes approach.  But here we cross an important line.  You identified yourself to ATC as Cessna 5559B — Mr. Cain’s airplane.”  Fred appeared to waver and reached out a hand to steady himself against the airplane.  “In fact, you continued the flight toward Minneapolis which he had begun, following his planned course and flying at his planned altitude.  In short, you impersonated Mr. Cain flying Mr. Cain’s airplane, and there was no way for ATC to recognize the deception.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Fred said, shaking his head, a tight smile on his face.

Dom ignored him and continued.  “As you may recall, after climbing to your assigned altitude and reaching the midpoint of your flight across Lake Michigan, you reduced throttle and began to descend, very much as an airplane without a working engine would descend.  You transmitted one distress call — doing an unsatisfactory job of disguising your voice, by the way — and glided down, nearer and nearer the surface of the lake until, reaching an altitude below radar coverage, you turned off your transponder.  In the eyes of ATC, you disappeared, having apparently ditched in a very deep part of the lake and, very possibly, having sunk without a trace.”

“But leaving no trace leads to awkward questions.  The right kind of trace would serve your purposes far better, and so I think that you had prepared a tool for this purpose — a very simple but effective tool.  The world is full of garbage bags.  They do a remarkable job of collecting miscellaneous objects and substances and keeping them in a neat package.  Imagine a garbage bag containing a goodly number of documents belonging to Mr. Benjamin Cain and his aircraft.  Further, imagine that this garbage bag contained a quantity of aviation oil and fuel.  If the contents of that bag were released over the water, it might support the idea that a particular airplane had crashed and sunk in that location, don’t you think?”

Fred scoffed, “It would look like a bag full of trash had been dropped in the water, that’s all.”

“If the materials stayed in the bag, yes.  That would raise the wrong questions, but imagine if a rope had been tied to the bottom of the bag and the bag then turned inside-out before it was filled.  Such a bag, held by its rope and passed through the open window, would immediately burst open, releasing its contents in a convincing pattern.  The bag could then be pulled back into the airplane.  At worst, it would break free of the rope and then sink or perhaps float away.”

“Ah, I see you glancing at the wall, Fred, and I did the same.  That very rope would suit the purpose admirably, wouldn’t it?  In fact, a fragment of the garbage bag is still present, captured within the knot.  The knot itself and several inches of rope near it are also stained with an oily substance.  Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Dom studied Fred’s face for a moment then said, “Well, let’s move on.  The task of flying low over the lake is not trivial, but not so difficult for a skilled pilot.  He might well continue even so far as to this airport without identification by radar or the human eye, remembering that his transponder has been turned off and that he flies an indirect path over uninhabited areas.  In fact, I think that is what he did.”

“Meanwhile, let’s say that Mr. Cain has been busy.  As you recall, he has quickly moved his airplane into your hangar and closed and locked the door.  He then begins the process of using your air compressor to apply paint remover to the airplane, especially the tail numbers.  He does not need to do a good job; just good enough to scrape away the patina of his very nice paint job and make it look like a project airplane.  In fact, rather like your own project airplane, which was — as you know — the same model.”

“Now, what is an airplane?  In the eyes of the FAA, the very soul of an airplane is the data plate: that little metal rectangle on the tail which identifies its model and serial number.  I notice that the data plate attached to this airplane matches the serial number of your project airplane.  I also notice that the four rivets used to secure the data plate to the airplane are not of the type used by the factory.”

“That is a curious coincidence, made even more curious by the fact that, in the woods behind your home, we find several airplane parts that match your project airplane, including an airplane tail from which the data plate has been removed.  I think that data plate ended up here, Fred.  In fact, I think we are looking at Mr. Cain’s airplane, which we had supposed to be lost at sea.”

Walt’s eyes grew more focused and he turned to Fred, who again muttered, “This is ridiculous.”  Just then, the deep whoosh of a large motor became audible, grew in intensity, and suddenly ceased.  A moment later, the bright doorway darkened, the sun eclipsed by the shape of a large man. 

