Fly by Wire: A Novel (6 page)

^{"Yes," she said.}

^{Davis was lost. "Yes what?"}

^{"Yes, Earl had been drinking lately."}

^{"Oh -- I see." Davis didn't. "So you were with him at the time?"}

^{"No, but like you said, I'd know. He was unhappy. That's always when he drank, when he was unhappy."}

^{Davis was unhappy right now. He could really go for a beer. He didn't ask for one. "Unhappy? How?"}

^{"He just seemed depressed. It could have been girlfriend trouble. Or perhaps he felt guilty about not seeing Luke very much."}

^{"How much was that?"}

^{The mouthpiece jumped in. "Earl Moore had been granted visitation one weekend a month and one week each summer."}

^{Davis tried to imagine how he would react if a judge -- or anyone-- tried to tell him that he could only see Jenny a few days each month. Depressed? Unhappy? Homicidal was more like it. He knew what he had to ask next. "Mrs. Moore, why had the two of you split up?"}

^{She said nothing, and her attorney filled the void again. "The grounds for divorce were irreconcilable differences. It was uncontested, nearly complete."}

^{Davis ignored him, kept his eyes fixed on the widow. "That's not what I asked."}

^{Silence from above and below. The interview was going south fast.}

^{Lavender said, "I think we're done, Mr. Davis."}

^{"Yeah, I guess so." He stood and meandered toward the door, then paused. He hoped they really wanted to get rid of him. "Oh, there is one thing," he said, his eyes on the widow.}

^{"What?" she asked.}

^{"Do you have a key to his apartment?" Strictly speaking, Davis doubted it was legal for him to search the place, but he didn't have time for any screwy court warrants.}

^{"I think Luke might have a key," she said, turning to her attorney.}

^{"Why don't you go check his room," Lavender suggested.}

^{Davis thought,
Lousy lawyer,
; He said, "Thanks."}

^{With the widow Moore upstairs and Lavender guarding the couch, Davis strolled back to the wall. He stared at the picture of Earl Moore on stage. A drink, a cigar, and a monkey on his back. Loving life.}

^{Chapter FIVE}

^{In Davis' experience there were two kinds of flight surgeons. There was the one you visited twice a year that checked your eyes, took your blood pressure, and thumped your back. They got you in and out of the office quick, a rubber stamp. Then there was the kind you tracked down if you had a real medical issue. The kind of doctor you wanted on your side if you were fighting the feds to get your flight medical back.}

^{As he sat in the waiting room, Davis studied the wall and decided that Dr. James Black was the latter type. There were two large, ornate diplomas -- Dartmouth and Georgetown -- and a bunch of smaller certificates for smaller achievements. FAA Aviation Medical Examiner, chairman of a professional association. The guy even had a law degree to boot. M. D., J. D. Now there was a scary concept, Davis thought. All the same, a good guy to have in your corner if you were up against the system. Dr. Black was probably on retainer for the World Express pilot's union, paid a healthy sum to wrestle a few tricky cases each year.}

^{Office hours had ended for the day, but the doctor was still in and had agreed to an interview. Davis only waited five minutes, his personal record at any doctors office. A receptionist led past a single exam room -- not the usual row of holding pens -- to a small, nicely appointed suite. Dr. Black was behind his desk and stood when Davis came in. He was middle-aged, medium height, medium build. He wore designer glasses and a lab coat with his name embroidered in black script. Black in black. The coat was pressed and clean. No blood, no wrinkles, no tongue depressor in the breast pocket. He didn't even bother with a physician's most basic accessory -- a stethoscope hanging around his neck.}

^{"Hello, I'm Jim Black."}

^{Davis took a firm, professional handshake.}

^{"Jammer Davis, NTSB."}

^{The doctor cocked his head slightly. The "Jammer" part often threw people off.}

^{"Thanks for seeing me on short notice."}

^{"No problem. I was going to be in my office dictating for another hour. So you've come about Earl Moore?"}

^"Yes."

^{"Terrible, what happened. I suppose you know my reason for taking him as a patient?"}

^{The doctor didn't mess around. Which was all right with Jammer Davis. "I know he took time off for alcohol rehab. You helped him get his medical back."}

^{The doctor nodded. "Tell me, Mr. Davis, is this a formal interview?"}

^{"I'm not a very formal guy, but yeah, I guess it has to be."}

^{The flight surgeon shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat, and his expression took on an air of increased gravity. It was probably the same face that came when he was giving a patient bad news.}

^{Davis tried to lighten the mood. "Look, Doc -- I just need to get a few things straight before I go sticking my nose under charred lumps of metal. A brand-new airplane fell out of the sky, and it's important for us to find out why. Earl Moore had a recent medical history that's got to be looked at."}

^{Black said, "You know about the alcohol. What about the divorce?"}

^{"Yes. I just spent some time with his wife this afternoon."}

^{"I've never met her."}

^{"She's charming. Tell me, Doctor, when Moore had his ticket pulled last year -- how did that come about?"}

^{"It was pretty straightforward, as those things go. Moore's wife called his chief pilot, said he was drinking far too much. The chief pilot confronted Moore, who pretty much confessed."}

^"Confessed."

