Murder on Air Force One by John L. Flynn

Author:John L. Flynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2022-08-08T07:25:50+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

At exactly 6:23 P.M., Kate Dawson stood by the pay phone near the intersection of Hyde and Sacramento Streets, waiting for her serial caller to call with directions. He claimed that he had information about Meghan Kendrick’s murder, and that he would only share it with her. She wasn’t certain if he was a crackpot or someone with real insider information, but with her investigation sidelined by the new Attorney General, Kate understood that she couldn’t afford to pass up any possible lead. Even a dead-end was better than nothing.

The fog had returned from earlier that day and the air was thick with patches of grey mist, similar to the vapor that clings to the edges of dreams. All color had been washed away by the tiny water droplets, and what remained suspended in the atmosphere was a monotone of black and white.

When the phone rang, Dawson picked it up on the first ring and held the receiver to her ear.

“Don’t talk. Just listen,” said a disembodied voice on the other end of the line. “Fisherman’s Wharf. Thirty minutes. Pier 39. Buy a bag of Doc Popcorn and be standing in front of the carousel. No cops. If I sense you’ve been followed, you’re all on your own, sweetheart.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” she started to say, but the line was dead.

Dawson hung up and stood on the curb for a moment, pondering her next move. She needed to know the reason why Meghan Kendrick had been murdered, and she knew where she could possibly get that information. The problem was, Kate didn’t know anything about her source. He was just a voice on the other end of the phone. He might have been one of the nutcases who saw the coverage on television and simply decided to seize his fifteen minutes of fame. Or maybe, if she was lucky, he was one of Reinhardt’s Secret Service agents who had had an attack of conscience. Either way, time was ticking off the clock, and she had to get moving.

Dawson jumped aboard the Powell-Hyde cable car as it climbed Nob Hill, and “strap-handled” the car down to the end of the line at Aquatic Park. After she had helped the conductor turn the cable car around, along with the eager tourists, Kate scrambled by Ghirardelli Square and headed towards the Wharf. The iconic crab wheel sign, which spelled out Fisherman’s Wharf, greeted her as she walked swiftly into the very crowded market place.

As she struggled through the crowd, Dawson checked her watch and realized that she was running out of time. She knew he had given her thirty minutes for a reason, just so she couldn’t put together back-up. There was little doubt in her mind that he wanted to meet with her alone, but for what purpose? Was he some whack-job who just wanted to jerk her off? Or was the knowledge he carried so valuable that he was afraid someone would kill him for it? She pushed her way through, mindful of who or what might be lurking in the shadows.

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