He looked at Mattie. Her nose was still buried in her book. “Hey, kiddo, you be okay for a minute?”
She shook her head without looking up, the way Kim did when she was exasperated about something — which was usually him. “We’re on an airplane, Dad,” she said. “Where am I going to go?”
Quinn looked at Popeye, who was snoring soundly next to the window. Malleable wax plugs stuffed his ears. “Okay.” He smiled, mussing her hair. “I hear you. But do me a favor and lose the attitude.”
Mattie gave him a thumbs-up to go with her snaggle-toothed grin. “I hear you,” she said.
The seat belt sign came on with another porcelain chime. Captain Rob’s firm voice warned everyone of bumpy air.
Quinn looked up at the attendant, nodding to the light on the console above him. “Shouldn’t I…?”
She gave a slow shake of her head, the kind of shake a doctor uses when he’s telling someone their loved one didn’t make it out of surgery. “The captain knows I need to speak to you.”
Quinn flicked the latch on his seat belt and stood to follow the attendant down the aisle. Rather than stopping to talk when they reached the open area behind the bulkhead lavatories, she kept walking, moving with a purpose toward the galley and lounge area at far end of the aircraft below the curving stairwell that led to the upper deck. Carly didn’t just want to talk. She wanted to show him something.
The Airbus A380 was designed for long voyages of relative luxury, where passengers could get up and move around. As such, the aft section of the plane was furnished as a comfortable lounge, complete with mood lighting, a magazine rack, and leather couches along both sides of the airplane. A row of vending machines with everything from electronics to perfumes was situated at the rear bulkhead — in the event someone couldn’t do without a new iPhone or bottle of eau de toilette before they landed.
Carly turned abruptly when she reached the curved wall at the base of the stairwell. A thick velvet rope, maroon, like those used in theaters and banks, cordoned off the bottom step.
A second flight attendant with silver hair in an elegant updo had parked herself immediately around the corner with her back to the bulkhead. She faced the stairs, blue eyes locked forward, as if on a target. Quinn recognized someone standing guard when he saw her. He gave this new attendant a polite nod, which she returned mechanically, saying nothing.
Carly clasped her hands in front of her, bringing them up to her mouth, as if she meant to pray.
“I need to ask you something.” She spoke around her hands. “Are you a cop? Because you look like a cop, and you handle yourself like a cop. I’ve been doing this job for twelve years, and I think I can tell if someone’s a cop. You have one of those faces, you know?” She finally took a breath.
“I am,” Quinn sighed. “In a manner of speaking.”
“I knew it.” Carly chewed on her knuckle. Opal-pink nails dug into the back of her fists. She glanced at the other attendant. “I told you, didn’t I, Natalie?”
“Yes,” Natalie said, deadpan, eyes still aimed on the stairs. “You said he was a cop.” If she was impressed by Carly’s insight, she didn’t show it.
Before she could get to her point, a stern-eyed woman wearing lumpy black yoga pants that were several sizes too small pushed her way through the curtains at the bulkhead. She had a boy of four or five in tow and they were headed for the stairs.
Natalie perked up at the sound of her approach, turning to intercept her. “I’m sorry. The stairs are closed,” the attendant said. “And the captain has turned on the seat belt sign. I’m going to have to ask you to return—”
“I don’t feel any bumps.” The woman in yoga pants crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “And besides, how can the stairs be closed? It’s not like you can break a flight of stairs.”
“Ma’am,” Natalie said, through a tight smile. “Return to your seat.”
“Well.” The woman gave a sarcastic wag of her head as she spoke. “That is exactly what we are trying to do. My son wanted to look around your fancy airplane. We came this way so he could use the restroom.”
“You’ll have to use the front stairs,” Natalie said.
“I don’t see why—”
“Go the other way,” Quinn said. His voice was barbed with the pointed ambivalence of a man who’d ended people’s lives. He had never hurt a woman just for being rude, but Yoga Pants didn’t know that.
“This is going in my TripAdvisor review!” the woman said. “I can assure you of that.” She drew her son to her like a shield, thankfully, Quinn thought, covering the most offending portions of her yoga pants.
Once the woman had stomped away, Carly turned her attention back to Quinn. “See what I mean,” she said. “You sounded like you would have slammed her on the floor if she’d refused your order.”
“I should have slammed her because of those hideous tights,” Natalie said, still deadpan.
“Okay,” Quinn said. “Before someone else comes back and challenges any authority I don’t actually possess, tell me what is it you need.”
Carly let her hands fall to her sides. “You held that rolled motorcycle magazine like a club when you were boarding. And you handled your idiot seatmate like someone who’s used to tough situations.” Her eyes played up and down, studying him, as if she was still trying to convince herself she’d made the right decision. “And the way you interact with your daughter… I told the captain you were a man we could trust.” She lifted a beige handset off the rear bulkhead and extended it toward Quinn. “He wants to speak with you.”
Quinn sighed, taking the phone. This couldn’t be good.
Rob Szymanski’s voice came across the line. He didn’t sound nearly as upbeat as he did over the intercom. “Mr… Hackman, is it?” the captain said, using the name on Quinn’s passport.
“Yes, sir,” Quinn said.
“Carly thinks you’re some kind of police officer. Is she correct?”
“She is,” Quinn said. “Air Force OSI.” There was no point in lying. There was obviously something going on that made the crew think they needed someone with law enforcement experience.
“Very good,” the captain said. “An old ROTC buddy of mine is the OSI detachment commander in New York. Maybe you know him.”
“Dave Fullmer,” Quinn said. “He was one of my instructors at FLETC. He’s a good man.” FLETC was the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center.
“Yes, he is,” the captain said, apparently convinced now that Quinn was actually an OSI agent. “Listen, I’ll just cut to the chase. Carly brought you back there because we’ve had a murder on board.”
Quinn’s breath caught like a stone in his throat. He’d expected that they might want his help with an unruly passenger. “You mean an unattended death?”
“No,” the captain sighed. “Well, yes. SOP says I’m not allowed to open the cockpit door under these circumstances, but from the way they describe it to me, we’re pretty sure it’s a murder, throat cut, the whole nine—”
“Just a minute.” Quinn cut him off. “Do you have the killer in custody?”
“No, I—”
Quinn dropped the handset, letting it fall against its cord without another word. He shouldered his way past a dumbfounded Carly, and ran back up the aisle, scanning for threats as he went.
Mattie was too short to be visible over the back of her seat, but he sensed something was wrong when he was still five rows back. The guy with the Popeye chin was gone. Quinn picked up his pace, shoving aside errant knees and elbows as he rushed down the aisle. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to leave her alone.