Chapter 12
“I knew I recognized your name.” Janet stood up from behind her computer at the counter of the Visitors Center. “Sam Blackman. I’ve read your name in the newspaper. The famous Asheville detective.”
The enthusiastic heralding of my arrival by the PARI staffer drew the attention of a family browsing through a selection of model rockets. The boy and girl, who looked to be ten and eight, stared at me like I should start to fly at any second. Their parents appeared underwhelmed. I hurried to Janet, Nakayla trailing behind.
“Yes,” I whispered, hoping Janet would follow suit. I forced a smile. “But I don’t know about the famous part.”
Janet lowered her voice. “You’re here investigating the discovery of that skeleton, aren’t you? I told Joseph and Theo, ‘Sam Blackman just doesn’t happen to show up a few days after something like that occurs.’ Or you’re helping Sheriff Hickman catch whoever started the fire. Am I right?”
I decided there was no point in trying to be evasive, especially since Janet had announced our presence to her colleagues. “We’re friends with the niece of the man the FBI has identified as the victim, Frank DeMille. That’s why we hoped to speak to Joseph Gordowski. He must have known Frank.”
“I understand,” Janet said. “Some agents from the FBI were out here this morning and met with Joseph and Theo.”
“Theo Brecht?” I asked. “We met him when we were here before.”
“Yes. Theo also worked for NASA at that time.”
“Is he also a tour guide like Gordowski?”
“No. But he’s out here a lot. Theo’s helping to set up our secure data repository. It’s a big project, and nobody knows the existing layout better.”
I silently kicked myself for not asking him more questions, like how far back he went with the site.
“Then Theo sounds like someone we should also speak with,” Nakayla said to Janet.
“Yes. But he’s not here right now. I don’t know if he’ll be back today. He has another full-time job. I wish I had half his energy.”
“Do you know how we could get in touch with him?” I asked.
Janet gave a quick glance at the family. The kids were narrowing their purchase down to a model of the International Space Station or the Saturn rocket. Janet licked her lips nervously. “I really shouldn’t, but since you’re helping the police, I guess it’s all right.” She sat and clicked several keys on her computer. She tore off the top sheet from a stack of Post-it Notes and wrote down a number. “Here’s his cell.”
I tucked the paper in my shirt pocket. “Thanks. Do you know if Joseph Gordowski is here yet?”
“I don’t believe he ever left after speaking with the agents. He might be in the far exhibit room. He said there was a problem with one of the AV projectors.”
I reached for my wallet. “The guided tour’s the same price as the self-guided, right? Ten dollars?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “No charge. You’re on official business.”
I dropped a twenty on her keyboard and smiled. “Thank you, but I’d prefer you consider us visitors, not inquisitors.”
“Like off the record?”
“Something like that. I wouldn’t want the FBI to think we were checking up on them.”
Nakayla and I found Joseph Gordowski bent over a multimedia projector. He held a screwdriver in one hand and a metal panel in the other. I couldn’t tell if he was taking the projector apart or putting it back together.
“Mr. Gordowski?” I called his name as we entered the room.
He stepped away from the projector and turned to face us. The man could best be described as two spheres—a small one for a head and a larger one for a body with thin, protruding arms and legs. His round, pink face was complemented by a white beard and tousled white hair. Gold-rimmed glasses perched halfway down his nose. For a man in his seventies, he appeared to be wrinkle-free, one benefit of a plump body. Despite the Polish-sounding name, he looked like an Irish elf who enjoyed his stout.
He adjusted his glasses where he could peer through them. “Yes?”
I walked forward, extending my hand. “I’m Sam Blackman. This is my partner, Nakayla Robertson.”
Gordowski set down the screwdriver and panel and shook our hands. “Right. Janet told me you’re signed up for the two o’clock tour. And she said you are detectives.”
“Yes. We were hoping to speak to you in private first. We’re working with Frank DeMille’s sister to find out what happened.”
Gordowski sighed. “I can’t believe it. All these years and Frank was less than a hundred yards away. Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but as soon as I get this projector back together, I can talk until the tour starts.”
“Can we help?”
He turned back to his work. “No. I changed the bulb. Just have to screw the casing back on and line it up with the screen. It will only take a minute.”
Nakayla and I stood to the side as he finished the task.
After a final check that the projector functioned properly, he pointed down the hall. “I share an office with some of the other volunteers, but no one’s here now. We can talk in private.”
The office had a desk and a couple of chairs. NASA photographs hung on the walls as well as a calendar with initials written in the days. I assumed it was the volunteers’ schedules.
Gordowski pulled a chair from behind the desk, and we sat in a makeshift triangle.
The elderly scientist didn’t wait for me to begin. “First let me say how shocked and saddened I am to learn about Loretta Johnson’s death. What a sweet, sweet girl. At least she was a girl when I first met her.”
“And was that here at the tracking station?”
“Yes. I came in the summer of 1969. She had started working for the director, Dr. James Haskford, only a few weeks before.”
