I know all about hospital euphemisms. Critical is one degree worse than guarded. Critical still has the potential to go either way. Both terms are a hell of a long way from satisfactory.

  When Halvorsen passed the news along to me, I didn't allow myself the luxury of a spoken reply. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed another flying service. By that time we were down to calling seat-of-the-pants outfits in podunk, off-the-wall towns. It was after five and I was almost ready to give up, but that one last call yielded a slender lead.

  The number I had dialed belonged to the St. Helens Flying Service in Woodland, Washington. The woman who answered the phone did so with the frantic hello of someone who has spent hours waiting for a call that doesn't come. I heard her sigh of disappointment when she realized mine still wasn't the voice she wanted to hear, that the call she was expecting still hadn't come.

  "My name is Detective Beaumont, I began.

  "A detective! Oh, my God! What's happened? Where is he? Is he all right?

  I hate conversations where I feel as though I'm not playing with a full deck, particularly when I'm the one initiating the call. "Is who all right?

  "My dad, David Lions, who else?

  Who else indeed! I didn't know David Lions from a hole in the ground.

  "Excuse me, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anyone named David Lions, and I certainly don't know where he is.

  "Didn't you say you're detective? Aren't you with the Spokane police.

  "No, I'm with the Seattle police, not Spokane's.

  "But the helicopter's in Spokane. They called and told me it was there. How'd he get to Seattle?

  It was getting worse, not better. "Hold on a minute, I said. "I'm not at all sure what's going on here. I'm a Seattle police officer investigating a case, and I've been contacting charter services to see if anyone can provide information that would help us.

  The woman was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so worried. He's been missing since this morning, you know.

  I felt a quick catch of excitement in my throat. "Miss…

  "Lions, she supplied. "Dana Lions. My father and I own the flying service together. He flies the planes. I do the books and handle the reservations.

  "Miss Lions, I said calmly. "You say your father is missing?

  Across the room, Andy Halvorsen put down his phone and listened intently. Dana Lions hesitated. "Not really. It's just that now nobody can find him.

  "Tell me exactly what happened.

  "He left late yesterday afternoon to pick up a charter in Seattle and ferry him to Spokane. He had flown another trip earlier in the day, so he planned to stay overnight and come back this morning. We haven't heard from him since.

  "Maybe he rented a room somewhere, and he's still asleep.

  Dana Lions took a deep breath. "I already checked the Ridpath. That's where he usually stays, but he's not there. Besides, he wouldn't still be asleep at this hour. She paused. "Dad doesn't need much sleep.

  She stopped. I had a feeling there was something else, something she wasn't saying, but I had no idea what it was. I waited for her to continue.

  "He came back from Vietnam in '71 and started the business in '75. After St. Helens blew up in 1980, he got the idea of doing scenic flyovers so tourists could take pictures. We did fine for a while, but in the last few years he's had some problems.

  "Problems? I asked. "What kind of problems?

  "Post-traumatic-stress syndrome.

  Those few words gave me a hint of what she hadn't been saying earlier.

  "Periodically, if he gets a pocketful of money, he goes a little haywire.

  "And you think that's what's going on here?

  "When the guy called in yesterday to make the reservation, I asked him for a credit card number. We always do that in case of cancellations and no-shows, but he said he'd be paying cash and that he'd throw in a little extra. We need the money real bad right now, so I took it. I hope to God it wasn't anything illegal, was it?

  I sidestepped her question by asking one of my own. "Didn't you say you knew your father had landed in Spokane?

  "We talked to them about noon when we still hadn't heard from him. Dana Lions gave me the name and number of an official at Spokane International Airport. "Will you let me know what you find out? she asked.

  "Certainly, I said, allowing my voice to sound far more convincing than I should have. If David Lions was somehow tied in with the severed telephone lines, he and his little company and his worried daughter were in big trouble, far worse than that caused by a few unpaid bills.

  "Just a few more questions, I said. "Did the man making the reservation leave a name?

  "Smith. Charles Smith. I have it written down right here. Dad was supposed to meet him at the Renton Airport.

