I kept my eyes straight, acknowledging no one. My heart hammered as I pushed forward, a swimmer struggling toward shore. The distance to the motel seemed oceanic, insurmountable.
Then, I felt a strong hand on my arm, and I was in the lobby. A state trooper was locking the glass doors, glaring at the mob outside.
“You all right, ma'am?”
I didn't trust my voice to reply.
“This way, please.”
I followed to a bank of elevators. The trooper waited with hands clasped, feet spread as we ascended. I stood on rubbery legs, trying to recompose my thoughts.
“How did the press find out about this?” I asked.
“I wouldn't know that, ma'am.”
On the second floor, the trooper walked to Room 201, squared his shoulders to the wall beside the door.
“It's not locked.” He fixed his eyes on something that was not me.
Drawing two steadying breaths, I turned the knob and entered.
Seated behind a desk on the far side of the room was North Carolina's second in command. Of a zillion thoughts winging through my mind at that moment, this is the one I remember: Parker Davenport's color had improved since I'd seen him on the day of the crash.
To the lieutenant governor's left sat Dr. Larke Tyrell, to his right, Earl Bliss. The ME looked at me and nodded. The DMORT commander's eyes wouldn't meet mine.
“Dr. Brennan, please have a seat.” The lieutenant governor gestured to an armchair directly in front of the desk.
As I sat, Davenport leaned back and laced his fingers on his vest. The view behind him was spectacular, a Smoky Mountain postcard in explosive fall color. Squinting into the glare, I recognized my disadvantage. Had Tyrell been in charge, I'd have known the seating arrangement was strategy. I wasn't sure Davenport was that smart.
“Would you like coffee?” Davenport asked.
“No, thank you.”
Looking at Davenport, I had difficulty imagining how he had lasted so long in public office. He was neither tall nor short, dark nor fair, smooth nor craggy. His hair and eyes were nondescript brown, his speech flat and without inflection. In a system that elects its leaders based on looks and eloquence, Davenport was clearly a noncontender. In a word, the man was unmemorable. But perhaps this was his greatest asset. People voted for Davenport, then forgot him.
The lieutenant governor unlaced his fingers, examined his palms, then looked at me.
“Dr. Brennan, some very disturbing allegations have been brought to my attention.”
“I'm glad we're meeting to clear this up.”
“Yes.” Davenport leaned into the desk and opened a folder. To its left lay a videocassette. No one spoke as he selected and perused a document.
“Let's get right to the meat of this.”
“Let's.”
“Did you enter the site of the Air TransSouth crash on October fourth prior to the arrival of NTSB or medical examiner officials?”
“Since I was in the area, Earl Bliss asked me to stop by.” I looked at the DMORT commander. His eyes remained on the hands in his lap.
“Did you have official orders to go there?”
“No, sir, but—”
“Did you falsely identify yourself as an official representative of the NDMS?”
“No, I did not.”
Davenport checked another paper.
“Did you interfere with local authorities in their search-and-recovery efforts?”
“Absolutely not!” I felt heat rise up my neck and into my face.
“Did you order Deputy Anthony Skinner to remove protective covering from a crash victim, knowing there was risk of animal predation?”
“That's standard protocol.”
I turned to Earl and Larke. Neither man was looking at me. Stay calm, I told myself.
“It is alleged that you broke
“That was a unique situation requiring immediate action. It was a judgment call, which I explained to Dr. Tyrell.”
Davenport leaned farther forward, and his tone grew hard.
