Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“The eyes of an anxious nation are turned toward Wellton, Arizona, where the plane of pilot Marvel Crosson crashed into a mesquite jungle in the Gila River Valley yesterday afternoon. Last night United States Department of Commerce agents launched an investigation into ugly charges that several of the airships in the National Women’s Air Derby have been deliberately tampered with to put them out of the race.
” The radio announcer finished his introduction and turned to BOI Deputy Director Jenkins, sticking a microphone in front of him for comment.
“I assure you,” Jenkins declared, “I’ve had a man keeping tabs on the Women’s Air Derby since the very start.”
In front of his desk, more reporters eagerly wrote down his words. They were more orderly than usual because they were inside his office by special invitation. They raised their hands, hoping to be called upon for a question. Jenkins pointed to one of them.
“Is there evidence to support the rumors of sabotage to the women’s planes?”
He replied, “All evidence will remain confidential until after an official hearing, which will be conducted this afternoon. That is all.”
A burly agent opened the office door and herded the reporters out of his office. The door closed behind them.
“Someone better know where Pullman is,” Jenkins snapped.
“He’s on the telephone now, sir,” his secretary supplied. “Called while you were talking to the reporters. Said he’d wait on the line.”
Jenkins picked up the receiver. “Pullman? Where are you?”
“Douglas, Arizona, sir.”
“Good,” Jenkins declared. “I want you to turn over all the evidence you have to whoever’s running the inquiry into the Crosson crash.”
“Yes, sir. I’m happy to help get justice for Miss Crosson. She was a fine young woman.”
“Right. Good thing you followed your hunch, Pullman.”
“I’m mighty glad I did,” Pullman replied. “It was not enough. I have fallen short in my duty.”
“It’s not your job to save foolish girls from their risky impulses. It’s your job to put criminals behind bars,” Jenkins bit out.
In a rare outburst of defiance, Pullman snapped back, “It’s our job to give justice to victims of crime. But there won’t ever be enough justice to give Miss Crosson her life back.”
Pancho went numb.
The mechanic in front of her couldn’t seem to bring himself to tell her anything. But his expression said it all.
She stalked away from her plane, yanking her helmet off and throwing it to the ground in frustration. Someone stepped in front of her, and she jerked her head up, tears tracking down her cheeks. Amelia stood there, a lost look in her glassy eyes.
They both knew losing friends was a fact of aviation. But this loss was particularly hard. They’d been with her just before she took off. They’d been together day and night since the race began. They’d bonded over the challenges they’d faced. Marvel was family.
Phoebe came up beside her. One by one, all the other women came to stand with her, surrounding her, putting their arms around one another and around her.
They stood together like that for a long time, silently giving one another solace.
There were no words. Just the camaraderie of pilots who’d lost one of their own.
She felt as if she were being pulled apart at her seams. Fate was unbelievably cruel to take Marvel so very soon after Pancho had found her. An urge to scream every curse she knew came over her, but railing against fate wouldn’t change anything. Not one damned thing. Nor would it bring Marvel back.
Another set of footsteps approached. Pancho looked up to see Agent Pullman. He was solemn, stone-faced.
Pancho bit out, “Tell me they all believe us now. Your boss, the press, the public.” She angrily wiped away the tears from her cheeks. “I swear I’m gonna beat the truth into your superiors if they don’t investigate this.”
He reached up to touch the brim of his hat respectfully and said quietly, “There will be an official inquiry this afternoon in El Paso. The derby will pause there for the night so it can proceed. Anyone with additional information to recount to the board of inquiry should plan to attend.”
The group started to break up, but Pancho stayed behind. Once the others had gone, she looked grimly at Pullman. “Tell me . . . the details.”
He spared her his direct gaze, choosing to look at her plane while he answered. “They found her just about where the witnesses said they saw the plane go down. In a dense grove of cottonwoods. Her parachute was partially open. She died instantly when she hit the ground.”
“So she knew she was going to die.” Ice gripped her heart.
“Probably not. It would’ve happened very fast. And her hands were tangled in the riser cords of her parachute. She died the way she lived,” he offered. “Fighting.”
As she stood there staring at nothing, another sensation sneaked through her grief. Marvel had died fighting. Good for her. She went out the way she would’ve wanted to.
