Chapter 23 #2
The other women called out their concurrence.
“Maintain order, or you shall be removed,” the presiding judge declared.
Thea continued, “And then my plane was sabotaged. Trash in the fuel tank fouled my engine. I gave the bits of rubber, string, and cloth that I removed from my plane to BOI Agent Pullman, along with a signed statement from several Americans who watched me open my engine and remove the trash from my carburetor and clogged fuel line.”
The main judge said, “Miss Rasche, isn’t it true that the plane in question was not the plane you were promised for this derby? That, in fact, you were given a plane in poor repair, including having a hole in the fuel tank?”
Thea let out a sound of frustration. “This is true.”
“So it’s possible the debris you found might have been because of the disrepair and not the result of nefarious intent as you suggest?”
Thea obviously didn’t want to answer. She sat silently glaring at the panel of officials.
“Our duty is to look at all of the evidence, not just the cherry-picked facts you would have us see, Miss Rasche. Did your Gipsy Moth plane, in fact, have a hole in the fuel tank?”
“It did,” Thea admitted. “Of course, it was repaired before the race. The mechanic assigned to me for the derby and I worked all day Saturday and much of Sunday before the race, making repairs and bringing the plane into good working order. We opened the carburetor, and we checked all the fuel and oil lines as part of our maintenance. She—the plane—was in fine repair by the time I flew her in the race.”
The official remarked, “Gentlemen, I call your attention to the testimony of the mechanic who worked to restore the Gipsy Moth. It required a great deal of effort to make it airworthy.”
The men shuffled through the papers in front of them once more. Pancho got the distinct impression they weren’t reading anything written on the pages and were simply making a show of caring about any of the statements that had been submitted to them.
“That is all, Miss Rasche.”
Thea hesitated. The sheriff uncrossed his arms and shot her a warning look. With a harrumph, Thea left the witness chair.
“Mr. Wilkins? Are you here?” the main judge called out.
“Yes, sir.” A reporter made his way to the witness chair.
“Mr. Wilkins, I have a statement here from you where you claim to have overheard a conversation between Miss Marvel Crosson and Mrs. Barnes in Yuma. Please tell us what you heard.”
Wilkins nodded. “I heard them talking, clear as a Sunday church bell. Miss Marvel . . .” He stopped to clear his throat. “Miss Crosson told Mrs. Barnes that she’d drifted off while flying to Yuma.”
“I see. What else?”
“You can just ask me what we talked about,” Pancho declared angrily, “and not rely on some eavesdropping snitch!”
“Very well, Mrs. Barnes.” The official gestured at the chair Wilkins currently occupied.
The reporter vacated the seat, and Pancho made a beeline for it. Sitting still through this travesty was driving her insane.
“I would remind you this is an official inquiry,” the judge said sternly. He sounded just like Rankin at his most officious. She rolled her eyes but reminded herself to stick to the facts and control her ire. “Did you advise Marvel Crosson to remain in Yuma to have her airplane’s engine replaced?”
So, that was how they were going to explain away Marvel’s crash. She clenched her fists in her lap, loathe to answer.
The official raised an eyebrow and asked archly, “Shall I recall Mr. Wilkins?”
“That was one part of a larger conversation between pilots,” she declared. “It’s not as simple as a yes or no.”
“Did you recommend the engine be replaced because you deemed it unsafe for her to continue?”
Pancho did her best to remain patient as she answered, “I already told you, it’s not that simple.”
One of the other officials leaned forward to ask, “Did Miss Crosson liken her symptoms to those suffered by Louise Thaden on her flight to join the derby?”
“I can speak for myself as well.” Louise stood up from behind Pancho.
“Did you collapse at the Fort Worth airport from carbon monoxide poisoning? I have a signed statement here from witnesses who claim you fainted and that your plane underwent emergency repairs in the form of a breathing tube to send fresh air to the cockpit.”
Pancho swiveled in her seat in time to see Louise press her lips into a thin line.
“Yes or no, Mrs. Thaden? It’s a very simple question . . . not part of a larger conversation . . .” the official snapped.
Louise nodded. “I did.”
The judge harrumphed.
Louise sat down, and the first judge spoke again. “Mrs. Barnes, you were heard by several witnesses warning Miss Crosson to not risk her life by continuing the derby. Is that because you knew both Mrs. Thaden’s and Miss Crosson’s planes were unsafe to fly due to carbon monoxide?”
“That’s not the whole picture,” Pancho argued. “Louise’s plane and Marvel’s are—were—quite different. You cannot compare them directly.”
“I could not disagree with you more, madam,” the judge declared. “You and your fellow female pilots only want us to see the evidence that supports your view of events. As an official review board, we must look at all the evidence without emotion clouding our judgment.”
She’d had enough of these men’s dismissal of the evidence right under their noses.
She surged to her feet, exclaiming, “We’re the pilots flying the danged race!
You’re a bunch of sanctimonious old farts sitting at home listening to news reports of what we’re out here doing.
You can’t possibly be as familiar with every detail of this race as the pilots actually participating in it! ”
The other women rose behind her and started talking angrily all at once. They had obviously tolerated about as much of this farce as they cared to as well.
The judge slapped his hand loudly on the table to regain order. When that didn’t work, he raised his voice and bellowed, “Sheriff, clear this room!”