Whiplash (24 page)

Gerlach and Dieffendorf had known each other forever, it seemed to Caskie, had run Schiffer Hartwin for close to twenty years now. They had always shown a united front to the world, just as now, the second in command accompanying Dieffendorf to face the latest battle.

Yet they couldn't be more different.

It was odd, Caskie realized, but he was as afraid of Dieffendorf as he was of Gerlach, and Dieffendorf didn't even have his guard dog Blauvelt to solve all his problems any longer.

Caskie saw Dieffendorf's calculating, emotionless eyes staring back at him in the mirror. He could still hear his accented voice as he'd said, "I sent Helmut here to get to the bottom of this Culovort shortage you have helped to create. He was coming to see you for explanations yet you claim you didn't see him, Mr. Royal. Is this true?"

"Yes," Caskie had said, his voice steady, the ring of truth bright and shining. "I did not see him. He was murdered Sunday night. I was to see him Monday morning."

Gerlach said, "And you were busy Sunday night, were you not? With your current lover, I understand. And thus you say you could not have killed Blauvelt. I hope your family is holding up under this painful scrutiny. It must be especially difficult for your boys. Their names are Chad and Mark?"

"Yes, they are holding up well. They don't know anything. I thought that was best." Message received, Caskie thought, loud and clear.

He looked at Gerlach's small hands clasped together in his lap. Caskie hated to shake his hand, the skin was dry and hard, desiccated like his face, like his soul. Gerlach crossed and recrossed his legs, showing off his Italian loafers with their nearly two-inch lifts.

As the limo cruised smoothly east on the Merritt Parkway, Dieffendorf said, "I must tell you, Mr. Royal, when I was informed you had arranged to shut down the Culovort
production in Missouri without consulting me, I was not happy, but I was not overly concerned since the drug doesn't add much to our bottom line. But when the plant in Spain went down recently-due to sabotage, mind you-and it became clear that worldwide supply of our  drug Culovort would dry up completely, well, suddenly what you'd done took on a new significance. Would you agree?"

"It was very unfortunate, more than unfortunate, tragic-but no one could have anticipated that, Mr. Dieffendorf."

"If you know nothing about that, Mr. Royal, can you tell me why you left such detailed information about the effects you anticipated from the Culovort shortage in the United States on your computer? Did I make a mistake in hiring you, Mr. Royal?"

Caskie sat forward, hands clasped between his knees, just the right note of sincerity in his charming voice, "I cannot tell you how I regret I did that, sir, but you see, no one is allowed in my office except my assistant and even she doesn't know my computer password. But this woman, she managed to-"

Dieffendorf interrupted him smoothly as if what he was saying was not worth spit, "Is there anything as yet to point to the identity of this woman who broke into your office?"

Caskie shook his head. "I know the FBI are trying very hard to find her."

"Helmut would have located her by now." Dieffendorf sighed. "How I miss him. To hear he was murdered in such a brutal fashion, I cannot comprehend who would have done such a thing. Do you know, Mr. Royal?"

"I have no idea, sir. I wish I did. Evidently it was close to the time the woman broke into my office. Perhaps she was involved. Like I said, the FBI is looking hard for her."

Dieffendorf said slowly, "I am not certain I want the American FBI to find her. What would she say? I am here, Mr. Royal, to ensure that Schiffer Hartwin does not suffer from your negligence. I have promised the family that I will discover everything that is going on here and fix it. Do you understand me, Mr. Royal?"

Gerlach said, "Actually, Adler, the FBI doesn't need to find her to have the axe fall on the company's head. She has but to give the papers over to the media. I sincerely hope she plans to blackmail us instead. What with the unfortunate sabotage of the Spanish plant, the hungry media here would crucify us. Isn't this correct, Mr. Royal?"

Caskie nodded dumbly. He thought about grabbing a plane to South America, getting lost in Patagonia.

Dieffendorf said, "Mr. Bender tells us you are thinking about speaking frankly to the FBI, Mr. Royal. May I ask what you would say to them?"

