Chapter 10: The Woman Behind the Badge
I recognized the woman in the photograph immediately.
Margaret Sloan.
My current director.
The woman who had personally approved my assignment to investigate Flight 417.
The woman who had called me two nights earlier and told me she trusted my judgment.
The woman who had sent me a message that morning saying, Eleanor, don't let anyone interfere with your investigation.
I stared at her smiling face beside my husband and brother.
For twenty-nine years, I had believed Margaret was one of the few people in Washington who still cared about the integrity of our work.
Apparently, I had been wrong.
"Ms. Whitmore?"" Sergeant Grant asked.
I handed her the photograph.
"Do you recognize her?""
Grant examined it.
"Who is she?""
"Margaret Sloan. Director of the federal aviation safety division.""
Grant's expression tightened.
"Your director?""
"Yes.""
"Does she know you're investigating this?""
I gave a humorless laugh.
"She's the one who assigned me.""
Grant looked at the photograph again.
"When was this taken?""
I turned it over.
Richard's handwriting identified the location and date.
*October 14 — Six years ago.*
The same date as Arthur's photograph.
The same week he supposedly died.
And the same week Margaret had signed the paperwork closing an investigation into suspicious maintenance approvals.
I felt the pieces moving together.
"Richard knew," I whispered.
Michael looked at me.
"Knew what?""
"That Margaret was involved. That's why he made this recording.""
I opened the envelope further.
A folded sheet of paper lay beneath the photograph.
It contained a handwritten list of account numbers, company names, and payment dates.
At the bottom was a sentence.
*Margaret received the final payment three days after Arthur's death.*
I looked at Grant.
"Can you preserve this?""
"Absolutely.""
She placed the documents inside an evidence sleeve.
Then she stepped away to make a call.
I sat quietly, trying to control my breathing.
Emily approached with a fresh bottle of water.
"Ms. Whitmore, you should drink something.""
I accepted it.
"Thank you.""
She sat beside me.
"Can I ask you something?""
"Of course.""
"How do you keep going when everyone you trust turns out to be lying?""
I looked at her.
For a moment, I saw myself thirty years earlier.
Young, ambitious, convinced that honesty was always rewarded.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"But I know what happens when good people decide that telling the truth is too expensive.""
Emily nodded.
"I was afraid to speak up.""
"I understand.""
"Victoria told me I'd never work in aviation again.""
I looked toward Victoria.
She was sitting with another security officer, staring at her hands.
"Fear explains why someone stays silent," I said.
"It doesn't excuse what they do to other people.""
Emily looked down.
"I know.""
A few minutes later, Grant returned.
"We've contacted the appropriate federal authorities. They're arranging an independent evidence team.""
"Not Margaret's office?""
"No. Given the potential conflict of interest, we're keeping this outside your division.""
I nodded.
"Good.""
Then Grant showed me her phone.
"We also received a response from the hospital records department concerning Arthur Bennett.""
I looked up.
"What did they find?""
"There's no verified death certificate under his name matching the date your brother gave you.""
My heart began racing.
"Then who was buried?""
"That's what we're trying to establish.""
Grant continued.
"However, there's another problem. Someone accessed Arthur's archived personnel file yesterday.""
"Who?""
She turned the screen toward me.
The access authorization carried Margaret Sloan's credentials.
I stared at it.
"She knew he was alive.""
"That's what it suggests.""
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
Margaret.
I looked at Grant.
She nodded toward the recording device.
I answered.
"Eleanor.""
Her voice was warm.
Almost affectionate.
"Thank goodness. I've been trying to reach you.""
"Director Sloan.""
"Please, call me Margaret. I heard there was an incident on Flight 417. Are you all right?""
"I'm fine.""
"And the investigation?""
"Moving forward.""
She sighed.
"Good. I was worried you'd let a minor confrontation distract you.""
I glanced at my soaked jacket.
"Is that what you've heard?""
"Victoria is a good employee. I'm sure she made a mistake.""
I said nothing.
Margaret continued.
"Listen, Eleanor. I've reviewed the situation. I think it's best if you return to Atlanta and let another investigator take over.""
"Why?""
"Because this case has become personal.""
I looked at the photograph of Richard.
"You're right. It has.""
"That's precisely why I'm asking you to step away.""
"Margaret, did you know Arthur Bennett was alive?""
Silence.
A long, uncomfortable silence.
Then she answered.
"Arthur Bennett has been dead for six years.""
"Interesting. Because his name appears on current maintenance authorization documents.""
"That's impossible.""
"His photograph says otherwise.""
Her voice hardened.
"Where did you get that photograph?""
I leaned back.
"Why does that matter?""
"Because you have no idea what you're holding.""
I smiled faintly.
"That's the second time someone has said that to me today.""
"Eleanor, listen carefully. Bring me the envelope. I'll make sure everything is handled properly.""
"No.""
"Excuse me?""
"I'm not handing over evidence to someone whose name appears in the financial records.""
Her breathing became audible.
Then she said something I would never forget.
"Richard should have destroyed those records when I asked him to.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"You knew Richard?""
"Of course I knew Richard.""
"Did you threaten him?""
"I tried to protect him.""
"From whom?""
"From people who don't forgive betrayal.""
I stood up.
"Margaret, are you admitting that you knew my husband was in danger?""
She laughed softly.
"Your husband was a very stubborn man.""
The call ended.
I looked at Grant.
"Did you record that?""
She nodded.
"Every word.""
Then her radio crackled.
"Sergeant Grant, we have a situation at the airport entrance.""
Grant lifted it.
"Go ahead.""
"An individual has presented federal credentials and requested access to Flight 417. The identification belongs to Director Margaret Sloan.""
I stared at her.
"She's here?""
"Yes. And she's demanding to speak with Ms. Whitmore.""
Grant looked at me.
"Do you want to see her?""
I looked at the photograph.
Then at Richard's handwriting.
"Yes.""
But before Grant could respond, another message arrived on my phone.
It came from an unknown number.
There was no greeting.
Only a photograph.
It showed Thomas Whitmore sitting inside a dark room, his hands tied behind his back.
May you like
Underneath it were six words.
*YOUR BROTHER ISN'T WORKING WITH THEM ANYMORE.*
