Without giving him the opportunity to make any further objections, I hung up the phone. Halvorsen picked up his phone and dialed a number.
"Hi, hon, he said a moment later. "Did I wake you? A sudden brittle tension had crept into his voice and a slight tic appeared over his jawline, a mannerism that I hadn't noticed before. "Sorry. Look, Monica, something's come up. Right now I'm on my way to Spokane. Can you get a ride to work? He paused. "I know. I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's important.
He grew quiet before a sudden verbal onslaught that I could hear angry echoes of clear across the room. Whoever Monica was, she sounded pissed as hell.
Finally he said resignedly, "But, hon, I'll be back in plenty of time to pick you up… A dial tone buzzed in his ear. Monica had hung up on him. Halvorsen threw the phone back in its cradle.
"Come on, he muttered. "Let's get the hell out of here.
We rode toward Spokane in silence, with Halvorsen brooding and driving like a bat out of hell, alternately smoking and chewing on a new cigar. I left him alone. Whatever was going on between him and Monica was none of my business. Besides I had plenty to think about on my own.
No matter what, I couldn't shake the conviction that St. Helens Flying Service and David Lions were somehow involved in what had happened to Kimi and Machiko Kurobashi. To an outsider, the connection might seem remote, but I'm no believer in blind coincidence. Cops don't think that way. If things appear to be connected, they probably are.
It all boiled down to one major question and several lesser ones. Who the hell was Charles Smith, David Lions' cash-paying passenger, the mysterious client who had chartered a helicopter to fly across the state? Had he disrupted telephone service and assaulted two innocent women along the way? If so, what did he really want? And did he already have it?
"You have any friends or acquaintances at the Federal Aviation Administration? I asked.
"Huh? Halvorsen returned, still lost in his fog of anger.
"Do you have any connections at the FAA? I repeated. "Someone who could locate the flight plan for us.
Halvorsen seemed relieved to have something else to think about. Shaking off his black mood, he put out the cigar and picked up the radio. He talked to someone at the Pullman-Moscow Airport, some deer-hunting/fishing buddy from the sound of it. The information we needed came back to us in less than ten minutes.
David Lions' flight plan, as filed before he left Renton Airport south of Seattle, was to fly to Vantage, halfway to Pullman, land on a landing strip there, and wait for another passenger. Estimated time of arrival in Spokane had been 6:00 A.M.
"So they got into Spokane right on time, I said, after we had heard the information. "No one thought anything was amiss, except for the daughter.
"Who didn't have any idea that the trip was going to take that long.
"So did Lions know about it or not? Was he in on it from the beginning, or was he someone who got sucked in along the way?
Halvorsen punched in the button on the car's cigarette lighter. "No way to tell that until we talk to the man himself.
"If we can find him, I said.
It was well after dusk when we parked in the parking garage at Spokane International Airport. We had been told that Kyle Preston would be waiting for us, and he was.
"I posted the security guard just like you told me, Kyle said, leading us toward the asphalt runway. "It's over here. Nobody's touched a thing, but what the hell's going on? My understanding was that Lions primarily flew scenic tours-sight-seeing, picture-taking kinds of things. That copter looks like it's been used for crop dusting. It's still got stalks of wheat sticking to it.
Halvorsen and I stopped short and exchanged glances, while Kyle Preston waited impatiently. "Are you two coming or not? he demanded. "I thought you were both in one hell of a hurry to see this bird.
"We'd better call the crime lab first, don't you think? Halvorsen asked.
I nodded, knowing then for sure that Dana Lions' missing daddy was in a whole shitpot full of trouble.
CHAPTER 10
The crime-scene team, two criminalists from the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab in Spokane, spent several hours going over the St. Helens Flying Service helicopter while Detective Halvorsen and I paced around outside on the runway like a pair of expectant fathers.
It had been an exceedingly frustrating day. When we started out, we had been only hours behind our quarry. Now, with every passing moment, we were losing more and more ground. The jet-ways at Spokane International had offered Kimi's and Machiko's attackers instant escape hatches to any destination in the country. Any destination in the world, for that matter.
So far, our inquiries into the whereabouts of David Lions had come to nothing. Everyone we interviewed at the airport assumed that he had been piloting the aircraft when it set down on schedule at six o'clock that morning, but no one actually remembered seeing him get off. Charles Smith, the name used by Dana Lions' cash-paying customer, also drew a blank, but that was hardly surprising. He had doubtless used an alias when he booked the reservation. Without any kind of physical description, we had no idea who or what we were looking for.
A stiff fall wind was blowing east off the Cascades. Shivering against the chill, Halvorsen and I were almost ready to retreat into the terminal when Gary Richards and Helen Driver emerged from the helicopter, bringing their considerable gear along with them.
"That's about all we can do for tonight, Richards said, standing to one side while Helen strung crime scene tape across the door of the helicopter. "We'll come look it over again tomorrow in daylight just in case we missed something important. According to Kyle Preston, they'll have a security guard here all night.
"Find anything? Andy asked.
"Plenty of fingerprints, Richards responded, "some wire snippers and this.
He held a glassine bag up to the halo of light from one of the runway's mercury-vapor lamps. I looked but it seemed to be nothing but an empty bag.
"What is it? I asked.
"One hair, he replied. "One long dark hair. Black, I'd say, but it's hard to judge color in this light.
Halvorsen glanced in my direction. "Kimi's?
I nodded.
Richards noted this exchange. "I thought you two might be interested in that. There are some other bits of trace evidence as well, but we'll have to analyze all those before we know what we're seeing. Where can we find you guys tomorrow in case we need to? Are you staying right here in Spokane?
I started to nod yes and ask directions to the nearest hotel, but Halvorsen interrupted. "No, we're headed back to Pullman tonight. You can reach us through my office in Colfax tomorrow.
I couldn't believe he was serious. Pullman was a good seventy-five miles away, and it was verging on eleven. I personally had already done more than enough traveling for one day. The last thing I wanted to do was take another seventy-five-mile jaunt in a cramped Colfax County K-car. Unfortunately, we were supposedly conducting a joint investigation, and Halvorsen was driving.
Helen Driver and Gary Richards left then. We were almost to the car when Kyle Preston caught up with us, bringing with him a lady from Budget Rent-a-Car.
The lady's name was Pamela Kinder, and we had missed her in our earlier survey of airport personnel because she had been out playing bridge when Halvorsen had called and left a message on her machine.
Preston suggested we go back to his office and get in out of the cold. Forty-five or so and not at all bad-looking, Pamela Kinder took a seat next to Kyle's desk, crossed her well-shaped legs, and gave us a winning smile.
"I wish I'd known you guys were looking for this Lions character this morning when I rented him the Lincoln. I smelled a rat, but I couldn't prove it.