Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

But justice never slept, meaning they still had to drive to Queens, then Jersey. It was ironic they would be up all night yet the first person they interrogated was sound asleep and was probably now back in slumberland.

“Airline pilots make good money. Why does the kid still live with his parents?” Daly muttered as they got into the car. “If I was young and good-looking like him, with a job like his, the last thing I’d want would want to do is live with Mommy and Daddy, especially after what we just witnessed. I’d be too busy shacking up with every stewardess I could get my body parts on.”

“You’re showin’ your age, John. There are no more stewardesses. Nowadays they’re called flight attendants.” A serious Morganthaler removed a paper from his jacket pocket. “The quick stats from the airline and our cursory background check show he’s twenty-five and brand-new, which he mentioned. Maybe that’s the reason? But I’ll run credit and further checks and see what I come up with. You wanna get a court order to tap the pilots’ phones?” Morganthaler knew it would be difficult for the local cops to get enough evidence to present to a judge, unless Preis or Shepard converted to Islam, but the Feds carried sufficient weight to get it done without a hassle, even without clear-cut evidence.

Daly was deep in thought. “No, not yet. We have nothing. Maybe later,” he sighed. “Let’s start by visiting the flight attendants, as you like to call ‘em and the other two pilots. After we check their backgrounds and other stuff, maybe we’ll come up with something definitive? If so, then I’ll go for the wires. If any of the crew was involved, they wouldn’t be pros and would make mistakes.”

“The kid said he doesn’t have a cellphone or use the internet?” Morganthaler reminded him. “That doesn’t make sense. I thought by now almost all young people used the internet.”

“That’s what he said, but maybe he’s bullshitting us? Let’s check to see if he does have a cell, and his laptop will tell if he uses the internet.”

“Except his old man was sitting right there and that prick would have said something if the kid was lying.”

“You’re probably right.” To change the subject Daly added, “What really pisses me off is the switch wasn’t discovered sooner, before the bags arrived in Manhattan.” Daly heaved a sigh as he started the Ford, turning the air conditioning up full blast. “These fucking Fords suck. Why the hell can’t they give us something decent like a Honda?” he wondered aloud as the blast of cold air hit him right in the face.

“Maybe it didn’t happen ‘til the bags got to Manhattan,” Morganthaler ruminated aloud.

Daly didn’t want to hear any of Morganthaler’s Sherlock, off-the-cuff Holmes hypotheses. He was accustomed to first logically breaking down all the possibilities and doing the timeline, alone. Here, that amounted to a huge block of info needing to be whittled down, eliminating the pieces that didn’t fit. Although currency was stolen, making it a federal offense, because the crime might have taken place on NY airport property the Port Authority cops were brought in, meaning Daly was stuck with Morganthaler; at least for the foreseeable future. That was okay at the outset because Morganthaler better knew the inner workings of the New York airports. “In this goddamn weather either you cook or freeze,” Daly interjected, feeling the dampness penetrating his flesh. “Our list of possible scenarios and perps is way too long.”

“Maybe some federal government workers did it in Boston or New York, or at the airport—anywhere.”

“Spoken like a true cop. That narrows it down to about a hundred fucking people,” Daly replied with more than a bit of sarcasm in his voice. But, if that turned out to be the case it would be the FBI’s sole jurisdiction. “The only thing we know now is anything could have happened, anywhere. It’s a totally different world today where the bad guy doesn’t always lose or get what he deserves ‘cause there are lots of loose ends that never come together.” Daly often made major breakthroughs by grinding everything down, which was like lifting a veil. But a repetitive routine like the transport and destruction of the money creates huge cracks in any security blanket. This was especially true for someone with insider knowledge who could outwit the system. He would have to first work out a precise time and location, a T and L theory, try to see when and where the best opportunity was afforded the thief or thieves and look for a crucial piece of the puzzle. Jealousy and distrust between the feds and locals would make this process thornier. Trying to move on from there he stated, “Frank, we’ve got to immediately pool all our information. Don’t shut me out. And, no inter-agency bullshit squabbling or clash of cultures. We have to share every shred of info without going through the customary channels, even if egos get bruised and toes stepped on. That way we both win.”

“You have my word there won’t be anything between you and I. But the agency stuff could be different. Our people don’t like being treated like gofers and then left on the street like dog shit. Remember what went on with the Big G, post-9/11. It was a fucking disgrace. Even though the Towers were PA property, you Feds put up a firewall as thick as a bank vault. It’s a two-way information highway. I know you’re never impressed with the locals, but…”

“I’ll speak with my people, but old habits die hard. Make sure your guys understand, so I won’t have to pull out the gold,” referring to his FBI badge, as if the PA cops would genuflect in awe. Reality dictated this would have as much impact as whipping out his dick. Daly put the car in gear and turned to his new partner and using carefully chosen words said, “This ain’t gonna be an