Crash, p.13
CRASH, page 13
‘Holy cow,’ said Krall. ‘How does this case warrant that degree of overkill?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t stop there,’ agreed Straker. ‘The third googly was the location for the trial: the prosecutor general stated that it will be heard … in the Supreme Court.’
‘As the court of first instance?’
‘Indeed, while the fourth surprise is the timeframe. The trial's been scheduled to be held within four weeks.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said the in-house counsel. ‘What the hell's the rush? That's indecent!’
‘I’ll come to my thoughts on why all this has happened in a moment. The prosecutor general's actual words were: “I intend to have those responsible for this corporate manslaughter before the Supreme Court of Russia – and starting their lifetime of hard labour – within a month.”’
‘Holy shit.’
‘Unbelievable,’ agreed Quartano. ‘How can you hope to prepare for trial under such time pressure? Have you got the guys going over the car to get to the bottom of the accident?’
Straker braced himself. ‘No. And we won’t. Remy's car has been impounded. McMahon is pretty sure the wreckage is going to be assessed by a court-appointed expert, probably a Russian.’
Quartano nearly exploded: ‘A Russian motor racing expert … that's a contradiction in terms. God help us. Do you want me to push San Marino – to get the FIA to step in?’
‘No, sir – not publicly; at least – not yet,’ replied Straker. ‘One of the reasons the Russians are investigating all this themselves is because they see F1 standards as responsible for the crash. San Marino and the FIA, therefore, are being seen as part of the problem. The Russians are dead against any involvement by the FIA – convinced the FIA's primary objective would be to mount a cover-up of the accident. Bringing them in privately, though, could be very helpful; but let me try and build up a clearer picture of what went wrong first, before we talk to San Marino?’
‘Okay, Matt – say when you want … I’m sure I can encourage his involvement.’
‘Ahead of that,’ said Straker, ‘Andy Backhouse is pretty sure we can piece together most of what we need from the telemetry records, either here in the motor home, or back at the factory.’
‘We’ve got no time to waste – God, Stacey – four weeks to the trial. What do we do for a silk? We’ve got to have a Rottweiler – and a fast-working one?’
‘Oscar Brogan would be perfect,’ replied Krall. ‘I’ll brief him straight away.’
‘What about the language issue?’ asked Straker. ‘The trial's likely to be in Russian, isn’t it?’
‘Undoubtedly, which makes Brogan all the more perfect,’ said Krall with a chuckle. ‘Oscar Brogan – né Osip Broganski – is first-generation British: his parents were Russian émigrés.’
‘How lucky is that?’ agreed Straker. ‘Even so, the sod here – of course – is going to be that our response to the legal attack would be far more effective if we could be aggressive, fight back on a similar footing – which Oscar masters without question. But that would kill public sympathy for us. We can never forget that thirty-one people died as a result of all this.’
‘It's going to be a tough one to fight,’ observed Quartano. ‘I’d have every confidence that Brogan would strike the right balance – pitch it right.’
Straker judged this was the moment to bring up his next concern. ‘Talking of a tough fight, I should tell you we’ve had a strange incident with Yegor Baryshnikov this afternoon.’
‘What now?’ Quartano asked.
‘I’d just held a preliminary meeting of the team, introducing Brandeis as our lawyer. Baryshnikov was adamant the trial is going to be a foregone conclusion – that we will lose, not least as Gazdanov had been appointed as the prosecutor. Worse, Baryshnikov firmly placed the blame for the crash on Sabatino.’
‘Oh God, no; he's not up to more of his Montreal mind games, is he?’ Krall asked.
‘I think it's worse than that. Baryshnikov stated, unequivocally, that Ptarmigan should take full responsibility for the deaths. When we tried to disagree with him he pushed back vehemently and ended up storming out of our meeting.’
‘What's wrong with that man?’
Krall asked: ‘Does he want to win that badly?’
‘For God's sake, don’t let him anywhere near the press. If he gets reported saying anything like that, he’ll seal Ptarmigan's fate for good.’
