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Loitering With Intent (Stone Barrington 16)

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“Do you have any documentation for the airplane with your name on it?”

“I have a bill of sale in the backseat,” Vernon replied. “I’ll get it for you.” He unlocked the pilot-side door.

“Allow me,” Dino said, stepping between Vernon and the airplane. He reached into the rear seat and brought out the aluminum briefcase. “Heavy,” Dino said, weighing it in his hand. “Shall I open it for you?”

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S t u a r t W o o d s

“That’s all right,” the man said. “I’ll do it. It has a combination lock.”

“Why don’t you give Lieutenant Bacchetti the combination and let him open it?” Tommy said. “We’d feel more comfortable.”

Again, Vernon looked at the three strangers. “It’s one-two-three,”

he said.

Dino spun the combination on the two locks and opened the case.

Stone leaned forward and looked over Dino’s shoulder. There were some papers in the case, and Dino lifted them to reveal half a dozen camera lenses underneath.

Vernon took the papers from Dino and handed Tommy one of them. “That’s the bill of sale,” he said. “Harmon’s phone number is on it, if you’d like to call him. The FAA is a little slow in issuing new registrations.”

Tommy looked the document over. “Mind if we have a look in the gun case?” he asked.

“What is this?” Vernon asked. “Some kind of drug thing?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Dino said, relieving him of the case. “I assume the combination is the same.” He set the case on the ground and opened it. Inside were three fl y-fishing rods and reels.

“I’m down here for the bonefishing,” Vernon said, “not running drugs. You want to search the airplane?”

“Thank you,” Tommy said, and he and Dino began looking inside the cabin.

“Beautiful airplane,” Stone said.

“Thanks,” Vernon replied, watching the cops work.

“I used to own one, but it wasn’t as nice as this.”

“Frank Harmon does nothing but restore old airplanes,” Vernon said. “He does good work.”

Tommy closed the airplane door and approached Vernon. “Thank you,” he said. “Now may I have a look in your duffel?”

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L o i t e r i n g w i t h I n t e n t

“There’s a handgun in there,” Vernon said. “And I’m licensed to carry it.” He handed over the duffel.

Dino and Stone gathered around to watch Tommy go through the bag.

“Well, look what we’ve got here,” Tommy said, holding up a rifl e barrel and a silencer. “Mr. Vernon,” he said, “you’re under arrest.”

The three men turned to look at him, but Jim Vernon was gone.

“Over there,” Stone said, pointing. Vernon hit the chain-link

fence with a foot, grabbed the top and vaulted over it. He hit the ground on the other side and ran like a frightened deer. Tommy, Stone and Dino began to run. They reached the fence.



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