Red Flags (23 page)

Chapter Forty-four

Holly cocked her head to the side. “Maybe it's strange Don asked you to find out who killed Billy. Or maybe it's clever, if he did it. We've certainly learned motive doesn't mean opportunity or action.”

“True. I need to have a conversation with Don.”

That would have to wait. It was time for the annual track walk: the two hours reserved for drivers and teams to examine the track on foot, bicycle, or golf cart. It wasn't that we'd never seen the track before, after all, the team had raced here for half a dozen years, and I'd been there twice. But it was never a bad idea to get out and look at the turns, surface, and curbing before getting in the car and going like hell.

And in a way, we hadn't seen the track before, in this specific incarnation. Long Beach was a temporary track, meaning for 360 days a year it was city streets and parking lots. Each year, the city rebuilt the racing curbs, smoothed out the surface, and put up walls. Every year, therefore, the track was a bit different. I'd been on it a few days prior for Media Day, but Mike and I needed to see everything up close. We also needed to discuss how the Corvette C7.R was last year, how any changes might make the car better or worse where it was good and bad, and how we might want to adjust the setup.

While Holly wandered off elsewhere, I collected Mike and we hopped into a golf cart piloted by our crew chief, Bruce.

The information-gathering trip paid off for us in Turns 5 and 8. Turn 5, a right-hander around the Long Beach Aquarium's parking structure, had been reconfigured to offer more room to track out. Extra space was especially useful since the turn itself was off-camber or slanted and cars tended to slide to the outside. The inside had a sharp, aggressive curb we'd use to cut the radius of the corner…but with caution, so it didn't upset the car too much.

We also needed to study the unchanged Turn 8, because it was one of the most difficult corners on the track, due to its wide-open entry and an exit that didn't match. That meant less space to run out of the turn if you got into it too deep, which was pretty easy to do, given the downhill, sweeping approach. It was a sure thing someone in every on-track session—practice, qualifying, or the race—would spank the wall on the way out. If they were lucky, they'd get away with a little body damage. Unlucky ones ended nose-deep in the stacks of tires.

“I hate this turn,” I muttered.

Mike laughed. “You haven't found your rhythm yet.”

“Not sure I ever will.” But of course, I was determined to do so, this year.

After Turn 8, we cruised down the back straight as it curved in near the braking zone, narrowing the track slightly. Then Turn 9, Mike's least favorite due to a bumpy and dirty braking zone. The bumps came from manhole covers and the transition from street to parking lot. The dirt came from rubber and other debris that accumulated from four different series of cars running over the same surface.

“They've even repainted the traffic markings on the street to make it more slippery,” Mike groused.

Back at the Sandham Swift paddock, we conferred with Bruce about changes to the Corvette's setup from the prior year, Mike arguing for tweaks he thought might give us better grip coming out of Turn 8 and the hairpin. Bruce wasn't sure he agreed, but we decided to give it a try.

I slapped Mike on the back. “With that, you voted yourself first in the car tomorrow for practice, in case the adjustments make the car suck. They can fix it before I get in.”

“Works for me.”

I spotted Don Kessberg walking past our setup, and excused myself to run after him. I didn't bother with any preliminaries or with asking if he had time. “Why did you argue with Billy back at Petit?”

He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “How'd you find out about that? I thought you were done investigating.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I'm not. You were in the paddock. People know.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That's when Billy shared his idea to form a new team with Nikki's money. I didn't think it was appropriate.”

“You objected by saying you'd beat the tar out of him?”

“I was upset. Protective of Nikki. But I calmed down and talked with her. She assured me she wouldn't be taken in by him, so I let it go.”

Had he?
“Then what were you arguing with him about at Media Day?”

“The SCC paddock logistics. I'd just had the head of Porsche Motorsports North America on the phone raising hell over Billy's screw-up. I was explaining that to Billy mid-morning. I left him alive.”

“Are you sure you want to find out who killed him?”

“I might not be sorry he's dead, but the killer should be punished.” His eyes were steady on mine. “And I'm not the killer.”

“Since you brought it up, where were you after one o'clock that day?”

“Mostly with Nikki.”

I wondered about
mostly
. “That's not what her evidence says.” I meant the videotaped testimony, but I hoped being vague might rattle him.

Which it did. “What? I can't…I don't know—I was there!” He took a breath. “There may have been a couple minutes I wasn't with her, but never long. Not enough to kill that idiot, at least. If anyone says different, they're lying. If Nikki won't tell you the truth, ask Elizabeth. Or Erica from my staff. They were all around.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on, Kate. This is why we wanted your help, to get past me and Nikki being suspects. We're the easy targets, but we didn't do it.”

