Capital Offense Page 6

  “Why do you have to push?” His eyes narrowed and the vein in his temple pulsed.

  “I need you, Warner. I need us to be the way we used to be.” She hated the pleading note in her voice. “They have counselors for sexual problems.”

  “Sexual problems?” he hissed, stepping closer to her.

  She could smell bourbon on his breath, see the teeter in his step.

  “You think I have sexual problems?” Fury flickered in his eyes. “You think I’m not a man?”

  She shank back from the heat of his anger. “Well, I-”

  He smacked her across the face.

  Her head snapped to the side. She grabbed the back of a chair, stopping her fall. Tears flooded her eyes.

  “My only problem is you! You did this to me.” He stared at his red palm, then stalked out of the room.

  Carolyn sank into the chair. She ran her fingers over a small cross concealed beneath her silk blouse, an idiosyncrasy she’d developed as a child in the aftermath of countless beatings. Rubbing the heirloom, she closed her eyes remembering her mother’s smiling face, loving touch, and gentle words.

  She touched the welt growing on her cheek. What was becoming of him,of them? Her tears refused to fall.

  TWELVE

  A small figure huddled in the bar beside the terminal at the Sedalia Memorial Airport. The air was still as the Asian woman watched the keepers of the rural airport shut down for the evening. Once the small staff left, she slipped out to a lone plane parked near the runway.

  Clad in dark clothing, she stealthily moved up the left side of the Cessna 210 to the door. She pulled a thin tool from her pocket and picked the lock. Swinging the door open, she leaned into the cockpit, clicked on her flashlight, and verified the plane’s registration taped to the visor, then popped the latch to the cargo hold. With a gloved hand, she tucked a strand of her long black hair behind an ear, then checked her watch. Minutes, she had only minutes before she ran the risk of discovery.

  She shut the door, then moved to the cargo hold, pulled out the portable ladder, set it by the wing, and climbed to the top. Reaching the gas tank, she opened the lid, pulled a bag of sugar from her duffel, and then poured the contents into the tank. She stuffed the empty sugar bag back into her duffel and jumped off the ladder before moving to the second wing and repeating the exercise. Her task complete, she neatly folded the ladder back up, set it inside the cargo hold, and locked the door.

  With speed and grace, she stepped to the right wing. Blandishing a number two Phillips screwdriver, she removed the inspection plate under the wing, exposing an eighteen-gauge galvanized aircraft wire. She pulled out a wire cutter, then squeezing it with both hands, severed the cable controlling the right side flap deployment. She glanced around to assure herself that she was alone before replacing the inspection plate and disappearing into the night.

  ***

  Ron Spietzei and his family strolled across the tarmac of the Sedalia Memorial Airport. “It’s a beautiful night. Perfect for flying,” Ron said.

  “Thank you for the lovely dinner.” Molly reached up and kissed Ron’s cheek.

  Ron, his wife Molly, and her parents, Howard and Joanne Moore, walked the remaining distance to their Cessna 210.

  “Whose turn is it to fly us home?” Molly asked the others.

  “I will.” Howard volunteered.

  “Dad, you flew us here!” she pointed out. “Yeah, Howard, it’s my turn.” Ron replied.

  “Ronny, you flew last time. It’s Mom’s turn,” Molly said.

  “Let Ronny fly the plane home. I’m tired. anyway,” Joanne said.

  “It’s settled. I’ll fly,” Ron said. “Molly, sit in back with your mom. Howard, you’re my copilot. I’ll just be a few minutes while I do the pre-flight. You guys get comfortable.” Ron reached for the door to the cabin and opened it for his wife. He paused. “That’s strange. I was sure I locked this door.”

  Molly shrugged, then climbed into the backseat of the plane. She and her parents chatted while Ron walked around the plane with his flashlight, giving a cursory check. These outings were regular events. Two or three times a month they’d get together and fly to dinner, weather permitting. All four of them were avid pilots.

  After pre-flighting the Cessna and climbing into the left seat, Ron shouted. “Clear.” Then, he started the engines. With three clicks of his mike button, the runway lights illuminated, and he guided the Cessna down the path and into the air.

