The Christine Murders
THE CHRISTINE MURDERS
By
Regina Fagan
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE CHRISTINE MURDERS
Copyright 2013 by
Regina M. Fagan
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN: 978-1492173281
Dedicated to the memory of Pan American World Airways, the airline that made the going great for me and for so many hundreds of others all over the globe during its years as the world’s greatest airline.
And to the wonderful members of my Pan Am Facebook Crew Party page, who keep the memories and laughs and friendships alive today.
As always, thank you to my parents, Genevieve and Charles Fagan, and to my Godmother, Jeanne McQuade, for the ways in which all of you instilled such a great love of reading and writing in me from a very early age. You will live on in my memories forever.
And to Tara and Oliver, little pals of the past and present, by my side all the while I wrote, my silent partners. I could not have done this without you.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I wrote this book a long time ago, drawing on my years as a Pan American World Airways Stewardess. Once finished, I put it aside. In the meantime, the world of flying and air travel changed drastically; unfortunately, not for the best.
When I decided to update this work, I pondered rewriting the airline scenes to reflect flying and travel at present. But I quickly discarded that idea, determining instead to keep my characters’ jobs and their world of travel close to the life I knew back in the 1970s, when there really were roast beef dinners served to our First Class passengers on linen-draped carts; when we served wine and champagne and used real silverware. Economy passengers were treated well also. We served them delicious full hot meals, and moist heated towels were distributed to all passengers at the end of long flights so they could freshen up before arriving at their destinations. I wanted to keep alive some of the luxuries that Pan Am’s passengers experienced . . . once upon a time.
One of the many nice things about fiction is that it is exactly that: fiction, and the writer can create what he or she wishes. In my case, that would be an updated twenty-first-century world of cell phones and Internet, Google maps and Facebook, while keeping alive for Christine and Bill the world of the “Stewardess” I once was and the life I knew and loved.
Many years ago, during my stewardess days, I found a mysterious urgent note in my crew mailbox from a man I didn’t know. I returned his call, but never heard anything from him. Who was he? I never did find out. But an idea for a story set itself in my mind and eventually became this book.
For technical assistance I must thank the following members of the Facebook Pan Am Crew Party Page: Jocelyne Harding and Andrea Desumbila, for assistance with medical treatments and ER procedures. I also have to thank good friends Angela Lai and fellow author Patricia Riley Leyden, for directing me to information about CODIS and VICAP.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 30
th
ON BOARD INTERNATIONAL WORLD AIRLINES
FLIGHT 1005
LONDON TO SAN FRANCISCO
PROLOGUE
He watched, transfixed, as the tall blonde flight attendant picked her way gingerly along the aisle, the aircraft bouncing and shimmying beneath her feet, her careful movements mirroring a gymnast on a balancing bar. The sudden attack of turbulence during an otherwise smooth flight had been unexpected and unnerving.
She was doing her best to serve after-dinner coffee, an almost impossible feat under the circumstances. But it wasn’t the steady and practiced way she went about her job or the calming influence she bestowed on her nervous passengers that held his attention. He stared in disbelief at a woman who had come back from the dead.
Her name badge read Christine Lindsey, but she was exactly like Alyson, almost a mirror image of Alyson.
He closed his eyes briefly, hoping the blackness and the voices would not return. Then he looked up again. Christine was heading toward him now, smiling at him, as if she knew who he was. If only she did. He held up his empty coffee cup, not wanting any but needing to get her full attention, his eyes locked on her face. And suddenly he felt foolishly happy. Here was a woman just like his Alyson. Maybe she’d been sent to him. Maybe, in some way, Alyson herself had really come back, to tell him how sorry she was.
But just as suddenly the rage returned, and the voices. How could she have done this to him? What kind of cruel joke was this now? How had she known he would be taking this flight today? Nothing had changed.
NO! He pushed the voices away. Go away, please leave me! You haven’t come to me in such a long time. I’ve been free! Not now, please, now that perhaps I’m being given a second chance. Here is a new Alyson. Please don’t ruin this for me, not again. You made me lose Alyson once; but here is this beautiful woman . . . just like her. Here she comes, she is almost at my seat, she is here . . .
But the voices continued: “Of course you know what you have to do. Nothing has changed, you know that. Alyson had to die, because she never really was yours. Who would want to be yours? This woman has to die too. And you know very well that is all there is to that.”
