Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

CHAPTER 31

  PLANE RIDE

  Rebekah barely talked to me for several days. Even after Paula called her and took the blame for what had happened, she still hadn't warmed up at all. I didn't blame her considering the media attention and the humiliation she must have felt. My black eye was a constant reminder of what had happened and, unfortunately, it would take weeks to heal, so the tension in the house wasn't likely to let up anytime soon.

   It was late one night about a week after my encounter with Alex and I was expecting a call from Jodie. She had been in Mineral Wells all day trying to make a connection with Carl Brooks. She had promised to call me just as soon as she got back to Dallas. It was after 9:30 p.m. and I was worried that I hadn't heard from her.

  Earlier in the week I'd received the background check on Robert Swanson from Paul Thayer. Paul was embarrassed about having let Alex infiltrate his organization. He promised to do a thorough investigation to see how it happened and make appropriate changes to make sure it never happened again. He promised to make it all up to me somehow. I told him I was going to hold him to that.

  The report on Robert Swanson showed he had an interest in twenty-six businesses in Weatherford, Mineral Wells, Palo Pinto, and Possum Kingdom Lake. The thought occurred to me that he had a lot to gain by the influx of tourists into the North Texas Hill Country. Not only had his exclusive Brazos Country Resort at the lake been sold out every night since Steven Caldwell reported seeing an alien spacecraft, but all the motels, restaurants, and gift shops in Palo Pinto, Graham, and Mineral Wells were packed as well. Swanson was clearly cashing in on all the media attention from the trial and the sightings.

  Jodie's call finally came in at 10:15 p.m. Rebekah had already gone to bed without talking to me. I picked up the phone quickly so it wouldn't wake her up. Jodie apologized for calling so late.

  "Don't worry about it. So, tell me what happened," I asked.

  "Well, I hung around the Stockade Stampede for a long time waiting for Brooks to show up. He finally came in about 3:00 p.m. I didn't want to be too obvious, so I didn't approach him immediately. I watched him and when he looked over my way, I smiled like he was my best friend. After about the third smile, he came over."

  "So, what was your impression of him?" I asked.

  "He seemed to be a nice guy—kind of laid back"

  "So, did you get him to talk?"

  "Yes. Once he got going, he wouldn't shut up. He talked for a while about the Cowboys, the weather—you name it. I didn't want to make him suspicious, so I didn't come on too strong. I just listened. He bought me a couple drinks and then I casually asked him about his business. He told me he worked as a finance manager for Western Chevrolet in Weatherford. I think it's the one Swanson owns."

  "Right."

  "Anyway, he eventually mentioned he was also a pilot. He talked about the Confederate Air Force and flying the P-38. He said his father had flown that plane in World War II. I asked him if he'd flown it lately and he said he had. He didn't mention anything about crashing it."

  "So, did you find out where it was being stored?"

  "No, but I'll know on Saturday."

  "How's that?" I asked.

  "He's going to take me up in it."

  "You're kidding! So, it didn't crash! That's fabulous. Nice work."

  "Well, I wanted to impress my boss."

  "He's impressed, believe me. I'll want to be close by when you take up the plane. Maybe when you two are up in the air, I'll be able to take a look around the hangar. No telling what I'll find."

  "Sounds like a good plan. He's going to call me Friday night and tell me where to meet him. I'll call you then."

  After I had hung up the telephone, Rebekah walked in and sat down.

  "Did I wake you?" I asked. "I'm sorry."

  "No, I couldn't sleep. Who were you talking to?"

  I told her about Jodie's assignment and what she had just told me.

  "Are you coming to bed?" she asked.

  This was the most she had talked to me in a week, so I was greatly relieved. "Yes, I'm tired. It's been a long day." She got up and I followed her to the bedroom. As she walked through the bedroom door, she turned and embraced me.

  We kissed for a long time, then she pulled away and looked me in the eyes. "Don't ever lie to me again. And don't try to protect me. I'd rather know what's happening, no matter how horrible it might be. That's all part of marriage."

  I nodded. "I know. It was stupid, but—"

  She put her finger over my lips. "No buts."

  On Friday Jodie called me and said she got a call from Brooks. He told her to meet him at the Dairy Queen in Grafford, a little town about half way between Mineral Wells and Possum Kingdom Lake at 9:30 a.m. the next morning. I called Paul Thayer and he arranged for a photographer to come out with me to film the flight and take some pictures inside the hangar. He said he'd do some checking and see what airfields there were around Grafford and find out who owned them.

  On Saturday morning Paul, the photographer, and I waited at a coffee shop across the street from the Dairy Queen where Jodie was to meet Brooks. Paul had found three landing strips in the vicinity of Grafford and had the details on each. At 9:30 a.m. a red Ford pickup pulled into the Dairy Queen lot. Jodie was standing next to her car when Brooks pulled up. She got in and they drove east out of town. We followed some ways back to avoid detection. About three miles out of town Brooks turned down a dirt road.

