“Wonderful!”
They ended the connection and Gracie began the task of pulling up the right cases on the computer, finishing an hour faster than she’d expected.
She checked the firm’s carefully guarded listing of all the home addresses and phone numbers of the state and federal judges and found Judge Chasen’s listing, her hand hesitating over the dial pad as she went over what she was going to say.
A woman answered the Chasen phone and Gracie introduced herself, giving the name of the firm.
“I apologize for bothering you, but I need to come to your home and file some court papers with the judge.”
There was a sigh on the other end and a chuckle. “Let me get him. Hold on.”
The receiver clanked on a table and several minutes went by before a gruff, familiar voice came on the line.
“This is Judge Chasen.”
“Your Honor, Gracie O’Brien. I apologize for the necessity of this call, but there have been dramatic new developments in the case I’m handling regarding the crash of that private aircraft in Alaska last Monday.”
“What, exactly, are ‘dramatic developments,’ Counselor?”
“The TRO you granted, Your Honor, concerned a confiscated private videotape of the aircraft wreckage. That tape was taken away. Now the wreckage has also been seized by the government without notice, without process, and without assurance that it will not be altered or tampered with.”
“As I recall, this had to do with a Federal Aviation Administration license suspension, correct?”
“License revocation, Judge. Vastly more serious and damaging, but the evidence that will clear the plaintiff is in that wreckage, and this… unwarranted seizing of the evidence is, well, tantamount to obstruction of justice.”
“Wait a second here. Are you alleging a criminal violation by some government entity?”
“At the moment, Your Honor, I need to come file a petition with you for a new TRO, restraining whichever branch of the U.S. government has damaged, moved, or otherwise imperiled the evidenciary value of that wreckage, and to request a court order essentially arresting the wreckage and requiring it to be delivered to the court’s jurisdiction for inspection by us. I have a separate action against the FAA to file as well.”
There was a chuckle on the other end, and a sigh. “So you want me to arrest the airplane and the FAA?”
“That would be a nice start, Your Honor.”
“You have my address?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Be here in one hour and I’ll look at it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank me then, Counselor. Not now. I haven’t seen your pleadings yet.”
FORTY
SATURDAY, DAY 6 VALDEZ, ALASKA 3:42 P.M.
Jim Dobler’s coastal tug was closing on the Valdez dock when Scott McDermott’s Widgeon appeared overhead, maneuvering for a landing. They tied up almost simultaneously, Scott shaking his head as he alighted from the nose hatch after securing the lines.
“No ships in any direction?” April asked.
“Quite a few, actually,” he replied. “But none of them were candidates for carrying the wreckage. Whoever snatched it is probably already in port and the wreckage has been removed somewhere.”
“Can you fly me to Anchorage?” April asked.
“When?”
“Now.”
She explained the unexpected phone call from a man named Ben Cole, and the reservation she was holding on an evening flight back to Seattle.
“You’re… heading back?”
“Yes, why?” she asked, momentarily puzzled at his startled reaction.
Scott recovered and shrugged. “No reason. Just a lot happening.”
“Scott?” she probed, watching him carefully. “What are you thinking? Am I missing something?”
He laughed and tried to wave her away. “No! No, nothing.”
“Okay.”
“And yes, we can get started as soon as Jim puts some fuel in my aerospace vehicle.”
“The Widgeon is an aerospace vehicle?”
“Well, a bit on the suborbital side. Real low orbit.”
“I would think.”
He turned away, then turned back. “You… planning on coming back up sometime soon?”
“To Anchorage, you mean?”
“Wherever. Alaska.”
“Why?” April asked, suddenly understanding the uncharacteristic shyness she was misinterpreting.
“Well, you owe me a date, Miss Rosen.”
“I do?”
“I got you off that lake alive. That was the deal. And I’d like you to wear a tiny black leather miniskirt.”
“You don’t get to pick what I wear, Scott. Good grief!”
“Well, at least you’ll go out with me.”
“We’re here together right now. Can’t we consider this the date?” she asked. “After all, I just kinda spent the night with you last night.”
“Yeah, with me as your hired help. I wasn’t the dater, so it doesn’t count.”
“Dater?”
“Yes. I’m the dater, and you’re the datee.”
“Now, that’s romantic,” she said.
Jim Dobler had turned with a fuel hose in his hand headed for the Widgeon. “Did I miss something, kids?”
April inclined her head toward Scott. “How long have you known this horn dog?”
“Too long.”
“He always been like this?”
Jim chuckled. “We used to lock up our daughters and wives when he’d come to town.”
“I thought so,” April said, turning and putting a finger gently on Scott’s chest. “Get me to Anchorage, please, and we’ll arrange something next time I’m up here or you’re down there.”
“Great. By the way, a low-cut see-through blouse works really well with the miniskirt.”
“Scott! Enough?”
He winked at Jim as he turned to help him with the fueling, leaving April to her cell phone and the task of arranging the meeting in Anchorage.
The sun was on the horizon by the time the Widgeon soared over the top of the Regal Alaskan Hotel and settled smoothly onto Lake Spenard. Scott backtracked to the hotel dock and helped April out with her overnight bag and purse, then pulled himself up to the dock to stand awkwardly for a second trying to decide how to say goodbye. She suppressed a smile as she watched the process, and kept a neutral expression when he finally extended his hand to shake hers.
Instead she stepped forward and hugged him, pulling back with a smile and looking in his eyes.
“I really appreciate everything, Scott, and if that check doesn’t cover your fees, I’ll send you the difference.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“But I thank you for going above and beyond.”
She kissed him, quickly and suddenly, pulling away before he could reciprocate.
“And we’ll go on that date.”
She slung her bag onto her shoulder and waved as she found her way into the hotel and onto the front drive. April pulled the information out of her purse, matching the description of the car she was looking for with the one sitting near the entrance to the hotel and making sure the license number was the same. She walked quickly to the passenger side and got in, offering her hand to the driver, while she kept the door ajar.
“Hi. I’m April. And you’re Ben Cole?”
“Ah… yes,” Ben said with a startled expression. “I’m sorry… I didn’t see you coming until the door opened.”
“You wanted to be circumspect, and I want to be safe,” she said, her right hand firmly on the door handle. “So please don’t be insulted, but I’d like to see some identification.”
He began fishing for his wallet.
“I’m… with a company called Uniwave Industries, Ms. Rosen.” He pulled his ID badge from his shirt pocket, and then handed over his driver’s license, waiting until she handed them back. April closed the door then and nodded.