“But I’m not a Taurus,” he said. “I’m Leo!”
An expression of hurt came into her eyes. “What’s the matter, Angelo?” she asked. “Don’t you want to marry me?”
Book Three
1971
Chapter One
A hush fell over the small hearing room in the old wooden building that served as the country courthouse in the little town midway between Seattle and Spokane. Quietly, the coroner’s jury filed into the room and took their seats on the wooden chairs that were placed near the table that served as the coroner’s bench. The coroner, a tall man with a weatherbeaten face, ambled to his chair and sat down. He nodded to the bailiff.
The bailiff turned to the room. “The coroner’s court is now in session to hear evidence into the cause of death of one Sylvester Peerless while driving a test car in the employ of Bethlehem Motors Company.” He glanced down at a sheet of paper he held in his hand. “The court calls Miss Cindy Morris as witness.”
Cindy turned in her chair and looked at Angelo. “I’m nervous. What do I tell them?”
Angelo reassured her. “Tell them the truth. You can never go wrong that way.”
She got to her feet. An appreciative murmur went through the little room as she made her way to the witness chair, the form-fitting jump suit with the words BETHLEHEM MOTORS lettered across the back, left no one with the illusion that she wasn’t a girl.
The bailiff administered the oath quickly and asked her name.
“Cindy Morris.”
“Please sit down,” he said and went back to his own chair.
She sat down as the county prosecutor got to his feet. Like all the men in this portion of the country, he was a tall man who gave the impression that he might have stepped out of a Marlboro Country advertisement. But the outdoorsy look did nothing to hide the keen intelligence of his gray eyes.
He stopped in front of her. His voice was soft with a deceptively gentle western twang. “How old are you, Miss Morris?”
“Twenty-four,” she answered.
“Twenty-four,” he repeated, nodding.
“Yes.”
“You are an employee of Bethlehem Motors?”
“Yes.”
“In what capacity?”
“Test driver and design consultant.”
“Please explain your duties.”
“I drive the cars and report to the design and engineering chief as to a woman’s point of view about the cars.”
“How long have you been thus employed by Bethlehem Motors?”
“About a year and a half.”
“How many cars have you driven and tested in this time?”
“Approximately nineteen.”
“Do you regard your work as dangerous?”
“Not really.”
The district attorney looked at her. “That’s a curious answer. What do you mean by it?”
“I feel much safer driving a car on a test track where every possible safety precaution is taken than I do driving in ordinary everyday traffic.”
He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “I see.” He walked back to his table and picked up a sheet of paper. Holding it in his hand, he walked back to her. “Were you acquainted with the deceased driver, Sylvester Peerless?”
“Yes.”
“In what manner?”
“We were good friends.”
The attorney looked down at the paper. “I have here a copy of the registration card at the Starlight Motel. It reads and I quote, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Sylvester Peerless, Tarzana, California.’ In brackets after that, ‘Cindy Morris.’ Were you ever married to Mr. Peerless?”
“No.”
“Then how do you explain the registration?”
“I said we were good friends. We shared the room. I wasn’t aware of how Fearless registered us.”
The attorney smiled. “You mean to say you were roommates and that’s all?”
Cindy smiled back at him, her nervousness disappearing completely. This kind of talk she understood. “I didn’t say that, you did. If you are interested in whether Fearless and I ever had sexual relations, why don’t you ask?”
“Did you?” the attorney shot back.
“From time to time,” she said calmly. “When we felt like it.”
The attorney stood there silently. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went back to his table. He put the sheet of paper back on it and turned to her. “Were you present at the test track the day the deceased met his death?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything unusual about the circumstances of that day?”
“Yes.”
“What were they?”
“Fearless got himself killed.”
A small ripple of laughter ran through the room. The attorney made a face and waited for it to pass. “Was there anything else?”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. That was unusual enough.”
Again the ripple of laughter. Again the attorney waited for it to pass. “I mean,” he said, “was there anything unusual about the performance of the car he was testing?”
“I didn’t think so,” she answered. “I turned the car over to him after my two-hour trick and it was behaving perfectly.”
“Did he say anything to you that might have indicated his concern over the performance of the automobile?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything at all to you at that time?”
“Yes, he did.”
“What did he say?”
“He made a remark. A joke. You know.”
“I don’t know,” the attorney said.
“A private joke,” she said uncomfortably. She glanced around the room. “The kind of thing you don’t say in public.”
“What did he say?” the attorney insisted.
Her face flushed and she looked down at the floor. She spoke in a low voice. “He said he felt so horny he hoped his cock wouldn’t get caught in the steering wheel.”
The lawyer’s face reddened as a murmur ran through the room. “Did you say anything to him?”
“Only what I usually say.”
“What was that?”
“Drive carefully.”
The lawyer was silent. “What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” she answered. “I always say that whenever someone gets behind the wheel of a car.”
