Part 9 (1/2)
CHAPTER 14.
THEIR FOOTSTEPS ECHOED out of sync in the vast hangar as Bohannon and Suter walked along the gray aluminum wall heading toward the small conference room tucked in the corner away from the remains of the airliner. The FBI agent made no effort to time his pace to walk alongside the detective. Bohannon stared at the back of Suter's head, noted his dark hair looked spikier this morning, a little less conservative. Probably due for a haircut. The detective sauntered behind at his own pace, refusing to speed up.
”Are you feeling better?” Bohannon asked, projecting his voice ahead.
Suter didn't slow down, just kept walking tap, tap, tap across the cement floor at his own speed.
”Much better,” Suter said as they arrived at the metal conference room door.
Inside Pirelli sat behind the table with his belly pressed against and spilling onto its edge, his red tie trapped and pulling at his collar. He s.h.i.+fted his seat back and forth enough to free it, then looked up and smiled at the investigators. He took off his heavy black gla.s.ses and wiped them with the tie.
”So let's catch up,” he said, waving a hand at the empty chairs across from him. ”What was up with Mr. Newsome Sat.u.r.day morning?”
”He laid an egg,” Bohannon said, deadpan.
”I don't follow.” Pirelli looked back and forth at the two men, his jowls spilling over one side of his collar and then the other with each swing of his head.
Suter raised a hand and glared at Bohannon. ”We don't know for certain it was an egg.”
”Well, a big white oblong globe came out of his backside, and the doctors implied it was an egg. They said he laid it,” Bohannon said. ”And he spat acid all over the place.”
”What?” Pirelli's eyes widened. ”Suter, explain.”
”The doctors had Newsome in an examination room. Before we got there, they said he pa.s.sed this so-called egg and began spitting acid at them. They hypothesized he was protecting the egg and wouldn't allow anybody near him. We had to call in animal control and shoot him with a tranquilizer dart.”
”What's the connection to our investigation?”
”Other than the fact that he was a pa.s.senger on the flight, we don't know if there is one.”
Bohannon leaned forward. ”Tell him about the woman jumping off the building and Mrs. Gonzales reading her husband's mind. Something is going on with these pa.s.sengers.”
”There's more?” Pirelli asked.
Suter nodded. ”The pa.s.sengers we've encountered so far all seem to be behaving oddly. But again, we don't have any evidence that there is a connection to the flight.”
Bohannon snorted.
Suter glared back at him. ”We don't have any evidence there's a connection. Everything is just conjecture at this point, particularly for you.” Suter pointed a finger and then tapped the table in front of the detective with it.
”Particularly for me? What's that mean?” Bohannon asked.
”He means there are facts in the case that you are not aware of,” Pirelli said, turning back to the FBI agent. ”Portland P.D. has agreed to let us have him. Can we read him in on the rest of the case?”
”He's cleared the security and background checks,” Suter said. ”He's already been exposed to some of the stranger aspects of the case. There is no point in keeping the preliminary findings from him. It will just interfere with his ability to help figure out what happened. I say, we let him in, all the way.”
”Detective, before we can discuss the preliminary findings from the crash investigation with you, I need you to read and sign this form. It basically says if you reveal anything about this investigation, even to your lieutenant or other supervisors, you can get up to ten years in prison,” Pirelli said.
”Are my supervisors aware that I will have information that I can't tell them?”
”They are aware that you are legally prevented from discussing details of the investigation with them. They may not fully understand the ramifications to you if you tell them something.”
”All I can think of is 'It doesn't matter how many pieces of paper you guys sign...we're all going to the pokey,'” Bohannon quoted the animal control guy from the hospital on Sat.u.r.day.
”If you don't sign, you will essentially continue to be my chauffeur. You won't know enough to help much with questioning and most of what goes on will make absolutely no sense to you,” Suter said. ”It's up to you. You'll be more help and the case will be more interesting, if you are in the loop.”
”I'm not sure I want this case to get any more interesting,” he said. ”My dad would say this is like being caught between a dog and a fire hydrant. Got a pen?”
Pirelli reached into his s.h.i.+rt pocket, extracted a gold-trimmed black ballpoint pen, clicked it and handed it to Bohannon. He then reached down to his briefcase on the floor and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He slid them across the table.
”Sign the back page at the bottom,” he said.
Bohannon didn't bother reading it. He signed and slid the doc.u.ment back across the table.
”Welcome aboard, officially. I wish I could say, you won't regret it. I can say that I don't think you'll be bored. Special Agent Suter, let's walk the detective through the preliminary findings.”
Floodlights bathing the plane wreckage cast long shadows from every crack and wound, making it look like a museum exhibit, an abstract sculpture warning of a technological apocalypse just around the corner. Pirelli acted as tour guide, pointing at various pieces of the plane and discussing what had been recovered and what had not. Bohannon and Suter followed him down the entire fuselage, stepping over parts and knots of cabling, ducking under a stub of a wing. Finally they got to the gash in the rear of the plane exposing the pa.s.senger cabin. While frayed cables and insulation hung raggedly along the edges, the metal alloy that made up the vehicle's skin curled from the inside out. Clearly something had exploded from within.
The interior, as far as Bohannon could see, looked blackened along the edges of the opening, but fixtures, upholstery and carpeting had not been consumed by fire. They appeared stained but not melted or charred.
”It looks like something blew open the side of the plane. Was it an explosive?”
”Something definitely caused an explosion. We can't determine what. We don't see any signs of chemicals. Most bombs leave residue and a pattern to indicate its location. This looks like the plane just popped because of a sudden explosive force, like an aerosol can exposed to too much heat.”
When they cleared the end of the plane, Bohannon saw the far side of the hangar for the first time. A series of connected opaque plastic tents, which reminded him of portable greenhouses, filled the s.p.a.ce beyond the wrecked aircraft. They emitted a steady hum, like fans circulating air or electric generators running.
”What is that?” Bohannon pointed at the tents.
”That,” Pirelli said, ”is where we keep the preliminary findings. Special Agent Suter will take you through and give you the rundown. I have a conference call to attend.”
”Let's go,” Suter said. ”You haven't seen anything weird yet.”
Suter opened a metal cabinet outside the molded plastic doorway leading into the tents. Inside hung full-body BioSuits.
”BioSuits? Are we in danger of being contaminated by something?”
Suter smiled. ”No. These are designed to keep us from contaminating evidence, and they will keep us warm. It's cold in there.” He handed a suit to Bohannon and said, ”Just put it on over your clothes and throw it into that big bin over there when you come out. We don't have to wear a plastic face mask and breathing gear, just wear the cloth surgical mask over your mouth.”
”This is a little more claustrophobic than it looks,” Bohannon said as he slipped it on.
”You'll forget about it in a minute. You ready to go in?”
Suter held open the door. Bohannon walked into the dark, sliding his feet to avoid tripping until he could get his bearings. Behind him he heard the door close and a metal switch flip. A series of industrial fluorescent lights illuminated, revealing rows of stainless steel tables, each covered by a sheet.
Bohannon's mind stalled. It took him several seconds to bring some context to the setting and to figure out what he saw. ”What is this?” he asked. ”It looks like a morgue.”