Dead and Gone

by Jack Patterson

  Simpson squinted and froze. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “Without going into too much detail, I’ve got sources telling me that there was nothing accidental about Tanner’s crash on Sunday.”

  “So, what do you believe happened?”

  “I think someone tampered with Tanner’s car, causing him to hit the wall at a break-neck speed.”

  “He didn’t break his neck.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Simpson put his hands behind his head and leaned backward. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that the accident was no accident. It was an intentional act by someone to take Tanner out.”

  “Mr. Murphy, I know you haven’t been covering our sport for very long, so let me explain something to you about how things work around race week. You just can’t go gallivanting into the garage and start tinkering with engines. We have people guarding this area and we have regulations about when cars can be worked on. So, to suggest that someone could just walk in here and turn a team’s car on its head with the twist of a wrench is absurd and highly unlikely at best.”

  Cal stared at Simpson and refused to blink. “Who said anything about someone breaking into a garage?”

  “Surely you aren’t suggesting what I think you are.”

  Cal nodded. “Yes, I am. You obviously don’t believe there’s any way this was an inside job.”

  “And what makes you think that it was—if it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Just a hunch at this point, but it’s a strong one.”

  Simpson laughed. “A hunch? Seriously? I hope you’re not going to write that. Your readers will send you outta town on a rail, spewing garbage like that.”

  “I don’t write anything until I have all the facts.”

  “That’s reassuring because you’re never going to be able to prove a ridiculous theory like that.”

  Cal scribbled a few notes on his pad. “Do you have any comment on the independent investigator that Mrs. Tanner hired to review your findings?”

  “Our finding in this matter speaks for itself. I’m confident he won’t find anything other than what we’ve already shared with the public.”

  Cal stood up and smiled. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Simpson. I’m sure we’ll be talking again very soon.”

  ***

  CAL HEADED TO THE MEDIA CENTER and began banging away on his keyboard. Nobody was going to be happy with the story he was going to file. Not Ned Davis. Not NASCAR. Not his editor. But he reminded himself that he didn’t write to please people—he wrote to inform them.

  He slugged the headline: “Tanner Widow Questions Accident Report”.

  By Cal Murphy

  PHOENIX — Jessica Tanner, the widow of driver Carson Tanner, has hired an independent investigator to review NASCAR officials’ investigation into the cause of the fatal accident that killed the popular driver at the Texas Motors Speedway on Sunday.

  NASCAR official Eddie Simpson welcomed the outside review but insisted that it won’t reveal anything new.

  “Our finding in this matter speaks for itself,” Simpson said Thursday. “I’m confident (the investigator) won’t find anything other than what we’ve already shared with the public.”

  Mrs. Tanner, who is unable to collect any life insurance since her husband’s policy didn’t cover track-related incidents unless it is proven that it wasn’t an accident, insisted that the investigation had little to do with money.

  “At the end of the day, I want to be able to put this horrible tragedy behind me with the full confidence of what actually happened,” she said earlier this week. “This isn’t about a life insurance settlement.”

  The private investigation is expected to release its findings before the end of the week.

  Meanwhile, Davis Motor Sports has elected to finish out the race season with a new driver despite being unable to pick up any further points in the championship points race. Team owner Ned Davis has tagged up-and-coming driver J.T. Beaumont to pilot his team’s car on Sunday in Phoenix.

  Beaumont has won four races this season on lower circuits and has been rumored to be a candidate for several vacancies expected to open up at the end of the season.

  Sources close to Davis indicated that Beaumont has long since been on the owner’s short list, and that before last week’s accident Davis had contemplated replacing Tanner with Beaumont after the season finale in Miami.

  Cal hit send and looked at his watch. He set the over-under on getting a call back from Folsom at five minutes. Two minutes later, his cell phone buzzed.

  Definitely should’ve taken the under.

  “Good afternoon, Folsom,” Cal said as he answered.

  His editor wasn’t in the mood for any pleasantries.

  “What kind of grenades are you throwing with this piece, Cal? Are you insane? Do you want to burn every bridge we’ve ever built with Ned Davis?”

  Cal took a deep breath and waited for Folsom to stop the onslaught of questions. “Are you done now?”

  “I’m just gettin’ started.”

  “Look, I know this seems a little brash, but something is going on here and I need to entice someone to talk, maybe give them reason to step out of the shadows.”

  “And how exactly would this piece do that?”

  “Do I really have to tell you that? You’re fully aware that informants are less likely to be threatened when they speak out publicly.”

  Folsom grunted. “I think you’re right there. Speaking out publicly makes them a target.”

  “If they feel like they’re going to be a target, I can always protect them.”

  “I’d be more worried about you than an informant at that point.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but I wouldn’t stick my neck out like this if I didn’t think there was more to this story.”