  "Did he?

  "As far as I know.

  "Did your father file a flight plan?

  "Always. You can get a copy of it from the FAA. But why do you want it? I told you, the helicopter's already safely on the ground in Spokane.

  "Right, I said. As we finished talking, she gave me her home number in Kalama, and I told her how to locate both Andy Halvorsen and me if she needed to, reassuring her one more time that we'd notify her instantly if we learned anything more about her missing father.

  "Looks like you hit the jackpot, Halvorsen said as I held down the switch hook long enough to get a dial tone. Reading from my notes, I dialed the number at Spokane International and talked to a man named Kyle Preston.

  "Do you have a helicopter there that belongs to an outfit named St. Helens Flying Service?

  "Sure do.

  "I want you to post a security guard out by that helicopter, I said. "No one is to go near it or touch it, is that clear? And if anyone tries to take off in it, detain them until we can get there.

  "Wait just a damned minute! Who the hell do you think you are, ordering me around like this?

  "My name's Detective J.P. Beaumont with the Seattle Police Department, and I've got a Whitman County sheriff's department detective named Andrew Halvorsen with me. We're on our way.

  "What's going on here? This Lions character has been doing nothing but causing trouble all day long. First thing this morning that SOB puts down here and walks off without paying his landing fee, without saying how long he'll be here or kiss my ass. Nothing. It's like the world owes him a goddamned living. We're not running this place just for the hell of it, you know.

  "Did you actually see him get off the helicopter?

  Kyle snorted derisively. "Are you kidding? You think I've got time enough to give every harebrained pilot around here the damned red carpet treatment? We've got an airport to run. We leave the greeting committee bullshit to the local chamber of commerce.

  Without giving him the opportunity to make any further objections, I hung up the phone. Halvorsen picked up his phone and dialed a number.

  "Hi, hon, he said a moment later. "Did I wake you? A sudden brittle tension had crept into his voice and a slight tic appeared over his jawline, a mannerism that I hadn't noticed before. "Sorry. Look, Monica, something's come up. Right now I'm on my way to Spokane. Can you get a ride to work? He paused. "I know. I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's important.

  He grew quiet before a sudden verbal onslaught that I could hear angry echoes of clear across the room. Whoever Monica was, she sounded pissed as hell.

  Finally he said resignedly, "But, hon, I'll be back in plenty of time to pick you up… A dial tone buzzed in his ear. Monica had hung up on him. Halvorsen threw the phone back in its cradle.

  "Come on, he muttered. "Let's get the hell out of here.

  We rode toward Spokane in silence, with Halvorsen brooding and driving like a bat out of hell, alternately smoking and chewing on a new cigar. I left him alone. Whatever was going on between him and Monica was none of my business. Besides I had plenty to think about on my own.

  No matter what, I couldn't shake the conviction that St. Helens Flying Service and David Lions were somehow involved in what had happened to Kimi and Machiko Kurobashi. To an outsider, the connection might seem remote, but I'm no believer in blind coincidence. Cops don't think that way. If things appear to be connected, they probably are.

  It all boiled down to one major question and several lesser ones. Who the hell was Charles Smith, David Lions' cash-paying passenger, the mysterious client who had chartered a helicopter to fly across the state? Had he disrupted telephone service and assaulted two innocent women along the way? If so, what did he really want? And did he already have it?

  "You have any friends or acquaintances at the Federal Aviation Administration? I asked.

  "Huh? Halvorsen returned, still lost in his fog of anger.

  "Do you have any connections at the FAA? I repeated. "Someone who could locate the flight plan for us.

  Halvorsen seemed relieved to have something else to think about. Shaking off his black mood, he put out the cigar and picked up the radio. He talked to someone at the Pullman-Moscow Airport, some deer-hunting/fishing buddy from the sound of it. The information we needed came back to us in less than ten minutes.

  David Lions' flight plan, as filed before he left Renton Airport south of Seattle, was to fly to Vantage, halfway to Pullman, land on a landing strip there, and wait for another passenger. Estimated time of arrival in Spokane had been 6:00 A.M.