  “Nice roll-off, Ron.” Howard said as they took to the sky and the landing gear retracted.

  Ron smiled while enjoying the view.

  Twenty minutes later, they were cruising at an altitude of fifty-five-hundred feet and following the river basin that led straight into the Jefferson City Airport.

  “We’re starting our descent. We should make the Jeff City Airport in about twelve minutes.” Ron said.

  “Good, it’s a school night and we need to get the baby-sitter home early.” As Molly spoke the plane’s engine coughed and sputtered, then resumed its normal hum. “What was that?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Ron said, eyes darting to the gauges.

  “Are we low on gas?” Howard asked.

  “We can’t be. I had the tanks filled before we left,” Ron said.

  Molly unbuckled her seat belt and leaned forward to look over Ron’s shoulder. They all had been flying for years, but he knew she preferred to be in the pilot’s seat. He often teased her that it was her compulsion for control that made her tense unless she was at the throttle. “It seems fine now. Just relax, honey.”

  Molly turned to her mother. “So finish your story about-”

  Suddenly the engine quit, and the plane yawed to the left, slicing through the sky and dropping. Ron grasped the yoke firmly with both hands, struggling to bring the nose up and straighten the plane. “Oh shit!”

  Unable to buckle her seat belt in time, Molly was thrown against her mother. Then the force of the dive tossed her up off the seat. Her head slammed into the ceiling. She fell back to the seat unconscious.

  “Molly. Molly!” Joanne, shook her daughter’s shoulder. “Oh my God. Molly’s hurt – she’s unconscious!”

  Ron managed to right the plane.

  Howard turned around in his seat as Joanne tried to straighten Molly’s slumped figure.

  Joanne looked up, terror shining through the tears in her eyes. “Help me, Howard. I can’t get Molly to sit up. HELP US!” She pulled her daughter’s limp body into her arms.

  “Joanne, you have to get her buckled into her seat belt.” Howard shouted. “Please. Joanne, buckle her in.”

  “Howard, the engine’s frozen. It won’t turn over.”

  Howard spun his attention back to Ron at the panicked note in his voice. “Bleed off your airspeed and maintain your altitude.”

  “We’ll overshoot the airport if I do that. I’ve got to bring us down in order to land on the runway.” Beads of sweat had collected on Ron’s brow. “I’m trying to get us into a solid glide.”

  “Try switching to the other gas tank. If the gas is contaminated, it may be gumming up the engine,” Howard said.

  “You do it.” Ron shouted back. “I’m afraid to let go of the yoke. I barely have control now.” Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

  With a trembling hand. Howard flipped the level to the second gas tank, but the engine remained silent.

  “Try the auxiliary pump.” Ron’s heart was in his throat as he watched Howard move in what seemed like slow motion. Howard reached for the switch and moved it to the ON position. The pump started immediately.

  “There we go, baby, there we go,” Ron encouraged, but the engine failed to respond.

  Howard leaned fond and tapped the fuel gauges. The dial on both tanks showed full.

  “This doesn’t make sense. Switch back to the primary tank,” Ron said, fighting to hold the plane steady.

  Howard switched back, but the e
ngine was dead. “You’re right, we’re too high.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Ron said “I’ll have to slip her down. Everybody prepare for a rough ride. Joanne, how’s Molly?”

  “Unconscious, Ron, but I can feel a pulse.” Joanne replied shakily. “She’s buckled in.”

  “Howard, turn the radio to the emergency frequency for me, one-two-one-point-five.”

  Howard did as instructed.

  “Mayday, mayday, Columbia Flight Service, this is Cessna three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, plane in trouble. I repeat, we’re in trouble!” Behind him, Ron could hear Joanne saying the Hail Mary.

  ‘Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, copy your mayday. Transponder code five-five-two-two and ident.“

  Howard leaned over, programming the Transponder and activating the identification button.

  “ Columbia, copy your five-five-two-two and ident,” Ron radioed back.

