As he was talking, Kennington reached high up on one of the bookshelves to remove a thick volume. Holding it in his hands, he blew a dark billow of dust from the top edge of the book. Watching the powdery residue as it floated away, he smiled, held up the book and remarked, “My constant companion. But, what can I do for you, Roger? If it involves my position as Department Head, you’ll have to move fast, since my retirement goes into effect at four-thirty Friday afternoon.”
Fleming reached into his pocket and took out the paper, placing it between two stacks of books on Kennington’s desk. “This is what I came to see you about. One of my below-average students handed this in as his term paper.”
Kennington put aside the book he had been examining and looked closely at the paper. After a few minutes, he said in an amused tone, “It seems like a good one.”
“Good?” Fleming’s face flushed. “It’s excellent! And it is entirely the product of one of those plagiarizing intellectual brothels on the internet which peddles these papers to be copied and turned in as originals by students. Unless something is done about this, there won’t be an original thought ever presented again in a term paper on this campus.”
Kennington seemed unmoved. “Is that so different from the past? If anything, the market has just become more democratic. Term papers were expensive to buy and difficult to reproduce back in the old days. The internet has simply made the process a bit easier. I would suggest you call the student in and have him discuss some of the salient ideas in the paper. His answers should be sufficiently embarrassing and would give you a sound basis for lowering his grade. By the way, what makes you so sure the paper was plagiarized?”
The question proved to be too much for Fleming. Convinced as he had been Kennington was retiring none too soon, he was now absolutely certain the old man should have left years before. Any college instructor who didn’t recognize a dull student could under no circumstances compose a work of this polished perfection was obviously well on the road to senility. His voice rose in answer to Kennington’s question, “Because I wrote this paper fifteen years ago.”
Kennington, who had been shuffling through papers in one of his boxes, was visibly surprised at the comment. Hesitating a moment, he then pulled out a crumpled folder, opened it, thumbed through the pages, then turned it so Fleming could read the faded type on the yellowing paper. The title was “The Influence of Persian Philosophy on Eighteenth Century English Poets.”
“Why, Roger, I wrote this paper forty years ago.”
THE PUBLIC HAS A RIGHT TO KNOW
The chairman of the National Transportation Safety Board stood to greet Gerald Steiner who shook the proffered hand and settled into one of the office chairs. His boss immediately came to the point of the meeting with a question. “You’ve had time to read the report?”
Steiner nodded.
“I’d like to put you in charge of the investigation.” The chairman observed him carefully before continuing. “You know more about 747’s than anyone else in this organization and, as far as I’m concerned, you’re by far the best choice for the job. But I’ll understand if you would prefer not to take over.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided I really should do it. But won’t there be some criticism of your choice under the circumstances?”
The chairman smiled. “If there’s any flack, I’ll take it. That’s what I was appointed for in the first place.”
***
Evie, knowing she was late, was surprised to find the news conference room only half-filled. Spotting Axle Tower reading a girlie mag, she slipped into the seat beside him. “Rehearsing your questions, I see,” she said to her fellow reporter.
Axle grinned, closed the magazine and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “There won’t be any questions worth asking, and no answers worth giving,” he said. “What can Steiner say only ten hours after the crash?”
“Fill me in. I just got in from an assignment in Philly and all I know is what I heard on the car radio.”
“Then you know about as much as any of us do, including Steiner.”
“Is he the point man?”
Axle nodded.
“What do you know about him?”
Axle took out his magazine and slipped a two-page document out of it, handing it to Evie. “See! The magazine is just a handy folder for my important papers. Here’s a summary of his background.”
Evie commented aloud as she scanned the material. “Gerald Steiner. MIT grad. MA in Aeronautical Engineering at Caltech. Twelve years at Boeing where he ended up as head engineer. Quit to join the NTSB ten years ago. Sounds solid to me.”
“Does to me too, and he better be. This one could turn out to be a tough one.” Axle’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned over in her direction. “Look who just came in. Noxious Norbert.”
Norbert Hansen, reporter for IntWebNews.com, had long ago established the reputation which had earned him his nickname. His bullhorn voice frequently blasted out during conferences, and he specialized in asking embarrassing questions.
Before Evie could comment on the new arrival, three men and a woman walked out on to the podium, TV camera lights flicked on, and the empty seats filled quickly with reporters. The NTSB Chairman stepped up to the lectern and with no other preamble introduced Gerald Steiner as the agent who would be in charge of the 922 crash investigation.
Steiner was an unimpressive looking individual. Of medium height, somewhat overweight, wearing thick glasses, bald, probably in his forties or early fifties. His voice made up to some extent for his appearance. Soft spoken, he wouldn’t have been heard were it not for the amplifier. But the tone conveyed the presence of authority, and the words reinforced the impression.
