Dead Man’s Switch

by Tammy Kaehler

  I moved my car to a different parking space, and the three of us trooped down to the ALMS trailer. I stopped at the public women’s bathroom nearby, but quickly regretted it. I was about to exit my stall when I heard two women enter and click-click on high-heeled shoes to the sinks. They spoke loudly to be heard over the running water. About me.

  “I can’t believe they’re actually letting her drive,” said a whiny, high-pitched, nasal tone.

  “Whyever on earth not?” asked the second voice, in a bayou accent.

  “Well, she was Miss on-the-spot, wasn’t she?” the first voice complained. “I mean, she found his body, now she’s taking his seat. Taking it over more qualified drivers, you know. She’s only successful because of the publicity she gets—and that’s not fair.”

  The southern drawl sounded skeptical. “Your boyfriend’s got a ride this season. It’s not like she beat him out. What do you have against her?”

  I heard water turn off and paper towels being grabbed.

  “It’s not just me,” shrilled the first voice. “Ask anybody. Everyone thinks she did Wade in to get his ride. I think she’s got no talent. She’s only gotten where she is because she’s kissed ass, slept with someone, or—who knows?—killed Wade.”

  “That’s a serious thing to say,” commented the drawl.

  “Plenty of other people are saying it, it’s not just me.”

  With that parting shot, they click-clacked out. I was still frozen, my hand on the stall door latch. I knew—theoretically—that successful women in any field were magnets for jealous and spiteful rumors. But I’d never heard it directed at me. Nor had I ever imagined hearing it from a woman. That shook me, almost as badly as the idea that “everyone” thought I’d killed Wade. The idea that one person thought I’d killed him was too much. I ducked my head and scurried toward the comparative safety of Stuart, Jolley, and the Series trailer.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When I entered the private office, Stuart immediately saw how rattled I was.

  “What happened, Kate?”

  I was shaken to the core. Until hearing that conversation, I’d felt safe in the fraternity of the racing world. Jolley was the interloper, the one to be afraid of, and Stuart was the annoyance. I wasn’t yet comfortable with either one, but I finally understood they were the only people trying to help me. Stuart had forced support down my throat, not gossiped behind my back. Jolley might still suspect me, but he sought the truth.

  “Kate?”

  I shuddered and crossed my arms over my chest. “I overheard a nasty conversation—a nasty woman, really—in the bathroom. She and her friend didn’t know I was there.”

  “About what?” Jolley nudged me to sit on a couch and settled across from me.

  “About how I’ve got no talent, so I sleep with people to get ahead. How I killed Wade to take his place.” I swallowed hard and looked at Stuart. “How everyone in the paddock is saying so.”

  Stuart shook his head. “Kate, you know you’re an extremely talented—”

  “I know. Wait.” I took a couple deep breaths. “I’m not asking for sympathy. I knew, or was warned, this would happen. I’m a damn good driver, and to hell with what other people think. It just shook me to hear it—that people think I would kill to get ahead.”

  Jolley looked me in the eye. “There are people who would, without a second thought. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re one of them.”

  “Does that mean I’m not a suspect?”

  “Mostly not. No one’s off the list until we know who killed Wade Becker. Besides, I think you’ve got a lot of information you can give me, since you’re part of this community and will hear things that I don’t or can’t hear—or won’t understand.”

  I murmured agreement, staring blankly at the opposite wall, still shocked by how much disdain a stranger had for me. Shocked to realize I might never amount to more than “the murdering racecar driver.” The racing community was going to require more than a convincing alibi. For the sake of my career, I needed to find Wade’s killer.

  I didn’t know how to investigate a murder, but I’d never shied away from a challenge. I also hadn’t achieved anything by accepting others’ opinions about what I should be doing. I’d keep looking for answers, because I wasn’t going to let Wade’s murder ruin everything I’d worked for. If I could drive racecars, I could handle this, too.

