The Mind Man

Chapter forty

Ted stood outside the barricade tape gazing at the muddied and charred wreckage strewn before him. He was near the tail section of Flight 913, not far from the eastern end of Phoenix Sky Harbor's southern runway. The word TEXJET emblazoned on the tail fin could still be recognized through the blackened surface, as were portions of the carrier's blue and red colorings. Ted guessed that this rear section of the airplane was probably the largest portion of the plane left intact. The elevators were still attached and there were perhaps ten rows of seats remaining. The only other part of the plane's fuselage still identifiable was several hundred feet away. It accounted for another five or six rows of seating above what remained of the wings. Even from a distance Ted could see the exposed burnt and mangled remains of the seats. The two turbofan engines were nowhere to be seen. Other wreckage trailed off into the distance amongst the gouged and muddy earth. Teams of investigators from the National Transportation Safety Board could be seen, heads bowed, slowly sifting through the wreckage and transporting it piece by piece to a nearby hanger. Ted was relieved to have been told that all human remains had been removed and placed in a temporary morgue in a converted hanger. 

Ted looked for a while across at the remaining active runways and contemplated human behavior. Even with death and devastation on such stark display people still climbed aboard aircraft and flew in them. Airplanes were landing and departing at their allotted intervals as though Flight 913 had never happened, everyone thinking that it will never happen to them. The human species was a peculiar and inexplicable lot, he figured. 

An airport security car pulled up behind him and Laura alighted walking up to join him. Although they were barely acquaintances they gestured each other's presence as siblings would without a word being spoken. 

They stood and looked at the devastation together for a moment before Ted spoke. "Did you have a good flight?' He realized how foolish that sounded as soon as he had said it and wasn't expecting an answer. 

Laura said nothing. She gave Ted a quick sideways glance and was surprised by his appearance. She recalled a brisk, sturdy man at their encounters in Sacramento, looking thoroughly dashing in police uniform, but now he appeared fatigued and neglected. His shirt was crumpled, his face unshaven and she was sure his stance was not as upright. She presumed his flight to Phoenix had been at night and he was short on sleep. 

Finally she responded. "It makes you think doesn't it? We take flying for granted but this tells you that we're not supposed to be up there." 

"Where's Doyle?" Ted looked behind her suddenly with an element of surprise. 

"He's dead." 

"What? You're kidding me right?" 

"He had trouble breathing, and sure he was an old man. His neighbor is adamant that's what killed him, but I'm not so sure." 

"You think he was murdered?" 

"Well I don't know I had to go straight to the airport and I was still trying to get my head around it so I didn't get to call anyone. I'll ring the coroner when I get back. But with my apartment and now the Professor, it's got to be more than just a coincidence." 

"That's a setback." 

"Yes I know I feel bad, that's really the reason I brought you here. He could have helped you convince the NTSB to take telepathy seriously." 

"Yes that could have been an advantage. They are considering a mechanical fault in the other incident. They are focusing on the rudder and a faulty hydraulic pump." 

"So they didn't listen to your suggestion." 

"No they probably get a lot of crank suggestions. Mine was just another one."