A gradual sense of warmth enfolded Pancho as the cold around her heart thawed. As if invisible arms were hugging her. The tiny voice inside her head reminded her gently that what really mattered was the way a person lived. Not how they died.
Pancho said softly, “Marvel lived large. As large as life comes. That’s what matters.”
For a lawman who’d probably seen plenty of death in his day, Pullman seemed pretty affected by this one. His throat worked convulsively, but then he offered her a firm nod.
Pancho took a deep, cleansing breath and swiped at the remaining tears on her face.
Marvel wouldn’t like anyone crying for her.
The words Fly for me whispered through Pancho’s mind.
A few more tears slipped down her cheeks, only these were tears of gratitude for having had a chance to know Marvel—and having had a chance to share the sky with her.
Marvel had died fighting.
She wouldn’t do any less!
The official inquiry into Marvel’s death was held inside the main El Paso Airport hangar.
Five officials sat at a long table like judges in a courtroom while the sheriff acted as bailiff.
A single chair for witnesses was placed in front of the table.
Pancho was seated with the rest of the pilots in rows of chairs put out for those attending the inquiry.
Amelia was first to take her turn in front of the officials. She looked every inch like Lady Lindy, wearing a modest suit, gloves, and a little hat perched on her head. She appeared poised and confident while the five adjudicators did their best to stare her down.
“I flew the Vega I’m flying now across the entire country to Clover Field, and my flight partner and mechanic flew its twin plane.
I was unsure of which plane I would race in until the day of the race,” Amelia stated.
“Throughout the trip to Santa Monica, my plane had no broken wires and no issues whatsoever with the flight-control cables. Yet when I started the race, I immediately experienced sparking under the dashboard, and my flight controls froze.”
Pancho watched the faces of the judges carefully and was alarmed to see them appear dismissive of the testimony.
Amelia continued, “Upon my return to the airport, my mechanic and I inspected the plane. We found that wires under the dashboard had been recently cut. The ends showed V-shaped crimps from what appeared to be wire cutters. As for my flight-control cables, they were bent in ninety-degree angles and showed plier scratches. Given that the cables are steel and quite stiff, it’s not possible for them to have kinked so severely on their own. ”
Pancho noted a few of the judges shifting uncomfortably in their seats at her description of the damage.
Amelia concluded, “Someone must have tampered with the wiring and the cables between the time I landed and when we took off Sunday afternoon. There was no security around our planes at all while we were expected to attend a banquet and various race events, and we were not with our planes at all times. My mechanic was not as fortunate as I was. He flew the other Vega out of Clover Field Sunday evening and crashed, perishing in the accident. He cannot testify as to what went wrong with his plane, but investigators at the scene reported his flight cables were severely bent and kinked in the wreckage.” She paused to take a calming breath.
“His plane was also at Clover Field for two days, unattended and unsecured in any way.”
“But, Miss Earhart, weren’t both of these planes rushed through their building process to be ready for this derby?” one of the men asked.
“Not in my opinion,” Amelia answered firmly.
“Your opinion?” The middle judge leaned forward. “Tell me, do you build airplanes?”
“I do not.”
“Then you aren’t in any position to answer the question of whether or not the planes were rushed through production.” He thumped his fist on the tabletop.
Pancho heard the strain in Amelia’s voice as she said, “Both planes were flown three thousand miles. If faulty flight cables were a manufacturing defect, why did they only kink at the race and in both planes at the same time?”
“Yes, well, we have your official statement here.” The judge shuffled the papers on the table in front of him. “That will be all, Miss Earhart.”
As Amelia, looking stunned, vacated the chair, the same official called out, “Anyone else?”
“I would like to speak,” Thea said, rising to her feet. She walked to the hot seat with her chin held high.
“Who is this woman?” the official in charge asked his colleagues loudly enough for Pancho and everyone else to hear.
The answer echoed just as loudly throughout the empty hangar: “The German.”
Thea nodded. “That is correct. I am German.”
Several of the men seated at the table sent her unpleasant looks.
“I have come to this great country with the expectation that I might not be received warmly,” Thea declared. “But receiving a telegram warning me of sabotage was not what I expected. Yet I did receive such a message.”
Pancho called out from her seat, “We all saw it.”