  “Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, we do not read your Transponder. Please ident.”

  “ Columbia, we have. It must not be working,” Ron’s voice rose with fear.

  “Three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, can you give us your location?”

  “Four to five miles from the Jeff City Airport coming in from Sedalia.”

  “Copy, three-eight-six-seven Whiskey, four to five miles west of the Jeff City Airport. State your emergency.”

  “We’re in a glide without power, but our altitude is too high. I’m going to try slipping her down for a landing, and we need an ambulance.” Ron felt the plane shudder as he nosed the plane downward while pushing his left foot down on the rudder pedal and applying the right aileron.

  “Copy, three-eight-six-seven Whiskey. Ambulance requested. Jeff City Airport.”

  “You’re gaining airspeed, Ron. Watch your airspeed. We’re dropping too fast,” Howard urged.

  “I know. I know,” Ron responded, his voice cracking.

  “Use your flaps! Slow us down!”

  The airport loomed ahead.

  “We’re almost there,” Howard encouraged. “Just use the flaps.”

  Ron leached for the flap lever and gave the plane ten degrees of flaps. Suddenly, the plane rolled hard to the right.

  “Ron, the flaps are split!” Howard screamed.

  The stall horn sounded in the cockpit as the plane flipped and dove.

  The Jefferson City Democrat

  October 15,1990 Plane Crash Kills Four

  JEFFERSON CITY – Ronald Spietzer, a prominent businessman from Morrison, Missouri, was killed yesterday when his Cessna 210 airplane crashed east of the Jefferson County Airport. Mr. Spietzer was well known for his disagreements with Governor Lane about union busting during the strike at Bounce Plastics, Inc…

  His wife, Molly, and her parents, Howard and Joanne Moore, were also killed. All four people aboard the plane were instrument-rated pilots and flew regularly out of the Jefferson City Memorial Airport. The plane went down on the return flight from Sedalia Memorial Airport. An investigation is now underway to determine the cause of the crash.

  THIRTEEN

  November, 1990 – Jefferson City, Missouri

  Carolyn strode into her office at the courthouse after a long day of depositions, and phoned campaign headquarters. The election was only one week away.

  “Has anyone seen Warner?” she asked.

  “No. Mrs. Lane, we haven’t.”

  Carolyn severed the connection without another word. “Damn it, where is he?”

  She picked up the receiver again and phoned the troopers’ office. The whole idea of security for Warner seemed ridiculous, Carolyn thought. Very few senators required protection. In this instance, she knew the taxpayers’ money could be put to better use, but Edmund insisted on a permanent escort for his son. And when Edmund made a request, few elected officials would deny him.

  “This is Carolyn Lane. I need to find Warner,” she said when the call was answered.

  “Is there an emergency, ma’am?” the trooper asked. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “Please, find Warner and have him call me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Carolyn hung up. She suspected the troopers were covering for Warner, and possibly protecting her feelings. The pain of failure and embarrassment gripped her heart. Why couldn’t she be as strong and competent in her personal life as she was in her professional life?

  She wondered then how many people, aside from the troopers, knew about his infidelity. How was she supposed to live with this constant humiliation? Publicly, she played the role of the loving wife. In private, she died a little bit more each day.

  ***

  “Good evening, ma’am.” the trooper said. “Is the Senator there, please?”

  “This better be good.” Warner cautioned a few seconds later.

  “ Mrs. Lane called, sir. She’s looking for you.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Warner cursed under his breath. Carolyn knew the situation. He’d essentially been honest with her. Why couldn’t she let it go? Why did she continue to force the issue? More and more, he’d begun to resent her. She’d caused him to lose control, caused him to hit her, caused him to act like the one man he despised most in the world, Edmund. And for that he’d never forgive Carolyn.

  Damn, he thought. He needed some relaxation time. The election was days away, and he’d been working his ass off. Warner grabbed his coat.

  “I’ve got to go, baby. I’m sorry.” He kissed Cindy quickly.

  “We aren’t done.” She stretched out on the couch, letting the cashmere blanket fall away, leaving her naked.

