Dead End (47 page)

The mood switchbacks had always been unpredictable, but Parnell had never suspected Newton to be seriously mentally unwell. ‘There's been nothing said … no indication … at McLean?' Why, Parnell wondered, had Grant asked if he'd spoken to Newton if the man were as ill as this?

‘There'd been warnings, from his doctor. That's what he came up to tell me. And to resign as research vice president.'

‘Resign?' said Parnell.

‘He'd been with Dubette for more than twenty years. His contribution to the company is incalculable …' There was another hesitation. ‘Can you believe, as sick as he was, coming up here to resign, he still managed to tell me of your concern?'

‘Yes I can,' said Parnell, bringing himself back to the purpose – and the determination – of his being in New York. ‘I think it should be your concern, too. I'm not convinced the French mistakes have been cleared up. I tried to find out when I spoke to Henri Saby. He told me to talk to Dwight or to you. Dwight said it was still being recovered. Obviously there's a lot still in circulation: thousands of doses, according to Dwight. There's got to be a public statement, a warning. If there's not and there are provable deaths, Dubette could be destroyed …' Parnell checked himself, hearing what he was saying. ‘The deaths don't have to be provable. People, children, will die if they take the medicines Dubette's French subsidiary has put out on the market.'

‘I know,' said Grant.

The simplicity of the answer – and the admission – deflated Parnell's carefully prepared argument. ‘What's being done?'

‘Newton said everything you've told me, although perhaps not as well,' said Grant. ‘As I told you, I'm surprised that, as ill as he was, he managed to tell me anything. I've already spoken to France. They're checking distribution. In any country from which there's not been full recovery, a warning has been issued, through national governments to health authorities and quite separately, through national and local media outlets. Nothing's going to be allowed to remain unaccounted for.'

‘You really mean that … promise that?' said Parnell.

‘Do you have the presumption to question me?' demanded Grant, affronted.

‘It's not presumption,' said Parnell, unintimidated. ‘It's a very real and genuine concern.'

‘Which is precisely what's motivating me. And why I've authorized the action that I have.'

‘I …' said Parnell, seeking words ‘Thank you. For the assurance and for doing … Thank you …'

‘Is it conceivable that I wouldn't?'

‘No. I'm still glad to know it's been done.'

‘You've proved yourself, Richard. Not in the way I expected, but in a way for which Dubette will be forever grateful.'

‘I see it as one of the functions for which I am employed.'

‘Dwight won't be coming back,' said Grant. ‘He's resigned, as I told you. He'll hopefully recover – he's going to get every care and treatment to ensure that he does – but he'll never be able to resume the responsibility of research director.'

‘That's … unfortunate. Sad,' said Parnell, at once aware of his own hypocrisy. Practically from his first day at Dubette he'd lost any respect for Newton.

‘I want you to take the position,' announced the president. ‘You've more than proved your ability. And your integrity, here today.'

‘I couldn't be more surprised,' Parnell managed.

‘There'll be a salary increase, obviously. And stock options. The lawyers will have to work it out, like they have to work everything out. I'm thinking in the region of six hundred thousand dollars. There'll be travel opportunities, too. I don't want another debacle like Paris. Part of your increased responsibilities will be to visit the overseas subsidiaries – make sure none of them ever come up with such a half-assed idea ever again.'

Parnell shook his head. ‘As I've said, I'm totally surprised. Astonished. I need time to think …'

‘I don't know why, but of course,' said the Dubette president. ‘At the stockholders' meeting I'm going to announce Dwight's prematurely enforced retirement. I want to announce your succession at the same time. I don't want any vacuums.'

‘
You said to call.
'

‘
What was it
?' demanded Grant.

‘
Forensics, like I said. My thumb print was on the flight number.
'

‘
What did you tell them
?'

‘
About the lost shipment.
'

‘
Not a problem, then
?'

‘
Clarkson doesn't think so.
'

‘
What about the other two
?'

‘
Clarkson won't let me speak to them direct. He's spoken to their attorneys. He says they're standing up fine.
'

‘
The FBI want to talk to me.
'

‘
They asked me about you.
'

‘
What did you tell them
?'