“You hated him. More than a lot of others.”

He shrugged, a jerky, irritated movement. “He was a useless twit who thought he should get a cookie for showing up. A gold star for meeting expectations. Thought he was entitled to everything. Didn't understand we all have to work for money and success. We don't get them because daddy hands them to us.” He turned away to look at the rows of trucks in the paddock. “You know what really burns me? Jackasses like him. They aren't capable but have money, luck, and position handed to them. Others, the talented, capable ones, work their tails off and go bankrupt trying to achieve a fraction of what he squandered. Yes, I hated him, particularly when he rubbed that entitlement in my face.” He stopped abruptly.

“What happened?”

“Damn my mouth.” He sighed. “Early on in his relationship with Nikki, I thought I'd give him a little friendly advice. Instead, he turned on me, called me an old man, out of touch…all the typical shit. Then he took it a step further. Taunted me. Saying
he'd
be telling Nikki what to do with the race.
He'd
be running the race next year, and I'd be out of a job.”

“How'd you respond?”

Don wasn't as red-faced and angry as I might have expected for rehashing the argument. He seemed embarrassed. “I yelled at him. Almost shoved him, but held myself back.”

“I understand that wouldn't have been the first fight you were in.”

“That was a long time ago, Kate. A different life.” He eyed me sideways. “And you claim you're no investigator.”

“Why was that a different life? It was about racing, right?”

“I was young. I was a heavy drinker. I'm neither now. Sober twenty years, and it's changed me.”

“Good for you.”

“I admit I still have a temper. But I let it out in words, not violence.” He looked down the paddock again. “I might think Billy represented everything that was wrong with the younger generation, and I might have thought he'd be terrible for Nikki and racing. But I didn't kill him. In spite of it all, I still hope you'll find out who did.”

I stared after him as he walked away. I wondered if he was telling me the truth.

Chapter Forty-five

After wrapping up with the Sandham Swift team and meeting Holly at the media center to do a quick interview with a motorsports journalist, I made it back to the Renaissance with enough time to change clothes and freshen up before the evening's activities.

First on the agenda was our fledgling support group for women in racing. I knew at least half of the ten women there: Holly, Elizabeth, Erica from the race organization, and a junior race engineer for an SCC team. The others I'd seen but never met included two women doing media for different IndyCar teams, a female mechanic on a World Challenge team, a fill-in pace car driver for World Challenge, and the only full-time female driver in Indy Lights. We settled around tables in the open lobby of the Westin hotel, two blocks down Ocean Boulevard from the Renaissance, with an assortment of water, soft drinks, and beer.

Elizabeth got our attention. “We're all here for extra support from our female colleagues as we go about our jobs. I thought we could set up a meeting like this at each race weekend, and I encourage everyone to exchange contact information. I think we're all happy to stay in touch in between races.”

“Can we bring others to future gatherings?” one woman asked, and everyone around the tables agreed.

Holly and I sat together at one end of the group. Erica was on my other side, with the other driver beyond her. Next to Holly were the mechanic and the race engineer. That small group of us started getting to know each other, talking about what each of our jobs entailed, where we were from, what road we took to racing, and so forth. With one exception: Sofia Montalvo, the twenty-year-old Indy Lights driver from Spain, turned her back on us and spoke with the women at the other end of the tables.

I didn't take it personally until later, when I specifically tried to engage her in conversation. “Sofia, I'll be racing with you on Sunday,” I said, after reaching over Erica and tapping Sofia's leg.

I got the barest hint of a polite smile and a stiff nod. “That is what I have heard. Congratulations, I wish you luck.”

“Thanks. Any tips about the cars or competitors?”

She pursed her lips. “I do not think so. I think with your great experience—for this is why you get the ride, yes?—you will have little troubles understanding where to press ahead and when to stay out of the way.”

She excused herself to the bathroom and when she returned, she sat at the far end of the gathering, next to Elizabeth.

After she left, Erica shivered next to me. “It got cold in here. Did you hit her in a race years ago?”

“Never interacted with her before, on- or off-track. I wonder what the problem is.”

“Competition, I'd say.”

“I really hate that.” I sighed. “It's not as if there's only one seat for a female driver.”

“When there's only one, she gets more attention. You'll draw some away from her.” She paused. “Do you run into that a lot?”

“I don't run into other female drivers very often, but the ones I've met are usually pretty supportive. Glad to have someone around in the same boat.” I thought about my friend Colby. “Even one I beat out for a sponsorship wasn't like that. We've driven together since then, and we're friends.”

