Gossip Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  He ushered Valdez across the hall while Ron retrieved the files. The lawyer took a seat on the couch near the bay window and Drake grabbed a side chair by the desk, leaving Ron the desktop to spread out the papers.

  “Do you know whether this mechanic Leo . . .” Ron searched for the last name, “well, Leo somebody, has some connection to our case?”

  “I haven’t heard of him before,” Valdez said.

  “Big guy, hairy arms, bad breath,” Drake said. “I had close contact with him last night.” He gave Valdez the quick version of the attack.

  Valdez shook his head.

  “He’s up to something. We went out to talk with Salazar this morning and I got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t talking because Leo was there in the hangar. Probably afraid of being overheard. Then Leo zoomed off to Albuquerque and had a little rendezvous with David Ratwill, a sly-feeling meeting at a truck stop on the west side.” Ron was flipping through pages in the file as he talked.

  “I don’t know what,” said Valdez. “But if he’s talking to the opposing attorneys and passing information along, I want to know about it.”

  “Not to mention threatening your witness,” Drake reminded him. “This wasn’t just a friendly suggestion to quit the case.”

  Ron pulled a page from the folder. “Let me make some calls,” he said. “This is Salazar’s employment record.”

  “How about something from the kitchen?” Drake asked. “Soda, beer? Whatever we have down there.”

  Both men asked for Cokes and Drake headed down the stairs. Through the back window, he spotted Charlie’s Jeep in the small parking area. The driver’s door stood open and one jean-clad leg stuck out.

  He quickly put the encrusted coffee pot to soak in the sink and pulled the smelly trash bag from the kitchen waste can, yanking the ties together and heading for the back door with it.

  “Hey, you’re back!” he greeted as she approached the back steps.

  She gave a quick glance toward the bulging trash bag and grinned. “You could have let Ron take the heat for that, you know.”

  He shrugged. “He’s been pretty busy.”

  They shared a long kiss before he ushered her into the kitchen.

  “Whose car, out front?” she asked.

  He explained about the meeting with Rick Valdez and gathered the soft drinks for which he’d originally come downstairs. When he and Charlie entered her office, Ron was ending a call. He raised an eyebrow in greeting to Charlie, while Drake introduced her to Rick Valdez. She shook hands with the lawyer and answered politely, but he noticed she was eyeing the stack of mail on her desk.

  “Okay, thanks. Appreciate the information,” Ron said to the receiver. Hanging up, he turned to Valdez. “Damn employment regs. Can’t get anything good out of people anymore.”

  As soon as it became apparent that Ron’s phone call was winding down she shooed him out of the chair. The three men began to drift across the hall toward Ron’s office as she switched on her computer and began sorting mail with a vengeance.

  Valdez shrugged and Drake chuckled. “So, anything useful at all?”

  “Actually, yeah. Interesting coincidence that both Leo Malone and Manuel Salazar worked for the operator in our case, at the same time. At the time of the accident.”

  “So, you’re thinking maybe Leo had more to do with the nut not being tightened than Manny did?”

  “Seems logical.”

  “But Manny has admitted that he’s the one who did that particular part of the inspection,” Valdez reminded them.

  “Manny also says that he was called away partway through the work,” Ron said, consulting the notes, “and he can’t specifically remember attaching the safety wire.”

  “They use checklists,” Drake said. “My question would be whether the safety wire step was checked off.”

  “My money says that it is now,” Ron said. “Whether it was checked off that day or not.”

  “So, where does that leave us?” Valdez asked.

  “With diddly squat unless we can get that original checklist,” Drake said. “We might be able to have it analyzed for changes made after the fact. Do we have that?”

  Ron pawed through the file again. “I don’t. How about at your office?” he said looking at Valdez.

  “Probably a copy, if anything. I’ll have to check. This case has filled about five file boxes so far.” He shifted on the couch. “But I have a secretary who’s a marvel of organization. Let me ask her.”