  Jolley leaned forward, pulling out a pen and his flip-top notebook. “OK, Kate. What have you heard?”

  “You want everything? Important or not—even gossip? Is that police procedure?”

  “Everything. I’ll take whatever works.”

  I hesitated, feeling like a tattle-tale. Except that old Chuckles Purley was a scary dude. “The worst came from Mr. Charles Purley, one of our sponsors.”

  “Whose sponsors?” Jolley looked from me to Stuart.

  Stuart fielded the question. “Kate’s—and Wade’s—team sponsors. Mr. Purley owns Racegear.com, which is the primary sponsor of Sandham Swift’s cars.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Susanah Purley—that’s the Mrs., and you have to say it with a long ‘ah’ in the middle.” Jolley raised his eyebrows and made a note. “Susanah Purley was hysterical yesterday morning when she found out about Wade.”

  “Why’s she here?”

  “Marketing for Racegear.com. She’s at all the races. She and Wade were having an affair.” Jolley whistled in amazement. Was this guy a typical cop, or what? “It wasn’t her first affair either, from what I’ve been told.”

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I can find out. Mike mentioned it, so it wasn’t a secret from him, at least. I’m not sure about the others, but Mr. Purley knew about Wade.”

  That produced a reaction from Stuart. “What?”

  “Yeah, and here’s where it gets creepy.” I recapped Susanah’s behavior before practice and what I’d heard after, including her husband’s threats. I grimaced. “I wouldn’t have left with him, but she did.”

  Jolley looked thoughtful and made more notes.

  “No wonder you acted strangely when you met him at dinner,” Stuart commented.

  “Yeah. It was a surprise to put his face with the voice I’d heard.”

  Jolley stopped in the middle of writing. “You didn’t see him when he threatened Mrs. Purley? Can you be sure it was him?”

  “No, I didn’t see him until dinner. But it was the same voice.”

  Jolley turned to Stuart. “Can you add anything? You were at that dinner too, right?”

  Stuart spoke slowly, considering. “Yes, I was there as well. His behavior toward his wife could have been possessive or just attentive. Mrs. Purley didn’t contribute much, which is unusual, in my experience. She’s typically more outgoing, vivacious. Other than what I observed, I know the team expected Charles to arrive a day later. I can tell you that Racegear.com has been a loyal sponsor to the Sandham Swift team for years. We appreciate their support of the Series.”

  “No odd behavior or rumors before now?”

  “None.”

  “OK. Kate, what else?”

  “Alex Hanley, the brake specialist for the Number 28 car—for my car. I met him yesterday morning. He was the happiest guy at the track.”

  “Because of Mr. Becker’s death?”

  “I assume so. Downright chipper. Tom told me Alex and Wade had hated each other—Alex might have been fired because they couldn’t get along.”

  “Anything more specific?”

  “No, I—” I saw Tom Albright outside the trailer, talking with a Series official. “Tom may know more—he was going to do some asking around, too. Should I go get him?”

  Stuart turned to look out the window as Jolley said, “He was…yes, let’s get him
in here.”

  “I’ll go.” Stuart was gone before I could move. He ushered Tom inside and closed the door.

  “Good morning, Detective. Kate.” Tom sat down next to me on the leather couch. Stuart returned to an office chair.

  “Tom, I explained to Kate that neither of you should be asking questions. I mean it. That said, I’d like background on Wade’s relationships with people on the team and in the Series.”

  Tom swallowed audibly. His left leg bounced up and down. “Sure. I asked Jack if Wade had been mad at anyone lately, but he didn’t know of anyone.”

  He looked at me, then went on in a rush. “I’m sorry, Kate. I was going to ask around, but I got caught up writing press releases—we’ve had a lot of requests for your information—and then I had to do a bunch of computer stuff for Jack. Besides, I wasn’t sure what to say to people.”

  Some help he was.

  Jolley addressed Tom again. “Can you tell me who Mr. Becker’s friends were in the Series or on the team?”

