Page 39 of Unnatural Death

“She called in literally at the last minute. Claimed she took a rapid COVID test and was positive. What a shock.”

“The third time in two months,” I reply, and it’s one of those things you can’t say much about.

“Tina didn’t come in and won’t until she tests negative,” Shannon explains. “That’s what she said, and there was no one to cover her shift …”

My secretary goes on to tell me Buckingham Run is all over the news. The phones are going crazy about those deaths and others, everything happening at once. Shannon goes on to inform me that Blaise Fruge needs to discuss the Nan Romero case. The Alexandria police investigator has troubling information about the dentist who allegedly committed suicide the day before yesterday.

Also, FBI Agent Patty Mullet needs to speak to me ASAP, and I know how pushy she can be. I don’t like her. I never have.

“What does she want?” I ask.

“She has questions about a number of things, including the two ex-cons killed in last night’s attempted home invasion,” Shannon says. “Such terrible people, and I know I shouldn’t say it, but they got what they deserved, dressing like clowns.”

“What questions?” I inquire.

“She said it was confidential.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to deal with all this later.” I end the call as Lucy points out an aircraft on the distant horizon.

“Guess who’s back for more?” she says. “Two miles at our ten o’clock.”

CHAPTER 15

I’M MINDFUL OF THE unfortunate optics of the Doomsday Bird lumbering across the sky with body bags strapped to our skids like Santa turned Grim Reaper. The black vinyl pouch below my door ruffles in the wind, the morbid payload vibrating with the thrumming engines.

“Now what happens?” I stare out at Dana Diletti’s helicopter small and bright on the horizon.

“I’m betting on history repeating itself.” Lucy’s voice sounds in my headset. “I’ll ask nicely that they go the other way, and they won’t. Amazing how some people don’t learn, and Lorna Callis is one of them. Oh well, no one can say I didn’t give people like that fair warning. It’s not my fault if they come back for more.”

Settling into a high hover that I’d describe as predatory, she finds the menu she wants on the heads-up display. I don’t understand the acronyms that are her choices. Hieroglyphics might be easier to interpret, but I can guess the threat level by the color coding.

“Manassas traffic, helicopter Niner-Zulu requests aircraft in the area avoid police operation in Buckingham Run,” Lucy announces over the radio.

Lorna doesn’t bother answering. She remains silent and on course, boldly getting closer.

“Helicopter Seven-Charlie-Delta, what’s your intention?” Lucy addresses the news chopper directly, and still no response. She releases the mic trigger with a shrug.

“Be careful, Lucy. I think you’re being goaded into doing something newsworthy,” I tell her. “They want a bigger story. Please don’t give them one.”

“As they say …?Have it your way, hold the pickles, hold the lettuce…” She begins singing the Burger King jingle over the intercom, displaying another screen on the HUD.

“Is this really necessary?” I take in the determined set of her jaw, the twitch of anger. “Lucy? Are you okay?” I know when something is troubling her.

“What do you mean,is she okay?” Marino’s disembodied voice sounds worried over the intercom.

Lucy’s answer is to touch an option illuminated red on a menu. “Uh-oh! They’ve lost their avionics again. What a bummer.”

She explains that the pilot and crew can’t talk to the tower or each other. They can’t capture anything on film or use electronic devices, including phones. The map displays are dark, no GPS to guide, no alerts to warn. All Lorna Callis can control is the helicopter itself, flaring into a quick stop, slowing into a hover again.

“What the hell did you just do? Because it sounds like a crime.” Marino’s voice is alarmed in our headsets, and he’s not enjoying anything about this ride.

“I’m giving us a little lead time, which usually wouldn’t be necessary. This thing is as fast as a Chinook when I put the pedal to the metal,” Lucy says. “But I can’t do that now.”

She explains that what we’re carrying on the skids creates drag, slowing down the speed among other potential problems.

“I’ll give us a minute before undoing the special effects,” she adds.

“What special effects are you freakin’ talking about?” he insists as Lucy tracks northeast, heading toward Alexandria.

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