"There is every reason to believe that. It's the only motive we have." He drank the rest of his Jack and Coke. "Except there's one problem: our number one suspect was in jail at the time of the crash."
The waiter came by and dropped off another drink for Greg. Perhaps the waiters here at El Torito Bar and Grill were psychic. Greg picked up his drink and sipped it.
"It would take a lot of pull to sabotage a military plane," I said.
"Not as much as you might think," said Greg. "This was a DC-12, and the contract the government has with them stipulates that the makers of the planes get to use their own mechanics."
"So the mechanic was a civilian."
"Yes."
"Have you found the mechanic?"
"Yeah," he said. "Dead in his apartment in L.A."
"How did he die?"
"Gunshot in the mouth."
"Suicide?"
"We're working on it."
I followed up with this some more, but Greg seemed to have reached the limit of what he was willing to tell me.
Greg motioned to my half-finished drink. "You going to finish that?"
"Probably not."