Trace Evidence, page 8
He rummaged quickly through the first aid kit until he found the smelling salts and reached up to wave them as close to Dan’s nose as he could. Whether he was close enough or whether Dan was already coming around, Josh couldn’t say. Dan coughed and moved his head and pushed the smelling salts away.
“Skip? Can you hear me?” Josh pressed a palm to Skip’s clammy forehead. He was sweating and his skin was pale and cold. He was breathing rapidly but seemed confused, as if he didn’t understand where he was or what was happening to him. He continued moaning and crying out. Josh recognized the signs of shock.
Dan groaned from the front seat. He raised his fingers to the gooey mess above his ear and pulled his hand away to look at the blood. “What the hell?”
Josh’s relief escaped in a shout. “Dan! Get the hell back here. I need help.”
Dan seemed groggy and slow to react, which was probably due to the head trauma, or maybe he was suffering from shock, too. But when he turned around, he saw Skip. His eyes widened. His mouth flopped open like the largemouth bass he’d planned to catch in Red Maple Lake.
He fumbled out of his seat and stumbled toward Josh.
“Tell me what to do,” he said, his voice shaky. At least he was trying.
Josh shook his head. He didn’t really know what to do. He only knew they couldn’t stay in the plane. The water was midcalf now, and the left side was almost totally submerged. They had to get out and get help. And Skip could not swim in his present condition.
The floatplane had tilted sharply to the left side now. Soon, it would flip over onto its roof. Josh looked out of the windshield. The shore was at least fifty yards to port. The mountain water temperature was probably well below sixty degrees.
Skip had said he’d packed his wetsuit. “That’s stupid, Josh,” he said quietly to himself. He couldn’t have stuffed Skip into the suit under the best of circumstances. And he’d only brought one suit. No. They couldn’t swim to shore from here without protection. Hypothermia would set in quickly once they entered the water.
There were life vests in the plane. And he’d seen an inflatable life raft in the cargo area of the Cessna.
The weight of the engine pulled the plane down, but with momentum and one buoyant pontoon, the aircraft rolled over and tumbled upside down. The roof became the floor.
Skip flailed to keep his head above water as he was twisted and lifted, flopping onto the roof.
Dan and Josh held on to whatever was closest as the plane rolled over.
Water poured in through the open door at an alarming rate as the dark curtain of icy water crept relentlessly over the windows beneath them.
The world outside grew still and silent.
In mere moments, Josh knew, the only thing that could possibly be seen from the shore was the faint white bottom of one pontoon, holding them afloat.
Rapid thoughts ran through Josh’s mind. The plane was already partially submersed and going down. The damaged pontoon wouldn’t hold much longer. He’d managed to slow Skip’s bleeding but not stop it. Dan’s head injury was probably mild, but Josh had no idea how either of them would be affected by submersion in cold water.
He could leave them both and go for help, but how long would it take and where would he find it and would they be dead already by the time help arrived?
He ran through the rescue possibilities in his head as quickly as he could and found no good answers. He knew he had to do something and do it fast. He just didn’t know what that something was.
“Josh?” Dan’s panicked question broke through. He was holding Skip’s head above water with both arms clasped around Skip’s chest.
“What?” Josh forced himself to sound calm even though he was the furthest thing from it.
“Skip’s not breathing. He’s not breathing. Here.” Dan grabbed Josh’s fingers and placed them against Skip’s carotid artery. “Feel that? Nothing. No pulse.”
Josh pushed his fingers deeper into Skip’s neck. He felt something. Faint and weak but present. How long could Skip last? He’d lost a lot of blood. He was in a lot of pain. The mountain lake water was like taking a bath in an arctic ocean.
Josh hadn’t called in a Mayday on the way down, but had anyone seen the plane crash? Was help on the way? He didn’t know, but he knew they couldn’t wait anymore. He had to do something and do it now.
He scrambled around until he found one of the life vests and put it on. Dan watched as if he was deeply puzzled and didn’t quite comprehend. Josh found a second life vest and put it on Dan. He found a third and put it on Skip.
He’d found the plane’s life raft when he’d searched for the tourniquet. The raft would inflate automatically, and with Dan’s help, they might be able to get Skip into it and drag themselves to shore. Or they might all drown in the process.
“We have to get help. We can’t wait here. There’s a life raft. It may or may not work for us,” Josh said. “Looks like you’ve had a pretty sharp blow to your head and you seem like you’re not quite with it. What do you think, Dan? Can you swim from here to shore, if we need to?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel right. I don’t know if I can swim or not.”
Josh looked at him, as if he could see straight through to his brain, and explained as simply as he could, hoping Dan would understand him. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m not sure Skip will make it no matter what we do. I just know that if we do nothing, he’s going to die right here. This plane is sinking. We might survive until help comes, but he’ll drown if his injuries don’t kill him first. If we get to shore, we may have a better chance. But I don’t know that, either.”
Dan nodded as if he was processing Josh’s words at half speed but did not reply. His teeth were chattering. The water was above his waist now.
