Shake the Trees (36 page)

“She’s not going to be there either, is she?  In Sante Fe?”  Sally asked.

Tillis shrugged.

“No bullshit.  What do you think?”

“I think she’s too smart.”

Sally looked disappointed.  Beaten.

Tillis offered a consoling frown.  “I’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m not bummed because of what you said.  I’m bummed because I agree with you.”

The two sat in silence as the big Rolls Royce engines droned.  Tillis stared thoughtfully out the window for several more minutes.  Then began to speak.

“She’s incredibly talented.  She could have gone far.  Been anything she wanted to be.”

“Ellen?  Elizabeth?  Whichever.”

Tillis nodded, and stared out the window for several more seconds before he spoke gain.  “The neurotic and the psychotic are ubiquitous.”

“Tell me about it.  I’m a cop, remember?  What’s your point?”

“Only a few of them act out their compensatory fantasies.  Put society at risk.  That’s where we come in.  We’re the garbage collectors.  It’s sad.”

“Geez.  Sorry I asked.”  Sally moaned.

“I’m convinced that a great deal of criminal behavior not rooted in poverty or drug abuse is attributable to some type of childhood trauma.  Emotional trauma.  That’s what makes it sad.”

“I thought you were a Republican?”

“I didn’t say the cause excuses the behavior.  Causality isn’t necessarily excusatory.  It usually isn’t.”

“Where the hell is all of this coming from?”  Sally asked with open hands and upturned palms.

Tillis nodded toward the front of the airplane.

“Bubba?”

Tillis nodded.  “And not just during childhood.  During extended adolescence as well.  When the psyche is still vulnerable.  Fragile.”

“Elizabeth?”

Tillis nodded again.  “And Dr. Bob, based on what Sam told me about his background.”

“What about Marc Mason?”

“Who knows what we’d discover about his childhood and adolescence if we dug deep enough.”

“Then again, maybe some people are just plain greedy.  His Honor for example.”  Sally countered. 

Tillis nodded in agreement.  “Can I ask you a personal question?  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Sally agreed reluctantly.

“What’s the worst emotional scar you suffered during childhood or adolescence?”

Sally stared at the ceiling for a few moments.  “Getting dumped by the captain of the football team.”

Tillis smiled.  “Me too.”

“You were dumped by the captain of the football team?”  Sally asked loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Tillis scowled.  “I meant I had a great childhood as well.”

Sally smiled.  “I know what you meant.”

“I visit there whenever I need to.  When what we do crowds out every shred of innocence from our adult lives.  Because there’s no real pain there.  It’s a safe place.  It’s my anchor.”

“I never thought of it like that.”  Sally responded thoughtfully.

“We’re the lucky ones, Sally.  We’re the lucky ones.”

“I know.  I know we are, Tillis.”

CHAPTER 53

Ellen placed an online order for a large veggie pizza from the Roswell Pizza Hut, and then politely instructed Susie Parker to take her two children into the bathroom when the delivery person arrived.  Susie nodded obediently.

The Stockholm syndrome hadn’t taken hold prematurely.  Susie Parker had listened to the quite rational conversation Ellen had with her husband on the way down from Albuquerque, and then Ellen let her talk to Rob.  He was cooperating fully.  She agreed to do the same.  Let the drug dealers fight their own battles.  Susie now had but one goal: to leave the Roswell Motel 6 with two tired but healthy children when the night was over.

Soon the expected knock rattled the door, and Susie swiftly moved to the bathroom with her children.  Ellen opened the door and was greeted by a familiar adolescent face.

“Good evening, ma’am.  How are you this tonight?”

“I’m fine.  Would you put that on the table while I find my bag?”

The young man walked past Ellen and began to remove the cardboard container from its insulated carrier.  Ellen grabbed her bag and reached inside.  “I’m so impolite.  I never asked your name.”

“It’s Tim, ma’am.”

“Sweet dreams, Tim.”

Tim turned to her.  “Huh?”

Ellen smiled sympathetically and lightly caressed the teenager’s cheek with her right hand, but as soon as their physical contact ceased, she touched his side with the Taser held in her left.  As his knees buckled, Ellen reached out and guided the lean body to a soft landing on the carpeted floor.  After removing his Pizza Hut jacket and cap, she placed a pillow under his head and shoved a wad of $100 bills into the side pocket of his jeans.  Then she reached into her bag and retrieved a roll of duct tape, and quickly bound his ankles and wrists and applied a strip across his lips.