“Well, howdy, boys”, the police officer said, stepping into the hangar.

“Hey, Mike”, Roo said.  “I was just telling a story that may interest you.”  Dom turned again toward Fred.  “Well, so far we have a collaboration.  Mr. Cain seems to have been a willing party to your impersonation and to the changes made to his own airplane — and yours.  I think he was even a willing party to what came next — his entry into the trunk of your car.”

Here, the police officer stiffened and looked at Fred.

“Now, why would he do that?” Roo continued.  “Why would he be a part of any of the events I have described?  I believe that Mr. Cain had offended powerful friends and decided it might be safer to disappear.  His thought, I take it, was to cooperate in his own apparent death and then, once he was officially deceased and all financial benefits had been transferred to his wife, he would compel her to support him, perhaps by suggesting she was a party to his fraud.”

Mike gave a low whistle, which Dom ignored.

“But we have another motive at play.  Our friend Fred was a long-time admirer of Mrs. Cain — now known as Miss Sayers.  Fred was aware of Mr. Cain’s unsavory character and perhaps suspected some mistreatment of Mrs. Cain.  Perhaps he was even interested in renewing his friendship with Mrs. Cain.  It thus occurred to him that he might make a small improvement to the plan he had worked out with Mr. Cain, and that improvement was the actual — and not only apparent — decease of Mr. Cain.”

Fred jerked and glanced toward the door.

“So, we have Mr. Cain stepping willingly into the trunk, ready to be spirited away from his troubles.  But Fred had provided himself with a hose — very like this one, by the way”, Roo said, lifting the hose from its nail on the wall.  “Note that it fits easily over a car’s tailpipe and even shows signs of being partially melted, as if by the heat of exhaust.  Note also that it is long enough to reach easily to the trunk, where it can be wedged and caused to pump carbon monoxide inside.”

Officer Mike noticed Fred’s shifting feet and moved closer to the hangar door.

“Now, Mr. Cain, smelling the exhaust and noting that the car was not moving, sensed a problem.  Here he lay, trapped inside a car which was locked inside a hangar, and he realized he was being slowly poisoned.  He did what any of us would do.  He pounded with his hands and feet in a desperate effort to free himself or get help.  Even now, on Fred’s trunk, we find dents, pushed out from the inside, perhaps by Mr. Cain’s feet.  The trunk lid has been slightly deformed, perhaps by the violence of Mr. Cain’s protests, and it will no longer close without further violence.”

Fred could take no more.  “Nonsense!”, he screamed.  “This is slander!  That’s it.  I’m leaving!” and he started for the door.

Walt nodded to the officer and said, “Mike, I’m with the NTSB and I want this man detained, if you would, please.  If he refuses, I want him placed under arrest in connection with the murder of Benjamin Cain.”

Fred looked at the imposing blue figure who had stepped in front of the door and suddenly deflated.  “All right”, he said, “but I had nothing to do with it.”

The officer took him by the arm and they moved awkwardly out of the hangar.  Dom looked back at Walt.  “The damage to Fred’s trunk was, by the way, one of two things that caught my attention.  The other, we see here, inside the airplane.  Although Fred changed the color of the original instrument panel, he kept this instrument which, as you can see, is damaged in a distinctive way.  It was Miss Sayers’ shocked recognition of this instrument — which she knew to be from her husband’s airplane — which began Fred’s undoing.” 

“So, Cain died in the trunk?”

“I think so, yes. Fred, quite literally, spirited Mr. Cain away from his many troubles.  The body might be found in Fred’s woods, but that’s only a guess.”

Continue to Chapter Seven

“The story begins with your friend, Mr. Benjamin Cain.  Not a very pleasant fellow, I understand, and he took something precious that once belonged to you.”

