Code 15 (22 page)

“I’ll have a waffle with maple syrup,” Morgan answered.

“To drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Got it,” Mattie said, chomping away on piece of bubble gum while she finished writing the order.

“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?” Morgan inquired.

Mattie lifted her eyes. She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Do we know each other?”

“My name’s Meg Reid. Faith Russo was my cousin. Did you know her?”

“We only have eight waitresses working here. We all knew her.”

“I came down to Florida to help get her affairs in order. There seem to be a lot of unanswered questions about what happened at Dade Presbyterian that night. I’ve spoken to some folks at the hospital, but I’m getting the runaround.”

Mattie slipped her order pad into her pocket. “What did you want to ask me?”

“How well did you know Faith?”

“We worked a lot of shifts together. We’d talk from time to time but I never saw her outside of the restaurant.” Mattie pointed across the restaurant to a woman counting out change in front of the cash register. “Amelia probably knew her the best. She’s managing today.”

Morgan looked in the direction Mattie was gesturing. “Do you think she would mind talking to me?”

Mattie shrugged. “All I can do is ask her.”

“Thank you.”

Morgan watched Mattie stroll over to the cash register and tap Amelia on the shoulder. She spoke to her briefly. Amelia nodded a few times as she ran a credit card through the machine. She then finished giving the last customer in line their change, slammed the register drawer shut, and started toward the table.

Stocky with an upturned nose and a puffy face, Amelia Carranza had fled her native Cuba under the cover of darkness twelve years earlier. She was barely eighteen the night her raft washed up on the Fort Lauderdale beach. The only job she had ever had was at Jimmy’s. Barely speaking English, she started as a dishwasher. Plugging away day and night, she eventually became a waitress and then an assistant manager.

“Mattie said you wanted to speak with me.”

“I’m Faith Russo’s cousin. I was hoping you could answer some questions.”

“Faith never mentioned you.”

“We aren’t particularly close now, but when I heard what happened, I felt obligated to come down and help with the kids.”

“Mattie said you had some questions.”

“There seems to be a lot of confusion regarding the events surrounding her death. The hospital is saying one thing and the police are saying something else. Faith and I were pretty close growing up and I’d like to know the truth.”

“All I heard was that she had some kind of an accident and bled to death.”

“I’m afraid it was a little more complicated than that. I’ve spent a lot of time talking to the police and the people at the hospital. The only thing they agree on is that she had a very severe injury that caused her to bleed to death. What’s unclear is how it happened.”

Amelia pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to help, but I’ll try,” she said in a sympathetic voice.

“I have some suspicions that Faith’s injury didn’t happened accidentally. I think she may have been attacked. I’m trying to find out what she did that day. Mattie said you two were friendly. I was hoping you might know.”

“I saw Faith that night, right before she went out. I took my kids over there to play with hers.”

“Did she mention if she had been injured earlier that day?”

Amelia shook her head. “She didn’t say anything.”

“How did she look?”

“Fine. She had a new hairdo and was practically dancing around the living room.” Amelia paused, allowing an affectionate smile to cross her face. “That was the most excited I’d ever seen her. When I asked her where she was going she told me she had a business meeting.”

“A business meeting?”

“I asked her, who the hell schedules a business meeting on a Friday night?” Amelia waited while Mattie set Morgan’s waffle down in front of her. “I figured there had to be a guy mixed up in this thing somewhere.”

“When Faith went to the emergency room, she told the nurses she’d fallen off her bicycle earlier that day and had twisted her knee.”

“Her bicycle?” Amelia asked, unable to contain a dubious giggle.

“She told the nurse she rode all the time for exercise.”

“Let me tell you something. I don’t know how much money you make or where you live, but people like Faith and me don’t have time for bike riding, spinning classes, or long, lazy afternoons at the spa. Between raising our kids alone and working here sixty hours a week, there isn’t too much time for the high life.”

“You mentioned before that you thought Faith might have been seeing somebody. Could she have been with him that night?”

“All I know is that she spent the whole day shopping with her kids. I couldn’t believe all the stuff she bought. It was way more than she could afford. She told me she put it all on her credit card.” Before Morgan could ask another question Amelia motioned to one of the waitresses on the floor. “Tell Mike lunch is on me today and that I’m glad he decided to become a cop.” The waitress walked over with the check; Amelia signed it and then turned her attention back to Morgan. “There was a guy who started coming in about three months ago. His name was Steve. At first, I’d only see him once a week or so, but then it seemed like he was in here for lunch almost every day. He always wanted to be seated at Faith’s station. It never made sense.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked.

“This guy was the whole package. Good-looking, well dressed, and obviously loaded. Like I said, it didn’t make sense. Guys like that aren’t interested in working girls with three kids who are lucky if they clear five hundred a week.”

“Do you think this guy was the one Faith was supposed to have the business meeting with the night she died?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

“Has he been back in the restaurant since Faith died?”

Tilting her head to one side, Amelia looked past Morgan. Her expression became pensive. “I hadn’t thought about it until now, but I haven’t seen him.”

“I have to ask you something that may sound a little strange. Do you happen to remember if this guy had a gap between his front teeth?”

Amelia shrugged her shoulders. “I never noticed. Why would you ask that?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Morgan said, looking down at her watch and then coming to her feet. “I should let you get back to work. You’ve been a great help.” Morgan reached into her purse, pulled out a small notepad, and wrote down her cell phone number. She handed it to Amelia. “If you think of anything else that might help, please give me a call.”

Happy that the charade was over, Morgan left a tip on the table and then headed to the front to pay her check.

DAY SEVENTEEN

 

 

It was four in the afternoon when Morgan pulled up to her hangar.

