mutilated body. “I’ve got postmortem bruising consistent with his position during the crash. And look at these gashes,” she pointed to a portion of the man’s arm that was relatively unburned, “there’s no sign of blood loss. Bottom line, this guy was already dead when the helicopter slammed into the hospital.”
“Son of a bitch,” Simon said. “That sure as hell changes the game. Looks like GI Joe might not have been as red, white, and blue as we were led to believe.”
Although Jillian had flown in helicopters as part of her training at Homeland Security, she’d never actually been to a heliport. Of course she’d seen this particular one in many movies, and in truth, it looked pretty much the same in person as it did on the big screen. A giant L-shaped slab of concrete jutted out into the mouth of the East River, fronted by a parking lot and a two-story building just off the FDR.
She and Simon had come to meet with Aerial Manhattan’s owner about their newest discoveries concerning the crash, in particular any insight he might have into Nicolas Essex, the pilot. Something that might point to the man’s involvement with what now appeared to be a deliberate assault on the hospital. Drake Flynn was on his way to Essex’s apartment with the same goal. Hopefully, between the three of them, they’d hit pay dirt.
The families of the people lying in the morgue deserved answers. And the first step was to find out what role Nicolas Essex had played in all of this. The wind off the river was brisk, and Jillian grabbed the end of her ponytail to keep her hair out of her face as they walkedtoward the heliport offices. Definite downside to long hair. She’d considered cutting it when she’d taken the job with Homeland Security. One more way to make herself into someone new. But in the end, she’d settled for pulling it back.
Once, a long time ago, Simon had teased her that it was her crowning glory. She’d held the compliment close long after he’d stopped being a permanent fixture in her life. Maybe because no one else had ever said anything like that to her before. Or maybe because she was a glutton for self-flagellation.
She shook her head, pushing aside her thoughts. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not now. Not after fighting so hard to get to this point. Simon represented everything that she’d sworn to walk away from. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to let go of everything she’d gained for the faded memory of a man who’d walked out of her life without looking back. This was just business. Or maybe it was some kind of cosmic test. Either way, she was determined to get through it without letting the past rear its ugly head.
“So what’s the director’s name again?” Simon asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
“Alan Neiman,” she said, checking her iPad for verification. “He founded the company. He grew up in Flatbush. Never went to college. Was drafted and did a couple tours in Vietnam, then he was stationed stateside until he retired and founded Aerial Manhattan.”
“And they’re headquartered out of here?” Simon held the door open as they stepped into the lobby of the building, a sign posted on the wall directing them to a suite in the back.
“No,” Jillian shook her head, still reading on her tablet. “Their main offices are in Brooklyn. But this is where most of their flights originate, so they keep an office here as well. The manager is actually Neiman’s son. Gideon.”
“And I’m guessing you have a dossier on him as well.” Simon grinned as they stopped outside the doors leading to Aerial Manhattan.
“I do,” she acknowledged, closing the cover on the iPad, “but I can tell you right now that it’s pretty uninteresting. Started with Aerial out of college, worked his way up to running the heliport office. Been with the company almost eleven years. No record and nothing that would flag him as a person of interest.”
“All right, then,
“Son of a bitch,” Simon said. “That sure as hell changes the game. Looks like GI Joe might not have been as red, white, and blue as we were led to believe.”
Although Jillian had flown in helicopters as part of her training at Homeland Security, she’d never actually been to a heliport. Of course she’d seen this particular one in many movies, and in truth, it looked pretty much the same in person as it did on the big screen. A giant L-shaped slab of concrete jutted out into the mouth of the East River, fronted by a parking lot and a two-story building just off the FDR.
She and Simon had come to meet with Aerial Manhattan’s owner about their newest discoveries concerning the crash, in particular any insight he might have into Nicolas Essex, the pilot. Something that might point to the man’s involvement with what now appeared to be a deliberate assault on the hospital. Drake Flynn was on his way to Essex’s apartment with the same goal. Hopefully, between the three of them, they’d hit pay dirt.
The families of the people lying in the morgue deserved answers. And the first step was to find out what role Nicolas Essex had played in all of this. The wind off the river was brisk, and Jillian grabbed the end of her ponytail to keep her hair out of her face as they walkedtoward the heliport offices. Definite downside to long hair. She’d considered cutting it when she’d taken the job with Homeland Security. One more way to make herself into someone new. But in the end, she’d settled for pulling it back.
Once, a long time ago, Simon had teased her that it was her crowning glory. She’d held the compliment close long after he’d stopped being a permanent fixture in her life. Maybe because no one else had ever said anything like that to her before. Or maybe because she was a glutton for self-flagellation.
She shook her head, pushing aside her thoughts. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not now. Not after fighting so hard to get to this point. Simon represented everything that she’d sworn to walk away from. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to let go of everything she’d gained for the faded memory of a man who’d walked out of her life without looking back. This was just business. Or maybe it was some kind of cosmic test. Either way, she was determined to get through it without letting the past rear its ugly head.
“So what’s the director’s name again?” Simon asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
“Alan Neiman,” she said, checking her iPad for verification. “He founded the company. He grew up in Flatbush. Never went to college. Was drafted and did a couple tours in Vietnam, then he was stationed stateside until he retired and founded Aerial Manhattan.”
“And they’re headquartered out of here?” Simon held the door open as they stepped into the lobby of the building, a sign posted on the wall directing them to a suite in the back.
“No,” Jillian shook her head, still reading on her tablet. “Their main offices are in Brooklyn. But this is where most of their flights originate, so they keep an office here as well. The manager is actually Neiman’s son. Gideon.”
“And I’m guessing you have a dossier on him as well.” Simon grinned as they stopped outside the doors leading to Aerial Manhattan.
“I do,” she acknowledged, closing the cover on the iPad, “but I can tell you right now that it’s pretty uninteresting. Started with Aerial out of college, worked his way up to running the heliport office. Been with the company almost eleven years. No record and nothing that would flag him as a person of interest.”
“All right, then,
Similar Books
