The Survivors Club by J. Carson Black Page B

guy he was investigating?”
    “He said something about pulling the surveillance tape at the center.” He added, “Wish I’d thought of that.”
    “But he didn’t tell you who it was.”
    “He wanted to be sure.”
    “But you were surprised whoever it was lived in Tucson?”
    “A little. It’s been a few years since I got my degree. Maybe he knew me from a jump. At the time I chalked it up to making an enemy here somewhere along the line, and maybe that’s what happened—could have been when I was jumping at SkyDive Arizona in Eloy. Skydivers live in a small world. We’re always running into each other.”
    “Can you think of anything that might have made the guy go off on you like that?”
    He stared into space, thinking. Shook his head. “No, I can’t. But he looked at me like he knew me. When he pointed the finger gun at me, he acted like it was a big joke. No, that’s not right.”
    “Not a joke?”
    “It was a joke, but it was a mean joke. It was…I guess the closest thing I can describe it to is celebrating in the end zone.”
    “Why do you think he did that?”
    “If he found a way to sabotage my rig, then I think he did it because he knew he could.”
    “You mean if you were killed.”
    “Yeah. No one would ever know.”
    Tess noticed that he seemed to take the idea of being killed in stride. “If it’s true, he really screwed up.”
    He grinned. “I guess I’m just naturally a survivor.”
    Tess said, “There’s no doubt your rig was sabotaged?”
    “None. My reserve rig was up for repacking—I wouldn’t be allowed to jump without having it done. Every hundred and twenty days the rigger has to repack the reserve. It’s a safety issue.”
    “You think DeKoven bribed the rigger?”
    He sat back. “He didn’t have to. Since it’s a long wait, the owner of the rig doesn’t usually stick around, so all the guy who wants to sabotage the pack has to do is wait until no one’s watching, find the rig he’s looking for, and cut the cables.”
    “It’s that simple?”
    “Oh, yeah. He could pretend the pack is his and he’s checking it—all he’d have to do is lift the flap to the cable housing and cut the cables with wire cutters—the cables to the main canopy and the reserve canopy. No one would ever see it. The pack is sealed with a red cord and a lead seal. Extremely doubtful the pack’s owner would recheck it. There’d be no reason to. I sure didn’t.”
    The band, a local group called the Blasphemers—they were loud and pretty good—struck up, and it was hard to talk for a while. Finally they took a break.
    Tess asked him, “Did you ever meet Jaimie DeKoven?” Michael DeKoven went to Stanford, following in the footsteps of his father, but his little sister Jaimie spent a couple of semesters at the U of A.
    “Who’s that—a sister? No, I don’t remember her. I don’t remember anyone by that name.” He grinned. It was an attractive grin. “I met a lot of girls in college.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Did you go to college? Can you remember every guy you ever met, or even dated?”
    “Nope. Not a one of ’em,” Tess lied.
    Unfortunately, she remembered every single one of them. She’d pushed them to the back of the file cabinet and let the cobwebs grow. She said, “Tell me again about the tagger.”
    He ran down the facts. His jog on the roof of the Hilton Atlanta. The sinking sun in his eyes, the jogger coming toward him and slapping the tag on him.
    “You didn’t get a good look at him?”
    “He wore a hoodie. And I was looking right into the sunset. It was just a shape, just a jogger—I didn’t pay any attention until he smacked me in the chest.”
    “And you went after him.”
    “Eventually, but he got a head start.”
    “Height?”
    “Shorter than me.”
    “Sex?”
    “We’ve been through this. It was dark, hard to tell, what he was wearing—a jogging suit with a hoodie.”
    “I was hoping the beer goggles would help.” She glanced at the