Mystery Flights
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The first flight, just one week after the mysterious disappearance of a certain aviatrix, was called into New York City by an anonymous caller.
The pilot-owner of the ship, who had been flying for years with no unusual incidents and who would not have consented to this call if he hadn’t thought it necessary, took off from Cape May at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning and flew over some of the most populous sections of the country. At three p.m., as planned, he landed in Washington, D.C.
“I wish I could tell you more,” said the pilot when asked about his trip, “but, as I’ve told you before, I don’t know anything except that we were instructed to fly north-west upstate into the mountains, then south down the eastern seaboard until we reached the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Did you see any military activity?”
“No, none whatsoever. No planes, no ships, no army troops or trucks on the roads. There might have been some helicopters flying around in the sky but they weren’t engaged in combat maneuvers.”
A few days later, another mystery flight took place. A small aircraft left Los Angeles at ten a.m. and circled the city once before taking off westwards towards San Francisco.
It was a clear day, perfect weather for flying, and the plane’s owner stated that he felt perfect well and didn’t suspect any physical illness or injury, so there was nothing to explain why he wasn’t able to continue his flight.
This was the only flight scheduled for Thursday afternoon; in fact, the following day (Friday) saw no flights at all. A little more than two weeks after the mysterious disappearance of the aviatrix, the planes returned to their regular schedule.
“They’re back!” said the radio reporter. “It seems the planes are starting again.”
He had read the papers earlier that morning and discovered that three planes, one each from Chicago, Boston, and New York, were due to take off at 11:30 a.m. and land in Denver within six hours. He hurried downtown and found the main terminal easily enough.
Through the glass windows, he watched the passengers board the planes – most of them were men wearing dark suits and ties, some of them driving cars, others carrying briefcases. They talked in low voices, looking nervous. Once the last passenger had boarded, the pilots got aboard, and, shortly afterward, the engines started.
Although the weather was fine, the planes flew northwards towards Canada, then turned southeast towards New York. The reporters began to follow the planes as they climbed, turning east, then southwards, then northwards again, and finally, at 3 p.m., they landed in Long Beach, California.
“That’s where I’m going,” said the radio reporter. “I’ll ask some questions of the passengers. In fact, I may be able to get some answers.”
As he entered the terminal building, he immediately noticed something strange. The staff was unusually quiet. At least half of them seemed to be reading newspapers or magazines instead of attending to customers. Some of the passengers looked up and glanced at him, then quickly returned to their reading.
One man, waiting in line for coffee, held out his hand as if greeting someone he knew very well and made a move like he was ready to shake hands. When the reporter shook his head, pretending not to see, the man moved away.
“What happened here?” he wondered. “Where is everyone? Did the planes crash?”
His train of thought was interrupted by a middle-aged woman dressed in a black skirt, white blouse, and grey cardigan. She walked swiftly past him with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He followed behind. As she went through the revolving doors, he caught her eye.
For a moment, they regarded each other, then the woman smiled and nodded. Just before entering the elevator, she raised her arm and waved. Then the door closed.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” said the radio reporter. He went downstairs and hailed a taxi. It was now four in the afternoon.
***
The lady in the black skirt, the radio reporter learned, was Dr. Kate Calhoun. The one with the strange gesture had been her husband, Richard. They lived in the suburbs outside L.A. and the radio announcer asked them if they could talk.
“Why do you want to speak to us?” asked Kate.
“You think it’s worth talking about, don’t you?” replied the radio announcer.
“Well, I suppose so.”
We’ve been married for twenty-six years and we love each other dearly,” said Richard, “and we know what we’re doing.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s good enough,” said the radio announcer.
“How did you find me?” asked Kate.
“Someone in this airport helped me. Let’s go somewhere private.”
Once inside the car, he explained who he was.
“Dr. Calhoun, I have news for you,” said the radio announcer. “Three days ago, a man called Gary Harlan visited my office. He’d heard I was a radio journalist and wanted to talk. You know him, right?”
Kate and Richard nodded.
“Harlan has been missing since Monday night. He disappeared without saying anything to anyone. His wife didn’t realize he hadn’t come home until Tuesday morning when she woke up and found he was still gone. She called her parents and told them, but no one knows how to contact him. They hope he might turn up soon, but it’s possible he’s dead.”
“Gary wouldn’t just disappear,” said Kate. “If he hasn’t phoned his family, it means he’s been kidnapped or something terrible happened and he doesn’t know where he is.”
“What sort of thing?” asked the radio reporter.
“Lots of things,” said Richard, “but I can tell you there’s nothing to worry about. Gary will call his mother soon, as he always does. He’ll say all’s well and she’ll put her mind at rest.”
