* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when Diane and Kelly walked out of the hotel, there was a line of taxis in front of the entrance. The two women got into one, and Kelly gave the driver the number of Lois Reynolds's house on Marion Street.
Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled up to the curb. "Here we are." Kelly and Diane stared out the window, aghast. They were looking at the charred rubble of a house that had burned to the ground. There was nothing left but ashes, bits of burned wood, and a crumbled concrete foundation.
"The bastards killed her," Kelly said. She looked at Diane despairingly. "This is the end of the road." Diane was thinking. There's one last chance.
* * *
RAY FOWLER, THE acerbic manager of the Denver airport, scowled at Kelly and Diane. "Let's see if I have this straight. You two are investigating a plane crash, without any authority, and you want me to arrange for you to question the air traffic controller who was on duty, so he can give you some privileged information? Do I have that right?" Diane and Kelly glanced at each other.
Kelly said, "Well, we were hoping-"
"You were hoping what?"
"That you would help us."
"Why would I do that?" "Mr. Fowler, we just want to make sure that what happened to Gary Reynolds really was an accident." Ray Fowler was studying them closely. "It's interesting," he said. He sat there, bemused, and then spoke. "This has been on my mind a lot. Maybe you should discuss this with Howard Miller. He was the air traffic controller on duty when the accident happened. Here's his address. I'll call him and tell him you're coming over." "Thank you. That's very kind of you," Diane said.
Ray Fowler growled, "The only reason I'm doing this is because I think the FAA crash report is bullshit. We found the remains of the plane, but interestingly enough, the black box was missing.
It just disappeared."
* * *
HOWARD MILLER LIVED in a small stucco house six miles from the airport. Miller was a small, energetic man in his forties. He opened the door for Diane and Kelly. "Come in. Ray Fowler told me you were coming. What is it I can do for you?" "We'd like to talk to you, Mr. Miller." "Sit down." They sat on the couch. "Like some coffee?" "No, thanks." "You're here about the Gary Reynolds crash." "Yes. Was it an accident or-?" Howard Miller shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I've never experienced anything like it in all the years I've been working here. Everything was going according to protocol. Gary Reynolds radioed for permission to land, and we cleared him. The next thing I know, he was only two miles away, reporting a hurricane. A hurricane! Our weather monitors were clear. Later, I checked with the weather bureau. There was no wind at that time. To tell you the truth, I thought he was drunk or on drugs. The next thing we all knew, he crashed into the side of a mountain." Kelly said, "I understand that the black box hasn't been found." "That's another thing," Howard Miller commented thoughtfully. "We found everything else. What happened to the black box? The damned FAA came in and thought we had our records wrong. They didn't believe us when we told them what had happened. You know when you can feel something is not right?" "Yes." "I feel that something is not right, but I can't tell you what. I am sorry I can't be of more help." Diane and Kelly rose, frustrated. "Well, thank you very much, Mr. Miller. We appreciate your time." "Not at all." As Miller started to lead the two women toward the door, he said, "I hope Gary's sister will be all right." Kelly stopped. "What?" "She's in the hospital, you know. Poor thing. Her house burned down in the middle of the night. They don't know if she's going to make it or not." Diane froze. "What happened?" "The fire department thinks it was caused by an electrical short. Lois managed to crawl out of the front door, onto the lawn, but by the time the firefighters got to her, she was in pretty bad shape." Diane tried to keep her voice calm. "What hospital is she in?" "The University of Colorado Hospital. She's in the burn center there."
* * *
THE NURSE AT the reception desk at Three North said, "I'm sorry, Miss Reynolds is not allowed visitors." Kelly asked, "Can you tell us what room she's in?" "No, I'm afraid I can't." "This is an emergency," Diane said. "We have to see her and-" "No one sees her without written authorization." There was a note of finality in her voice.
Diane and Kelly looked at each other.
"Well, thank you." The two women walked away. "What are we going to do?" Kelly asked. "This is our last chance." "I have a plan."
* * *
A UNIFORMED MESSENGER carrying a large, beribboned parcel approached the reception desk.
"I have a package here for Lois Reynolds." "I'll sign for it," the nurse said.
The messenger shook his head. "Sorry. My orders are to deliver it to her personally. It's very valuable." The nurse hesitated. "Then I'll have to go with you." "That's fine." He followed the nurse to the end of the hall. When they reached room 391, the nurse started to open the door and the messenger handed her the package. "You can take it in to her," he said.
* * *
One FLIGHT DOWN, the messenger walked over to the bench where Diane and Kelly were waiting.
"Room 391," he told them.
"Thanks," Diane said gratefully. She handed him some money.
The two women took the stairs to the third floor, stepped into the corridor, and waited until the nurse was on the telephone. Her back was turned to them. They quickly started down the hall and entered room 391.