“Why?” Burns said.
Cork cradled his beer in both hands. The bottle was like ice. “I’ve been thinking about that all night. The possibilities are just about endless, so we need to narrow things down. Did Stilwell give you any report on the progress of his investigation?”
“No, which isn’t unusual. He usually touches base only when he has a question or when he has something significant to give me.”
“Okay. So maybe we can assume that, before he disappeared, he hadn’t found anything he felt ready to share with you. You say he disappeared after he visited Sandy’s office at the Rice Lake airport?”
“Yes.”
“So maybe he found something there.”
“He called me,” Becca said. “From Sandy’s hangar. He told me he wanted to check Sandy’s home office and he asked if I had a VCR at my place.”
“Did he say why he wanted the VCR?”
“No.”
“Did he go to your house?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” She saw Cork’s questioning look. “These days I spend a lot of my time at my sister’s home near Hayward. It’s hard being alone, raising a son. I try to be around family whenever I can.”
“I understand,” Cork said. “So he called your cell?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear from him again?”
“No.”
“What time did he call?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nine o’clock.”
“P.M.?”
“Yes.”
“So you have no idea if he went to your house?”
She shook her head. “But I told him where I keep a key hidden so he could let himself in.”
“A VCR,” Cork said. He scratched his neck and thought a moment. “He had a copy of this surveillance tape, right?”
“Yes. He said he’d watched it several times, but he never mentioned anything about seeing what you saw.”
Cork rolled all this around for a moment and still didn’t know what it meant. He looked at Becca. “Was there any reason someone might have wanted your husband dead?”
She seemed taken aback. “Sandy? No.”
“Take a minute to think about it. Did he have enemies? Did he have associates that you didn’t particularly care for, guys who maybe scared you a little? Were there clients in his charter business that he seemed circumspect about?”
“What do you mean?”
Cork shrugged. “A pilot flies his own plane, he can carry any cargo, human or otherwise, that will bring him a profit.”
“You mean like drugs,” she said coldly.
“Anything that needs to be carried under the radar.”
“Sandy wouldn’t do that.”
“It may be that someone killed him, Becca. If that’s true, there has to be a reason.”
“Not his business,” she said.
“All right. What about his personal life? He was a recovering alcoholic. Anything there we need to think about?”
“I told you, he stopped drinking years ago.”
“No skeletons in the closet?”
“No.”
“You don’t need to answer so fast.”
“You don’t need to accuse him.”
“Easy, Becca,” Burns said. “He’s just asking questions.”
“I don’t like his questions.”
“Or is it that you don’t like the answers?” Cork said.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Becca said.
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“Fuck you.”
“That doesn’t get us anywhere.”
She glared at him. He sipped his beer and waited.
She sat back and looked away. “Most of his business was flying Indians to powwows and other gatherings around the country. But a while back he flew a job for some Canadians, across the border. Afterward he was-I don’t know… quiet. Maybe scared. He didn’t talk about it, but I wondered.”
“How long ago?”
“A couple of years. The business wasn’t doing well.”
“Any dealings with them since?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Any speculation about the nature of what it was that he was paid to transport?”
“No.”
“Any names?”
“No.”
“Where did your husband keep his records?”
“Two places. His office in our home and his office at his hangar at the Rice Lake Regional Airport.”
“You continue to keep his office at the airport?”
“Yes. Sandy had a yearly lease, and because of the FAA investigation and the lawsuit, it’s just been easier for me to leave everything as it was.”
“Has anyone handled the records since the plane disappeared?”
“The FAA investigators made copies of a lot of things.”
Burns said, “And the attorneys for all the plaintiffs in the lawsuit. The originals should all still be there.”
“Okay,” Cork said. He sipped his beer. “There are other possibilities to consider. Most don’t have to do with Sandy.”
“What are they?” Burns said.
“There were six passengers on that plane. Maybe it was about one of them.”
“Which one?”
“Got me.” He reached for one of the coasters on the coffee table, put it in front of him, and set his beer down. “I’ve been thinking, what do we know about the people on that plane? With the exception of my wife, they were all Indian. So maybe it’s something about being Indian. They were all tribal leaders. Anybody who knows tribal politics understands how contentious it can be. So maybe it was that. They were on their way to a conference in Seattle where a number of difficult topics related to mutual rez problems were going to be discussed and some resolutions hashed out. Maybe that was it. Or maybe someone just had a grudge against one of them and acted on it. I could go on.”
“How do we figure out which it is?”
“Mostly we ask questions and try to eliminate possibilities.” Cork reached out and picked up his beer, but he didn’t drink. “One of the things that’s clear is this: Whoever is behind it knew about the charter flight, about Sandy, and put together a pretty damn good plan to impersonate him. So that’s a place to start. Becca, do you know who arranged the flight?”
“No.”
“Would it be in his records?”
“I’m sure it would be. He was meticulous.”
“I’d like to check his home office. And can you give me access to his office at the regional airport down there?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Tomorrow I’ll drive to Rice Lake and have a look.” Cork drank from the beer that had begun to warm in his hand. “Now, there’s something else we need to discuss, and this is a little scary.”
Burns said, “Steve Stilwell.”
“That’s right. I think we need to assume the worst. Someone took him out of the picture.”
“They killed him?” Becca said.
“That would be my guess.”
“Isn’t it possible they just bought his silence?”
“Then he’d have stuck around and lied to you, told you he didn’t find anything. And buying his silence is risky. He might decide to talk a blue streak to authorities later. I think he found something or he was getting close to finding something and they killed him. Which means they know you’re looking into things.”
“And that you’re helping?”
“Maybe.”
“Who’s they? And should we be worried for our safety, too?”
“At the moment we don’t know who these people are. I can’t imagine that they’re going to kill us outright. Too suspicious. If they decide to act, they’ll figure a way, like they did with the plane, to get rid of us and make it look like it wasn’t murder.”
“Like what?” Burns said.
“How do you heat this house? Natural gas?”
“Yes.”
“Then a gas explosion. Or a drained brake line on your car. Or carbon monoxide poisoning while you sleep. For guys who know what they’re doing-and it sure as hell looks as if they do-the list is probably endless.”
The women shot a glance at each other and the eyes of one mirrored the concern in those of the other.
“What do we do?” Burns asked.
“Whoever we’re dealing with probably won’t take any action until they believe we’ve found something that’ll make the right people listen. In the meantime, I’m guessing that I’ll be the guy they dog.”