The Complete Mystery Collection

by Michaela Thompson

Of course that was it. Had she ever imagined a different outcome? Yet she had told Vijay she loved him, and she had meant it. “Vijay, I wish I knew what to say.”

  “I must tell you one more thing, Marina.”

  “Yes?”

  “I sat by you when you were so ill at the home of Nathu Dada. I was terribly afraid that you would die. I held your hand. It was hot and cold, hot and cold. Sometimes you spoke aloud, words that made no sense. But very often you spoke the name Patrick.”

  Part III

  California

  47

  The Fault Tree

  The person constructing a fault tree must have a complete grasp of the system under scrutiny. If the complexities of the system aren’t totally understood, the fault tree will be meaningless.

  Why Breakdown?

  The bathroom mirror in her apartment told Marina that her face was still peeling from sunburn. She looked drawn, too, but the relaxation, the near-torpor, of her last days in India had taken away the worst of the physical strain. Her sessions with the police and with Mr. Curtis had not been taxing. The police were more than willing to take credit for the discovery that Baladeva was Nagarajan, and for his death. Her part in the subsequent uproar was minimal.

  Indian reaction to the events had been shock and outrage, but the reasons for the shock and outrage varied. People were shocked and outraged that the police had killed Baladeva, or that Baladeva had turned out to be Nagarajan, or that Nagarajan had escaped from jail in the first place. A commission of inquiry was being established. Government ministers gave assurances that everything possible would be done to bring the facts to light. In the meantime, Marina refused to speak with the press and lay by the pool at the Taj eating hot, freshly roasted cashew nuts.

  She and Vijay met several times for lunch or tea, but clearly Mr. Curtis had him on a short leash and the occasions, while pleasant, were tinged with melancholy. She told him a little about Patrick, saying Patrick was a man she had been involved with until shortly before she came to India. Vijay smiled and said, “You are still involved with him, I think.” They rarely spoke of her imminent departure or his upcoming marriage.

  One afternoon she summoned the energy to call the Delightful Novelty Company and ask for Vincent Shah, the man who had placed the call to her from the Hotel Rama. Mr. Shah was away for a week, the secretary said. The telephone receiver was heavy in Marina’s hand. She should pursue this, insist on getting in touch with Vincent Shah. She hung up and lay down for a nap.

  Eventually, the word came that she could go. She made a plane reservation and packed her suitcase.

  Her plane left at six in the morning. She and Vijay drank milky tea from the stall in the airport, surrounded by the hubbub of transit— wailing children, quarreling porters, unintelligible announcements over the public address system. When it was time for her to leave, he said, “You know very well that my love goes with you.”

  “And mine stays with you.”

  Leaving him, she moved into the stream of travelers toward the plane that would take her home.

  She turned from the mirror and dressed slowly. She was still easing herself back into her San Francisco life. Her sweater felt scratchy, her boots heavier and more cumbersome than they’d seemed before. In the days since her return she had felt spent and sometimes tearful— not only at the news that Clara was ill with a disease that had yet to be diagnosed, but at Patrick’s copy of The Gramophone lying on a table, and a box of cereal sitting on the kitchen counter, and the downtown high rises glistening against the sun-washed sky. She recognized this emotional fragility as temporary. I lost something. Now, I have to figure out what’s next.

  There had been no word from Patrick while she was gone, no message of any sort. Which was only fair. He was probably busy with his new love. Marina could call him, in a friendly way, just to tell him he’d left The Gramophone at her place. The thought filled her with unease. It was a risk. There was no such thing as zero risk.

  When she stepped outside, the morning air was chilly, astringent, but with the slight softness of early March, and yellow forsythia nodded on the bush by the front door of her building. Flowers as yellow as mustard blossoms. A pollen-dusted bee crawled out of one and flew away.

  By the time she reached the waterfront the fog had started to burn off and the bay was glimmering in the emerging sun. When she walked into the office one of her co-workers, hurrying past, said, “Hi, Marina. How was vacation?”