‘
That we talked from time to time. About security.
'

‘
Which we do.
'

‘
Yes.
'

‘
Newton's sick. Collapsed. He's leaving the company.
'

‘
What do you want me to do
?'

‘
Nothing. Barbara's seen him. Thinks the treatment will wipe his mind clean. I'm giving the job to Parnell.
'

There was a pause from Washington. ‘
That going to mean any changes
?'

‘
We keep dealing direct, you and I.
'

‘
What about the surveillance
?'

‘
Lift it
.'

‘
Maybe we should talk, after you've seen the FBI
?'

‘
Maybe.
'

As before, the line went dead without any farewell.

Thirty-Four

T
he review preparation was for its later submission to FBI lawyers for their decision, but it enabled Dingley and Benton to fly up to New York fully rehearsed for the meeting with Edward C. Grant. Both men were subdued, no more encouraged by the second intercepted conversation between Grant and Harry Johnson than they were by the first.

Trying to lift the despondency on their way in to Manhattan from the airport, Dingley said: ‘We still haven't heard back from Paris. Or Dulles airfreight.'

‘You know how high my hopes are for either?' said Benton, once again narrowing his thumb and forefinger too closely for any chink of light.

‘I suppose we should call in on the guys at the Broadway field office?' suggested Dingley.

‘Let's see how we feel after we've talked with Grant,' said Benton. ‘Wakes depress me.'

‘Nothing's dead yet.'

‘Dying by the minute,' insisted Benton.

Peter Baldwin was the only person with the Dubette president when they were shown into the penthouse office suite. It was the company lawyer who made the introductions but Grant who solicitously led them away from desk-focused formality to the flickering, genuine fireplace around which were arranged leather-upholstered easy chairs and couches. Both agents refused Grant's offer of coffee.

Accustomed to the legal assembly of the previous interviews, Dingley said: ‘Are we waiting for others?'

‘Who?' frowned Grant.

‘I thought …' said Dingley, discomfited.

‘You're surely not implying Mr Grant requires a criminal attorney?' said Baldwin.

‘They seem to have featured a lot during the enquiry,' said Benton, trying to help his partner. ‘But no, of course we're not suggesting that. It would have been Mr Grant's right, that's all.'

‘I don't think there's any risk to my rights, do you?' smiled the white-haired man.

‘We appreciate your agreeing to help us,' said Dingley, their customary opening.

‘I'm not quite sure how I can, but let's get on with it, shall we?' said Grant, a busy man with a busy schedule.

‘There are some inconsistencies in what Mr Johnson's told us, things we can't quite fit into the puzzle,' said Benton. ‘You spoken directly to Mr Johnson since Ms Lang's death?'

‘Yes,' said Grant, at once. ‘I think he believed it was his job to do so. I agreed.'

‘How many times?' asked Dingley.

‘Twice,' frowned Grant, as if he had difficulty in recalling. ‘Yes, twice.'

‘Did you speak about the flight number in Ms Lang's purse, which is the reason for FBI involvement?'

There was another frown. ‘There was some mention, I think. I can't remember precisely what the context was.'

‘His thumb print was on it,' said Benton. ‘He'd earlier told us he didn't know anything about a number or why it should have been in Ms Lang's bag.'

‘Really?' remarked Grant. And stopped.

‘Did you and Harry Johnson specifically discuss the flight number?' asked Benton.

‘We might have done, after it emerged in court. I really can't remember.'

‘We're surprised at the direct communication between you and your security chief,' declared Dingley.

‘Why?' demanded the man.

‘You're the head of an international conglomerate. Harry Johnson is head of security at McLean,' said Dingley. ‘That seems quite a divide.'

‘You a snob, Mr Dingley?'

‘I don't believe myself to be, sir,' said the FBI man.

‘Sounds like it to me,' said Grant. ‘I run a different sort of organization than a lot of people – than perhaps the FBI. I
want
my chief executives and division heads to talk to me. That way problems get solved before they become problems.'

