Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"In all those years that have passed since we've set it up here, no one ever came to take a look", the museum's representative remarked, apparently trying to somehow fill the enormous silence of the hangar.
"I mean, really take a look", the young man continued. "Tourists we've got aplenty. Those freaks that get off on catastrophes. That's why we banned taking pictures in here, we don't want those idiots posing in front of the wreck and then posting the pictures like trophies on facebook."
He practically snarled the last part, took a deep breath, then returned to his original tone of voice.
"Relatives come, too. Every year around the date of the crash, of course, but also on other special days, birthdays, wedding anniversaries… They leave flowers and stuff, light candles…"
He pointed at the wall opposite from them. It was covered with framed photos of the victims. Each photo had a small stone tablet attached underneath where people could place vases and lanterns. Many of them were burning.
"So many years ago, but the people still keep coming. Some of those who lost their spouse remarried. They are bringing their grandchildren by now. Some still come alone. They were never able to move on. Shortly after we had the wreck installed a teenage girl who had lost both her parents in the crash hung herself inside the remains. We put up video surveillance afterwards."
The young man fell silent. He had started working at the small Florida aviation museum long after the incident with the girl, but the older staff members still talked about it every now and then and every year they observed a minute's silence around the time she approximately had died.
So many victims.
"You're the first expert who has ever shown interest."
"Thank you for granting me access so fast", Chance replied, his eyes slowly wandering along the airplane's wreck.
"Well, Mr. Smith, our biggest sponsor, intervened on your behalf. He paid for the hangar, the installation of the wreck, still covers all maintenance costs, electricity, heating… A very generous man. I don't recall him ever making any kind of request before and letting you in here after hours really is no big deal. He could have asked for a ride with one of our World War I biplanes and we would have gladly agreed."
Under different circumstances, Chance would have smiled. "Mr. Smith"? Seriously? Tony know-every-trick-in-the-book Belvilacqua hadn't been able to come up with anything more creative than Mr. Smith? But the presence of the wrecked airplane stifled all light thoughts. Like a giant dinosaur's skeleton it filled the hangar, a monstrosity of crushed steel and flaking paint.
The different parts were easily recognizable, the cockpit, the undercarriage with the wheels, the wings, the rows of passenger seats… of course the recovery crew hadn't been able to retrieve everything from the bottom of the ocean, many seats were missing, most of the paneling was gone, but still, this was an almost complete reconstruction of the machine that had brought death upon eighty passengers and six crew members.
Almost.
The tail section was missing. The one part that the recovery crew had not been able to locate, despite weeks out on the ocean and a giant search radius.
"It took me a year and lots of bribery to get permission for hoisting the wreck", Tony Belvilacqua had told Chance.
"Would have tried getting my hands on it earlier, but the crash site was in direct vicinity of a busy sea lane, no chance to retrieve it quietly." Belvilacqua's voice had become angry and low as he explained this.
It was the missing tail section that Belvilacqua based his assumption on that birds had nothing to do with the crash. They had found everything else, why, of all things, should the tail remain lost? The water wasn't all that deep at the crash site, and since all other parts had remained on-site despite the local currents…
"Someone must have stolen the damn tail before my people got to it, but I've got no idea who or at least when. Galotti didn't do it, I know that much. But with all else I ran into one wall after another."
The museum representative left Chance alone with the wreck. It was late at night, outside darkness had fallen hours ago. Bare light bulbs illuminated the hangar. Cautiously Chance stepped in between the steel skeleton. Although the walls were missing it felt like climbing into a tomb.
"Talk to me, Guerrero", Chance said. Although he was speaking quietly his voice still echoed through the silence of the hangar. "What do the satellite photos say?"
Guerrero had never actually told anyone how he happened to have access to these kind of classified data, but this ability had come in very handy in the Martin Gleason case, saving Chance at the last minute from a parachute landing right in front of a camera on the rooftop of the Sentronics building, and it came in handy just as well now, so nobody asked.
"We're talking 1982 here, bro. One photo of the area a day. Grainy as hell. Black and white shit."
"Locating and hoisting the tail section must have taken days. Even with only one photo every 24 hours we should be able to see the ship that took it."
"Hate to disappoint you, but between the rescue ships directly after the crash and Belvilacqua's crew a year later there's nothing."
Chance pressed his lips together and slowly walked along what once must have been the aisle between the passenger seats. He imagined the flight attendants hurrying up and down, catering to the passengers… back then they had still been called stewardesses… At seat 37B he stopped. Donatella Belvilacqua's seat. The recovery crew had found it, almost untouched, only the fabric of the cover was discolored and torn at places, thanks to its age and the year at the bottom of the sea.
She had been twenty back then, a college student, with plans to go to medical school.
Tail sections don't just disappear.
"Guerrero, did you say the only ships that stayed longer at the crash site except Bevilacqua's were the rescue ships directly after the plane came down?"
When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.