“Especially at night,” Max said.
“You up for a stakeout?” Tommy asked. “I mean, the airplane isn’t here, so maybe it’s on a mission as we speak.”
“Sure, why not?”
“Tell you what, you take the first shift. I’ll drive back to Key West, have some supper, and bring yours back.”
“Okay,” Max said, glancing at her watch. “It’s after four, now. I should think he’d want to land in daylight, so we shouldn’t have to wait too long.” She got out of the car and took an emergency blanket and an umbrella from the trunk, and Tommy got into the driver’s seat and left her there.
Max walked over to the parking area, spread her blanket, opened the umbrella to keep the sun at bay, then stretched out. It didn’t take long for her to doze off.
Max was dreaming away when her reverie was interrupted by a buzzing noise. She sat up and folded the umbrella. The noise was from the sea, and it was getting louder. She dragged the blanket under a nearby tree and checked her watch. Six-twenty.
Shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand, Max peered out to sea, and shortly, something flew out of the sun. She stepped back under the trees and knelt there. She didn’t want to be spotted from the air. The pitch of the noise decreased as he descended for a landing. Seconds later, the engine was cut to idle; a moment or two later, the power was increased. Taxiing.
The airplane, much like the one that crashed at Fort Jeff, coasted to a stop next to the niche where she was hidden, and the engine was cut. There were various other noises, then she looked out and saw the tail of the airplane coming toward her, pushed by Dix with a tow bar. Keeping the airplane between them, she grabbed the blanket and umbrella, ran to the parked Honda, and hid behind it. She watched as he stowed the bar, got a zippered case from inside, then closed the door and started toward the car.
Max pulled her Glock from its holster, checked that she had one in the chamber, and held it in readiness.
When Dix was a few yards from the car, she stood up and leveled the gun at him. “Good evening, Dixie,” she said.
Dix reacted as if he had stepped into a nest of rattlesnakes.
“Calm down,” she said. “It’s only me. Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”
“Max, what the fuck are you doing here?” Dix asked.
“The question is: What the fuck are you doing here, Dixie?” She cuffed him, then kicked the briefcase away from him.
“Flying,” Dixie replied. “I fly for a living, you know.”
“You stay right there,” she said. She holstered her weapon, walked over to the airplane, opened the pilot’s door, then stepped onto the footrest so she could see the whole interior. Nothing there. She checked the rear luggage compartment: empty. Then she walked back to Dix.
“What are you looking for, Max?”
“Your cargo,” she said.
“What cargo?”
“Oh, you would have off-loaded that at sea,” she said, picking up the briefcase and unzipping it.
“That’s an illegal search,” Dix said. “You have a warrant?”
There was nothing inside but a notepad, some pens, some sunglasses, and a couple of magazines. Then Tommy arrived and parked the car next to the airplane.
“Hey,” he yelled. “Who we got here? Couldn’t be Dix, could it? Caught him red-handed?”
“Red-handed at what?” Dix asked. “Flying?”
Max turned him over and helped him to his feet, while Tommy had a look inside the airplane. “Clean as a hound’s tooth,” he said, closing the door.
“As I was saying,” Dix said, “caught me red-handed at what?”
“I think we’ll have the airplane and your car impounded,” Max said.
“You’ve got no grounds. I’ll sue your ass off,” Dix said.
Tommy sighed. “He has a point,” he said. “You may as well unhook him.”
As Dix drove away, Max said, “Well, we can always stake out the airplane, until he uses it again.”
“And learn what?” Tommy asked. “That he takes off empty and lands empty?”
“Maybe we’d better rethink,” Max replied.
36
Stone and Dino were having lunch at La Goulue.
“Anything new on the Parkinson/Hedger killings?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dino said, whipping out his iPhone and pulling up a video. “We got this from a garage camera in Parkinson’s building.” The view was of two parking spaces from above, dimly lit. Dino stopped the video. “Both those spaces belong to Estelle Parkinson: the Mercedes S550 lives in the right, and the clock on the tape reads 9:28. “The other car,” he said, “is a Porsche Macan, a little brother to the Cayenne. It’s Estelle’s second car.”
A man wearing a raincoat and a hat walked into the frame, unlocked the Mercedes, backed out, and drove away.
“That’s obviously got to be Hedger,” Stone said, “though I’m not sure he could be identified in that light.”
“Obviously,” Dino said, “because he died in that car around half an hour later.”
They continued to watch as someone wearing something that looked like a trench coat with a hood entered the frame, unlocked the Macan, and drove away.
“Man or woman?” Stone asked. “I can’t tell.”
“I think a man. Now see this, which was taken by a camera at a garage a couple of blocks away.” The Mercedes pulled in and an attendant came to the car and filled the tank, then it drove away.
“Clock says 9:42,” Dino says.
“Then the car was seen at Second Avenue and about Fifty-Fifth Street, maybe five, ten minutes away, by Werner Blau. And he makes Hedger at the wheel. Maybe another five or ten minutes later, Hedger is capped in the forties.”
“There’s more,” Dino said. “We’re back at the garage, Parkinson’s two parking spaces are empty, and the time is 10:14.”
The Macan pulled into the parking space; the same hooded figure got out, locked the car, and walked to the elevator. Six minutes later he was seen leaving the elevator, not to be seen again.
“What’s your scenario?” Stone asks.
“Two people arrive at Estelle’s building — we don’t know what time. Estelle is murdered while one or both of them is present in her apartment. They leave separately, a few minutes apart. Both of them are driving to the same place, but Hedger stops for gas, and the other car catches up and follows him. Shortly after that, Hedger is stopped at a light in the Mercedes, and the Macan pulls up next to him. The driver rolls down a window and shoots Hedger through the window, then drives away. A few minutes later, the Macan returns to Estelle’s garage. The driver gets out and goes upstairs to her apartment, is there a couple of minutes, then departs. When my guys search the place the Macan keys are found in a bowl on a foyer table, probably where Estelle would keep them.”
“Okay, but when was Estelle killed?”
“These are the choices: One, both visitors kill her, but they depart separately, leaving one there to tidy up the scene. Two, Hedger kills Estelle, then departs the apartment. Then the Macan driver discovers the body, follows Hedger and kills him, then returns the Macan to its parking place, goes upstairs and leaves the key ring, which has a door key on the fob, and departs. You choose.”
“Not enough information to name Estelle’s killer, but the Macan driver did kill Hedger.”
“That’s pretty much how I see it. Both the Macan driver and Hedger were wearing gloves, so we’ve got no prints.”
“Is Estelle’s garage manned at night?”
“No. The people in the building have remote controls that let them in and out,” Dino said. “So we’re fucked.”
“No,” Stone replied, “you’re fucked. I don’t have to solve this.”