(Jump to: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four)

Chapter Five

Tuesday

Dom and Walt met in the parking lot and walked into the airport office.

“Walt, this is Julie”, Dom said, gesturing toward the receptionist.

“Hello!”, Walt said, holding up his badge for her inspection.  “My name is Walt Peters, I’m with the NTSB.  May I please have the key for hangar D5?”

Julie stared at him for a moment, then walked stiffly to the key box, picked a key off the hook and handed it to him.

“And, if you would, please don’t mention this to anyone.  In fact, if Fred should happen to appear before we leave, would you please dial this number?”

“Uh…, sure”, she said, puzzled, and took his card.

“It’s OK, Julie”, Dom said.  “We’ll just be a few minutes, and, by the way, were any airplanes from Fred’s hangar row in for maintenance in March, two years ago?”

Julie held up a finger and turned toward her desk.  Walt said, “Why would we care about that?”

Instead of answering, Dom watched as Julie flipped through a calendar.  She looked up and nodded.  “Bill was in for an annual inspection.  He’s right across from Fred.”

“Curiouser and curiouser”, Walt observed.  “I guess you’ll tell me soon enough.”

They took Walt’s car to the hangar and opened the door, turned on the lights.

“OK, Dom, what are we after?”

“Let’s get a picture of this.”  Dom pointed to the coil of hose hanging on the wall and, looking behind it, exclaimed, “Ah!  Here you are.”

“It’s a rope?”, Walt said.

“A rope with a knot at one end and a loop at the other and, inside the knot…”  He brought the rope into the light, pointed to a shred of green material trapped inside the knot. 

“It looks like plastic”, Walt said.

“Rather like the plastic used in garbage bags,” Dom said.  “And I suspect this stain around the knot will be found to contain aviation oil and fuel.”

“I don’t follow…”

“So”, Dom began, “let’s pretend…” but was interrupted by the ringing of Walt’s telephone.

“Hello…  What?  He’s where?”

The sound of squealing tires echoed through the hangar, then a car door slammed, and Fred rushed into the hangar.  “What’s going on here?” he roared.  “Who are—?”  He looked from Walt to Dom, and his eyes widened in recognition.  He raised his arm, pointed at Dom and stepped forward. “You!  What are you doing, snooping around in here?”

“Why, hello, Fred”, Dom said.  “I’m glad you’re here.  This is my friend Walt from the NTSB and in a moment we will be joined by a few other officials.  I wonder if we might have a friendly conversation before they arrive?”

Fred stopped, drew back a step.  “About what?”

“About a dark morning a couple of years ago, a very dark morning, indeed.”

“I…  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very well.  I was not expecting a confession.  How about this?  I’ll tell you a story, and you let me know if, at any point, it contradicts your own memories.  All right?”  Fred stared at Dom and shifted his feet but said nothing.  “The story begins with your friend, Mr. Benjamin Cain.  Not a very pleasant fellow, I understand, and he took something precious that once belonged to you.”

Continue to Chapter Six

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“I am suggesting that your husband’s misfortune did not occur in an airplane.”
A tremor, as if from an electrical charge, passed through Judy’s body, causing her hand to jerk and tip over the glass, smashing the crystal and cascading water across the table…

(Jump to: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three)

Chapter Four

Monday

The phone rang as Dom sat at his kitchen table, pushing away the remnants of a late breakfast.  The caller ID said “NTSB”.

“Dom!  You got us, you son of a gun!  It’s the voices, isn’t it?  There were two pilots.”

“That’s it.  Say, Walt, I think we’d better move on this right away.  Can you come tomorrow?”

“Greenville?  Yeah, I could be there by…. say, 10 in the morning.”

“Good.  I’ll be waiting.  And, uh, Walt?  Bring a gun.”

*   *   *

Judy lived near Detroit, about an hour away in Dom’s airplane.  He landed late that afternoon and took a cab to the restaurant, spotted her immediately when he walked in, looking as elegant as when he had last seen her.