  Don did a mock double take when he saw her and said, “What a tan! You lost weight, too.”

  “I might as well have gone to a health spa.”

  “We got your telex. There was a little something in the papers here, too. Listen, Sandy wants to see you instantly.”

  Sandy’s face sagged and his eyes were bloodshot. She had the feeling that his questions were perfunctory. “I’m sorry about your sister. It’s like losing her twice,” he said.

  “Yes. Thanks.” She was lost long ago. I won’t be searching for her again.

  Sandy picked up a bulging folder. “I’m glad you’re back, because we’ve got a ton of work. Since I took over Loopy Doop a lot of other stuff has had to slide.”

  “Speaking of Loopy Doop—”

  “OK. Let’s speak about it.” He put the folder down. “I appreciate that you were under stress, but you left the case. I hope you don’t have any idea of picking it up again.”

  Why the defensive tone? “It’s just that while I was in India I thought about it, and I wondered—”

  “The case is finished. We’re working on the final report now. Frankly, I don’t want you dividing your attention.”

  She realized for the first time that on some level he had been furious that she had left him in the lurch. “I’d like to know how it came out, then.”

  Sandy, his jaw set, didn’t reply.

  “Come on, Sandy. Won’t you even tell me what you found?”

  He grimaced. She wondered if he was just angry, or if something else was bothering him. “I’ll give you five minutes on it, and that’s it. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Sandy leaned back in his chair. “It got very sticky. The short version is, the maintenance guys blew it bad, and then faked records to cover up.” He stopped. “Why are you shaking your head?”

  She hadn’t realized she was. She remembered the maintenance chief with his tobacco wheeze and his terror of being blamed. He had sworn the inspections were in order. “How did you find out?”

  “The forms they recorded the maintenance routine on.”

  “But they were all perfect. I looked through them myself.”

  “Absolutely. Only all those perfect records were done on forms that weren’t even in use until the week before Loopy Doop went smash. The only way to tell was a number in the corner. All those checks in the little boxes were made after the accident and stuck in the files to make it look like the inspections had been done.”

  Stunned, she started to shake her head again, then caught herself. “How did you find out?”

  “One of the Fun World secretaries noticed the forms and told Eric Sondergard.”

  “What does the maintenance chief say?”

  “Screams he didn’t do it, he’s being framed, but don’t they always?”

  Marina started to ask why, if the maintenance chief had known he might be vulnerable, he had called Breakdown in the first place. He had been proud, she remembered, that he hadn’t waited for authorization. Instead, she said, “What broke the leg, then?”

  “We’re postulating excessive vibration because it was improperly lubricated.”

  “Postulating? What did the hub and shaft look like? And the bearings?”

  Sandy’s eyes were averted. “That was the other thing,” he said.

  “The other thing?”

  “Right after you left, Bobo ordered every Loopy Doop in the country dismantled and melted down for scrap. By the time we came up with this theory—”

  “There was nothing to
look at.” Marina couldn’t argue. With Loopy Doop destroyed, there was no possible proof. When the maintenance chief had wheezed about how well he’d done his job she’d told herself that he would probably be trotted out to take the blame.

  Sandy shrugged. “I guess Bobo wants to forget Loopy Doop ever existed.”

  “Yeah.” She was having trouble taking this in.

  “So that’s that.” Sandy reached for the folder.

  Later, she put the folder on her own desk and dropped into her chair. At a time when she had been in desperate danger, she had scratched a fault tree in the dirt. She had decided somebody was lying in the Loopy Doop case. Sandy was saying she was right. The maintenance chief had lied and covered up. Why, then, did she feel dissatisfied?

  Because of the damn hardness test. Sandy’s explanation still meant that she had messed up the hardness test. In Goti, she had realized she didn’t have to assume she was always wrong, that maybe once in a while she was right.

  She opened the folder. There was a lot to do, and she’d better get started. With this much to occupy her, it wouldn’t surprise anybody if she decided to work late tonight.