Anxious to get in the air, she grabbed her black flight case off of the backseat and got out of the car. Although she enjoyed flying with others, going up solo was a uniquely different experience and one she enjoyed equally as much.

Once Morgan had rolled the Cirrus out, she began her preflight check. She was about half finished when her cell phone rang. Recognizing the number, she had a sudden overwhelming urge to toss the phone into a nearby ditch. Instead, she took a deep breath and then dialed her office. Kendra answered.

“Dr. Connolly’s office.”

“It’s me, Kendra.”

“Sorry to bug you but Dr. Docherty’s flight school just called. They asked if you could stop over there before you take off. He wants to see you about something.”

“Thanks,” Morgan said, relieved that the message didn’t involve an urgent problem requiring her to go back to the hospital. She had no idea what Ben wanted, but as much as she tried to deny it, she welcomed the opportunity to see him. Morgan finished checking her fuel and then walked over to her car.

From two hundred yards away, Gideon slowly lowered his binoculars. Aviation buffs were common around the airport, which made him unconcerned about being observed.

The moment Morgan pulled away, he stepped away from his car. The only thing separating him from Morgan’s plane was a dry, dusty field with its occasional patch of brown, sun-scorched grass. Pushing his hands into the pockets of his tan golf jacket, he started across the field.

As he got closer to the plane, Gideon gazed around to assure himself that nobody was in the immediate area. He then climbed up on the wing and opened the passenger side door. As he’d hoped, Morgan’s flight case was sitting on the seat. The same thermos he’d seen in her car that day was in plain sight lying on top of her charts. He reached over and felt it. It was warm. He then unscrewed the top.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small glass vial that was half filled with a clear liquid. Having taken extraordinary care to be precise in his calculations, he held up the practically tasteless medication and studied the level of the drug in the bottle. Anything less than a single cup of coffee should leave Morgan impaired but still capable of flying, which was precisely his intent. Killing her now would not only be far too easy, it would be inadequate. There would be plenty of time later to arrange for Morgan Connolly’s death in the weeks to come. Today his only interest was to provide the good doctor with the most frightening experience of her life.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he carefully unscrewed the cap. As he had anticipated, the thermos was filled to the top. Making sure his hand was steady, he emptied the drug into the thermos. He then returned the container to exactly where he had found it.

After a final look around, Gideon stepped out on the wing, climbed down, and headed back across the field.

Having just been informed by Ben’s secretary that he was giving a lesson, and that he hadn’t left a message for her, Morgan returned to her car.

More than a little miffed, she called her office to see what the misunderstanding had been.

“What was the message?” she asked Kendra for the second time.

“Exactly what I just told you. The guy told me to tell you that Dr. Docherty wanted to talk to you before you took off.”

“Did he leave a name?”

“No, but he made sure to repeat the message twice,” Kendra insisted.

Rather than lose any more flying time trying to understand the mix-up, Morgan told Kendra she’d call her later.

Twenty minutes later Morgan cleared the end of the runway 9-Left. Continuing her gentle climb to the west, she set her GPS for Naples. At eighteen hundred feet, she started out over the eastern Everglades. Glancing down, she watched the russet wetlands pass easily under her wings. Off to the north, a caravan of perfectly spaced eighteen-wheelers rolled across Alligator Alley.

When her altimeter indicated she was at forty-five hundred feet, Morgan gently tipped the nose down and leveled off. It was a warm day and the thermals coming off the wetlands created a mild chop. Reaching into her flight case, she pulled out her thermos of coffee and poured herself three-quarters of a cup. Raising the plastic cup to her lips, she took a few short swallows.

Morgan rechecked her heading. She was just about to take another sip when the nose of the plane abruptly dropped. At the same instant, the Cirrus pitched hard to the right. Morgan recovered quickly from the unexpected turbulence, returning the plane to level flight. She immediately checked her instruments. Everything seemed to be okay. The only adverse effect of the unanticipated turbulence was that her cup was now empty and the coffee was soaking into the cloth upholstery of the seat next to her.

With the plane now steady and level in smooth air, Morgan rechecked her engine instruments to make sure everything was functioning normally. Satisfied that everything was okay, she estimated she would be over Naples in forty minutes.

At first, the disturbance in Morgan’s vision was so subtle that it escaped her attention. When she finally realized she was squinting to read the instruments, her immediate thought was she needed a new prescription for her contacts. But when another minute passed and she suddenly felt light-headed, her level of concern for both her safety and that of her baby’s abruptly heightened. She considered whether her blood sugar had dropped. The possibility left her wanting to kick herself for forgetting to bring along a snack.

Straining to keep her eyes open reminded Morgan of the occasional highway hypnosis she had fallen victim to on a long trip. She fought the stupor by forcing her eyes open and slamming herself bolt upright in her chair. Nobody knew better than she that most of the flying community considered physician pilots as too cavalier when it came to safety. The stereotype had always bothered her, but she used it as a constant reminder to be an ultraconservative flyer who emphasized safety above everything.

Without any deliberation, she banked the plane to the right until she completed a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, putting her on a direct course back to the North Perry Airport. Reaching overhead, she adjusted the vent to blow directly at her. The steady stream of air rushing over her face did little to allay the stupor and nausea.

She reached for the microphone.

“This is Cirrus One-Niner-Five-Tango-Foxtrot. I’m twenty-five miles west of the airport. I’m experiencing extreme vertigo. I’m at forty-five hundred feet and requesting a straight-in approach.”

North Perry tower’s response was immediate. “Cirrus-One-Niner-Five-Tango-Foxtrot. You’re cleared for a straight-in approach.”

Morgan replaced the microphone. She found by holding her head steady and locking her eyes on the horizon, she could partially control the dizziness. Fighting off the terror that gripped every part of her, she started a slow descent.