Maclean and Verraday pulled up in front of the Griffinair hangar ten minutes before its official opening time of eight AM. They got out and Maclean tried the front door, but it was locked, and there was no response from within. There were bars over the windows and blackout blinds, so it was impossible to see inside the building.
Just then the whine of approaching jet engines caught their attention. They looked around the corner of the hangar and saw an executive jet taxiing toward them from the tarmac. As the plane drew nearer, Maclean and Verraday could see Jason Griffin at the controls. The howl of the engine began to subside as he powered the plane down. Maclean waved through the chain link fence to catch his attention. He waved back, acknowledging her, and held up his index finger to indicate he’d be just a minute. They watched as the passenger compartment door opened and a small set of stairs flipped down. Jason stepped quickly out of the plane and jogged double-time toward them, opening the gate with his keycard.
“Good morning, Detective Maclean, Doctor. What can I do for you?”
Maclean was in his face the moment he stepped through the gate. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew that Cody North was a felon?”
“Because I’m sure that he had nothing to do with killing that girl. He’s reformed.”
“Really? Are you aware of exactly what this man has done to people in the past? To women?”
“Yes. The people from the program told me everything about him. But they also told me he was a good bet for going straight. And I believe in giving people a second chance. I’ve had a lot of privileges. So I felt like paying it forward was the right thing to do.”
“That’s awfully altruistic of you, Mr. Griffin.”
“I’ve worked hard in life. But I’ve also realized that with my success comes a responsibility to give breaks to guys that didn’t get them.”
“Well, I’m sure that speech will get you a warm round of applause and a stringy chicken dinner at the Rotary Club,” said Maclean, “but right now, my bullshit meter is going right off the scale. You’d better start telling me the truth or I will personally visit every one of your CEO party pals at their head offices and ask them if they are aware that prostitution is illegal in this jurisdiction. Then I will send a press release to every media outlet in the city letting them know that your company hired a hooker to give hand jobs to the movers and shakers of Seattle, and now she’s dead. How does that sound, Mr. Griffin?”
Jason sighed anxiously. “Look, I’m almost broke. That’s the truth. My dad left this company in really bad shape. By the time he died, we were two months away from bankruptcy. The company would have gone straight down the toilet if I hadn’t laid off most of the regular mechanics and changed the business model toward executive charters. You may not approve of that party I threw, but I’ve got three confirmed charters out of it so far, and seven more likely prospects. And it hasn’t even been a week. As for Cody, I get federal and state assistance with his salary to upgrade his skills and a tax credit. He’s basically free labor. I wanted to tell you the truth about him, but I really didn’t think he did it—still don’t—and I can’t afford to lose him. He’s the last employee I’ve got, and until I get the cash flow from those flights to Mexico, I’m screwed. I can’t afford to pay anybody else to take over from him.”
“Well, then I think you’ve got a problem. Because when I ran a check on him last night, along with finding out about his extensive criminal record, I also got his address. And I went by there to question him. But guess what I found? An empty apartment.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. He moved to a new place at the beginning of October. His new address won’t be in the records until my bookkeeper processes the next cycle of paychecks, which is next Friday. His new address is in my office. Everything’s cool.”
“No everything is not cool, Mr. Griffin. Because Cody North is supposed to be here and he isn’t.”
“He’s always been super reliable. This is literally the first time he’s ever been late. Why don’t we go inside; I’ll call him and find out what’s going on and we’ll sort this out.”
“Okay, let’s go,” said Maclean.
Jason unlocked the front door, turned off the alarm, and flicked the lights on.
“Cody? You here, man? Cody, yo!”
There was no answer.
“Does Cody often lurk around in here with the lights off?” asked Maclean, betraying more than a little sarcasm.
“No,” replied Jason patiently, “but once in a while if he’s working late and starting early, he sleeps here in one of the planes or in the back of the van.”
“Does he own a vehicle?”
“No. I’m not able to pay him much ’til I get this place back on its feet. He can’t afford a car of his own, so I let him use the company vehicle after hours.”
“You trust him with your own property. How magnanimous,” said Maclean. “But I didn’t see your van parked outside. And I don’t see it anywhere in the hangar either. This makes me very concerned, Mr. Griffin.”
“Look, I know Cody’s done some pretty bad things. But when they showed me his criminal file, and I found out his background, it seemed a lot of it was because of circumstance and lousy breaks. I mean, you read his life history and you think, ‘There but for the grace of God go I,’ you know?”
“There but for the grace of God go you indeed. Because if Cody North turns out to be the murderer and you helped him get away because you concealed his criminal past from me, I will charge you with being an accessory to homicide. And the fact that Cody North is not here when he’s supposed to be gives me great cause for alarm.”
