Free Saving the World by Gary Ponzo Page A

that how you get your kicks?”
    A slow, wicked smile crept across Turkle’s face. Bryant wasn’t sure if he’d just poked a sleeping lion.
    “You know what I think?” Turkle said. “I think you’re innocent. I think you made those reservations to Jackson Hole just because you needed to get away. Not because you were running away like some of the guys in my office think.”
    “Running away from what?”
    “And I think you keep that bottle of Ativan in the top drawer of your desk just in case you get the nerve to commit suicide and not for emergency anxiety attacks like some of the other guys think.”
    The heater seemed to blow hotter on Bryant’s legs. The FBI had better things to do than to search a civilian’s office unless there was good reason. Bryant’s life was getting more complicated by the minute.
    Turkle glared at him. “Don’t antagonize me, Dr. Bryant. I don’t like shrinks to begin with, so don’t make matters worse.” He pulled a laptop computer from under his seat and rested it on his knees.
    “I’m sitting here trying to help you,” Turkle added, plucking the keyboard with his index finger. “Maybe I should let you go on with your slow spiral into a deep depression, but it occurs to me that I could speed up the process for you.”
    Bryant didn’t like the change in his voice. More businesslike. The computer screen glowed in the agent’s hands as he seemed to find what he was looking for.
    Turkle turned the computer to face Bryant, then handed it to him. “You already know about the plane crash, right?”
    Before Bryant could respond, an image appeared on the screen. An aerial view of a foggy, snowcapped mountain range. Turkle reached around the screen and pushed one of the “F” keys at the top of the keyboard. The picture slowly zoomed in to become different shades of white, the fog peeling away like layers of a veil. As the image zoomed closer, a dark spec came into view. At first Bryant thought it was a rock jutting out from the snow, but soon discovered something quite different. As the image became clearer and closer, Bryant could see that the spec was a smattering of debris. Metallic-gray particles interrupted the pristine pallor of the landscape. They seemed foreign, like slivers of a screw in a bowl of white rice.
    Bryant’s stomach clenched as his eyes finally focused on the image. There was no indication that the foreign material in the photo had ever been part of a commercial aircraft. If Bryant hadn’t already suspected what he was seeing, he would never have come up with the right answer.
    “The computer malfunctioned at the same time they were flying through an early-season snowstorm,” Turkle said. “The pilot was flying without instruments and flew into the side of Mt. McKinley at over four hundred miles an hour.”
    The screen kept zooming in until Bryant could see the aircraft’s fuselage split open. Pieces of the seats were mingled in with luggage and body parts. As a medical doctor, Bryant had seen plenty of trauma during his residency, but this was violent. The charred debris really stood out against the snowy backdrop.
    “The gas tanks were full at impact. We found parts of the fuselage over a hundred yards away from the site,” Turkle said.
    The interior of the car had warmed up considerably. The heater seemed to be blowing fire onto Bryant’s legs.
    “Margo?” Bryant uttered. “She was on this flight?”
    “They couldn’t make a positive identification on her entire family, even with dental records,” Turkle said. “They found Margo sitting next to the crash site without a scratch on her.”
    Bryant narrowed his eyes.
    “And I’m not talking figuratively here,” Turkle continued. “She literally did not have a scratch. No broken bones, no internal bleeding. No swelling, nothing. Like she just happened to pass by the site on her way to school.”
    “Maybe she was thrown from the plane?” Bryant said.
    Turkle waited a beat, then said,