An Engineered Injustice

by William L. Myers Jr.

  And then, with one stupid move, Vaughn derailed Eddy’s life. Eddy went to prison. Then he went to hell. Vaughn went to law school.

  2

  TUESDAY, JUNE 17

  On the way to the hospital, Vaughn calls Mick at home. It’s after midnight and it takes Mick some time to answer. Vaughn quickly explains his cousin’s situation and asks Mick if he’s ever faced anything like it.

  “No,” Mick says. “But I know a lawyer who handles a lot of civil cases against the railroads, on behalf of injured employees. I’ll call him and get back to you with what I find out.”

  Vaughn thanks Mick, apologizes for the late call, and hangs up.

  The Uber drops off Vaughn in front of the hospital. He calls Kate, who tells him she’s in a waiting area off the surgical intensive care unit on the seventh floor of the Gibbon Building. “They just brought Eddy up. Visiting hours are over, but they let me see him for a few minutes. He looks awful.”

  Vaughn can tell Kate’s about to cry. “I’ll be there in a minute. It’s going to be okay.”

  When Vaughn exits the elevator, he sees Kate in the hallway and does a double take at the size of her belly. She sees him looking and says, “Eight months.”

  Vaughn didn’t even know Eddy and Kate were expecting; he’d fallen out of regular touch with them once Eddy and Kate moved to north New Jersey a few years ago. Normally, he’d offer his congratulations but, given the circumstances, he just smiles uncomfortably. “Come on,” he says, taking Kate’s arm. “Let’s go to the waiting room and get you off your feet.”

  Once they’re seated, Vaughn asks Kate to tell him what she knows.

  “Probably not much more than anyone else who’s been watching the news. I only know that Eddy went to work in the morning and that he was going to drive one train south, from New York’s Penn Station to Union Station in Washington, then drive another one back. He left the house about three—”

  “In the morning?”

  She nods. “Our place in New Jersey’s about an hour outside Manhattan. Eddy’s first train leaves New York at 4:40 a.m. He does the round-trip and usually gets back home by about four in the afternoon. Anyway, it was about 12:30 and I was dusting the living room when I saw on the TV that there had been a train crash. I freaked out and tried to call Eddy. When he didn’t answer, I really freaked out and called his boss at Amtrak. He sounded upset and said that it might have been Eddy’s train that crashed. He said he’d call me back as soon as he knew anything. He didn’t call back, but an hour later two men from the railroad showed up at my front door. I got hysterical as soon as I saw them. I thought for sure they were going to tell me Eddy was dead. They didn’t say that, but they couldn’t tell me what kind of condition he was in—just that the engine was badly damaged, and the first responders hadn’t been able to force their way inside yet. So they stayed with me, and we all waited for, like, three hours. The two men were on and off the phone the whole time. I called my mother and she came to my house and sat with us. Finally, one of the men got the call: Eddy was hurt but he was alive. My mother and I jumped in the car and drove here as fast as we could. She’s getting us a hotel room right now.”

  Vaughn watches Kate closely as she machine-guns the story at him. A nervous person by nature, she’s completely strung out right now. When she pauses to catch her breath, he says, “I have to ask you some questions about Eddy. Please don’t take offense.” Kate frowns, then nods okay. “First question: Is Eddy sober?” Vaughn’s cousin had gone through hard times and had been an active alcoholic for a long stretch.

  Kate doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. He’s been sober now for three years—since before we were married. No slipups.”

  “Good, good.” Vaughn takes a breath. “Any other substance-abuse issues?”

  “Zero.”

  “How about sleep? He gets up awful early. Has he been getting enough rest?” Vaughn remembers from speaking with Eddy a couple of years back that adequate rest time is a big issue on the railroad, that it’s as important for railroad engineers as for truck drivers.

  “Eddy is very conscientious about that. He’s in bed by nine most nights.”

  Vaughn pauses, trying to think what other issues might come up in the investigation. “What about the type of engine Eddy was driving? And the run? Was he new to either?”

  “He’s been doing the same run for, like, two weeks now.”

