Who is it?
These characters are not mine – I have just borrowed them! They are the property of Bellisario or Universal or whoever…
Chapter 1
Caitlin O'Shannessy stretched and yawned. "Goodness, is it Monday already?" The weekend had gone by so quickly. Between cleaning her tiny apartment, and shopping for her big dinner party, time had just flown.
"Shoot, there goes the danged doorbell!"
Quickly grabbing her dressing gown, she swung her feet out of bed. Her bedside clock said 6.57am.
"Who is it?"
"Delivery for Ms O'Shannessy!"
Tying her dressing gown firmly around her waist, she headed for the door.
As she opened the door a large brown box filled three quarters of her line of sight. Caitlin sighed. "Where do I sign?"
"Clipboard in my right hand ma'am. Would you like me to bring this in for you?"
"Sure saves me carrying the darned thing. Yes please, come through."
Caitlin stepped aside to let the delivery man in. The next thing she knew, the box had slammed into her, pushing her to the floor. A cloth covered her mouth and nose. "What the…" said Caitlin, as she passed out.
"Dom…I don't see Caitlin's car anywhere. Do you?" said Stringfellow Hawke, as the graceful Jet Ranger landed in front of the Santini Air hangar.
"That's really strange, String, she's usually here to welcome us. Are we really early or something?"
"Well, my watch says 8.57am. Let's go in and put the coffee on, and see if she's left us a note or a message or something. It's very unlike her not to be here on a Monday morning!"
Dom and String look around the hangar and the offices. No sign of Caitlin, or that anything had been touched since they had all left on Friday afternoon for supper at String's cabin.
"Any chance she might have overslept?"
"In the three years she's worked here, has she EVER overslept? Something doesn't feel quite right Dom. I'm calling her apartment."
String busied himself with the telephone. Dom started the coffee machine and went to the schedule board to see what he had planned for the three of them that day.
"No answer at her apartment, Dom. No notes taped to the door or anything?"
"Nothing, String. Hey, we have to get the Steerman ready for the stunt shoot tomorrow, and Caitlin had two flying lessons scheduled, one this morning, one for this afternoon. So you gonna take her student or am I?"
String arched his eyebrow as he turned to look at Dom. "Are you kidding me Dom – I'd rather make you coffee, rub your feet AND clean the Jet Ranger rather than take a student up! The way I'm feeling I might just have him for breakfast."
Throwing his hands up in a classic I-give-up gesture and rolling his eyes, Dom agreed. "Alright String, you can make a start on the Steerman and I'll sort out the student. But only if you buy me lunch And you can do the feet rubbing later."
Scowling, String stalked off to his locker to change into overalls. Yup, it was going to be THAT sort of day.
String worked methodically on the Steerman. Carefully removing various parts of the propeller engine and cleaning them, then replacing them, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. The phone rang twice while Dom was with the student, but both calls were advertising gimmicks. He was starting to worry about Caitlin. It really wasn't like her to disappear just like that. And he knew that she was planning a fancy dinner party to celebrate Dom's birthday on Wednesday. Wiping his hands free of the worst of the oil and grime, he walked to the phone and picked it up. Dialing Michael's number at Knightsbridge, he waited.
"Michael please, Marella. It's urgent."
"Hawke…since when do you say please? You don't sound alright. Everything OK?"
"No, Marella, Caitlin seems to have disappeared. I can feel that something's not right. Maybe Michael can help."
"Hang on, Hawke, I'm putting you straight through."
"Hawke? What's this I hear about Caitlin disappearing?"
"Michael, I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about this. She was supposed to be here this morning, she had a flying lesson and I know how she feels about letting us down with things like that. No answer at her apartment, and her car's not here either. I don't know where to start!"
"Alright Hawke, this is what we do. I'll get Marella to check any police files and call round the police stations, to see if anyone with her description has been picked up. I'll also get her to run a check on the hospitals. I'll meet you at her apartment in 15 minutes. Let's see what we can find."
"Thanks, Michael. I'm jumping on my bike right now."
String slammed down the phone, glad of a plan of action. Racing to strip off his oily overalls, he grabbed his jacket from his locker and felt for his motorbike keys in the pocket. He grabbed a pistol from the strongbox in the back office and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. Stopping only to leave a brief note for Dom next to the phone, he jumped on his bike and zoomed off in the direction of Caitlin's apartment.
Getting off his bike, he put the stand down. Michael was there waiting, trying to look inconspicuous in his normal white three-piece suit, behind a convenient tree. Drawing his pistol, he barked, "Are you coming?"
In answer, Michael drew his own gun and followed him. The pair raced up the stairs towards Caitlin's apartment.
Nodding at Michael, String mouthed the words "On three. One, two, three!" as he planted his foot squarely above the door handle of Caitlin's front door. The door gave way with a crash.
"Caitlin?"
An empty apartment greeted him. "Check the rooms, Michael." String knelt down to examine the signs of a scuffle by the front door. There were no bloodstains, but the entryway table had been overturned, and the lamp that usually lay on it was in pieces on the ground. Turning his attention to the front door, he saw no signs of forced entry.
"Rooms are clear, Hawke. She's not here."
String walked through into Caitlin's tiny bedroom. The bed had been slept in, but not made. He checked through her clothes for her favourite jacket – it was still hanging on its hook behind the bedroom door. He looked outside towards her parking lot. Her burgundy Toyota was parked in its usual spot. "Where the hell is she?"