  “Think about it, Cal. If what you’re suggesting is true and someone was able to sabotage Tanner’s car and make it appear like an accident, what makes you think they couldn’t do the same to you?”

  “Then it’d be real suspicious, wouldn’t it?”

  “And maybe you’d be dead.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “This is no joke, Cal. If you want me to run this, I will. I’ll take some of the heat for you, but you best be prepared for the blowback on this. It won’t be pretty.”

  Cal sighed. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stirred up trouble for myself with my reporting.”

  “You’re not invincible—just remember that.”

  CHAPTER 13

  RON PARKER ASSUMED HIS POST just outside the garage gate in the infield of the Phoenix International Raceway. Armed with nothing more than a radio to communicate with security officials, he slid onto his stool and opened up the latest David Baldacci novel and began reading.

  There could be worse things to do on a Friday morning.

  He wished he could disappear like the main character in the book and go off the grid. At least he could sleep in peace, devoid of any nightmares about being found and tortured—or perhaps even killed. But he couldn’t leave Nancy, not like that. She’d been too good to him, as evidenced by the fact that she was with him on this ruse of a retirement hobby. The first year was fine, but the traveling circus began to wear on him midway through this season year—as did the threats.

  He glanced down at his cell phone, the black case glistening beneath the beading desert sun. As he ran his fingers across the buttons, he contemplated how long he would have the phone before he’d have to discard it. He didn’t bother programming any numbers into it. He’d entered the numbers of his friends into so many burner phones that he now knew them all by heart.

  A reporter walked past him and flashed his pit pass. Parker waived him through.

  Parker tried reading to pass the time but couldn’t focus after coming across a passage about a man who thought he was safe only to be dragged away moments later by a team of thugs.

&nb
sp; Is this to be my fate?

  He closed the book and tried to think about something else, anything else. The scoreboard in the middle of the track flickered with drivers’ times. He tried to predict which of those drivers near the top would win the upcoming race. If he’d learned anything about racing, it was that the fastest car didn’t always win; but if you weren’t in the top fifteen during qualifying, you wouldn’t be challenging anyone for the victory on race day.

  Several crew members approached the gate and displayed their passes. He stood up and allowed them to enter.

  He glanced up at the cloudless sky before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

  Must be Nancy. She’s the only one who has this number.

  Parker made a habit of reprogramming her phone when she wasn’t looking. She never bothered to look at the number once she discovered the ease of pushing a button, speaking his name, and waiting a moment before it called him.

  He dug his phone out and stared at the number. It wasn’t Nancy or any number he recognized.

  What the—

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Nice of you to pick up, Parker,” the voice said.

  “Now, listen, I told you I’m going to get you your money, but you have to give me some time.”

  “Oh, you’re all out of time. Now that I know where you are, I’m comin’ for you. And, Parker?”

  “Yes?”

  “The price just went up.”

  The line went dead.

  Parker wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and slumped on top of his stool.

  Deep breath, deep breath.

  He looked at his hand, which wouldn’t stop shaking.

  What am I gonna do?

  Parker scanned the asphalt in front of him. There wasn’t a soul in sight. He turned around and looked over his shoulder into the garage area. He saw a familiar face. At least, he thought he did.

  Is that him?

  He squinted as he turned all the way around and peered into the garage area.

  I swear that’s the guy.

  Parker pulled out his phone and tried to snap a picture. Before he could get a close enough view, the man vanished around a stack of tires.

  He wanted to find that reporter again, let him know who was tinkering on Tanner’s car on Sunday morning. But not now.

  Parker had a different idea, a better one—one that could make all his problems go away.

  CHAPTER 14

  CAL SHUFFLED TOWARD HIS SEAT on press row in the media center. He tossed his computer bag on the table and headed toward the media buffet. As he squeezed past another writer reading the comments section of an article he had written, Cal stopped and leaned over his shoulder.

  “You’ll live a lot longer if you don’t read those,” Cal said.

  The writer nodded and smiled. “I read them purely for entertainment.”

  “You need a new hobby.”

  Cal headed outside and took a spot at the back of the line.

  “Just the person I wanted to see,” he said.

  Sylvia Yates, the Davis Motor Sports media relations manager, turned around. “Cal Murphy—as I live and breathe. I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

  He shook his head. “I take it you read my article from yesterday.”

  “Read it? I had to deal with the fallout of it. Thanks to you, my easy Thursday was ruined. Everybody wanted to talk to Ned about what you wrote.”

  “I hope it didn’t upset him.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Upset is far too mild of a word. And the more accurate word is not one appropriate for a lady to utter in public.”

  “Every word of it was true.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “Those sneaky little unnamed sources.”

  “They can be little flies in the ointment, can’t they?”

  “Apparently, not for you. They’re more like the spice of life—or the crux of your story.”

  Cal picked up a paper plate and a plastic fork wrapped in a napkin. “Sylvia, you ought to know by now that I don’t make things up.”