  He pulled a cell phone from his inner jacket pocket and speed dialed, speaking to someone named Jen. He quickly explained what they needed and asked her to call back if she could locate it.

  “What do we do if she doesn’t come up with it?” Ron asked.

  Drake piped up. “The operator has to have those records. You can subpoena them, can’t you?”

  “Time consuming.” Valdez didn’t look happy. “But yeah, we can.” He stood up. “You ready for your next session in the deposition room tomorrow, Drake? Or do you want to spend a little more time going over things together?”

  “Unless you know what they’ll ask and can provide me easy answers, or unless you can give me a note from mom to get me out of this, I guess I’m ready.”

  Chapter 24

  The quality of the faxed photograph wasn’t great. Even knowing who I was looking at, I could barely tell it was a younger Trudie Blanchard. It was obvious why Rita didn’t recognize her. This Trudie had very dark hair, pulled up into a tight knot on top of her head, contrasting the stark whiteness of her skin. Thick glasses with dark frames obscured her eyes—a disguise, or had she switched to contacts now? Her mouth was a hard line. I saw little of the uncertain, needy woman I’d met in Santa Fe.

  Drake peeked into my office, looking like every other guy who ducks and runs when a woman goes on a cleaning binge.

  “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” I said. I’d downloaded forty-three email messages and trashed more than thirty of them. Same with the regular mail. After sorting out the junk, there were really just a couple of bills to pay and one letter to answer. All of it could wait until tomorrow.

  “Pedro’s?” he asked, with that winning little-boy smile that always gets me.

  “You bet.” I grabbed my denim jacket and purse and switched out the light so quickly that he did a double-take.

  Our favorite little haunt was empty this early in the afternoon. We’d caught them squarely between the lunch crowd and the happy hour margarita drinkers. We kept the chat light as we ate, because I didn’t really want to share the drama of yesterday evening in front of Pedro and Concha, and because I was too busy stuffing my face.

  “That was so much better than any chef-prepared gala dinner in Santa Fe,” I said.

  Thirty minutes later, we’d dragged ourselves away from the table and arrived at home. Rusty greeted me like I’d been gone for a month, but he does that even if I just run to the post office. But the sentiment was nice and I hugged him and sneaked him an extra doggie cookie.

  Drake seemed distracted as he went to his home office and checked messages on the machine. He called the one client who had phoned, a rancher who wanted to patrol the perimeter of his eight thousand acres to be sure fences were intact for the upcoming winter. He offered to send me to do the job, but I was secretly glad when the rancher reassured Drake that there was no rush—the work could wait a few days. It was always a pleasure to work for a guy who ran his own show, rather than the government types who’d as soon fine you or dock you if things didn’t go exactly their way. The guy had been pleasant and amenable to working on the weekend or even the beginning of the following week, if Drake were held over. For my part, there were things in Santa Fe that had not quite been answered.

  I was in the kitchen, scooping nuggets for Rusty, when I felt Drake’s presence behind me.

  “Hey babe.” He had that bedroom tone and in less than two minutes we’d abandoned our poor dog and closed the door to the sanctuary on him. I had to admit that
I’d really missed having my sweetheart to snuggle every night.

  Shoes and jeans began to pile up on the floor but when Drake took off his shirt I stopped cold.

  “What are these horrible marks on your neck?” I demanded.

  He wasn’t to be deterred. “Hmm… tell you later,” he murmured into the curve of my collarbone.

  I took a deep breath. He clearly was feeling quite well, and it wasn’t worth spoiling the moment.

  An hour later, however, he wasn’t going to get away without an explanation. We lay in the warm sheets, a tangle of arms and legs when I brought up the subject again. When I heard that he’d been attacked and warned away from his testimony, anger flooded me.

  “Sweetheart, calm down,” he said. “It’s done. I know who it was and I don’t have any reason to go near the guy again.”

  I sensed there was more to it and my skepticism must have showed.

