Killer Summer

48

It took Walt three minutes to reach Sun Valley Aviation. Pete was already there, speaking to a woman that a counter plaque identified as REBA.

“No kids,” Pete said as Walt entered. “Just a flight crew of three.”

“T-A-nine-five-nine?” Walt said.

“Yes,” the woman said. Her upper lip was moist. “It wasn’t the same flight crew that flew it in, but that’s not all that unusual.”

“Video?” Walt said, pointing to a camera high in the corner.

She led them into the back office, where a dedicated computer screen showed four camera angles. It took her only minutes to match a time stamp on the fuel receipt with the time stamp on the video and play back the images of the flight crew.

The first two guys wore crew caps down low, obscuring their faces. The third guy wore a baseball cap backward, and managed to stay off camera most of the time. Finally, he happened to look up.

“That’s Salvo,” Walt said.

The receptionist froze the image. Matthew Salvo was looking right at the camera.

“And Salvo is…?” Pete said.

“A person of interest,” Walt answered.

Cantell was no longer after the wine. He’d stolen Sumner’s private jet worth seventeen million dollars.

“I want to confirm T-A-nine-five-nine is not on this ramp,” Walt said.

He walked briskly to the FBO’s door and pushed out into the cool evening air, taking in the large number of jets and the gaping hole in the back line where Reba was pointing.

“See?”

But Walt didn’t see. His eyes were fixed on the beat-up Subaru parked outside the chain-link fence.