Wings in the Dark by Michael Murphy Page A

while I checked the door. It was locked. Damn.
    The car looked clean as a whistle inside, except for a business card on the dashboard with Kalua’s name and an office address. I pulled a piece of paper from my wallet and jotted down the location then flashed Laura a thumbs-up.
    She crushed her half-smoked cigarette and coughed. “Thanks, Officer.”
    He tipped his cap. “It was a pleasure, Miss…”
    She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, showing off her diamond. “Mrs.”
    As we walked away, a blue Model A belching smoke skidded to a stop in the lot. The reporter Hunter Conway jumped out and hurried toward the open hangar. He ran past us then slid to a halt. “Miss Wilson, Mr. Donovan. I got a report of a shooting next to Amelia Earhart’s plane. What are you doing here?”
    Within hours, reporters would climb all over this case. It was our luck this guy was the first.
    To my surprise, Laura deferred to me.
    “I received a call from George Putnam, an old publishing buddy. He asked me to come down and take a look at the crime scene.”
    Conway cocked his head. “So, you’re investigating the shooting?”
    I held up both hands. “Nothing to investigate. Looks like suicide to me.”
    “Suicide?”
    If Conway had been at a crime desk, he would have crossed paths with Tanaka. “You’re probably wasting your time but check with the lead detective. His name is Tanaka. You’ll want to talk to him.”
    Conway let out a grown. “If Tanaka’s involved, he won’t speak to me.”
    “Like I said, it’s a suicide.”
    Even Laura’s acting ability couldn’t hide the smile that threatened to turn into laughter.
    At the front of the hangar, William, in his three-piece suit, and Amelia finally appeared. When Amelia saw us talking to Conway, it was like she sensed his occupation. She pulled a New York Giants cap from her pocket and set it on her head, tucking her hair inside. She tugged the bill of the cap over her face.
    Giants? Didn’t anyone root for the Yankees anymore?
    The reporter removed his fedora and scratched his head. “You know anything about the deceased?”
    I shook my head. “I hope he’s a lawyer.”
    I pointed out the cop who liked Laura’s gams. “That man is a wealth of information.”
    “Thanks.” Hat in hand, Conway hurried to the black Cadillac.
    As we reached the Olds, the kid looked like someone about to attend his own funeral.
    I nodded to Laura. “Why don’t you and Amelia wait in the car a second?”
    I led the kid away from the Olds. Since he was coming along, I had to find out if I could trust him. “You smoke?”
    He shook his head.
    “Drink?”
    “I’m not quite twenty.”
    “You might want to start.” I waited for him to laugh or at least smile, but it never happened. I had a lot of work to do. “Putnam calls you William. What do your friends at Yale call you?”
    He cocked his head. “I don’t have that many friends at school, but when I was a kid, everyone called me Billy.”
    “Billy it is.”
    His voice trembled. “Mr. Donovan, I don’t think I can be much help.”
    I took another look. He was young and wiry. I bet he could be tougher if someone took the time to show him how. “Just stay out of the way. I expect the rest of the night will be strictly routine. You’ll probably be bored. These types of things often require long hours of stakeouts or digging through people’s trash, that sort of thing.”
    He breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought investigating a murder might be dangerous.”
    “Naah. Just in the movies.” I couldn’t tell him the truth. I led him to the car and opened the back door.
    Billy sat beside Amelia, who glanced back at the hangar, clearly impatient to leave.
    I smiled when I glanced toward the open door, where the reporter was trying to talk the cop into letting him inside.
    The starter coughed for several seconds. I slapped the steering wheel, as if that would do some good. Mikayla’s damn car wouldn’t start.
    “Mr.