Justice by Fire

7

Passengers bound for Washington, D.C., crowded from the lounge to board the jet. Floyd Jefferson ran to a pay phone. He punched the number of David Holt's Mill Valley home. After a few rings, he heard the voice of Mrs. Holt.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, ma'am. This is Floyd Jefferson. The plane's leaving and Mr. Holt isn't here yet. Did he..."

"He left an hour ago. Could there be a traffic problem?"

"I don't know… I'll call the office."

"And I'll call the office if he calls here."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Holt."

The young journalist punched another number. The law-office receptionist answered.

"Holt, Lindsey, and Stein…"

"This is Floyd Jefferson. I'm calling from the airport. Mr. Holt and I are supposed to fly east this morning, but he hasn't shown up. In fact, he just missed the plane. Did he call? Leave a message?"

"No, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Holt hasn't called. Perhaps a jam delayed him. Why don't you give me your number? I'll call you when he calls."

He read the number to her. "It's a pay phone but I'll be here. I'll get seats on the next flight east and wait by the phone."

Four hours later, he called the office for the tenth time. He heard the alarm in the receptionist's voice before she told him.

"The police just called! They found Mr. Holt's car in Oakland."

Jefferson felt his body go cold. "What about him?"

"They don't know. There was no… no blood, no sign of a struggle in the car, they said, but…"

"I'll call back in an hour."

Jefferson ran to the ticket clerk, bought a ticket to San Diego.