“Look, I’m calling him right now. You’ll see that everything’s fine.”
Jason took out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. He listened impatiently as the phone rang through to voice mail. “Hey Cody, it’s me. Where are you, man? I’m at the hangar. You’re supposed to be here. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? It’s urgent.”
“I’m getting a very bad feeling about this,” said Maclean. “I would like Cody’s new address right now.”
“Yeah, sure. 345 Tamarack Way, Apartment 202. Maybe he slept in or something. Like I said, he’s super dependable, but he does like to party, and he does like the ladies.”
“Yeah, right,” said Maclean. “He likes the ladies so much he may have killed two and sexually assaulted several more. That we know of.”
“Look, I’m sure if you go to his apartment, this will all be sorted out.”
“Assuming he’s not halfway to Mexico by now. What’s the make and plate number of the company van?”
“It’s a 2010 Ford Econoline. 954TDZ.”
Maclean called her dispatcher. “This is Detective Maclean. I’ve got a follow-up on that APB on a Cody North. He may be driving a 2010 Ford Econoline, license nine five four Tango Delta Zulu. He’s a person of interest in a homicide and may be trying to flee the area in that vehicle.”
Verraday looked into the darkness of the hangar and noticed that the Dodge Charger was gone.
“What happened to your Charger?” he asked.
“He didn’t drive away in it, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not running. I had it towed to an upholstery shop yesterday. It’s got some interior panels that are rotted and need to be replaced. I’m planning to sell it as soon as I get it fixed up so I can use the cash for the business.”
“By the way, are its numbers matching?” asked Verraday.
“Why?”
Verraday gazed at him for a moment before replying. “Just curiosity. Most of the 1968 Chargers were sold with 318 V-8s, like the one in my dad’s Belvedere. The 426 Hemi was an expensive option. There were fewer than five hundred sold that first year. And if it’s the original engine that came with the car, that makes yours worth a lot more than one that had a 426 dropped in from some other donor car. Be good for your cash flow.”
“Oh, right.”
Maclean listened as the dispatcher came back on the line. She sighed. “Okay. Put in a request that they don’t move anything until I get there.” Maclean clicked the end call button.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jason, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Cody’s dead.”
“What?” exclaimed Jason, disbelieving. “How?”
“His body was just found at the bottom of a canyon below a hiking trail in Issaquah. The Griffinair company van was found nearby.”
“Ah, shit,” said Jason. He looked stunned for a moment, just stood there with his mouth hanging open. “Ah, shit,” he said again. “How could he do this? I believed him. And he lied to me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Maclean.
“He told me he’d never go back to prison. Ever. I thought that meant that he’d gone straight, that he’d never do anything to make anybody put him back in there. I didn’t think it meant he’d kill himself.”
“No one said he committed suicide,” replied Maclean.
Jason looked ashen.
“When did you last see him?” asked Maclean.
“When we closed up last night. He told me he was going home. He took the van.”
“And what about you?”
“I stuck around to flight test the Citation. I flew it up to Port Angeles.”
“Did you file a flight plan?”
“Yes, of course. You can check.”
“And what time did you get back?”
“Just now. I was near Port Angeles when I started getting some gremlins in the instruments. False readings. It was dark and there was low cloud cover moving in. I didn’t want to risk flying on instruments alone, so I put down there for the night.”
“Where did you stay in Port Angeles?”
“At the Red Lion Hotel.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Sure. I always put everything on the company credit card.”
Jason showed Maclean the hotel invoice and the Visa receipt.
“How did you get from the airport to the Red Lion?”
“I rented a car. Got a last-minute deal that was way cheaper than the price of a taxi to and from the airport.”
Jason retrieved the rental contract from his briefcase and presented it to Maclean. The odometer reading showed that he had put less than twenty miles on it.
“I called you several times last night. Why didn’t you answer your phone?” she asked.
“I was exhausted. I turned my phone off. I just didn’t want to talk to anybody. I ordered a bottle of wine, poured a big glass of it, and just sat on the shore in front of the hotel, watching the ocean. I’ve been pretty stressed over the financial situation around here and tired from getting that Citation ready to fly to Mexico, and now this thing with that poor girl being murdered.”
“All right, Mr. Griffin. I’ll leave you to get on with your day,” said Maclean. “You’ll be needing to find yourself a new mechanic. Also, I don’t know when you have those flights to Mexico planned, but I’d prefer if you stick around town for the next day or two until this is wrapped up. I may want to speak with you again.”