CHAPTER ONE
Christine glanced back at the one remaining passenger waiting for coffee. The weird one. Several times already during the meal service she’d noticed him watching her as she helped get the trays and beverages distributed in Business Class, his eyes fixed intently on her while she worked. He sat there now with his coffee cup held up, like a frightened child. Maybe he was just a nervous flyer.
She moved carefully toward him while the turbulence worsened. Just as she reached the last seat, the plane gave a rapid bouncing series of bumps that almost lifted her off her feet. Struggling to maintain balance, Christine grabbed for a seat back, but not fast enough to prevent the hot coffee from splashing out onto the strange man, hitting him directly in the center of his impeccable striped tie and splattering across his shirt and the lapels of his suit jacket.
Steadying herself, Christine lowered the pot to the floor. “Oh, I am so sorry! I’ll get some club soda and we’ll see if we can get the stains out. As long as you are not burned, sir. Don’t worry; we will reimburse you for cleaning.”
The man sat as if frozen, his eyes locked on Christine. He appeared to be in his forties, expensively dressed. Christine thought it odd that he had not even removed his suit jacket during the long flight. He was handsome in an odd way. His eyes were a vivid blue, the color of glacial ice, Christine thought. His olive skin stretched tautly over high cheekbones, and his black hair was sleek and perfectly groomed. He was an elegant man, yet there was something sinister about him.
Finally he spoke. “It’s nothing, really. A few dabs of club soda, as you suggest, and I should be fine. I’m not hurt, not at all. There’s absolutely no need for any fuss. Actually, Miss, Lindsey, is it?”
“Yes, Christine Lindsey.”
“Miss Lindsey, I think it would be better if you sat down. I’m glad you didn’t injure yourself. You might have fallen or burned yourself with that coffee. Never mind my clothing. Clothing can be easily replaced.” His voice was British, soft and cultured.
A steward crossed from the other side of the cabin, where he had been attempting to pick up trays. “What happened, Chris? Are you all right? Is everything okay here?” He put his hand on her arm.
“Yes, Bill, we’re okay, but I’ve spilled some coffee on this gentleman.”
The man wiped at his tie with the napkin from his dinner tray, still staring at Christine. “Please, Miss Lindsey, there is no need for concern. Once again I suggest that you and this young man sit down. Things seem to be getting bumpier out there.”
The Captain’s voice filled the aircraft just then, offering apologies for the rough weather, and asking that all service be suspended until they had safely passed through the worst of the stormy weather. Bill and Christine climbed back up the long aisle toward their jump seats. Bill stowed the coffee pot safely in the small service galley in front before sitting down.
“Thank God I didn’t burn him,” Christine said, once she and Bill were safely buckled in together.
“Kind of an oddball, don’t you think so?” Bill Arnett replied. “Most people get comfortable on a flight this long - on any flight. But he’s been sitting there with the tie perfectly knotted, the suit jacket on all the time. And he looks like he’s in a trance.”
Christine nodded. “He is strange. Ever since I came up here to help he’s been watching me. Gives me the creeps. I’ll write the incident up in the log. Even though he’s saying he doesn’t care he may file a claim or try to make a fuss later on. You never know.”
The aircraft bounced and shook like a car on a roller coaster. From their jump seats, Christine and Bill watched a section of the cabin and their passengers. Most had finished eating and sat with nervous faces, their bodies strapped securely to their seats and empty dishes and utensils chattering on the trays in front of them. A few continued eating happily, oblivious to the turbulence. A few other attendants were still up and about, double checking seat belts.
Gradually the big plane pulled out of the bad weather and settled onto a smoother course, enabling the attendants to move about the cabins and complete the interrupted meal service. By the time the galleys were cleaned and secured, little more than an hour remained before the flight was due into San Francisco.
Christine took a break to freshen up. The London-San Francisco Polar flight was always long and busy, and she was tired. Fortunately, today it didn’t show. Her eyes were clear, and her hair remained neat, courtesy of the new style she’d treated herself to in a London salon many of her fellow flight attendants had recommended. She reapplied lipstick plus a small amount of blush, sprayed a fresh mist of cologne, and was ready to go back to her passengers.
She looked for Bill and saw that he was back speaking to the man with the stained clothing. She watched until he finished and walked back toward her. “What happened? Does he want us to pay for the cleaning?”