Until the Final Verdict by Christine McGuire

snort the other line. Shoot a few photos before I secure this as a crime scene.”
    â€œDone.”
    When she finished, he swung the lavatory door closed. “I’ll have the flight crew radio ahead to arrange for FAA investigators to meet the plane in San Francisco.”
    â€œOkay. If you’ve got things under control, I’d better get back and keep my eye on Simmons. Who knows what he’s up to.”
    When she returned, she sat in Granz’ aisle seat. Simmons was chewing on a piece of ice from an empty cup. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
    He reached out for the cup, picked it up, then suddenly dropped it. He collapsed against Mackay, his eyes widened, his face blanched. Then he groaned. Frothy saliva ran from the corners of his mouth. “My . . . pain . . . chest.”
    He grabbed his shirt collar, convulsed, then released a deep breath, convulsed again, stiffened, fell face forward against the seat in front of him, and lay still.
    Kathryn reached up and punched the flight attendant Call button, groped in her purse, pulled out a small cylindrical key, and unlocked the handcuffs.
    Granz heard the commotion and raced back. “He’s having a heart attack,” she told him. “Help me get him on the floor.”
    They slid him into the aisle and rolled him onto his back. Granz looked up. “Andrea, find a first-aid kit and get an airway. Fast!”
    He pressed his fingers against Simmons’ throat. “No heartbeat.”
    Andrea returned and handed him a flat, curved, clear plastic tube. He inserted it into Simmons’ throat and told Mackay, “Start heart compressions while I resuscitate him.” Then he told Andrea, “Find out if there’s a doctor or paramedic on board.”
    Minutes later, Andrea leaned over his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she told them. “Flight attendants asked every passenger, and I checked the passenger list. There’s no medical personnel on the plane.”
    Simmons’ lifeless face was white, his eyes open, vacant, and glazed. Granz removed the airway and put his hand on Mackay’s arm. “It’s no use, he’s dead.”
    â€œDamn!”
    â€œHelp me put him in a seat.”
    When Simmons’ body was secured in the firstclass section across the aisle from Randall, Granz led Mackay to the passageway behind the cockpit and hugged her.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œYou did everything possible.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œI’ll ask the flight crew to radio ahead and have the San Francisco Coroner stand by.”
    She pulled back and shook her head. “I want Nelson to do the autopsy.”
    â€œHe had a heart attack. Let San Francisco autopsy him and send Nelson the protocol.”
    â€œHe was our prisoner.”
    â€œThe San Francisco Coroner’s gonna be pissed.”
    â€œJust be one less autopsy they have to do.” She checked her watch. “It’s only four P.M., the courts are still open. If you think they’ll be a problem, I can get a court order before we land.”
    He thought it over. “No need. I’ll call my deputy coroner and arrange for him to pick up the body at baggage.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œIt’s going to take a while in San Francisco to make all our reports.”
    She glanced at Simmons’ corpse. “What’s the hurry? He isn’t going anyplace.”

CHAPTER

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19

    â€œS HIT. ” Lieutenant James “Jazzbo” Miller dragged deep on his filtered Camel and picked up his desk phone. “Miller.”
    â€œThis is Deputy Rafael Cruz, Judge Tucker’s bailiff. I need to talk to you.”
    Miller ran his fingers through his thick red hair and blew a smoke ring at the No Smoking sign on his office wall, a relic from his boss Dave Granz’ tenure as Sheriff’s Chief of Detectives.
    â€œWhat’s on your mind, Cruz?”
    â€œI’d