“I wouldn’t mind a quote or two, but it doesn’t have to be.”
“On the record: I’m settling in, looking forward to the race tomorrow, and everyone I work with has been extremely supportive. I’m very sorry for the loss of a great driver, and my condolences to his friends and family. I’m going to do my best in his seat in the car.” A couple guys swung back around and typed into computers as I spoke.
“Have you heard about the buzz out there in the paddock that you had something to do with Wade’s death?”
“That’s off the record.” I eyed each reporter in turn and got nods of agreement. “I’ve heard. I found him, but that’s it. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I wasn’t plotting against him. Sure, I was trying to pick up a ride in the ALMS…but I’m not desperate enough to hurt someone to get it. I don’t understand how people can say that kind of thing about me.”
“Jealous and spiteful types,” Mitch responded. “Rise above it and wait them out. They’ll change their tune.”
“Yes. Just trying to focus on the driving.” I got butterflies in my stomach as I realized I’d be suited up for the race by this time tomorrow. “Maybe you can help me. I heard a video tech had some footage from Friday night with shots of Wade. Know anything about that?”
Mitch shook his head, as did two others. The guy at the end turned. “I heard someone with the SPEED crew talking about that. Didn’t catch his name. Tall and skinny. Black, spiky hair. Goatee.”
Mitch scented a story. “What’re you looking for, Kate?”
“Anything that might clear me. By the way, what kind of rental cars did you all end up with this weekend?”
My survey netted three Ford Tauruses—two silver, one bronze—and two Chevys: a red Impala and a white Malibu. Obviously, without more detail, a list of possible Friday night drivers would include the whole paddock.
I returned to the copy machine to finish. I flipped through the pages of the notebook one last time before leaving the building and was surprised to find two more pages with writing, near the back, buried in the middle of blank sheets. One was a list of initials and codes, and the other was a half-dozen initials with cryptic notes. I didn’t read them, just made copies and took off. I knew the perfect person to help me track down the tape the reporter had mentioned, and I ran him to ground at Holly’s team paddock.
Zeke had his microphone in hand, interviewing one of the Western Racing drivers. I paused a few feet to the side, waiting for them to finish.
Holly sauntered over. “How’s today treating you, sugar? Better than yesterday?”
“It would have to be, wouldn’t it?”
She turned back to watch Zeke and her driver. “It sure would. And what are you pokin’ around in?”
“Me?”
“I know you. You’re as nosy as a cat.”
“Isn’t that ‘curious as a cat’?”
She slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked over them. “I wasn’t going to go there, because we know what happened to the cat.”
“Good point.”
“So, tell me.”
I recapped my conversations with Jolley and Stuart, the comments I’d overheard in the bathroom stall, my chat with Jack and Tom, Seth’s information about cars on Friday night, finding Wade’s notebook, and the interviews I’d had. Then there was Marcus Trimble.
“Yeah, Marcus Trimble. Hubba, frickin’ hubba. Ye-ow.” She fanned herself with a hand.
“What’s his deal?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen him attached to drivers like he’s trying to absorb their mojo. I’ve seen grown women forget their children and smack into poles when he walks by. He’s had a girlfriend around before, so he’s not gay. But I don’t know much else.”
“Potent. Andy thinks he’s trouble.”
“I wouldn’t mind trouble that potent. But you’re here to ask Zeke for help finding that video footage…and what’s in that notebook?”
“Why do you think I—” I saw her look. She knew me too well. I lowered my voice and spoke close to her ear. “I photocopied the pages, because I’ve got to give it to Detective Jolley.”
“Why are you whispering? What’s he got in there, a map to buried treasure?”
“I’m whispering because Jolley wanted this as soon as I found it, and I haven’t given it to him yet. Plus, I don’t want anyone to know I’m holding on to anything that belonged to Wade. I’m not sure what’s in the book, because it’s weird lists of numbers and initials and codes.”
I saw Zeke finishing his interview and made arrangements to meet Holly later to look at the notebook. Zeke walked partway back to my team area with me as I explained what I’d heard about video footage, and he promised to investigate with Tony, the SPEED video tech. I arrived at the Sandham Swift paddock, needing to check in with the team, have lunch, and find Jolley. Tom stood outside the motorhome, eating a chocolate chip cookie and watching a swarm of crew members working on the 28 car. My car.
“What’s going on over there?”
He held up a finger as he swallowed, then pointed at different groups of crew as he explained. “One of the guys didn’t like the way the clutch and transmission felt—maybe a spun bearing. A couple others are helping him rebuild that. Some other guys are doing cleanup with the tranny out. The ECU engineer is inside running through the ECU code or something for the ninth time. And Alex wanted to go through the brakes again.”
“Didn’t he go through them yesterday after qualifying?”
“That’s Alex. He’ll do this now and again tomorrow morning. I can just about guarantee you won’t have brake problems in the race.”
“That’s good. They’re working on the other car too?” I spotted several guys under the hood of the 29 car.
Tom reached for another cookie. “They figured they’d check out the 29’s clutch, transmission, and so on while they had the time.”
I was looking for more substantial food than cookies—as delicious as they seemed—when the Purleys appeared. I stifled my apprehension.
