‘How was this delivered, Grace?’
‘It came in a FedEx envelope. The address is bogus. It’s a boarded-up grocery store.’
Bailey’s left eyebrow rose inquisitively.
‘Do you still have it? The envelope, I mean?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll go get it.’ Grace began backing away from Bailey.
‘Grace, wait,’ Bailey called again. ‘Do we have latex gloves anywhere in the office?’
‘Umm... ’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him. ‘Not in the office, I don’t think so.’ She hesitated a second. ‘But maintenance will have them. Their personnel all wear them.’
‘Call them and get them to bring us a couple of pairs ASAP.’
‘Right away, sir.’
‘Also,’ Bailey stopped her again, ‘do we have some sort of sealable plastic bags? Something we keep documents in?’
Grace thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got a box of sandwich bags in my drawer. They’ve got zip seals.’
‘They’ll do. Bring them over.’
Grace nodded and quickly walked out of the office. A few minutes later she returned with the FedEx wrapper, a box of latex gloves and a box of plastic see-through sandwich bags. She handed everything to Bailey, who immediately slipped a pair of gloves on before checking the sender’s information at the back of the FedEx envelope.
‘Tyler Jordan?’ he whispered to himself, frowning.
‘I checked it against your address book,’ Grace explained. ‘But there was no match, that’s why I proceeded to open the package.’
Bailey was sure that the sender’s name and address would be bogus, but he would still have it verified.
‘Have you shown this to anyone else?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘So other than you, no one else has touched this picture?’
‘That’s correct,’ Grace replied with an anxious nod.
Bailey doubted that whoever had sent him the package had been stupid enough to leave fingerprints anywhere but, again, he needed to make sure. He retrieved a couple of sandwich bags from the box and placed the photo and the FedEx wrapper inside them.
‘There’s still a note inside, Richard,’ Grace reminded Bailey, nodding at the envelope on his desk.
He had been so taken aback by the photograph and the desperate look on the woman’s face that he had forgotten all about the note Grace had mentioned earlier. He took the envelope, tipped it over and allowed the piece of paper to slide out on to his hand.
Grace held her breath.
Bailey unfolded the note and his eyes stayed on the script for several seconds, the words barely making any sense to him until he got to the last couple of sentences. That was when his whole demeanor changed.
If Grace hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn that what had consumed the Mayor of Los Angeles had been fear.
For the briefest of moments, Bailey seemed paralyzed. Then, like a missile, his hand shot in the direction of the phone on his desk.
Twenty-one
Four days earlier
The man sitting in seat 9A was, by cabin crew standards, the perfect passenger. As he boarded the plane, he smiled politely at all the attendants and then waited patiently for the passengers crowding the aisle in front of him to place their hand luggage inside the appropriate compartments. There was no trace of annoyance from him, no exasperated folding of the arms, no irritated ‘excuse me’s, and no uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot. Once he’d taken his seat, he hadn’t asked for a single thing, not even a glass of water.
Despite all the stewardesses onboard flight number 387 from Sacramento to Los Angeles being young and very attractive, there had also been no flirtatious looks from passenger 9A, nor any awkward attempts at cheesy pickup lines.
The man had caught the attention of Sharon Barnard, the youngest of the three stewardesses on board, and she was curious about what he did for a living. His clothes gave little away; a dark-gray suit and a crisp white shirt with a perfectly knotted black-and-white tie. He could’ve been just another businessman, like half the passengers on that early morning flight, but he was missing all the typical gadgets — the briefcase, the laptop computer or tablet, and the smartphone.
While some passengers read, some slept, some worked, some played games on their tablets or listened to music, passenger 9A did nothing. He kept his seat in the upright position, his hands together in his lap and his eyes forward, staring straight ahead. At first Sharon wondered if he was meditating, but when she walked past his seat and asked him if he’d like anything to drink, he answered her immediately and courteously, saying that he was all right. She asked him if he was going to Los Angeles on business, and he replied that he was returning from business. He lived in Los Angeles.
That had brought a smile to Sharon’s lips.
‘Tom,’ Sharon said to the head steward, who was also her best friend and housemate. ‘What do you think of that guy in seat 9A?’
Tom smiled at her teasingly. ‘Are you asking me if he’s gay, darling?’
Tom Hobbs was twenty-three years old, very attractive, single and gay. One of his biggest talents was his sixth sense for spotting other gay males without even speaking to them. He stepped out from behind the partition and casually looked down the aisle.
‘Yep, he’s one hundred percent hot,’ he replied. ‘I clocked him as soon as he stepped on to the aircraft.’ Tom smiled again, then pouted his lips at Sharon. ‘And I can see that so did you.’
Sharon didn’t look embarrassed. ‘As you’ve said,’ she replied, ‘he’s hot.’
‘No doubt there, and you might just be in luck, honey,’ Tom continued. ‘Because he’s definitely straight.’
Sharon smiled. ‘You really think so? He hasn’t looked at any of us girls.’
‘Oh, I’m positive, darling.’ Tom glanced at 9A again. ‘Yep, that man likes pussy.’
‘No wedding band either,’ Sharon said.
Tom grinned at her. ‘Look at you, you vixen, scouting the customers and all, way ahead of the competition. I like your style.’
‘You better, I’ve learned it from you.’
Tom lifted his hand for a high-five.
Sharon slapped it.
‘Though,’ she said, ‘I can’t help thinking that he looks familiar somehow.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Maybe it’s the eyes, or that strong chin, but I keep on thinking that I have seen him before. Do you remember seeing him on a previous flight at all?’
Tom looked at passenger 9A once again. ‘Umm, no darling. A hunk like that, I would definitely remember if I had.’
Sharon also didn’t think that she had seen him on a previous flight, but she was almost certain that she had seen him before somewhere.
‘OK,’ she said, moving things along. ‘So what do you think he does for a living?’
When flying together, Tom and Sharon sometimes played a guessing game over a few chosen passengers. It helped pass the time.
‘Umm.’ Tom wiggled his head from side to side for a second. ‘He definitely works out. You can tell by his arms. His biceps are about to rip through his sleeves. But he also comes across as the calm type. Nothing seems to bother him, and he has one hell of an intense stare. Have you checked those big brown eyes?’
Sharon nodded. ‘Oh yes.’
Tom smiled again. ‘Silly me for asking. Well, I’d say he’s either a psychologist, or some sort of therapist... maybe sports.’ He then mimed a shiver. ‘Ooh no, even better, I’d say he’s a sexual therapist.’
‘Psychologist.’ Sharon liked that thought.
‘Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing,’ the announcement came through the speakers.