Hard Landing

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"So the only thing missing was this tape?" Dan was trying to be somber and concerned as we stood in the window at Gate Forty-two, but he couldn't completely hide his excitement. A hotel room invasion was exactly the kind of thing that got his blood flowing. Too bad it had happened to me and not him.

"A tape is missing, but it's definitely not the one he was looking for. The East Boston Video Vault is not going to be pleased with me. It was their only copy of The Wild Bunch, the anniversary edition."

"What's that?"

"It's an old western. A classic."

He stared.

"Sam Peckinpah? William Holden? Ernest Borgnine?"

"I never would have pegged you for westerns, Shanahan."

"I love westerns, but this is not just a western. It's a-"

A crashing noise rattled through the silent concourse. I flinched, then realized it was the wire-mesh gate at the throat of the concourse. Someone at the security checkpoint had rolled it up into its nest in the ceiling, probably Facilities Maintenance doing their daily calibration of the metal detectors. It was four-thirty in the morning, and the Logan operation of Majestic Airlines was open for business.

"Take it easy, boss."

"I'm edgy."

"Do you think it was Little Pete who was in your room?"

"Yes, I do. He touched all my things. My clothes were all out of the drawers. In the bathroom my toothbrush and my razor, all my makeup, it was all there but moved, everything moved so that I would know that it had been touched. It felt personal. I felt him there. It made my skin crawl."

Dan leaned back against the window, hands in his pockets, and crossed one foot over the other at the ankle. He looked as if he'd gotten dressed in the dark this morning. His shirttail was out, his tie was draped around his neck, and one button was missing from his shirt. I probably didn't look much better, although I had fewer parts to deal with. I had on a simple dark brown and slate blue turtleneck sweater, a long, heavy one that came down almost to my thighs. I wore it over a brown suede, shin-length skirt and leather boots, and is it any wonder I had every inch of my body covered up this morning? Our coats were in a pile on one of the chairs in the row behind us.

"We know he knows where you were staying," Dan said. "He's got plenty of free time on his hands since he's not working, and he hates your guts." He threw me a sideways glance and grinned.

"This is not funny to me."

"I'm sorry, boss. I'm teasing you. I'm getting you back for not telling me that you found Ellen's snitch."

"I did what I thought was right. He's paranoid about someone finding out what he's doing, and I can't blame him. Everyone knows everything that goes on in this place."

He tapped his knuckles and then his St. Christopher's ring on the vertical metal strut that separated the large windowpanes. It was the only noise in a quiet concourse that felt cavernous at that time of the morning. "Well, fuck him," he said finally, almost to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"Fuck him if he doesn't trust me."

"It's good that you're not taking this personally. Let's focus on his information and not him."

"Okay. Why would Little Pete take your copy of- what the hell is it? The Wild Bunch?"

"Obviously, he thought it might be something else. Now I have a box with no video. Sound familiar?"

"The porno box in Ellen's gym locker."

"Exactly. I had plenty of time to think about this when I was lying awake all last night staring at the ceiling. I think that Dickie Flynn sent Ellen a video-cassette. That's what was in the mystery package."

"Why would they think you have it, especially when you don't?"

"All I can figure is that someone found out I rented a VCR, jumped to the conclusion that I had found the tape, and came looking. But only for the tape. All the stuff from Ellen's box, her files and mail, it was dumped on the floor but it was all still there."

"What does the snitch say?"

"I haven't had a chance to ask him, but the package he described would have been about the right size. It could have been a videocassette, but he never looked inside the envelope, so he wouldn't know for sure." When I leaned against the window next to Dan, the glass felt cold on my arm all the way through my thick sweater. "I think we're looking for Dickie Flynn's videocassette, I think it's the key to whatever happened to Ellen, and the Dwyers think we already have it."

Dan tilted his head from side to side, trying out the idea. "What's on the tape?"

"I don't know. Let's start with why Dickie Flynn would send his package to Ellen in the first place. Did he even know her?"

"He knew her. She went to visit him when she heard he was sick. Between Nor'easter and Majestic the guy had given thirty-five years to the company, and she figured someone should pay their respects. Lenny couldn't be bothered."

"Did you go?"

"No. Dickie was an asshole. Just because he was dying didn't make him any less of an asshole. Don't get me wrong. I didn't wish stomach cancer on the guy. God forbid anyone should have to go that way, but he always treated me like dirt, and I didn't want to be a hypocrite."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of an agent hurrying through the concourse on her way to start an early shift. She waved as she went by, and we waved back. If she was surprised to see us there at that hour she didn't show it.