“This is serious,” said the radio reporter. “Might you be able to help me? Perhaps you could give a description of your husband and tell me what he was wearing on the day he disappeared. What color were his shoes? Was he carrying any particular items?”
He took notes while Kate and Richard described Gary. He listened intently. After he’d finished taking notes, he asked them a few more questions, including, “Is there anything you would like to add?”
They both shook their heads.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
“Yes,” said Kate. “Let me make sure. You realize something awful must have happened for Gary to vanish like this, don’t you?”
“I’m certain it wasn’t an accident,” said the radio reporter. “There are too many unanswered questions.”
“But I don’t understand,” said the radio announcer. “It doesn’t seem likely that Gary was kidnapped. Why would anybody kidnap a middle-aged man like him? And why would they kill him if they did?”
“Who knows?” asked Kate. “Maybe they killed him because he refused to become involved in something illegal.”
“Do you think that could be it?” asked the radio announcer. “That’s the only explanation I can think of. Maybe someone tried to blackmail him into selling drugs or maybe they threatened to expose some kind of scandal involving some major company or politician.
But whoever did it, Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun, you should be careful. If Gary’s involved in something shady, the people responsible aren’t going to let him get away – you need to watch out.”
“I will, thanks,” said the radio announcer.
“Have you got our number?” asked Kate.
“I’ll phone again tomorrow, probably around midday. If you haven’t heard from Gary by then, please call me immediately. I can’t stress this enough: I don’t want to alarm you, but I really think you should take extra precautions.”
“All right,” said Kate. “Thanks.”
“Okay, bye.”
Calhoun’s body was discovered in the early hours of Wednesday morning. A young couple staying in the hotel room next door came across the corpse as they were getting ready for bed. The man had fallen asleep with his head on the desk and the woman had decided to go downstairs for a drink.
When she returned, the man was lying face down on the floor, unmoving.
“Hey! Wake up!” shouted the girl. The man didn’t move. “Don’t fucking sleep on me, you bastard,” she yelled.
She kicked him several times until he finally opened his eyes. Then he slowly turned over.
As he did so, he saw Calhoun. The man wore only boxer shorts. His feet were bare, and his hands were bound behind his back. He seemed frozen.
The girl screamed. The noise caused the other guests to stir awake. In the confusion, the man who’d been sleeping on top of the desk woke up, reached for his gun, and fired two shots directly at Gary Calhoun.
***
“You’re not the first person Gary met here, you know,” said Captain Anderson.
“Oh, yeah?” said Kate. “How many others?”
Captain Anderson shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. There were so many, and no one ever talked about it afterward.”
“Because it was illegal?”
Anderson nodded. “But if Gary was doing anything illegal, I doubt he’d tell us. He was too proud to admit he was involved in something underhand. Even if we asked him, he’d probably deny it. Anyway, he loved working at the FBI. We used to joke that he was turning into a real-life superhero. Now I bet you wonder how Gary could do it all without anyone knowing.”
“I suppose he must have been quite good at keeping secrets,” said Kate.
“Not just his own. He made it look like he knew everything. That way, when he was caught, nobody suspected his involvement. Everyone thought he must have known about it already.”
Kate pursed her lips. “Are we talking murder or something else?”
“Something else,” said the captain. “A lot of people came and went, but I never found any evidence that Gary knew more than he told me. As far as I can remember, that’s the sum total of what he revealed.”
“And now Gary’s disappeared, and you’ve got no idea what happened to him,” said Kate.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” replied Anderson. “We’re trying to track down his friends, work colleagues, and acquaintances. It may be that they know something. But the problem is, they won’t talk. They’ve all got something to hide. Some people just love living in the shadows. Do you know a guy named Kyle Jackson?”
“Yes,” said Kate. “He’s an old friend of Gary’s.”
“Good. Could you tell me anything about him?”
“Not much. He likes to keep to himself.”
“That’s what I figured,” said Anderson. “His name crops up in the press every now and then – sometimes as a suspect in some criminal investigation. But I could never pin anything on him.”
“What does he do?”
“He works as a private investigator. I think he mostly handles divorce cases.”
“Could he have anything to do with Gary disappearing?”
“No,” said Anderson. “Gary was nothing but delighted that Jackson was helping me with the case.”
“Why did you ask?”
“Jackson called the station today. He wanted to speak to you and Gary personally. When I told him you weren’t available, he sounded pretty upset. Not angry, per se – just disappointed. You know how it is.”
“He sounds like a strange dude.”
“That he is. But he has a soft spot for Gary.”
“Do you know where Jackson lives?”
“Yeah. I think Gary mentioned him once or twice.”
“Can you give me directions?”
“Sure. I’ll write them down for you.” Anderson took out a pen, wrote something, and handed it over.
“Thank you,” said Kate. She pocketed the paper and headed for the door.
Captain Anderson stood up. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Kate.
