Authors: John J. Nance
He dropped his hands and glared at her. "How the hell can you know anything about me?"
She shook her head sadly. "You really don't understand, do you?"
"What?"
"The syndrome that owns you." She shifted her position and sighed. "I'm a psychologist, Rudy. Men with your fixation travel a predictable behavioral path. It's very sad you didn't know that, or maybe you could have gotten help in time."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The perverted desires, Rudy. The midnight desires, the strange images in your mind, and the perverted things you imagine yourself doing to females. Those twisted fantasies have been in your head since you were a little boy, and you've never told anyone, have you?"
He looked away and shook his head in feigned disgust as she leaned forward, speaking in a calm, insistent voice.
"You can deny it to me, Rudy, but you can't deny it to yourself.
You've been fighting this all your life."
The overt motions had stopped, but she could see his jaw grinding back and forth as he looked out the window and listened.
"Those awful fantasies were always inappropriate, but they were always compelling as well. They always are. They involve your wife, your mother, and a reaction to all females. When hidden, they erupt in predictable ways, especially in a man who has this illness, doesn't know it, and then ends up entrusted with the care of a young, beautiful daughter."
He looked around at her in silence, his eyes wide. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"Yes you do, Rudy. If you hadn't molested your daughter as a little girl, she wouldn't have left at sixteen."
The explosion was slow to come, but it flared with anticipated fury as he came part way out of the seat, sputtering and spitting.
"Fuck you, bitch! Just-just fuck you! It's always the male, isn't it?
Always the man's fault. Never the female! Well, FUCK YOU!" He turned his head to the window as Kat nodded sadly and let the silence grow heavy before she spoke.
"Rudy, that is not the response of an innocent father."
She got to her feet and took a deep breath as she glanced at a thoroughly shaken Annette.
She looked back at Bostich. "Think it over. When I come back, if you're not ready to talk to the judge in Stamford and clear this up, I'm going to place you under arrest."
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90. 4:35 P.M.
Kat delivered the prescribed sequence of knocks to the cockpit door, and Ken opened it from within. She closed the door behind her and slid into the copilot's seat as Ken turned in her direction.
"Your phone rang," Ken told her, "but it was Frank, not Roger Matson. He told me Lumin's been arrested and is on the way to the county jail in Denver."
"Good!" she said.
"He also patched me into a call from Connecticut." Ken closed his eyes and winced, shaking his head slightly. "That was the hardest of all, Kat."
"I don't understand."
He looked up at her, the pain clearly visible. "Tom Davidson. The fellow who gave me a job when I desperately needed one years ago, flying his private jet. It was Tom Davidson who stood beside me and kind of forced AirBridge to hire me two years ago."
"How on earth did Davidson get Frank to patch him through?"
Ken shrugged. "North's political pull, I suppose. He has plenty. I'm still stunned that he's out there flying formation. I didn't realize, until Tom called, that North was involved. I mean, I knew he was the billionaire financing most of Tom's airline, but--"
"North didn't tell me," Kat added, "that he was an owner of Air-Bridge when we asked for his help."
Ken nodded. "I'm not surprised. He probably didn't want you to think he was protecting AirBridge's interests." He glanced at her.
"Tom was trying to talk me into landing and letting everyone go, including Bostich. He was thunderstruck to hear what we'd found on Bostich's computer."
"I can imagine," Kat replied, feeling off balance at such a call being relayed into the middle of a hijacking. "Does he know Bostich?"
Ken nodded. "For many years. He said the news that Bostich likes kiddie porn makes him wonder if he could have been connected with Lumin directly. He was very glad to hear that Lumin's been arrested."
"Well, that was one of your major goals, Ken."
"Yes, but the federal grand jury in Denver has said nothing about indicting him, and that has to be done."
Kat looked at him. "Ken, we're in luck. With what I just dragged out of Bostich, I don't think you're going to need federal charges. I think the state of Connecticut will be able to get the evidence back in."
Ken searched her face carefully. "You mean he confessed?"
She shook her head, averting her eyes, feeling strangely let down.
"No, but he trapped himself, Ken." She held up Bostich's tape recorder and locked eyes with him, her excitement returning. "I said nothing to him about your reconstructing erased files, but he already knew the files you found were erased, so he obviously knew they were there."
"That's nothing. That's obvious!" A dismissive look crossed his face, punctuated by Kat holding her index finger up in a stop gesture.
"Wait. He also knew Melinda's picture was there, too, and he knew precisely what was on it, and that unintentional admission was before a witness, and openly on tape."
"Anything else?"
"Now, Ken, this isn't hard evidence, okay? But by his reaction to my questions and his prurient interest in kiddie porn, I'm convinced he molested his daughter when she was little."
Ken's eyes had looked haunted from the moment she was forced aboard, but now a searing flash of pain careened across his face like a wave.
"You've got to be kidding," he said with obvious disgust.
She shook her head.
"I guess that figures. After we left Salt Lake, I found out he had a daughter named Annie, and his reactions when I pushed were not normal."
Ken sighed and looked at her. "But am I missing something here, Kat? How does any of that help convince the judge that Bostich lied about the tip to Roger Matson?"
"It helps destroy his credibility and correspondingly increases Roger Matson's credibility."
He was shaking his head as she continued. "Not enough."
"Ken, look, before today, Bostich could always win against an ordinary detective in a contest of credibility simply because of his position.
But not now, not after what we've discovered."
"State judges, too often, are self-righteous bastards with poor legal training, and that one was no exception. Can you imagine the gall of a robed idiot like that to free a murderer just to make a legal point to the police? There's no way he'd reverse himself just because we call from an airplane with allegations about Bostich. Only Bostich himself can cause a reversal."