  “Okay, whole story? I have to continue my deposition again tomorrow. And what I have to say is going to nail this guy, Leo Malone.”

  He read my worried expression. “It’ll be fine,” he said. He pulled me into his embrace. “There’s another witness, plus I think we can prove his guilt through aircraft records. My testimony is only part of it and Malone can’t get rid of everything that implicates him.”

  That made sense and I relaxed a little. But not much. Any guy who would give such a drastic warning might very well go further.

  He stirred again. “There’s a weird thing, though. I forgot to mention it earlier . . . one of the attorneys on the opposing side is a guy named David Ratwill.”

  “What!”

  “A Santa Fe firm. Ron said he’s connected to that case you’re working on?”

  All at once my nerves felt wired. I lay there, puzzling over the connections, long after Drake fell asleep.

  Chapter 25

  Eight o’clock the next morning came way too soon for Drake’s taste. He rolled over and put an arm around Charlie, wishing that the morning snuggle could last awhile longer. She mumbled something about his needing to get downtown and that brought back the apprehension that he was trying to hide from her.

  “Hon, just chill,” she said. “I can feel it in your muscles that this whole thing is really getting to you, but don’t let it.”

  Easy to say.

  “I mean it. You can’t take this stuff personally. Those lawyers are jerks. Don’t let it bother you.”

  “I know. And if it weren’t for the fact that they’re trying to make me look incompetent and stupid, I’d like to confront David Ratwill, in light of the things I know about him now.”

  “Actually, I’d like to ask him a few questions myself.” She sat up in bed.

  “Forget it. I know what you’re thinking, and you can’t go with me.”

  She almost muttered ‘rats’ under her breath. “But, hon, it would be so classic to see his reaction if he saw me there.”

  Actually, it probably would be pretty funny. But Drake didn’t need the distraction.

  “I’ll bet David has no idea of our connection,” she was saying. “With different last names, he probably has no clue . . .”

  “Not this morning, Charlie.”

  She sensed the finality in his tone, he could tell by the slump in her shoulders.

  “You’re right,” she said. “You have to keep your mind on your testimony. I need to go back to Santa Fe and get the rest of my stuff anyway.”

  By the time he made his way to Valdez’s office he’d gotten himself all keyed up again and took a minute in the elevator to take a couple of deep breaths and force himself to repeat ‘it’s nothing personal’ several times. The receptionist greeted him warmly this time and he put on a smile.

  “Hey, Drake!” Valdez certainly looked cheery this morning. “Guess what Jen found?”

  “The inspection checklist, I hope?” The two men walked down the hall to the lawyer’s private office as they talked.

  Valdez whipped out a sheet of paper, a photocopy of the familiar form. Beside each item on the inspection list was a checkmark on a short line. Next to the check, initials confirmed which man had performed each step. Drake scanned down the list; the tightening and wiring of the nuts would be near the end. Every line had a check and set of initials.

  “What do you think?” Valdez asked. “I looked it over. Can’t tell if the same guy made all those marks or not.”

  Drake shook his head. “I can’t be absolutely sure, either, not on a copy.”

  “Let’s hold off and not bring it up just yet.” The lawyer lowered his voice. “See what the other side says first. If we have to, we can get the original.”

  Voices in the hall announced the arrival of the other team and Drake felt his stomach tighten. He was glad he’d opted for a light breakfast.

  Valdez reminded him: “With everything you say today, just remember that this is the time for the other guys to show their hand. Don’t bring up Leo or the fact that you went to Gallup yesterday, unless they ask about it. Don’t speculate about Leo and Ratwill meeting—in fact, don’t even let on that you know. I want the chance to find out what we can from them, so we have a little ammunition of our own.”

  Drake nodded.

  “Next week it’s going to be our turn to grill the hell out of their expert.”

