John Nance - 16 Souls

“Yes. Exactly. If we did a search like that, we could then cross-check that list against whoever might have been working on the airfield that night, to see if we could narrow it down to one person and one car, and then see if there has been any disturbance to the paint on that car.”

“You’re using the word ‘we’ rather liberally, Mr. Bogosian.”

“Yes, Chief, I know. But I’m just a curious journalist trying to nail down an explanation for something really bothersome, and I figured it would be bothersome to you, too.”

“Spell it out for me.”

Scott described in greater detail the captain’s claim and how it could easily be a key to his last second manipulations of the 757’s controls.

“Hold on. Are you ignoring the reality that no wrecked car was found on that runway that night or later?”

“What if the car was merely grazed, and not wrecked? What if the driver had driven it off the airfield afterwards?”

“Okay… possible, I suppose. And this, I assume, would be material to the investigation?’

Scott had decided to throw a wild card.

“Chief, it might answer a very important question, and it may even be a definitive piece of evidence in the murder trial of the pilot. I have no dog in that fight, but I’m thinking of writing a book on the crash, and I’ve been attending the trial every day.”

“Did someone reputable do the formal forensics on that paint?”

Scott debriefed the information from the state lab.

“And where did the sample come from?”

“Me, and the tire itself. I took the sample. The chain of custody is protected.”

“Did you have the authority to do that?”

“I was accompanied by an NTSB investigator,” he replied, sidestepping the question’s real import.

There was a thoughtful sigh audible from the chief’s end. “You know, Mr. Bogosian, you’re thinking like a cop.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Chief.”

“It is. Most of the time. Okay, give me your number and I’ll get back to you… maybe. I appreciate the information, but I may not deem it appropriate to tell you the results.”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

“That would be pretty bizarre, someone on a runway in their own car in the worst blizzard in ten years. I don’t think that’s a viable possibility. But… I have to admit, I’ve seen crazier behavior.”

As have I, Scott thought.

Scott came back to the present and looked around, refocusing on the fact he was in the police chief’s waiting room. The assistant was standing in front of him again.

“The chief is ready if you are, Mr. Bogosian.”

It was noteworthy, Scott thought as he sat down, that the chief requested his door be closed before coming around the modest desk to sit opposite a utilitarian couch.

“Well,” he began, holding a file of papers, “it turns out there are two Chevrolet products with permits to be on the airside of the field, but one of them was in a shop in Aurora for maintenance the night of the crash, with the wheels off.”

“And the other?”

“The other, Scott, belongs to a gentleman who works for the airport authority. In their command center.”

“And… was he here that night?”

The chief nodded, a guarded smile on his face as he watched the reporter.

“Have you interviewed him?”

“Tell me what we should ask him?”

“Well… I guess the first thing is, could we see your car?”

“And then, if he says yes and there’s no damage?”

“Did you have it in the shop at any point between then and now?”

“Keep going.”

“And, the big one, I suppose, was this car anywhere near the runways the night of the Regal crash?”

The chief nodded and stood up. “I agree. And we’ve got the gentleman waiting in an office down the hall. This is not a by-the-book procedure to bring in a civilian to observe a police interrogation, but I’m making an exception because we would have had no suspicions without your input.”

“You haven’t asked him anything yet?”

“No, other than to bring his car with him. It’s a 2005 Chevy Tahoe.”

“Yellow, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Wheatland yellow. You want to look at the truck first?”

“Absolutely!”

He followed the chief to the parking lot just outside and several stalls down to the unmistakable shade of yellow. The SUV seemed well kept and clean, and devoid of a roof rack. Scott stepped up on the running board and peered over the edge, taking in the roof.

“See anything, Scott?” the chief asked, clearly leading him.

“There’s a square patch in the middle without paint, like something’s been taken off.”

“That’s right. Something like this,” the chief added, triggering a picture on his smartphone and handing it to Scott. In the image, a small antenna with a square base was presented as a factory replacement part for the Chevy Tahoe. Scott worked the screen for a moment, looking for specifications that included dimensions.

“One and a half inches tall by a base of two inches by four.”

This chief nodded. “So, you saw the cut on the tire, Scott. Could that cut have been made by an antenna like this?”

Scott looked at the police chief as he handed back the phone.

“With embedded pieces of the same paint in the grove it cut as a piece of rubber impacted it at two hundred thirty knots, yes. I mean, I’m not an engineer, but this could be exactly what caused that mark.”

“Then let’s go talk to the boy.”

Present Day — September 10 — Day Five of the trial

Courtroom 5D, Lindsey-Flanigan Courthouse, Denver

“All rise.”

The familiar tones of the bailiff presaged the entrance of Judge Gonzalez who mounted the bench somewhat ponderously and then scanned the courtroom to assure himself everyone was in place.

“All right, Counsel, before I bring the jury back, any motions, objections, or temper tantrums?”

A few people in the galley chuckled and Gonzales smiled at them before ordering the twelve jurors readmitted.

Judith watched with an even expression, ever so slightly relieved. She had expected a rancid attitude toward her from Gonzales after his boorish conduct earlier in the year, but he had been a gentleman in the courtroom, and seemed openly respectful of her as well as the district attorney. Judith, however, was not about to drop her guard.

“Call the witness please, Counsel,” Gonzalez directed, looking at Judith.

“I re-call First Officer Ryan Borkowsky.”

Borkowsky got to his feet, looking as rattled as before, and climbed back into the witness box carefully avoiding Marty’s gaze.

“You realize you are still under oath, Mr. Borkowsky?” Judge Gonzalez asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Judith took her time approaching the witness stand, a sheaf of papers in her hand as she consulted first one, then another.

“Mr. Borkowsky, after overhearing the conversation by satellite phone between Mr. Butterfield and Captain Mitchell, did you provide any advice to the captain regarding the speed to use on landing?”

Richardson was on his feet instantly.

“Objection, your honor. She’s testifying.”

Judith was shaking her head. “No, your honor, I am not suggesting an answer or testifying through that question. He was the first officer, the second in command. He overheard a conversation in which his company was essentially ordering their flight crew to do certain things regarding airspeed. The captain had clearly been resistant to those suggestions from the company. It would be appropriate for a first officer to offer an opinion or advice to the captain following such an exchange. I am merely asking if such a communication occurred. And, may I remind Mr. Richardson that Mr. Borkowsky is his witness, and this is cross-examination, which means I can ask leading questions.”