Hidden Failure

By Arthur K Davenport

A new career investigating an airplane crash... was it murder or accident? Can Dale solve a crime with no clews and no witnesses? Anna's car accident starts another series of events that will lead to yet another dead body, but whose? Lives, careers, and romances are lost in a mystery that may never be fully solved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur K Davenport
• Release date: Oct 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311583673

Arthur K Davenport

Mr. Davenport started his professional career in the United States Air Force after receiving his undergraduate degree in engineering from Stevens Institute of Technology. He later received a Master of Science Degree in Mechanical Engineering from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Following the Air Force, Mr. Davenport worked for Hamilton Standard on the design and development of the Apollo Back Pack. So, why would a guy who reads mostly technical books write a novel? He doesn't know, but he once said, "Language is the logic of the mind. Ignore it at your peril." Unlike his protagonists, Mr. Davenport avoids peril whenever possible. Mr. Davenport now lives with his wife and two dogs in Washington State on an island in Puget Sound.

Book preview

1

Freedom

I knew I would always grieve for my now dead family, but I had thought that if I killed the murderer, the grief and rage would soften its grip on me. And in truth, when I finally killed the murderer, the rage did disappear, but the grief, much to my surprise, enlarged. It was as though the grief swallowed the rage, and they became one. You don't just walk away from killing a human being and find freedom, regardless of how justified the act of taking another's life without mercy may be.

I attended his funeral uninvited. And there stood Bradley Smithton's family, his friends, his acquaintances –– some in tears, some angry, some trying to hide their joy at his death –– and me. I stood off near a line of parked cars, and watched, feeling nothing.

And then I saw a pair of eyes that watched the watcher –– a pair I would see again –– a woman's.

2

The Long Fast Fall

The shaking began 9 miles above the earth at a speed of Mach 2.1. He backed off to 1.8 –– and still it shook – even harder. Slowing to 1.6, he was sure that pieces were coming off the skin, at 1.3, off the structure. The noise of it added to his fear. The human missile/airplane hurtled through the sky. He nearly froze, stuck in a fear bigger than his mind could hold. He struggled with the controls. The controls stopped responding. The noise increased. And now the speed increased. The displays went blank. The nose went down. He tried everything to stop it.

He saw the ground coming up at him. He knew it was a populated area. He held back on ejecting as long as he could, but when the time came to punch out, it didn’t work. It was no surprise. He knew he couldn’t eject at that speed. So, he watched in horror, fixated on the coming point of impact. He couldn’t even speak anymore. And what took mere seconds seemed like an hour to him.

The plane hit the terrain at a speed above the muzzle velocity of a handgun and below that of a rifle, mostly intact until impact, but in a mindless state. And the houses it destroyed were gone in an instant. So were the families – the husbands, the wives, the children. And it happened in the blackness of night.

It had been Bill’s third flight as a test pilot in the XF3. He had worked hard to get that position on the testing of an advanced fighter, one that compensated for it’s own loss of control surface capabilities, a plane with a mind of its own. And that night it lost its mind and took Bill’s with it, body and soul.

The preliminary verdict on the crash was that the pilot could not have done anything about it. It wasn’t the usual conclusion of pilot error. Enter, the unknown.

The two other experimental XF3’s were grounded. The maker of the control compensating system, Air Electron Inc., was called on the block, but Greg Kostle, the program's Chief Engineer, was in no shape to explain anything. The pilot had been his son, William Kostle, an ex-Navy fighter pilot who was working as a civilian test pilot for NASA before he had landed nose down that night. And the grief had struck hard.

Days later, just when Air Electron desperately needed the person with the most history on the program, just when the lawyers of the families of those killed were jockeying for first place in the queue for lawsuits, just as these same families were lost in unimaginable pain, and just when Greg Kostle was still deep in his own personal grief, Greg Kostle disappeared.

And the very next day he appeared again, but now he was wet, and cold, and floating, and dead.

3

A Second Funeral

The dual funeral was well attended. Primarily, four types of people were there: family, friends, clergy, and colleagues. It was a rare sight, the funerals of both son and father in one service. And in the midst, lost in a sorrow so dense it seemed to darken the sun above, was the wife and mother, Maureen Kostle.

There were also guests of a fifth type, uninvited guests –– investigators. How can anyone be so thoughtless as to invade a sacred event such as this? I watched, and I wept. I was one of the fifth type, just as I had been at Brad's funeral, a man for whom I could never weep. And the eyes of the other fifth types, mainly FBI, were upon both me and the real mourners. After all, it was a government project failure. I was just an engineer, a stranger – and why was I there? That they didn't know, and I suppose it bothered them. Furthermore, I was an unemployed engineer. If they had known that, I suppose it would have bothered them even more.