As she straddled him on her knees and studied her work, a lurid grin slowly replaced her workmanlike visage.  Ellen shook her head in regret as she spoke to the unconscious figure beneath her.  “The things I could have taught you.  It would have been even better than the spa.”

Then Ellen called out toward the closed bathroom door.  “It’s time, Susie.”

As Susie emerged with a droopy-eyed toddler and the little girl, Ellen spoke again.  “It’s been long enough.  It’s okay to give him another dose.”

Susie still looked reluctant.  Ellen handed her the bottle and continued.  “It’s for his own good.  You don’t want him running around here unsupervised do you?  And we can’t have him strapped into his car seat screaming at the top of his lungs.”

Susie nodded.  “Okay.”  She sat the little boy in the removable part of his car seat, and the sputtering child had soon swallowed more of the cherry flavored liquid.

Ellen smiled sympathetically and handed Susie the tape and a small scissors.  “Do it your way.”

Susie sat on the floor with her daughter.  “Remember the game Mommy told you about?”

“Yes,” the precocious four-year old replied.

“Your turn first.”

The little girl cut a piece of tape and put it across her mother’s mouth and giggled.  Susie laughed with her eyes and took the tape and scissors and placed a strip across her daughter’s mouth.  Then the process was repeated with the ankles, except this time Susie wrapped tape around her child’s wrists as well.  Then Ellen knelt down and taped Susie’s wrists.  Finally, she secured the sleeping toddler in place by winding the roll of tape around the plastic carrier several times.

“Are we good?”  Ellen asked.

Susie nodded.  Saying thank you with her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Ellen responded.  “I’ll send somebody as soon as I can.”

Ellen put the Pizza Hut jacket and hat on, zipped up the red insulated carrier, and walked out the door with the pizza.  After snatching the plastic pizza delivery sign off the roof of the teenager’s car, she tossed it inside the Parker’s van and sped off to the Roswell Industrial Air Center.

She parked well away from the terminal and up against the chain link fence where she had a clear view of the tarmac.  After adjusting the frequency on the aviation radio she’d purchased at the avionics store in Tampa, Ellen removed a small pair of binoculars from her bag and studied the fuel attendant.  It was the same overweight man she’d seen two days earlier.  She focused on the writing above his shirt pocket.  His name was John.

Bubba could have just put the Citation on autopilot, but he was letting Sam become accustomed to holding the airplane on course and in straight and level flight.  Sam jumped as the radio came to life.

“Citation Four Niner Foxtrot Zulu,” the disembodied voice demanded with unexpected urgency.

Bubba recognized the tone and grabbed the yoke.  “I’ve got the airplane.”  Then he keyed the push to talk button next to his thumb.  “Citation Four Niner Foxtrot Zulu.  Go ahead Center.”

“Citation Four Niner Foxtrot Zulu, initiate emergency descent and clear the airspace immediately.  No vectors.  ROW is directly below you.  Contact the tower at 118.5.  This is an emergency.  Do not delay.”

“Emergency descent, ROW, 118.5, Citation Four Niner Foxtrot Zulu.”  Bubba released the push to talk button and nodded at the area map that Sam was now holding.  “What the hell is ROW?”

“Roswell Industrial Air Center,” Sam replied.

Bubba switched to intercom, turned on the audible speaker, and again thumbed the push to talk button.  “Everybody fasten your seat belts right now.  No kidding.  We’re fixin’ to make an emergency descent and landing.”

Bubba pulled back on the power levers, and the big turbofans wound down quickly.  He concentrated on the airspeed indicator, and as soon as the needle passed a critical figure, he popped the air brakes.  Sam strained against the three-point restraints as Bubba continued to focus on the airspeed indicator.  As the needle passed another critical airspeed, he lowered the landing gear, and the plane slowed even more.  As the airspeed decreased even further, he put in 15 degrees of flaps.  All of this was done to create aerodynamic drag and slow the airplane during its emergency descent.

Now Bubba stood the jet on one wing and began a spiraling descent.  Sam felt as if he were looking straight down at the ground.  Ground that was rushing toward him.  All of the objects below were quickly growing in size.  Like some sort of time-lapse photography trick.

Sam jumped again as the intercom crackled and Tillis’ annoyed sounding voice filled his headset.  “Bubba.  What the hell is going on?”

