The Breaking Point: A Body Farm Novel - Plot & Excerpts
Digging deep into my wallet, I found the business card—formerly crisp and imposing, now dirty and crumpled—that I’d gotten from Pat Maddox, the NTSB crash investigator, and dialed the number. The phone rang half a dozen times before a deep, gravelly voice rumbled, “Uh . . . yeah . . . Maddox.” “Oh hell, I woke you up,” I said. “Sorry, Pat. I didn’t think about the time change. It’s only, what . . .” I glanced at my watch. “Six fifteen here.” “I apologize.” “I might possibly forgive you,” he growled—still sounding like a balky diesel engine on a cold morning—“if you’ll tell me who the hell this is, and what’s so damn important.” “Oh, sorry, Pat. It’s Bill Brockton. The anthropologist. From Tennessee. I’m calling about the Janus crash.” “Oh, Doc,” he said, his voice warming up. “What can I do for you?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “In fact, I don’t have a clue. Which is the problem, I guess. I got a call—a voice mail—yesterday from Miles Prescott, the FBI case agent.”
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