“You didn’t mean that to indicate something special that might be wrong with the particular car you were driving?”
“No,” she replied. “I always say that.”
“Did you see the accident happen?”
“No, I did not,” she said. “I went back to the motel and went to sleep.”
The attorney looked at her for a moment, then walked back to his desk. “I have no further questions.”
The coroner leaned across his table. “Do you have any ideas or opinions as to what might have caused the accident that resulted in Mr. Peerless’ death?”
“No, sir, I do not,” Cindy answered.
“I understand that the car was powered by a new kind of engine,” the coroner said. “A gas turbine. I also understand that kind of engine could sometimes explode under certain conditions. Do you think something like that might have happened and caused the accident?”
Cindy looked at him thoughtfully. “It might have but I doubt it. That engine had over thirty thousand miles on it and if it was going to blow up, it would have done so long before then.”
“But it might have?” the coroner persisted.
Cindy’s voice was level. “I don’t know. But isn’t that the purpose of this court? To determine what happened?”
The coroner looked at her. His voice was cool. “We expect to do just that, young lady.” He glanced at the jury. “Do you have any further questions?”
A murmur of no’s came from the jurors and he turned back to Cindy. “That will be all, Miss Morris. Thank you. You may step down now.”
The room was silent as Cindy walked back to
her seat. She looked at Angelo. “Was I all right?”
He patted her hand. “You were fine.”
“The son-of-a-bitch,” she whispered. “He didn’t have to ask me all those questions.”
“You told the truth,” Angelo said. “Don’t worry.”
The bailiff’s voice came through the room. “Will Mr. John Duncan take the stand?”
The Scotsman got to his feet. He didn’t look his sixty-five years as he walked firmly to the stand and took the oath.
“Your name, please?” the bailiff asked.
“John Angus Duncan,” he replied and sat down.
The country prosecutor rose and walked toward him. “Would you please tell us your position with Bethlehem Motors?”
“Vice-president, engineering.”
“How long have you held that position?”
“One and a half years.”
“And before that?”
“I was for twenty years vice-president of automotive production at that company. At the age of sixty I retired. Two years later I rejoined the company in this present capacity.”
“Would you please define your present responsibilities?”
“I am in charge of the engineering part of the Project Betsy.”
“What is Project Betsy?”
“It is the building and development of a new car presently being considered by the company.”
“Can you elaborate on that?”
“No.” The Scotsman was terse. “It would be disclosing confidential information privileged to my employer.”
The country prosecutor glanced at his notes. “I understand that you hold certain patents in connection with a turbine engine. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Duncan nodded. “I might point out that they are held jointly with my employer.”
“Is that the engine used in the vehicle in which Mr. Peerless met his death?”
“A variation of that engine was used.”
“Can you elaborate on that?”
“No.” Duncan was firm. “For the same reason mentioned by me before and also that certain patents are currently pending and disclosure would give information to our competitors.”
The country prosecutor went back to his table. “Were you present at the scene at the time Mr. Peerless met his death?” he asked.
“Yes, I was.”
“Could you tell us about it?”
“Mr. Peerless entered curve number four at a speed of one hundred and seventy-one miles per hour despite our warnings to him and went off the track into the wall.”
“You say he was warned. How was this done?”
“We are in constant radio communication with the driver of the car.”
“You were able to judge the speed of the vehicle?”
“Yes. Our test cars are equipped with radio sensor devices which constantly send information back to a control computer which records the performance of every part of the automobile.”
“Would it be possible for us to see this record?”
“No,” Duncan replied. “For all the reasons I mentioned before.”
“But your sensor devices indicated there was nothing mechanically wrong with the car?”
“The car was operating perfectly.”
“Do you have a record of your warning to Mr. Peerless?”
“Yes. There is a tape of that communication.”
“Is it possible for us to hear that?”
Duncan looked across the room at Angelo. Angelo turned to Roberts, sitting next to him. The attorney nodded.
“Yes,” Duncan said. “I have a tape playback unit in my attaché case which I left on my seat and can play it for you right now.”
The coroner leaned forward. “Would the bailiff please fetch Mr. Duncan’s case?”
The bailiff brought the case to Duncan. The Scotsman opened it and took out a cassette playback unit. He looked questioningly at the coroner.
“It’s all right, Mr. Duncan. You can place it on the table in front of me.”
Duncan got up and set the small machine on the table. He pressed the button. A faint hum filled the room. He turned up the volume control. The hum grew louder.
“I don’t hear any engine sound,” the coroner said.
“There is very little,” said Duncan. “This is a turbine engine and the noise level is negligible compared with the normal I.C. engine. The only background sounds you might hear are the wind and the tires.”
A man’s voice broke into the tape. “I read one seventy-five on the speedometer. Verify. Over.”