  "So they got into Spokane right on time, I said, after we had heard the information. "No one thought anything was amiss, except for the daughter.

  "Who didn't have any idea that the trip was going to take that long.

  "So did Lions know about it or not? Was he in on it from the beginning, or was he someone who got sucked in along the way?

  Halvorsen punched in the button on the car's cigarette lighter. "No way to tell that until we talk to the man himself.

  "If we can find him, I said.

  It was well after dusk when we parked in the parking garage at Spokane International Airport. We had been told that Kyle Preston would be waiting for us, and he was.

  "I posted the security guard just like you told me, Kyle said, leading us toward the asphalt runway. "It's over here. Nobody's touched a thing, but what the hell's going on? My understanding was that Lions primarily flew scenic tours-sight-seeing, picture-taking kinds of things. That copter looks like it's been used for crop dusting. It's still got stalks of wheat sticking to it.

  Halvorsen and I stopped short and exchanged glances, while Kyle Preston waited impatiently. "Are you two coming or not? he demanded. "I thought you were both in one hell of a hurry to see this bird.

  "We'd better call the crime lab first, don't you think? Halvorsen asked.

  I nodded, knowing then for sure that Dana Lions' missing daddy was in a whole shitpot full of trouble.

  CHAPTER 10

  The crime-scene team, two criminalists from the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab in Spokane, spent several hours going over the St. Helens Flying Service helicopter while Detective Halvorsen and I paced around outside on the runway like a pair of expectant fathers.

  It had been an exceedingly frustrating day. When we started out, we had been only hours behind our quarry. Now, with every passing moment, we were losing more and more ground. The jet-ways at Spokane International had offered Kimi's and Machiko's attackers instant escape hatches to any destination in the country. Any destination in the world, for that matter.

  So far, our inquiries into the whereabouts of David Lions had come to nothing. Everyone we interviewed at the airport assumed that he had been piloting the aircraft when it set down on schedule at six o'clock that morning, but no one actually remembered seeing him get off. Charles Smith, the name used by Dana Lions' cash-paying customer, also drew a blank, but that was hardly surprising. He had doubtless used an alias when he booked the reservation. Without any kind of physical description, we had no idea who or what we were looking for.

  A stiff fall wind was blowing east off the Cascades. Shivering against the chill, Halvorsen and I were almost ready to retreat into the terminal when Gary Richards and Helen Driver emerged from the helicopter, bringing their considerable gear along with them.

  "That's about all we can do for tonight, Richards said, standing to one side while Helen strung crime scene tape across the door of the helicopter. "We'll come look it over again tomorrow in daylight just in case we missed something important. According to Kyle Preston, they'll have a security guard here all night.

  "Find anything? Andy asked.

  "Plenty of fingerprints, Richards responded, "some wire snippers and this.

  He held a glassine bag up to the halo of light from one of the runway's mercury-vapor lamps. I looked but it seemed to be nothing but an empty bag.

  "What is it? I asked.

  "One hair, he replied. "One long dark hair. Black, I'd say, but it's hard to judge color in this light.

  Halvorsen glanced in my direction. "Kimi's?

  I nodded.

  Richards noted this exchange. "I thought you two might be interested in that. There are some other bits of trace evidence as well, but we'll have to analyze all those before we know what we're seeing. Where can we find you guys tomorrow in case we need to? Are you staying right here in Spokane?

  I started to nod yes and ask directions to the nearest hotel, but Halvorsen interrupted. "No, we're headed back to Pullman tonight. You can reach us through my office in Colfax tomorrow.

  I couldn't believe he was serious. Pullman was a good seventy-five miles away, and it was verging on eleven. I personally had already done more than enough traveling for one day. The last thing I wanted to do was take another seventy-five-mile jaunt in a cramped Colfax County K-car. Unfortunately, we were supposedly conducting a joint investigation, and Halvorsen was driving.

  Helen Driver and Gary Richards left then. We were almost to the car when Kyle Preston caught up with us, bringing with him a lady from Budget Rent-a-Car.

