on the steps of the Rotunda. He had been standing behind one of the
many trees sprinkled around the Lawn.
Busy talking to Kay, she had quickly dismissed him as some guy just
checking her out for the obvious reason. He was tall, at least six
feet, lean and dressed in a dark overcoat. His face had been partially
covered by sunglasses and the overcoat’s collar had been turned up,
further hiding his features. A brown hat had covered his hair, although
she had managed to note that it was light in color, reddish blond,
perhaps. For a brief moment she wondered if paranoia had been added to
her growing list of problems. She couldn’t worry about it right now.
She had to get home. Tomorrow she would pick up her daughter. She then
remembered that her mother had mentioned a memorial service for Jason.
The details of that would have to be gone over. Amid all the mystery
surrounding her late husband’s last day, the recollection of the
memorial service had brought back the crushing knowledge that Jason was
indeed dead. No matter how he had deceived her, or for what reason he
had done so, he was gone. She headed back home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Under drifting cloud cover that was quickly overtaking the razor-blue
sky, a chilly wind whipped through the crash site. Armies of people
walked the grounds, marking debris with red flags, forming a mass of
crimson in the cornfield. Near the crater sat a crane with a dangling
bucket large enough to hold two grown men. Another such crane hovered
over the crater, its long cable and bucket disappearing into the depths
of this shallow hell. Other cables connected to motorized winches set
on flatbed trucks snaked down into the pit.
Heavy equipment was lumbering nearby in preparation for the final
excavation of the impact crater. The most critical piece, the flight
data recorder, had not yet been unearthed.
Outside the yellow barricades a number of tents had been raised.
They served as depositories of collected evidence for on-site analysis.
In one such tent George Kaplan was pouring hot coffee from his thermos
into two cups. He briefly scanned the area. Luckily the snow had
stopped as quickly as it had started. However, the temperature had
remained cool and the weather forecast called for more precipitation. He
knew that was not good. Snow would make a logistical nightmare even
more daunting.
Kaplan handed one of the steaming cups to Lee Sawyer, who had followed
the NTSB investigator’s gaze around the crash site.
“That was a good call on the fuel tank, George. The evidence was very
slight, but lab results show it was an old reliable: hydrochloric acid.
Tests indicated that it would’ve eaten through the aluminum alloy in
about two to four hours. Faster if the acid was heated. Doesn’t look
like it was accidental.”
Kaplan grunted loudly. “Shit, like a mechanic would be walking around
with acid and just accidentally smear it on the fuel tank.”
“I never thought it was an accident, George.”
Kaplan threw up his hand in apology. “And you can carry hydrochloric
acid in a plastic container, could even use a squirt bottle with a
modified tip so you can gauge how much you’re applying.
Plastic won’t trip a metal detector. It was a good choice.” Kaplan’s
face twisted in disgust.
He looked out at the crash site for a few more seconds and then stirred,
turning to Sawyer. “Nailing down the timing that close is good. Cuts
down the list of possible suspects who would’ve had access.”
Sawyer nodded in agreement. “We’re following that up right now.” He
took a long sip of the coffee.
“You really think somebody blew up an entire planeload of people to take
out one guy?”
“Maybe.”
“Christ Almighty, I don’t mean to sound callous, but if you want to kill
the guy, who not just grab him off the street and put a bullet in his
head? Why this?” He pointed at the crater and then slumped back in his
seat, his eyes half closed, one hand rubbing viciously at his left
temple.
Sawyer sat in one of the folding chairs. “We’re not sure that’s the