At one point, her left hand slipped and she lost her balance, almost toppling to the ground. Using the moment to regroup and catch her breath, she saw Ryan a few rows ahead. He was staring at her and yelling something she couldn’t make out. She pointed to the back and yelled “Behind you! Glasses! Curly black hair!”
He shook his head to indicate that he couldn’t make out what she’d said. Picturing Bridget shooting down the slide, she returned her attention to the seatbacks. After a few more, she noticed that everyone in the aisles was now ahead of or behind her. She got off the seat and moved into the aisle opposite Ryan.
“Be careful of the bomb!” he shouted over the din, now close enough to be heard.
She gasped for breath. No amount of morning running could have prepared her for what she’d just done.
“There’s no bomb!” she finally shouted back, “Bridget tossed the laptop as a distraction. She snuck past you. She was wearing glass and a dark, curly wig.”
To his credit, Ryan only looked shocked for a second. Then he turned and rushed back, grabbing people to check their faces, and then moving them out of the way. Jessie did the same on her side. But the herd of bunched up passengers was too much for her navigate.
“LAPD!” she bellowed, holding up her ID high in the air and hoping no one noticed that it actually read “Consulting Profiler.” It seemed to work a bit, as the crowd parted and she was able to push through several people to see the back of the plane.
She had a burst of hope when she saw that the flight attendants were doing exactly as they should: making sure that people exited the plane in a quick but organized, methodical manner. She scoured the passengers in line, looking for any petite curvy women, either brunette or blonde. She saw none.
With one more push she was at the back galley of the plane, staring at Ryan. His expression told her hadn’t had any success either.
“She probably already got off,” he said. “I’m going to warn airport police to hold everyone until we get down there. I just hope it’s not too late.”
He moved into a corner of the galley to try to get some semblance of quiet. Jessie felt her whole body slump. She didn’t know the odds of Bridget getting away now but they were definitely better than they had been five minutes ago.
Trapped on the plane with nowhere to go, Jessie decided to take advantage of the situation and use the restroom. One was occupied but the other was vacant. She was about to step into it when a thought occurred to her.
What is someone doing in the bathroom in the middle of a bomb threat on a plane?
She knew the answer before she’d finished asking herself the question. Quickly she moved toward the flight attendant, a tall woman with short brown hair, and whispered in her ear.
“I work for the LAPD,” she said, holding up the ID and nodding at Ryan. “That’s my partner. The bomb threat is fake. The person who made it is hiding in that lavatory. Are you able to open the door somehow?”
The woman nodded. Jessie motioned for her to move over to the lavatory door. Ryan had seen the interaction and came over too. Jessie pointed silently at the bathroom. He nodded and unholstered his gun. Jessie did the same, then nodded again at the flight attendant, who lifted up the metal “lavatory” sign just above the red, “occupied” display, and slid a latch to the side. Then she stepped quickly to the side. Jessie yanked open the door.
A petite woman with black hair shot out like a cannonball, aiming right for Jessie, who was ready and half-stepped to the side. The woman missed her completely and slammed into the back of the galley, hitting her head before crumpling to the floor. Her wig fell off. Now blonde again, Bridget looked up, dazed.
“That was a bad decision,” Ryan said, holstering his weapon and pulling out handcuffs, which he promptly snapped on her limp wrists. “Bridget Newhouse, you’re under arrest for the murder of Scott Newhouse.”
While he continued to read her rights, Bridget’s hazy expression began to fade, as she became fully aware of her situation. She locked eyes with Jessie and for the first time, the mask she’d been wearing all weekend dropped away. Her eyes gleamed furiously and her mouth twisted in rage. Jessie suspected that’s a lot like how she looked as she choked the life out of her husband.
*
Bridget didn’t confess to anything; not as she was frog–marched off the plane or through the terminal to the airport holding cell, where she was held until she could be taken to Central Station.
She demanded a lawyer immediately and said nothing afterward. She didn’t seem bothered by Ryan asking what kind of mother would abandon her own children. She just sat quietly waiting for her white-shoe attorney to show up.
“I hope they throw the book at her,” Jessie said, seething, once they had left her. “This is a woman who killed her husband and was ready to discard her own kids, leaving them in the care of a sister who thought she was just showing up to help for a few weeks. Now she’s likely their primary caregiver.”
Ryan nodded in agreement.
“I know this is petty,” he said to the LAPD officers who had arrived to take Bridget downtown. “But I can’t help it. Let’s wait until her lawyer shows up here. Then you guys can take her to Central. Make the guy drive around a bit.”
They left the airport police station and called Decker to update him. Once they filled him in, he shared some good news.
“We may not need a confession from Bridget Newhouse,” he said. “Jude Austen offered one already. Detectives Bray and Valentine barely started talking to him when he broke down. He admitted that Newhouse planned the whole thing; that he went along because he loved her and believed they would be together.”
“That explains why he stayed quiet for so long,” Jessie said. “He thought they were soulmates.”
“Right,” Decker agreed. “But apparently once he got cold feet, she turned into a different person, went into a rage. She called him a pathetic coward and told him she’d do what he wasn’t man enough to. I think being informed that she used one of his hair ribbons to kill her husband was the thing that truly broke him.”
“Took him long enough,” Ryan muttered.
“I have another update, this one from a Mr. Cosgrove from Peninsula security,” Decker said, referring to Hugo.
“What’s that?” Ryan asked.
“Apparently there’s a hidden door in the resort’s spa that leads from the men’s lounge cleaning supply closet to the women’s quiet room,” he said. “Cosgrove says he was unaware of it, that it was built before his time heading security. It seems that years ago, female cleaning crew members were sometimes required to service the men’s area. One young woman was sexually assaulted.”
“Oh my God,” Jessie murmured.
“Cosgrove sounded shocked too,” Decker said. “Apparently the club covered it up but as a pathetic make good, they installed this hidden exit, so that if another cleaning woman had to make a quick escape, she could lock herself in the cleaning supply closet and use this hidden door to get to the women’s side.”
Jessie temporarily set aside her disgust as she thought back to when she’d been in that quiet room. She pictured the last chair in the room, with the large Ficus plant in the corner and the ocean sunset wall covering behind it, and knew that was where the secret door was. Bridget had selected the chair that offered her easy access to the men’s side and to her husband. Decker interrupted her thoughts.