“That's impressive.”

“What's your experience? Are women supportive or competitive?”

“A pretty normal mix, I think.” She shrugged. “But there are more women in management, hospitality, and media, and we're not fighting over limited spaces as you are.”

“Have you worked for a team or series before?”

“Did before, working on doing so again. I like this organizing committee, but I prefer being the traveling circus, not the empty field.”

I studied Erica and liked what I saw. She was about my age, open, friendly, and articulate. “Where are you looking?”

She cut her eyes down to Elizabeth and back to me. “Maybe a series.”

Interesting.
“They're a good group. Tug seems to do a good job as the VP of operations and seems to be a decent boss.” Though I'd questioned Tug Brehan's ethics and moral fiber in the past—when I met him, he'd been allied with Billy and Holden—he'd cleaned up his act in the intervening year.

“Do you know Elizabeth well?” Erica asked.

“We've gotten closer recently, but she's hard to read. I'm never sure where I stand with her.” In contrast, I felt an easy connection with Erica.

“That's my feeling exactly.” She lowered her voice, though only Holly could have heard us, and she was involved in her own conversation. “I think things aren't all rainbows and unicorns in that team.”

“The Tug and Elizabeth team?”

“From her I've heard frustration she's not advancing fast enough or being given more responsibility. He thinks she's pushing too hard but not delivering enough. I can substantiate the pushing. She's been a demanding contact from the GPLB standpoint. About unimportant details.”

“She doesn't have Tug's charm to soften the demands.”

“So she ends up being pointlessly bossy.” She shook her head. “I think Tug wants me to come on and get trained in case she leaves. He's concerned she'll make it official with her boyfriend and leave with no warning.”

“I had no idea it was that serious. I can't imagine Holden would have her leave her job…but I don't know him.”

“That's his name?”

I made sure Elizabeth couldn't see what we were saying. “Holden Sherain. He's sort of related. He was Billy Reilly-Stinson's cousin, too. They were best friends.”

“Interesting.” I watched her absorb the information and make the connections. “All I'd heard was he had money.”

“The family does. Like I said, I don't know him. Maybe that means a good opportunity for you.”

I repeated the bit of gossip to Holly as we walked to dinner later.

“Erica is sharp,” Holly noted. “She'd suit Tug better than Elizabeth, and maybe she'd have less baggage.”

“Baggage?”

“Needs. People who have to be handled carefully, like cousin Holden.
Causes
.
Intensity.
Elizabeth is serious all the time.” Holly grinned. “And serious all the time is tough for our naughty friend Tug.”

“What does she need?”

“Advancement, recognition, reward. Tug's annoyed because she's always trying to connect the Series with the non-profits she wants, instead of the SCC-standard charities. But even there, I understand. I have my pet cause, too.”

“Autism organizations, because of your cousin.” I thought a minute. “What were hers?”

“Foster care organizations.” She paused. “Tug told me in confidence. Apparently Elizabeth's abusive mother was murdered, and then she went into foster care and had a horrific experience. Kudos to her for rising above.”

“It gives me new respect for her, and it explains why she's reserved and serious all the time. Did Tug have any other good gossip?”

She smacked my shoulder. “Call it information.”

“Sorry.”

“He'd also heard rumors about Billy wanting to field a new team with Nikki's money—he didn't know whose money, but he could guess—as well as how furious Don was about it. Do you think Don is secretly in love with Nikki?”

I missed a step. “What? No. Why?”

“He's so angry, so protective.” She shrugged. “Which keeps him on the suspect hook.”

“I suppose it's possible. I should look at the footage again tonight, make sure I didn't miss him with Nikki, since he swore she was his alibi.” I spied the restaurant a block ahead.

“Why don't you let me look? Fresh eyes and all that. Plus, I have a lot less to do this weekend than you.”

“That would help.”

“Tug also says Stuart Telarday might come to the Lime Rock race in July.” I could tell she was worried about how I'd take the news.

Why should I be upset? My ex-boyfriend who was almost killed is doing well enough to come to a race, and I heard about it from someone else?
I cleared my throat. “That's great. It would be nice to see him.”

“You haven't spoken with him in a while?”

“He doesn't call me, and he told me to go the hell away, so I don't call him.” She opened her mouth, but I stopped her. “Not a good time, and I don't want to talk about him anyway.”

She smirked. “I guess you have enough boys to juggle here in L.A. Think about them instead.”

“I'll think about the race.”