“Were you here before Frank DeMille?” Nakayla asked.
“Yes. Frank came the following year. He’d just finished his master’s in computer science.” Gordowski shook his head. “Maybe the only true genius I’ve ever worked with. He not only mastered computer programming but he could see where it was going, possibilities that eluded the rest of us.”
“Let me cut straight to the chase,” I said. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm him?”
“No one here.”
His answer certainly didn’t rule out someone elsewhere.
“No one here,” I repeated. “Are you saying that because you’re not sure what was going on outside here?”
Gordowski scratched at his beard a moment. “Well, one of Loretta’s brothers had to be escorted off the property one night.”
“How did that happen?”
“This land was part of the Pisgah National Forest back then. Security was lax. I guess he just hiked in. The Case property bordered us.”
“What did he want?” I asked.
“He was looking for Frank. I think he came at night knowing Loretta wouldn’t be here. Frank wasn’t here either. We were running some tests on the radio telescopes, you know, adjusting for sensitivity and filtering out any ambient signals.”
I didn’t know but nodded my head like I did.
“Anyway, he’d been drinking, probably some homemade moonshine, and when I told him Frank wasn’t working that night, he tried to push past me. Believe it or not, I was stronger and more wiry in those days. I shoved him back and called for help. The night security guard who had been making his rounds at the time came as a reinforcement. We convinced the man Frank wasn’t working. He said to tell Frank to stay away from his sister. That was the first time I learned Frank and Loretta were dating.”
“What happened then?”
“The guard asked him how he got here. That’s when he said he’d hiked in. How he did that drunk I’ll never know. I told the guard to drive
him home. I didn’t want us responsible for him falling into a ravine.”
Nakayla cut in, “Do you know which brother it was?”
“No. He just said Loretta was his sister and somebody had to look out for her. The guard wrote up a report for the files. That would have the name, but I’m sure it was shredded years ago.”
“Were you here the night Frank disappeared?”
“Part of the night. We handed the communications off around two in the morning. My job was to oversee reception strength between Apollo and Houston. I worked closely with Frank because he would program the motion of the telescopes as the moon moved across the sky.” He smiled. “Well, as the earth rotated, I should say.”
“So Frank was still here when you left,” I said.
“I assumed so, but then after he disappeared, we all were interviewed, and I remembered I didn’t actually see him before I left. Loretta had come in looking for him, but I thought he was probably programming the next cycle of contact. He had to slew the instruments to the eastern part of the horizon where the moon would appear.”
“Slew?” The word came from Nakayla and me simultaneously.
“That’s right. Slew is what you call the action of moving the telescopes quickly across the sky. Frank was always spot on, both in picking up the signal and tracking it while we were primary contact.”
“The Slew Meister,” Nakayla said.
“Yes.” Gordowski grinned and slapped his thigh with a pudgy hand. “I haven’t heard that in years. Theo gave Frank that nickname. I think it pleased him. We were all kids back then on a grand adventure.”
“It sounds like it,” Nakayla agreed. “And other than one of Loretta’s brothers, no one else comes to mind who might have had a conflict with Frank?”
“No. Frank was well liked, dedicated to his work, but not one to get in anyone else’s business. You know what I mean? Pleasant but kind of in his own world.”
“So he never confided in you?” I asked.
Gordowski looked genuinely puzzled. “Confided? About what?”
“Concerns about his work or the way the tracking station was being run.”
Gordowski scratched his beard more vigorously. “Frank? No, he and Dr. Haskford got along really well. If there were any negative feelings at all, it might be that some of us felt a little jealous that Frank was Haskford’s golden boy. But that’s just the way it was. Frank outshone us all. He really was the Slew Meister.”
I glanced at Nakayla to pick up the questioning.
“Have you seen where Frank’s remains were uncovered?”
“Yes. I walked up there a few days ago.”
“Is the terrain the same as in 1971?”
“No. The tree line was much closer then. That section would have been in a stand of white pines. No one had any reason to go up there. The trees were cut back when the Department of Defense took over the facility.”
“In other words, Frank’s body would have been buried in woods, not pasture grass,” Nakayla said.
“Yes. That’s what I told the FBI. I imagine overturned earth could easily have been hidden beneath a layer of pine needles. The underbrush wasn’t very thick, and like I said, there was no reason for any of us to go up there. And I remember we had three days of rain after Frank’s disappearance.”
“So whoever killed Frank must have used a shovel to bury him,” Nakayla said. “Do you know where one might have been kept and who had access?”
Gordowski thought a moment. “The maintenance people would have kept those kinds of tools. They had a couple of metal sheds on the property. I’d be surprised if a shovel wasn’t in one of them. Randall Johnson would be the man to ask.”
“Loretta’s ex-husband?” I interjected.
“Yes. He headed general maintenance. As far as I know, he’s still in the area.”
“Do you know why he and Loretta divorced?”