We exchanged greetings, and Charles gestured to the crew. “Is it OK to make all of these changes? Don’t they have to keep it the same from qualifying to the race?”
Susanah responded first. “Only the tires have to be the same, right, Tom?”
Tom agreed. “We have to start the race on the same tires we qualified on—so we run as few qualifying laps as possible. Once we’re done qualifying, we jack the car up right there in the pits and take those tires off. They’re marked by ALMS officials, and we store them in the pit until we roll out for the race tomorrow. We’ll even run the thirty minute warm-up tomorrow on different tires. But we can work on and change anything else on the car at any time—as long as the end result passes tech inspection. It’s pretty routine that a crew will rebuild brakes, a clutch, wiring systems, even an entire engine during a race weekend. Also, major portions of the body and frame if someone crashes in practice.”
“What is it they’re doing?” Charles wanted to know.
Tom led them closer and kept explaining. I slipped away to find Aunt Tee and some lunch, and I was back outside working on a large ham and cheese sandwich when they returned. Aunt Tee popped out of the motorhome and asked if she could get them food or drink as they joined me in the grouping of plastic chairs.
“Will you get the car reinspected?” Charles asked. I thought Susanah looked bored and sad. She wasn’t speaking, just closely attending to her husband.
Tom handed around bottles of water. “I don’t expect so. They’re rebuilding exactly what was there before. If they want to go for another inspection, they can. But we have to pass inspection after the end of the race if we make the podium, or get chosen randomly.”
“That’s what keeps the cheaters honest.”
“Something like that.” Tom helped him
self to one of the sandwiches Aunt Tee had brought out.
There was a lull in the conversation as Tom and I ate and as Charles turned to Susanah and said something to her in a low voice. She responded with a murmur and a shake of her head, then opened her handbag and pulled out a cigarette. The role of the perfectly submissive wife, whether fact or fiction, was making my skin crawl.
Chapter Thirty-one
We were making small talk when Paul and Marcus Trimble arrived, looking for Jack, and sat down with us. Tom made sure the Purleys knew Trimble father and son, and Paul chatted with Charles about their companies and sponsorship efforts. Marcus listened without joining in. I tried not to stare at him and ate my sandwich.
Charles was absorbed in Paul’s description of True Color Paint. I’d always thought it fitting that the car sponsored by an automotive paint company had the most interesting color treatment in the Series. Photographers and journalists both praised it and complained that it never looked the same twice because its paint shifted color from brown to purple, orange, and green.
“True Color is national?” Charles confirmed. “Who would I talk to about a possible marketing partnership?”
Paul pointed to himself. “Me. Vice President of Marketing. What do you have in mind?”
“Not sure yet. Thinking of the possibilities. Racegear.com is national too—international, really. We’re not a bricks-and-mortar concern like you are…but together we might be able to delve into some exciting multi-channel marketing opportunities.”
I tuned out. Tom started a conversation with Marcus, and I took a pass on talking to Susanah, heading into the motorhome instead to return my plate to Aunt Tee. When I peeked through the window five minutes later, Jack had arrived and joined the business conversation. Susanah had moved closer to Tom and was also talking to Marcus. I wondered if Susanah and Marcus had met before, and if so, how well they’d known each other—since they were the only ones who seemed sorry Wade was dead. Susanah was acting more like the woman I’d seen yesterday, animated, gesturing with her hands—and missing the sharp looks her husband was throwing her.
Add one married woman with a penchant for racecar drivers to one gorgeous young wannabe…I’d bet Charles was annoyed.
Jack and Paul’s conversation must have shifted to whatever brought Paul to the paddock, because they crossed to the garage. As Paul exchanged a few words and a handshake with the Michelin rep, I saw Nadia, our ECU engineer, come out of the transporter with Victor Delray and head toward the paddock lane through the garage. Charles joined Tom, Marcus, and Susanah, placing a possessive arm around her shoulders.
“What are you looking at, Kate?” Aunt Tee’s voice startled me.
I was kneeling on the couch, and at her words, I turned around. “The people out there.”
“Hiding, are you?”
“There are some interesting dynamics.”
“Yes, I’ve always found the Purleys’ relationship a strange one. But I know better than to comment—so you didn’t hear that.”
“Sure. But it is odd. And Marcus Trimble…I can’t figure him out either. He seems nice. Gorgeous. But over-eager.”
Aunt Tee sniffed. “Too much money and not enough responsibility, that’s what I think.”
“You know him? And his dad?”
Aunt Tee nodded, picking up a washcloth and wiping down the countertops. “You didn’t hear this either. A nice man, Paul Trimble, who didn’t come from much in his life, but made something of himself. He helped start that company.”
“But he’s only VP of marketing?”
“He and his partner sold it and took the jobs they wanted in the company. Made a pile of money. Now he spends his time coordinating their sponsorship activities and prize giveaways to customers.”
“And his son is racing cars.”
“If that.”
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“It’s really none of my business, after all.”
“Come on, Aunt Tee. You know I won’t spread anything around.”