He asked for permission to sit and said, “It’s good of you to meet me”.

She considered him with her large, dark eyes.  “You did not offer me much choice.”

“I regret the circumstances.”

“And what, exactly, are those circumstances?”  She stared at him, unblinking.

“Attempted murder”, he said, studying her face.  A small vibration on the floor suggested a movement of her foot. 

“That is a serious circumstance”, she replied.  “And are you, may I ask, the predator or the prey?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“Fascinating.”  Her airy voice was calm and cool.  Her expression betrayed nothing.  “And in which of these roles am I to assist you?”

“Let’s start with the attack upon me.”

“An exciting place to begin, I should think,” she said, looking across the room.

Dom said gravely.  “I assure you; it was.”

She looked back at him, canted her head slightly, shifting the gleam of light in her hair.  “How then may I be of service, Mr. Roo?” 

“I believe you are acquainted with the attacker.”

“Oh?”  Her voice registered surprise.  “Who was it?”

“Our mutual friend, Fred.”  Here, Dom witnessed an unambiguous blink and a slight retreat of her graceful face.

“I assure you,” she said, shaking her head.  “I know nothing about this.”

“But perhaps you can help me understand his motivation.”

Judy looked away.  “I don’t know him that well.”

“Now you surprise me, Mrs. Cain.  As I understand, you and Fred were engaged to be married, once upon a time.”  She blinked again, slowly, and paused before replying.

“That was a long time ago.  I have since been married to someone else.”

“Forgive my mentioning it, but to someone who met with misfortune.”

“Yes, nearly two years ago…” She studied the water glass for a moment then looked up to meet his eye.  “A quite permanent misfortune.”

Dom returned her level gaze, studied her flawless face.  “Do you like airplanes, Mrs. Cain?”

“I use my maiden name of Sayers, Mr. Roo, and that is an over-broad question.”

“Very well, Miss Sayers.  Do you like Fred’s airplane?”

She hesitated again, and Dom saw her eyes widen.  “I am not comfortable in his airplane, no.”

“But I saw you enter it, seemingly without reservation.”

“I changed my mind.”

“What about that particular airplane caused you to change your mind?”

Her lips opened slightly, and her head drew back.  “There is nothing about that airplane.  I just changed my mind.”

“Please forgive my insistence, but it seemed to me that the airplane surprised you, Miss Sayers.  Was it, perhaps, familiar to you?”

She drew back slightly.  “N…No.  I am told it is an airplane that Fred has re-manufactured.”

“That is true, in a manner of speaking.”

“What are you suggesting?” she said, running her fingers over the long stem of her water glass.

“I am suggesting that your husband’s misfortune did not occur in an airplane.”

A tremor, as if from an electrical charge, passed through Judy’s body, causing her hand to jerk and tip over the glass, smashing the crystal and cascading water across the table. She raised a trembling hand to her face as Dom snatched up a napkin, saving it from the deluge, and gently offered it to her, then folded the sodden tablecloth and drew it away.

A waiter, witnessing the disaster, approached to give aid.  Dom handed him a 20-dollar bill, took the towel from his hand, and waved him off.

“Miss Sayers, I’m very sorry to upset you.  Do you dispute my suggestion?”

She dabbed her eyes and exhaled.  In a small voice, she said, “I do not.”

“Then I must ask again.  Is Fred’s airplane in some way familiar to you?”

Her shoulders shook, and her face again disappeared into her hands.  A moment later, she nodded and said, “It is.”

“And how so?”

Judy sighed and met his eye.  “There is an instrument in the airplane… The glass that covers the instrument is chipped in a distinctive way.  I was there, in my husband’s airplane, when the damage occurred, about four years ago.”

“I am trying to understand, Miss Sayers, and I have no desire to cause you pain, but I must ask: were you in any way involved in your husband’s death?”