So, why was I there? Well, someone had to find out why the plane crashed and why the pilot’s father had died. The FBI had to depend on the NTSB, the FAA, the various manufacturers, and the local police, but the FBI did not have the expertise required to believe anything other than what they were told. In fact, those had been almost the exact words Maureen Kostle had used in her conversation with Earl. She wanted an investigation of what happened to her family. The government wanted an investigation of what had happened to the government. Those were vastly different goals.

4

The Interview

Earl and Mel Richards were recommended to me by a close friend. I hope he was correct to do so, Maureen Kostle said to me the next day at her home. I had expected them to be the ones to do the investigation. They are the ones with the impressive credentials for this type of investigation.

She was calm, almost too calm considering her losses, but her eyes gave insight into her grief that her voice did not. It was one of those rare wave crests above the depressing thoughts of what you had convinced yourself could not possibly happen. When my wife and child had been brutally murdered, I had gone through brief hours of the same calm. I understood it and could accept it in others.

Earl Richards is officially retired. So is Mel, I explained. He was a chief of police for many years, and Mel used to do this type of investigating as a business, also for many years. I do the on-site work now. They'll be involved. Don't worry.

And what are your qualifications? she asked.

I'm an aerospace engineer, or at least I was until now, I answered.

Maureen thought about that for a few moments and then asked, Do you know what you’re doing? People are saying horrible things about my husband. They say it's completely his fault. They say he committed suicide, but I think someone killed him to shut him up. Can you prove someone did before that person kills you too?

That last sentence was a bit chilling, but I felt it best to stay positive and simply said, Whoever killed him will find me more difficult to kill –– impossible actually.

She looked me in the face for awhile until she seemed satisfied.

And who is the young woman sitting in your car? she asked.

My wife, Anna, Earl's daughter, I replied.

I thought you were Earl's son, she said with mild surprise.

A coincidence of last names. I'm not related to Earl, I explained.

Well, that's odd. You're Dale Riley Richards, and he's Earl Richards –– no blood relation?

Correct, I said.

And Mel is Anna's mother? she asked.

No, it's a bit more complicated. Mel is the sister of Anna's mother. Anna's mother died of cancer a few years ago. Earl married Mel a couple of months ago. It's been a rough couple of years, I said.

And then she asked right out of the blue, Do you have children, Dale?

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. I nearly crumbled to the floor.

She repeated the question and then commented, Are you OK? You look pale.

My breathing quickened as I heard myself say, My son is dead.

My dear man, she said, You both must be devastated.

After a few second's silence, I said, Anna isn't Jack's mother. My first wife...my first love, Gwenn, was murdered along with Jack. That's why I said it's been a rough couple of years.

That was followed by silence, and then.

Then you must know, she said. I can see it in your face. When exactly did this happen?

About a year and a half ago, I answered.

We both have open wounds of the same kind then, she said softly, looking at nothing.

And then, Please ask Anna to come in, Dale. I would like to know both of you.

I left Maureen in her living room and went to talk to Anna.

After explaining Maureen’s request, Anna walked with me back to the house.

When we were seated in the house, the inquisition began in earnest.

How long have you two been married? Maureen asked, looking straight at Anna.

Five months, give or take a little, Anna responded.

Maureen paused, as seemed to be her conversational custom.

And then, looking straight at me, she said with calm, quiet judgment, That was quick.

We needed each other quite desperately, Anna answered for me.

Why? asked Maureen.

"Dale and I were both at the bottom of our lives. He was consumed by hatred and guilt. I was consumed by guilt and hatred. It was a match made in heaven.

I was two years out of an emotionally and physically abusive marriage. I needed a hero who actually loved me. Dale was a year out of an extremely violent double murder of his beloved wife and child. He needed someone to love him.

Anna hesitated, looked at me and said, We both needed someone...someone we could trust. Who can you trust better than someone who truly loves you?

Now that was a sentence you don't hear very often.

Another long silence ensued, followed by a change in Maureen’s visage to one of calm satisfaction.

Was the murderer caught and punished? she asked me.

Two dogs, a very nice 45 semi-automatic, two hollow point bullets, and I got together and killed him on an extremely dark night in the woods, I said slowly, with a slight look of hatred in my eyes.

So, you are a murderer yourself then, was her quiet comment.

Not according to the district attorney. He said it was self-defense, I replied.

Was it? Maureen asked, ever curious.

Ask the dogs sometime, I answered. They felt much the same about it as I did, and they both helped me kill him.

OK, she said. You’ll do. You need to talk to my youngest.

And with that she gave me the name and address of her other son – the one I didn’t even know existed.

He won’t like you. He doesn’t like his father or me, but he loved his brother, Maureen added.

OK, but he’s never met me. Why would he be hostile to me? I asked.

You’re an engineer. He said the engineers killed his brother. He said so at the funeral, Maureen offered.

