"Chief, you need to see this." Reed straightened from the engine compartment, his expression grim.
Cory moved closer, following Reed's flashlight beam to the servo actuator housing. Clear tool marks scarred the metal—deliberate tampering. The hydraulic line showed signs of careful puncture, the kind designed to fail gradually rather than catastrophically.
"Professional job," Reed said quietly. "Someone knew exactly where to strike and how to make it look like mechanical failure at first glance."
Janet Morrison appeared at Cory's elbow with a camera, photographing the evidence while Tom watched her work, making occasional suggestions.
Cory was already building lists. Top of the suspect list: SBN and MedFlight. The motive was clear as mountain air—force Mountain Angel out of business, win the lucrative county contract. He'd heard the chatter at city council meetings, at the hospital board gatherings he attended as part of his job. MedFlight had a reputation for aggressive expansion, and they wouldn't be shy about playing hardball.
But they'd need local resources. A skilled mechanic to perform the actual sabotage. Someone with hangar access who wouldn't raise suspicions. Possibly others to coordinate timing, ensure the right witnesses were present.
"Federal crime," Reed announced, sealing an evidence bag. "Sabotaging an aircraft. I'll need to call in support from the regional office."
Tom looked relieved at the prospect of passing responsibility. "Yes, definitely. This is beyond my expertise. I usually just handle accident investigations, not..." He gestured vaguely at the damaged components.
"Criminal investigations," Janet supplied smoothly, making another note on her tablet.
Cory watched Reed work—competent, thorough, but impersonal. The man knew helicopters but he didn't know Hope Landing. Didn't know which mechanics might be nursing grudges, who had access to the hangar after hours, who might need money badly enough to take a bribe. Reed had only been assigned to this district eight months ago, barely long enough to learn where the good coffee was, let alone the local dynamics.
The FBI wouldn’t know that stuff, either.
And Tom Morrison? Cory studied the couple as Janet guided her husband through his documentation. Morrison had retired from an international insurance firm based the Bay Area years ago, and quickly bought one of those glass-and-steel monstrosities in Evergreen Estates where Silicon Valley types pretended to be outdoorsy for two weeks a year. From what Tom said, he only took investigation cases to stay busy, not because he needed the money. Their paths rarely crossed—Morrison dealt with rich people's bent propellers and hangar rash claims, not so much the working-class aviation community that kept Hope Landing running.
Izzy's words from the parking lot echoed in his mind: "They should be checking the hydraulic boost system, specifically the fore-aft servo."
She'd identified the likely failure point without even seeing the evidence. Her expertise could crack this case open, but procedure said she couldn't be involved. Conflict of interest. The rules existed for good reasons, but right now those rules were handicapping his investigation.
"I'm thinking 24 to 48 hours before federal support arrives," Reed continued, oblivious to Cory's internal debate. "This is beyond my expertise alone."
Which meant 24 to 48 hours before Cory lost all control of the investigation. An investigation that could easily point in Izzy’s direction.
Reed was competent but clinical. Tom was overwhelmed and out of his depth. Janet was efficient but had no stake in the outcome beyond insurance paperwork.
It would be too easy to figure out a way to blame Izzy. At least partially.
Sometimes procedure had to bend for justice.
"I'll need copies of all documentation," Cory said, pulling out his phone. "For the local investigation file."
"Of course," Reed agreed, focused on extracting another damaged component.
Cory pulled out his phone and started documenting the damage himself—the tool marks, the punctured hydraulic line, the servo actuator damage.
Step One: document everything before the feds took over.
Step two: find a way to tap into Izzy's expertise without compromising the case.
"Chief?" Reed looked up from his work. "You'll want to increase security here. Whoever did this might come back to cover their tracks."
"Already on it." He'd post a deputy at the hangar, but more importantly, he'd make sure word got out that evidence had been found. Sometimes the best way to catch a criminal was to let them know the net was closing.
And if that criminal was connected to MedFlight? Well, SBN was about to learn that Hope Landing might be small, but it protected its own.
"I'll check in later," he told Reed, pocketing his phone full of evidence photos. "Call if you find anything else significant."
He left them to their documentation, already planning his next move. Izzy Reyes deserved better than being locked out of her own defense. And Cory Fraser had never been one to let procedure stand in the way of doing what was right.
Time to bend some rules.