  That made Drake feel somewhat better as he walked into the room and was forced to shake hands and smile at the men who would, for the next few hours, be his inquisitors. Again, there were three lawyers in expensive suits and their mechanic expert, who looked no more comfortable than he had two days ago.

  “Mr. Langston, how are you today?” Malcolm Browne, the other partner in Browne and Ratwill, greeted him with pseudo-warmth. Drake smiled his own version of the social grimace and answered, “Just fine.” He met Ratwill’s gaze and, as if unconsciously, stretched his neck and passed a hand over this throat. He’d purposely worn a polo shirt with his jacket, open at the collar. The vivid purple had gone out of his throat now but the marks were clearly there. Ratwill didn’t blink. Either he didn’t know about Leo’s little communication two nights ago, or he was able to stay extremely composed about it.

  The third lawyer, whose name didn’t stick with Drake, had crossed to the back of the conference table and staked out the same chair he’d had at the previous session. As the others took their seats, Drake sent a tight smile toward the mechanic, sending the message ‘enjoy this, buddy, you’re next.’

  The session started much as the previous one, with questions from Ratwill about Drake’s qualifications. He answered by rote, telling the truth but not letting the substance of the question or the manner of the questioner affect him. After an hour or so of covering the same ground the lawyers changed tactics, Ratwill appear to be getting impatient. While he took a break for a glass of water the guy in the gray suit started in with specific questions about the crash.

  By the lunch break Drake was feeling a bit more relaxed. The things pilots did and the ways they would react to emergency situations were familiar to him. The lawyers had come up with nothing he couldn’t answer with confidence.

  At lunch with Valdez, over another burger at Lucky’s, he found himself actually smiling.

  “Don’t get too calm just yet,” the lawyer advised, swallowing a large bite of his green chile cheeseburger. “Remember, these guys want to pin the accident on the engine manufacturer. Learning that the pilot wasn’t at fault will go right to their goals.”

  “Okay, they’re establishing that the pilot did all the right things,” Drake said, “we’re in agreement on that.”

  “Which is good. Finding some common ground with the other side isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  Drake dipped a potato wedge in ketchup. “So are they going to ask me about the mechanic’s role this afternoon?”

  “My guess, probably so. But who knows with these guys.”

  In the afternoon session, Ratwill was absent. Browne took over and began with general maintenance questions,
procedures that Drake knew well. He answered confidently when asked about the frequency of inspections and which procedures could be done by an Airframe and Powerplant mechanic and which would have to be signed off by someone holding an Aircraft Inspector license. He readily admitted that he had some experience with the work but was not licensed at either level. Browne clearly wanted Drake to be apologetic or become rattled, but Drake held his own.

  “Now, Mr. Langston, in this particular accident case you’ve stated that the mechanic forgot to sufficiently tighten one of the nuts and did not safety wire it.”

  “I can’t say whether he tightened it or not. I can say that in the wreckage of the engine, the nut had come off and there was no evidence that it had been safety wired, although the other nuts on that part of the engine were wired.”

  “So one small piece of wire brought down the whole aircraft. I find that very unlikely.”

  Drake opened his mouth but Browne continued.

  “Isn’t it far more likely that there was a defect in the engine’s design or manufacture that caused the failure leading to the crash?”

  “This particular engine has been in use for more than twenty years,” Drake responded, “with few problems. I think that would rule out design flaws.”

  “Few problems?” Browne looked like an angler who’d just snagged the big one. “Then there have been engine failures.”

  Drake took a deep breath. “There have been engine failures, but—”

  “Note the witness’s admission that there have been engine failures.” Browne turned toward the stenographer.

  “This isn’t the courtroom,” Rick Valdez reminded.

  Drake continued where he’d been interrupted. “But—in each of the documented cases—three in all, the failure was traced to either pilot error, an inspection not done correctly or other human error. I have documentation.” He reached for his folder.

  “Note this evidence for the record as well,” Valdez said, giving Browne the same intent stare the lawyer had so recently aimed at the stenographer.