Chapter 8
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Kentucky
The Black Hawk’s rotors chopped air as it set down fifty yards from the Gulfstream. No parting words with the flight crew. Courtesy worked both ways. Some favors were better left unacknowledged.
Flint flashed the pilot a thumbs-up before he ducked low and ran. Drake stayed close behind. The helicopter lifted off the second they cleared the downdraft.
Drake headed straight for the Gulfstream. They had to get airborne before whoever deployed the tactical team decided to escalate.
The encrypted satellite phone in Flint’s jacket vibrated. He checked the display. Texas area code. Mount Warren.
Finally.
Flint walked toward the maintenance hangar. He found a quiet spot away from airport personnel and security cameras. The phone kept buzzing.
On the fourth ring, he answered. “This is Flint.”
“Sheriff Matt Milliken, Mount Warren Police Department. You left a message about an old case.”
“Thanks for calling back, Sheriff. I’m working on genealogy research. We’re seeking family connections in your area from the 1990s.” Flint delivered the cover story like it was gospel truth. “Marilyn Baker’s name came up in our database. We need to clarify some potential familial links.”
The ruse was solid. Genealogy research was booming. Police departments fielded calls from researchers all the time. Even small-town sheriffs like Milliken were approached by heir hunters and investigators regularly as more and better DNA techniques had been developed.
“Marilyn Baker.” Milliken repeated the name like he hadn’t heard it in years. Long pause. Decision made. “I remember the case. What kind of familial connections are you looking for?”
Flint heard the caution. Cops didn’t like private investigators poking around their cases. Even stone-cold ones.
“Our client is looking for family members. There’s a potential inheritance involved.” Flint chuckled. Friendly. Warming him up. “Where there’s a will, there’s a war, you know?”
“True that.” Milliken’s tone softened slightly.
“DNA matches suggest Ms. Baker, or someone related to her, is connected to our client. But her case file has gaps we can’t fill from public records.
” Flint sounded eager to share everything he knew.
Standard interrogation technique. Give to get.
“Background information, mostly. Who she was. What her life was like. Who might have known her well enough to provide family details. The murder investigation isn’t our focus.
Understanding her social connections helps us build the genealogy profile. ”
“I see,” Milliken replied. “Which firm did you say you’re working for?”
Cops were inherently skeptical, and Milliken was no exception.
Flint had anticipated the question. “Heritage Family Research in Dallas. We specialize in cases where official records are incomplete. Sometimes we need to broaden our scope.”
Heritage Family Research was a real business and large enough to handle this kind of work. Flint worked with them occasionally. If Milliken called to verify, he’d get the right answers.
Milliken didn’t mention he’d been first deputy on scene when Marilyn Baker’s body was found.
His first homicide case, but not the last. He’d spent twenty-four years as a deputy before his predecessor died on the job, which promoted Milliken to top cop.
Now, he’d served as Mount Warren’s sheriff for the past eight years.
The sheriff’s tone shifted. “That case has stayed with me. We never got the answers her family deserved.”
“I understand the murder remains unsolved.” Flint kept it simple. Let Milliken fill the silences.
“Officially, yes. We had a suspect. James Preston. Could never make the charges stick.” Milliken paused. “Preston was later convicted for killing another young woman in a different county. He was executed, but he denied killing Marilyn Baker and we can’t prove that he did.”
Flint already knew all about Preston, but he let Milliken tell it anyway. “So you believe Preston killed Ms. Baker?”
“Preston was our best lead. But I always had questions. Small town, limited resources. We probably focused on Preston as the obvious suspect more than we should have.”
Exactly what Flint hoped to find. A cop with a conscience who understood the limitations of the original investigation.
“What kind of questions were left open?”
Milliken went quiet. Flint covered one ear to reduce the airport noise. Trucks starting up. Distant whine of jet engines. Crews shouting over the racket.
“Flint, I’ll be honest with you. I’d like to see Marilyn Baker’s case properly resolved.
If your genealogy work can uncover information that might help, I’m game.
” Sheriff Milliken said. “You come to Mount Warren. We can sit down and go through what we know. I’ll share the case files.
Introduce you to people who knew Marilyn.
Maybe your fresh eyes will see something we missed. ”
Flint allowed a bit of enthusiasm to color his tone. “When would it be convenient for us to meet?”
“Next week should work. Call my desk clerk and set it up.”
“I appreciate that, Sheriff. Will do.”
“One more thing,” Milliken said sternly.
“Marilyn Baker was a good person. Devoted teacher. Devout Catholic. Loved by everyone who knew her. She deserved better than dying alone, face down in mucky canal runoff. If you can help us finally give her, her family, and our community justice, you’ll have my full cooperation. ”
“Understood. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” Flint ended the call and pocketed the phone. Exactly what he’d hoped. A lawman who wanted justice, even if it took years to get there.
Flint scanned the airport. No black SUVs. No tactical teams. That didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.
He made his way to the Gulfstream and climbed the jet stairs. He pulled the stairs up and sealed the door before taking the co-pilot seat and fastening his harness. “Any word from Gaspar about who tried to kill us?”
“He’s working on it. Preliminary guess is private military contractors, not government agents. Whoever hired them has serious money and connections.” Drake was completing the pre-flight checks, eager to get airborne before anything else went wrong.
“Gaspar say that?”
Drake shook his head. “Didn’t need to. It’s obvious.”
Flint nodded. “Right.”
Drake gave him a quick grin. “What’s the plan? Do we keep pushing on the Fisher case, or do we take a strategic pause to figure out who wants us dead today?”
Flint considered the options. Back at the Fisher home, the tactical team had been methodical but not lethal. They’d wanted information, not bodies.
Which meant the Fisher investigation was getting close.
But close to what?
“We keep pushing. Carefully. No more solo trips to interview witnesses. We assume everything we do is being monitored.”
“And if they escalate?”
“Then we push back. We didn’t survive three tours to be intimidated by corporate thugs.”
Flint’s thoughts shifted between the two investigations.
Fisher’s powerful enemies were willing to deploy fully equipped tactical teams, armed to kill. The Baker case offered a cooperative sheriff carrying thirty-two years of frustration.
Two cases involving official investigations that had missed the truth. Two families who deserved answers.
Both were equally important to him right now although one case was strictly business and the other was personal to Flint.
The Gulfstream’s engines spooled up. Through the windshield, Flint saw the Kentucky hills where they’d nearly been killed an hour ago.
The aircraft lifted off and banked south toward Houston. Flint began planning his next moves.
The Fisher investigation would continue to take the front row seat.
But he’d be returning to Mount Warren sooner than he’d told Sheriff Milliken.
Much sooner.