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[Concluding chapter eleven]
There was a Naval Reserve air base at Long Beach. Casey landed the Bristol there; the Shore Patrol didn’t require much persuasion to refrain from arresting him: they’d seen the comet that was Telford’s Jenny curving south into the marsh. A party from the base was already on its way to the crash site.
Desiree looked terrible. When Casey helped her down from the rear cockpit he felt sorry for her in spite of his anger at her stowing away on the Bristol: her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them dark and puffy as a result of the buffeting she’d taken from the slipstream. Her hair suggested a badly frayed floor-brush, black strands pointing out to all of the cardinal points of the compass. She shivered as she tottered toward the Shore Patrol car; it might be in the high seventies here on the ground, but aloft it was cool, and the wind had made it downright cold.
Casey stayed with the Bristol until a reserve officer arrived to tell him that he and Desiree would meet the Long Beach police at the crash site; the officer volunteered a car and driver to get them there. Casey accepted the offer with some reluctance: no pilot wanted to have to view the remains of a flamer.
“Neal says we’re not to talk about Lily Cross,” Desiree whispered to him when he sat down beside her. “He’s coming down with some people from the studio; they’ll take care of everything. They’ve called the D.A. already.”
Casey stared at her. “You phoned Neal.”
“Of course I did,” Desiree said, flushing. “I also phoned Hogan to tell him what happened. For what it’s worth, this wasn’t my idea.” She glared at him. “Not that this seems to matter to you. But I can see his point, even if you won’t. Neal has a right to know, Casey. The murder you solved was of a studio employee, remember.”
“If the murder’s solved, why does Neal care whether or not we talk about it to the police? Or is there something going on here that I’m not privy to? Is this what you meant when you said that you were going to look out for your career?”
“That’s unfair, Casey.” Now she didn’t look embarrassed, she looked angry. “My contract with Monarch requires that I leave any involvement with the authorities to the appropriate people at the studio. For that matter, your contract is the same.”
“I don’t think I can be held to a contract that requires me to perjure myself.”
“Oh, don’t be a horse’s ass,” Desiree said. “All that McMahon wants to do is ensure that the press doesn’t take unfair advantage of your solving the crime. And all I want to do is put this behind me.” She closed her eyes. “Though I don’t think I’m ever going to forget what that looked like.”
“Take it from me,” he said, “you never do.” Why are you doing this? he asked himself. Because she deserved to be punished, he thought. Because she had forced her way onto the plane. Because she seemed to care more about preserving the studio’s reputation than she did about Lily Cross’s murder.
“Well, thanks for that bit of support, Casey,” she snapped. “I don’t care what you say or don’t say to the police. But I’m not saying anything, to anyone.”
Next Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven
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