“True, unlike others I could mention.” She shook her head. “Marcus grew up good looking, wealthy, and spoiled—and mostly away from home. He expects to get everything he wants, but I don’t think he’s worked a day in his life. He’s been chasing this idea of racing cars for years now, spending his father’s money—with nothing to show for it. I think his father’s finding it’s too late to teach his son to be responsible. But he keeps trying.”
“Why doesn’t he just cut Marcus off? Wait, I heard Marcus has his own bank account. I wonder why Paul doesn’t take the money back. Can’t give up on him?”
Aunt Tee leaned back against the sink. “I remember hearing Paul’s wife died of cancer when Marcus was just a boy—and Marcus is an only child. I guess those are good enough reasons for why he loves that boy so much—why he’s holding on instead of cutting him loose.”
“And Marcus’ accent? His father doesn’t have one.”
“Marcus was sent to England for almost all of his schooling.”
“I thought I heard that Paul Trimble and Wade got into it last year—fighting. Do you know about that?”
“Oh, yes. Nasty business.”
“What started it all?”
“That danged Wade. He’d been ornery the last couple years! I swear he got people riled up just for fun. There he was, encouraging that boy—”
“Marcus?”
“Yep, Marcus.” She shook her head. “Poor boy doesn’t have a lick of natural talent. But listen to Wade, and you’d have thought he was a lost Earnhardt son.”
“Why would Wade do that?”
“I always thought it was for power.”
“Over Marcus?”
Aunt Tee shrugged. “Over him. His father. How money was spent.”
Money was a new angle. “Was Wade getting money from Marcus?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find True Color coming on as a sponsor to this team, but it hadn’t happened yet. I think it was more that Wade was controlling Marcus—telling him where he should race, what he should drive, how much he had to pay to get into those seats and races.”
“Maybe Wade was getting a kickback for those deals.”
“I think it was more about Wade having a protégé.”
“OK, he liked having someone do what he said. He liked the power, you said. The control…if he had control over Marcus, he had some control over his father.”
“Sure.” Aunt Tee sat down in a chair at the table.
“Would he have done that just for spite? I’ve heard from some drivers that Wade was holding a lot of grudges lately—some of them really unreasonable, offenses he imagined. He was also making threats of payback. I don’t know if he followed through with anything, but what if he was encouraging Marcus so much—controlling him—because of the fight he had with Paul?”
“But that’s what the fight was about. Paul confronted Wade about giving Marcus false encouragement. When they were yelling, but not yet fighting, I remember hearing Paul say, ‘Why are you lying to my son? Tell him the truth. You know he’ll never make it as a professional.’”
“How many people heard it?”
“A handful of us. But Marcus walked up and heard, too.”
“That’s horrible. What did Wade say?”
“I was too far away to hear, because he said it quietly. But it set Paul off. That’s when he hit Wade the first time.”
“This manipulation was going on before the fight, which was last September.” I stood up and got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Maybe Paul did something before then—or didn’t, but Wade thought he did—that made Wade angry. I wonder who’d know.”
“Marcus, maybe? Mike? I don’t know if Wade talked to Mike much, but he could have overheard something.
Jack—” As if summoned, Jack climbed the stairs into the motorhome. “Hi, Jack.”
He nodded at us, standing slightly hunched over to avoid bumping the ceiling with his head.
I jumped in before he could speak. “Do you know of any grudge Wade might have had against Paul Trimble?”
“Other than Paul punching him?” The side of his mouth quirked up in a half grin.
“Before that.”
Jack shrugged out of his jacket. “Nope. Can’t think of a thing. Now, did you hear about the repairs going on out there?”
I let it go. “Yeah, Tom gave me the basics. Anything to be concerned about?”
Jack sat on one of the sofas. “You shouldn’t notice a thing. I just wanted you to know what had been worked on. Tom gave you the times for tonight and tomorrow, right?”
“7:00 tonight and 8:00 in the morning. Got it.” I looked at my watch and jumped to my feet. “It’s 3:30 already? I was going to nap before dinner, and I’ve got to run by Holly’s before I leave. And find Detective Jolley.”
“About Jolley.”
“Yes?”
“Everything OK? You’re not still a suspect, right?”
“I think everything’s fine. I’ve got to give him something, if he hasn’t left yet.”
“Did you ever find Wade’s notebook?”
“That’s what I’ve got to give him.”
“If he’s not here now, I’m sure we’ll all see him again tomorrow, like a bad penny that always turns up.” Jack kept muttering as he stood and moved to the back of the motorhome.
I chuckled and exited the coach. I was looking down, tying my jacket around my waist, when I turned the corner into the paddock lane and ran smack into someone.
“Sorry!” My words died on my lips as I saw Jim Siddons.
His face contorted into a snarl, and he stepped forward, too close to me. “Stay the hell out of my way, you little bitch!” Spit flew as he spoke.
I flinched and took a half step back. “Jim, please. I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”
He moved forward again, erasing the tiny space I’d put between us. “You little priss. Don’t pull that innocent shit with me. It might work for team owners and sponsors, but I see through your act. Women don’t belong on the track—you’re in the way of real drivers. You hear me?!” He was starting to yell.
Dead Man’s Switch Page 16
