The Betsy (1971) (19 page)

For a moment there was nothing but the faint whine, then the sound of a faint pop, then nothing. Complete silence.

There was a complete silence in the room as Duncan reached out and turned the machine off. He looked at the coroner.

The coroner cleared his throat. “Were you able to hear that?” he asked the jury.

The foreman stood up. “Yes.”

The coroner turned to Duncan. “You mentioned a four percent grade on that turn. What did you estimate a safe speed for it? Maximum?”

“One hundred ten.”

“Were there any warning signs posted to that effect?”

“Yes, sir. Every two hundred yards beginning two miles before the turn.”

“Then you estimate that Mr. Peerless entered that turn at sixty miles per hour in excess of the maximum safe speed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you tell me at what point then the engine exploded?”

“The engine did not explode,” Duncan said.

The county prosecutor cut in. “But previous witnesses testified that there was an explosion followed by a fire. How do you explain that, Mr. Duncan?”

The Scotsman turned to him. “The explosion did not take place in the engine. It took place in the fuel tank ignited by an electrostatic spark as the tank cracked open.”

“Then there could have possibly been a fault in the fuel tank?”

“There was no fault in the fuel tank. It was equipped and built with every safety precaution known to man. But there is nothing in our present technology that will enable us to build a tank that can resist an impact at one seventy miles an hour.”

“How can you be sure that it was the fuel tank and not the engine?”

“Because we have the engine. It is smashed beyond repair but the engine itself is mostly in one piece. If it had exploded, it would have been scattered all over the place.”

The county prosecutor nodded and went back to his seat. The coroner looked at the jury. “Do you have any further questions?”

The foreman stood up hesitantly. “I drive a car, Mr. Duncan. And because of the high power performance of your engine, I suppose you have to use a very high octane gasoline. Is that what was used?”

“No, sir,” Duncan said. “That is one of the advantages of a turbine engine. It does not require high octane or leaded gasoline to achieve maximum efficiency.”

“What kind of gasoline did you use then?” the foreman asked.

“We did not use gasoline.”

“What did you use then?”

“Kerosene,” Duncan replied.

“Thank you,” the foreman nodded and sat down.

The coroner leaned across his bench. “Do you think, Mr. Duncan, that had you used gasoline instead of kerosene the explosion and the fire that followed it might have been prevented?”

“Not under the circumstances.” Duncan was very sure of himself. “As a matter of fact, it would have been more susceptible to explosion and fire. The octane rating in gasoline is a measure of its combustibility, thus the higher the rating, the more combustible.”

The coroner glanced around the room, then back at the Scotsman. “It seems there are no further questions. Thank you, Mr. Duncan. You may step down.”

The room was silent as the Scotsman returned to his chair. Angelo shook his hand and Cindy kissed the old man’s cheek. “You were wonderful,” she said.

The Scotsman flushed, pleased. “But I’m still angry,” he whispered. “What I want to know is who put them up to this?”

“We’ll find out,” Angelo said calmly. “First let’s see what happens next.”

The coroner and the county prosecutor were conferring in whispers. After a moment the attorney returned to his seat and the coroner looked at the court.

“There will be no further witnesses called,” he said. He turned to the jury. “You have heard the testimony of the doctors who performed the autopsy on the remains of Mr. Peerless as to the fact that his death was due directly to injuries received in the course of the collision and that the burns on his body were after his decease. You have also heard the testimony of other witnesses supplying information in connection with circumstances surrounding the death of Mr. Peerless. Do you have any further questions to ask pertaining to this matter?”

The foreman shook his head. “No.”

The coroner nodded and continued. “You are then requested to reach a determination as to the cause and responsibility for Mr. Peerless’ death. There are several such determinations available to you. Let me list some of them.

“One, in the event that you feel Mr. Peerless’ death was the fault of anyone other than himself, you may so state. If you further feel that there was criminal negligence resulting in that fault, you may so state. You do not in either of the above cases need to name the person or persons responsible, though you may if you should so desire.

“Two, in the event that you feel Mr. Peerless’ death was his own fault, you may so state. In that case you may state simply that the cause of death was due to driver error.”

He paused and looked at the jury. They were silent. “Do you wish now to retire and consider your verdict?”

