Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 01 - A Deadly Change of Course--Plan B by Gina Cresse Read Free Book Online

about a federal judge who had been shot to death in his home.  The story went on to say that burglary seemed to be the motive, but there were no suspects in the case.
    Each file contained similar accounts of important individuals who were killed, either by questionable means, or apparent accidents.  Most were shootings in supposed robberies, or car accidents, a couple of suspected suicides, and one drowning.
    As I read the accounts, my stomach began to feel a little queasy.  I could sense small beads of sweat forming on my forehead and upper lip.  I patted my face dry with a tissue and read the last file.  There was something different about this one.  It wasn’t about a single individual being killed.  This article described an airliner crash that happened a year ago — on a flight returning to Los Angeles from Mexico.  The plane had somehow gotten off course and flew into the side of a mountain.  Everyone on board was killed.  A thorough investigation performed by the FAA and the National Transportation Safety B oard turned up nothing— at least nothing as far as a bomb or mechanical malfunction.  Eventually, the authorities determined pilot erro r to be the cause of the crash and the case was closed.  Also in the file, I found the passenger list for flight 9602.  There were two names highlighted in yellow.  David Powers and Michael Norris.   Who were they? 
    I’d figured out that Robert Kephart was some sort of hired assassin, and I’d just stumbled upon a recording of his achievements.  Apparently, he’d been in business since 1980 and performed anywhere from one to four of those “services” a year.  David Powers and Michael Norris must have been his last assignment.  Why would he kill all those people on the plane if he was just after those two?  It didn’t make any sense—unless he had no moral compass, which of course, he wouldn’t, being a hired assassin.  I put the files back into the cabinet and locked it, then picked up the electronic box and stowed it under my arm.  Joe could probably help me identify it.
    As I passed through the shop, I waved to Jason, who was busy helping a customer.  “I’ve got to go, Jason.  I’ll call you later.”
    “Wait a minute, Dev.  I want to talk to you.”  He turned and excused himself from his customer.
    “I can’t talk now.  I’ll call you later.”
    “ Devonie , wait.  Is everything all right?”
    “I don’t know, Jason.  I’ll call you when I know more,” I called back as I hurried out of the shop.
    I laid the box on the seat next to me and started the Jeep, then drove a short distance to a small public park that was usually pretty quiet.  After parking just in front of a payphone situated near the corner of the block, I removed the pages of Robert Kephart’s phone book from my purse and made the call.
    The phone rang many times before anyone answered.  I wasn’t sure what the time difference between San Diego and Geneva was, but I got a bit of a clue when she answered.  A woman’s raspy voice, barely audible, spoke into the receiver.  I had obviously woke her up.  “Hello,” she repeated, trying to project a little more volume.
    “Is this Kerstin Weibel ?” I asked.
    “Yes.  This is Kerstin.  Who am I speaking with?” the woman whispered.
    “Do you know Robert Kephart ?”
    There was a long silence.  Finally, she spoke.  “Who is this?  How do you know Robert?” she demanded.  Her voice echoed louder with each word spoken.
    “I don’t know him, but I think I’ve found something that belongs to him.  Do you know how I can reach him?” I asked.
    Again, she was silent.  “Miss Weibel ?  Are you there?” I asked.
    “Yes.  I am here.  What is it you’ve found?” she responded, finally.
    “ I’d rather not say until I can speak with Mr. Kephart .  Is he there?” I asked.
    “No.  He is not here.  I don’t think you really want to have any contact with him.  Won’t you please tell me what