business. He stopped eating and gave his full and undivided attention to Bell.
“So, when did you stop blackmailing him?” he asked.
“Who says I have?” Bell hid her smirk behind her
wineglass.
The professional grinned again. He was getting all the information he wanted.
“What’s his name? This unfortunate betrayer of
trust and breaker of hearts.”
“I’m not sure I should say,” she said, the smirk still on her face.
“Oh, come on, Bell, you can’t leave me hanging. It’s not like I would know him or anything.”
Bell moved her food around her plate while contemplating the question, deciding whether she should answer.
“But you do know him.”
“Do I?” he replied, trying not to show he knew the answer already.
“It’s Josh Michaels.”
The professional had surmised correctly. He knew
the hold she had over Michaels; now it was time to exploit it, and her.
“So is that why you were upset at his party?”
“Yes. He’s starting to refuse to play along with my demands and he used one of his friends to try to talk me out of hurting his happy home.”
“It sounds like he’s trying to call your bluff.”
“Maybe. But what can I do about it?”
“Show him that you’re not bluffing.”
“How would I do that?”
“I could show you.”
Surprised, Bell raised an eyebrow. “Could you now.”
“Is the money your main concern?”
“No. It’s a punishment.”
“Well that gives us options.”
“Us?”
“Yes. Us.”
“I think we should discuss this somewhere else. The dinner table is not the right place,” Bell said.
“That’s fine with me.”
“So, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Bell asked.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
While sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, Josh leafed through the initial findings of the joint FAA and National Transport Safety Board investigation that had come through the letter slot that morning.
In brief, the report stated that the Cessna had run dry of oil and the elevator and rudder bolts had detached themselves. The reason the engine sump had
been devoid of oil was because the oil cooler hoses were not sufficiently tightened. It was assumed that the missing bolts had come loose and fallen from the plane during flight, which meant it was probable that the split pins weren’t secured through the nuts and bolts. In the opinion of the NTSB, these simple mechanical failures should have been detected during the overhaul prior to the fatal flight, and the pilot should have taken better care during the pre-takeoff checks. The NTSB planned to put the majority of the blame on the mechanic and the remainder on pilot negligence. The findings were preliminary and were in no way to be taken as final. He read through the brief report again.
Josh refused to accept the findings, and he refused to believe Jack Murphy had failed to carry out a thorough inspection of his airplane. Jack was too much of a perfectionist and too much of a craftsman not to have
tightened any bolt to the torque setting laid out in the Cessna maintenance manual. Unsatisfied with the report, he drove to Davis Airfield.
Josh parked the car in the same spot he had the day of Mark’s death. He walked over to Jack Murphy’s
hangar. The orange windsock at the end of the runway hung limply against its pole. The sock looked like it was at half-mast in tribute. Josh thought it was fitting, seeing as the airfield had lost one of its own. Davis Airfield had never lost a pilot in its fifty-two-year history.
Josh entered Murphy’s workshop. The hangar had
the appearance of an elephant’s graveyard. A Cessna 172 in flying school colors lay slumped at the mouth of the building. The engine and its cowling had been removed along with the nose wheel assembly. Tubular
steel stuck out from the fireproof bulkhead like polished bones, and a tangle of colored wires hung down
like veins. The aircraft unceremoniously rested on its tail, no longer able to stand upright without its engine in place. A Piper Archer PA-32 stood propellerless on its wheels looking sadly at the gutted Cessna in front of it. A misshapen object lay hidden under a tarp like a corpse under a mortician’s sheet, but it was probably another of Jack’s unfinished projects.
The workshop was silent. This wasn’t right; it was guaranteed that Jack’s workshop rang with the sounds of him and his employees putting their best efforts into keeping these and other aircraft aloft. Josh called out.
The odor of used engine oil and grease filled his nose. A rustle of movement came from the small, shabby office at the rear of the hangar. Jack Murphy appeared at the doorway.
Josh crossed the hangar. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.
“Hello, Josh. I thought I might be seeing you.” Murphy sounded defeated. “I suppose this is to do with
Mark.”
Josh raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t worry, I haven’t come to accuse you of anything. I’ve just come to talk.”
“So you got the news from the FAA?”
“Yeah. Shall we go into the office?”
Murphy didn’t look good. It was obvious the loss of a plane and pilot from his workshop had hit him hard.
Murphy looked like dried fruit with all the goodness sucked out of it. To Josh, he had aged ten years in the days since Sunday.
The two men entered the cluttered office. Murphy
squeezed past the bulging filing cabinets and sat behind his wooden desk. Josh removed a stack of magazines from one of the two shabby office chairs before sitting.
He remembered seeing these types of chairs in dentist’s waiting rooms twenty years ago. Aircraft component manufacturers’ calendars, wall planners covered in a graffiti of hastily written notes and magazine articles of aircrafts of interest covered the wall behind the mechanic.
The flying club and the private aircraft owners
excused Murphy’s clutter because of his first-class abilities as an engineer.
“Do you want a coffee, Josh?” Murphy asked.
“No, I’m good, Jack.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Why aren’t you working?” Josh asked. “Where is
everyone?”
“I’m not sure there’s much point. The FAA is blaming me for the crash and they’re likely to take action against me. They’ll probably close me down.” Murphy doodled on his desk blotter with a pencil, unaware of what he drew.
“But people rely on you.”
“Well, that’s not a very wise thing to do. Letting me touch their birds is likely to get them killed,” the mechanic said pointedly.
“Jack.”
“Jack, nothing. One of my planes went and killed
someone.”