‘McMahon's going to speak to him as soon as possible – to make sure he knows how important all this is.’
‘What about Remy?’ asked Quartano. ‘Have you managed to speak to her yet? Her testimony will be crucial.’
‘It will be,’ said Straker, ‘but, no. Andy was talking to the hospital this afternoon. She is now conscious, apparently, but extremely frail. The police have put her under armed guard.’
‘In the hospital? Jesus,’ said Krall. ‘More overkill!’
Quartano asked: ‘ To keep her captive?’
‘Essentially, yes – although I’m glad they are, actually. I would worry for Sabatino's safety if she weren’t that well guarded. The accident continues to cause great distress. I told you about the goading I received from the police. There were also massive crowds protesting outside the Ministry of Justice this afternoon, and there's a three-hundred-man vigil outside the main gates of the Grand Prix circuit.’
‘Sounds almost like hysteria,’ said Quartano.
‘For sure something's going on. The prosecution, though, is probably this zealous as an institutional response, trying to assuage the public mood. The government seems hell-bent on being seen to do something to avenge the dead.’
‘And, now, poor Tahm and Remy are stuck in the middle of all this,’ sighed Quartano, ‘apparently with the full weight of the State bearing down on them.’
‘They are,’ agreed Straker. ‘Worse, if the charge of corporate manslaughter sticks, they’re each looking at twenty years’ hard labour.’
TWENTY-FIVE
That lunchtime Remy Sabatino had her first solid food since the crash. Because of the halo device, she had to be propped up on a mountain of pillows. Half sitting, a wheeled hospital-bed tray was positioned in front of her, enabling her to eat lunch in bed. Her motor skills were shaky. She dribbled and spilled a fair amount, but was determined to manage. Swallowing was agony. Even so, she felt better almost at once for having eaten something substantial.
Sabatino was still being kept in isolation, enforced by the armed policemen outside her door. As a result, she had not been spoken to by anyone other than the consultant since the accident – and he’d not discussed anything of what had happened. Nurses were now slipping in and out without speaking to her as if she was toxic. She still knew nothing of the details of her accident. She was confused, sore and wondering why no one had come to see her.
Having ended the call to London, Straker remained in the private cabin of the motor home. There was a knock on the door. He heard a muffled ‘Matt’ and recognized Backhouse's voice. Straker open the door.
‘I think we might have found something.’
Straker followed him into the open-plan section of the motor home.
‘What is it?’
‘Something,’ replied Backhouse pulling out two stools from under the central workstation.
‘Perhaps Sandy should see this, too?’ suggested Straker, and caught the lawyer's attention. Leaving her laptop, McMahon crossed the motor home and pulled out a stool for herself.
‘We’ve found a fair amount of material,’ reported Backhouse. ‘This, though, is a very telling clip of the crash,’ he said pointing at the computer monitor. He pressed Play.
The coverage began with an aerial view of Sabatino's turquoise car in the middle of the screen. She was exiting Turn Ten, close behind the race leader – Yegor Baryshnikov – in the other turquoise car. The footage showed Sabatino beginning her charge down the half-mile straight. It showed her make her move, closing up behind Baryshnikov, slipstreaming in the lee of his rear wing. Then they saw her dive out to the right – and make her approach to Turn Eleven, the long sweeping left-hander.
Backhouse tapped the keyboard to freeze-frame the film.
Using a two-finger spread he enlarged the image and centred it. The car was facing to the right. It was as if they were now directly overhead, looking straight down into the Ptarmigan cockpit. Filling the screen were Sabatino's helmet, chest, arms and both hands on the steering wheel.
‘This here,’ said Backhouse, turning to face both Straker and McMahon, ‘is just before Remy starts to turn in – turning left – into the corner, yes?’
Straker agreed.
Backhouse nudged the footage on by two frames. ‘Now look,’ he said. ‘You can just see – there – Remy is starting to turn the wheel. Her intent to turn is clear; she's rotating it away from horizontal, her right hand has clearly tried to rise. The car is starting to turn.’