  “Two weeks . . .” Vaughn repeats the words. It doesn’t sound like a long time.

  “As for the engine, I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I mean, Amtrak would train him on whatever they had him drive. Wouldn’t they?”

  Vaughn is about to ask another question when Kate’s cell phone rings.

  “What?” she screeches at the caller. “I don’t believe it. Just drive on past. Don’t go inside.” Kate hangs up, then looks at Vaughn. “That was my sister. She was going to pick up some clothes for me from our house. She says there are two news vans parked outside.”

  “Jesus,” Vaughn says. If the reporters are outside, then Eddy’s name has already been made public.

  “They’re going to hound us, aren’t they?”

  Vaughn nods. He knows the press all too well from his experience with high-profile criminal cases. As intrusive as the media can be in those situations, he knows they’ll likely be ten times worse for a story as big as the train crash. On the far wall, the crash coverage plays and, before long, as Vaughn feared, the anchor pulls up Eddy’s photograph and identifies him as the engineer of the doomed train.

  “Oh, no. Oh, no.” Kate puts her hand to her heart.

  Vaughn walks over to the television and turns it off, then comes back to Kate. “You and Eddy are going to have to find somewhere else to live for a while. Someplace not too close to your home.”

  “Look at me.” She places her hands on her belly. “I need to be near my obstetrician.”

  Kate starts to cry and Vaughn reaches out, gently touches her shoulders. “Kate, listen to me. You’re going to have to be strong. For the baby, and for Eddy. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “This isn’t right,” Kate says, her sadness turning to anger. “This should be a happy time for me and Eddy.”

  Vaughn lets Kate talk herself out, cradles her in his arms until they both nod off to sleep.

  The first rays of sunlight are making their way over the horizon when Kate taps Vaughn’s shoulder. “I’m going to walk down to Eddy’s room and check on him,” she says. “One of the nurses is going to let me.”

  Vaughn watches her leave, then turns on the TV. Anderson Cooper is at the crash site, interviewing a police officer as still photos of the wreckage flash on the other side of the split screen.

  Vaughn decides to get himself and Kate some coffee. He takes the elevator down to the first floor and exits into the lobby, where he’s approached by a short, heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit.

  The man looks around as though he’s checking to see if anyone is watching. “Are you a relative?”

  “Excuse me?” Vaughn says.

  “Are you here for the train victims?”

  “Who are you?”

  The man extends his hand, offering a business card. Vaughn takes it and sees it’s for a local personal-injury lawyer. “We’re the best firm in town when it comes to train accidents,” the man says. “And we’re going to make those Amtrak bastards pay for what they did to your . . . to all the passengers.”

  Vaughn turns away, exits the building, and walks to the Starbucks on Thirteenth and Chestnut.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’s back in the seventh-floor waiting room, sipping coffee with Kate. She tells him that because of brain swelling, the doctors are using drugs to keep Eddy in an induced coma.

  Vaughn tells Kate he’s going to the office. “I need to do some research, talk to some people. I’ll come back here as soon as I can, later this morning.”

  Vaughn reaches into his pocket and pulls out some of his own business cards. “In the
meantime, I want you to give my card to Eddy’s nurses, or to anyone who might come up here and ask about him. You tell them that Eddy and you have representation, and that any questions for either of you are to be directed through my office. If someone you don’t know comes up to you, don’t tell them anything. Don’t offer any information about Eddy, and don’t answer any questions. Okay?”

  Kate says she understands. They hug, and Vaughn leaves the waiting room. He takes the elevator again, and this time it stops before it reaches the lobby. An attractive young woman enters and stands next to him. She looks up at him with big blue eyes filled with empathy.

  “Are you here for one of the passengers?” she says, extending her arm to offer a business card.

  “Really?” Vaughn says, not moving to take it. “Already? You people can’t even wait a full day?”