"Ken," she tried again, unprepared for his reaction as he turned toward her with eyebrows flaring, his voice loud and angry.
"DAMMIT!" His right fist was clenched as he cocked his head to one side and locked his jaw, and just as quickly took a deep breath and motioned for her to wait. "Kat, get this straight! Either Bostich confesses to the judge, on the phone, in the next hour, while we're still flying, or I'm still at square one with no way to prosecute Lumin, and that is NOT acceptable!"
Kat chewed her lip and stared blankly at the instruments, her optimism gone with the gut level knowledge that he was right. Something beyond Bostich's lack of credibility, his criminal possession of kiddie porn, and his reactions to her questions would be needed to reinstate the evidence against Lumin. Even the fact of Bostich's connection to the sleazy world of kiddie porn wasn't enough. Bostich himself had to testify that he called Detective Matson to pass on the tip about Melin- da's killer.
She looked up at Ken, who had turned back to the panel and was adjusting the flight computer.
"I'm doing my best, Ken."
"I know it," he said, more sharply than he'd intended.
Kat sighed and picked up the cellular phone, flipping it open. "I was hoping Matson would call--"
There was a characteristic rapid beeping on the phone.
"Damn!"
"What?"
"I'm out of signal range."
"We're about thirty minutes from Phoenix, Kat, and I'm just going to circle until we get something resolved."
"It would be--" she began, then paused, unsure of his reaction.
"I know," he answered. "It would be easier if we were on the ground, especially if I let everyone off. But it's not going to happen, Kat. I'm not throwing everything on the table only to walk away before the game's over."
"Ken, have you thought about the fact that Bostich's cellular telephone record may be enough to convince that judge?"
"I thought about it, and I'm sure it's not, because that stupid judge would have all sorts of questions first, and Bostich would have time to raise the possibility that it was manipulated."
"Was it?"
He snorted. "Hell, no. But it won't reinstate the warrant right now, today. Only Bostich can do that."
"Then there's got to be another key," she responded.
"Meaning that Bostich isn't going to crack, right?"
She shrugged as she turned to him. "Ken, did you really think a guy with that much legal experience was just going to admit he'd perjured himself?"
He glanced at her, then back to the windscreen. "I had hope, Kat, not hard expectations."
"He's a hardened prosecutor, and the last thing he's going to do is actually put his neck in a noose and admit a criminal act."
Ken turned to Kat with a look of desperation, triggering a cold, hard knot of apprehension in her stomach.
"Let me ask you a question."
"Okay."
"Suppose Bostich was hauled in front of a firing squad. The rifles are cocked and loaded and pointed at his chest, and then someone provides him one last chance to admit he lied. Would he? Would he tell the truth at last to save his life?"
"Ken, even a moment before execution with salvation resting on that one admission, Rudy Bostich would probably stay with his lie."
He smiled slightly and nodded. "You're very good, Kat. You think very fast, but I can see in your eyes that's not an honest answer. Bostich is a coward, and cowards blink. I just have to find what it takes to make him blink, and I'm running out of time."
She took a deep breath. "If I can get back in touch with Matson in a few minutes--"
"I'm going to have to do something far more threatening to crack him,"
Ken said. "I'm going to have to put a gun to his head, literally."
"Ken, that's not a wise idea. If he calls your bluff, are you prepared to commit murder?"
"You mean, as if one capital crime isn't enough?"
"What I mean is--"
"Kat, I'm not worried about me, don't you get it? I'm finished. I'm dead. I just want to get Lumin off the streets. Now, thanks to you, I think maybe Bostich is finished professionally. But this was about Lumin, and without a confession from Bostich, Lumin continues to kill."
"The Gulfstream!" she said suddenly.
He turned. "What?"
"I forgot they're back there. Which radio can I use?"
"That same frequency is still up on number two." He reached over and pressed the appropriate button on her audio panel, and she called the name of N5LL.
"Right here, Kat. This is Dane."
She asked for a relay on the satellite phone and passed Roger Mat- son's number.
When the connection was made, Matson was audibly relieved. "I kept trying that cellular and it wasn't working. You could say I've been slightly frantic."
"I'm sorry about that. We're on a satellite phone now through a private jet sitting alongside us here in Telluride. The owner, Bill North, or his crew, will relay for us."
"Ah, who did you say?"
"Bill North. Don't worry about it. What do you have for us?" she asked.
She could hear him pause on the other end before replying. "Ah, quite a bit, Kat. Okay, first, I tracked the Internet provider on the other end of that 'SHRDLU2' address. The provider is fairly small, and scared they've done something wrong, so they were more than willing to help. They say this address has been active for about three years, and they don't track anything but the time usage. I've got their records coming off by e-mail and printing as we speak. Now. As I suspected, the name of whoever has been using SHRDLU2 is an alias that leads nowhere.
The address is a post office box that they say changes about every three months. Not just the box number, but the city and state, though mostly East Coast. They're sending that information, too."
"So, we're shot down trying to find this Mr. X without staking out a post office?"
"I was afraid that was the end result, but we may have had a stroke of luck."
"Tell me."
"SHRDLU2's payments for the account are made in cash sent in an envelope two weeks early every time. A new one had just arrived. I asked a friend in the Rochester Police Department--that's where this provider is located--I asked for an emergency fingerprint check. They rolled the portable crime lab out there, dusted, found a couple of excellent prints, and hopefully are getting ready to scan them into your FBI computer through a modem for an emergency ID check."