Free Book Excerpts

A murder case and a governmental conspiracy involving congress and the intelligence community.

Excerpt

PROLOGUE
JUNE 2005

On what was to be the last night of his life, Jason Porter was feeling pretty good. It was pleasantly cool for late June, his wife Angela was returning home, and he was pulled off the road in his white Lexus waiting for her call.
Twenty-odd miles to the south, Angela had just arrived at the American Airlines baggage claim area at Reagan National Airport. Taking her cell phone from her purse, she speed-dialed home. Her home. Still can’t get used to that, she thought, moving closer to the carousel and stopping next to a woman she recognized from her flight. She heard a buzz, a click and then Jason came on the line.
“Hi,” he said. “So the plane was on time.”
“Ten minutes early. I’m waiting for my bags.” Angela smiled at the woman.
“Good. I’m on my way.”
“Where are you? I dialed the house.”
“Ever hear of call forwarding? I’m halfway down Archer’s Creek Road.”
Angela looked at her watch. “Jason, I can take a cab. You don’t have to pick me up.”
“Sure I do. Now be good and tell me how you are.”
“Exhausted. All I want is to go to bed. Mother’s still unhappy about our wedding.” This brought a smile from the woman.
“I know, for you not marrying a Catholic.”
“No, now it’s for keeping my last name.”
“Warned you about that.”
“One Mrs. Porter’s quite enough, thank you.”
“Did Tony at least send her a birthday card?”
“You know my brother. He’s angry at everybody.” The woman nodded with understanding.
“Wonderful family I married into.”
“You can always go back to Brenda.”
“No, thank you. Listen, I–Jesus Christ!” Jason yelled.
“Jason, what is it?”
“Angie, they have aitch–!”
She heard a thump, glass shattering, another thump. “Jason, what’s wrong?” she shouted.
Long silence, then, “Jen…should have known…you–.” Silence.
“Jason!”
“Are you okay, honey?” the woman asked, touching Angela’s arm.
Angela stared at her. “No. I think my husband’s just had an accident.”