‘So, it's not unusual for you and Harry to speak?' persisted Dingley.

‘Not at all.'

‘How often would you say?'

‘Whenever it's necessary,' shrugged Grant.

‘How? He come up here to report to you direct? When you're in Washington? Telephone?'

‘Whichever's convenient,' shrugged the president, again. ‘I always make a point of speaking to every division head in Dubette whenever I'm down there. And there's the telephone.'

‘Did you know Harry Johnson before he joined Dubette from Metro DC police department?' asked Benton.

‘
Before
?'

‘That was my question, sir.'

‘How could I have known him before?'

‘We thought you might have done,' said Dingley.

‘What reason do you have for thinking that?' came in Baldwin.

‘Just an impression,' said Benton.

‘I thought the FBI worked on the basis of evidence and facts,' said Grant. ‘I did not know Harry Johnson before he joined Dubette.'

‘How did that come about, his joining Dubette?' asked Dingley.

‘The previous security chief was retiring. Recommended Harry. He seemed to fit the bill.'

‘Who employed him? You personally? Or your personnel division?' pressed Benton.

‘It would have been personnel, obviously,' said Grant.

‘Eighty thousand dollars a year is a substantial salary.'

‘He heads what is considered an important division. Dubette is noted throughout the industry as a substantial payer.'

‘You seem well informed about how Harry Johnson came to be employed,' said Benton.

‘I'm well informed about every senior employee at Dubette,' said Grant. ‘Perhaps security more than most. Security is very important for a company like mine.'

‘Because of stealing and commercial theft and piracy,' anticipated Benton.

‘Precisely,' agreed Grant.

‘You suffer a lot of it?'

‘We take every precaution to ensure that we don't.'

‘When was the last time?' asked Dingley, building up to what he and his partner hoped to be the puncturing question.

There was the now familiar shrug. ‘There was some warehouse pilfering about three months ago.'

‘Did you get the guys?' asked Benton.

‘It was a delivery driver, supplying pills to kids. He drew a year. I'd have liked it to have been more. I know the danger of drugs as well as their benefits.'

‘What about commercially?' said Dingley.

‘Last attempt was three years ago. A competitor got an informant into McLean. Harry got him before there was any serious damage.'

‘I can't imagine Richard Parnell would steal pills from a Dubette warehouse,' said Benton.

‘
What
?' exclaimed Grant, astonished.

‘We can't imagine Richard Parnell stealing pills from a warehouse,' echoed Dingley. ‘Why was he under surveillance, Mr Grant?'

Grant looked first to Baldwin, then to the huge desk with its orderly bank of variously coloured telephones.

Baldwin said: ‘We'd like an explanation for that question.'

‘We'd like an answer to it,' said Dingley. ‘We know of Richard Parnell being under surveillance. And of Harry Johnson being aware of it. It's extremely relevant to our terrorism and murder enquiries and we need to know why.'

‘Are you bugging my telephones?' demanded Grant, looking back to his desk.

‘No,' replied Benton, honestly.

‘So, it's Harry's,' said Grant, answering his own question.

‘For which I hope you have a court order,' said Baldwin.

‘Of course we do,' said Dingley, impatiently.

‘Harry Johnson has explained to you how his thumb print came to be on the flight number,' said the lawyer.

‘Which you've doubtless told Mr Grant in detail,' anticipated Benton. ‘What no one's explained to us yet is why Parnell was under surveillance, with Harry Johnson's knowledge. And yours, Mr Grant.'

‘I would have thought that would have been obvious,' said the man.

‘Not to us it isn't,' said Dingley.

Grant sighed, all the condescending affability gone. ‘A valued member of my company was murdered. An elaborate effort was made to frame a senior executive for that murder, for which, as I understand it, you have no suspects. I believed that Parnell might remain in danger. I felt it justified the setting up of some protective security – having photographs taken, even, to see if Parnell might be being watched by a person or a group of people. It's been pointless …' The man paused, looking to the telephone bank again. ‘And, as you obviously know, I've spoken to Harry about it – told him to lift everything.'