Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (26 page)

“First,” Ryan said, “how did they connect the guy to both situations?”

“After you left the house that night, the guy followed you to the hospital, killed a security guard, and took his uniform. They found the dead security guard stripped down to his underwear, stuffed in the backseat of his car. Then they found the lunatic’s SUV. Inside the car, they found a satchel with detailed notes of his entire plot to take out the Golden Gate Bridge. It had dates, times, maps—everything. In addition, the crime lab matched the guy’s blood with blood they found mixed in the chemicals on the floor at your house. For some reason, the guy had put some of his own blood into one of the IV lines. All of the blood samples matched his DNA.”

“I remember,” Keri said. “He had some small bottles of dirty water that he poured into one of the tubes. It must have had some of his blood mixed with it.

“What about the evidence from your house?” Ryan said.

“There was absolutely nothing from my house that could directly tie the guy to both places. Or if there had been, it was conveniently lost or destroyed.”

“I always wondered if they might have set you up just to appease the media and the public.”

Rex took a sip of water. Changing the subject, he said, “Dude, I’m curious. How did you get out of the jet?”

“I used the emergency rope and climbed out the cockpit window.”

“I thought so. I did the same thing.” Rex chuckled. “It was fresh on my mind after returning from training.”

“You mean
she
was fresh on your mind?” Ryan smiled.

“What are you two talking about?” Keri said. “Who is
she
?”

Ryan turned to Rex with a smile. “Go ahead. You tell her.”

“I was just having a little fun,” Rex said.

Ryan couldn’t hold back. “Rex offered to show a cute, young flight attendant how the pilots use the emergency rope to egress from the cockpit. He took her down to one of the trainers and proceeded to help her demo the equipment.” Ryan looked at David and Martha. “I think that’s all that needs to be said.”

Seeing that David and Martha were finished eating, Keri signed and said, “You can go upstairs now. Play or watch TV. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” They both pushed back from the table, waved goodbye to Rex, and left.”

“Anyway,” Rex continued, “the idea of using the emergency rope to get out of the cockpit was fresh on my mind.” His face turned somber. “Who would have ever thought they would shoot down a commercial airliner?”

“It was not your fault,” Ryan said.

“Maybe not, but it haunts me every day.”

Ryan attempted to change the tone of the conversation. The last thing Rex needed was to be reminded of the hundreds of lives lost. “So, if there was no evidence at your house, how did they tie the guy to both places?”

“It’s funny,” Rex said, unable to let go of the tragedy, “it was my copilot’s idea to fly the jet solo while I raced home to try and save Emily. Once I told him the situation, he was gung ho. We knew the lunatic would be watching to see if the flight took off, so we decided to at least get the flight airborne. After that, I left it up to him to decide what to do. I just needed time.”

“Was the guy tracking you?”

“All he told me, at the time, was that he would be watching me. He said he was like god. He must have had eyes on me.”

“What made you think so?”

“Just before I boarded the plane, I attempted to use a payphone in the terminal to call 911. I had pretty much given up on my being able to save Emily, so I decided to let SWAT handle it. Before I could even lift the receiver, my cell rang. When I answered, he told me if I touched the phone, he would kill Emily. I looked around but saw no one suspicious. In hindsight, I should have never let that jet takeoff. He was going to kill Emily, regardless of what I did. At least all those innocent people would not have died.”

“Yeah, but like you said, never in a million years would anyone think our military jets would shoot down a commercial airliner so quickly—if at all. It was out over the ocean and nowhere near a building or populated area.”

“I guess they were trigger happy; afraid of repeating 9/11.”

“Rex, you need to let it go. You did all you could with what you had to deal with. It’s over.”

“When I returned to the house, the guy was gone, Emily was dead. I’ll never be able to get the image out of my mind. She had been slaughtered like a sheep using an ancient method for killing animals. A knife had been inserted just behind the point of her jaw,” Rex put his finger beneath his jaw to demonstrate, “and below the neck bones, then drawn forward quickly severing the trachea, esophagus, the jugular vein, and carotid artery.”

“Rex, that’s horrible,” Keri said, with her face twisted.

Rex continued, appearing numb to the horror in his words. “The method was supposedly a painless death. The immediate hemorrhaging would have induced anoxia in her brain cells, acting as a powerful painkiller. While still conscious, but totally insensitive to pain, her severe bleeding would have disabled her sensory center, with death occurring within a few minutes. However, if not done correctly and with a sharp knife, she would have experienced great pain and suffering.”

“Rex, I am so sorry,” Ryan said.

“And the crash scene was plastered over every network on TV,” Rex said. “Seeing what he had done to Emily, and seeing the debris of the crashed jet floating on the ocean made me crazy. I was sick, scared, and angry at the same time. I knew that if I didn’t act fast, the fear would blind me.”

Ryan reflected on the morning he flipped on the TV and first saw the news of the crash. He realized that it was the exact same moment when Rex was in his house experiencing the horror of finding Emily. The thought brought back the same, sick feeling he had that morning.

“I had to pull myself together. Get out. Run. I realized they might try to pin Emily’s murder on me.”

“Which is exactly what they did,” Ryan added.

“I panicked. I literally freaked out. I figured as long as they thought I was dead, they wouldn’t be looking for me. I could lay low and see how it turned out.”

“Rex,” Keri said, “do you realize what would have happened if you had called the cops?”

“Yeah. I would have spent the last ten months with some ape as a prison mate, while I waited for a jury to sentence me.”

She said, “More importantly, if you had called the cops, I would not be alive today. And both David and Martha….” she choked up, unable to finish her statement.