So, what in the world do you expect him to tell me? I asked.

I expect he knows nothing that will help you. I just want him to stop hating his father, she replied.

So, that’s part of the job description then? I asked.

Yes, she said.

Can you give me the names of other interested parties, and maybe introduce me to all that you can? I asked.

Not too many. I suspect that most will be hostile towards your interest in the matter. I’ll give you what I can and help where I can. There are a few friendly faces involved, but probably very few, Maureen answered. I will ask the CEO of my husband’s company to have you included as much as possible, but there are government secrets involved. I doubt you will get full access to information –– maybe no access at all. To my knowledge, Robert Wilson is a good man, but I suppose you will have to suspect nearly everyone, Maureen replied.

I have a question, Anna said. Were you and your husband close?

Maureen froze, looking directly at me.

Finally, Thank you for coming, Dale.

Anna and I stood and left.

5

Goodbye

Anna had come along to Connecticut as the result of a last minute decision and my excessive pleading. We had not been apart since the first time I realized I had fallen in love with her. And now we were going to separate, if only for a few days. We got back to the hotel to collect her bags and had to quickly get her to her plane at Bradley International. Her dental practice was in need of her talents. The hotel was located along route 75 in Windsor Locks. The airport was close by, but time was short. So, it was of some interest to me to come from the other room of the two-room suite and find her wearing nothing but a phone cord.

We have a few hours reprieve. I got a seat on the red-eye back to Seattle. I had to pay for first class. So, you'd better make it worth it. I’m not going to go back without a few last minute screams of ecstasy to keep me warm for all the nights I’ll have to sleep alone.

The events that followed are best left to the imagination. All I'll say is that Anna's body is a pleasure beyond charm itself. All other desires instantly drain from me with the smallest glimpse of her form, her hair, her skin. And so it was that night. Afterward, we lay exhausted on the bed, still entangled, physically and emotionally, listening to the warm silence. I could see the clock, and mentioned the time softly in her left ear.

Anna disentangled herself, slowly rose from the bed, and approached the large window looking over some trees into the now dark night. She pressed her warm body against the cold glass. It was dark in the room with only a little artificial light coming in through the window.

I walked over to her, put my hands on her waist, bent forward, and kissed her on the side of her neck. She started to shake, and I saw a tear fall onto her breast.

I need you back, Dale. You’re only on loan here. You belong to me...and I’m frightened.

I'll be fine. I don't think I'm dealing with the mob here, I replied.

I don't mean that... she said and paused.

What? What's bothering you? I asked.

You. There's something wrong. The light has gone out in your eyes. You're like you were the first time we met and had breakfast that Sunday.

I don't know what to say. I killed a man. It still affects me, I stammered, not wanting to explain.

OK, I can accept that...but I need you back the way you were. I need to know you're not another mistake. I've bet all I have left in me on you.

6

The Night Brain

Every night since we fell in love, Anna and I had slept together. Every night, we felt safe together. Nearly every night, we made love. The night that she left Connecticut to go back home was the first time I had slept alone in months, certainly the first night I had been alone since I had murdered Brad.

When I returned from the airport to the suite, it was nearly two in the morning. My muscles had begun to shut down, but my brain was wildly active.

It started simply enough. I scratched my hand on a sharp edge of the rental car door. I didn't realize I was bleeding until I got to the suite. I remember saying ouch to myself at the time, but that's about it. Now there was a little spot of blood on the front of my shirt where my hand had touched it.

I'm normally not bothered by blood, but on seeing it I flashed back to when I shot Brad –– that truly was a bloody scene. I shivered briefly. I remembered the large bloodstain on his shirt from the two bullets I had put in him. All of a sudden I visually jumped as my whole body twitched in reaction to the memory. At the time that I shot him I had been calm. Now I couldn't keep myself still. I had killed a man...no, let's be honest, I had murdered a man. I might have been able to save his life after my first shot, but I didn't try, and all because I hated him...and he deserved it. He killed my son. He killed my wife. My thoughts whirled through my head. At one point, I almost screamed.

I sat down and purposefully slowed my breathing. I tried to turn off my brain. In a few minutes I was calm again, but the guilt was just beginning.

I took off my clothes and got into bed, turned out the light, and the onslaught started up again.

I could have gone to jail. I could still go to jail. I hadn't been proven innocent in a court of law because I simply hadn't been indicted. They could still do that if they changed their minds. I could be sentenced to death. On the other hand, if I had been put on trial for the murder of Brad and then proven innocent, they could never touch me again, but they didn't do that. I was still vulnerable.

And the thoughts ran on. I hadn't protected my family. Gwenn was dead in a pool of her own blood. Jack's little body was in shreds. Why had I looked at those police pictures? What have I done?

It all came spilling out over and over again. My teeth were clenched. I was sweating. I was shaking. And