Disclaimer in Part 1.

Hang on to your seats…

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Chapter 7

Friday, March 25, 2005

The sound of chalk scratching on a blackboard gave way to the shuffling of papers. Charlie paged through the spiral-bound report in his hand and paused at a table of numbers. After adding a few of them to the equation on the board, he dropped the report on his desk and rifled through the pile of papers there. Finding the one he wanted, he studied it carefully.

The piles of paper had come from Storper's office that afternoon. He'd been surprised at the consultant's easy acquiescence to handing over the geologic data. After six hours of looking through it, he understood why. There was nothing in the pages of numbers to indicate any misstep at Crescenta Court. Sure, extreme value theory might show that a landslide could have been predicted, but the application of EVT wasn't required when writing an environmental impact report. Even if the slide was natural, it wasn't the geologist's fault for not seeing it coming. And from the numbers he saw here, the slope wasn't steep enough for the slide to be natural, even with the unusual amount of rain they'd had.

He sighed and tossed the chalk onto the rail of the chalkboard. Maybe Don was right. Maybe he wanted to believe in Larry's student so badly that he was chasing ghosts here rather than hard scientific facts. He took a swig from the water bottle on his desk and dropped into a chair, still holding that one sheet of paper. It was a map of Mt. Cresta, showing the elevation at selected points. It was the map Storper had obviously used to calculate the slope, because the numbers were the same as in the equations on the board.

Or at least, they were supposed to be. Charlie squinted at the map, not sure he was reading the tiny numbers correctly. He looked back and forth from the map to the board, then leapt to his feet and started digging through a different pile on his desk. He came out with the older topographic map that he had been using last week, before Don dropped the bombshell of Brett's arrest. Putting the two maps side by side, he realized he was right. "But why would he…" he muttered, then snapped his fingers.

Flipping through the report, he found the detailed map of the site. Yes, it matched with the newer map, but not the older one. "It could just be a coincidence, or a mistake. How would I know--" Then his gaze fell on the corner of the piece of paper on which the newer map was printed. There was a date and time in the corner indicating when the page had come out of the printer. If he remembered correctly, that was only a few days after…he paged back through the report. When he found what he was looking for, he rocked back on his heels. Wow. Talk about a smoking gun.

He erased part of his work on the board and plugged in the new numbers he had obtained. When he worked through the results, he was grimly satisfied to see that he was right. He took a moment to think things over, to make sure he was reasoning correctly, and that there wasn't an obvious, innocent explanation that he was missing. No, his equation fit the data. There were some missing values, of course, but those could be obtained later on. Maybe in another interview with the guilty parties. For now, he had to tell Don what he had learned. "It's not a conspiracy theory if you have proof," he murmured as he reached for the phone.

He was halfway through dialing Don's cell before he glanced over at the corner of his computer screen. 11:30 P.M. That wasn't too late, was it? He paused, one finger hovering over the 5 key. No, this was important. Don might have chewed him out earlier, but he knew he'd listen to what he had to say, no matter how late it was. He dialed the last four digits and paced towards the window while the call connected.

Three rings, then four. Then, "Hi, this is Don Eppes. I'm sorry I'm not able to take your call, but please leave a message." Charlie winced as the loud beep echoed in his ear. "Uh, hi, Don," he said, staring out over the empty campus as he spoke. "I hope I'm not waking you up, but I thought you should know this. I, uh, I was looking over the geotechnical reports from Crescenta Court. I know what you told me on Wednesday, and before you go off on me again, I think I found something.

"It has to do with the topographic maps that Scott Storper used. The numbers don't match. The numbers on the map that I'm holding, the map that is in the geotechnical report, are not accurate. They don't match the US Geological Survey benchmarks on Mt. Cresta. The report makes the slope look less steep than it is and makes the equations work out okay so the probability of a landslide is under the required limit.

"But that's not all. By making the slope look less steep, they were able to squeeze in three extra houses. There's a typo in the report: in one place it says seven, but everywhere else it says ten. Kind of like when you make a new copy of a previous document but forget to change all the text. The thing is, those three houses were located right at the base of the hill. If you use the numbers from the report, they're fine. But if you use the real numbers from the more accurate map, the slope calculations come out differently, and the probability becomes too high. I think they fudged the numbers to squeeze in a few extra houses, and now they're trying to cover their tracks. Because the kicker is, the date that the inaccurate map was printed is just two days after the day they took out the terrorism insurance. Now, that might be a coincidence, but I think if you put all this together -- "

He stopped as he realized that he was hearing the dial tone, and had been hearing it while he spoke the last few words. "Don?" Damn, the voice mail must have cut him off. He turned back to the phone to redial the number --

and drew in a sharp breath. Standing behind him, one gloved finger on the telephone connection, was Jim Penneman. In his other hand was a gun, and it was pointed right at Charlie.

"Sorry to cut you off," Penneman started. "But I couldn't have you telling him what you've figured out."

Charlie clutched the phone receiver so tightly he was sure he must be leaving indentations in the plastic. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see what kind of progress you've been making with the data we gave you." He held his hand out, gesturing towards the phone, and Charlie helplessly handed it over. "Too much, it turns out." He hung up the phone and asked, "Have you told anyone else?"

Charlie swallowed as he understood what was at stake here. Don's words from a few days ago echoed in his head. He'd never wished more ferverently that he did have the ability to lie convincingly. "Yeah," he said, willing the other man to believe him. "I called the agent on duty first. They're sending someone over right away."

"Really. Because I've been standing outside your door for the last fifteen minutes, and the only thing I heard before that phone call is you talking to yourself." The gun raised a little higher, and the man's voice grew colder. "Have you told anyone else?"