Josh wasn’t sure whether Dan understood the seriousness of the situation or the hopelessness of their choices. Either way, he could spend no more time trying to talk.
He secured Dan’s life vest as tightly around his waist as possible. He did the same with Skip’s and his own.
He found a coiled rope, enough to tie the three of them together, which he knew might be stupid. They could weigh each other down if they fell into the water. They might all drown. But at least he wouldn’t lose them. He was a strong swimmer. He might be able to pull them all to shore, if it came to that. Which he prayed it wouldn’t.
He pushed the plane’s door fully open and struggled to move the heavy life raft from the back. He tied the soft valise’s rope securely to the plane to prevent it from drifting away on the choppy water after it inflated. He heaved the valise out of the wide doors. The valise plopped into the lake and bobbed like a fishing lure.
Josh yanked hard on the rope to trigger inflation, and the raft’s air cartridges deployed as they were meant to do. The black-and-orange raft filled with air and was in position to board in less than ten seconds.
Josh heaved himself up and climbed out of the plane. He braced his feet on the Cessna’s slippery surface and shouted to be heard over the wind. “Dan, lift Skip up and I’ll grab him. Let the water’s buoyancy help you.”
Dan was smaller than Skip, but somehow he managed to lift him and get his head and shoulders out of the plane’s door. Josh reached in to pull Skip the rest of the way out.
Josh tried to set Skip gently onto the raft’s floor, but he couldn’t manage it. The sinking plane, the choppy lake, the bouncing raft, the sharp, cold wind, and Skip’s heavy body combined to defeat Josh’s efforts. Skip fell hard into the raft and landed oddly and screamed.
The rope tied around Skip’s waist pulled Josh into the icy lake. He went under the surface briefly, feeling the cold grip on his lungs, before the rope pulled him back up. He clambered aboard the raft and fell on top of Skip.
The other end of the rope, tied to Dan’s waist, pulled taut, cutting painfully into Josh’s stomach. He yelled, “Dan! Come on!”
Dan waited at the Cessna’s doorway as if he didn’t understand or couldn’t bring himself to move toward the lake. Josh was already cold and shivering. He pulled on the rope in an effort to tug Dan forward. But Dan put his hands on either side of the doorway and resisted, vigorously shaking his head.
“Dan. Buddy. You’ve got to jump in. We have to get to shore.” Dan’s eyes were the size of saucers and he shook his head even more rapidly. Dan had always been afraid of the water. His lips were already blue and his whole body shook. Whether from cold or terror, Josh couldn’t say.
Josh found an oar inside the raft and paddled to keep as close to the door as he could while floundering in the rough, cold lake. But if Dan didn’t get into the raft, he’d pull them all down as the plane sank.
Josh stopped paddling, reached around, and grabbed the rope connecting him to Dan and yanked as hard as possible from his seated position. By a miracle or adrenaline or something else, he pulled Dan out of the plane and into the water. Dan began to kick reflexively toward the raft. He knew how to swim, he was simply petrified.
Josh pulled Dan into the raft and released the anchor rope. The raft began to drift. Josh handed Dan the second paddle and pointed toward the shore. They paddled in sloppy unison against the strong wind, and the raft began to move slowly in the right direction as the Cessna dropped lower into the water.
Somehow, by the grace of God, they made it to shore. Josh’s muscles were screaming with fatigue and tension. His body shook with cold. Dan jumped out of the raft at the water’s edge and Josh followed.
-
Chapter Eleven
Houston, Texas
Monday
Veronica Beaumont lived about ten miles and ten million dollars from Flint’s neighborhood.
He drove the familiar streets easily and stayed within the speed limit. His blood alcohol level was well within legal limits, but he didn’t need the hassle of dealing with the local cops tonight.
He reached Beaumont’s gated community in less than fifteen minutes. At the guard station, he gave his name and was waved through, although the security cameras at the station recorded his entry.
Six minutes later, he pulled into Beaumont’s driveway, parked, and walked up to ring the doorbell. He stood on the porch, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.
She’d been waiting. She opened the door only slightly and peered out, as if she was worried about who might be standing there. She was dressed in the same expensive, fashion-model-casual style she had sported at the ice cream shop. Full makeup and five-inch heels.
Flint lived in a mostly male world, but none of the women he knew spent evenings at home alone dressed like Beaumont. Maybe she had a live-in lover or something.
“May I come in?” Flint asked, hoping she’d say no and save him a lot of trouble.
She opened the door, waved him inside, and closed the door behind him.
“We can talk in here,” she said as she led the way to a private study.
The house was as expensively furnished and spacious as he had expected. She didn’t offer him any refreshments of any kind. Whether she didn’t approve of him or simply wanted him to get to the point, he didn’t know and didn’t care.
Whatever her reasons, the arrangement suited him fine.
He sat down. She wasn’t going to rush him through this and she should know that right off the bat.
“I’ve looked at everything you gave me on Josh Hallman and his plane crash. I’ve also done a little digging on my own. The guy has been totally off the grid for six-plus years since that plane went down,” Flint said. “There’s no reason to believe that he is still alive. I’ve checked government records, private investigation files, even witness protection because I have contacts in that arena. No dice. Not one mention. In six years.”