  "Shit!" I said. "We can't follow him on a dirt road. He'll notice all the dust and debris we'd be kicking up."

  Paul looked at his notebook and said, "You can hold back. I know where he's going."

  We pulled over for a moment and Paul told me about the landing strip Brooks was headed for. It was a small strip used by several independent oil companies that operated in the area. One of the companies was owned by none other than Robert Swanson. After waiting for Brooks to be out of sight, we continued down the dusty road. After awhile, we saw a large hangar and several buildings in the distance. We parked out of sight and surveyed the situation.

  Brooks' truck was parked outside the hangar next to a silver Corvette, but we didn't see any other cars or persons around. In the distance we heard the sound of an engine turning over. Paul told his photographer to get his camera ready. After a minute the big P-38 came lumbering out of the hangar and taxied to the runway. We watched it take off and then made our way to the hangar. Inside a few small planes were parked and one World War II fighter. I went over to where I figured the P-38 had been parked earlier and looked around while the photographer panned the interior of the building. Paul stood guard at the door just in case someone came by or the P-38 returned.

  Several rolls of canvas were stacked along the hangar wall. After close inspection I determined that they were banners that small planes sometimes drag behind them for advertising. I thought back to sitting in Texas Stadium and seeing planes fly by with signs advertising the local strip clubs, or a desperate man's proposal of marriage to a girlfriend sitting next to him in the stands. I wondered if ever a young lady had turned down such a public proposal. That would be embarrassing.

  There were cans of paint as well that looked like they'd recently been opened. It looked to me like the P-38 had been painted recently. As I was trying to understand what I was seeing, Paul yelled. "They're coming back!"

  The photographer and I immediately ran over to where Paul was standing. We could see the P-38 in the distance turning to make its final approach. We dashed across the parking lot to our car which was hidden behind some trees.

  "Do you think they saw us?" the photographer asked.

  "No," Paul said. "They were too far away. I think we're okay."

  We watched the P-38 land and taxi back into the hangar. There was talking and laughter. Apparently Jodie was putting on a good act. After a minute the hangar door closed and Jodie and two men emerged from a side door. I recognized the second man as Adam Peterson. He drove off in the Corvette and Brooks and Jodie got
in his pickup. They drove off and after awhile we headed back to town. When we got there, Jodie's car was still parked at the Dairy Queen. Now I was worried.

  "I wonder where they went," I asked.

  "Well, Brooks probably took her to lunch," Paul said. "You didn't think he'd take her up in his plane and not expect her to spend some time with him, did you?"

  "No, I guess you're right. I just hope he doesn't suspect anything. I'd die if Jodie got hurt."

  "From what I've seen of Jodie, she can take care of herself."

  I sighed. "I know, but we don't know much about Brooks or Peterson or what they're up to. We can't leave here until I know Jodie is safe."

  "Maybe they went back to Weatherford to the Stockyard Stampede," Paul said. "Isn't that where they met?"

  "No, that's too far away. Jodie would have taken her car and met them there."

  "This isn't much of a town, I'm sure if we look around we can find them."

  That seemed like a good idea, so we drove through town keeping our eyes open for Brooks' truck. I said, "Well, I wonder why they wanted everyone to think the P-38 had crashed? It looked just fine to me."

  "Didn't you say they were trying to raise money to fix the plane?" Paul asked.

  "Right."

  "Well, it could be just a scam to rip-off some unsuspecting philanthropist," Paul said.

  "I doubt it. I think Robert Swanson wanted people to think there was a spaceship flying around Possum Kingdom Lake, so he hired Peterson and Brooks to make the plane look strange enough to be mistaken for a spacecraft."

  "Maybe, but it didn't look much like a spacecraft to me," Paul noted.

  "True, but when people want to see something, it doesn't take much to fool them."

  As we turned onto Dallas Avenue, we noticed Brooks' truck in front of a diner called Alice's Home Cookin'. We drove down the street and parked in a church parking lot to wait. About thirty minutes later, Jodie and Brooks came out. They tore off in his truck in a hurry. We followed them and when they sailed past the Dairy Queen, I got really nervous.

  "Where is he taking her now?" I mumbled.

  "According to the map there's nothing down this road for twenty-five miles," Paul said. Brooks' pickup slowed down and signaled. We drove past and saw they were pulling into a stockyard with a rodeo arena. "It appears they're going to the rodeo."

  We doubled back, stopped on the side of the road, and watched Brooks and Jodie for awhile. It didn't appear she was in any distress, but I was still worried. Finally, she looked over our way and gave us a thumbs up. A rush of relief came over me. She was fine and actually enjoying herself. Her cover hadn't been blown after all.

  On the way back to Dallas, I realized that everything was at long last coming into focus. It was clear now what my defense strategy should be. But I'd keep it to myself. I didn't want anyone, particularly Paula, second guessing me and eroding my confidence. If I didn't whole heartedly believe my theory, how could I convince the jury it was the truth? I just prayed I was right—because if I wasn't, Steven Caldwell would spend the rest of his life in prison.