Free Fall at Angel Creek, page 11
Dee’s expression softened. “I know I’m not a jet jockey like you, and I don’t know airplane stuff, but I was trying to be productive.”
“You’re very helpful, and I’m not a jet jockey anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s these migraines. They started when I was injured in a car accident and this disqualified me from any type of FAA medical certificate. They ended my air force flying career.”
Dee looked at her for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know something like that could stop you from ever flying again.”
“Yeah. Now I just ride in the back of airplanes and put the broken pieces back together.”
Their food arrived, and they sat down to eat. River had to admit she did enjoy having someone to eat a meal with for a change. She wasn’t good at idle chitchat. Usually she was giving information, asking questions, making reports, or processing evidence. Some people thought she was abrupt or unfriendly, but she was just very focused on her job. But now, River felt like having an actual conversation with Dee instead of her usual shop talk.
“So how did you get into police work?”
Dee looked surprised. “I was a military police specialist in the army. I really liked it, got out, and was hired by the Portland Police Bureau. I’ve been a cop for sixteen years—eight in the army and eight with Portland PB.”
“Did you always want to be a cop?”
Dee laughed. “Ah, no. I thought I wanted to go to college and be a doctor, but that didn’t work out, so I joined the army when I was eighteen.” She paused. “The army saved my life.”
River was intrigued and wanted to know more. She didn’t want to pry into Dee’s personal life, even though they’d already crossed that line when she’d climbed into bed with her last night.
Dee turned the question back to her. “How did you become an aircraft accident investigator?”
She took a deep breath. “Before I was medically grounded, the air force sent me to USAF Flight Safety School, where I was trained as an accident investigator. After I recovered from the car crash, I was the chief investigating officer for a KC-10 Class A mishap. That was a major accident, and we were lucky no one lost their life in that one.”
“How come?”
“It was a ground mishap that occurred during a maintenance engine run. Two mechanics were involved and didn’t get hurt, but they caused over five million dollars in damage to the airplane.”
“What happened?” Dee leaned closer.
“They’d fixed some mechanical issue with the right-wing engine and had to do an engine run to make sure everything worked correctly. That’s where one mechanic is in the cockpit with the engine running and another one monitors the engine from outside. Then they run it through different throttle settings from idle to full power.
“But the KC-10 engines put out one hundred thousand pounds of thrust, and Barksdale didn’t have a reinforced engine-run area on the airfield, so they used the edge of the ramp to test it. When the mechanic pushed the throttle up, the jet exhaust ripped up the asphalt pavement behind the engine and smashed it into the tail section. Chunks of asphalt punctured the rudder, the elevators, and the vertical and horizontal stabilizers. Worst of all, the air refueling boom was badly damaged. That’s the critical part of the plane where we transfer fuel in midair to another jet. It was a mess.”
“Were they able to fix it?” Dee was transfixed.
“The manufacturer, McDonnell Douglas, was able to replace the damaged parts, but it never flew right again. The airplane was written up for flight control problems after every mission, so it became a hangar queen.”
“A hangar queen?”
“That’s a plane that spends more time in the hangar being fixed than it does flying. After finishing that investigation, since I couldn’t fly anymore, I was medically discharged from the air force. I went back to school to get my doctorate, worked for the NTSB for three years, and then started my own business.”
“What do you do with your business? If you don’t work for the NTSB anymore, why are you here at this accident?”
“I do independent aircraft investigation, and I produce my own accident report, for an insurance company. This company pays the liability compensation to the victims’ families, and they need to know who’s responsible for causing the accident. As I found out when I was with the NTSB, outside interested parties can sometimes influence investigations, so the final report may not be correct. No one influences my reports.”
“Are you talking about falsified accident reports? Why?”
“Because some groups want to shift blame away from themselves. For example, an Egypt Air 767 crashed into the ocean on a flight from New York to Cairo in 1999. Nothing was mechanically wrong with the airplane, and the cockpit voice recorder proved that when the captain left the flight deck, the copilot intentionally put the plane in a steep dive, shut off both engines, and flew the jet into the ocean, killing himself and everyone on board. The government of Egypt refused to accept this conclusion, because suicide is forbidden in Islam. Therefore they claimed the plane crashed for ‘an unknown flight control problem.’ It was a made-up excuse.”
“So the copilot killed all those people? And I thought I dealt with some bad guys. Speaking of pilots, I found some gaps in their records and need you to explain them.”
River scanned the records and looked at the tabbed sections Dee had questions about.
“Why is the flight engineer seventy-five years old? I thought they had mandatory retirement,” Dee asked.
“He was a captain at a major airline until he had to retire at sixty-five, then got hired by Relax Air. You can work as a flight engineer after sixty-five, and he was supporting three ex-wives. No training or medical problems here. Just poor judgment.”
“The flight engineer’s background doesn’t list any arrests or convictions. What about the copilot?”