Straker leant in to observe the image more closely.
McMahon did the same.
‘At that speed,’ said Backhouse, ‘with such a direct steering ratio, and given the car's impeccable balance, what Remy did just then should have been more than enough to set the car up for the turn.’ Tapping the footage on, he stopped a few frames later. ‘This is three-tenths of a second on, after she's initiated the turn. Look at her now.’
Straker and McMahon leant in closer.
‘Look at her position,’ suggested Backhouse. ‘From having simply raised her right hand and lowered her left, she's now raising her right elbow – her right shoulder has even moved forwards, off the back of her seat.’
Straker's said. ‘So she's exerting herself, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Exactly. Hydraulic-assisted steering on a Formula One car should be sensitive to little more than fingertip pressure. Here, on a part of the track we would expect to be dirty, and therefore far lighter on the steering anyway, Remy looks like she's trying to heave the wheel over – wrestling with it. She's using her whole arm and shoulder.’
Then, putting his finger on the screen, Backhouse slid the whole frozen image across to the left, until the front of Sabatino's car came into view.
Straker saw it immediately. ‘Holy fuck.’
‘What?’ asked McMahon.
‘Look at the front wheels, Sandy,’ said Backhouse tapping them on the screen with the backs of his fingers.
McMahon observed: ‘So she's turned the steering wheel, but her front wheels are still pointing straight ahead. The car's going straight on?’
‘Good God.’
‘But that's not all. Look at this,’ said Backhouse, this time sliding the frozen image the other way, past the cockpit to bring the rear wheels into the picture. ‘We missed this when the film was run at normal speed; we only spotted it in slow motion. Look at this,’ he said pointing to Sabatino's right rear, ‘something happens for a fraction of a second.’
‘A wisp of smoke,’ observed McMahon. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Remy's right-rear wheel is suddenly under-rotating.’
Straker leant back in again. ‘Has she braked, there?’
Backhouse shook his head. ‘We’re still pulling all the telemetry together and so don’t know, for sure. But the brake balance favoured the fronts, meaning that if she had braked sharply enough for the tyres to lock-up, the fronts should have done so first.’
‘If this part of the track was dirty, though – as you suggested – wouldn’t that account for a tyre losing full grip … and locking-up?’
Backhouse nodded. ‘Very possibly, except I don’t understand why it did so only for a fraction of a second?’
‘What's caused it, then?’
Backhouse looked pained. ‘We don’t know yet, and won’t until we see the loading through each brake.’
‘What happens to Remy next?’
Backhouse prompted the film to roll on a few more frames before stopping it again. ‘This is another three-tenths on – and, here, Remy's definitely clocked there's a problem.’
Straker could see that Sabatino's arm and shoulder were relaxed again, having returned the steering wheel to the horizontal. ‘It looks like she's given up on the front wheels showing any sign of response.’
Backhouse nodded.
‘That's pretty significant, isn’t it – that degree of resignation? Is she braking now?’
‘Again, we’re waiting to look at the telemetry.’
‘Go on.’
‘A driver in that situation will hit the brakes, almost as a flinch.’
‘And?’
‘On a dirty surface, which this bit most certainly was, the front tyres would be expected to lock-up pretty easily and, now, be very likely to produce smoke.’ Backhouse leant forward to press the space bar to let the footage run on. It did so in slow motion.
Straker strained his eyes to study the image on the screen. Saba-tino's car was moving left to right in a straight line. It approached the red-and-white kerbstones on the edge of the track before the gravel.
‘There's no lock-up,’ said Straker.
‘Nor smoke,’ offered McMahon.
‘Precisely,’ said Backhouse. ‘And apart from that tiny wisp of smoke from the rear right, none of the wheels lock-up again – even when she gets out onto the gravel. Furthermore, there seems to be no noticeable deceleration, either.’
‘Meaning what? That she didn’t brake?’
‘Or that she couldn’t.’
