The Memory Collector Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of his seat and tried to open the emergency exit.”
    “With the plane still rolling?”
    “Two male passengers tackled him. Flight attendants say Kanan threw them off like they were made of papier-mâché. Apparently he fought like a maniac.”
    “In what way?”
    He glanced at her. “As in crazy.”
    She smiled briefly. “Most people see bizarre behavior and think, Nuts, or not nuts? Psychiatrists think, How nuts, and what kind ?”
    They reached the gate. Down the Jetway, a clot of airline personnel huddled inside the open door of the airliner. They looked at Jo with a mixture of relief and bemusement, as if thinking, A shrink? Talk him off the plane—yeah, that’ll do it.
    The captain stood in the cockpit doorway. “Get him off my aircraft.”
    Officer Paterson pointed down the aisle. “He’s in economy.”
    Jo said, “No wonder he went berserk.”
    The flight attendants turned to her. Jo put up a hand. “Kidding.”
    She looked down the empty length of the jet. More airline staff and another police officer hovered near the galley.
    You never knew what you were going to get in these situations. Catatonia. Religious mania. A bad drug trip. Drunkenness or a violent psychotic episode. A guy trying to detonate his shoes.
    She had no time to take a complete history on Ian Kanan. But the two passengers who subdued him had remained aboard the plane. Ron Gingrich was a tough-looking fifty-five with a gray ponytail and Grateful Dead shirt. Jared Ely was in his twenties, wearing a black T-shirt, green Crocs, and a surfeit of nervous energy.
    “Tell me what happened,” Jo said.
    Gingrich smoothed his goatee. “We landed hard. Crosswind; it felt like we were coming in sideways. Hit with a whump, and people were like, Whoa . The plane was rattling real loud. Couple overhead compartments fell open. Then this guy”—he pointed toward the back of the plane—“comes tearing up the aisle. He jumps over the woman sitting in the exit row and starts ripping open the emergency door.”
    Ely nodded. “It looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.”
    “What do you mean?” Jo said.
    Ely’s gaze was sharp and thoughtful. “He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop to read the instructions on the door. He got straight to business, like he’d done it before.”
    Jo nodded. “Then what?”
    “We grabbed him.”
    “Spur of the moment,” Gingrich said. “We just moved. I tell you, the guy fought like a demon. But two against one, we overpowered him.”
    “Did he say anything?” Jo said.
    Gingrich nodded. “Oh, yeah. Crystal clear.”
    Ely said, “He kept telling us we were crazy.”

    Jo turned to the flight attendants. “How was Kanan during the flight?”
    “A zombie,” said a young blonde. “He didn’t read, didn’t watch the movies, didn’t even watch the air map. Didn’t eat. He sat there.”
    “Did he drink?” Jo said.
    “No.”
    “You sure?”
    The young woman’s name tag read STEF NIVESEN. Her face turned wry. “We flew in from the U.K. Everybody drank. Except him.”
    “Did you see him take any medication?”
    “No.”
    “Where’s his carry-on?”
    The flight attendants had taken Kanan’s backpack to the first-class galley. Jo poked through it, seeing a laptop, finding no drugs or alcohol. She did find Kanan’s passport and itinerary. She scanned them and handed both to Paterson.
    “He didn’t come from London. He came from South Africa and changed planes at Heathrow.”
    “Does that matter?” Paterson said.
    “Maybe.” Jo looked down the length of the plane. “Come on.”
    Paterson led her down the aisle. The crowd near the galley stepped aside. The second cop, Chad Weigel, was standing outside the door of the lav.
    He raised his hand to knock but Jo said, “Hang on.”
    She turned to the flight attendants. “Did you unlock the door yourselves and try to get him out?”
    “Twice,” said a British flight attendant whose name tag read CHARLOTTE THORNE. “The first time, he