Flying Too Close to the Sun Read online

  David began to protest, but realized it was fruitless. Quickly deciding on a new approach he tried sucking up by informing the cops Christina had recently been diagnosed with epilepsy. “If anyone found out it meant the end of her career.” David wouldn’t mention the strange shipments out of fear he might somehow be implicated in whatever happened, or the baggage heists, meaning additional, big trouble.

  “We already know that.”

  “How did you..? Can I at least get dressed?” he begged, sounding like he might break down and cry. Morganthaler removed the cuffs and guarded him closely while his request was honored. Once dressed in jeans and tee the cuffs went back on, even tighter. They drove both he and the young lady to the nearest NYPD precinct where David was booked and held, pending a bail hearing. Mary O’Rourke was released into her parents’ custody after they confirmed that she had run away and was fifteen years old.

  At David’s court arraignment later that morning the magistrate set bail at one hundred thousand dollars on each of the two counts. His court-appointed attorney stated that he couldn’t come up with that amount so he was remanded to Riker’s Island. To the cops, no bail money meant he also probably had no involvement in the heist.

  Leaving the courtroom, Morganthaler smiled for the first time in a long while. “At least that reprobate is off the streets.”

  A cheery Daly suggested, “Let’s give him one more for the road.” He called David’s boss, informed him of the pending charges and that he was being held at Riker’s. The supervisor stated he would immediately be placed on unpaid leave pending the outcome. If convicted on any count or if he accepted a plea bargain, he would be terminated.

  . . .

  That part was easy, but the distinct whodunit smell remained, gnawing away at both cops. “What about Preis?” Morganthaler ruminated as they headed to their car.

  “What about him?”

  “The T and L sheets keep pointing to the flight. It’s the perfect connection, except so far it isn’t. But, I just can’t dismiss it completely. I wanna leave him on the suspect list even though the taps on his home phone haven’t turned up anything and although from what we know it would have been virtually impossible for him to carry it out alone. If he somehow arranged the heist without the other pilots’ knowledge maybe he’ll show his hand now? I’d also like to keep monitoring all his financial transactions until someone upstairs tells us otherwise. Not having a solid lead is making this very frustrating.”

  “I agree. It’s like we’re running in a blind alley marathon. Go ahead with Preis,” an apathetic Daly informed him.

  . . .

  As the initial shock of Christina’s death gave way to guilt, it ripped at Juni’s gut like a searing blade. Recalling she had a young son living somewhere in Florida, although funds were extremely short he would get the kid’s address and somehow send some money. Although he’d returned to East Boston and attended a number of softball games, it turned out there wasn’t even a team called the Marauders. He also tried contacting Joey Martino, but his calls went unanswered. There wasn’t even a recording on the other end. Juni thought maybe Martino skipped town with their dough since the trail ended so abruptly. He quickly learned, however, that Joey had died from a massive coronary, leaving his old lady penniless. Who the hell had their money?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The money in Erik’s trunk was like an overwrought spouse constantly yakking at him and he was totally paranoid, driving a circuitous route, constantly checking his rearview mirror and quickly changing lanes to determine if he was being followed, but saw nothing. His part of this game had been played out and thus far he had won, but with far less grace than he would have liked. These emotions competed with even more depressing thoughts of Christina. While driving past Jersey City on Route 3 he spotted a deserted road off to the left and quickly pulled onto it, sped past a dilapidated wooden wharf protruding into the filthy waters of some unnamed river tributary and jammed on the brakes. There was no company here except for the hulks of derelict cars bleeding rust, unpainted vacant buildings and light brown swamp weeds swaying in unison with the wind. The sewer seemingly drained here, with the soil tainted like the money. His gas tank might be full, but his adrenaline tank read empty, so he got out and opened the trunk. While inspecting his cargo, he pondered tossing the bags into the filthy water. Would his icicles of misery also ebb away? That answer was, no, so instead he needed to plumb the past to bring the future into clearer focus, meaning coming clean with Carol. They would then decide how to spend it. He slammed the trunk closed and sped back onto the highway.

  As he fought the narrow lanes of the Goethals Bridge, the weather changed. The windshield wipers brushed away the intermittent rain and New Jersey with its belching smokestacks. Back in New York he almost felt whole again, but was still burdened by the wave of sorrow passing through him like a powerful X-ray. They would no doubt bury Christina in her home town in Florida. Bury; such a final word for someone who was so young and full of life. He pictured the line of mourners at her graveside, no doubt led by her son. Attempting to soften these thoughts he purchased a single red rose from a roadside vendor and detoured under what felt like a cold and friendless sky to her place. As he rolled to a halt, the billowing curtains of the now-lifeless shell she had called home waved in the air, seemingly beckoning him to enter. But the sense of death in attendance ruled that out. He ducked under the yellow tape and inserted the rose into the screen, simultaneously almost feeling her torment invading every inch behind it. Time passes quickly and Erik would atone for what he had already wasted. Silent thoughts rolled off his lips and tears from his eyes flowed as a closing goodbye. There was no room in his conscience for Christina’s death as it was already crowded enough. How long would it be before a For Rent sign went up and a new saga began?