The foreman of the jury leaned over to his confreres. For a moment there was a whispered conversation, then he rose to his feet. “No, sir.”

The coroner looked at him. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do you wish to render your determination?”

The foreman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And that is?”

The small room was very silent as the foreman began to speak. “It is the unanimous conclusion of this jury that in the matter of the death of Mr. Sylvester Peerless, the cause of his death was his own fault, driver error and plain damn foolishness on his part.”

A rustle of noise burst in the small room as reporters began to rush toward the door. The coroner’s gavel banged on the table before him. His voice could hardly be heard over the bustle of sound.

“The determination of the jury has been heard and the coroner’s inquest into the death of Sylvester Peerless is now closed.”

 Chapter Two

In the corner of the dimly lit cocktail bar of the Starlight Motel, a goateed black piano player made gentle drink-time noises which tinkled behind the hum of conversation in the crowded room. They sat jammed into a tiny booth against the far wall.

Artie Roberts looked across the table at Angelo. “What’s my best connection to New York tomorrow morning? Spokane or Seattle?”

Angelo shrugged. “I think Seattle has more flights but Spokane is sixty miles nearer. Check it out with the front desk.”

Artie got to his feet. “I’ll do that now. Be right back.”

Cindy picked up her drink and stared into it. “It’s the death wish, that’s what it is.”

“What did you say?” Angelo asked.

She didn’t look up from the glass. “I think that’s what it is. You all really want to die, don’t you?”

Angelo didn’t answer.

“You know, I knew he was going to kill himself when he got in that car,” she said, still staring into her glass. “That’s why I went back to the motel instead of hanging around for him. I didn’t want to be there when he did it.”

“If that was the way you felt, why didn’t you try to stop him?” Angelo asked.

“What for? If he wouldn’t do it that day, he would another. I wasn’t going to be around to stop him forever.”

Angelo signaled for another round. She picked up her fresh drink and tasted it.

“I think I’ll be moving on tomorrow,” she said.

“What for? Got anything better to do?”

She shook her head. “No. But this isn’t my bag. You know that. These cars don’t make any noise.”

“Someday all cars won’t make noise,” he said. “Then what’ll you do?”

“By that time, I’ll be too old to enjoy it anyway,” she said.

“You’re a good driver,” said Angelo. “I know Duncan won’t like to lose you. He says you have a good point of view.”

“I like the old man. But I only took the job to go along with Fearless. He thought you were going into racing then.”

“So did we,” Angelo said. “But that’s not where it’s at any more. At least not in what we’re trying to do.”

“I know that,” she said. She picked up her drink and looked at it. “When did you stop being crazy?”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at him. “You were like all the others once. Ready to buy it any time, any place, on any corner. Then, like all in one crazy day, it was over and you weren’t the same man in the afternoon that you were in the morning. I knew that when I came and found you in the tub.”

“We all have to grow up sometime,” he said. “Maybe that was my time.”

She was silent. She put her drink down with a kind of finality. “Maybe that’s it. I don’t want to grow up. Grown-ups don’t need me. They can manage very well by themselves. But guys like Fearless, like you used to be, need someone to hold them together when they’re not behind a wheel. Someone who can make them feel a little bit alive when they’re not doing what they’re about.”

She rose. “I had them move me to another room.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

“I have some new tapes you haven’t heard. Maybe after dinner you’ll come over and we’ll listen to them.”

“We’ll see. I’ll give you a call about eight o’clock when we’re ready for dinner.”

“Better make it closer to seven if you figure on getting anything to eat,” she said. “They roll it up early around here.”

“Okay.” He watched her thread her way through the crowded lounge and there was something very alone and young and wistful in the way she moved.

The waiter appeared at his elbow. “There’s a long-distance call for you, Mr. Perino.”

He followed the waiter to a booth in the corner of the room. He closed the door and the sounds faded into the background.

“Mr. Perino?” the long-lines operator singsonged.

“Speaking.”

Number One’s voice came on. “You’re a hard man to find,” he complained irascibly.

“No, I’m not,” Angelo replied. “This is the only bar in town.”

“I just heard over the radio about the coroner’s finding. I thought you were going to call me.”