The spit dried in his mouth. Caskie shook his head, back and forth. "No, Mr. Bender is quite wrong. I would never do that, never."

Caskie saw from the corner of his eye that Bender would speak, but Dieffendorf raised his hand to keep him silent.

"I really am curious what you would say if you decided to speak to them."

Caskie ran his tongue over his dry lips. "Listen, sir, no one was more shocked than I was to hear about the closing of the Spanish plant. I owe my loyalty to Schiffer Hartwin, my livelihood, you know that. I've worked for you for five years now, five excellent years."

"I found myself wondering why on earth it would be important to anyone to have a major shortage of such a simple drug as Culovort. It didn't take long to think of the CEO of Laboratoires Ancondor, the paltry unethical little hypocrite who produces the oral cancer drug Eloxium. Do you know Monsieur Renard? Did you perhaps make a deal with him? Stocks and cash in exchange for help cutting off our Culovort
production
,
and forcing our patients to his high-priced oral drug?"

"Sir, I have never met Monsieur Renard." It was the truth, he thought, but still, his armpits were wet. Could they smell his sweat?

"If I discover that you have been lying to me, Mr. Royal, I will make a call. You will find yourself wishing for Helmut Blauvelt's tender mercies. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," Caskie said at nearly a whisper. "I am guilty of nothing, sir, except bad luck. Our plant in Missouri will be much more profitable once our production problems are behind us. The papers on my computer, they were an exercise in thinking outside the box, something you encourage, nothing more."

Dieffendorf slowly nodded. "Schiffer Hartwin will see to that, Mr. Royal." It was then that Caskie looked for the final time into Gerlach's eyes.

Caskie washed his hands again, stared at himself once more in the old mirror over the ancient sink, maybe to reassure himself that he was really here, and not the ghost of a man who would shortly be dead.

He knew what he had to do. He had to get home, gather his passport and some cash and his private bankbooks, and disappear. This rest stop was in the boonies of western Connecticut, thick woods all around, and very few people. He could get away here, but not through the restroom door, Toms or Bender might be there. He had to do something else. He looked up at the windows, not small like the window in his office bathroom, thank God. He judged the distance from the floor, wondered if he was strong enough to pull himself up.

If he wanted to live, he'd do it. He was alone in the restroom for now, but Toms could open the door at any time, or anybody who wanted to take a leak. He had only a minute. He drew in a deep breath, climbed up over the sink, and managed to grab the windowsill.

Now, pull yourself up-

Caskie pulled and heaved, felt sweat slicking his hands, felt his muscles shake. He couldn't fail, or he'd be dead, Gerlach, Dieffendorf, it didn't matter which. Living in South America would beat any jail here in the U.S. Surely if he was gone, his boys would be all right with their mother. The FBI would blame him for everything, surely that would be what Dieffendorf would want as well.

Caskie managed to heave himself through the open window. It was only about five feet to the ground and he managed to turn as he pushed himself out and land on a roll. He felt a sharp pain in his back, but he dismissed it.

He'd made it, and he was alive.

He ran for the woods.

STONE BRIDGE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

Thursday afternoon

Savich lightly touched the back of Erin's hand. He still remembered the searing pain he'd felt when a burning seat from an exploding van in Jessborough, Tennessee, had sliced into his own back. She lay on her side, still asleep, or drugged out, just as he had. He looked up at Bowie. "Tell me what happened."

Bowie did, adding, "She could easily have died if she hadn't acted so quickly. She jumped right out the door and rolled."

Savich said, "Answer me this, Bowie. Why the attempt on her life?"

Bowie dashed his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "Because, somehow, she's in the middle of this mess, only I don't have a clue how that could be, and I should. Sherlock knows, but she wants Erin to tell us when she's not under the influence of morphine. Do you know?"

"So Sherlock's figured it out, has she?"

Bowie looked angry at himself. "She has, yes."

Savich said. "Where's Caskie Royal?"