Ryan held her hand and said, “Rex, you made the right call.”

“The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose by running. Since I was ‘dead’, I knew they wouldn’t be looking for me.”

“What did you do for money? Where did you hide?” Ryan said.

“Money was the least of my worries. Emily had enough jewelry—diamonds, pearls, gold—to fund a small army. I gathered up all the good stuff, along with any cash we had laying around the house, drove my car back to LAX, and parked it in the employee lot. That way, it would look like I never returned to my car. I knew I could get just about anywhere in L.A. on public transportation, so I jumped on the bus from LAX to Union Station, and connected to the Metro to Hollywood.

“I hung out in Hollywood, around Melrose. What better place to blend in than in Hollywood. No shortage of freaks and tourists. I had a couple hundred bucks in cash which was enough for a few nights in a seedy motel. I slowly pawned Emily’s jewelry and raised over $50,000, with jewelry to spare. I stayed up in the Hollywood area until my beard grew out.”

“You still haven’t told me how they ended up tying the guy to both places.”

“Oh, yeah, the idiot was nice enough to write me a suicide letter.”

“So, he
did
want it to look like a murdered/suicide,” Keri said.

“Yeah. I left the note after I decided to run, hoping it would help them pin it on me. I figured that the sooner they closed the case, the sooner I would be forgotten. I later learned that the forensic handwriting specialist at the OC Crime Lab matched the handwriting on the suicide letter to the handwriting on the papers found in the guy’s satchel.”

“I didn’t know they could actually do that,” Keri said. “I thought that was something you did at the fair. I once had my handwriting analyzed at the Georgia State Fair.”

“I thought the same thing until the detective straightened me out. What you’re talking about is graphology. They sometimes use graphology to profile criminals and aid authorities in their investigation, but true handwriting analysis is a totally different animal. It’s a science. The purpose is not to profile the writer but to determine if the same hand produced a document known to have been written by the suspect. That’s how they found the guy who kidnapped Charles Lindbergh’s infant son back in the ‘30s. The kidnapper had written a bunch of notes to Lindbergh. Handwriting analysis later linked the notes to Bruno Hauptmann. He was convicted and executed.”

“I remember studying that while I was at the Academy,” Ryan said.

“So with Keri’s testimony of the freak telling her he had killed Emily, the detailed information found in the satchel, along with the handwriting match, they had plenty of evidence to let me go.”

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Ryan said.

“Dude, you’re not alone.”

“Do they know if the guy was working alone? Keri said. “You said someone was watching you at the airport.”

“The detective said he could have easily paid people to watch me without them ever knowing why. He might have even hired someone to follow me to the airport. My case was low tech compared to Ryan’s. After he screwed up with me, I guess the guy decided to get fancy with all the computers and tracking equipment. They determined that the dead guy in the bathroom was his personal geek—until his services were no longer needed.”

Keri said, “I still don’t understand how you knew he would be at our house.”

“From the beginning, he was very clear. He told me if I didn’t do what he said, he would kill my wife and then move on to another family until he accomplished his purpose.”

“Yeah, he told me the same thing,” Keri said.

Rex reached into his right pants pocket. “There
is
something I didn’t show the cops. Along with the suicide note, the guy left a wacky poem.” Rex pulled out a folded piece of paper. “In this poem are the clues to who he was and what he was after. It was like some kind of psychopathic puzzle. After tons of research, I finally figured it out.”

“Why would he leave clues?” Ryan said. “I guess he hoped it would look like you wrote it.”

Rex laughed. “Dude, there is no way I could have written this piece of work…you’ll see. But I’m glad the lunatic felt differently. This poem is the
only
reason I was at your house that night. From the clues in this poem, I had a good idea of the approximate time of the month he would strike, the time of day, and was pretty sure it would be our airline.”

“How?” Ryan said.

Rex unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Ryan. “Take a look.”

Ryan took the poem and held it where Keri could see. They both read silently.

Dear
Keroessa
,
hair
so
golden
,
skin
so
white
,

Beneath
its
cover
from
captor’s
sight
.

I
curse
my
likeness
,
filled
with
spite
,

One
with
you
is
my
only
delight
.

I
told
my
soul
,
be
still
,
and
wait
,

For
there
is
yet
but
one
more
gate
.

The
third
lies
over
the
narrow
strait
,

He
named
it
golden
and
sealed
its
fate
.

The
first
I
closed
,
the
last
conqueror
through
,

The
second
I
sealed
,
to
stop
the
Jew
.

The
third
,
named
wrongly
after
you
,

Will
soon
no
longer
be
in
view
.

On
Angel
wings
,
I
take
flight
,

My
Freedom
from
this
earthly
plight
.

Under
crescent
moon
,
death
fills
the
night
,

This
journey
ends
when
all
is
right
.

I’ll
join
you
soon
,
the
hours
thinning
,

When
past
and
future
cease
their
spinning
.

I
leave
this
world
,
forever
sinning
,

My
mother’s
side
,
forever
grinning
.

En
ma
Fin
gît
mon
Commencement
…

CHAPTER 39

When Ryan and Keri finished reading the poem, pointing to the last line, Ryan said, “That looks like what the freak said before he sliced his neck. It sounded like French, but I have no idea what it means.”

“And the name,
Keroessa
,” Keri said, “was tattooed across his chest.”

Keri slid the poem across the table to Rex.

“The poem explains it all—that is, after you decode the psychobabble,” Rex said.”

“Why didn’t you show it to the cops?” Keri said.