  He forced himself to become all business and drove a circuitous route to his apartment, again checking for a tail. After ensuring there was no police stakeout, he dragged the duffels into the clammy basement. He opened a small door, pushed the cobwebs away with his hands and locked the duffel bags in the dark recesses of this unlighted and unventilated closet like the guilty secret they were. No one wanting to breathe fresh air would even go near it. He next phoned Carol, asking in what he hoped sounded like good spirits. “How about we have dinner tonight?” No reply. “At Chez Nous?”

  “Can we afford it? The owner will probably charge us this time and that money could be better spent.”

  “We’ll worry about that later. There’s something more important...oh never mind. Be ready at seven.” After hanging up he called and reserved a table for eight o’clock. Erik showered and dressed in a white shirt, black striped tie and charcoal-colored sports jacket and drove to Carol’s. She was captivating in her short, size-six green satin dress, replete with white scarf and mesh stockings. As he pulled her close and they kissed, her clean hair still smelling of shampoo, tickled his nose.

  Although Erik looked more handsome than ever, with eyes that resembled green ice, she sensed a foreboding. “Are you all right?”

  “I guess?”

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  He didn’t answer, just shrugging his shoulders. He was trying to hide the inner feelings of guilt and didn’t want to think of her with regret on sleepless nights, all alone, but did want the life together with her that he never had. He’d come clean and beg for understanding.

  . . .

  Except for the radio they drove in silence, which heightened the tension. Forty-five minutes later they were seated in the same enchanted setting with the glitter of crystal on stark white cloth. Despite the ambiance Erik found himself awash in black feelings. Even the maitre d’ in his black tux more resembled a priest conducting a funeral when he recommended the rack of lamb and pommes frites. The
circuits from Erik’s brain to his taste buds were so out of whack the man could have been recommending a burger and fries to go with the inexpensive bottle of Merlot he ordered. Once it was poured he viewed Carol through the red mist while holding the wineglass in front of his face without a hint of a smile. He had only sins to confess. How would she react? What roadmap would his life now follow? Could he crawl from the abyss he’d created?

  “You look like something is wrenching at your gut. What’s wrong?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

  The time had arrived. His heart thrashed around inside his chest like it was trying to escape his body. The words were inside him, and like a noisy jet, had to be heard. He inhaled deeply. “Remember the missing money I told you about?” No response. His throat burned like someone had poured gasoline down it and struck a match. This wasn’t easy because it entailed inviting someone else into a private place where the past could not be used as a building block of the future. “Well, I was involved in the theft of it.” The words came out barely audible. Why was he telling her this? She was hurting. He could tell. “It wasn’t only me,” he immediately added, “Captain Shepard and another guy...”

  Carol still didn’t grasp the full implications of what was spoken, other than the obvious. “That woman,” she hissed through tightly clenched teeth, “the one who had her arm around you.”

  He held up his hand. “She’s dead.”

  “She’s dead? Murdered?” She almost choked on her napkin.

  “No. She had a seizure and died.”

  Forcing her repertoire of questions into temporary storage, the softness in her eyes melted away and darkness crept into the edges of Carol’s vision as the implications of what was spoken hit home. “Tell me the rest.”

  “You have to believe I wasn’t involved with her. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. I believe you only run into someone who’s a perfect fit once and then you do whatever it takes to hold on. Now you own a part of my soul. There’s no way to describe how I felt when you and your family welcomed me, especially after all the time I spent trying to get away from mine. You’re the light that led me out of a bleak tunnel.” He considered telling her why his father dealt with him the way he did but again, decided against it for now. The one secret he was about to reveal was enough.

  “Why’d you get involved?”

  “I didn’t ask to.” Awkward silence bobbed on the surface. He could tell she was hurting, so he took her hand in his. But it felt like she had just removed it from the freezer and she pulled away. “Taking the money was her idea. I swear. I was terrified of being caught and losing you, but was in a no-win situation.”

  “Jesus, Erik. Just explain,” anger pushing away her fear.

  “The money issue was paramount. Until your Dad came through I was gonna lose my job. Then, I screwed up during the Boston emergency and she noticed. It wasn’t serious, but could’ve been. And she could’ve made my life hell and said if the chief pilot knew he might fire me. If that happened, I’d owe even more money to Shuttle Air for my training. Either way, I was stripped down, nerves exposed and afraid of falling into a bottomless pit.” His moss-green eyes filled with pain. “I had to hold onto my job. Then, she brought in this guy Juni...”

  “Who?”

  “She needed another person for this scheme to work and she met this guy, Juni Rosario through her boyfriend. He’s his uncle. Juni needed money to keep his family-run bakery afloat. She believed he’d bring the know-how that we lacked. In short, he removed money that was aboard our plane, in the cargo hold. Our only part was to create a minor mechanical diversion for a couple of minutes on a foggy Boston taxiway with a contrived problem. That gave him enough time to remove the cash.”

  “Why did she do it, greed?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure. She told me about paying lots in alimony and child support, but apparently she also had epilepsy. If the FAA finds out about that, you can’t fly. She probably needed money ‘cause of that.”

