Page 17 of Final Approach
“I know, but we’re still getting the passenger statements, so like I said, don’t let this get to you. Enjoy your time off. Go flying and finish getting your license. Stay busy, but don’t put too much stock in the accusations. They probably just want a settlement.”
“Right.” She pulled in a ragged breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course. We’ll talk soon.”
She hung up and sat still for a moment. “Okay, God, that was kind of out of left field. You know I didn’t do anything wrong. What are we going to do about this?”
She was going to leave it in his hands as best she could and pray her supervisor was right in his belief that she would be exonerated.
“Go flying and finish getting your license.”
“Ugh.” With no appetite, she finished her breakfast, then checked in with Andrew and Nathan to see if they’d made any headway in the case. She left out the conversation with her boss. No need to bring that up until she knew more. Her phone pinged with a text from Andrew.
Colleen Pearson is being brought in. Marcus Brown went through her line. Nathan and I are heading over to talk to Brown’s wife. If you want to join us, I’ll send you the address. Then we’re heading to the detention center to talk to Pearson.
I don’t have a flight for the next two weeks thanks to my vacation days, so absolutely.
She could probably rectify that, but for the moment, she’d let it ride.
I’d love to be involved as much as possible even though it’s not my role to investigate.
I think we can work with that.
He sent her the location. She finished the last of her coffee, then went to get ready. As she pulled her hair into a ponytail, her phone chimed with another text. Nathan.
Late to the party, but I’ll be there.
Thirty minutes later, she slowed to a stop outside the single-story home with the faded black shutters and peeling white paint. Nathan and Andrew were just climbing out of their respective vehicles. The house was in the roughest part of Lake City, situated across the street from a large trailer park.
Weeds had invaded what little grass there was, and the place looked deserted. Kristine frowned. “There’s nothing to indicate a family of eight lives here,” she said, walking over to the men. “Much less six kids.”
“That house can’t be more than a thousand, twelve hundred square feet,” Nathan said.
“That’s a tight squeeze,” Kristine muttered. But people did it all the time. Better than living on the streets. “How is it that the media hasn’t invaded yet?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be much longer before they figure out who’s who and where he lives. We’ll need to put a police presence here or reporters will make their lives even more unbearable.” He shook his head.
The door opened before they had a chance to approach. A young man about thirteen years old stepped out. He planted his hands on his hips and studied them with serious eyes. “You the feds?”
“What gave us away?” Andrew asked with a small smile.
The teen didn’t return it. “If you don’t know, that’s sad.” Uncertainty flickered through the bravado. “Did my dad really do it?”
Kristine bit her lip and heard a muted sigh come from Andrew. “He did,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re here to talk to my mom?”
Nathan nodded. “She around?”
“Sleeping. She took some of my dad’s migraine medicine and is snoozing pretty hard.”
Kristine stepped forward. “Hey there, I’m Kristine. I’m so sorry about all of this.”
His lips twisted and he sniffed. “Thanks.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