“He’s young, low in DC-10 flying time and overall experience. Looks like he got hired by Relax Air right out of school, and no medical issues.”
“Why would a low-time guy be flying this plane? I thought the pilots who flew the big jets were all very experienced.”
“Because not many pilots want to fly for this company. Their pay is low compared to the major airlines, and they’re a non-union company. Relax Air has been in existence only a few years, and their hotshot CEO has branded them as an ultra-low-cost airline. This company has the worst pay and work rules of any US airline, so they don’t get the best and brightest. Most young pilots use a company like this only as a stepping-stone to build flying time so a better company will hire them.”
“Is that why the captain had gaps in his employment? Did he have some sort of flying problem in his past?”
River studied his FAA records more carefully and noticed some discrepancies in his file.
“Look at this.” She pointed to the records for Dee. “He worked for different small companies for several years, got hired by a big airline for five years, they went bankrupt, and he lost his job.”
Dee added, “I found out his house went into foreclosure, and he got divorced. A job loss could explain that. After his company went bankrupt, there are few records of him for eight years, and then Relax Air hired him. What happened to him?”
River flipped through more papers. “A regional airline in Asia employed him, and he flew DC-10 cargo operations for them, but then there was some incident in Jakarta, and he got let go. We’ll need to get ahold of his flying records from that company.” She jotted down some notes.
“I found some possible issues with his finances,” Dee added. “He declared personal bankruptcy after his divorce, has a mountain of debt, has been audited by the IRS for the last five years, and bought a two-million-dollar life-insurance policy last year. Those are red flags to me. Do you think he might have done something intentional to crash the plane?”
River paused. “In the history of aircraft accidents, death by pilot suicide is extremely rare. Pilots work their entire careers to avoid a plane crash, but we have to consider this as a possibility. We need more information on him.” She rubbed her eyes.
“Are you feeling all right? You still look kind of pale.” Dee had concern in her voice.
“I guess I am a little tired. I probably need to get a little more sleep. Thanks again for sorting through these records.”
River went back to her room, drank a large glass of water, closed the drapes, and collapsed on the bed.
* * *
Dee was still worried about River. She looked hung over, and her stomach was obviously still bothering her, as she ate only tea and toast. She waited until she heard sounds of steady breathing from River’s room, then left to drive to her apartment in Portland for more clothes. Her mind was swimming from everything she’d heard. River’s analysis of the pilot’s records showed one was older, one was inexperienced, and the other one had personal and financial problems. The story about the pilot suicide where he took hundreds of people with him was chilling. Could any of the pilots of Naomi’s flight have intentionally caused the airplane to crash? She needed to look deeper into their backgrounds.
Having had the difficult duty of dealing with suicides both as an MP and in the police department, she knew how awful the aftereffects were. Could someone really be so desperate to end their life that they’d take three hundred innocent passengers with them? And who would you hold accountable? The murderer was dead, followed immediately by the passengers, who had trusted their lives to him. She couldn’t let herself go down that rabbit hole and chose to hang on to River’s assurances that pilot suicide was very rare.
Dee felt sympathy that River had lost her air force flying career. It was another thing they had in common. She had such mixed feelings about her military service. She loved the army and had hated leaving her promising career because she was a lesbian, but she’d had no choice.
She’d planned on a career in the army and had completed online classes to earn her bachelor’s degree. Then she got accepted to Officer Candidate School, became a second lieutenant, and went to advanced training in the Criminal Investigation Division. It was her dream job until her commander told her she had to spy on fellow soldiers accused of homosexuality so they could be dishonorably discharged. This was during the bad old days of “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” She couldn’t lie about who she was, then investigate the soldiers she’d sworn to protect, so she had to leave.
Like River, she’d made a new life for herself after the military. She was happy to be a civilian cop in a very gay-friendly city like Portland, glad soldiers no longer had to worry about losing their careers for being gay, but she did wonder what her life might have been like had she stayed in the army. Maybe she would have been spared the agony of losing Naomi.
Chapter Fifteen
Dee stuffed clean clothes into a duffel bag, checked her mail, and disposed of her smelly trash before she got on the road back to Redmond. This was going to be a lengthy investigation, and she wanted her apartment secure. Her cell phone rang. It was the ATF agent calling her.
“Hello. Detective Dee Rawlings speaking.”
“Detective Rawlings, this is ATF Agent Paul Marshall. We met at the airplane hangar yesterday.”
She remembered his voice. He was the guy who’d shoved a stack of folders at her and told her to get back to him.
“Yes, of course. What can I do for you?”
“Do you have any more information from the passenger files? Particularly regarding the McClain Militia?”
“So far, I’ve found that they sat in different parts of the airplane because they took an earlier full flight with only middle seats left. This information does not indicate that they sat apart for strategic purposes. I’ll be working on further analysis this evening.”
“We’d like you to rendezvous with us at 1800 hours at the McClain compound. We’ll be interviewing witnesses about possible missile sightings, and your local connections would be helpful.”
