No Witnesses

“Right now? Is that what you’re asking? We’re moving into Europe. At this very moment our resources would be a little slim.”

“Has anyone made such a suggestion?”

“Within the company? We’re always getting those kinds of suggestions! Listen, we invented a market niche: the low-fat, organic ingredient-wholesome soups, frozen dinners, desserts. For a while we existed there in a vacuum; we owned that niche. Not so anymore; we’re under attack from every major out there. There’s always someone within our ranks who thinks we’ve got the wrong look or that we’re missing a major play that could be accomplished by a few subtle changes. I encourage that kind of independent thinking. There are some who want a more unified labeling to our products, others who understand the success of our diversity. Inventing a new look for our cans. You name it, I have heard about it.” He studied her. “You’re suggesting that, meeting my resistance, someone may have gone to this kind of extreme to see their ideas through to fruition. I don’t believe that for a second. Absolutely not. We’ve lost market share, sure we have; this push into Europe has strained our pocketbooks, no question; but resort to something like this? Forget it!”

Another large salmon entered at the left of the window and swam forward, crowding out the one that was resting and sending it out of view, off to the nineteenth step. They watched it, the narrator’s voice going on about breeding grounds.

“Tell me about Longview Farms,” she said, facing the Plexiglas viewing window, but alert for any other early-morning visitors. The tourists wouldn’t get here until mid-morning, and if it rained, maybe not at all.

“That’s going back,” he said. “Did you dig up that name in the files?”

She did not answer. She saw how scarred and beat-up this latest fish seemed to be, and thought that the sea was a much more hostile environment than she had envisioned it. The jaws of the big fish opened rhythmically, followed by a fanning of the gills.

“A supplier back in our New Leaf days. A family venture. Poultry farm. Good people to work with. Good product.”

“Tainted product.”

He nodded. “You’re speaking of the salmonella contamination,” he stated. “So you were able to find that, were you? That’s what you wanted, right?” he asked reproachfully. “Honestly, that surprised me at the time. Mark Meriweather produced good birds, ran a solid operation. That’s why I used him in the first place.”

“That was also chicken soup, Owen. And that’s the kind of coincidence that cannot be ignored. A company put out of business-bankrupted-by a series of lawsuits directly connected to your former company.

“Owen, I need an absolute point-blank answer …” She waited and then asked, “Are you aware that the State Health lab report that blamed the Longview Farms poultry for the salmonella contamination may have been altered?”

“Come again?”

“Altered. Forged. Changed.”

The blank expression on Adler’s face was all the convincing she needed. She felt the knot that had formed in the center of her chest loosen as a drip of perspiration skidded coolly down her ribs, sending a chill down her side. She told herself that he did not know anything about this. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

“I don’t have proof,” she said. “Not yet.” She stepped closer to him. “But if someone at State Health altered that report in order to frame Longview Farms, then we have some serious motivation that may help to explain or even identify your blackmailer.” She added, “Even if there was only the perception that Longview Farms was unjustly accused, it could be enough to set someone off.”

“That was four, maybe five years ago.”

“Part of the thrill of revenge is in the plotting, the planning. Strangely enough, the execution of the plan is often a letdown. It’s one of the reasons the individual will stretch it out, given half a chance. Revenge-motivated crimes are unpredictable that way.”

A young couple entered, hand in hand. Daphne studied the transparencies of the varieties of fish that might be seen in the viewing window. The woman said to her, “Pretty neat, isn’t it?” Daphne mugged a smile and waited the full five minutes until the couple left. Alone again, she approached Adler.

She said, “I need access to the New Leaf archives-the hard copies of what I saw on the computers at the Mansion. I need the original of that lab report.”

“What about getting it from State Health?”

“If someone at State Health altered the file, I’d rather know that before paying them a visit. We may get some arrests out of this, and if we do, we may get some answers.”

The big salmon grew active as smaller fish crowded the tank. After a few minutes they settled down, their mouths moving as if talking, as if mocking Daphne Matthews and Owen Adler, she thought.

“Can you get me in?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Adler was lost in thought.

“Without a lot of hassle.”

“Of course I can.”

“Without Howard Taplin knowing,” she clarified.

“But you don’t think-”

“Don’t ask,” she interrupted. “It’s part of my job to be suspicious. Not that I always like it.”

“I suppose it ruined Meriweather, something like that. Busted him, probably. What about the wife?” he asked. “Where did she end up in all of this?”

Daphne hesitated a second, reluctant to answer, but then decided that honesty was a two-way street and that she owed him hers. “At the top of my list,” she said.

The salmon turned viciously and bit one of its smaller cousins. The water clouded with an explosion of activity, and when it cleared again the big salmon was all alone and the bench at the viewing station was empty.

THIRTEEN

At eight-thirty Daphne arrived at the Public Safety Building flush with excitement over her discovery of the State Health lab report. She grabbed Boldt firmly by the arm, and without another word dragged him into her office, kicking the door shut behind them. Standing close to him, she searched his eyes and said, “Five years ago New Leaf Foods was accused by State Health of selling contaminated chicken soup. Lab tests placed the blame with a poultry company called Long-view Farms out in Sasquaw.” She passed him the photocopies of one and then a second newspaper report she had gleaned from a computer service since her meeting with Adler. “Longview Farms went bankrupt and folded as a result of lawsuits brought against it.” As he shifted to the second article, she narrated for him: “Its owner, Mark Meriweather, went off Snoqualmie Pass in his Ford pickup. The fatality was ruled accidental- but what if it was suicide?”

Boldt looked up. “Are we supposed to believe they’re coincidences? Chicken soup? A suicide?”

“Especially when you add in this.” She handed him the laser-printed copy of the State Health lab report. She explained what it was, and informed him of her suspicions that it may have been altered.

“A copy won’t prove that.”

“I know that. I’m working on it.” She searched his eyes again and said: “You like this, don’t you?”

“Very much.” Boldt’s mind was racing. “If they went bankrupt, then tracking down whoever once worked there may be tough.”

“I put Meriweather’s widow on the top of my list. Loses her husband, their income. She sours and hires someone to threaten Owen.”

“Do we have her?”

“No. I ran her through DMV. No current operator’s license, no current vehicle registration. I thought I’d ask LaMoia to try his contacts at State Tax-see if we can find a paper trail.”