No, he literally couldn't lie to save his own life. Somehow he didn't think Don would be too pleased at having been proven right. "No," he said quietly as a cold, heavy feeling lodged in the bottom of his stomach. "I just now figured it out."

"That's good," Penneman replied. "It makes you easier to deal with." Charlie swallowed again at the implications of that, but the blond man was nodding at the papers on his desk. "Erase the board and gather those up."

He slowly moved forward, noticing how the other man kept a distance of several feet between them, and that the gun never wavered. What was he think he was going to do, hit him with a piece of chalk or something? As he picked up the eraser, he turned to Penneman and said, "I'm right, aren't I? You faked the data to add a few more houses to the site. But you needed a backup plan in case it ever became a problem. So you took out the terrorism insurance knowing that you'd be covered if there was a slide and you could make it look like a deliberate act."

"It required a bit of advance preparation, yes. But we had no idea the second largest rainfall on record was going to happen the same winter we finished the development. Perhaps it made us a bit hasty in implementing our backup plan. We obviously left a few holes, so to speak. Your phone call to Mr. Storper made us aware of that."

"That's why you wanted me at the interview, to see if I knew anything."

The blond man nodded. "Sadly, he wasn't quick-witted enough to come up with a reason not to give you his data. Fortunately, I was able to check up on you this evening." He gestured with the gun towards the board. "Get rid of it."

Charlie slowly started clearing the board, stalling for time because it was the only thing he could do, the only small amount of control he had. And maybe the phone would ring, maybe Don would stop by to see how he was doing--

Who was he kidding? It was nearly midnight. He was on his own.

He put down the eraser and turned towards the other man. "What are you going to do with me?" He was proud that his voice only cracked a little as he asked the question.

"That's a good question. Though I'm sure you realize it's not the 'what' so much as the 'how.'" Penneman gestured towards the desk, and Charlie started stacking up the reports, his back to the other man. "Unfortunately, Mr. Storper may have been wrong in his assessment of the stability of the remaining slope. In fact, it might go again at any minute. It would be a shame if that happened when someone was out there trying to gather evidence to prove a colleague innocent."

Charlie put the last folder on top of the stack and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. "It's funny, you don't seem like a murderer."

He heard the man take a step towards him. "You don't understand what's at stake here, do you? If what's in those reports comes out, I'm finished. So is Storper. I've got ten million dollars of insurance riding on this, plus eighty million dollars worth of projects on the books, and you're trying to put me out of business."

Charlie whirled around, eyes blazing. "I'm trying to figure out who's responsible for three people being dead! All you're worried about is your damn projects!"

There was a loud click as Penneman released the safety on the gun, and Charlie froze. Okay, maybe shouting at a guy who was holding him at gunpoint was not the brightest thing he'd ever done. He took a slow step back, and the safety went back on. "Just get the papers," the blond man said. "And let's go."

He motioned towards the door, and Charlie reluctantly obeyed. They walked down the deserted hallway to the back stairwell, Charlie's scalp crawling all the way at the thought of the pistol pointed at his back. Down two flights of stairs, they exited at the loading dock behind the math building. There was a Cadillac parked there, the streetlights reflecting off its white exterior. He heard the jingle of keys behind him, and then the trunk opened with a quiet snick. "Put the papers in the trunk."

He dropped his burden into the trunk, then backed away at Penneman's order. He looked around the loading dock, thinking that if this were the movies, there would be a handy crowbar lying nearby, or a tank of frozen nitrogen that he could blast his captor with. 'No, if this were the movies, you wouldn't be the hero,' he told himself. 'You'd be the poor schmuck who figures things out too early in the plot and gets himself offed.'

His musings were interrupted by Penneman. "Here," the man said, holding out the car keys. "You're driving."

Charlie took a step back. "Uh, no, I can't."

The man's features hardened. "Take the keys and drive the car!"

"No, really, I can't. I, uh, I don't know how to drive."

Penneman took a step closer, looming over him. "What do you mean, you don't know how to drive?"

"J-just that. I never learned." His eyes flickered down to the gun and back to Penneman's cold blue gaze. "Please, I'm not making this up."

He held his breath until he could see the other man believed him. "I don't believe this. What kind of idiot lives in Los Angeles and doesn't know how to drive?" Not waiting for an answer, he commanded, "Turn around."

Charlie obeyed, the knot in his stomach growing a little tighter. After a few seconds, his arms were yanked behind his back, and then he felt the scratch of a rope biting into his wrists. Shit. This was not good. As low as his chances were of getting away, they were even lower with his hands tied behind him.

Then he felt the gun pressing into his back, and he froze. His breath started coming faster, and he barely heard his captor as he hissed in his ear, "You'll be riding in the trunk. Any false moves, and you'll regret it. Understand?"

If he were Don, he'd make some smart-assed remark about the futility of making any kind of move in the trunk, or at least point out that he was going to kill him anyway, so it wasn't like he had much to lose. But he was Charlie, and any bravado he might have felt had disappeared as soon as he felt the gun barrel at the small of his back. So he jerkily nodded. "Go on, then. Climb in."

He awkwardly obeyed, sitting down in the trunk and then swinging his legs in and ducking his head down. Penneman peered down at him, one hand on the lid of the trunk. "Don't worry, it won't be a long ride. Then you and your calculations will be safely gone."

Though he knew it was hopeless, he blurted, "You don't have to do this. Please."

Penneman shook his head. "Nice try, kid, but you really do know too much. I can't let that information get out." He started to close the lid.

"They'll find you," Charlie desperately called. "Wherever you go, Don will find you."

The blond man looked down at him dispassionately. "No, they won't. If they could have figured it out, you wouldn't have had to do all this work on your own, now would you?" And before Charlie could say another word, the trunk lid slammed down.