“No. We didn’t keep in touch. Loretta was let go when the tracking station was ceded to the Department of Defense. Randall stayed on, but we never spoke much.”
“How did you know they were divorced?”
“Loretta and I ran into each other in Asheville.” He shook his head at the memory. “Jack of the Wood, if you can believe it. I went in for a drink and was surprised to see her with the band. We spoke afterward. This was a few years ago. She mentioned that she and Randall had split up. I didn’t ask why, and she didn’t volunteer any additional information.”
“Was Randall there the night Frank disappeared?” I asked.
“I don’t specifically remember seeing him, but I’m sure he would have been there. During the Apollo flights, we had all hands on deck while we were the primary communications site. Randall would be ready in case we had a generator problem or a breaker trip or an air-conditioning unit go down.”
“And Loretta would have been there supporting Dr. Haskford?”
“Yes. Remember I said she came looking for Frank. That was right as I was leaving.”
“What about Frank’s car? Didn’t anyone think it strange if it was still here but he was gone?”
Gordowski shook his head. “I believe he rode in with Dr. Haskford. Frank’s car wasn’t the most reliable. When Haskford couldn’t find Frank, he just assumed Frank had hitched a ride with someone else.”
Nakayla and I were silent for a moment, reflecting on the answers Gordowski had provided.
“Anything else?” he asked.
I swung my gaze around the office as if some inspiration could be found there. The NASA photographs on the wall—shots of the lunar surface, the enormous Saturn booster rocket, the blue marble of Earth seen from the moon—conveyed the magnitude of the scientific achievements during the glory days of the space program.
“Just a few more questions,” I said. “Loretta and Randall were here because you said during the mission it was all hands on deck. Yet you said you left the facility while the others stayed.”
Gordowski frowned, not appreciating what must have sounded like an accusatory statement. “Not during the whole mission but when we were the active tracking site. I made sure the communications between the astronauts and Houston mission control were maintained through various channels. Once the handoff to the next site happened, we would monitor those comm channels as long as we could but not be the primary source. My colleagues, with other tasks, would continue on but not come back as early as I would.”
I nodded. “That’s when Frank would program the radio telescopes for the next pass.”
“Yes. And he’d run simulations to ensure everything worked perfectly. He guarded his computer programs like a mother hen protecting her chicks. Sometimes Haskford had to force him to go home and get some sleep. That’s why the alarm went up so quickly when he didn’t appear the next day.”
“And who replaced him?”
“Theo Brecht. Fortunately, he’d come on board to work with Frank about six months earlier. He was then supposed to move on to one of the other tracking stations.” Gordowski smiled ruefully. “As it turned out, he and I never left. We’ve both been through three incarnations.”
“Three?”
“Apollo, NSA, and now PARI and its expansion.”
Nakayla leaned forward in her chair. “NSA? You mean the National Security Agency?”
Gordowski’s round face colored. “Well, we were supposed to always say Department of Defense, but we were the ears for the NSA. Russian satellites. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“And PARI’s expansion?” I prompted.
“Housing secure data. The location and infrastructure are ideal. We’re constructing a new building. That’s why the grading equipment was here. Theo’s doing most of the computer up-fitting work, but I help him as needed. It’s like the old days, except my knees crack much louder when I get up from running cable underneath these floors.” He shook his h
ead. “Frank should be here with us. It’s a real shame what happened to him.”
Nakayla and I thanked him for his cooperation and then spent the next hour with about ten other visitors as Joseph Gordowski shared information and anecdotes throughout his guided tour.
As soon as we were on the road back to Asheville, I asked, “What do you think was the most significant thing we learned from Gordowski?”
“Two things,” Nakayla answered. “Randall Johnson had access to a shovel, and Gordowski has no alibi. We have no proof that Loretta came looking for Frank that night while Gordowski was still working. Loretta’s now not around to verify or contradict his account.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Frank could have disappeared later, and Gordowski would have had the rest of the night to bury him.”
Chapter 13
We returned to our office around four thirty. Nakayla took Blue out for a walk through Pack Square while I followed up on the Chuck McNulty lead provided by DeShaun Clark. I figured the Vietnam veteran had to be in his seventies and therefore retired. DeShaun said he’d been given the contact information through someone in the VA. Evidently, McNulty was receiving disability checks, but DeShaun hadn’t discovered why.
The number rang seven or eight times before someone picked up.
“Hello?” A woman sounded out of breath.
“Is this the residence of Chuck McNulty?”
“Are you selling something?”
“No.”
“Are you running for office?”
“No, ma’am,” I said as politely as I could. “My name’s Sam Blackman. I used to be a chief warrant officer in the U.S. Army, and I’m calling about a soldier who served with Chuck McNulty.”
There was a pause as she digested the information. “Does he know you?”
“He doesn’t. But he might be able to help a family who lost a loved one in the war.”
Another pause. I held my tongue, not wanting to push her into a quick decision. It was clear McNulty was either there or the woman knew where to find him.
Murder in Rat Alley Page 10