  “Why didn’t you report this to your boss or the cops?”

  “I considered doing that, but decided not to. First, I’d still owe the money. That wasn’t going away, meaning my job remained on the line. Of course, she’d have denied it all. Who do you think they’d believe, and if they wanted to set up a sting, I didn’t know if I could play out my role knowing the cops were watching. I’m a pilot not an actor. Also, her boyfriend is this big guy, David a baggage handler at the airline who looks like he takes steroids and he might’ve come after me.” He stopped, sipped some water and continued. “Also, the idea of being labeled a turncoat didn’t sit well. The other pilots would shun me when word got out, so I didn’t know if I could continue at Shuttle Air.” He stopped to gauge her reaction, expecting to see tears brimming up. But she seemed as composed as a seasoned captain conducting an instrument approach. “Her plan almost worked. The first part did. Juni got the money, over two million, but then someone hit him over the head and took it.”

  “Two million?” she whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Hit him? Took it?”

  “That was his story and I also had doubts.” Erik paused and sipped more water to moisten his throat, which now felt as though he had been eating volcanic dust at thirty-three thousand feet. “But I knew it was true when I saw his injuries. I kept mulling it all over and over but couldn’t figure out what happened.”

  “You mentioned this guy Juni and Shepard,” she interrupted, trying to put the pieces together. “Anyone else involved? What about the copilot?”

  “We agreed that we didn’t need him. It would be only the three of us. But the copilot, Woody Montgomery turned out to be the guilty party. An accomplice of his hit Juni, in the process laying all the suspicion at our feet. Montgomery’s a former Air Force maintenance officer who oversaw repairs on lots of Boeing-built jets. He probably became suspicious why Shepard and I were speaking in the cockpit. So, he got a hold of the voice recorder that had our entire discussion on it.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Erik filled her in on all the details.

  “What about the money?” she asked still wearing outward sorrow.

  “I went to Montgomery’s house and saw the guy who hit Juni. After he left, I rang the bell, told Montgomery and his wife, who was also in on it that I knew what happened and demanded the cash. I made up a story, told them if they didn’t cough it up Juni would come after their family. They delivered it this morning. Right now the money’s locked up in a musty closet in my apartment basement.” He waited a moment. “I’m sorry I lied,” he pleaded, heart still pounding, “and kept this from you. But I didn’t know how to tell you or how you’d react.” His stomach clenched. “Prior to meeting you I never came close to knowing the true meaning of the words love or trust. I figured strutting around in my uniform and flying a big jet would fill the terrible void previously known as my life, deliver all the needed happiness. But that myth died and for the very first time you released an undefined inner peace. Prior to that I was just passing time, living in the hell my parents created. It was like I was waiting for you to spring me from my prison on Violet Lane, which should have been more appropriately named Violent Lane. But now it’s our turn to live, together. All I ask is that you try to understand my position.” Sensing they were at the crucial point where their relationship would go from darkness to hope or in the other direction, for emphasis he made a fist and placed it in her hand. This time she didn’t pull away.

  “Then tell me, what exactly do you want from me?” She asked. Although still appearing as delicate as a newly-blossomed flower he sensed an invisible aura of inner strength in her more akin to a power lifter with total confidence. She appeared cool, but Erik wasn’t. His palms were like sponges and he rubbed each alternately on the knees of his
trousers in a futile attempt to dry them, all the while keeping one hand in hers. When she looked at him, splinters of hope began to bloom. He saw a donut where others saw a hole.

  Staring into the eyes she had come to love, she told him, “Look, you might not realize it, but we’re at a crucial juncture between the rapidly closing jaws of your past and the still open door of what I believed was our promising future. Your secrecy’s creating a knife of conflicting emotions that’s slicing at me. Love is like exercising, the more you work at it the larger it becomes, meaning continually working on the trust and honesty drills.” She knew he carried a lot of pain inside and whispered, “Maybe I can understand why you did this? But, the time for trying to understand is like your captain friend, gone and never to return.”

  He began to speak, but before he could utter a word she held up her hand. “The brave had his say. Now it’s time for the squaw to come out of the teepee, so please shut up. I’m very unhappy you kept this from me. But I’m also in love with you, rough edges and all, meaning we share everything.” Her expression seemed to soften across her flawless face. “This is no one-way relationship. You were also an answer to my prayers when you literally flew into my life. There’s something special about you that caused everything to change when I committed myself to what we could become. That’s the awesome power of love and it includes honesty and loyalty. I want us to grow so we can live the chapters of our new lives together, one by one. I need your presence, your voice, your love—you.” She shook her head. “To be honest, you’ve changed from my shining knight into a more human one with slightly-tarnished armor. But you’re still my hero ‘cause I know how much you wanted to be successful and worked your butt off to achieve your castle in the sky.” She hesitated. “But that’s enough on this. Nothing positive can come from rehashing it anymore; enough Erik flagellation. We’ve got to move on because the past is like a club and if you keep hitting yourself with it you’ll do permanent brain damage. We can’t keep looking back hoping that somehow the past will change.” The lines in her face disappeared, as though just injected with Botox. “But, we’re still dealing with a colossal unknown.”