Chapter 8 - The Paper Trail
The private airstrip at Teterboro was a ghost town, swept by horizontal sheets of wet snow and howling winds.
The Gulfstream IV sat idling on the tarmac, its turbine engines screaming against the gale like caged beasts. Inside the wood-paneled cabin, the air smelled of stale coffee, leather, and high-stakes tension.
I sat across from Richard, a thick leather portfolio of archived legal documents spread out across the small mahogany table between us. Daniel sat beside me, silent and tense, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against his knee.
“According to the regional transit data,” I said, sliding a digital tablet across the table to Richard, “the bus she was on before it broke down outside Scranton was a local feeder line. But she didn't take the connecting bus to Manhattan. Security footage from the Scranton terminal shows her boarding a regional commuter train heading north toward Binghamton yesterday afternoon.”
Richard picked up the tablet, his old, calloused fingers scrolling through the time-stamped images. The camera caught Rebecca in her navy jacket, her head bowed against the wind, clutching her taped-up leather bag.
“Binghamton,” Richard murmured, staring at the screen. “Why Binghamton?”
“Because that’s where her mother’s family plot is,” Clare said softly from the opposite seat, her coat wrapped tightly around her. She had insisted on coming along, refusing to stay behind in the brownstone while men who had created the mess tried to clean it up. “She went back to where it all started.”
Richard closed his eyes, a shudder running through his heavy frame. “She went to Eleanor’s grave.”
Before anyone could reply, the cabin door swung open, and the pilot stepped inside, shaking snow off his cap.
“Mr. Harrison, we’ve got clearance for takeoff, but Binghamton tower is reporting zero-zero visibility due to the squall line. We can get you into Syracuse, but from there you’ll have to take ground transport down Route 11.”
“Do it,” Richard commanded instantly. “Spare no expense. Get us wheels up right now.”
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As the jet taxied down the icy runway and surged into the stormy gray sky, I leaned back against the leather seat, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second. My mind raced past the logistics of snowstorms and private aircraft. I thought about Rebecca walking out into the freezing dawn with nothing more than a taped bag and a dying body.
If we didn't find her within the next twelve hours, the cold would finish what her kidneys started.