Straker was staring at the screen. ‘Remy's steering becoming unexpectedly heavy – is that the reason you think she left the circuit?’
Backhouse shrugged. ‘She did go straight on – after she’d tried to turn the wheel … twice.’
‘So what's caused that?’ asked McMahon.
‘It could be a number of things. The steering column might have been impeded for some reason. If it was, then the steering mechanism would have been harder to turn. The steering of an F1 car ceased to be entirely mechanical decades ago, some hydraulic assistance having been permitted under the different Formulas of recent years. To provide that assistance, there's a metering valve set on the steering column, activated by any rotation of it. That causes hydraulic flow into the pistons that apply the assistance. This metering valve is a tiny component and can be intolerant. Any dirt getting in there, for instance, could impede the flow of fluid; if Remy's car suffered that, then the steering hydraulics wouldn’t have been given any commands, resulting in no help being given to turn the steering column and therefore the front wheels. But those are the things that would be specific to the steering.
‘If there was also a simultaneous problem with the brakes, that suggests it might have been the hydraulics. One pump serves all the hydraulics on our cars. If that had failed then, automatically, the hydraulics in the steering would fail, as would the calipers in the brakes. It might have been that one of the hydraulic tubes burst: these things are only the thickness of a pencil but can still withstand the pressure of two hundred atmospheres. A burst in that system, carrying the fluid around it, could have caused an instant loss of power. Any such failure would kill the power-assistance, making the steering heavy and affect the brakes.’
‘So hydraulics seem to be the common denominator?’ suggested Straker.
‘Do these systems fail often?’ asked McMahon.
Backhouse shook his head. ‘Hardly ever, but we could never say never. It's entirely possible there could have been a catastrophic failure in any of the components, completely without warning. Around a Grand Prix circuit – particularly at race pace – the stresses and strains are immense. Who knows? A bad bump, a collision, a contact with a kerbstone – any or all such incidents could shock the system enough to cause a failure.’
Straker asked: ‘How do we narrow it down, Andy – to pinpoint the actual cause?’
‘Normally we would go over the car. We would examine each and every component, and check everything … but …’
‘… we can’t get access to the wreckage,’ confirmed McMahon.
‘We are, though, gathering all the telemetry across the car. We’ll just have to hope we can find other clues to give us an idea.’
‘We’ve got to know what happened,’ said McMahon gravely, ‘and have a solid explanation for this. Any kind of mechanical failure would leave Ptarmigan hugely vulnerable to accusations of mechanical underperformance, design underperformance, management underperformance – and, therefore, corporate underperformance. I can’t stress this enough. Identifying the reason for the failure of the car is critical to defending ourselves against the charges of corporate manslaughter.’
TWENTY-SIX
Remy Sabatino may have felt better after a modest go at her first proper meal since the accident, but she was now getting bored. A television was mounted on the far wall. Awkwardly she used what limited movement the halo brace allowed to look around her bed and bedside table, trying to find the remote. She couldn’t see it. It must be in one of the drawers, she realized, but didn’t have the mobility to check. When the next nurse attended her, Sabatino croakily asked for the remote. The medic barely nodded before leaving the room.
Ten minutes later the senior staff nurse appeared. Sabatino repeated her request to have the television on, again asking for the remote. The nurse shook her head. ‘The doctor says not to watch television,’ and dropped two celebrity magazines onto the bed tray in front of her.
Sabatino replied: ‘Why not? How could watching TV do me any harm?’ The nurse had already turned her back and was opening the door to leave.
There was no further response to Sabatino's questions.
‘What on earth is going on?’ she rasped to the empty room.
Later that afternoon Remy Sabatino was subjected to a further series of tests. Her strength seemed to be improving, but she was constantly reminded of her accident by the intense pains running down her left flank.
Helped up into a half-sitting position, Sabatino found herself able to concentrate on some of the articles in one of the trashy celebrity magazines, if only for short periods at a time. Because of the residual effects of the coma-inducing drugs, she didn’t notice that the editions she had been given were at least three months old.
