As he pulled into a parking space at St. Anne’s, his pager went off. Ben Sheridan’s cell phone number. Frank called the anthropologist.
“Frank? Glad you called back so quickly,” Ben said. “I’m just coming back from the mountains.”
“I thought you weren’t going up there until the weekend.”
“I wasn’t, but I didn’t have any classes today and I was curious. So Anna and I took the dogs up to the site.”
Anna was Ben’s girlfriend. She was also an experienced dog handler and often helped Ben on searches. “You found something or you wouldn’t have paged me.”
“Well, not much in the way of remains — a few small bones. But we found a wood rat’s nest and located something that might be sort of interesting in it. Lefebvre’s watch.”
“His watch? Are you sure it’s his?”
“Inscribed to him from his sister, Yvette, on the back. In French, by the way. Even better, I’ve got made-for-TV evidence for you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how it works on TV,” Ben said. “A bullet passes through a victim and conveniently hits a clock or breaks his watch, so you learn the time of death — right? Only it wasn’t a bullet, just good old impact. Plenty of that in a crash. So it stopped Lefebvre’s watch. The watch is an old-fashioned but very nice Omega. An analog dial. With little windows on the face that show the day and date.”
“Are you telling me you can determine the time of the crash from it?”
“Not exactly. The watch was smashed up on impact, and the minute hand and crown are missing — probably in the debris the NTSB picked up on the cockpit floor. Your lab should be able to see the impression of the minute hand on the face even though it’s gone. The face is a little dirty, but you can still see ‘Fri’ for Friday and ‘Jun’ for June and the number twenty-two for the date. The hour hand is on nine.”
“Which means Lefebvre died the same night he took off. The NTSB learned that already, I think, but this helps to confirm that. It should probably go into their report, too.”
“So — I guess it wasn’t so exciting after all.”
“No — it is. I’ll tell you why the next time I see you. I’ve got to check out something in the property room before I know more. Are you hanging on to the watch?”
“I’ll be giving it to the county coroner. I’m working for him at this point. But I’ll call Mayumi Iwata and let her know about it.”
“Good. Thanks a lot. Oh — one other thing. Do you know the name of the engineering professor who’s in charge of the paper airplane competition at the university?”
“Ray Wilkes. Do you need to talk to him about something?”
“Yes, are you friends?”
“I haven’t known him for long, but I like him. The first time I came on campus openly wearing my prosthesis, he stared — but not in the way most people do. He named the make and model of everything in my rig and complimented me on my choice of prosthetist. Turns out he runs the campus program for students interested in going into prosthesis design. Want me to ask him to give you a call?”
“Thanks, Ben. Have him call the cell phone.”
As he hung up, he saw Chief Hale walking out of St. Anne’s. Frank locked his car, hesitated briefly, then called out to the chief. Hale’s aide had already opened the door to the chief’s car, but Hale waited, scowling as Frank hurried over to where he stood.
“If I could have a word alone with you, sir?”
“What is it?” the chief snapped.
“Alone, sir,” Frank said, glancing toward the aide.
Hale seemed about to refuse, but then said, “Wait here,” to the aide and began walking. Frank followed him as he took quick strides back toward the hospital. The chief moved on a determined course, not stopping until he reached a walled area near the emergency room. He went through a gate as if he owned the place, and Frank saw that they were in a small garden, an outdoor waiting area for families of patients. At one end of the garden was a fountain with a religious statue at its center — a serene woman Frank guessed to be St. Anne, although he wasn’t sure. There was a bench near the fountain. Hale moved to the bench but did not sit down. He frowned at the statue for a moment, then turned to Frank and said, “Well?”
Now that he had the chief’s attention, he wasn’t sure where to begin. Hale was obviously not in a receptive mood.
“Well?” the chief said again.
“The NTSB contacted me today. I drove out to where they are studying the wreckage of Lefebvre’s plane. They’ve made some preliminary findings that I thought you should know about, sir.”
“How odd,” the chief said.
“Sir?”
“How odd, Detective Harriman, that the chain of command in this department has been changed and no one saw fit to tell me about it. So now you report directly to me and not to Lieutenant Carlson?”
Frank considered saying nothing more. Carlson wasn’t up to handling a problem like this, and Bredloe — the man he would have gone to under other circumstances — was in no condition to help. Frank had decided to approach Hale because he trusted him. He knew Hale tried to run an honest department — that was part of why Frank liked working for the Las Piernas PD. But this was the second time in as many days that the chief had rebuffed him after a mention of Lefebvre’s name. Tired and frustrated, Frank felt his hold on his temper slipping and clenched his teeth to hold back a suggestion about where Hale could put his organization chart. If he couldn’t talk to Hale, to hell with it.
Hale watched his reaction, smiled, and said, “As long as you have me here, Detective, let’s hear it.”
“I need to know that I’m speaking to you with absolute confidentiality,” Frank said.
Hale looked surprised, but said, “All right. Now what’s the trouble?”
“There is definite evidence that Lefebvre’s plane was sabotaged, sir. Lefebvre was murdered.”
Hale sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that. But those who do business with men like Whitey Dane shouldn’t expect to live forever.”
“But we can’t assume—”
“Lefebvre was cozying up to the wrong side!” he said angrily. “Obviously the man who hired him killed him.”
“With all due respect,” Frank said, again struggling to control his own temper, “there is another possibility. It’s possible that Lefebvre was not working with Dane, that someone else within our department stole that evidence and murdered Seth Randolph. And Lefebvre as well.”
“Ludicrous.”
“Lefebvre had an excellent record and no motive to kill Seth Randolph. If he was working for Dane, why did he call attention to the Amanda on the night Trent and Amanda Randolph were killed?”
“No one believes he was working for Dane then. He was obviously recruited later, when Dane saw that he had access to the boy. As for motive — Dane had enough money to make it worthwhile.”
“To make it worthwhile to someone, yes. But not necessarily Lefebvre.”
“Do you suppose we just drew his name out of a hat ten years ago? It was not simply that he fled, you know. He was the last person to handle the evidence against Dane and the last person to enter Seth Randolph’s room before the boy’s body was found. You know those are the facts, Detective Harriman.”
“I’m not saying I understand all of his actions on that night, sir — but to ignore the possibility that Lefebvre was framed is to endanger other members of the department now.”
“Such as you?” Hale asked sarcastically.
“Such as Captain Bredloe.”
“Harriman, really—”
“The paper airplane, sir. It has to be connected. A mistake on the part of—”
“Detective Harriman,” Hale said, leaning so that he was only a few inches from Frank’s face. “I’ll tell you who’s making a mistake. You are.” He straightened, then began pacing, muttering to himself. “Paper airplanes! For God’s sake—”