"I just spoke to Agent Clive Pohli. He and Agent Marty Torres are following the limo. They're on the Merritt Parkway, in Connecticut now."

Bowie's cell phone sang out "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas." Bowie dug into his pocket, frowned, then spotted his cell on the side table beside Erin's bed.

He listened, said to Savich, "Pohli says the limo's at a rest stop, and Royal and Toms went to the men's room, then Toms came out alone. Pohli said a blind man couldn't miss Toms, he's wearing a lime-green tie with white stripes."

"Anybody else around?"

Bowie asked the question into his cell. "Maybe half a dozen in the Quick Mart, a couple in the parking lot outside the store. That's it. Hey, wait, Toms just opened the men's room door and now he's running around to the back of the restroom. Pohli says the limo driver just made them. They're all getting back into the limo and pulling out of the rest stop." Bowie raised his eyes to Savich's face. "Caskie Royal is no longer with them. It seems, for the moment at least, he's escaped."

Savich said, "I guess I'm not surprised. In his shoes, I might run too. Tell Pohli to pull the car into the parking lot where Royal can see it if he's still close. And tell him to look in the woods. Maybe Royal's ready to talk to us now."

Bowie spoke into the phone, then looked at Savich. "We'll save his hide, then we'll make him see reason."

Sherlock hurried back into the hospital room. "I brought you some tea, Dillon. Is Erin still out of it?"

"Yeah, still asleep," Bowie said. "I get the impression she's very sensitive to drugs. Sherlock, Caskie Royal's run off from the Schiffer Hartwin directors and lawyers at a Merritt Parkway rest stop, of all places. Our guys are trying to find him in the woods."

There was a small sound from Erin.

Sherlock leaned over her, lightly smoothed her hair back from her face. "Wake up, Erin, time to talk to Mama about all your worries."

But Erin wasn't with it yet.

Bowie said, "I wonder if the directors are staying at our
Psycho
B-and-B."

"The answer is no," Andreas Kesselring said as he walked into the hospital room. He gave each of them a sharp nod. He just needed to add a heel click, Savich thought, to really make an entrance. He looked like he could step off the pages of
GQ
magazine, the German edition.

Kesselring waved in Erin's direction. "I see she is still alive. How badly is she injured?"

Bowie said, "Some bruises and contusions, a burn on her back, but not too serious. She was very lucky."

"A nurse told me her car exploded. It was a miracle she managed to get out in time."

"Not a car," Bowie said, smiling toward Erin, "a Hummer. It wasn't a miracle, it was her own quickness that saved her. What are you doing here, Agent Kesselring?"

Kesselring looked thoughtfully at each of them in turn. "I find myself wondering why all of you are here at your daughter's dance teacher's bedside. And then I wondered, Why would someone try to blow up a dance teacher? I am forced to conclude this must all somehow be connected to the investigation. I am right, am I not?"

"We don't know yet," Sherlock said. "We're waiting for her to wake up enough to tell us."

Kesselring walked over to the single chair in front of the single window in the room. "I will wait with you." He sat down, crossed his legs, and swung a foot shod in dark gray Italian soft-as-butter leather, the exact shade as his suit.

"Nice shoes." Bowie wished he could throw the guy out the window. They were on the third floor, a nice long way down. "Are they comfortable?"

"Not particularly," said Kesselring, "but they go well with this particular suit, so I suffer them when I have to. I'm in a foreign country, and I must try to look as respectable as I can."

Sherlock said, "What have you been up to today, Agent?"

Kesselring smiled. Again, Savich saw a flash of hot violence in his eyes when he looked at Sherlock, but his voice sounded amused when he finally spoke. "Nice of you to ask, Agent Sherlock. I was at Schiffer Hartwin's headquarters, learning very little of use. I was hoping Carla Alvarez would have something to say, but she didn't."

Bowie said, "I was just telling Agent Sherlock that Caskie Royal ran away at a rest stop on the way here from JFK with the Schiffer Hartwin directors. Our agents are trying to find him, but no word yet."