39

Richard O’Brien.” Windermere looked up from her computer. “That’s our guy.”

Stevens peered over her shoulder. Mathers hurried over from his own cubicle. “O’Brien,” said Stevens. “How do you figure?”

Windermere gestured to her screen. “Delta flies from Duluth to Minneapolis four times a day,” she said. “Assuming the Liberty computer isn’t totally screwed, our shooter brought his rental back just after four o’clock Monday afternoon. That puts him on the last Minneapolis flight of the day, the 5:20 departure.”

“Sure,” said Stevens. “Makes sense.”

“According to Delta’s passenger manifest, there were two men named Richard on the 5:20 flight, a Richard Michnek and a Richard O’Brien. Michnek’s a Duluth local. He flew home this morning. Not our guy.”

“And O’Brien?”

“Yeah,” said Windermere. “O’Brien flew from Minneapolis to Duluth Monday morning. Arrived at 2:07 and left at 5:20. Just enough time to murder Eli Cody.”

“So who is he?” said Mathers. “He’s a Twin Cities guy?”

Windermere punched a few keys. “Guess not,” she said. “Says he came all the way from Philadelphia that day. Long way to fly just to strangle a guy.”

Stevens leaned forward. “He flew a Philly-to-Duluth round-trip on Monday?” He peered at Windermere’s screen. “What about Saturday? We need to know this guy’s whereabouts when Spenser Pyatt was murdered.”

“My next move, Stevens.” Windermere grinned at him and reached for her phone. “I know a guy at the FAA. Let me make some calls.”

STEVENS AND MATHERS WAITED, lingering behind Windermere as she attempted to connect with her FAA pal. Mathers raised an eyebrow at Stevens. “Hope this works,” he said. “It’ll be a huge pain in the ass if we have to do things official.”

Stevens shrugged. “Worked before.”

“The Pender case?”

“Caught up with the guy’s girlfriend this way. Chased her out to Seattle.”

“No shit?” Mathers grinned at Stevens. “Must have been a blast, man.”

Stevens started to shake his head. Then he caught himself. “It was,” he said, matching the junior agent’s grin. “It really was.”

“Mathers. Stevens.”

The two men turned to find Windermere watching them, a funny smile on her face. “You boys want to reminisce on the good old days, or you want to do some police work?”

Stevens and Mathers hurried back to her cubicle. “You get something?”

“Richard O’Brien flew from Philadelphia to Minneapolis on Friday afternoon,” Windermere said. “He flew home on the evening flight Saturday night.”

“Hot damn.” Stevens started to pace, his insides electrified. “So he’s Philadelphia-based. Can we dig him up there?”

“We might not have to.” Windermere let it hang until Stevens stopped pacing and looked at her. “According to my FAA guy, Richard O’Brien flew into Miami this afternoon. He’s scheduled to fly home tomorrow.”