  “I don’t have time.”

  “You could make it quick.” She smiled.

  “I’m sorry if I seemed distracted.”

  “Even distracted you’re good.”

  Warner stared down at the chessboard. “All right. But if I lose, it’s because you rushed me.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. This is just one move. I’ll concede no such thing.”

  Warner laughed. He slid his bishop across the board. “Check.”

  She frowned. “Well, at least I have some time to think of a response.”

  ***

  He fished the keys out of his coat pocket, opened the car door, and slipped into the driver’s seat. Damn it! Carolyn and Edmund were determined to blow everything he did out of proportion. Of course, Edmund only discussed politics with him.

  Since the day of his mother’s suicide, Edmund only spoke to Warner when absolutely necessary, leaving a bewildered and lost seven-year-old boy to cope. With that rejection Warner’s guilt grew. He’d spent years believing he’d caused his mother’s death. And in a way, he had.

  The last time he’d heard his mother’s voice, she’d been crying. Years of pain flooded Warner when he thought of that night.

  Squatting at the top of the stairs, in his pajamas, Warner had pressed his seven-year-old face between two balusters and listened to the voices of his parents. Edmund raged. His mother sobbed. Something shattered against a wall. Then he’d heard a smack. His mother fell in the doorway of the library across the hall. He’d wanted to run to her, to save her, but fear kept him frozen.

  Edmund liked to hit, and Warner knew he would not be spared if he challenged his father. Besides, his mother had made him promise that he’d stay away whenever Edmund was angry.

  Edmund’s voice grew louder, clearer. “You cheating bitch.” Another smack.

  Warner flinched, then clenched his eyes shut. His small hands gripped the balusters.

  “I know why you coddle the boy so much, and keep him from me. He’s a bastard. A bastard you’re going to pay for.”

  “No, no.” His mother voice was soft and pleading.

  “When were you going to tell me I’m not his father?”

  Warner’s eyes flew open.

  “Leave him out of this.” his mother sobbed. “It’s not his fault.”

  “Yes, it is…”

  Warner fe
lt hands on his shoulders. Mary, their live-in housekeeper, pulled him from the stairs, and returned him to his bedroom. He lay awake the rest of the night, his sheets pulled up under his chin.

  The next morning, Warner learned that his mother was dead. Suicide, people whispered, and he heard them.

  The next week, he was shipped off to boarding school.

  Warner found refuge within himself. Alone. He excelled in school. But his accomplishments, both academic and athletic, seemed only to further incense Edmund.

  As a young man. Warner finally understood why his mother had died and why Edmund had rejected him. Warner was the product of an adulterous affair – his mother’s affair. He’d confirmed this by locating Mary, who’d worked for his family for years until that ugly night. The only servant in the house during the fight, she’d been dismissed the next day.

  Not even Carolyn knew that Edmund wasn’t Warner’s biological father. His election to the senate hadn’t been enough to heal Warner’s wounds. And after all these years, Warner wasn’t sure why he cared or why he even tried to please Edmund Lane. He’d never know the identity of his biological father, and he’d never have the love of the man who raised him.

  FOURTEEN

  Election eve. Carolyn sipped a mug of herbal tea before she dressed for her campaign appearance. She sank down into the sofa in the living room of their mansion. Worried that they were about to lose everything they had worked so hard to achieve, she silently cursed Wainer.

  Carolyn gazed out the window, watching a rainstorm brew in the distance. A lightning flash startled her, and she shivered involuntarily. She got up and closed the blinds.

  She thought about the most recent poll, which showed a close race between Warner and Jackson Green. Damn Warner and his ego. He’d ignored her warnings about the airport project, raising taxes, and his vote to cut spending in education. Now these issues threatened his political career.

  Carolyn knew that if their relationship were still whole, he might have listened to her. Perhaps she should have asked Edmund to speak to Warner about working on their marriage. No, she thought, Warner would never forgive her for dragging his father into his personal affairs. Unconsciously her fingertips brushed her cheek. The bruise was gone, but the emotional scar remained.