  The lady's name was Pamela Kinder, and we had missed her in our earlier survey of airport personnel because she had been out playing bridge when Halvorsen had called and left a message on her machine.

  Preston suggested we go back to his office and get in out of the cold. Forty-five or so and not at all bad-looking, Pamela Kinder took a seat next to Kyle's desk, crossed her well-shaped legs, and gave us a winning smile.

  "I wish I'd known you guys were looking for this Lions character this morning when I rented him the Lincoln. I smelled a rat, but I couldn't prove it.

  After a day of massive effort with very little to show for it, having Pamela Kinder show up at the last minute with that kind of information was absolutely mind-boggling, a cosmic joke. "Are you sure it was him? I asked. "Do you know the man personally?

  "Not personally, but I remember the name. Believe me, I checked his ID very carefully, Pamela Kinder said. The certainty in her voice was more than a mere statement. Something about David Lions had bothered her, triggered her curiosity.

  "Why? I asked.

  "Why did I check so carefully? Because he looked like a bum, like he didn't have two nickels left to rub together. I wanted to be sure I wasn't renting our vehicle to someone using fake or stolen ID. I made sure the picture on his driver's license matched his face, and I double-checked the signatures as well.

  "What do you mean, he looked like a bum?

  "He acted sort of spacey, although I couldn't smell anything on him. And he looked like he had spent the night in a field somewhere. He still had straw sticking to his clothes, but his Visa card worked when I called to verify his credit.

  "What did he say?

  "Hardly anything. The guy who was with him, though, was a real conversationalist.

  "You mean he wasn't alone?

  "No. He had some jerk with him. Tall, dark, and handsome. Obviously considers himself God's gift to women. He tried to hit oh me. At six o'clock in the morning, mind you. Asked if he came back later, could he take me out to breakfast.

  "What did you tell him?

  "What I always tell creeps like that-that my husband was on his way to pick me up.

  "Was he?

  "My husband? Pamela Kinder laughed, a hearty, throaty laugh. "Hardly. Ralph's been dead for almost six years.

  Halvorsen was too impatient to enjoy Pamela Kinder's sense of humor. "Did you notice anything unusual about either one of them, anything that would help us identify them?

  "The straw. I already told you about that. And the other guy, the creep, was wearing gloves. Leather gloves, inside the terminal. Remembering Machiko's story, Halvorsen and I exchanged glances, but we said nothing, allowing Pamela to continue. "People sometimes do that, but usually not until after the weather gets cold. It's still way too early. I wondered if maybe his hands were disfigured-burned maybe, or deformed. He mostly kept his hands in his pockets like he was self-conscious about them.

  She paused. "And he's from Chicago, she added.

  "Chicago? How do you know that? Halvorsen demanded.

  "I heard him talk. Believe me, I can tell a Chicago accent when I hear one. I grew up in Downer's Grove just outside of Chicago. He sounded like my Uncle Bill.

  "Did they give you any idea where they were taking the car? I asked.

  "No. I offered them maps. Lions said they didn't need any.

  "Do you have any idea where they were going?

  Pamela shook her head. "The car is due back in on Saturday afternoon. Of course, for an extra charge, they don't have to return it here.

  "Can you give us a description of the vehicle?

  She handed over a piece of paper. "I can do better than that. When Kyle told me what was going on, I stopped by the counter and made a copy of the rental agreement. It has a complete description of the car, including license numbers and all that.

  Andy took the paper out of my hand. "What say I put out an APB on this, he said.

  "Put a hold on that Visa number as well, I told him. Halvorsen nodded and hurried away. I started after him, but Pamela Kinder stopped me.

  "So this was important, then?

  To outsiders, homicide cops must appear rude at times. When we finally manage to glean some vital tidbit of information, our first instinct is to grab it and run without so much as a by-your-leave or a thank-you. A detective's total focus on finding a killer seldom allows time for social amenities. Pamela Kinder was a nice lady, one who had made a special trip to the airport in the middle of the night in order to help us. Now she seemed disappointed that we weren't acting more grateful.