Free Crashers by Dana Haynes

booze shortly after his college years, started drinking again.
    By the time the investigation team was disbanded, their romance had become indelibly linked to the Airbus investigation. And as one had failed, so, too, had the other. They’d turned to quarreling or simply annoying each other. And one night they agreed mutually to call it quits. Neither of them had seen or spoken to the other since.
    Now, here they were in the weird, harsh light thrown by the emergency vehicles, their shadows stretching for yards, their breath misting. Kiki used her open palm, fingers spread, to sweep long, sandy-red hair away from her eyes. She breathed into her other fist, which she could barely feel. “Well, this has been fun. We should talk like this more often.”
    Tommy nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m tired. And I puked.”
    â€œYou always puke.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œLook,” she said, and rested a strong hand on his forearm, being careful to avoid the bloodstains. “Let’s just get through this thing. We were friends once. We’re still friends. Cool?”
    He made a fist. She did, too, and they bumped knuckles. “Cool,” he said. “Susan must be glad as hell to have the Sonar Witch on this team. I got a bad feeling this one’s going to go south on you.”
    Kiki thought,
On you?
but let it slide.
    â€œDon’t be pessimistic. I’ve looked over the section rosters. We’ve got a solid team. We’ll get this thing.”
    He nodded, feeling the exhaustion like a scrim, covering everything, making things hazy. He’d been up for twenty-two straight hours now and had been on the scene for closing in on eight hours. “Then let’s start with some good news: they found your CVR.”
    He cocked a thumb in the direction of a pennant that marked the location of the cockpit voice recorder. It lay near the tail cone. He could see Kiki brighten up.
    â€œCool!” She started jogging in that direction, revealing an easy athleticism that Tommy remembered well. “Take it easy, boss. Get some rest!”
    Tommy thought,
Boss?
    John Roby walked over to him, wearing a thick, quilted parka under his NTSB jacket. Tommy grinned when he saw him. “You look like the Michelin Man.”
    John moved to hug him, then noticed the grisly bits on his turnout. They settled for a handshake. “Bloody cold out here, innit. How’re you, mate?”
    Tommy said, “Given the given . . .” and shrugged.
    â€œYeah.” John shrugged inside his massive coats. “You done good, protecting the site. Pennants up, the firefighters haven’t poured water over everything. Nicely done.”
    â€œThanks, man. You’ve got bomb duty?”
    â€œYeah, but not for long. Have a butcher at that.”
    Tommy never got John’s rhyming slang and had stopped trying years ago. John pointed to the fuselage. “There’s some charring on the outside but it’s all up and down, not horizontal. See? That came from the fires in the field. Nothing was aflame before the crash.”
    â€œBomb coulda been inside.”
    â€œNo. I’d smell it if there were an explosive. You’ll see. The cadavers won’t have any soot in their noses, their lungs. This wasn’t a bomb.”
    â€œYou’re the expert.” Tommy yawned.
    John thought maybe it was a trick of the low, harsh lights, but he didn’t remember Tommy looking so pale and drawn.
    â€œCome on,” he said. “Susan set up a hotel. Dunno where, but Kiki likely does. And Susan’s called one of those fucking Allthings for the morning.”
    Both men rolled their eyes. They stood near one of the massive plastic coolers of medical supplies that the EMTs had brought. Tommy knelt and began stuffing supplies into his med kit. “Yeah, you head on out.”
    â€œYou’re knackered, mate. You should come along.”
    â€œCan’t,” he said,