  48

  Staring at the screen of her computer terminal, Marina jumped when something touched her shoulder.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” Sandy said. He patted her shoulder again. “Quitting time.”

  “When I finish this. Not much more to do.”

  “Listen. I wasn’t as nice about the Loopy Doop thing as I could’ve been. I’m sorry.”

  No matter how much he apologizes, I’m going to redo the hardness test. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “Sure.” She glanced past him. “Where’s Don?”

  “He left already.” He hesitated. “Don and I aren’t exactly together any more.”

  So that was it. “That’s too bad.”

  “Oh, hell, it happens all the time.” Sandy’s laugh sounded thin. “See you tomorrow.”

  After another half hour the pier was completely quiet. When she left her cubicle she waved across the interior to Fernando, the security guard, sitting at his table beside the door, his uniform cap perched on the back of his head. Her steps sounded loud in her ears, and she felt more nervous than she had expected. I’m doing this for my own satisfaction. If I did the test wrong, I’ll live with it. I want to see, that’s all. Tension traveled up her spine.

  This isn’t wrong. Unauthorized, maybe. Against orders. Not wrong. Redoing a legitimate test isn’t wrong.

  The evidence room was dark, but she remembered where she’d put the fractured tubing. When her hand didn’t find it she turned on the light and surveyed the tiers of bins. In the bin where she’d put Loopy Doop’s leg, there was now a yellow molded-plastic automobile infant seat.

  The leg had been moved. OK. She searched systematically through the bins. Now that finding it was more difficult than she’d expected, she was more determined.

  It wasn’t on the first tier. She climbed on the step stool kept for reaching the higher levels and continued looking. Rims of wheels, several heavy stripped bolts, a honeycomb-shaped metal panel that she thought had something to do with the space program. There are a million reasons why it wouldn’t be here. She tried to think of them and couldn’t.

  In fact, though, it was there. In a corner of the third tier, almost hidden behind another bin, still in the Fun World plastic bag with Bobo’s face printed on it. When she reached in the bag and her hand closed on the cold steel she wanted to shout in jubilation.

  She carried the bag to the hardness tester. Before putting the metal on the anvil, she took several breaths to calm herself down. Steadier after a minute, she positioned the steel on the platform, made sure it was level, and brought it into contact with the penetrator. When the pointer was vertical, she adjusted the dial so the zero was exactly behind the pointer.

  Footsteps. Fernando, making his rounds. She turned the crank to apply the major load and watched the pointer jump, swing, and come to rest. Now, pull the crank to take the load off and read the dial.

  Sixty-five on Rockwell B.

  She was filled with unreasoning, uncritical happiness. Sixty-five on Rockwell B. I was right.

  “Hey, Marina.”

  She whirled around. Don, several file folders under his arm, stood in the doorway. He was frowning. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Euphoric, she ran to him. “I’ve just found out what happened to Loopy Doop.”

  The frown deepened. “Sure. It was vibration because they didn’t lubricate it right.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” The words came almost faster than she could talk. “Loopy Doop was made out of steel less than half as strong as it should’ve been. I’ve just proved it with the hardness test. My God, when you think about it— steel buckets instead of aluminum, and two overweight people who rode twice in a row—” She grasped his arm. “I know that’s it. I always knew, but the other tests—”

  She stopped as she realized. The samples had been switched somehow, and 4140 substituted. With machined samples, chemical samples, you couldn’t tell where the steel came from. The only piece you could be sure of was the fracture itself.

  Don was looking at her oddly. He moved back a step. So what if he thought she was crazy. This time she knew— knew— she had the right explanation.

  “I’d better get along. Sandy just sent me back for these.” He tapped the files. “See you.”

  Funny that Sandy had sent Don back to work to get something when he’d just told her he and Don had split. She turned back to the hardness tester and repeated the test. Sixty-six on the Rockwell B. All right. Carbon steel, probably, not a high strength heat-treated alloy like 4140. It would’ve held up all right unless a few things went out of kilter, like an extra-heavy load in an extra-heavy gondola over the protracted period of two rides.