“I should warn you beforehand,” he began, “I can so far tell you very little about the circumstances surrounding the 922 tragedy. I will, however, be the official source of information when it can be released the public. As I’m sure you all know, leaks and confused reports do nothing but cause additional grief to the families and loved ones of the victims. I’ve assured the Chairman part of my job will be preventing any such occurrences in this case. My staff has been told that anything besides a “no comment” to the press will mean immediate dismissal. In addition, no one involved in the investigation will be allowed to speak about our findings to any unauthorized individuals—including their friends and family.
“I know from your viewpoint this may sound harsh. But I will hold news conferences as frequently as possible, and I will release all the factual information available—as it comes in—if there is no danger of its misinterpretation. Let me assure you all of the facts and a full and complete analysis of our findings will be released to the media as soon as our investigations are completed.
“Again, with all that in mind, I can only say how so far we know very little more than you about the circumstances surrounding this tragedy. I will now entertain any questions you may have.”
Hands flew up but, without being recognized, Hansen’s voice boomed across the room. “Why this new secrecy policy?”
The answer came without hesitation. “It’s because we’ve found isolated discoveries can be very misleading, to us, to you and to the public. Prior airplane disasters have led over and over again to speculation on the basis of early findings—speculation has almost invariably turned out to be erroneous. It is now the NTSB’s policy to do all in its power to prevent a recurrence of that kind of speculation, which does harm to the investigation and places more grief on the shoulders of the bereaved—who need no added grief.”
Hansen began to protest the explanation, but Steiner quickly recognized another reporter who asked for a simple report of what had happened. Steiner’s answers, as expected, added little to what was already known. After fielding questions for thirty minutes and finding the reporters were beginning to repeat themselves, he ended the conference with the assurance there would be another one within forty-eight hours.”
Evie stuffed
her notebook into her purse and looked over at Axle, who shrugged and suggested a beer. Evie decided she needed one.
The Corner Stop was a short block-and-a-half away, too close to bother waiting for a taxi to take them there, but too far to prevent them from getting soaked by the steady rain. Finally finding a booth in the crowded tavern, they draped their wet coats on the hooks and managed to attract a waitress’s attention.
After the first large intake of draft beer, and a fervent “I needed that” Evie asked, “What’s with Norbert? He’s worse than ever. He acts like he’s going to challenge Steiner to a fight.”
“The rumble is he’s no longer the sweetheart of IntWebNews. The last couple of stories he did for them ranged all over the territory from dubious to just plain false. There’s a limit to what even the internet tabloids will put up with.”
Evie pondered the answer. “It sure doesn’t sound like he’s going to get a better story by acting the way he does. In fact, he just makes it tougher for the rest of us by annoying the hell out people who are supposed to supply us with news.”
Axle nodded. “Yeah, it really doesn’t…Oh, oh! Speak of the devil and you hear the rattle of his horns. Maybe if we duck our heads, he won’t see us.”
But he did. Carrying a mug of beer, Hansen came almost straight to their booth, sat next to Evie—who edged toward the wall—and lifted his drink to them. “Prosit!” He took a long swallow, then added, “Looks like we aren’t going to get diddly squat out of this guy Steiner.”
“Why hound him, then?” Evie asked.
Norbert grinned. “This crash investigation could be a step up for me. I’m going to make the most of it.”
Conversation drifted into small talk. Evie finished her beer and excused herself. Axle wasn’t far behind, catching her just as she stepped outside the door. “Any idea what Noxious meant by a ‘step up’?”
“I hope it turns out to be ‘step off’—off the Canal Street pier.”
“I think I’ll nose around. I know someone at IntWebNews who might be able to shed some light on the Hansen aspirations. See you next meeting.”
True to his promise, Steiner called a news conference two days after the first one. Axle and Evie had made it a point to sit next to occupied chairs to avoid having Norbert for company. As Evie put it, “I don’t want any guilt by association.”
Before Axle could respond, Steiner stepped up to the lectern. The same people who had accompanied him the previous time were sitting behind him. “Our major efforts at this stage are directed toward the recovery of the bodies, so we can’t tell you much about the wreckage. Obviously, we have collected a lot of debris, and we will start the reconstruction of the aircraft as soon as possible. But the search for victims comes first and, as you know, the weather has been bad. The high winds are seriously hampering our efforts.”
The speaker continued with descriptions of the salvage attempts, what they would be looking for once the initial efforts to recover the bodies had ended, and which agencies would be involved in the process.
Norbert’s was again the first voice to be heard once the floor was thrown open for questions. “What are you doing for the families of the victims?”
By now Steiner was familiar with many of his questioners and was making it a point to address them by name. “That aspect is being handled by US National, Mr. Hansen. My understanding is they are making grief counseling available to any of the family and friends who may wish to make use of the services. While we are not directly involved, the NTSB urges the bereaved to make use of those services.”
Before Hansen could continue, Steiner pointed to one of the many upraised hands. Even so, IntWebNews’s star reporter managed to ask several more questions, accompanying each with the implication the NTSB was dragging its collective feet and passing the buck along to the airline, the airplane manufacturer and local authorities.
