always waited for you to open the envelope. He said it made him feel like Santa Claus.
Dolores called me and said he was downstairs. He didn't even know I'd be there. I went down and got him and walked him up to my office. We sat down and chatted for quite a while about nothing in particular. Sports, law, criminal cases, the shop talk of attorneys and investigators. He sat holding an envelope but was in no hurry either to give it to me or to leave.
Braden came in. 'Sorry, I didn't know you were with anybody.'
'No, this is Tinny Byrd. He's the investigator I've told you about.' Tinny stood and shook Braden's hand and studied his face. 'Nice to meet you, Braden.'
'Nice to meet you, Mr. Byrd.' Braden turned to me and said, 'I'll come back later.'
'Since you're here, what do you have?'
'I finished that memo you have on-' Braden paused, looking at Tinny. 'The phone call.'
'Right. Thanks, I'll come talk to you about it later. Thanks.'
Tinny sat back down in the chair opposite me, and Braden went back to his office.
Byrd looked confused. 'Where did he come from? I've never met him before.'
'New guy. I needed some help.'
'He all right?'
'Yeah, I think he's tired. He's been up late nights working. He works his butt off. He's here all hours of the day. What do you have?'
Byrd closed the door and sat back down. He leaned forward and handed me the envelope and began to speak quietly. 'The meeting. You wanted to know who A3 was going to see at Camp David.'
I was stunned. 'You found out who was at Camp David?'
'No, not yet, not about that exactly. But I'm getting him to talk about other things. Trying to lubricate the communications between us. By the way, he thinks all this stuff about WorldCopter is bullshit. He thinks something bad happened. Something real bad.'
'Like an assassination?'
'I don't know if he'd go that far. He's not involved in any of the investigations. He just has a feeling.'
'That's real helpful. Maybe I can call him as a witness and he can testify about his feelings.'
'Don't be a smart-ass,' Byrd said. 'I may get something out of him, maybe something we can use. I don't know. He's tough, but he knows what was going on at Camp David, and I can tell just as sure as shit he thinks whatever it was that was going on is related to the crash. Too much of a coincidence.'
'So what was going on?'
'Won't say. But it was huge. He just shakes his head. Says he may have to go to his grave with this. And he doesn't think the NTSB is even looking in the right place. He doesn't trust them.'
'How do we get him to talk about it?'
'I'm working it, Michael, I'm working it.' Byrd reached into his pocket. 'Oh, I almost forgot.' He handed me the key from The Virginian. 'Interesting key.'
'What'd you find out?'
'That is one stuck-up, stiff-assed place, that's what. They cater to the big shots of the world and all the politicos. And their mistresses, of course. They wouldn't tell me shit.'
'Well, thanks-'
'I didn't say I didn't find anything out. You doubt me?'
'What you got?'
'I found one lady who was willing to help.'
'You always do.'
'Pretty much. Anyway, I gave her the names of everyone on the helicopter. None of them had a room there in the last month.'
'What about the key?'
'Interesting. Not for a room.'
'What was it for?'
'You know how they have small, secret conference rooms in some hotels? You don't even know they're there? Rooms that don't even have numbers? It was one of those.'
'Could they tell when?'
'Yeah. The key was coded for the night before the accident.'
'To a hidden conference room?'
'Yep.'
'Who was it registered to?'
'John Smith.'
'Oh, right. And how was it paid for?'
'Cash.'
I stood up and began pacing around the room. 'What do you make of it?'
'I asked her if there were any bigwigs staying there that night.'
'What did she say?'
'Always. Every night. Assortment of international big shots.'
'Does she know who used the room?'
'No idea.'
'We need to get a complete guest list.'
Byrd shook his head. 'She can't get it for me. It's encrypted on their system.'
'Fine. I'll subpoena it.'
Byrd frowned. 'Not sure I'd do that, Michael. People would notice.'
'So?'
'There's more. She didn't know who used the room, but she said one of the maids is Chinese. Taiwanese, actually, and walked by the room when the door was open. She heard someone talking inside in perfect Taiwanese. Big shot. Like he owned the place. Talking to a couple of other Taiwanese. Ordering them around. She couldn't tell what it was all about, but no doubt they were Taiwanese. There were a couple of Westerners in the room too. Americans she thought, but couldn't be sure. She thought it was strange that he was talking loudly in Taiwanese when the Americans couldn't understand him. But it was just for a second.'
'Taiwanese? What would they have to do with the president?'
'That's your job. I just find out what happened. You're the one who's supposed to make sense of it all.'
Taiwan threw me. I couldn't imagine what that would have to do with the crash. 'I don't know, Tinny. Adams was always making a big deal about his Chinese policy, although I couldn't really tell you what he meant by that. I thought it was the usual political bullshit, lots of air and posturing. Maybe he had something going on. I'll have to think about that.' I turned, then thought to ask again, 'The night before the crash? You sure? Is she sure?'
'Yep.'
'We'll keep digging.'
Tinny frowned. 'I don't know, man. There's stuff out there. A lot of anxiety. Something. I don't know who's working this, but there's more out there than just the government.'
'So what? I'll subpoena the guest list from the hotel for that night. I've got to get to the bottom of this, Tinny. Our client's neck is in a noose.'
'Let me give it another shot my way. Let me try.'
'We've got to get something solid, Tinny. Something admissible. We're so close to breaking this open. Call your Secret Service guy again too. Tell him to talk to me.'
18
I HADN'T SPOKEN to Marcel in a couple of weeks so I wasn't expecting his call at 6 AM. He sounded far less confident than usual. When we had been in Paris for the depositions of the WorldCopter officers and workers, they had of course checked on and produced the documents that showed when the blade was balanced against the Golden Blade. We already knew the blade that was lying in the wreckage at the crash site had been added to the helicopter after its date of manufacture. The previous one had developed a crack and had been replaced ten days before the accident. It had been balanced against the Golden Blade one week before that. Marcel had gone back into the records to check on exactly what tip weights were used and the origin of those tip weights. Theoretically, a shipment of tip weights might have been defective. We doubted it, but we wanted to run that to ground. He said he had found the records of the tip weights that were added to blades in that time period. They were ordinary, and from the usual supplier. The shipment had arrived the week before being added to the blade, but that was normal. WorldCopter used just-in-time supply, which saved money and lessened the need for warehouses full of parts, as items arrived just as they were needed.
Marcel was concerned because they couldn't find any records of exactly which weights were added to the blade that made it to the president's helicopter. No documents specifically showed it. Maybe if we found tip weights at the scene, we could show they fit in the right time frame, but proving the numbers of the weights that were actually installed was proving impossible.
His voice quivered with anger. I asked him the obvious question, whether a blade might be so perfectly matched to the Golden Blade that it didn't need tip weights. He reminded me that it was designed to have them. It was built two to three ounces light at the tip just so you could adjust it. They didn't try to make a perfect blade. He did admit though that it was
