First Born(81)

We drive about thirty minutes and then pull into Teterboro airport. I can’t see anything from inside here unless I open a leather hatch on the roof section of the crate.

When we arrive in the hangar I close the hatch and spread out inside the box, my senses on high alert, my finger on the Dictaphone button.

I wait, listening.

My breath moistens the inside of the leather box.

The sound of men talking.

DeLuca opens the rear of the Mercedes and he, along with, I’m guessing, one other guy, maybe James Kandee, unload my box. What I didn’t realise is that the crate has integrated wheels. They pull me outside the hangar on to the taxi area. I’m deposited next to an identical dog crate. I can smell Krista through the material. Dog odour and expensive leather.

She growls.

The men outside my crate are joined by others and I hear laughing.

Then the sound of jet engines starting up.

More talking. Are they checking James Kandee’s passport? Do they even check in a place like this?

I get a kick to my side so I unfold the piece again and it feels like pony skin complete with black and brown and white fur. I hold it up to the leather hatch and then I press button one. A low growl. Krista responds with a similar growl from her own crate. The men laugh again. Someone rips off the hatch and holds a microchip scanning device to the fur and it beeps. The hatch closes.

‘Beautiful dogs,’ I hear the customs official say.

‘Yes, they are,’ says a boyish voice. Nasal. The voice of James Kandee.

I press button two for a longer growl.

More laughing and then the men leave DeLuca to manhandle both dog crates into the jet. I get bumped around through the plane door and back into the rear of the aircraft, where I know the private bedroom is located.

Silence.

I’m on board a Gulfstream G650 jet and the dog in the next crate over is sniffing and scratching at her box.

The engines scream and Krista barks.

As the plane taxis I dig my nails into the soft pads of my fingers, focusing, trying not to pass out with terror.

The plane picks up speed.

Krista barks and howls.

The plane is in the air, and I am leaving New York City once and for all.





Chapter 50


It’s not as bad as you think, taking off while you’re trapped inside a leather dog crate.

I’d rather have a comfortable seat and a seatbelt, but there is an illogical reassurance that comes from being confined in a small space. I’m surrounded by Hermès calf leather and the crate is jammed between the on-board bed and the fuselage wall.

Once we’re in the air I take a sip from the water bottle tube.

I wait for a long time. What feels like hours.

A noise.

I hear the door to the jet’s bedroom open.

The hatch lifts and I see his narrow, clean-shaven face. He smiles down at me and then he opens the lid of the crate and offers me his delicate hand. I take it, contorting my limbs to climb out, stretching, bent double for a moment before straightening up.

‘You look like you need a drink, Molly.’

‘Is it safe?’

‘On here?’ he says. ‘Completely. The captain and co-pilot have been with me for eleven years and seven years respectively. They know the score, I told you last time. They’re not to come out of the cockpit unless they need the restroom, which is directly next to the cockpit. They will not enter the rear two-thirds of the aircraft. You’re safe. Please, come through.’

He leads me into the centre portion of the jet. A sofa with a film projector, twelve large cream leather armchairs, each headrest monogrammed JK. Just as I remember it.

‘Was the dog crate better than the suitcase, or worse?’

‘Better,’ I say. ‘The pilot has the flight plan?’

He nods. ‘Good choice, Molly. You did your research. I mean, all three options I gave you had effectively zero extradition risk, but your choice, for my money, was the right one. Palm trees and easy living.’

I made my choice after news of KT’s death came out. I contacted James Kandee and told him he had to help me, otherwise he would be accessory to a murder. I needed a back-up plan in case things went wrong.

‘How long before we’re there?’

‘Not long now.’

‘Did DeLuca’s people get my money out from the suite?’

He smiles and points to the chair opposite. We both sit down facing each other. ‘No, he did not.’

I stand back up.

‘Relax, Molly. Please, sit down. The day you’ve had. Please, take a seat and let me explain.’

I sit down.

‘Drink?’

‘My money?’

‘Well, in reality it’s my money, but I understand your concern. They couldn’t get into your suite; the NYPD were all over it. I’m sorry, I know you had some sentimental items stowed away.’

‘I had thirty-eight thousand dollars stowed away.’

He reaches down under his seat and lifts up a black leather portfolio folder. It matches the dog crate. ‘I rounded it back up to fifty.’

He pushes the leather folder across the table to me and I unzip it. ‘Fifty?’

‘Count it if you like, Molly.’

I flick through a wad of notes. ‘I trust you.’