  “Friends? I don’t know if he had any good friends. He was a loner. He had some acquaintances and some people he spent time with on race weekends. But no one who carried over into the rest of his life.”

  “Who were the acquaintances?” Jolley’s pen hovered over paper again.

  “Mrs. Purley. Mike Munroe, his co-driver.”

  “I understood Mrs. Purley was more than an acquaintance.”

  Tom shot me a look. “I guess so, though I never saw any inappropriate activity.”

  “Who else?”

  “Jack, I guess. But that was more about sponsor dinners than choosing to hang out. Marcus Trimble. I saw him and Wade together at most races.”

  I asked the question before Jolley could. “Who’s Marcus Trimble?”

  Stuart sat up straighter. “Marcus is the son of Paul Trimble, who’s with True Color Paint, a major sponsor of the American Le Mans Series and the main sponsor of the Number 12 car in the LMP2 class. True Color is an automotive paint company, and their involvement with ALMS represents a significant portion of their marketing efforts.”

  Jolley scratched his nose. “That’s the father. What about the son?”

  Stuart hesitated. Tom looked at him before responding. “Marcus hangs out. Helps his father entertain guests. He’s trying to be a driver, and I think Wade was the latest of his mentors.”

  “What do you mean,” Jolley asked, “trying to be a driver?”

  “He’s gone to a few racing schools. He was running a car in a regional series in the Southeastern U.S. somewhere, and he asked Wade lots of questions. I think he was working on a deal to pay for a seat in a car here next year. But I don’t think his dad was too excited about it.”

  “Age?”

  Stuart answered. “I believe he’s twenty-six.”

  I nodded, and Jolley noticed. “What?”

  “He wasn’t likely to become a professional driver if he’s twenty-six, been doing this a while, and paying for rides. He probably wasn’t good enough in his driving courses or the local series to attract any notice. But he’d have been able to race if he paid for the rides—it’s just expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  I let Stuart field that one. “Upwards of a quarter of a million dollars and more like half a million if you’re talking about a full season.”

  Jolley whistled again. “For one season? That’s pricey. Will he have a chance at winning?”

  Tom, Stuart, and I shared a look. I said what we were all thinking. “It would be a longshot.”

  “That’s a lot of money to spend on losing races.”

  “That’s not how we prefer to think of it.” Stuart frowned.

  Jolley appeared to smother a laugh. “I’m sure not.”

  “I know Paul Trimble didn’t want his son to race. He couldn’t stop him, as Marcus has control of a large trust fund that Paul set up long ago. But he held Wade responsible for encouraging his son to—as Paul said—‘waste money on losing efforts.’”

  “Daddy didn’t like Wade?”

  “No, in fact, Paul and Wade came to blows at the end of last season.”

  “Really?” Jolley leaned forward. So did I.

  “It was last September, at Petit Le Mans—that’s the ten-hour race in Atlanta,” Stuart added, for Jolley’s benefit. “Paul confronted Wade about Wade’s encouragement of Marcus. Paul told me he thought he could appeal to Wade’s better nature.”

  Jolley looked up from his notes. “Did Mr. Becker have one?”

  “The confrontation didn’t go well. Paul didn’t tell me what was said, but he and Wade each got in a couple punches before we separated them.”

  “You witnessed it?”

  “Yes. I was speaking with someone nearby—out of earshot, until they started yelling. I pulled Paul away and brought him here to cool off.”

  “What was his state of mind after this incident?”

  “Paul was furious.” Stuart paused, obviously troubled. “He ranted briefly about Wade being evil, and then he became calm. Relaxed even. At the time, I was relieved he’d calmed down. He said all the right things: apologizing to me and the Series, saying he’d deal with his family problems away from the racetrack. But looking back, I’m not sure I believe him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “In retrospect, he calmed down too quickly. He was too angry—red-faced, raving mad—to have let it go entirely.”

