NTSB: You are aware that the airport authority reports that there were no vehicles on that runway, and that all airport and fire vehicles were accounted for.
MM: Yes. That’s what they say. But something was there.
NTSB: Did you tell your copilot you were seeing a light?
MM: No. There was only time to react. Did I tell him? We’re talking a split second!”
NTSB: Could you have mistaken a runway edge light or one of the approach lights for a vehicle?
MM: Absolutely not. I know what I saw, and it was not an approach or runway light!
Scott’s assumption that he could pull a very big favor from the head of the Colorado State Patrol’s crime lab had almost been proven wrong, but an impassioned plea won the day. It was obvious, however, that there would be no future concessions. He’d dropped the yellow scrapings off at the lab and hoped for a call back that hadn’t come for six days. But at last, with the trial of Captain Marty Mitchell in its fifth day, Scott’s phone rang withthe lab director on the other end.
“Scott, your substance is automotive paint, used only on Chevrolets manufactured between the years of 2004 and 2006. Called Wheatland Yellow. Does that help?”
“Immensely. Thank you!”
“I can’t send you a formal report, but I can send the basics to you via email, and I’ll preserve the sample that’s left.”
Just as the trial had adjourned for the day, a quick call to the Denver Airport Police had snagged the chief on his way out of the door. Scott had met the veteran cop months before and dutifully followed his habit of taking business cards or asking for phone numbers.
“May I ask you a question… partially a legal question?”
“Sure.”
“All of this is off the record, if that’s okay with you.”
There was a chuckle from the chief. “Wait, aren’t I supposed to ask that?”
“Works both ways, sir. Okay, here’s the question. If an airport worker drove his appropriately tagged private vehicle onto a closed runway during the January blizzard, without authorization or clearance, about the time of the Regal crash, would that be a police matter?”
There was a calculating hesitation on the other end.
“Well, that would definitely be a disciplinary matter but… yes, we would want to know about it.”
“Chief, there is a small streak of yellow paint confirmed to be from a Chevrolet product manufactured between 2004 and 2006 found in a lateral gouge on the bottom of the right rear tire on the right main gear of Regal 12. The captain maintained to the NTSB that a pair of headlights suddenly came on in front of him that night on final approach and directly influenced his actions, but there has been no proof, and essentially, the story has been discounted. Now, there are no official yellow Chevrolet cars or trucks as far as I can tell in the airport inventory. Additionally, of the fire and rescue equipment on the field — all of which is painted a different, almost greenish shade of yellow — none is made by General Motors. So, would it be possible for you to run a check of all the private vehicles which have permits to be on the air side of the airport to see which ones might be yellow Chevy products manufactured between those years?”
“We have the ability to do that, of course. Probably dozens of cars would fit that bill, if you’re talking about personal cars which can be driven into the appropriate parking areas.”
“Yes. Exactly. If we did a search like that, we could then cross-check that list against whoever might have been working on the airfield that night, to see if we could narrow it down to one person and one car, and then see if there has been any disturbance to the paint on that car.”
“You’re using the word ‘we’ rather liberally, Mr. Bogosian.”
“Yes, Chief, I know. But I’m just a curious journalist trying to nail down an explanation for something really bothersome, and I figured it would be bothersome to you, too.”
“Spell it out for me.”
Scott described in greater detail the captain’s claim and how it could easily be a key to his last second manipulations of the 757’s controls.
“Hold on. Are you ignoring the reality that no wrecked car was found on that runway that night or later?”
“What if the car was merely grazed, and not wrecked? What if the driver had driven it off the airfield afterwards?”
“Okay… possible, I suppose. And this, I assume, would be material to the investigation?’
Scott had decided to throw a wild card.
“Chief, it might answer a very important question, and it may even be a definitive piece of evidence in the murder trial of the pilot. I have no dog in that fight, but I’m thinking of writing a book on the crash, and I’ve been attending the trial every day.”
“Did someone reputable do the formal forensics on that paint?”
Scott debriefed the information from the state lab.
“And where did the sample come from?”
“Me, and the tire itself. I took the sample. The chain of custody is protected.”
“Did you have the authority to do that?”
“I was accompanied by an NTSB investigator,” he replied, sidestepping the question’s real import.
There was a thoughtful sigh audible from the chief’s end. “You know, Mr. Bogosian, you’re thinking like a cop.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Chief.”
“It is. Most of the time. Okay, give me your number and I’ll get back to you… maybe. I appreciate the information, but I may not deem it appropriate to tell you the results.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
“That would be pretty bizarre, someone on a runway in their own car in the worst blizzard in ten years. I don’t think that’s a viable possibility. But… I have to admit, I’ve seen crazier behavior.”
As have I, Scott thought.
Scott came back to the present and looked around, refocusing on the fact he was in the police chief’s waiting room. The assistant was standing in front of him again.
“The chief is ready if you are, Mr. Bogosian.”
It was noteworthy, Scott thought as he sat down, that the chief requested his door be closed before coming around the modest desk to sit opposite a utilitarian couch.
“Well,” he began, holding a file of papers, “it turns out there are two Chevrolet products with permits to be on the airside of the field, but one of them was in a shop in Aurora for maintenance the night of the crash, with the wheels off.”
“And the other?”
“The other, Scott, belongs to a gentleman who works for the airport authority. In their command center.”
“And… was he here that night?”
The chief nodded, a guarded smile on his face as he watched the reporter.
“Have you interviewed him?”
“Tell me what we should ask him?”
“Well… I guess the first thing is, could we see your car?”
“And then, if he says yes and there’s no damage?”
“Did you have it in the shop at any point between then and now?”
“Keep going.”
“And, the big one, I suppose, was this car anywhere near the runways the night of the Regal crash?”
The chief nodded and stood up. “I agree. And we’ve got the gentleman waiting in an office down the hall. This is not a by-the-book procedure to bring in a civilian to observe a police interrogation, but I’m making an exception because we would have had no suspicions without your input.”
“You haven’t asked him anything yet?”
“No, other than to bring his car with him. It’s a 2005 Chevy Tahoe.”
“Yellow, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Wheatland yellow. You want to look at the truck first?”