Following this meeting, Axle and Evie decided a more remote drinking spot—one where Norbert wasn’t likely to appear—would be preferable for a post-conference beer and rehash. “He’s absolutely impossible,” Evie said. “Norbert is a prime example of what everyone hates most about the media.”
Axle grinned as he lowered the mug he’d almost emptied. “I found out why he’s even worse than usual. This you’ll never believe. WHHS is looking for a talk show host to replace their current failure, and Norbert’s high on the list of prospects. He’s been on as a guest, and the kind of people who watch that kind of show like his style. You know—’the government’s conspiring to hide everything from you’ approach.”
“So that’s why he’s pushing Steiner so hard,” Evie said. “He’s making it sound like the guy is personally responsible for the bad weather, for not finding all the bodies in the river, maybe for the crash itself. What’s it going to be like when they finally locate the black box and the cockpit voice recorder? Steiner as much as said he won’t reveal any of the data until it’s all been thoroughly analyzed. How will Norbert react to that?”
Evie didn’t have long to wait in order to find out. The next conference, with the chairman present on the podium, revealed the two recorders had been recovered but analysis of the data had only just begun. The investigators had reached no conclusions concerning the cause of the crash, and no preliminary speculation was going to be released to the media.
Hansen was furious. Even before the news conference opened for questions, he stood up and shouted, “The public has a right to know! You…”
Steiner’s quiet voice broke in. “You are absolutely correct, Mr. Hansen. And as soon as we know why this disaster occurred, we will make every bit of information available to the public.”
Hansen refused to sit down. “Frankly, Mr. Steiner, I think you don’t give a damn about the public. And you certainly don’t care about the feelings of the bereaved.”
Steiner turned his head to look at the seated chairman, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. His response to Hansen brought a hush to the hardened audience he was facing. Later, Evie commented to Axle, “There’s a limit to what even a talk show will put up with. Norbert cooked his goose this time.”
Steiner’s quiet voice had had only a hint of emotion when he said, “Mr. Hansen, I doubt anyone cares more than I do. My sister, her husband and my two young nieces were on the plane.”
THE REMATCH
I knew I’d gotten over the hurt of the divorce long ago. What I hadn’t realized was I hadn’t gotten over the anger, even after six months. Laura’s phone call brought it all back.
Laura Jesperson had been my attorney during that miserable stretch of my life, and an excellent one I might add. Short, blonde, pretty, and fragile looking, Laura is in reality a feisty, foul-mouthed, successful, no-holds-barred lawyer. She led me through the fog which enveloped me following Ricky’s sudden, completely unexpected announcement he was divorcing me.
I’d heard of wives who never suspected their cheating husbands of being unfaithful. I never thought I’d be one of them. If anyone had so much as hinted at the possibility I would have burst into laughter at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. So, when our four-year marriage suddenly came to an end, I was totally unprepared…all too ready to roll over and play dead. Laura saved me from myself.
I hadn’t seen her since signing the papers and was more than pleased to hear from her, despite the memories her voice conjured up. Laura was not only an outstanding attorney, she was actually fun to be with, with a welter of stories to tell about her chosen profession and the people she encountered in the course of her practice—as well as regaling anyone who would listen to the latest lawyer jokes.
“How about a martini lunch?”
I was game, and we met at Wayne’s Watering Hole, a garish restaurant-bar providing excellent drinks and passable salads. When we had settled down to our apéritifs, I was the first to move on to whatever the occasion was for this surprise meeting.
“Well,” she began, “as you may have guessed, it’s your ex. He called me and told
me he wants to get in touch with you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Laura grinned. “He insists he would have called you, but you have a new, unlisted number. He could have phoned you at work, but he says he knows you don’t like being called there.” The grin broadened. “Actually, I think he was afraid you’d just hang up on him.”
Not far wrong, I thought. “Did he explain this sudden urge to get in touch with me?”
“He claims there are some papers he needs your signature on, but that’s all playacting. My guess is he wants to come back to home, hearth and regular tail. I couldn’t resist checking up on him, which was easy since—as you know—I have a mole in his office. Seems as though the bimbo who got her hooks into God’s gift to the ladies has fleeced him out of pretty much all he had, then left him high and dry. See! I told you you should have cleaned him out. Better you have his worldly wealth rather than her. We had him dead to rights.”
Laura indeed had had him dead to rights. A minimal amount of investigation on her part had revealed how my husband was wallowing in his masculinity. She quickly uncovered several of Ricky’s amorous entanglements. Tanya, the latest and most tenacious, had somehow convinced him it was time for him to dispense permanently with the old and move on to the new. The ink had barely dried on the divorce decree when I read of their marriage in the local society column.
“I got the lion’s share,” I commented. At the time, I’d actually felt the house, furnishings, the better of the two cars and a large chunk of cash were more than the lion’s share. We both had well-paying jobs and, while money slipped through Ricky’s fingers, I’d managed to safely invest a sizeable sum in my name. In short, I had no complaints about the financial settlement. “So?”
“So, I made no commitments, except to say I’d let you know.”
Expect the Unexpected Page 35
