Into the Inferno - Earl Emerson [106]
When I heard the shower running, I knew I was in for a wait.
The funeral had been hell. Sitting between Karrie and Ben Arden’s wife, Cherie, I could only wonder why I hadn’t believed Stan Beebe’s story back when there’d been a chance to save him.
The world had mobilized to save my butt, but without lifting a finger I’d let Stan drown in a sea of desperation.
The visit to Joel McCain’s house and the bizarre interactions between the chemists from Canyon View had been puzzling at best. Achara’s quiet conference with me and desperate anger at Donovan had been even more puzzling. Thinking to catch her alone, I’d been on the lookout for her all day, but it hadn’t happened.
Back to the station after the accident, I was standing outside in the sunshine dialing various media outlets on a cell phone when the black Suburban pulled into the gravel lot across the street from the firehouse, Donovan and Carpenter peering out the open driver’s window like an old married couple out for a Sunday afternoon drive, the issues between them seemingly resolved.
Side by side, they walked across the street just as Stephanie came out of the station. After eavesdropping on my phone conversation for a moment, Donovan said, “You’re not calling a television station, are you?”
Placing my palm over the phone, I said, “Yes. Why?”
“That’s crazy. You should stop!”
“I’m—”
“Trust me on this. I was in Chattanooga, where the news guys came in like a herd of elephants and raised so much dust things never got right again. The investigation ground to a halt! I’m telling you. We’ve got a couple of days to move like lightning. Don’t gum up the works.”
I told the folks at the TV station I would call back. Maybe Donovan had a point. He’d been through this before; I hadn’t. I had a strong inclination to hold a press conference, but maybe he was right.
Donovan interrupted my thoughts. “I’m planning to run down some leads here in the valley. I want to look over the accident site from last winter. I also want to interview McCain’s friends. And Feldbaum’s. Maybe yours, too. Sometimes you can get something verbally that you can’t dig up with test tubes and science.”
“I told you before. It’s got something to do with Jane’s California Propulsion, Inc. It has to.”
“I know. I know. And we think there might be something to that. I’ve already done a quick read-through of my lists from three years ago, and I can’t find their name. I’m going to have Achara work on that this afternoon. She’ll check out the various components to rocket fuel and see what the health implications are. She’ll also make some calls about Jane’s. We have a few contacts in the industry, so we might be able to learn something.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. We want you well, pal.”
“Thanks.”
He winked. I glanced at Achara to see what her take on this was, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“If you’re still thinking about calling the media,” Donovan said, “don’t. I’m telling you. They show up, they’ll turn this into a circus. You want to give a hundred interviews a day? That’s what the chief in Chattanooga was doing. And they didn’t get one pertinent piece of information from the public. Not one.”
Stephanie came out of the station in time to hear this. “You’re not going to call the media?” she asked.
“I was. Donovan’s got another take on it.”
“I think you should.”
“What do you think, Achara?” I asked.
She turned to me. “It’s your call. I’m not going to vote on a thing like that.” Everybody waited for my decision, Stephanie, Donovan, Carpenter, Ian Hjorth, who’d also come outside and joined our group.
“I’m going to talk,” I said.
Stephanie patted my shoulder. “Good. Somebody out there might know something.”
Shaking his head with a conviction that almost changed my mind, Donovan said,