At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(49)
“Not sure how I can help, but I’ll try,” said Jason affably.
“We can start here,” said Maclean.
She pulled out a photo of Helen Dale that had been cropped to omit the reflection of the man in the window as well as the details of the cockpit controls.
“This young woman is wearing what I understand is a Griffinair flight attendant’s uniform. Can you tell us who she is?”
“Sorry, no idea.”
“She’s not a flight attendant here?”
“No,” said Jason, “it’s been ages since we’ve had flight attendants. Like literally not since I was a kid. I was only about twelve when the last flight attendants worked here, so I wouldn’t remember any of them. That’s got to be a really old photo.”
“Actually, it was taken two days ago. The woman’s name is Helen Dale. Any idea why she’s wearing one of your airline’s uniforms?”
“I can’t speak for her, but it’s common knowledge in the aviation industry that flight attendant uniforms are a hot item in the vintage clothing business and the black market. Not to be crude about it, but there are entire Japanese porn sites devoted to stewardess erotica. Japan Airlines actually had to put serial numbers and tracking chips in their stewardess uniforms because so many of them were getting ‘lost’ and turning up in hard-core movies and upscale brothels. A lot of girls get really turned on by wearing them, and a lot of guys get turned on by seeing girls in them.”
“I guess so,” said Maclean, “because this guy looks pretty turned on. Any idea who he is?”
Maclean held out the uncropped version of the photograph, showing not only the aircraft cockpit but also the reflection of the man’s face in the window.
“Wow, that’s pretty hard to make out. I’m not sure.”
Verraday watched Jason closely. Maclean glanced at Verraday, caught an almost imperceptible flicker of something on his face, then leaned forward toward Jason.
“Mr. Griffin, that’s the cockpit of a Cessna Citation executive jet in this photo. I’m no aviation expert, but I see that you’ve got an executive jet parked out there too. If I go out there into your hangar and climb aboard that plane and see that the cockpit is the same, that will put me in a very suspicious frame of mind. And if I take this out to your shop and the rest of the airport and start asking people if they recognize this man, and he’s in any way connected with you, I will be very unhappy. Unless you tell me who he is right now.”
“Okay. I hear you. It’s hard to tell because of the lighting. But it could be Cody North. He’s an employee of mine.”
“Any idea why he’s with that girl in that plane?”
“Well, it looks to me like they were partying. I mean, if there’s one thing that turns people on more than flight attendant uniforms, it’s getting it on in airplanes. Otherwise there wouldn’t be such a thing as a Mile High Club, right?” Jason laughed easily. “If they were at twenty-thousand feet going four-hundred miles an hour, it would be an issue. But there’s no rule against partying in the cockpit when the plane’s parked in a hangar, so there’s no law being broken in this photo.”
“That’s true,” said Maclean. “There was no law being broken in this photo. But there was a law broken not long after it was taken.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“This young woman’s name was Helen Dale. She worked as a call girl under the alias of Destiny. And she was murdered just a few hours after she took this selfie.”
Jason leaned forward to take a closer look. “That’s terrible. She’s a nice-looking girl.”
“Was,” emphasized Maclean. “Was. She doesn’t look like this anymore. Her killer did a real number on her. Now, Helen was a close friend of this girl.”
She held out a photo of Rachel Friesen from the Assassin Girls website.
Jason examined the photo then shrugged blankly. “Never seen her before.”
“Her name is Rachel Friesen, and besides being a close associate of Helen Dale, she was also recently murdered,” said Maclean. “Now, since your employee was one of the last people to see Helen alive, we’d like to talk to him. And I’d also like to know why you lied to us about the woman in the photo.”
Jason dropped his facade. “I’m sorry. I lied because I hired her to work a party that I threw here for potential clients. I’m shifting the focus of the company toward executive jet charters. There are a lot of manufacturers here considering moving their operations to the Maquiladora region.”
“The Maquiladora?” asked Maclean.
“The Mexican free-trade zone, along the border. You wouldn’t believe how many companies are moving their manufacturing operations to Mexico. Hell, they’re even making all the Oreo cookies there now. The labor cost south of the border is ten cents on the dollar compared to here. My plan is to fly the CEOs down to Mexico, show them around, give them the magic carpet treatment. I do all the exploratory flights, and once they set up their businesses, I’ll provide an on-call shuttle service. I’ll be working all the time.”
“Good idea for a business,” said Verraday. “Too bad a lot of Americans will lose their jobs in the process.”
“Possibly, but it’ll save jobs right here. The jobs you’re talking about are gone whether I fly CEOs down to Mexico or somebody else does. Those people will have to learn to adapt, just like I’m adapting. That’s life. This company’s been on the ropes a few times. I’m the one pulling it out of the fire. But those senior executives won’t be too happy with me if they come to my party and the next thing you know, there are homicide detectives wanting to interview them about a prostitute being murdered.”