  3

  TUESDAY, JUNE 17, CONTINUED

  A short time after he leaves the hospital, Vaughn is back at his desk, his eyes on his computer. Mick hasn’t gotten back to him yet about the NTSB, so he decides to look it up on the Internet. What he sees when he opens up Google surprises him: paid legal ads soliciting for victims of the train crash. The titles include “Train Accident Lawyers,” “Philadelphia Train Crash,” “Philadelphia Train Crash Lawyers,” and “Train 174 Accident.”

  The first ads are for two well-known Philadelphia personal-injury firms: Day and Lockwood and the Balzac Firm. Vaughn clicks the top listing, which takes him to Day and Lockwood’s website. It opens on a page with the banner heading “Train 174 Information.” The section describes the crash, then continues with a detailed exposition about rail transportation and an exhaustive review of US train crashes over the past hundred years, the role of the NTSB in investigating railroad disasters, and the Federal Railroad Administration’s (FRA’s) oversight of the rail industry.

  Vaughn clicks out of the Day and Lockwood site and onto the ad for the Balzac Firm. Balzac’s website also includes a discussion of the Train 174 accident that includes an overview of rail litigation and the railroad industry as detailed as that of the Day firm’s, and Vaughn is impressed that they have been able to put together such compendious expositions in such a short time. He clicks on a few more ads, which lead to websites with much shallower discussions of the railroads. The only thing common to all the ads—something only someone looking really closely would notice―is that none of them include any claim that the law firm has ever actually handled a train accident before.

  “Hey.”

  It’s Mick, who knocks on the door as he enters. The clock at the bottom of Vaughn’s computer screen tells him it’s 7:30 a.m. “I just got off the phone with Derek Kalin. He’s the lawyer I told you about who handles a lot of employee-injury cases against the railroads. He told me the accident will be investigated by the NTSB out of Washington. The way it works is the agency dispenses a ‘go-team’ consisting of specialists led by an investigator-in-charge, or IIC. The go-team is separated into different working groups, and they each partner with representatives of the railroad’s track, signal, and operating divisions.”

  “When will that happen in this case?”

  “It’s already happened. The go-team has set itself up at a hotel near the airport. That’s where they’re interviewing most of the passengers and crew. There, and 30th Street Station.”

  “Does the crew have to speak with them?”

  “Yes and no. The agency has subpoena power. But a person can invoke the Fifth and refuse to talk.” Mick lets the words hang in the air. “What’s Eddy’s condition? Will he be able to talk to the investigators?”

  “No idea. Kate says he’s badly injured, but I don’t know the details. I’m headed back over there now.”

  “Here,” Mick says, handing Vaughn a piece of paper. “It’s Derek Kalin’s phone number. He has information for you on other passenger train crashes. Give him a call.”

  Vaughn thanks Mick, who says he’s going to wait at the office until visiting hours at Aria Hospital, where he’ll visit Susan.

  Vaughn mentally kicks himself. He’d been so immersed in what was going on with Eddy that he’d forgotten about Susan. “Did you learn anything new since yesterday?”

  “Her mother called me last night. Susan has a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and lots of bruising.”

  Vaughn exhales. “I’ll join you up there after I see Eddy and Kate.”

  He leaves the office and heads back to Jefferson. The seventh-floor waiting area is packed when he arrives, but he doesn’t see Kate. He finds her leaving intensive care. She looks sick.

  “Eddy has swelling of the brain,” she says, fighting back tears. “Plus, a ruptured spleen and a bruised liver. His right leg is broken in two places. And his face . . . it’s all black and purple. The swelling is so bad, I hardly recognize him.”

  He hugs her gently—as best he can, given her swollen belly.

  “Is he awake?”

  She shakes her head. “They want to keep him sedated. So he won’t move.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She called from the hotel a little while ago.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you go to the hotel yourself, get showered, and join her for something to eat? Maybe take a nap afterward.”

  “I can’t leave here.”

  “Yes, you can. And you need to. From the sound of his injuries, Eddy’s going to be here awhile. If you’re going to stick by him, you’ll need your strength. And so will your baby.”