  “Do you feel he’s capable of murder?” Jolley’s tone was quiet. I glanced at Tom and saw him sitting still, eyes wide.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “It pains me greatly to say this about one of our loyal sponsors—and I trust you will keep this absolutely confidential.” At nods from Tom and me, Stuart continued. “If you’d asked me before last September, I would have said Paul Trimble is absolutely not capable of violence of any kind. Now, I’d have to admit I’m not sure.”

  Stuart seemed as chilled to make that statement as I was to hear it. I had a follow-up question. “How was Wade after this?”

  Tom jumped in. “I remember. He was pissed. That was a terrible weekend for him.”

  “Why?” Jolley asked.

  “First there was that fight. If I remember right, he came back to our garage and yelled at the crew for making the wrong changes to the car. But I think that was the first time Alex stood up to him—Alex Hanley, our brake guy?”

  “Kate indicated he didn’t like Wade either.”

  “Right, so Alex yells back. I was surprised Wade didn’t punch him. Then the car’s setup was terrible, and he had a couple awful practices.” Tom was holding up his hand, ticking fingers with every item on the list. “Then his qualifying run was for crap—eighth or ninth. Terrible for this team. The race was rotten, too. Finished sixth. Finally, he’s passed over for media interviews.”

  “I heard about that,” I interrupted. “He was furious he wasn’t sent to do the typical driver-represent-the-Series interviews. He’d gone for years, and then wasn’t asked.”

  “That’s right,” Stuart confirmed. “We’d been discussing a change, and after he got into it with Paul Trimble, we turned to other drivers.”

  Jolley turned to me. “Where’d you hear about it, Kate?”

  “From Mrs. Purley, who had to soothe Wade’s ruffled feathers. But she couldn’t remember if it happened this past March or last fall.”

  Stuart rubbed the back of his neck. “It was both. We didn’t ask him to do the interviews at Petit, in September, or in Monterey, at the last race of the season. At Sebring, this March, Wade asked our PR person about it. She reported that he was angry when she told him we had all the drivers we needed.”

  “His world was falling apart,” Jolley mused. “But that was months ago. Why is he dead now?”

  We
considered the question, and Tom spoke. “It’s months later, but only a couple races. Petit and Monterey, at the end of last season. This season: Sebring, Mid-Ohio, then here. There may be a gap in calendar months, but the politics and the relationships are pretty much the same from race to race—some things shake up in the off months, people move around, but our team and sponsor roster has been stable. Everything goes into hibernation between races.”

  “Mr. Trimble could have held on to his mad?”

  Stuart agreed, but reluctantly.

  Jolley turned to a blank page. “Since I have you all here. Anything else to tell me? Anyone else have it in for Wade? Benefit by his death? Acting oddly?”

  “Someone’s acting oddly, but I can’t think how it relates to Wade.” I looked from Jolley to Stuart and Tom.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Jim Siddons, the Porsche driver. He’s been so rude—which I don’t understand, because I’ve never had a problem with him. Hardly know him. But he bumped into me walking down pit row and bumped me on the track with his car.”

  Jolley looked to Tom. “Mr. Sandham explained it. Apparently Siddons and Becker had it in for each other.”

  “Jim got rough whenever he and Wade were near each other on the track,” Tom affirmed.

  I felt another pang of guilt for spreading gossip, then quashed it. “There are the other drivers—the guys Wade had threatened, not the other way around.”

  “What happened?” Jolley was writing again.

  I told him what I’d told the others the night before about Indiana Dave. “A few others also had run-ins with Wade on the track. Marco, Eddie, Torsten. They wondered if his death had to do with him getting slower. Or….”

  “Or what?”

  I shot a quick glance at Stuart. “There are rumors flying around about the problems cars have been having, that it’s Delray ECUs. The rumors are wild.”

  Stuart bit out his words. “That’s enough, Kate, the detective is aware of that situation.”