PART I

THURSDAY, AUGUST 18

Nick Mercante was having trouble controlling Jasper, the new black and white Springer Spaniel he and his wife Kathy had adopted from the rescue league. The dog was a five-year-old male, younger and far more energetic than Patches, their first Springer whom they had to put down in March.
“Wait till you get to be my age,” Nick said, yanking harder on the leash and bringing the dog to a reluctant stop at the edge of the driveway. He had just turned sixty, was short with graying black hair and brown eyes, and this time of year favored cotton shirts and jeans. An historian by training and a detective by avocation, Nick worked at home as a researcher for NASA when he wasn’t helping the Metropolitan police solve homicides.
It was at NASA that he’d met his wife Kathy in 1991. After a brief courtship he’d moved into the beautiful house in Northwest Washington that she and her ex-husband had purchased a decade before. Together they successfully saw her daughters through their teens and off to college. Recently she’d been experimenting with telecommuting, giving her more time to spend in her garden or on her indoor projects. But today she and her red pickup truck had gone to work.
“All right, let’s go,” Nick said to Jasper, “but slowly.”
The dog actually seemed to obey as they went across the cul-de-sac and started down the sloping street toward Overlook Drive. But when a Mercedes sedan turned the corner and drove toward them, Jasper began to bark and strain on the leash. The car promptly came to a stop.
“Looks like you have your hands full,” a white-haired pleasant-faced man said, lowering his window.
“Phil! What’re you doing around here?”
“Looking for your help.”
“Good, I owe you one. Park at the top of the circle and I’ll take monster mutt inside where we can talk.”
With Jasper pulling him back up the hill, Nick watched the Mercedes glide forward. He had met Phil McKnight while investigating the murder and attempted murder McKnight’s twin goddaughters. McKnight was a prominent attorney and was instrumental in solving the case. The two men had kept in touch and, this past winter, Nick had asked McKnight to sign a letter posing as the attorney of a murder victim. The letter helped trap the killer.
After Nick gave McKnight a quick tour of the first floor of the house, the men settled in the glass enclosed porch that overlooked the back gardens, Jasper occupying one corner busily doing battle with a rawhide bone.
McKnight removed a cigar from his tan blazer before taking one of the large wicker club chairs. “By the way, how did the Sanford case come out? I never heard anything after the arraignment.”
“They’re still negotiating a plea bargain.”
“Really? Who’s defense counsel?”
“Linda Barringer.”
McKnight nodded, unwrapping the cigar. “She loves the tough cases. Mine won’t be any easier.”
Nick took a sip of his coffee. “So who’s been murdered?”
“No one, according to the police. It’s supposedly an auto accident. Client of mine, Jason Porter. Car went into a ravine up in Montgomery County the last Sunday in June.”
“Anyone see it happen?”
“No, but Jason’s wife Angela claims he saw someone or something that caused the crash.”
“How does she know?”
“She was on her cell phone with him at the time. She had just flown back from New York and was at the airport. She called 911. A witness confirms she was there.”
“Maybe Jason saw another car.”
“Possibly, but I doubt it.” McKnight puffed on the unlit cigar. “He knew that road like his own face. It runs past his house and winds along some large estates to River Road. It’s not used that much and people know better than to speed. Jason wasn’t drunk and there were no skid marks.”
“He die at the scene?”
“Might as well have. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
“If he was your client, he must have had a few bucks. The wife stand to inherit them?”
“She does now,” McKnight puffed.
“Now?”
“Angela Garcia’s nearly 20 years younger than Jason was. He took my advice and had her sign a very tough prenup. But Jason changed his will just before their anniversary party in early June.”
“Just a month before the accident?”
“Correct. Now she gets half the estate. I’m the executor, but I’m not rushing to probate until I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Lucky her and an alibi to boot. Think she had a partner waiting for Jason on the road?”
McKnight smiled. “It’s crossed my mind. I did a background check on her before the prenup but not since. Only people I know she’s close to are her mother and a younger brother Tony.”
“Anyone else benefit under the will?”
“His ex-wife Brenda gets a hefty chunk of cash. Part of her divorce settlement.”
“Was that a nasty split?” Nick asked.
“Very amicable. Jason believed she deserved it after their years together. She wanted protection in case she remarried while he was alive.”
“When the alimony would stop.”
“Right,” McKnight said, nodding. “She wanted to get paid either way.”
“And she does. Okay, you have a young wife who trumped her prenup and an smart ex-wife. It still could have been an accident, Phil.”
“Except that Jason left me a voice mail a few days before he died. I was away at the time.”
“What did he say?”
“That the Jenny may crash. Call me. The Jenny was Jason’s nickname for his latest project, the Fluxlight.”
“Jenny. Name supposed to mean something?”
McKnight took another puff. “It should to you. You and Jason shared a hobby: stamp collecting.”
Nick tilted his head, then beamed. “The inverted Jenny! The airmail stamp with the upside down plane. One of those is worth a small fortune.”
“Jason could easily have afforded one, but kept hoping he’d find one somewhere in an old collection.”
“A true collector,” Nick nodded. “Okay, what kind of project was the Jenny, or Fluxlight or whatever?”
“Some kind of interrogation device for the military. Jason was an electrical engineer and founded a defense-contracting firm. Kitty Hawk Systems.”
“Kitty Hawk…The Wright brothers. Airplanes again.”
“Yep. Flying was Jason’s first love. In college he took a summer job out near Andrews Air Force base and that’s where he got the bug. He splurged on lessons and got his pilot’s license before he graduated.”
“The guy did a bit of everything.”
“Might have even tried to fly jets if he didn’t develop high blood pressure and the doctors told him to not to.”
“And I gather Kitty Hawk was a successful company.”
“Oh yes. Jason was brilliant and hired the best people. He sold the company a couple of years ago just before he divorced Brenda. That’s when he met Angela. My firm represented Jason in the deal. She was a paralegal for the buyer’s attorneys.”
“He didn’t waste much time mooning over Brenda,” Nick said.
“No, and he never quit designing products either.
“So the message he left you that Jenny was going to crash meant some kind of trouble for the project.”
“Or for him. But the Montgomery County police aren’t interested. They say the accident speaks for itself.”
“My friend Frank Stephens might talk to them,” Nick said, referring to the D.C. homicide detective both men knew.
“Good, I’d hoped you might contact him. He must know a county cop or two.”
“So should his partner, Sam Witkin, but let me start with Frank. Is there anyone else with a motive?”
“Two,” McKnight said, taking two folded sheets from his blazer pocket. “Here are my ideas, names, background and phone numbers. Should give you a good start.”
Nick looked down the list. “Brenda…Angela…David Holland?”
“Jason’s college buddy and co-founder of Kitty Hawk. He later started Shamrock Industries and became a competitor. He tried to buy Kitty Hawk, but Jason would have none of it.”
“They have a falling out?”
“Not at first,” McKnight answered. “In fact, Holland agreed to less than a 50 percent buyout. In turn, Jason gave him a very liberal non-competition clause. Shamrock was only barred from manufacturing a few specified products for two years. Everything else was fair game.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Nick said. “What happened?”
“Shamrock landed a contract for a new type of fuel injector for helicopters. Jason sued, accusing Holland of breaching the non-competition clause and pirating a product in Kitty Hawk’s pipeline.”
“Was he right?”
“I thought so, but they settled the case. Still, it damaged the friendship. After that they were intense rivals right up until Jason’s death.”
“Why? After Jason sold Kitty Hawk he wasn’t manufacturing anymore, was he?”
“No, but he was still developing products like the Fluxlight and Holland knew it. In fact Jason announced completion of the Fluxlight at his and Angela’s anniversary party. He even invited Brenda and guess who was there as her escort?”
Nick looked back at the list. “Holland. This is getting complicated.”
McKnight crossed his legs with a smile. “Keep reading.”
Nick turned the page. “Senator Lloyd Gavin?”
“Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on Defense Appropriations. Jason thought Gavin ruined his business. Forced him to sell Kitty Hawk.”
“How?”
McKnight puffed on his cigar. “You ever hear of the Osprey troop carrier?”
Nick thought a moment then snapped his fingers. “Big news about ten years ago. Had the speed and range of an airplane but could take off and hover like a helicopter. Problem was it kept crashing.”
“That’s the one,” McKnight said. “Actually killed a few contractor’s employees in front of congressmen down in Quantico. But it’s back on track thanks to folks like Gavin. He thinks it would be very useful in Iraq.”
“What’s the connection with Jason?”
“Kitty Hawk was a subcontractor on an electrical system for the Osprey. Gavin accused Jason of dragging his feet trying to perfect it. The two screamed at each other at a closed committee hearing back in 2001. Shortly afterwards Kitty Hawk lost the contract. The first of many.”
“Political hardball?”
“Jason thought so. Claimed he was blackballed. He had been publicly criticizing Gavin for ignoring safety and quality control and pressuring the Pentagon to favor certain contractors.”
“Would Shamrock happen to be one of those?” Nick smiled.
McKnight grinned. “I see you’re getting the picture. And the thing is, people were beginning to listen to Jason’s complaints.”     ”Not great for the Senator’s image.”
“Indeed. He’s up for reelection next year and already trailing Congressman Ted Brady for the Republican nomination.”
“But, Phil, you don’t really think Gavin’s behind Jason’s death.”
“I’m a lawyer, remember? Politics and homicide go hand in hand since Brutus killed Caesar.”
“This isn’t Rome.”
“But there are plenty of defense firms that want Gavin to keep his seat.”
“Bad enough to commit murder?”
McKnight held the cigar up to the light. “You know, Nick, I once represented a union official charged with conspiring to kill the president of a rival union. The government said they had a witness who overheard the conversation.”
“Must have been a tough case to defend.”
“Turned out to be a piece of cake. The witness wouldn’t testify and the judge threw the case out.”
“Witness intimidation?”
“I can’t say, but the rival union backed off and a few months later the witness disappeared. Nick, guess what company’s one of Gavin’s biggest contributors.”
“Shamrock Industries.”
“If I had another cigar, I’d give it to you.”

