FIFTY SIX
AIR RAGE
“Don’t worry sir,” the man in the flight attendants uniform said to the passenger sitting in seat 17D on Estonian Air flight ES21, “I assure you that flying is much safer than driving.”
Jason Smith sighed and looked around the aeroplane; it was almost empty.
“Is there anyone else expected on this flight today?” he asked.
“No,” the attendant replied with a smile, “this is it.”
“Then would it be possible for me to change seats?”
He cast a glance at the grossly obese man sitting next to him in seat 17D. He was sweating profusely.
“I’m afraid that’s against our policy,” the man said, “We have regulations.”
“Regulations?” Smith repeated.
“Listen to me sir,” the man was getting angry, “you were booked in seat 17E. If something were to happen we might have difficulty locating you should we have an accident say.”
“You listen to me,” Smith said, “if we do have an accident the chances are I’ll be crushed to death by this mountain of lard sitting next to me before a rescue party can reach me.”
“Have you been drinking sir?” the flight attendant asked. He sounded nervous.
“Not yet,” Smith replied, “it’s only ten in the morning, but if you insist, I’ll have a beer please. I am on holiday.”
“Sir, if you carry on like this I’m going to have to ask you to leave the aeroplane.”
Smith reached into his pocket and produced his ID.
“Detective Sergeant Smith,” he said, “I’m on my way to Tallinn to pick up a prisoner. Double murderer, very nasty piece of work; if you don’t let me change seats now, I’ll make sure we’re on your flight on the way back.”
The flight attendant was very pale.
“I suppose I could turn a blind eye just this once,” he said.
“Thank you,” Smith said, “and could you please ask this tower of Russian blubber to kindly get out of the bloody way. I’ll have that beer now; I’ll be sitting somewhere back there.”
He pointed to the back of the aeroplane.
I’m getting just like my father, Smith thought as he fastened the seat belt in his new seat. Once, when Smith was ten and Laura was still a baby they had taken a road trip in his father’s camper van. They had travelled east into the Gibson Desert. His mother was still quite normal then. They were a hundred miles or so into their journey when an oncoming car nearly forced them off the road. Smith can remember his father swearing like he had never sworn before. He turned his head as the car screamed past and would have given chase had his wife not calmed him down. Later that evening as they stopped for the night at a hotel just off the road, Smith saw the car again. He made the mistake of telling his father. The next day as they carried on their journey, Smith saw the car again. It seemed closer to the ground; all four tyres had been slashed and there was a note on the windscreen that read ‘learn to drive you morons’. Smith knew that his father was responsible but he said nothing.
He gazed out of the window next to him and realised they were taxiing along the runway. He checked his watch; in just under four hours he would be in Tallinn, a city roughly the same size as York. How could he expect to find one person in such a large place? The aeroplane stopped and the engines roared in preparation for take off. The plane gathered speed and Smith felt the sudden upward thrust as the wheels left the tarmac of East Midlands Airport behind. Moments later, the seat belt signs were switched off and he saw the flight attendant approach with a beer. He sheepishly placed it on the table next to Smith’s seat.
“Will there be anything else?” he asked.
From his name tag, Smith saw that his name was Stepan.
“No thanks,” Smith said, “and I’m sorry about my little outburst earlier; I just couldn’t bear four hours with an obese giant gluing me to my seat.”
“No problem,” Stepan said, “I understand?”
“Do you stay in Tallinn Stepan?”
Stepan seemed to relax.
“I have an apartment there,” he said, “not that I use it much; I seem to spend most of my time in the air.”
He looked at his watch.
“But as of five this afternoon I have three days off.”
Smith’s Detective brain began to formulate a plan.
“How well do you know Tallinn Stepan?” he asked.
“Very well; I was born there, I went to school there and I’ll no doubt die there. Why do you ask?”
“I need your help,” Smith came straight out with it.
“What do you mean? I thought you were going there to bring back a murderer.”
“That wasn’t quite true,” Smith admitted.
“So you’re not really a policeman?”
“No, unfortunately that part is true; I’m going to Tallinn to look for somebody.”
“A criminal?”
“No.”
Smith thought carefully about what he was going to say next but looking at the face of Stephan, the Estonian flight attendant, with the warm brown eyes and slightly crooked nose, he decided to tell him the truth.
“I’m looking for my sister,” Smith said, “she disappeared from a beach in Australia ten years ago and now I have reason to believe she is alive and staying in Tallinn.”
Stepan’s eyes widened and Smith could tell he did not quite believe what he was hearing. After a brief silence, Stepan smiled.
“I can see my three days off are, as you say, buggered up,” he said, “meet me at the Café Zeppelin just past the arrivals gate at half past five. I will show you Tallinn. I know some people in Tallinn; if your sister is there they will find her. Now I must get back to work.” He walked back down the aisle, shaking his head.