^{"Just said he'd been drinking heavily, volunteered for the rehab program"}

^{"So an ex-Navy guy puts himself in drydock."}

^{"Yes. It's a good program. For a first timer, very straightforward. Counseling, recurrent monitoring. Over ninety percent are back flying within a few months. And the recurrence rate is quite low"}

^{Davis said, "I got the impression that Moore and his wife weren't getting along. Was there ever any suggestion of other problems -- say, physical abuse, anything like that?"}

^{"No. Nothing I know of."}

^{"Were there other medical issues? Waivers for any conditions?"}

^{"I think he had to wear glasses for far vision," Black said.}

^{"Okay. So when did you see Moore last?"}

^{"He dropped in last week."}

^{"Dropped in? You mean he didn't have an appointment?"}

^{"That's right."}

^{Davis paused. A bright red flag fluttered in his cranium. Standard flight physicals were every six months -- and always scheduled far in advance. "Was he having some kind of problem?"}

^{"Well," the doctor hedged, "I'm not sure. He wanted to know what would happen to a pilot who got a DUI."}

^{The red flag snapped stiff. "What did you tell him?"}

^{"I said it would have to be reported to the FAA right away. And if
he
had gotten a DUI, given his background, his ticket would be pulled within twenty-four hours."}

^{"So did he admit to it?"}

^{"I asked. He said no."}

^{There was a pause before Davis said, "And that was the end of it?"}

^"Yes."

^{"Forgive me, Doc, but it seems a little strange. A guy coming in unscheduled and asking something like that. Didn't you try to check it out? Maybe make a phone call or two?"}

^{Blacks tone was combative. "No. My patient told me he was clean. I'm not a detective."}

^{Not much of a doctor either, Davis thought.}

^{Black added, "And I can assure you that I was under no regulatory obligation to go digging."}

^{Davis had no idea what the legalities were. The doctor probably did. Davis figured the Texas Bar Association would have been proud. Hippocrates pretty disappointed. "All right," he said. "I'll check with the Houston Police and Harris County Sheriff's Department."}

^{"I think you should," the doctor agreed.}

^{Perfect answer. Davis moved on. "Was he on any kind of medication that you know of--either prescription or over-the-counter?"}

^{"Not to my knowledge."}

^{The lawyer half was taking over, and Davis felt another interview ebbing. He was up against Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, except the monster was an expert in torts and civil procedure. Davis covered a few more formalities, then arranged to get copies of the patient records on Earl Moore. He thanked Black for his help, and headed to the elevator. For the second time today, he was an unhappy man.}

^{He hoped to hell the toxicology run-up on the body of Earl Moore came out negative. He hoped to hell they could find enough of Earl Moore to
do
a toxicology run-up. But even if the skipper had been under the influence, it didn't explain much in Davis' mind. A drunk pilot might make mistakes, but it wasn't the kind of thing that would bring down a brand-new jet from six miles up.}

^{Waiting for the elevator, Davis checked his cell phone. He saw a text message from Jen. omg Daddy! Bobby Taylor just asked me to sophomore dance a week from Friday! aunt L says I have to ask you. Please! Please! Please! Kisses, J.}

^{The elevator opened. He snapped his phone shut and stepped in. There was another guy already there -- thin, long hair, nurse's scrubs. Davis barely noticed. A vision of Bobby Taylor came to mind, his spindly little arms and legs. Davis needed to get home before next Friday. He wanted to shake Bobby Taylor's hand. Shake it with a real firm grip. A grip that would --}

^Ding!

^{The elevator reached another floor. He didn't know which one. The door opened and the other guy began backing out, eyeing him like he was a psycho. Davis had no idea why.}

^{Five hours after arriving in Houston, Davis was on a Continental Boeing 777 headed for Paris. He heard a mechanical thump as the parking brake was released and felt the big machine begin its backward motion. He checked his watch. Thirty-eight seconds late. Davis had always had a sense for time. He could wake up in the middle of the night and guess right to within ten minutes. Always. But that wasn't good enough. Twenty years in the military taught a man the value of punctuality -- bombs thirty seconds late were not bombs well spent. You could hurt a good guy. Not hurt a bad guy. Time was important in lots of things.}

^{Nine minutes later, the big airplane accelerated down the runway. When it reached a speed that would have left an Indy car in the dust, the ground fell away. Davis yawned. He was sitting in first class, already sipping an orange juice. The NTSB would never have sprung for the upgrade, but during the boarding process he had recognized the captain as one of his old instructors from flight school. They chatted about their reckless youth, and before he knew it the skipper had bumped him up.}

^{Once the big jet was at cruising altitude, the ship's resonance settled to a businesslike hum. It was an oddly serene coalescence -- air vents hissing, massive engines droning, and a five hundred knot slipstream outside. Davis found it comforting, even relaxing.}

^{A flight attendant came down the aisle carrying a stack of pillows -- he knew if you called them "stewardesses" they'd look at you as if you were a dinosaur. Her dress, hair, and smile were all taut and professional. She handed over a pillow as gracefully as anyone could, and said, "Are you sure I can't get you a drink, sir?"}

^{"No," he replied, swirling his juice cup, "this is fine."}

^{"So you and the captain are old friends?"}

^{He smiled. "We flew together a long time ago."}