Duncan’s voice came on the tape. “One seven four point nine nine seven, verified. Better start taking her down. You’re coming up on number four. Over.”
For a moment there was nothing but the background hum on the tape, then Duncan’s voice came on again. “We read you at one seven three point one two five. Bring it down. You’re running out of time. Over.”
Silence again, then Duncan’s voice. This time there was a note of urgency in it. “Duncan to Peerless. We read you at one seventy-one point zero five zero. Bring it down! This is an order! Over.”
Silence. Duncan’s voice, harsh and angry. “Are you crazy, Peerless? Bring it down before you get yourself killed! Over.”
Peerless’ voice came on. He laughed. “Don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy. I can take her through.”
Duncan’s voice overrode him. “You’ve only got a four percent grade, you’ll never make it!”
“You got no faith in your own machine, old man,” Peerless laughed. “Leave it to Fearless Peerless. I know what I’m doing. I drive with the angels.”
For a moment there was nothing but the faint whine, then the sound of a faint pop, then nothing. Complete silence.
There was a complete silence in the room as Duncan reached out and turned the machine off. He looked at the coroner.
The coroner cleared his throat. “Were you able to hear that?” he asked the jury.
The foreman stood up. “Yes.”
The coroner turned to Duncan. “You mentioned a four percent grade on that turn. What did you estimate a safe speed for it? Maximum?”
“One hundred ten.”
“Were there any warning signs posted to that effect?”
“Yes, sir. Every two hundred yards beginning two miles before the turn.”
“Then you estimate that Mr. Peerless entered that turn at sixty miles per hour in excess of the maximum safe speed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you tell me at what point then the engine exploded?”
“The engine did not explode,” Duncan said.
The county prosecutor cut in. “But previous witnesses testified that there was an explosion followed by a fire. How do you explain that, Mr. Duncan?”
The Scotsman turned to him. “The explosion did not take place in the engine. It took place in the fuel tank ignited by an electrostatic spark as the tank cracked open.”
“Then there could have possibly been a fault in the fuel tank?”
“There was no fault in the fuel tank. It was equipped and built with every safety precaution known to man. But there is nothing in our present technology that will enable us to build a tank that can resist an impact at one seventy miles an hour.”
“How can you be sure that it was the fuel tank and not the engine?”
“Because we have the engine. It is smashed beyond repair but the engine itself is mostly in one piece. If it had exploded, it would have been scattered all over the place.”
The county prosecutor nodded and went back to his seat. The coroner looked at the jury. “Do you have any further questions?”
The foreman stood up hesitantly. “I drive a car, Mr. Duncan. And because of the high power performance of your engine, I suppose you have to use a very high octane gasoline. Is that what was used?”
“No, sir,” Duncan said. “That is one of the advantages of a turbine engine. It does not require high octane or leaded gasoline to achieve maximum efficiency.”
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“What kind of gasoline did you use then?” the foreman asked.
“We did not use gasoline.”
“What did you use then?”
“Kerosene,” Duncan replied.
“Thank you,” the foreman nodded and sat down.
The coroner leaned across his bench. “Do you think, Mr. Duncan, that had you used gasoline instead of kerosene the explosion and the fire that followed it might have been prevented?”
“Not under the circumstances.” Duncan was very sure of himself. “As a matter of fact, it would have been more susceptible to explosion and fire. The octane rating in gasoline is a measure of its combustibility, thus the higher the rating, the more combustible.”
The coroner glanced around the room, then back at the Scotsman. “It seems there are no further questions. Thank you, Mr. Duncan. You may step down.”
The room was silent as the Scotsman returned to his chair. Angelo shook his hand and Cindy kissed the old man’s cheek. “You were wonderful,” she said.
The Scotsman flushed, pleased. “But I’m still angry,” he whispered. “What I want to know is who put them up to this?”
“We’ll find out,” Angelo said calmly. “First let’s see what happens next.”
The coroner and the county prosecutor were conferring in whispers. After a moment the attorney returned to his seat and the coroner looked at the court.
“There will be no further witnesses called,” he said. He turned to the jury. “You have heard the testimony of the doctors who performed the autopsy on the remains of Mr. Peerless as to the fact that his death was due directly to injuries received in the course of the collision and that the burns on his body were after his decease. You have also heard the testimony of other witnesses supplying information in connection with circumstances surrounding the death of Mr. Peerless. Do you have any further questions to ask pertaining to this matter?”
The foreman shook his head. “No.”
The coroner nodded and continued. “You are then requested to reach a determination as to the cause and responsibility for Mr. Peerless’ death. There are several such determinations available to you. Let me list some of them.
“One, in the event that you feel Mr. Peerless’ death was the fault of anyone other than himself, you may so state. If you further feel that there was criminal negligence resulting in that fault, you may so state. You do not in either of the above cases need to name the person or persons responsible, though you may if you should so desire.
The Betsy (1971) Page 19