Gray Mountain: A Novel(92)

She put a finger to her lips and softly said, “Whenever I can work it into my schedule.” She had thought about sex more in the last twenty-four hours than at any time in the last two years, since she broke up with Henry.

“I’ll have to check with my secretary,” she said. She still found it hard to believe that someone might be listening to conversations in her office, but she was taking no chances. And given his paranoia, he was saying almost nothing. He managed, “Okay.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No.”

“Then we’d better go.”

They walked down the hall to the front conference room, where Mattie was waiting. At precisely 2:00 p.m., Agents Banahan, Frohmeyer, and Zimmer arrived in a rush and with such grim determination it seemed as if they might shoot first and ask questions later. Frohmeyer had led the troops during the raid on Donovan’s office. Zimmer had been one of his gofers. Banahan had stopped by earlier. After quick introductions were made, they squared off, with Jeff sitting between Mattie and Samantha on one side and the government on the other. Annette held one end of the table and turned on a recorder.

Mattie again asked if Jeff was the subject of an investigation by the FBI, the U.S. Attorney, any other federal law enforcement agency, or anyone working for the Department of Justice. Frohmeyer assured her he was not.

Frohmeyer took charge and spent a few minutes digging through Jeff’s background. Samantha took notes. After their rather intimate weekend, in which he had shared so much, she learned nothing new. Frohmeyer probed his relationship with his deceased brother. How long had he worked for him? What did he do? How much was he paid? As coached by Mattie and Annette, Jeff gave succinct answers and never offered anything extra.

Lying to an FBI agent is a crime in itself, regardless of where or how the interrogation takes place. Whatever you do, Mattie had said repeatedly, do not lie.

Like his brother, Jeff had seemed perfectly willing to lie if it would help the cause. He assumed the bad guys—the coal companies and now the government—would cut corners and cheat and do whatever to win. If they played dirty, why couldn’t he? Because, Mattie had repeated, you can be sent to prison. The coal companies and their lawyers cannot.

Working from scripted notes, Frohmeyer finally got around to the important matters. He explained that the computers seized by the FBI one week ago on December 1 had been tampered with. The hard drives had been replaced. Did Jeff know anything about that?

Mattie snapped, “Don’t answer that.” She explained to Frohmeyer that she had spoken with the U.S. Attorney, and that it was clear that Donovan died without knowing that he was the subject of a new investigation. He had not been informed; there was nothing in writing. Therefore, with respect to his office files and records, any actions taken by his employees after his death were not done to impede an investigation.

Off the record, Jeff’s version was that he removed the hard drives from the office and home computers and burned them. Samantha suspected, though, that they still existed. Not that it mattered. Jeff had assured her that there was nothing important, relative to Krull Mining, to be found in any of Donovan’s computers.

And I know where the records are, Samantha thought to herself, almost in disbelief.

The fact that Mattie had gone to the U.S. Attorney irritated Frohmeyer. She didn’t care. They haggled for a while over the questioning, and it became obvious who was in control, at least in this meeting. If Mattie told Jeff not to answer, Frohmeyer got nothing. He told the story of a bunch of records that disappeared from the headquarters of Krull Mining near Harlan, Kentucky, and asked Jeff if he knew anything about it. Jeff shrugged and shook his head no before Mattie could say, “Don’t answer that.”

“Do you plead the Fifth Amendment?” Frohmeyer asked in frustration.

“He’s not under oath,” Mattie shot back, as if Frohmeyer was stupid.

Samantha had to confess, at least to herself, that she was thoroughly enjoying the conflict. The FBI with all its power on one side. Jeff, their client, who was certainly guilty of something, on the other side, heavily protected by legal talent and winning, for the moment.

“I guess we’re wasting our time,” Frohmeyer said, throwing up his hands. “Thanks for the hospitality. I’m sure we’ll be back.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mattie said. “And no contact with my client unless I’m notified, got it?”

“We’ll see,” Frohmeyer said like a jerk as he kicked back his chair and stood. Banahan and Zimmer marched out with him.


An hour later, Samantha, Mattie, and Jeff were sitting in the back row in the main courtroom, waiting on the judge who would oversee the probate of Donovan’s estate. Court was not in session and a handful of lawyers milled about the bench, swapping jokes with the clerks.

Jeff said quietly, “I talked to our experts this morning. So far, they’ve found no evidence of anyone tampering with Donovan’s Cessna. The crash was caused by sudden engine failure, and the engine quit because the flow of fuel was cut off. The tank was full—we always filled up in Charleston because it’s cheaper there. The miracle is that the plane did not burst into flames and burn a hole in the ground.”

“How did the fuel get cut off?” Mattie asked.

“That’s the big question. If you believe it was sabotage, then there’s one real strong theory. There’s a fuel line that runs from the fuel pump to the carburetor, where it’s attached by what’s called a B nut. If the B nut is deliberately loosened, the engine will start up just fine and operate smoothly until the vibration causes the B nut to slowly unscrew itself. The fuel line will come loose and engine failure is imminent. The engine will sputter and quickly shut down completely. Happens very fast with no warning, no alarm, and it’s impossible to restart it. If a pilot is staring at his fuel gauge, which is something we glance at only periodically, then he might notice a sudden drop in fuel pressure at about the same time the engine begins to die. They make a big deal out of the fact that Donovan did not make a distress call. That’s nonsense. Think about it. You’re flying along at night and suddenly your engine quits. You have a few seconds to react, but it’s total panic. You try to restart the engine, but that doesn’t work. You’re thinking about ten things at once, but the last thing you’re thinking about is calling for help. How the hell is anyone going to help?”