Killer Summer

57

With the fallen telephone pole and wires cleared from the bike-path bridge, an hour and twenty minutes after the log spill, two vehicles carrying half a dozen Search and Rescue volunteers, including two canines, were the first allowed across.

Vocal citizens, demanding to be allowed to cross, kept Tommy Brandon and four deputies busy.

“I need to get across,” said yet another man from behind Brandon.

“You and everyone else, buddy,” Brandon said.

A group of twenty to thirty volunteers was working to clear the bridge, using a combination of chainsaws, four-by-fours with hitches, and even a team of draft horses from out Green Horn Gulch. A third of the fallen logs had been removed, and now efforts were under way to tow the semi clear.

“Give it another hour and we’ll have it open again.”

“I’m the girl’s father,” the man said.

Brandon turned.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“The girl who’s believed to be on the plane with the sheriff’s nephew. Teddy Sumner,” he said, then introducing himself. “I need to get to the sheriff… now!”

“Yeah, okay,” Brandon said. “You parked back there somewhere?”

“That’s right.”

“Problem is, Mr. Sumner, there are about a hundred cars in front of yours, and no one’s going to take kindly to someone jumping the line.”

“I’m going across that bridge, Officer.”

“It’s Deputy. And, no, you’re not. Not unless I say so, sir. Right now is not a good time, as you can probably see.”

“Those cars just came across…”

“They’re Search and Rescue. We just about had a riot on our hands when we allowed that to happen. So we’ve got to let things cool before trying it again.”

“One of your patrol cars… someone could drive me.”

“I’m not exactly long on deputies here. I’ve got four men to see that the bridge is cleared and to hold back a couple hundred very pissed-off people, all of whom have a better reason than their neighbor for getting across. I’m sorry, sir, it’ll be maybe twenty minutes.”

“I can walk across,” he proposed.

“Of course… as you can see.”

People on bicycles and motorcycles and on foot were crossing the bike-path bridge in both directions.

“How far to Hailey?”

“Four or five miles.”

“I demand to be taken to the sheriff.”

Brandon looked at the man, dumbfounded. “You demand?”

“Call him, tell him I’m here.”

“I respect your situation, Mr. Sumner, and I really wish I could help…”

A tricked-out pickup truck rumbled off road through the sage just then and gu

“A little busy here!” he called back to Sumner.

The man was clearly frustrated. “Call Fleming. Tell him I’m on my way.”

Sumner charged across the bridge with overemphasized strides.

Who?” Walt said. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone had called in some of the office’s civilian employees. Walt had borrowed three deputies from the jail. He recognized the woman he was speaking to but couldn’t recall the department she was with.

“Here?”

“Front-door desk. Wants to see you.”

“Send him back. Absolutely.”

Teddy Sumner wore attitude on his face as he entered the Incident Command Center. But as he saw the nearly dozen deputies and civilians at their laptops, as he sensed the orchestrated effort led by Walt who stood behind a central lectern, his brow furrowed and he looked as if he might cry.

“Down here,” Walt said.

Sumner made his way through the room slowly, taking it all in.

“Jesus,” he said.

“Your tax dollars at work,” Walt said. They shook hands. Walt reintroduced himself. “We don’t usually allow civilians in here while we’re ru

“She’s my daughter.”

“Which is exactly the point,” Walt said. “I make decisions here that affect the investigation, the search, and hopefully the outcome. This is not a democracy.”

One of the deputies looked up, about to say something, then went back to his laptop.

Sumner looked around. “How certain are you that they’re on my jet? Before you even think about trying to get me out of this room, I suggest you share some of the circumstantial evidence you spoke of.”

Fiona, sitting in the front row, met eyes with Walt, hers showing concern. He motioned her over, and she produced the OneDOJ sheets.

“We believe three individuals-a Christopher Cantell, Roger McGuiness, and Matthew Salvo-stole your Learjet after creating a diversion at the auction and by blocking the bridge with logs.”

Slack-jawed, Teddy Sumner stepped back. “You’ve already identified them?” He sounded far more surprised than impressed. “How’s that possible? Are these positive IDs?”

“Confirmed. Ms. Kenshaw can walk you through the evidence later.”

“My daughter…?”

“Was seen leaving the lodge with my nephew. That’s also confirmed. My nephew’s phone has a tracking feature called SPOT. Are you familiar with it?”

“No, never heard of it.”

“It uses the phone’s GPS, and, through a subscription service, allows parents to keep track of their children. My nephew’s mother is a bit overprotective, and his phone is equipped with a similar device. He’s not aware that it’s been activated. The point here is, we were able to map a number of locations for him over the window of time provided and have confirmed he left the lodge at a rate of travel consistent with a car and arrived at the airport. He then leaves Hailey at 9:07 P.M. and heads north at an accelerated rate that can only be a fast plane like a jet… your jet.”

That bit of information knocked the wind out of Sumner. “And where is he now?” he finally asked.

“That’s the thing: there’s no cell coverage north of Galena Summit. The tracking locator, although it’s called GPS, it actually works off cell-tower triangulation. A portable cell transmitter, being flown up here from Salt Lake City as we speak, may light up Kevin’s phone if we can get the transmitter airborne. We’re working every angle we can think of.”

Sumner looked around the room.

“I’d like to put our guys in touch with your pilot,” Walt said, “to see if there’s any equipment aboard the Lear we might be able to use to locate the jet.”

“Summer’s on the plane?” Sumner asked, still winded.

“We think so, yes.”

He looked around, found a chair, sat down. He rolled the chair closer to Walt, looking somewhat pitiful in the effort.

“Something you could help us with. First, we need you to keep your phone turned on and ready. We’d like your permission to monitor and record any calls you receive. Same with the landline to your hotel room. I’d rather you hadn’t come down here, frankly. We need you in that room when that call comes.”

“Well, I’m here, reroute the call. Insurance? You’re thinking extortion?”

“Extortion would be welcome news, Mr. Sumner.”

The two men stared at each other.

“Kidnapping?” Sumner coughed up a laugh. “This is not a kidnapping!”

“At first glance, I’d agree. There’s nothing on any of these sheets to suggest anything more than robbery… large-scale robbery. But given your daughter and my nephew being on that plane, we can no longer make that assumption. Our chief suspect, Christopher Cantell, is no dummy. If he has your daughter, whether by design or not, he knows he’s facing kidnapping. And that changes everything.”

Sumner stared at him blankly. “No, no, you’re wrong.” He said it with a father’s certitude. “It’s not a kidnapping. A heist, maybe-I can see that. But, as you’ve said, their records… nothing suggests kidnapping. It’s not possible.”

“First thing is, locate the jet and determine its condition and the condition of those aboard.”