—

Kathy Stilmore was blonde with light blue-gray eyes that changed color with her moods. They shifted to slate when she was angry and the strong chin she’d inherited from her father jutted out. But they were bright blue when she was in her overalls happily digging in her garden as she had done that afternoon after work. That evening, over a chef salad dinner, the blue was much in evidence as Nick told her about Phil McKnight’s visit.
“Nicky, thank God you have a case to play with. You’ve been moping around here for weeks.”
“I have been a little down. Does it really show?”
She pointed to the lone slice of tomato on his plate. “When’s the last time you finished eating before me?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t noticed.”
“I have, and it’s obvious you enjoy playing detective more than research these days. Look, you’ve paid your dues at the shop. Maybe it’s time to think about asking for an early out. Maybe a whole new career besides just waiting for Frank and Sam to call.”
“Oh sure. Just what the world needs: an aging private eye who’s afraid of guns and driving at night.”
“I’m not talking about a full-time thing. You’ve helped solve five homicides, you have a reputation. Be a consultant or something. You can still help out Frank, but people pay good money for the kind of thing you do. I’ll bet Phil would if you asked him.”
“I won’t. He’s a friend.”
“It sounds like Jason Porter was his friend, but I’ll bet he charged him for that prenup and will.”
Nick pushed his plate away and took a sip of wine. “Okay, let me think about it.”
“You’re brushing me off.” Her eyes tilted toward gray.
“No, I mean it. It’s, ah, just that I’ve never thought much about retirement.”
“I do all the time.”
“For me or you?”
“Both of us.” Her eyes drifted back to blue. “Nicky, I love telecommuting, but it’s only made me want to spend more time at home. We should think about retiring together. We can afford it with our pensions.”
He shook his head. “Listen, I know you won’t be bored around here, but who needs a part-time detective?”
“Phil, for one.”
“And when I run out of friends? Then what.”
Her eyes very blue now. “Then you write that biography of President Buchanan you’ve always talked about.”
“That’ll take years.”
“Then you’d better get started.”
He smiled and stroked her cheek. “Right after I go over Phil’s notes and call Frank.”
“Liar.”
“No, seriously. I’ll run some numbers and see if we really can swing my leaving NASA.”
“That’s all I ask.” She stood and adjusted her overalls. “I’ll only be in the garden another hour or so. Why don’t we make an early night of it?”
“That a hint?”
“You’re the detective.”

Read more about The Kitty Hawk Plot and Pat Nicolette HERE.

Copyright 2008 Pat Nicolette. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.