Act of God

that’s not such a bad idea. Why not have fortune cookies in all your ethnic restaurants. The Italian places, Irish pubs, the kosher joints in Brookline there. That’s actually a great idea for a nice light story. Only now”—Mo suddenly looked gloomy—“now I have three story ideas I got to choose from.”
    “Mo?”
    He didn’t look up.
    “Mo?”
    “What?”
    “I need to see some more articles from your morgue files.”
    “More?”
    “Yes, and another favor.”
    “You come in here, bothering me three times in a week, and now another favor, too?”
    “It might be worse than that, Mo?”
    “Worse?”
    “You may have to call in a chip or two for me.”
    “From where?”
    “Your friend at Logan Airport.”

    “Let me get this straight.”
    “Okay.”
    “You’re this private investigator named John Cuddy, right?”
    “Right.”
    “And you’re calling me about that crash outside Washington, D.C.”
    “That’s right.”
    “What do you want from us?”
    “Since your agency investigates these things, I thought you might be able to help me with some questions I have.”
    “Look, I’ve known Mo Katzen a hundred years, but you I don’t know from a hole in the ground.”
    “I don’t think what I’m asking is all that secret. I just need to know it fast without going through a lot of reports.”
    “Wouldn’t matter anyway.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I said, wouldn’t matter anyway. The reports aren’t admissible into evidence.”
    “Who said anything about a trial?”
    “Why else would a private eye want information about a plane crash, you’re not going to use it to sue somebody?”
    “I’m just trying to track someone down.”
    “We don’t release whether a given person was a passenger on a flight. Neither do the airlines.”
    “I already know the passenger was on the flight from the Herald articles Mo dug out for me. I just need to know what happened.”
    “What happened?”
    “To the plane.”
    “The plane would still be in a hangar down by D.C., lying in pieces after they reconstructed it, as far as they could.”
    “No, that’s not what I mean. I just need to confirm some things about how the crash itself occurred.”
    An exasperated sigh. “This is for Mo, right?”
    “Right.”
    Some shuffling of papers. “Tell him he owes me.”
    “I’ll tell him.”
    “Dinner at Dunfey’s Parker House.”
    “He’s already looking forward to it.”
    “All right, I got the report in front of me. What do you want to know?”
    “I want to know if there was any possibility the plane was sabotaged in any way.”
    “What?”
    “The news stories dealt with the incident and even quoted some of the passengers. What I need to know is whether what the papers said was the cause is the only possible cause of the crash.”
    “Look, I don’t spend that much time reading the papers. Don’t tell Mo that, all right? I don’t want him having a stroke on my account. But you want, I can tell you what the report says on causation.”
    “Please.”
    More shuffling. “You want all the surrounding stuff, or just the conclusion?”
    “Start with the conclusion.”
    “Okay, I’m reading this, now. Let’s see...’Therefore, it
    would appear that the sudden, unpredictable ascent of the flock of geese into the flight path of the aircraft was the cause of the engine failure, and that no pilot action could have avoided that failure or the incipient crash.’ How’s that?”
    “No indication of any other cause, then.”
    “No.”
    Despite the magnitude of the tragedy, I found myself smiling a little.
    The voice said, “We get these once in a while, pal. The lawyers like the one you probably work for, they’d like to have you believe that everything is somebody’s fault, but once in a while, we get one of these.”
    “I understand.”
    “Know what we call them?”
    “Them?”
    “A crash like this one. Do you know what we call it?”
    “No.”
    “Just an act of God.”
    I stopped smiling.
    The voice said, “Hey, you still there?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Tell Mo I’m free tomorrow night.”
    “Tomorrow...?”
    “Night. For that dinner at Dunfey’s.”
    “Oh, right. I will. One last thing?”
    An impatient “What?”
    I asked the question.
    “Of course we do.”
    “Where would it be?” I said.
    “Be? Probably down in Washington. No reason to ship that kind of thing back up here. The families sure as hell wouldn’t want to take them home and watch them.”
    I thanked her and