  She nodded. “Maybe, but I’m very suspicious of reporters when they start quoting unnamed sources.”

  “Does this mean my interview with J.T. Beaumont is off?”

  She eyed him cautiously before selecting a deli sandwich off a large platter. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. But you must realize you’ve put me in a precarious situation with your story.”

  “Is Ned cracking the whip?”

  “Let’s just say it’s best that you avoid him for a while.”

  “I’m not trying to bust anybody’s chops, okay? My job is to report what’s happening out there.”

  Sylvia grabbed a cookie off the dessert tray. “I understand that, but I have a boss who pays me to control the narrative. And it’s getting away from him right now.”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t have been so loose with his lips.” Cal gestured toward a table and allowed Sylvia to lead the way.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying I’ve got audio of Ned Davis talking about J.T. Beaumont and Carson Tanner. His comments about Tanner are—how should I say this—less than sympathetic.”

  They both sat down at the table. Cal dug into his sandwich and glanced at the cars speeding around the track on practice runs.

  “I think you need to stop,” she said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop writing about this story.”

  Cal leaned back, his brow furrowed. “And why would I do that? I’m just publishing facts.”

  “Yeah, well, Ned Davis can make your life difficult.”

  Cal eyed her cautiously. “That almost sounds like a threat.”

  “I’m simply warning you about what might happen if you continue on this path. Look, there might be something suspicious going on—or maybe not. I understand you have to get your answers. But don’t come looking to me for them. I like Mr. Davis and I like my job. Understand?”

  Cal nodded.

  She continued. “I once thought I had an opportunity to work for another team.”

  Cal wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Which one?”

  “I’m not going to tell you, but it was one of the best teams out there.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I didn’t get the job.”

  “There’s no shame in that. You’re in a competitive field.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. Some rumors began to circulate about me—the kind of rumors that no one wants to hear.”

  “Untrue, I’m assuming?”

  “Completely fabricated.”

  “So, who made them up?”

  She picked at her salad with her fork. “I can’t be sure, but the only thing I know is that there was only one person who benefitted from the spreading of such rumors.”

  “Ned Davis?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  She took a drink of water from the bottle in front of her. “Yeah, well, this job still pays well for the time being. I’d like to dip my toes in the water and see what else is out there, but I’m stuck for now. Ned thinks very highly of me and when his offers to pay me more don’t pan out, he resorts to other tactics to keep me tethered to him.” She paused. “Don’t get me wrong—I like what I do. But at this point, I’m more fearful of what might happen if I try to leave to work for someone else. I love racing and want to be involved in this sport.”

  “So, you’re saying he’s got a thing for you?”

  She smiled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “That’s too bad,” Cal said. He put his head down and focused on his meal.

  “What’s too bad?” said another woman.

  Cal looked up and locked eyes with Alexa Jennings, Davis’ girlfriend.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s too bad?” Alexa asked again.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Well, if I were you, Cal,
I’d listen to Sylvia. She knows how to handle Ned—maybe even more so than I do.

  “Do you know what we were even talking about?” Cal asked.

  “I can only imagine,” Alexa said before flitting toward the buffet table.

  He turned toward Sylvia and leaned in close. “And then you have to deal with her?”

  “She’s the one you ought to be talking to. If anyone knows what’s going on, she does.”

  Cal nodded. “Text me the next time she’s alone in the hauler. I have a few questions for her.”

  CHAPTER 15

  RON PARKER WAITED until his lunch break to trudge toward the Davis Motor Sports hauler. He’d visited with several members of the crew before, enough to be recognized as someone other than a groupie.

  “Can I help you?” Owen Burns asked as Parker approached the truck.

  “I was hoping to speak to Mr. Davis,” he answered.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Parker shook his head. “I don’t, but tell him it’s important.”

  “Stay right there.”

  Several moments later, Burns re-emerged from the hauler with Ned Davis trailing behind him. Burns moved to the side as Davis stepped forward.

  “I’m sorry. Have we met?” Davis asked, extending his hand toward Parker.

  Parker grabbed his hand and shook it. “We spoke several weeks ago. I work for your trailer that sells all the Davis Motor Sports merchandise.”

  Davis nodded. “Oh, yes, I remember now. What can I do for you, Mister—”

  “Parker. Ron Parker.”

  “Yes, Mr. Parker. How can I help you?”

  “I had something I wanted to talk with you about, but it’s kind of private in nature. Can we go somewhere else?”

  Davis motioned for him to follow. “I’ve got just the place.”

  Parker followed him inside the hauler and into the cramped office. Davis waited for his guest to enter the room before pulling the door shut behind him. He motioned to Parker to have a seat.

  “So, Mr. Parker, what can I do for you?”

  Parker shifted in his seat. “Well, there’s something you need to know about—something very important.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I know who sabotaged Carson Tanner’s car last week.”