Airframe (Page 42)

"Marder approved these charges?"

"Apparently. Evelyn’s checking for me. I’ll get more later." Norma shuffled papers on her desk. "Not much else here … FAA’s going to be late with the transcript of the CVR. There’s a lot of Chinese spoken, and their translators are fighting about the meaning. The carrier’s also doing their own translation, so…"

Casey sighed. "What else is new," she said. In incidents like this one, the cockpit voice recorders were sent to the FAA, which generated a written transcript of the cockpit conversation, since the pilots’ voices were owned by the carrier. But disputes over the translation were the rule on foreign flights. It always happened.

"Did Allison call?"

"No, honey. The only personal call you got was from Teddy Rawley."

Casey sighed. "Never mind."

"That’d be my advice," Norma said.

In her office, she thumbed through the files on her desk. Most of it was paper on Transpacific 545. The first sheet summarized the stack that followed:

FAA FORM 8020-9, ACCIDENT/INCIDENT PRELIMINARY NOTICE

FAA FORM 8020-6, REPORT OF AIRCRAFT ACCIDENT

FAA FORM 8020-6-1, REPORT OF AIRCRAFT ACCIDENT (CONTINUATION)

FAA FORM 7230-10, POSITION Loos

HONOLULU ARINC

Los ANGELES ARTCC

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA ATAC

AUTOMATIC SIGN-IN/SIGN-OFF LOG

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA ATAC

FAA FORM 7230-4, DAILY RECORD OF FACILITY OPERATION

Los ANGELES ARTCC

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA ATAC

FAA FORM 7230-8, FLIGHT PROGRESS STRIP

Los ANGELES ARTCC

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA ATAC

FLIGHT PLAN, ICAO

She saw a dozen pages of flight path charts; transcriptions of air traffic control voice recordings; and more weather reports. Next was material from Norton, including a sheaf of fault record data – so far the only hard data they had to work with.

She decided to take it home. She was tired; she could look at it at home.

GLENDALE

10:45 P.M.

He sat up in bed abruptly, turned, put his feet on the floor. "So. Listen babe," he said, not looking at her.

She stared at the muscles of his bare back. The ridge of his spine. The strong lines of his shoulders.

"This was great," he said. "It’s great to see you."

"Uh-huh," she said.

"But you know, big day tomorrow."

She would have preferred he stay. The truth was, she felt better having him here at night. But she knew he was going to go. He always did. She said, "I understand. It’s okay, Teddy."

That made him turn back to her. He gave her his charming, crooked smile. "You’re the best, Casey." He bent over and kissed her, a long kiss. She knew this was because she wasn’t begging him to stay. She kissed him back, smelling the faint odor of beer. She ran her hand around his neck, caressing the fine hairs.

Almost immediately, he pulled away again. "So. Anyway. Hate to run."

"Sure, Teddy."

"By the way," Teddy said, "I hear you toured the gardens, between shifts …"

"Yeah, I did."

"You don’t want to piss off the wrong people."

"I know."

He grinned. "I’m sure you do." He kissed her cheek, then bent over, reaching for his socks. "So, anyway, I probably should be heading out…"

"Sure, Teddy," she said. "You want coffee, before you go?"

He was pulling on his cowboy boots. "Uh, no, babe. This was great. Great to see you."

Not wanting to be left alone in the bed, she got up, too. She put on a big T-shirt, walked him to the door, kissed him briefly as he left. He touched her nose, grinned. "Great," he said.

"Good night, Teddy," she said.

She locked the door, set the alarm.

Walking back through the house, she turned off the stereo, glanced around to see if he had left anything. Other men usually left something behind, because they wanted a reason to come back. Teddy never did. All trace of his presence was gone. There was only the unfinished beer on the kitchen table. She threw it in the trash, wiped away the ring of moisture.

She had been telling herself for months to end it (End what? End what? a voice said), but she somehow never got around to saying the words. She was so busy at work, it was such an effort to meet people. Six months earlier she had gone with Eileen, Marder’s assistant, to a country-and-western bar in Studio City. The place was frequented by young movie people, Disney animators – a fun crowd, Eileen said. Casey found it agonizing. She wasn’t beautiful, and she wasn’t young; she didn’t have the effortless glamour of the girls that glided through the room in tight jeans and crop tops.

The men were all too young for her, their smooth faces unformed. And she couldn’t make small talk with them. She felt herself too serious for this setting. She had a job, a child, she was looking at forty. She never went out with Eileen again.

It wasn’t that she had no interest in meeting someone. But it was just so difficult. There was never enough time, never enough energy. In the end, she didn’t bother.

So when Teddy would call, say he was in the neighborhood, she’d go unlock the door for him, and get in the shower. Get ready.

That was how it had been for a year, now.

She made tea, and got back in bed. She propped herself up against the headboard, reached for the stack of papers, and began to review the records from the fault data recorders. She started to thumb through the printout:

A/S  PWR TEST   00000010000

AIL  SERVO COMP   00001001000

AOA  INV    10200010001

CFDS  SENS  FAIL   00000010000

CRZ  CMD MON    10000020100