“I figured it was too late back East by the time we got out of court. But it worked out all right.”

“We were lucky. It could have turned up a real stink,” the old man said.

“I would still like to find out who put the finger on us,” Angelo said. “I’m sure the coroner and local county prosecutor didn’t dream this up by themselves.”

“You sound more like your grandfather every day,” said Number One. “He was always convinced there was a plot behind everything. That nothing happened by itself.”

“Maybe he was right,” Angelo said. “But you know as well as I that had we been caught off base, the publicity could have wiped out the whole project before we even got started. Doesn’t it seem a little strange to you that the news and wire services had the story on the inquest even before we were served?”

“We’re building a new car,” Number One said. “That’s big news. You might as well get used to it. They’ll be watching you every minute.”

“I know that already,” Angelo said. “The photographers have been all over the place trying to get pictures of the car. They’ve even come over the proving grounds in helicopters with telescopic cameras.”

“They get anything?”

“Not of our design. But they have plenty of photos of Vegas, Pintos and Gremlins. Maybe even a Maverick or Nova or two.”

Number One chuckled. “That should annoy them. How many cars do you have on the road?”

“Thirty-one on the roads all over the West and Southwest. Eight on the proving grounds plus six without camouflage which we run only at night.”

“You’re doing all right. When do you think you’ll be ready to freeze the design?”

“Seven, eight months. September or October,” Angelo replied.

“We won’t make the fall showings.”

“That’s right,” Angelo said. “But I figure we can make the New York Automobile Show in the spring. It might even be to our advantage. All the other seventy-two’s will be frozen, we can be the first out with a seventy-three.”

“I like that,” Number One said. His tone changed. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

Angelo heard the phone change hands. Betsy’s voice came on the wire. It had a faint, breathless quality. “When are you going to let me come out and drive one of those cars?”

“When we’re finished with our tests, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied.

“You don’t have to be so formal, Angelo,” she said. “I told Number One about the night I came to your hotel room.”

He laughed. “I hope you also told him I drove you home.”

“I told him that too and he wanted to know why.”

“Could be you just turned eighteen,” Angelo said.

“That’s how old Great-Grandmother was when he married her. You better think it over. Girls like me don’t stay available too long.”

Angelo laughed. “Maybe it’s just that I’m not the marrying kind, Miss Elizabeth.”

“I’m going to Europe to visit my aunt after Daddy’s wedding,” she said. “You know about the men over there.”

“I know about them,” he smiled. “I hope you do.”

“You still think I’m a child. Just because you went to school with my mother doesn’t mean that I’m not old enough for you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he said. “But I’m the old-fashioned type. I think the man should do the asking.”

“Okay,” she said. “Ask me.”

“Not just now,” he laughed. “I’ve got a car to build.” There was a knock on the door of the phone booth. A sheriff’s deputy stood there. “Hold on a moment,” he told her and opened the door.

“Mr. Perino?” the deputy asked politely.

“Yes?”

“This is for you.” He handed Angelo an official-looking document.

It seemed to be a standard warrant form. His name, Duncan’s and Bethlehem Motors Company were typed on the cover sheet. He opened the paper and looked at it. It was an injunction signed by a judge forbidding them to drive any of their test cars powered by a gas turbine engine on any road in the state of Washington. He looked up. The deputy was already halfway through the lounge. He turned back to the telephone. “Put Number One back on.”

A note of concern came into her voice. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Plenty,” he said sharply. “Put him on.”

“What is it?” Number One’s voice echoed in the phone.

“I was just served an injunction that orders us not to drive any of our cars on public roads in this state.”

“What?” Number One was surprised. “How can they do such a thing?”

“I don’t know how they can do it but they did,” he said. He paused a moment while he fished for a cigarette with his free hand. “Now, tell me that no one’s behind all this.”

Number One was silent.

“Whoever it is has a lot of muscle going for him,” Angelo said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Artie Roberts is still here,” Angelo replied. “He was checking the next flight to New York. But he’s not going to make it. He can fight this in the courts.”

“That could take a lot of time,” Number One said.

“If it was nothing but time I wouldn’t be that worried,” said Angelo. “If we don’t get this injunction lifted, the Betsy may never get on the road.”