Her expression changed, her eyes wet and red and defiant.  “Aside from fearing and hating him, do you mean?”  She spoke in a low, trembling voice, her eyes burning into him.  “Aside from my great relief when I was told he would never come back?  Aside from praying I could somehow be free of him?”

Dom studied her face. “Yes, Miss Sayers”, he said gently.  “Aside from each of those things.”

Some makeup had come away and her eyes looked smaller, vulnerable.  He noticed slight wrinkles on her cheek and brow, and she noticed him noticing, but held his eye with a defeated — almost relieved expression.

She sighed again and said quietly, “Then, no.  If it is possible to be innocent of a crime that has released me as from a prison, then I suppose I am innocent.  Not”, she added, “that you have any reason to believe me.”

“And yet, somehow, I do”, Dom said, holding her eye.  “But we will need the police to believe you.  Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I do.  The new hell begins now.”

“I am told that hell is eternal, Miss Sayers.  This may not be so.  I must ask one more thing…”

“All right.”

“Did you benefit financially from your husband’s death?”

“Yes.  Much of his property passed to me.”

“What about life insurance?”

“The claim was paid, and the money deposited into an account which I have not touched.”

“Because you had scruples?”

“I was uncomfortable but, in any case, I did not need the money.”

“You must understand that suspicion has been cast on Fred.”

“And I apparently cast it.”

“I don’t think that was intentional.”

“Nonetheless…”

“Did he know of the difficulty in your marriage?”

“Yes.  Ben and Fred had known one another in school and, after that, they did business together.  After I broke off my engagement to Fred…  Well, Ben was charming and persistent, and I eventually accepted his offer.  Fred strongly urged me to avoid Ben but, at the time, I assumed his motivation was jealousy.”  She shuddered.  “I soon learned better.”

“May I ask—?”

“—You may not”, she interrupted.  “It does not matter now.”

“Oh, but it does.  Fred has retained an interest in you.  Was he pursuing you?  Did he think Ben was hurting you?”

“Ben hurt everyone, and he had dangerous friends.  It was no secret.”

“Yes, I’m told you were in the hospital…  How were you injured?”

She looked up in surprise.  “You misunderstood.  I was not injured.”

“Ben and his friends had nothing to do with it?  Nothing?”

“No, nothing.  He would have prevented it…”

“Why would—”

“—Never mind,” she said, shaking her head.  It is not pertinent to your case, Mr. Roo.  Please…”

“But…” Dom stopped, frustrated, then composed himself.  “Of course.  I’m being a terrible pest.  I’m sorry.” 

He pondered as his eyes scanned the room.  “Who is the child?”

Judy looked up, followed his eyes.  “I don’t see a child.”

“On your bracelet.”

She stared at him for a moment, then started.  “Oh!  I…”  She quickly put her hand over the charm, then changed her mind, held it out to him — a photo of her with a smiling girl in her arms.  “It is my niece.”

“She’s beautiful, of course.  She is unwell?”   Though the photo was small, he recognized the faint line on the child’s arm, the IV tree in the background.

“She is better now.”

And in Roo’s mind, something clicked.  “You were in the hospital together.  That is what Ben would have prevented, isn’t it?”

She said nothing, and Dom carried on with some excitement.  “You… She needed a transplant, didn’t she?  A kidney?  Not bone marrow, I hope.”

“No, just a kidney.”

“And now she has one of yours.”

“You are alarmingly observant, Mr. Roo, but I don’t see what this has to do with your case.”

“It tells me something quite important, Miss Sayers.  You have answered my questions and I notice our waiter hovering nearby; if I have not fatigued you too much, shall we order?”

(Chapter Five)

Dom hesitated, distracted by a loud whiz and twang near his head, followed by a roar from the direction of the house.  He ducked, caught John’s eye and shouted, “Run!”

(Jump to: Chapter One. Chapter Two.)