  Kate resists some more, but Vaughn eventually persuades her to leave. She starts to walk down the hall, then turns back. “Since you’re going to represent Eddy, you’re the one who should have these,” she says, handing him a half dozen business cards. Day and Lockwood, the Balzac Firm, and others. He puts the cards in his pocket, thinking that they wouldn’t have bothered with Kate if they had realized her husband was the engineer.

  An hour later, Vaughn walks into Susan’s room at Aria Hospital. Mick’s already there. So is Angie.

  Mick’s brother, Tommy, the firm’s investigator, is there, too. He’s sitting on the HVAC unit in the window, his muscled arms crossed, a serious look on his face. He nods at Vaughn but doesn’t say anything.

  On the television, a local politician who’d been on the train describes the accident to Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski on Morning Joe.

  “Hey,” Vaughn says to Susan, reaching out for her hand as he approaches the bed.

  “Hey.” She smiles.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I was in a train wreck.” Her smile turns to a grimace, and Vaughn can see that she’s in pain.

  Vaughn looks over to Mick, who says, “Susan was just sharing with Angie and me what it was like after her railcar came to a stop.” Vaughn glances at Susan, who looks first to Mick, then to Angie, then to Vaughn. She takes a deep breath.

  “I was completely disoriented. The car was on its side, so the ceiling became the wall on my left, and the seats were hanging sideways on the right, though some had crashed down. When I came to, I was sitting on a busted-up window. Along with glass, there was ballast—railroad rock—everywhere. It came flying into the car once it flipped onto the side. It was like shrapnel. A lot of people were hit by it. I think that’s how I got the gashes on my forehead.” Susan pauses, leans over, picks up a cup of water, and drinks. Then she sets down the cup and continues.

  “Everyone in the car had blood on them. Everyone’s clothes were torn. Some people were standing, helping other people get up. Some were crawling. Some were just sitting there in a daze. I’ll never forget one of them. It was a woman. I’d noticed her getting onto the train. She was blind and she had a seeing-eye dog, a German shepherd. She was very well dressed, in a business suit with expensive shoes. I remember thinking that I admired her, that it mustn’t be easy making your way in the world as a blind person. But she’d obviously done very well for herself. She took a seat across the aisle from me, in a chair that faced me. Her dog sat right by her.”
Susan closes her eyes for a moment, to gather herself.

  “When everything came to a stop and my eyes cleared, I saw her. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. She tried to stand, started reaching around to grab onto something to help lift herself up. The whole time, she was calling out, ‘Clyde! Clyde!’ I was confused at first because I thought she’d been traveling alone. Then I remembered—the dog. She was crying out for her dog. I looked up and down the railcar, hoping to spot him for her. But he wasn’t there. The dog was gone. He was just . . . gone.” Susan begins to cry, and Mick and Vaughn each take hold of one of her hands. Angie strokes her hair.

  When Susan’s sobs subside, everyone directs their attention to the television, where the NTSB is conducting its first press briefing. One of the NTSB’s five board members, Richard Olin, stands before a forest of TV news microphones emblazoned with their identifying logos: Fox News, Fox 29, Channel 6/ABC, 10/NBC. A tall man, broad shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair, Olin is flanked by six members of the NTSB go-team. Like him, some are wearing short-sleeve polo shirts with the NTSB logo; others wear the NTSB pullover jackets or emergency vests.

  Olin begins by introducing himself and giving a short synopsis of his experience. He takes a moment to extend his sympathies to the victims of the crash and their families. Vaughn listens closely, and he can tell that Olin is sincere; the man clearly cares for the people whose lives have been shattered by the tragedy, and he is serious about the business at hand.

  Olin explains that the NTSB is the federal agency whose mission is to investigate accidents, determine the causes, if possible, and issue safety recommendations to help prevent similar accidents in the future. “Our purpose at the crash site is to gather ‘perishable’ evidence.” Olin defines this as “evidence that would become unavailable with the passage of time.” Olin identifies the investigator-in-charge as Nelson Wexler and states that Wexler and the rest of the go-team will investigate every aspect of the crash: the track, the train—including its braking system, recorders, and mechanical condition—personnel, and procedures.