He sounded polite, but this was not a request.
Dee responded. “I’ll be there. I recommend that you secure your visible firearms in your vehicle and use a rental car rather than a government one.”
“Roger that.” Then, click, he hung up on her.
This was progress, and Dee was looking forward to being more involved. She didn’t mind doing computer research and document analysis, but she much preferred working in the field with real people. On the drive to Bend, she mentally reviewed the eye-witness-interview checklist River had given her after the McClain family complained about her last visit. She would need to be very gentle with Mrs. McClain this time. This poor woman had lost her husband and five sons. Dee only hoped she could still function.
A silver van was parked around the corner from the compound entrance. Dee slowly approached, then saw Agent Marshall. Six men in dark suits who emerged from the van had “Fed” written all over them. This wouldn’t do at all. She motioned them over.
“We won’t get past the front gate with all of you. You men stay here, concealed, and monitor the situation on the private frequency. Paul, you need to take off your jacket and tie, roll up your shirt sleeves, and leave your ATF badge and service pistol here. I’m only going in with my ankle holster. Carry this notepad in your hand, wear your accident investigation team ID around your neck, and try not to look so much like a Fed. These people are heavily armed and trigger-happy. Let’s go.”
The ATF agents complied with her instructions, Paul looked less conspicuous, and they drove up to the main gate in Dee’s car. She recognized the faces of the two guys with long rifles at the entrance. They walked up to her car, looked in at her and Paul, then asked, “Why are you here?”
“We’re from the aircraft accident investigation team and received a request to talk to some folks about what they saw. Can you tell me where we need to go?” Dee used her sweetest, most non-threatening voice, with a hint of her old Texas drawl thrown in for good measure.
He gestured with his rifle. “Over there, big log house on the left. Don’t go anywhere else. We’ll be watching you.”
As she parked, she discreetly counted the number of men with weapons walking around the compound. Then she noticed Paul feverishly writing notes on the positions of the armed men. She whispered, “Paul, be cool. You’re my assistant. Don’t write notes until we get inside, and walk behind me.” He glared at her but did what he was told.
She walked up the steps to the big porch and raised her hand to knock, when the door opened before her. It was Mrs. McClain’s daughter.
“What are you doing back here? You’ve already upset my mother, and you’re not welcome.”
Dee had to be careful with this family because they were very much on edge. “First of all, we are so sorry for your loss. We were informed that some people here saw something the night of the plane crash, and we’re hoping to speak with them. Also, I was wondering if I might express my condolences to Mrs. McClain? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Well, I suppose so. Come in.”
Dee looked around the space using her peripheral vision, while she walked toward Mrs. McClain. She was dressed entirely in black, sitting in a chair in front of the large stone fireplace, staring into space.
“Mrs. McClain? It’s Dee Rawlings. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your husband and sons.”
The old woman slowly turned to look at her, clearly bitter and angry. She’s dangerous. Be careful.
“You again. Why should I talk to you? Just leave me alone.” She turned back to the fire, and her daughter started toward them. Dee had to think fast. She went over to Mrs. McClain’s chair and kneeled down next to her so she could look her in the eyes. Then she gently touched the back of Mrs. McClain’s hand.
“You don’t have to talk to me, Mrs. McClain. I just wanted you to know that I lost someone I loved in that plane crash too.”
“You did? How can you bear this? It’s all too much.” She put her hand on top of Dee’s.
“Yes, ma’am. It is.” Her eyes started to well up again, but she had to keep it together.
“Did they tell you there are no bodies? How can that be? My husband and my five boys were on that plane, and they can’t find them. What are we supposed to bury? I just don’t know what to do.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. Dee reached into her pocket and handed her a tissue. As she took it, they locked eyes and recognized the helplessness of grief in each other’s face. Dee’s own tears came, and she leaned near to hug her. They held each other for a minute, and then Mrs. McClain mumbled, “Thank you.”
Dee wiped her eyes and composed herself because she had a job to do.
“Ma’am, I was told you have some folks who might have seen something the night of the crash. Would it be all right with you if I spoke to them? It might help us figure out why the plane crashed.”
“So what if you figure out why it crashed. It won’t bring them back, will it?”
She was angry again, and Dee had to win her over.
“Mrs. McClain, if we can find the cause of this accident, we can prevent this from happening again. You don’t want any other family to suffer like we are, do you? Then please help me.”
“No, I don’t. No family should ever have to go through this. You go talk to my nephew and find out why this plane crashed. If somebody took that plane down on purpose, I want to know about it, and we will deal with them.”
Her daughter led Dee and Paul to another room and introduced her to Christian.
“Hi, Christian, I’m Dee, and I’d like you to tell me where you were and what first caught your attention on the night of the accident.”
“Who’s he?” Christian asked.
“This is Paul, my assistant, and he’s going to help me by taking notes so I can correctly record your recollections.”
