To Part 24
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"Good moods I can handle," Kermit remarked dryly. "But for a few minutes there I was afraid you were going to break into the Barney theme song, and then I was going to have to shoot you."
"Quit your griping, Peter, and hurry up and order. We only have an hour for lunch and time's awasting. Right, Blake?" Skalany nudged the only silent member of the group with her elbow. "I said, 'Right, Blake?'" Her eyes followed the direction of his eyes to where they were glued to the television screen. "What's on TV that's more interesting than my company?"
"Turn up the volume, Terry," Blake ordered tensely, ignoring Skalany's teasing.
The group fell silent, watching the screen and listening to the news reporter with his special bulletin.
"We have just received information that United Airlines flight 4216 has crashed just five minutes away from landing at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, and all two-hundred six passengers and crew are feared dead. We transfer you live to reporter John Morgan of KMSP, Twin Cities Channel 9."
"Aww, Blake, why do we have to watch something so depressing?" Skalany frowned at her cohort before talking to the bartender. "Terry, turn the channel to one of those stupid talk shows where people beat each other up."
"Leave it!" Peter's eyes were wide and disbelieving in a face suddenly gone pale, and he sat frozen in his seat at the bar.
"What was the flight number they just said?" Kermit demanded of no one in particular.
Terry wiped the glass in his hand and glanced over his shoulder at the big screen. "I think they said United 4216."
"No. No. No-o-o." The water glass in Peter's hand shook violently, sloshing liquid onto the counter. "They're wrong. They have to be."
The reporter on the television screen solemnly intoned, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have dramatic home video footage of the ill-fated United Airlines Flight 4216, filmed by Sarah Bates of Shakopee, Minnesota."
The camera focused on the face of an obviously distraught middle-aged woman. "I was out in the backyard videotaping one of my children's birthday parties, when we heard and saw an airplane flying way too low overhead. I-I followed it with my camera, and there was smoke coming from underneath it, and it-it just flew into the side of the hill. It was terrible, just terrible."
The group of detectives watched in horrified fascination as the video footage ran. Oily black smoke poured out of the underbelly of the large plane and, as the woman had described, smashed into the side of a hill and disintegrated into an instantaneous fireball of smoke and flame. The reporter flashed back onto the screen and commented, "Multiple rescue units from Shakopee and the Twin Cities are in the area, and first reports describe debris strewn over a two-mile area."
Peter's face was carved of stone, though his body trembled. "That was Kacie's flight. She was on that plane."
Peter dialed and redialed the number of the Denver airport, trying to reach through the jammed lines to contact someone, anyone, at the airport who could tell him if Kacie had been on the scheduled flight. The receiver shook in his grip, and he rubbed the other hand over his brow, shielding his face from the world.
Paul and Annie arrived at the same time Caine did, and the three held a quick conference at the front desk before entering the squad room.
"Caine, what do you know about this?" Paul demanded, his voice sharp with worry.
Caine shrugged. "I know nothing. Only that a dread like no other is clutching at our son's heart."
"You haven't heard about the plane crash?" Annie held tightly to Paul's arm. "No one called you?"
"I have no phone. No one called; I just knew to come." The priest looked stunned. "Kacie's plane has crashed? There were no survivors?"
"All we know is that Kermit called us to get right down here. Details are still sketchy, but, yes, it looks like Kacie's plane went down." Paul's voice was unsteady. "And, no, it doesn't appear there will be any survivors."
They walked in together, sadly approaching Peter's desk, where he was shouting into the phone, "I want answers, dammit! I want to know whether or not my wife was on that plane. I don't want to hear 'could have been' or 'might have been'! I want to know!"
Kermit emerged from his office, obviously shaken. He walked with leaden feet to face his friend. "Peter...I got into the airport computer in Denver."
The phone dropped from Peter's nerveless fingers as he stared at Kermit, eyes pleading with his friend to give him some hope.
"Peter...the passenger manifest...I'm sorry...her name was there. She got on that plane. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He nearly lost his composure as he watched the light of life in Peter's eyes flicker and extinguish. Just like a match that someone had blown out, the hazel eyes shuttered and became dull and lifeless.
Time and motion were suspended as everyone froze statue-like in what they were doing and stared at Peter, their faces filled with pity.
Simms was the first to move. She walked over to Peter, tears shimmering in her eyes as she put a hand on his shoulder. "Peter, why don't you let your parents take you home?"
Peter closed his eyes and shuddered once. "Home? I don't have a home. Not any more."
Caine stepped forward and took Peter's arm, gently tugging on it. "Come, my son."
Only years of obedience to that voice and touch brought Peter to his feet. He moved stiffly, like an arthritic old man, and when his father hugged him tightly, Peter remained wooden and unresponsive, his face an unemotional mask.
Annie came to him next, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Sweetie..." She brushed the hair back from his face and embraced him. He endured her touch, swallowing wordlessly and staring unseeingly over the top of her head.
Paul and Caine exchanged helpless glances, their own hearts breaking. Caine took one of Peter's arms and Annie clung to the other as the sorrowful group slowly trudged away.