“If Josh could have been found by a record search, I wouldn’t need you.” Veronica remained standing, like she wasn’t going to get comfortable. “I was told you had additional skills.”
“I do.” Flint nodded. “But before I deploy those skills, I insist that my clients tell me everything they know. And you are holding back on me, Ms. Beaumont.”
“Why would I do that? I’ve already told you what the stakes are here. Why wouldn’t I want to do everything possible to save my child?”
Her response was huffy and offended. Flint didn’t buy it.
“Good question. I think you’re worried about something you know.” He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “Why do you think Josh Hallman is still alive? There is absolutely nothing I can find to support that idea.”
“I already answered that question.”
“Let me put it this way, Ms. Beaumont.” He leaned back in his seat. “You can tell me why you think Hallman survived that plane crash when his two passengers did not. Or get yourself another guy. I won’t put my team in harm’s way for you without knowing what we’re getting into.”
She looked at him steadily for a while before she turned and walked to a drink cart in the corner and poured herself a glass of vodka.
Straight.
No ice.
“Anything for you?”
“Single malt if you have it.”
She poured his scotch and carried both glasses back. She handed one to him and sipped her own. Still, she did not sit.
She paced the room awhile. Flint waited. He could wait for her to work out whatever her problem was.
But he wouldn’t wait forever.
He finished his scotch and set the glass on a table.
He stood. “I’m sorry. I will not be able to help you, Ms. Beaumont. I’m not in the habit of disappointing my niece and I don’t appreciate that you’ve put me in this position. Don’t call me again.”
He turned to leave. He’d walked all the way to the front entrance and his hand was on the doorknob before she called him back.
For more than half a second, he considered leaving anyway.
He turned and stood in the foyer. He wasn’t walking back in there.
She could damned well walk to him this time.
Her voice was low. “After the plane crash, a man came to see me. I was living somewhere else at the time, somewhere with less security.” She held the vodka glass with both hands. “He knocked on my door without warning. When I opened it, he pushed his way in.”
Flint waited.
She drained the glass. “He had a gun. He was looking for Josh. He said he knew Josh had survived.”
“What else did he say?”
“Can we sit down again? I don’t want Jamie to overhear.” Before he answered, she turned and walked back into the study.
He followed her and closed the door. She poured herself another drink and offered the bottle to him. He shook his head.
“What else did he say?” Flint repeated his question because she seemed to be ignoring it.
She took a big swallow of the booze.
“He said he would find Josh. He said if Josh contacted me, he would know.” She drained the glass and refilled it again.
Flint cocked his head. She seemed genuinely scared. “What else?”
“He said he knew Josh was Jamie’s dad. No one knows that, Flint. Not even Josh or Jamie. I’ve never revealed Jamie’s father to a living soul before you. I don’t know how he found out, but he had resources of some kind.” Her hands were shaking now. “He told me never to tell anyone that he’d been here.”
Flint watched and said nothing.
“Look, I’m a businesswoman and a single mom. That’s it. I don’t travel in those kinds of circles. No one has ever threatened me like that before. This guy was absolutely terrifying.” She sat in a chair across from Flint and took a deep breath. “The message I got was pretty clear: if I told anyone about him, he’d come back and—do something to Jamie.”
Flint nodded. He could see she was still frightened, after all this time.
Maybe the guy threatened her back then and maybe he could have followed through. But whether he was dangerous or not, Veronica Beaumont had clearly believed him.
It seemed she still did.
“I never told anybody about him before.” She drained her glass again. Her speech was slurred. He wondered how much she’d had to drink before he arrived. She’d have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. “I wouldn’t be telling you now except I’m desperate to do whatever I can for my boy. I know you don’t have kids, but surely you can understand that.”
“I do, actually,” Flint nodded. “But I can’t do this job for you if I don’t know everything you know. Describe this guy for me.”
“He was about your size, I guess. A little heavier. A little older.” She closed her eyes as if she were attempting to visualize him clearly. “Medium height and medium build. Brown hair, brown eyes. He didn’t have an accent, but I had the impression that he was Hispanic.”
“You mean Mexican? We have plenty of Mexican Americans around here.”
“To be honest, I was so terrified of his gun and everything about him that I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to memorize what he looked like.”
“Was he alone?”
“I was so shaken . . .” Her voice trailed off and she seemed to think about the question for a bit. “But now that you ask, I think there was someone else in the car with him. Another man. I heard him say, ‘Let’s go,’ as he approached the car when he left.”
Flint nodded again to encourage her.
He’d questioned hundreds of witnesses. They had usually observed more than they realized. If he kept asking specific questions, he could learn the rest.
“What was he wearing?”
She closed her eyes again. “He was well dressed. Casual khaki slacks, a pressed shirt, a leather blazer. He wore expensive shoes.”
She opened her eyes and grimaced. “I always notice the shoes. His were fine leather loafers with leather soles. No socks.”