  Somebody had known. Somebody had switched the samples for the tensile test and the chemical analysis. They’d done it even though had it been proved that Fun World got inferior steel from— from whatever the company was, the one in Singapore. If Fun World could prove Singapore had sold them inferior steel, they could sue. Who changed the samples? Somebody from Singapore?

  She put the Loopy Doop leg in its bag and took it to the evidence room. Instead of replacing it where she’d found it, she put it in one of the lower bins, hidden under a half-burned ironing-board cover. She relocked the room and, after thinking for a moment, put the key in her pocket instead of in its hiding place.

  On the way to her office, she went over the case feverishly. Fun World used to get aluminum gondolas from Gonzales Manufacturing. Gonzales lost the contract and went broke. Then Fun World bought steel from the place in Singapore, whatever its name was. Steel gondolas, steel parts for the rides, including legs for Loopy Doop.

  She had to call Sandy. First, she wanted the printout with the list of suppliers, so she could get the name of the Singapore place. A lot of that stuff was probably still in her filing cabinet. She unlocked it and found the printout in the bottom drawer where she’d tossed it in her rush to leave for India.

  She leafed through the printout. Singapore Metal Works. The contact was somebody named K. M. Lee.

  Fun World could’ve sued Singapore Metal. Maybe they couldn’t sue Singapore Metal, though. Maybe Fun World knew what they were getting. But why buy inferior steel instead of the best?

  She remembered Enrique Gonzales, embittered after the family’s factory closed. What had he said? Money, lady. Don’t you know that’s what everything’s about?

  Money. Buy steel from Singapore, except you don’t get what’s listed on the invoices, but something only a third as strong and less than half as expensive, but you figure it’s still good enough to do the job. What’s the cost differential? A lot, if you buy a lot of steel. So you pay for the good stuff, get the bad stuff, and you and Singapore divide the difference fifty-fifty, and everything’s fine until you kill a couple of people
and maim a few more, and then you have to scramble like crazy.

  She had to tell Sandy. She dialed his number, and the line was busy. She hung up and thought: Suppose Sandy knew. Maybe he’d switched the samples himself. She moved her hand away from the telephone.

  Trying to decide what to do, she riffled back through the printout. Something caught her eye. A name, maybe. What had it been? She turned a few pages, searching. Another page. There it was. The Delightful Novelty Company of Bombay, India. Contact: V. Shah.

  Marina stared at the line of print. It said that the Delightful Novelty Company supplied Fun World with prizes for the games arcade. Brightly painted wooden toys, perhaps. Plastic whirligigs on the ends of sticks.

  After a moment of suspension, it broke over her. I was testing the steel, talking about how it might not be strong enough. If you want to stop me, don’t do anything as stupid and crude as try to intimidate me. Get me to intimidate myself, take myself off the case, get myself out of the way to leave more room to maneuver—more time to fix up maintenance records that look like they’ve been faked. More time to melt down Loopy Doop.

  Someone broke into Clara’s office and looked at my file. Cloud Sister, Rain Sister, Nagarajan, the Hotel Rama, all there. Someone asked questions about Patrick, looking for ways to get to me. Someone trumped up letters and got Vincent Shah to send them, got him to make a phone call. It didn’t take that much. I was ripe for it. I jumped at it.

  She was first aware of her anger as a metallic taste. It spread to fill her head, her hands, her body. She stood up. I’ll tell the police. I’ll shout it on street corners if I have to.

  The Loopy Doop fracture. That was the proof. She hurried out of her office and across the pier toward the testing section, digging in her jacket pocket for the evidence-room key.

  The sound of Fernando’s chair scraping made her look toward the front door. Someone was coming in. Instinctively, she ran the last few steps to the testing section and hid in the doorway. Across the pier, she saw Don come in the front door and speak to Fernando at his table. Don, who could’ve switched the samples as easily as Sandy could. And I was telling him all about my great discovery.