The Pilot's Wife_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [63]
She sat on the edge of the sofa. She propped the book on her lap and began to turn the pages. When nothing immediately revealed itself, she decided to start at the beginning with the intention of turning each page until she had found the lines she was looking for. But it quickly became clear to her that she wouldn’t have to do that: The early poems were ancient. Using the language in the lines of the poem as a guide, she opened the book about halfway through. There, the verse was by poets who wrote in a syntax similar to the lines she had in her hand. She began methodically to make her way through the pages when Robert called to her from Jack’s office.
Outside, the snow was thickening steadily, falling against the windows in swift cascades. The forecasters were predicting six to eight inches, Robert had said. At least Kathryn knew where Mattie was and that she wouldn’t be going out in a car.
She put the book down and went up to Jack’s office, where Robert was seated at the desk. In his hands, he held the shiny paper of a fax. And she realized suddenly, as she saw him sitting in Jack’s chair, that Robert knew what was on the tape — of course he did.
“Tell me about the tape,” she said.
“This is a list of all of the people Jack ever flew with at Vision,” he said, handing her the fax.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the list from him but not looking at it. She could see that he hadn’t thought she would ask. “Please,” she said. “Tell me what you know.”
He crossed his arms and rolled the chair away from the desk, putting a little distance between them. “I haven’t heard the tape itself,” he said. “None of us has.”
“No, I know that.”
“I can only tell you what I’ve been told by a friend of mine who works with me at the union.”
“I know.”
“You really want to hear this?”
“Yes,” she said, although she didn’t know, she couldn’t be sure. How could she be sure she wanted to hear it until she’d heard it?
He stood abruptly and walked to the window, his back to Kathryn. He spoke briskly, in a businesslike manner, as though to strip the words of any emotional content.
“The flight is normal until fifty-six minutes into it,” he said. “Jack is apparently taken short.”
“Taken short?”
“He leaves the cockpit at fifty-six minutes and fourteen seconds into the flight. He doesn’t say what’s wrong, only that he will be right back. They — the people who have heard the tape — assume he went into the bathroom.” He turned to look in her direction, though not quite at her.
She nodded.
“Two minutes later, First Officer Roger Martin announces he’s having trouble with his headset. He asks to borrow those of Trevor Sullivan, the engineer. Sullivan hands Martin his own headset and says, Try these. Martin tries the engineer’s headset, finds Sullivan’s works just fine, and says to him, Well, it’s not the plug. My headset must be bad.”
“Roger Martin’s headphones are bad,” Kathryn said.
“Yes. So Martin gives Sullivan his headset back, and then Sullivan says, Here, wait a minute. Maybe Lyons has a spare. Apparently, Sullivan then unfastens his seat belt and reaches over into Jack’s flight bag. You know where the flight bags are stowed?”
“Beside the pilots?”
“On the outside bulkhead beside each pilot. Yes. And Sullivan must then pull out something from Jack’s flight bag that he doesn’t recognize. Because he says, What the hell?”
“It’s something he didn’t expect.” “It seems that way.”
“Not headphones.”
“We don’t know.”
“And then?”
“And then Jack enters the cockpit. Sullivan says, Lyons, is this a joke?”
Robert paused. He leaned against the windowsill, half sitting. “There may have been a scuffle here,” Robert said. “I’ve heard conflicting reports. But if there was, it was quick. Because Sullivan says almost immediately, What the fuck?”
“And?”
“And then he says, Jesus Christ.”
“Who says Jesus Christ?”
“Sullivan.”
“And?”
“And that’s all.”
“No one says anything else?”
“The tape ends.”
She tilted her head toward the ceiling, contemplating what