Bubba switched off the audible speaker, and thumbed the push to talk.  “Center said clear the airspace.  Initiate an emergency descent and land.  Roswell Industrial is directly below.  This is one of those obey now and ask questions later sort of deals.”

“Clear the airspace?  Another 9-11?”

“Nah.  This area is chocked full of military and restricted airspace.  Probably has something to do with that.  But I’m not hangin’ around long enough to get my dick in a crack.”

“Thanks, Bubba.  Fly the airplane.”  Tillis’ comment acknowledged his confidence in Bubba’s skills.

“Roger that.”  Bubba answered.

Tillis pulled off his headset and turned to the frightened faces of Sandi and Sally.  Both were clinging to his calm demeanor for assurance.

“Nothing is wrong with the airplane.  Air traffic control told Bubba to clear the airspace and land immediately.”

“Why?”  Sally asked.

“Don’t know.  There’s a lot of military and restricted airspace around here.  It could have something to do with that.”

“It’s her,” Sandi said in a monotone.

Sally looked at Sandi with empathy.  “She’s not superwoman.  She can’t control the federal air traffic control system for god’s sake.  It’s going to be okay.  I promise.”  She nervously looked to Tillis for support, but none was forthcoming.

“Everything will be all right once were on the ground,” Sally added.  Almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

Sandi shook her head.  “It’s her.”

Sally looked at Tillis again.  Tillis shrugged.

“This is one hell of a coincidence though,” Sally conceded.

The word sent a shiver up Tillis’ spine as the plane plunged toward the ground.  He turned back to the window and studied the oddly shaped airfield still nearly three miles below.   

Ellen had the radio tuned to the tower frequency.  When it crackled to life, she pulled on her cap and grabbed the red insulated bag containing the pizza.  She walked briskly into the small concrete block terminal and across the waiting area.  As she approached the double glass doors that fronted the tarmac, she turned to the man behind the adjacent desk and spoke.

“Got a pizza for John.”

“What a porker.  Where’s Tim?”

“Flu.”

“Hey.  Hold on there.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed as she looked hard at the man behind the desk.  Weighing the pros and cons of dropping him to the ground in such a public area.  With her free hand she touched the Taser in her pocket, but then decided to play it out.

“What?”  She asked hurriedly.

“I’ll need to inspect that. New security regulations.”

Ellen’s jaw was set as she carried the insulated carrier over to the desk and unzipped it.  The man reached in, flipped open the cardboard container and began to yank a slice free.  Then recoiled in disgust.

“What the hell?  Veggie?  That’s disgusting.”  The man pushed the pizza away and motioned Ellen thru the doors.  “Ask John Boy something for me.”

“What’s that?”  Ellen asked evenly.

“Ask him if he’s on that new pizza diet I heard about.”  The man laughed at his own joke.  “Fat boy goes on a veggie pizza diet.”  He shook his head and laughed some more.  “What a shocker.”

Ellen smiled, turned, and pushed open the glass door.  Fat boy had a big shock coming, she thought to herself, but it wasn’t a veggie pizza.

After the hydraulically operated steps had fully extended, Tillis was the first to exit the jet.  He was surprised to discover a fuel truck parked tight up against the plane, and was even more surprised to see a fuel attendant already pumping jet fuel into a wing tank.  He thought that perhaps Bubba had radioed ahead, but then wondered why they were taking on fuel anyway, given the jet’s extended range and the fact that they’d left Tampa with full tanks.

It was a clear desert night, and he took a deep breath as he looked up at a sky filled to overflowing with stars and frayed trails of distant milky light.  The fuel truck had been unexpected, but then something more startling intruded.  His brain registered the incongruity even before the barely discernible odor of smoldering tobacco had fully found his olfactory nerve.  He scanned the scene until he spotted a trace of smoke curling up from under the brim of the cap of the slightly built fuel attendant.

“Hey!”  Tillis yelled with more than a trace of anger in his voice.

The fuel attendant removed the nozzle from the wing tank, but continued to hold the trigger tightly against the handle, spilling tens of gallons of highly combustible jet fuel under the fuselage of the airplane.  Sally stepped out of the airplane and joined Tillis in the desert night just as the fuel attendant looked up, her green eyes shining with intensity.

Sally and Ellen immediately recognized each other.  Ellen smiled.  Sally did not.  Ellen pulled the cigarette away from her lips and studied it with a twinkle in her eye.  Then held it out toward Tillis and Sally, and nodded at it.

“These things will kill you.  You know that don’t you.”