There was a message from Glossman waiting for me at the front desk of the hotel. It said to expect arrival of the airplane at Butler Aviation located on Miami International airport around three p.m. Lynn in bad shape. Windom bringing money personally. Keep in touch.
Up in the room, I lay on the bed resting and thinking about the message and what was meant about Lynn being in bad shape. The inference puzzled me. Losing a sibling can be traumatic, though. The I.D. at the morgue would have to be handled carefully.
Legally, it's necessary to view a body for a positive identification. Rene's face wasn't exactly pretty, plus a morgue is an awful place for a first-time visitor. The hollow echo of footsteps on tile floors, the smell, the bright lights, the cold of both the temperature and the attendants, and the thought of all that death can get to anyone.
The Concierge at the hotel arranged a rental car for me. I drove to Butler Aviation. The rest of the afternoon loomed like a bad omen for things to come.
Parking in the lot at the airport, I walked to the operations office. The girl behind the desk flashed a California smile with a Florida tan and a set of teeth that paid some Dentist's light bill for a year and said that N5JG would be on the ramp in five minutes.
Standing outside in the bright sunshine, I watched the plane turn off the taxiway onto Butler's ramp. It was one of the Falcon Fifties, the one with the horizontal stabilizer drooping downward. I must get Windom to explain that design for me one day.
Usually when he shuts off the engines Windom would bound down the cabin stairs and say something funny, "Just like Air Force One, on time, to the second." On this occasion his demeanor was of a serious nature. He was the consummate professional pilot and, as with most people who work in stressful occupations, he had a brilliant sense of humor. This was the only time I'd seen it fail him.
He shook my hand. "She's having a rough time. Here's the money Mr. Glossman sent. Look, we've arranged for a day room in the hotel here at the airport. We'll be there in case she needs to leave earlier."
"What's she been doing?"
"Everything was fine until we got airborne. She started wailing like a banshee and pacing up and down the aisle. We left the cockpit door open to watch her. She acted like that the entire trip. At the moment, she's sitting in there staring off into space, won't say a word to us. It's like she's in shock. I hope you can handle her."
Quietly boarding the aircraft, I sat down in the seat facing her. "I'm sorry about Rene, Lynn."
She looked up, hollow-eyed, staring through me for a moment, then, "See if there's any brandy. I need a drink." The look on her face was one of defeat, a drained expression of passivity. Her appearance was immaculate, though. The long hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. She wore a bone-white business suit that exuded professionalism. Her posture gave away her inner struggle, erect, stiff, and fragile.
The co-pilot remained in his seat shutting down the systems. When asked if there was brandy on board he pointed at the liquor cabinet and offered to get it in just a moment. Patting him on the shoulder, I said I'd do it.
There was Martel Gordon Blue cognac. Pouring two ounces into a large snifter, I gave it to Lynn. She drank it in one swallow, and handed me the glass. "I'm okay. Thanks."
"I'm glad."
She appeared calm. Her look of weariness eased into a thin smile that seemed to reflect more than the endurance of this one moment. "I've got it out of my system. I'll apologize to the pilots for the way I acted on the flight. It was awful, but I couldn't help it. It started in Joe's office and I couldn't control myself. Rene was the last of my family. There is no one left. Can you understand?"
"It has to hurt. Don't worry about the pilots, they understand. As for Joe, he feels like you are his daughter."
"I'm so embarrassed."
"We have to go."
She looked out the oval-shaped cabin window. "Do I have to see the body? Couldn't it be done some other way?" She turned to me, and there was a puzzled helplessness on her face. The face was calm, but something about the expression made me wish that she did not have to experience such sadness.
"There is no other way."
She was quiet on the way to the County morgue. The body was moved there after a telegram arrived at the hospital releasing it. The facility had the latest technology and we were able to make the viewing from a quiet comfortable room via closed-circuit television.
Lynn looked hard at the screen as if implanting the picture in her brain. "Yes, it's Rene." She turned and walked away, no tears, hysterics, or emotion.
Walking out of the building, Lynn said, "Can we go somewhere for a drink? I could use one." She wiped a hand across her eyes as if she were erasing the things that she had felt and experienced in the last few days.
There was a hotel a few blocks from the morgue. The bar was familiar, off the lobby it was dark, cool, and quiet. We took a booth in a far corner. A blond waitress in a typical short outfit that made rustling noises placed two napkins in front of us without saying a word. Lynn ordered a gin and tonic. I had the same. She kept her eyes down, looking at the nautical chart inlaid into the table with two inches of clear acrylic. The waitress returned with the drinks, sat them in front of us and walked away.
"Thanks," I said just to see if she could talk.
Stopping, she turned and flashed a smile, then walked away without a sound.
Lynn squeezed the small slice of lime into her drink and licked her fingers, then stirred the mixture with a fingernail. She looked up at me and there were wrinkles in the corners of her eyes that seemed as faint lines of bitterness. In the shadows of the bar she looked much older.
"The plane's waiting to return you to Jackson," I offered as a way of changing the lines of bitterness. "I'm staying in Miami to find out what happened to Rene."
The wrinkles smoothed out and were replaced by a faint smile. It held appreciation and an emotion not seen before. At once revealing and sensual, yet motionless, drawn as if from relief, a relaxed tension stretched by the moment.
"Why? It's over. There is nothing else anyone can do for Rene. She's gone. Joe said he would hire some local people to look into it. Why do you want to continue?"
Lynn had a lovely face, but it kept clouding over with the image of a bruised, battered, and dead young woman lying on a cold metal tray in a dank morgue.
"I don't like the way she died. It's despicable what was done to Rene. I don't care what she'd done as a teenager, she did not deserve to be pumped full of drugs, beaten, raped and then left to die. It took a sadistic, vile person to do this, and I'm going to find him."
"Could I get another drink?" There was no emotion. "Rene hasn't left Wiggins, Mississippi in three years. Why would she leave the cruise ship in Nassau? How did she end up in Bimini?"
The questions weren't directed at me. It was as if she were thinking out loud. I answered her anyway. "Starting in Bimini and working my way back to Nassau may give us those answers. You can help a great deal by telling me what happened between your parents and Rene. It couldn't matter now if I know."
"Never."
Sighing, I leaned back in the booth, finished my drink, and looked at the inlaid chart on the table. It showed the Bahamas.
Lynn stiffened and seemed to shudder all over. She sat for a few seconds with her eyes closed, arms straight by her side, fists clinched so tight the blood was cut off from her fingers. Then, as if returning from a trance, she said, "You can take me back to the airport, now."
Even in the dimness of the bar she was a strikingly beautiful woman. The high cheekbones and sharp features of her face caused the pale light to give her an eerie glow like that of a forbidden goddess, or an evil, iniquitous and peccant being.
Stopping in the hotel lobby, I phoned Windom, alerting him we were on the way. Wanting to know what to expect, he was relieved to hear all was fine.
There was little conversation during the drive to the airport. Butler Aviation allowed me to drive out onto the ramp, directly to the airplane. The co-pilot had the onboard auxiliary power unit running and started the right engine when he spotted our car. Windom stood at the bottom of the airstair door and helped Lynn aboard. By the time I drove back through the gate, they were taxing to the runway.
Getting out and leaning against the wire fence, I watched the Falcon begin its takeoff roll, rotate, and climb into the blue evening sky heading directly into the sun. Suddenly a strange feeling came over me like a black storm cloud that I would wish before this was over I had boarded Joe Glossman's airplane back to Mississippi.