Chapter Three

Saturday

The hangar door stood open when they arrived, and John walked in, found Fred polishing the windows of his airplane.  “Hey, Fred.  You got an extra quart of oil I could buy?”

“Uh, yeah.  On the shelf,  along the back wall.”

“Thanks.  And, hey,” John said, gesturing, “this is my friend, Dom.”

Dom walked up to Fred, shook his hand, and complimented the airplane’s paint.

“Thanks!  I guess they did a pretty good job.”

“Will you do the interior, too?”

“Probably someday.”

Dom nodded his approval, stepped out from under the wing and stretched his back, taking in the miscellany hung on the walls.  “You had a part left over!” he said lightly.

“Oh, the old wing?  Yeah, it had some corrosion.  Had to replace it.”

“Just one?”

“Yeah, the other was OK.”

“Ah, that’s fortunate.  Well, it’s good to meet you, Fred.”  Dom turned, wandered slowly along the wall, paused to look at a large, neatly coiled hose hanging by some string, then stepped back into the sunshine. 

John returned from the back of the hangar, a bottle of oil in his hand.  He caught Fred’s eye as he walked by and waved a ten-dollar bill, tucked it under a screwdriver on Fred’s workbench.

“Thanks again, Fred.  See ya.”

As John emerged from the hangar, Dom was brushing his hand over the trunk of Fred’s car.  Dom looked up, put a finger to his lips, and they walked toward his airplane in silence.

“Well, did you see what you wanted to see?” John’s voice was low but charged with annoyance.

“More than I wanted to see.”

“And!?” John exclaimed.

“And I’d rather not say until I’m sure.”

“Look, Dom, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ve known Fred for years.  He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That might depend on the fly.”

John’s head jerked toward Dom.  “What does that mean?”

Dom ignored John’s irritation.  “Look, I have a funny feeling that Fred had a few more parts left over from his project.  Any idea where he might put them?  Somewhere quite private, I would think.”

The question made John pause.  “Well, come to think of it, he hauled some stuff out on a trailer last year.  I don’t know where.”

“What was on the trailer? Big things?”

“Gee, I dunno.”  John scrunched up an eye, trying to remember.  “There may have been a tarp over it.  So what?”

“Where’s he live?”

“North of town, out in the sticks.”

“Let’s go for a drive.”

John stopped, looked at him suspiciously.  “To his house?  I don’t know about that.”

“That’s OK.  I can look it up and go myself.”

“You’re that serious about this?”

“John, I think Fred is in trouble.  There’s a chance that Judy is in trouble, too — or will be.”

“Trouble?  What kind of trouble?  I heard she was in the hospital.”

Dom’s head turned toward him, surprised.  “What?  Why?”

John shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Ask Fred.”

Dom started to speak, stopped.  “Look, John, whatever her troubles are now, they’re about to get worse.”

John looked at him carefully, finally shrugged and said, “OK.  I’ll go, but whatever you think this is, you’re gonna have to prove it to me.”

They jumped into John’s truck, crunched down a gravel road toward Fred’s place, finally stopped at a dusty intersection, within view of the house.

“Does he live alone?”, Dom asked.

“Yep.  Never married, far as I know.”

The house was forlorn, its boards faded and cracking.  Behind the house, a barn and small pasture, backing up to a dense woodlot.

Dom stared for a minute, finally spoke.  “I assume Fred’s the kind of man to take risks for money?”

“Well, no,” John said.  “I wouldn’t say that.  He doesn’t seem too concerned about money.  Just look at his house!”

Dom ran his fingers slowly over his whiskers, nodded.  “There’s that.  I wonder if I’m mistaken after all but…, no, I don’t think so.”  Dom spoke in a low voice, as if he were talking to himself.  He sat up and tapped his finger on the side window, pointed behind the house. “That woods…  Turn down this road.  We’ll walk in from there.”

They rattled down the road, beside a ditch that grew thicker with weeds and finally glimmered with a layer of fetid water.

