“Of course the pilot could be on someone else’s payroll besides the charter service and covered up the trip, so I asked them to lend us their security video feeds. This is Beleen Air, flies out of Manassas Regional Airport, near the Dulles corridor. They have three white Robinson R66s in their fleet of nine helicopters. Unlike the others I’ve looked at, Beleen is really security-conscious—good quality recordings, and they keep the security videos for six weeks.
“I think we hit pay dirt, Dillon. We know the tail number on our Robinson was fake when it picked up Manta Ray and his buddies, and that means the pilot had to change it back again without anyone seeing him do it. So I’ve been comparing tail numbers from all their videos, morning to evening when all the helicopters were returned, hoping at some point to find a discrepancy. I think I’ve found it.”
Lucy panned a row of seven helicopters lined up on their helipads, zoomed in on one of the tail numbers—N43785X. “That was yesterday morning. Now look at what it was last night when it first landed back from a rental to”—she read from the copy of the flight manifest—“Leesburg, Virginia.” It took a moment to forward the video, but they saw the Robinson setting back down at 5:05 the previous evening, only its tail number was now N38257X. Lucy grinned up at Jack and Cam, now crowding in. “N38257X—that’s the tail number you guys saw yesterday at the national forest, right?”
Jack Cabot leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. “Indeed it is, at least the N382 part. Lucy, you’re brilliant.”
Lucy looked at him upside down, grinned. “Best not do that again, my husband might haul you off to the gym for a bit of friendly pounding.”
Cam laughed, leaned down, and kissed Lucy herself.
Savich said, “They either didn’t have time to change it, or they didn’t bother, since they were planning to use it again this morning and thought no one would notice. Lucy, is the helicopter there right now?”
Lucy punched up the current video, scanned. “Nope, it’s gone.”
Savich said, “Cam, you and Jack get out to Manassas Regional Airport and find out who’s been flying this particular helicopter and where he is now. And if you can, get passenger names, anything you can find out. Hair-on-fire time, people, things are finally coming together.”
His cell sang out Skyler’s “Punched Out.” The ID was blocked. He turned back to his office. “Savich.”
“Agent Savich, this is Eric Hainny. I’ve spoken to my son. He told me he’d been hypnotized this morning.”
“That’s right. And we found out quite a bit.” He waited to hear relief, perhaps a thank-you from Hainny.
But that didn’t happen. Hainny’s voice was controlled, but cold as an ice floe. “I allowed you to speak to my son even though I didn’t think anything would come from it. I did not authorize this complete invasion of his rights. You have exceeded your boundaries, Agent.”
Savich felt a punch of surprise. He said slowly, “I do not understand why you are angry, Mr. Hainny. Saxon realizes the truth of what happened to him now. He knows Mia Prevost was using him, that the man who paid her to use him, the man who murdered her, was there with them that night, looking down at Saxon sick and nearly unconscious on the bed after Mia drugged him. We have proved he did not kill Mia Prevost, perhaps not in a way admissible in court, but at least to him. I think Metro’s investigation will be focused where it should be by that hypnosis as well.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Hainny, Saxon is an adult who made his own decision. I came to you as a courtesy. You will have to explain your anger to me.”
Savich had to move his cell from his ear. “There was never any solid proof against Saxon in the first place! What he remembered is something I suspected all along, and if at some point he had to know, I could have told him in my own way. What you have done, Agent Savich, as a result of finding your so-called truth, is to destroy him. He’s out of his mind with grief, and now I fear for his sanity after what you did to help him. Did it occur to you his not knowing was better for his mental and emotional stability, better that he never find out the woman he loved was betraying him, using him? That is why I never pushed the idea with him because it was better to let him live with some happy memories, not risk destroying him with this ugliness.”
Savich said, “Mr. Hainny, your son could have been indicted. We saved him, and you, from not only a possible murder trial but a political scandal that could harm the president.”
“A trial? That wouldn’t have ever happened; there was no proof. He was safe, as well as the president.”
“Saxon wasn’t safe from his own doubts, from his own demons.” Savich paused a moment, then: “Saxon told me he couldn’t deal with not knowing, with the guilt that he might somehow be responsible for her murder. Now that he knows, Saxon has a chance to work through what happened to him. It will take time, but he will endure. He will heal, Mr. Hainny.”
Savich heard angry breathing, but Hainny said nothing. Well, that didn’t work.
“Mr. Hainny, Saxon gave his consent because he wanted the truth, if we could uncover it. Did he tell you he gave us an excellent description of the man who murdered Mia Prevost? He is distinctive-looking. We are looking for his features now in our criminal database. If we are not able to find him there, we have other avenues to pursue. I have no doubt we will find him. And then we will know why he did this to Saxon.”
“You’re dreaming, Agent Savich, trying to convince me and yourself that what you did will bring my son some benefit. After all, we’re not talking about your son, are we? What is Saxon to you? Merely a means to an end.
“You exceeded your boundaries, Agent Savich, and with the wrong man. I will inform the director about your callous, irresponsible behavior, and we will see how you deal with the consequences.” Hainny hung up on him.
Savich stared at his cell phone. He wished Sherlock was with him, but she was up to her earlobes in finding out all she could about B. B. Maddox. Then he heard her voice in his mind. Dillon, why is Eric Hainny so upset?
48
LAKE GINGER, MARYLAND
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
The afternoon was a humid scorcher, only a slight breeze off the lake to stir the maple leaves. Agent Ollie Hamish lowered the binoculars and handed them to Ruth. “I don’t see any movement of any kind, no vehicles near the house. It looks like no one’s home.”
Ruth looked through the binoculars at an old A-frame cabin near the water, its wood weathered to a muddy brown. There was one main floor and an upstairs loft that peaked sharply. Ivy billowed out of hanging baskets and crept up the sides of the cabin nearly to the windows. An ancient rocker stood on the narrow front porch, adding a bit of charm. The thick tree cover was cleared in a twelve-foot perimeter around the cabin and down to the water, and a twenty-foot rock path led from the front steps to the dock. The place was private, the closest neighbor a hundred yards away. Ruth wondered how much land the Bowlers had to own to keep it that way. She whispered, “It looks like an old painting, everything frozen in time.” Even the small winding lake was still, the water motionless, a flat gray, everything quiet in the heavy air. “Or like that cabin in the woods where Hansel and Gretel nearly came to a bad end.”
“Don’t make me think about ovens,” Ollie said. “It’s too hot.”
Ruth felt the sweat pooling beneath her shirt. She said more to herself than to Ollie as she scanned the lakeside with the binoculars, “He could have heard us, I suppose. He could be hiding behind the trees. Or under the bed. Or loading his gun to blow our heads off.”
“Or in the water hunkered under that boat dock, if he wants to be dramatic. Ruth, there’s no boat, so maybe he’s out on the water catching his dinner.”
“We don’t even know if he has a boat.” She lowered the binoculars. “There’s no reason for him to be afraid of us, Ollie. We’re here to save him.”
Ollie’s eyebrow went up. “Help save his skin, maybe. But he knows we’re going to throw his butt in jail.”