"When did Ellen make this visit?"

"When we first heard he was dying, maybe six months ago. Sometime late last summer." He laughed. "Ellen came back and she said he was an asshole, too."

"Last summer's too early. When did he die?"

"Around the holidays. Thanksgiving, I think. Molly went to the funeral. She'd know."

That timing worked better. I took a few steps toward the podium at the gate, unmanned and locked up at this hour. When I had it straight in my mind, I came back. "Right before he died, sometime around Thanksgiving, Dickie Flynn sent Ellen a secret tape, something he'd hidden away years before when he still worked here. She watched it and whatever she saw caused her to start an investigation. We don't know what it was about, but the next thing she did was call Matt Levesque wanting to know where she could find her old merger files. We found her own personal merger folder hidden in her gym locker. She was on the task force and knowledgeable on details of the transaction."

"So she found out something hinky about the merger."

"I think so, and it has to be the IBG contract, the one that was voted down because that happened right here in Boston. And it was significant. That contract failing as much as guaranteed that the deal would go forward. My source tells me that Big Pete was paid to tank it."

"That's a rumor. It's always been the rumor, but no one knows for sure."

"I'll bet Dickie Flynn knew for sure. Maybe he sent Ellen some kind of proof of the contract fraud or tampering or whatever you'd call it, and she was trying to put together a case. The package is evidence, and that's why Big Pete wants it."

"You think this proof is on a tape?"

"That's part of what we don't know. I also don't understand why Ellen wanted your Nor'easter procedures manual. What the heck was her interest in the Beechcraft, anyway? And Crescent Security. We don't know the significance of that."

I felt my shoulders sag with the weight of all we didn't know, but Dan was looking at things from a different angle. "We know a lot more than we did this time last week," he said brightly.

A passenger settled in not far from us, a businessman with two newspapers and a cup of coffee. We moved a couple of windows farther down the concourse.

"We know something else, too, Dan. Ellen was spending time with Lenny. They were seen together in the same airport ignoring each other. Molly's going to check Lenny's travel schedule against Ellen's list of destinations. That will tell us for sure."

He had turned toward the window and was looking down on the ramp, where a three-inch blanket of snow had fallen during the night. He was either wearing down or he'd decided to stop wasting his breath, because even though he was shaking his head, he didn't argue. All he said was, "What next?"

"Angelo."

"What about him?"

"That stakeout Ellen sent you on, the target all along was Angelo, not Little Pete. Ellen set him up. It sounds as if she wanted to fire him and trade his job back for information."

"I guess there's a good reason Ellen didn't tell me anything about what she was doing."

"I don't know, Dan."

He rubbed the side of his face with the palm of his hand. "So Angie knows something, which is why you didn't want me to bring him back."

"I'm sorry I couldn't explain that, but now we have to figure out how to get him to talk and we have to hurry. Lenny's trying to get his arbitration hearing scheduled within the next couple of weeks."

"If he does, we're screwed. The arbitrators will probably bring him back, and even if they don't, after arbitration Lenny can do whatever he wants."

"Yes, but until then it's still my call. This is the station where he was fired, and I'm now the chief operating officer here. Lenny can't do anything, not formally anyway, without an exception from the international, and he needs Scanlon's permission to do that."

Things were beginning to move outside. The pristine white expanses between the gates were beginning to look like abstract paintings, clean canvases brushed with black tire tracks in wide arcs and tight loops.

"I'm going down to check on the deicing operation," he said. "I'll let you know when I get in touch with Angie."

"Good. Thanks for coming in so early. Hey…" I had to call after him because he'd shifted into airport speed and was almost to the stairwell. "You left your coat."

After he was gone, it was just the passenger and me. I turned to the window for one last look at the peaceful scene before it was completely obliterated. There was an aircraft on every gate, and the snow on their long, smooth spines and broad, flat wings looked like soft down comforters. Later, when the sky was brighter and the aircraft were preparing for departure, all trace of it would have to be cleared off under the high-pressure blast of the deicing hose. But for now the dry white crystals softened the rough edges and brought grace and gentleness to a hard place. If I stared long enough, I could almost believe the illusion. Maybe that was Dan's problem with Ellen. He was having a hard time letting go of the illusion.

I stayed out in the concourse until the first departures had gone, greeting passengers, lifting tickets, and assisting the agents. By the time I made it to my office, Molly was in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I work here."

"Did you forget about your meeting?"