Richard Doetsch - The 13th Hour

“I was. My wife couldn’t handle being married to a cop. She didn’t think the pay matched the risk.”

“Sorry.”

“Her loss,” Shannon said quickly. “She just doesn’t get it. Life’s not about money, its not about getting paid for risking one’s life for others. You do it because it’s the right thing to do.”

Nick began to see the world a bit from Shannon ’s point of view. When Shannon had interrogated him, he had thought he was interrogating a killer, a husband who murdered his wife. While his intensity had been intimidating, it was part of his process, part of getting to the truth of a murder, and when Nick grabbed the other detective’s gun… Well, Shannon reacted as anyone would have.

“Listen, I know you think your wife is in danger,” Shannon said. “And I believe you. If I was in your shoes, I’d come right to us. It’s the right thing, the best thing to do.

“Even with the information you mentioned on the people who own the security company, you’re asking for us to track down these individuals on a day where minds can’t possibly think straight, and electrical power is haphazard at best. Now, I’ll tell you, I’m good, we’re good, but not that good. From the security you described, these people knew exactly what they were doing, they’re well informed and intelligent, and if they’re that good, the evidence they left behind is minimal. Not to say there isn’t any, but it’s going to take manpower, something we’re sorely lacking in.”

Nick knew Shannon ’s words to be true; he had drawn the same conclusion in his mind. The chances of finding Julia’s killer were slim, but then again, what were the chances of being called off a plane just before it crashed? The last six hours he had experienced were impossible, beyond the imagination, yet they had happened-it was a day where odds could be beaten and he was not about to give up so easily.

“I printed this out from the security tapes,” Nick said as he handed Shannon the picture of the dark-haired thief from the video feed.

“I’d like to see the rest of this tape.” Shannon studied the man’s face before finally looking up. “Let me ask you a question. You said the security system at Washington House was disabled and that the backup in your wife’s office was stolen. If that’s the case, you’re not telling me something.”

Nick silently berated himself for his foolishness. He had wanted to keep the information on Julia’s PDA private, as he knew that was her killer’s ultimate goal. “She had the info backed up from her computer,” Nick admitted, knowing that if he appeared secretive suspicions would rise.

“Well, I definitely need to see that. Where is it?”

“In my car,” Nick said. It was actually in his pocket but the walk to his car would give him a few minutes to decide whether he was making the right move.

“There’s also a blue Chevy that drove by my home. A rental car leased by Paul Dreyfus. His company did the security for the building where the robbery took place.”

“Okay, well, between the security video backup you have, the car, and this guy Dreyfus, we’ve got some pieces to work with. I’ll tell you what, let’s take a ride over to Washington House, you never know, we may just get lucky.” Shannon rose from his chair.

“There’s nothing to find,” Nick said.

“There’s always something to find,” Shannon said confidently as the captain came over, hearing the end of the conversation.

“Why don’t you take Dance with you as backup?” Delia said, more as a statement than a question.

“I’ll be fine,” Shannon said, more than a little annoyed.

“I don’t recall giving you the option. I’ll have him meet you down by your car.”

“THIS IS JUST the worst nightmare I’ve ever been in. Nothing prepares you for this,” Shannon said as they walked down the road that wound about the fields where the wreckage scattered the grounds. “We all have those morbid thoughts of how we’ll die. They’re few and far between but I can guarantee 90 percent of the world fears death in an airplane above all else. Helpless, trapped inside a metal tube, your heart in your throat as you’re tossed about, catching glimpses of the ground rushing toward you out the porthole windows. Don’t let your wife come down here-seeing this will send her over the edge.”

Nick couldn’t pull his eyes from the blackened ground, from the white sheet-covered bodies that seemed to lie everywhere. “No one should ever have to see something like this.”

“Makes you wish you could stop it,” Shannon said. “Ease all of this suffering.”

“Over forty thousand people are killed in the United States in car accidents every year. That’s like 120 a day. Yet we don’t react to that. But something like this happens, it haunts us for the rest of our lives.” Nick shook his head. “Do they know the cause?”

“Does it matter?” Shannon said. “I’ve heard rumors, but it’s not going to change a thing, it’s not going to bring these people back.”

They walked silently for the remaining half mile past the host of emergency vehicles, red lights uselessly spinning and flashing. Fourteen news cameras focused on fourteen slick, talking-head reporters conveying death with collagened lips and perfect hair, each hoping to top the other in the evening’s ratings.

“Shit,” Nick said, seeing his car boxed in by two fire trucks and an ambulance treating an overcome, hysterical relative of one of the victims. He wasn’t about to press anyone to unblock him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shannon said. “I’ll drive. Why don’t you get the backup security file out of your car. I’m the black Mustang up there.” Shannon pointed at the slick muscle car fifty yards up the crowded road.

Nick nodded as he opened his car and feigned grabbing something from his glove compartment, pretending to place it in his breast pocket where Julia’s PDA already rested. He hoped he wasn’t creating a greater jeopardy than Julia was already in but knew if Shannon was to help him, he would need to see and know almost everything.

“You can’t handle this on your own?” a man in a cheap blazer and bad tie said on approach.

“Nick Quinn?” Shannon said. “Say hi to Detective Ethan Dance.”

Nick extended his hand but Dance didn’t even bother to look his way.

“We’ve got 212 victims here, I’m sifting through wreckage and death, and I have to come and hold your hand?” Dance said as he stormed right by them. “I’m in no mood to go to some compromised crime scene. I’m going to the station to change. If you want my help that’s the only place you’re getting it.”

Nick thought this was not the “good cop” that had arrested him, that had interrogated him with charm and a smile. Sweat was gathered at his temples, running down his cheeks, as he huffed and puffed from carrying his worn-out body up the road. Aggravation burned in his drooping, bloodshot eyes, his cheap loafers covered in mud, his gray pants caked halfway up his calves.

“Listen.” Shannon pulled Nick aside as Dance kept walking. “Dance is an asshole but he’s a really good detective. Go with him to the station. Let him take a look at your video file. This guy can spot water in the Sahara, plus he can get more info on this Dreyfus guy. I’ll go by Washington House and your wife’s law firm. See what I can find.”

Nick nodded and jogged up to Dance, who took off his JC Penney jacket and threw it in the backseat of his green Ford Taurus. The underarms of his white shirt bloomed with large perspiration stains. Nick opened the passenger door, silently getting in next to Dance, who slammed the driver’s-side door in anger.

Without a word Dance started up his car and spun out of his mud-filled parking spot. He cut off two exiting cars and drove out of the disaster response staging area.