“Great!” John groaned.  “The mosquitoes will love us.”

“There,” Dom pointed, and John steered off the road, onto a weedy two-track path that led into the trees.  They pulled ahead a few yards, hiding the truck in the trees’ shadow, and got out. 

The wood was silent, except for the buzzing of insects.  John turned up his collar, pulled on a baseball hat, and said, “So, what are we looking for?”

“I saw a path that led from the house back toward these woods.  Let’s find it.  We’re looking for a scrap heap, specifically, one with airplane parts.”

They waded through underbrush, waving away insects, tracking generally toward the house.

“Ak!”, John growled, his feet sinking into the marshy ground.  “What the heck are we doing here!?”

“Shouldn’t be much further,” Dom replied, smacking his neck.

The ground grew firmer, and they finally emerged from the thicket near an overgrown trail. Ahead, the gloom fractured into light and shadow. They continued along the path and felt the air begin to stir.  One hundred yards before the end of the woods, there was a shallow depression and, within it, the fuselage of an airplane. 

“How did you know this would be here?” John demanded.

“I didn’t know.  In fact, I didn’t think it would be here.  I thought it would be in his barn, but this was an easier place to start.”

The windows in the fuselage were smashed and John approached to look inside.

“Careful, there may be hornets,” Dom warned.

“But no bodies?” John replied, sarcastically.

“No, probably not.”

“I was kidding.  So…, what?  What are we looking for?  What does this mean?”

“I want to see the wing — there should only be one — and the tail.”

John pointed.  “OK, well, there’s a wing laying next to the fuselage.  And there’s only one,” he said, bending over it, “unless the other one is buried.”

Dom walked behind the tail, started to stretch out his leg to tamp down the grass beneath it when he suddenly jumped back.  “Ugh!”

“Just a little one”, John laughed, as the snake slithered away. 

Dom gathered himself for a few seconds before returning to the tail.  He grabbed the horizontal stabilizer and found that he could rock the entire tail up a few inches, out of the grass.  “Here!”, he exclaimed, looking down, “Look! There’s no….” Dom hesitated, distracted by a loud whiz and twang near his head, followed by a roar from the direction of the house.  He ducked, caught John’s eye and shouted, “Run!”

A second gunshot clanked into the fuselage as John and Dom crashed through the brush, back toward the truck.  “Go!  Go!  Go!  Keep right, near the road!”  Dom tripped on a limb and fell heavily.  He pushed himself away from the moist earth and looked back, saw a flash, heard a bullet thunk into a tree over his head.   John grabbed his arm and yanked him up, both of them splashing and wobbling forward, tearing through brambles, searching frantically for the truck.  Finally, they spotted it, stumbled ahead, and dove in.

Dom, panting, stared into the woods as John fumbled with his keys.  The truck whined and then roared, spun backwards down the path, swerved crazily onto the gravel road, sped away.  After a few miles, when their breathing had slowed, Dom said, “It’s OK.  Slow down.”

“What’s going on?” John shouted.  “Did you know that might happen?”

“Just get us to the airport, right now, in case Fred is still there.  No, wait!  Better still, pull over!  Call him.  Ask for one of the  guys’ phone numbers, or something.”

“Why?”

“To see if he sounds winded or excited or angry.  To see if he’s the guy who just tried to kill you!”

Fred did not answer his phone.

John and Dom continued to the airport and pulled up to Fred’s hangar, but found the doors closed and locked.

“Good grief!” John cried, dragging his soggy shoe against the pavement.  “What did you get me into?”

“You were there.  What do you think?”

“How should I know?  Except — if that was Fred, he sure doesn’t like trespassers.”

“So, you see, he will hurt a fly, at least to save his own neck.  Look, drop me at my airplane and then get out of here.  Until you hear from me, do not come to the airport alone!”

John stared at him, finally nodded.  “OK… What are you going to do?”

“I have a date with Judy.”

Continue to Chapter Four

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