She left the room and walked towards the exit. A moment later, she heard Anderson call her name.
“Wait!” he said. “I want to show you something.”
“Yeah?”
“Follow me.”
On her way out, she passed the young woman whose voice had woken up everyone at the party. The girl was standing by the door. Her hair was disheveled. She was dressed in a torn nightgown and looked at least twenty years younger than her age.
The sight made Kate feel uncomfortable. And it wasn’t because the girl appeared to be around sixteen. It was the fact that she was still missing half her face. One side was completely smooth, while the other sported three perfectly round scars. They were clearly recent.
The girl turned away from Kate and whispered something to someone sitting next to her. Then she hurried through the door.
Kate returned outside. While walking across the lawn, she spotted Calhoun again. He was still kneeling in front of the grave. He placed his hands on its edge and bowed his head. His eyes were closed, and his shoulders trembled. He seemed to be crying.
Kate approached him. “Hello, Captain. How are you doing?”
Calhoun didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continued to cry. Finally, he wiped his tears with his sleeve. “I’m fine, Ms. Cooper.”
“Thanks. I meant how are you coping with losing your wife?”
He opened his mouth, but then stopped and sniffed. “I don’t know if I’m coping with it.”
“You were married for thirty-five years. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Maybe not. We’d grown apart. Our relationship had become stale. I guess we both knew that. But after she died, I felt lost. Like my whole world had come crashing down.”
“How long has it been since she passed?”
“Three months.”
“Is there anyone who can help you through this?”
“There aren’t many people left who cared about Mary. Her parents are dead, so I don’t need their support. I spoke to two of her former students today. They’re holding a memorial service in her memory.”
“Where?”
“At St. John’s Church, on Tuesday evening. If you want to go, I could get you a ticket.”
“I would like to attend.”
“Then I’ll see if I can make arrangements. I’m sure the school will be glad to host you.”
As she stepped into the house, another thought crossed Kate’s mind.
“Captain,” she said. “Are you going to take that job offer?”
“I haven’t decided yet. There are several factors to consider.”
“Will you let me know when you’ve made up your mind?”
“Of course. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”
Kate approached the dining table, which was covered with photographs. Calhoun stood behind the sofa. He waited for her to say something more.
“Who are these people?” asked Kate.
“Friends of mine. All of them worked as detectives.”
“What happened?”
“They either retired or got killed. Two of them committed suicide. I think they couldn’t bear to live without Mary.”
“Did it happen all at once?”
“Yes. Just after they buried her in the cemetery.” Calhoun picked up a photograph and held it close to his chest.
A young man smiled into the camera. His skin was fair and freckled, his eyes bright. He wore a dark blue suit with an open-neck shirt and a pair of navy trousers. On his shoulder, he had a badge, probably acquired during his time working as a police officer.
“This is Tom Jackson,” said Calhoun. “Mary and I met him in college. He was a fellow student, a good friend.”
“And you two dated?”
“No. At first, we just hung out together. Then we fell in love. They were hard times. I was struggling, and she was too. Our relationship was rocky. Some days, we argued all day. Other days, we were closer than ever.”
Kate took a step back and glanced at the picture. “Why did you leave it out here?”
“Because this photo makes me feel guilty. Like I was the one who stole everything from him.”
“But what about Tom? He obviously loved her.”
“Perhaps. But he never understood the type of marriage we shared. Once our relationship began to crumble, he became increasingly bitter. He told me that I didn’t care about Mary and her problems – only myself. That it was selfish to spend money on a wedding ring and a honeymoon cruise when they were the last things Mary needed.
When I tried to explain that I was simply trying to give her the best life I could, he accused me of being infatuated with my own fame. That I was using my wife and then abandoning her. He claimed that the real reason I wanted to marry her was to gain access to a wider pool of victims.”
“That sounds awful. Are you certain Tom didn’t have a point?”
“Absolutely not. What happened between us was no one’s business but ours. It was our decision, not Tom’s. And after I made a promise to Mary, I fulfilled my obligation to her.” Calhoun laughed bitterly. “Though she wouldn’t even acknowledge it.”
“What do you mean?”
Calhoun shrugged. “After I promised to marry her, I sent her this letter. She never read it. Not until she found it after she died. In fact, it wasn’t until after our divorce that we spoke again. There was still some lingering bitterness between us. Too much to forgive.
Even though she was dying, she refused to meet with me. Instead, she sent me this note.” He placed the folded sheet of paper on the table. “She said I didn’t understand what it meant to be married for thirty-five years. That I didn’t appreciate the commitment.
That I deserved to be alone because I wasn’t worthy of love. She said it was the greatest insult she could inflict upon me. That I should be grateful that she didn’t tell anyone else about our marriage. Because if she had, I’d be dead now.”
The End