“I did,” I reply. “Tell me what you plan to do with the information.”
“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been poking around a bit, learning what I can about what happened.”
“Working on a story?” Pat asks him.
“At some point, assuming I’m able to cobble together enough to write something that offers a reasonably factual account of what happened.”
“Why not just wait and do a story on the NTSB report?” I ask.
His eyes drift to the window for a long moment before they settle back on mine. “That’s a good question,” he says thoughtfully. Then his lips tighten, his brow furrows, and his voice hardens. “I guess I’m offended by the idea of someone like Megan Walton flying a Cessna 210 with paying passengers aboard. Someone needs to look into that and ask some tough questions about how it happened.”
“She wasn’t qualified?” Pat asks in surprise as she plants her elbows on the table, settles her chin on her knuckles, and waits for Larose’s reply.
He frowns. “Technically, she had the requisite flight hours and was rated on the 210N.”
“But?” Pat prompts.
“As a practical matter, I very much doubt that she was really qualified. She had the bare minimum number of hours.”
“So she was qualified and yet not qualified?” Pat asks uncertainly.
I’m as confused as Pat. How could Megan Walton be both?
“The Cessna 210 isn’t a simple aircraft to fly,” Larose mutters. “You’d like anyone flying one to have had some high-quality instruction, plus cockpit time with someone who knows what he or she is doing. There’s a big difference between simply being rated on a 210 and knowing the aircraft well enough to get out of a jam when something goes wrong. Putting a greenhorn in the cockpit with paying passengers is criminally negligent.”
“Is that what happened?” I ask, wondering how Larose could possibly be sure if that was the case.
He leans back in his seat and sighs. “I’ve got a lot of contacts in aviation, Tony. Lots of good sources, especially when they speak off the record. I was able to gather some interesting details about Megan Walton’s piloting career.”
“And?” Pat asks.
“Her flight instructor for the 210 is a pretty sketchy character,” Larose replies with a look of distaste.
“How sketchy?” I ask after draining the last of my bourbon. Man, that went down quickly.
Anger flares in Larose’s eyes when he replies, “He’s somehow managed to skate by more than a few times when people have raised concerns. Rumors of kickbacks have dogged him for years. No reputable flight-training outfit will touch the guy, but he manages to get by on his own. Given how much money is behind Windy City Sky Tours and the Walton family, hiring him makes absolutely no sense. There are way better choices readily available. The Waltons could have hired anyone they wanted.”
“Why is this character still in business?” Pat asks.
Larose turns his palms up. “Why are so many sketchy people able to make a living? Some are con artists, some make a go of it by sacrificing quality by bidding low, others are simply willing to deliver whatever results people are willing to pay for, ethics be damned. I suspect that’s what happened with Megan.”
“That seems like a pretty risky proposition for Windy City to undertake,” I suggest.
“Yeah, well, from what I’ve learned about Jonathan Walton, it sounds like he’s been buying his way out of trouble his whole life,” Larose says.
I think back on the time I spent with Walton the day I visited his office with Billy and Rick. “He’s certainly an arrogant bastard. I guess I can see him pulling a stunt like that.”
“Especially if you know anything about his sister,” Pat adds.
“I’ve heard a thing or two about her,” Larose says. “By all accounts, the woman is hell on wheels. Not someone you want to cross.”
“You’re talking about Megan’s mother, right?” I ask.
He nods. “I talked to a guy who runs in their social circles. According to him, if Megan’s mother told Jonathan to give Megan a job, he’d make it happen one way or another. These are the kind of people who think the rules the rest of us play by don’t apply to them.”
“Money does talk,” I grumble.
“Which brings us back to the flight instructor,” Larose says. “He wouldn’t jeopardize a fat payday by pushing back against a client’s demands. That would require some integrity.”
I’ve heard enough to feel as if Larose isn’t going to betray our trust regarding Billy and Rick, but decide to lay down some ground rules, anyway. “Whatever Billy and Rick say can’t be quoted in your article.”
When he gives me a questioning look, I explain that I don’t want anything on record that might come back to haunt my clients at trial.
He drains his can of 7Up and sets it aside. “Fair enough. I’m more interested in the Megan Walton angle, anyway.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say. “I put your questions to Billy and Rick. To your first point, they swear everything that needed to be done to that aircraft was completed. To quote Billy directly, they did so ‘despite the assholes at Windy City dragging their feet at every turn before coughing up the money to keep the maintenance current.’ Billy and Rick claim everything is properly documented. They’re confident it will be crystal clear to the NTSB and anyone else who investigates that the fault for whatever happened isn’t theirs.”
Larose gives me a skeptical look. “That’s some touching faith in the integrity of the system.”
“The NTSB is rock solid, aren’t they?” Pat asks.
“They are, yeah,” Larose replies.
The NTSB will play things straight; that’s not his concern. He just doesn’t share Billy’s touching faith that the legal system will invariably work as it should. I’ve seen the law subverted by
