Chapter 26
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Houston, Texas
Michael Flint turned on the background music with frequency interference to confound listening devices and stood at the front window of his cozy bungalow in Houston. The room was bathed in the blue glow from the cable box.
He imagined the morning traffic crawl along the freeway in the distance, red brake lights bleeding together in the gray dawn haze.
The coffee had gone cold an hour ago, but he hadn’t noticed.
His mind was working through the implications of what they’d learned about the Fisher home fire and Frankie Tantanella.
Drake emerged from the kitchen with a fresh cup of java, steam rising from the dark liquid. “You’ve been staring out that window long enough. Something interesting happening out there?”
“Just mulling through the facts. Tantanella helped Lizzy and the kids escape the fire and found them again in Ravenswood.” Flint turned away from the glass.
“But how the hell does a local Kentucky teenager track down a woman and three kids who are hiding under new identities? Lizzy didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address. ”
“Good point. That’s not easy to do, even now. Back then?” Drake shook his head. “Would have taken serious resources or connections.”
“Right. So either Tantanella had help we don’t know about, or the reunion wasn’t as coincidental as it seemed to the people who knew Lizzy.” Flint reached for his laptop. “But after Lizzy died, the kids went into the Illinois foster system. That’s where we lost the trail.”
“Right. Which is why Jason’s lawyers are working the court angle.”
“Yes, but that could take months or years, if it works at all.” Flint opened his secure connection. “We need a faster approach.”
Drake settled into a chair across from Flint. “What are you thinking?”
“Patel said Lizzy was increasingly anxious and frightened in her final days. She was looking over her shoulder, asking if anyone had been inquiring about her.” Flint started dialing. “She was scared.”
“You think someone was hunting her?”
“I think someone was getting close to finding her and the kids. And if Lizzy knew she was in danger, she might have made contingency plans.”
“That could have been a simple backup.” Drake leaned forward, nodding with approval. “Someone she trusted to take them if something happened to her.”
“And in a small town like Ravenswood, where she didn’t know many people.” Flint continued dialing. “Tom Wilson drove the same bus route every day. Lizzy would have been a regular passenger. Friendly woman, attractive, troubled. Wilson would have talked to her.”
“You think she confided in the bus driver?” Drake asked.
“I think when you’re scared and alone with three kids to protect, you talk to anyone who’ll listen,” Flint replied. “Even the bus driver.”
Gaspar’s familiar face appeared on the laptop screen surrounded by the blue glow of multiple monitors in his home office in Miami.
“Morning,” Gaspar said. “What do you need?”
Drake grinned. “Is that how you always greet your callers?”
“The ones like you two who only call when they need something? You bet,” Gaspar replied.
“Guilty as charged. We need intel on a guy,” Flint said, unwilling to waste more time. “Thomas Murphy. Now lives in Tampa, Florida. Used to be Tom Wilson, bus driver in Ravenswood, Illinois until he retired.”
“Got it.” Gaspar’s fingers moved across his keyboard. “What am I looking for?”
“Current address. Employment. Basic background,” Flint said.
The silence stretched while Gaspar worked the keyboards. Flint could hear the soft clicking noises through the connection.
“Here we go,” Gaspar said after a couple of minutes. “Thomas Murphy, age sixty-two. Lives at 4847 Davis Boulevard, Tampa.”
“Current status?”
“Still confirming,” Gaspar said shaking his head while he scrolled through files. “Actually, Murphy died four years ago.”
Flint leaned forward. “How?”
“Skydiving accident. Equipment failure during a training jump.”
Drake raised his eyebrows. “The bus driver became a skydiving instructor?”
“Looks that way. He owned Murphy’s Sky Adventures for about fifteen years.
” Gaspar continued reading as he scanned the contents.
“Routine training jump with a student. Murphy’s main chute failed to deploy properly.
Reserve chute also malfunctioned. Student landed safely, reported the instructor’s death to authorities. ”
Flint said, “Name of the student?”
“Good question,” Gaspar replied with a grimace. “He paid in cash. His ID was fake. He was never located for follow-up investigation.”
Flint and Drake exchanged glances. Amateur students didn’t pay cash or use fake names.
“Anything else unusual about Murphy’s death?” Flint asked.
“Investigation was brief but thorough. Single fatality, experienced instructor, equipment failure. No obvious signs of sabotage.” Gaspar scrolled through files. “Murphy was cremated three days later. Case closed within the week.”
“Who inherited his business?” Flint asked.
“Wife, Helen Murphy. Still lives at the same address on Davis Boulevard.”
Drake said, “So the only witness to Lizzy Pace’s death also ended up dead in what looked like a murder disguised as an accident. That’s how we think this went down?”
“Sounds like it. Gaspar, send us what you have on Murphy’s death,” Flint said. “We’re heading to Tampa. We’ll talk to the widow and let you know if we need more.”
“Copy that.” Gaspar paused. “You think Wilson was killed by a hired assassin?”
“Bus drivers don’t usually end up dead in suspicious accidents years later,” Flint replied. “It’s a reasonably safe guess that someone wanted him silenced and had the wherewithal to make it happen.”
“Why?” Drake asked. “Wilson lived about fifteen years after Lizzy’s fatal accident. Why kill Wilson now?”
“My guess is that Lizzy told him people were hunting her back then and her plans for the children if something happened to her,” Flint said. “Could have been more than enough to get Wilson killed, too.”
Drake stood up and stretched. “So we’re going to Tampa.”
Flint closed the laptop. “How fast can you get the jet ready?”
“Hour and a half if I push it. Weather’s good between here and Florida.” Drake was already pulling out his phone to call the hangar. “Peter O. Knight Airport on Davis Island should work for landing. It’s close to the residential areas.”
While Drake requested the jet and coordinated the flight, Flint gathered his gear and considered what they might find in Tampa. If Wilson had been eliminated four years ago, whoever ordered his death might still be monitoring for inquiries about him.
A visit to Wilson’s widow could draw attention they didn’t want.
But Helen was their only lead to whatever her husband knew about Lizzy.
As his friend Kim Otto often said, when there’s only one choice, it’s the right choice.