Dead and Gone Jack Patterson (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

this sport is aware of its inherent danger, which is why we work so hard to put safety first in everything we do.

“Our initial investigation into Carson Tanner’s accident was that the throttle got stuck due to a faulty part, causing the unfortunate crash. Carson Tanner’s widow, Jessica, sought permission to have a second look at the debris from the crash to determine if there was another explanation. Her investigator has claimed that the return spring on the throttle was artificially stressed with heat prior to the race.

“Our investigative team noted that part, but we determined that it was due to other race-related wear and tear on the spring. We will reopen our investigation at the request of Jessica Tanner and reexamine the part. We remain confident in our initial findings, but we recognize the importance of due diligence in this situation to allow us to close this tragic chapter in our sport’s history with full knowledge of what actually happened.”

Simpson drew a deep breath. He was about to take the first question when an aide tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Simpson’s face fell, and everyone in the room noticed it.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to take any questions at this time. Something more pressing has come up,” he said as he climbed down from the platform and raced toward the door.

A buzz filled the room as reporters looked quizzically at each other.

“This is bush league, Eddie,” one of the reporters yelled at him.

Simpson stopped just short of the door. He turned around and stormed in the direction of the insult.

“Watch your mouth, son,” Simpson said as he wagged his finger. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Exactly,” the reporter said. “So, why don’t you tell us?”

“I don’t have all the details right now, but when I do, I’m sure someone from our press team will brief you.” Simpson spun around and resumed his upstream trek through the sea of reporters blocking his way to the door.

“Seriously? That’s it?” the reporter asked.

Simpson turned around. “The police just found someone dead on Rattlesnake Hill. There. You happy now?”

He hustled down the steps and muttered a string of expletives under his breath. This wasn’t how the last few weeks of the NASCAR season were supposed to go. He didn’t think there was any way it could possibly get worse than what happened a week ago in Texas. But somehow, it had.

CHAPTER 25

CAL HUSTLED TOWARD the impromptu press conference, not that he needed to. He already knew everything Eddie Simpson was going to say—and he could gather the filler quotes from the official NASCAR press release later in the media center. But he wanted to see the action for himself. He needed to see how Simpson handled himself in front of the cameras.

But he never got the chance.

As he entered the gate to the media center, a host of reporters and cameramen stormed out following Simpson. They were shouting questions to him, but he waved them off.

What did I miss?

He stepped back and watched the scene unfold. Reporters jammed their microphones in his face; other camera crew members fought for the precious real estate over Simpson’s head with their boom microphones. A flurry of questions asked simultaneously morphed into a cacophony of shouting reporters. Simpson shoved a mic out of his face, bit his lip, and marched on.

Cal grabbed a straggling reporter by the shirtsleeve. “Hey, what happened in there?”

The reporter slowed down for a minute. “Eddie Simpson announced they’re reopening the investigation into Carson Tanner’s accident.”

“That’s what this buzz is all about?”

The reporter kept walking and shook his head. “The police just found a body up on Rattlesnake Hill.”

Cal hustled after the man. “Did he say who?”

“No, not yet, but the police are investigating. The track’s probably worried they won’t be able to open for the rest of the races this weekend.”

Cal thanked the reporter and stopped. He needed to climb the iconic hill and find out what was really going on. And, more importantly, who was dead.

His pace quickened as he left the pack of reporters hounding Simpson and headed for Rattlesnake Hill. He’d climbed the hill a couple of days before just to get a different perspective of the track and watch the sunset over the Arizona mountains surrounding the raceway. He thought it had to rank as one of the best natural features of any stadium in the country. A view from here allowed fans to see the entire track without any blind spots.

He trudged up the steep embankment devoid of any fans. At race time, fans would pack the hill with lawn chairs, coolers, and flags of their favorite drivers.

The tiered seating area for fans ended about three-fourths of the way up the hill, as it was topped with piles of large rocks and rattlesnake hideouts. The end of the seating area also marked the place where a Maricopa County Sheriff’s deputy stood watch to provide a barrier between any snoopy members of the public and the officers investigating the scene.

Cal stopped about fifty yards short of the deputy when his phone buzzed. It was Folsom.

“What did I do this time?” Cal asked jokingly as he answered.

“You’ve written your last piece for The Observer, that’s what,” Folsom fired back.

“What? You’re joking, right?”

“No, Cal, I’m not.”

“What did I do? That story was tight yesterday.”

Folsom sighed. “It has nothing to do with the story.”

“What then? Why would you possibly fire me?”

“Maybe the fact that you ran up a five thousand dollar tab at a Phoenix strip club last night on strippers and bottles of Cristal.”

“That’s ridiculous. I did no such thing.”

“Well, I’ve got pictures to prove it—along with credit card receipts.”

“You’ve got to be joking. If this is some kind of sick joke, Folsom, it isn’t funny.”

“Nobody’s laughing, Cal. Least of all, my boss.”

Cal seethed as he turned toward the track and watched a few cars on practice runs. “I’m telling you right