At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(57)

“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.”