Page 71 of 25 Alive

I said, “Do you have a couple of minutes? We’ve got some questions.”

Ryan offered us seating in the little waiting area ten feet from his post, and I said fine to that and set my phone down on the end table. I asked, “Ryan. May I call you Ryan?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Ryan, by chance did Mr. Palmer say where he was going?”

“No, but after breakfast usually he’s in a hurry to get to a meeting somewhere, and then I don’t see him until late afternoon, or after dinner in the lounge. Let me call his room for you.”

A few seconds later, Ryan shrugged and said, “No answer. If you don’t mind me asking, is Mr. Palmer in some kind of trouble?”

Conklin said, “No, no. To be clear, we think Mr. Palmer may be able to help us with one of our open investigations.”

Ryan said, “Good to hear. Would you like me to give him a message if I see him later?”

I gave Ryan my card and Richie’s.

“If you see Mr. Palmer, give him our contact information, and if he asks what this is about, just say that you don’t know. Then call me or Inspector Conklin and one of us will take it from there.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” said McCall. “You know, I might have something for you.”

My head snapped around. I said, “And that would be what?”

Just then a group of four hotel guests arrived at the maître d’s station asking to be seated. McCall led them to a table thatsuited them, and when he returned, he stood with his back to incoming guests.

He said, “I wonder. Just between us, would you be interested in knowing about the woman Mr. Palmer was seeing earlier this week?”

Conklin said, “Well, yes, we would. What can you tell us?”

“All I know is what I see,” Ryan said. “The lady has been staying with us since last Tuesday. I overheard her and Mr. Palmer talking …”

I saw another party of four heading our way. Ryan did a one-eighty away from them.

He said, “I don’t know if she’s checked out of the hotel, but I haven’t seen her in a couple or three days.”

A thought cut through my brand-new splitting headache. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the photo library.

“I want you to look at a picture, Ryan. If you recognize this person, you’ll be helping us a lot.”

I stood up and showed him an image of the “dumpster victim” prior to her autopsy at the morgue two days ago. Her body was draped in a blue sheet from her shoulders down and over her feet, but her face was exposed and mostly unbruised.

“Ryan? Do you recognize her?”

He staggered back a bit, reached out for something to grab on to and, failing that, regained his balance.

“That’s, that’s her. Caroline Ford.”

CHAPTER105

TIAGO GARZA SAT in the copilot’s seat aboard the multi-million-dollar Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter. Below them was the Pacific coastline. The pilot followed that beautiful, divided pathway of sand and sea, along the edge of San Diego, passing over the cities of Encinitas, Carlsbad, and San Clemente, which were so far below, they looked like handfuls of small wooden blocks tossed along the coastline.

Garza was not mechanically minded, but the pilot, his childhood friend Enrique Santos, had been trained by the US Marine Corps. He handled the collective, the throttle, and the pedals that controlled the blades and rear rotors. In short, Enrique knew what he was doing, and Garza liked to hear him talk about the bird itself.

Garza had learned that this particular Black Hawk was able to fly a long distance, about 1,600 miles, without having to refuel. This was excellent, since the Black Hawk was stolen, and stopping for fuel could end their mission.

However, if they used their fuel wisely, they could travelfar. As Enrique had told him, the chopper had special auxiliary fuel tanks mounted to external stores support system wings. This bird was loaded.

But as Enrique also had explained to Garza, all helicopters by their nature were somewhat unstable. So, extreme care had to be taken when lifting off and landing.

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