Falcone shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
It had always been an outside chance, Parnell accepted. ‘If you remember…? Find something…?’
Giorgio frowned, curious for the first time. ‘Sure.’
‘The FBI are investigating,’ Parnell hurried on.
‘They said, on television.’
‘They might want to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
‘Rebecca. They’ll want to know about Rebecca.’
‘Everyone loved her,’ insisted the chef.
‘Why did they do it?’ demanded Falcone, thick-voiced again. ‘I want them caught! I want them dead!’
What did he want? Parnell wondered. To know why! he answered himself.
Fourteen
By Edward C. Grant’s edict, this New York encounter wasn’t at the corporate building but at an hotel, the Plaza on Central Park South, overlooking the park. It was booked from a reservations agency in an assumed name and paid for in advance, in cash. Dwight Newton was given the suite number by telephone, Grant’s cellphone to his cellphone, not through the hotel switchboard or traceably dialled. Surprisingly there was coffee on a separating table when Newton arrived. Grant waited expectantly for the vice president to pour. As he did, Newton said: ‘The FBI are investigating.’
‘I saw the newscasts, read the newspapers,’ said Grant, totally controlled, even-voiced.
‘What are we going to do?’ Grant had to be nervous to have arranged the meeting like this, like something out of a movie.
Grant frowned, concerned at the other man’s nervousness, to assess which was the major reason for his summoning the stick-thin scientist yet again on the first shuttle from Washington. ‘I’m not sure about that question, Dwight.’ said the disconcerted, white-maned man. ‘Not sure we need to do anything, are you?’
‘The FBI are investigating, for Christ’s sake,’ repeated Newton. ‘They’ll almost certainly want to question us.’
‘You,’ corrected Grant, still even-voiced. ‘They’ll almost certainly want to question you. I don’t see that I’ll be able to help them very much.’
Newton sat with his cooling coffee untouched before him, looking as steadily as possible at the other man, wondering how directly he could ask the awful question to get the awful confirmation of his every doubt. Not directly at all, Newton decided. Instead he said: ‘What shall I tell them?’
‘What is there to tell them? Rebecca Lang worked in your overseas unit. She was very competent, did her work well. We were very happy with her. We’re devastated by what happened.’
‘What if they ask about France?’
Grant lifted and dropped his shoulders. ‘Here again, I don’t see why they should. It’s got nothing to do with what they’re enquiring into, has it?’
Newton tensed himself, lips initially tight together. ‘Hasn’t it?’
Grant came forward from the opposing chair, elbows on his knees. ‘Dwight, I really am finding it difficult to follow you here!’
‘They’ll most definitely talk to security. Learn about the telephone monitor.’
‘So?’
‘Her name’s on the list, talking to Paris.’
‘She was in the overseas liaison unit! We’d be disappointed if she hadn’t spoken to Paris and a lot of other places abroad! The monitor wasn’t exclusively on her telephone, was it?’
‘No,’ conceded Newton, expectantly.
‘And her name isn’t the only one on the list?’
‘No,’ further conceded the other man, again. Fuck you, he thought. And then he thought, I wish I could – I wish so very much I could escape from the entanglement in which I am enmeshed… in which you are enmeshed.
‘She wasn’t being specifically targeted?’
‘Security came up with a lot of names,’ agreed Newton.
‘But none proved to be the suspected outside informant? Certainly not from any of the research-division telephones.’
It was all so easily, so satisfactorily explainable, Newton accepted. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We didn’t find an outside informant from the checks we initiated.’
‘But we’ve every right to be vigilant?’
‘Yes.’ Newton had the irrational impression of being stuck in a sucking morass, mud too thick to get out of, with the rising water creeping up to engulf him.
‘Could you get me another coffee, Dwight?’
The vice president poured, ignoring his own almost full cup. ‘They could come across the French things.’
‘Along with every other research experiment we’re conducting!’ exclaimed the Dubette president, genuinely incredulous. ‘But let’s stay with that, for a moment. Tell me about rifofludine. Does it have a preserving quality, in hot climactic conditions?’
‘To a degree,’ allowed Newton, reluctantly.
Grant sighed, theatrically. ‘Does it have a preserving quality, in hot climatic conditions!’
‘Yes.’
‘And the colouring additives make dosage administration and recognition easier in Third World countries?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which means we’re providing a necessary service – improving our products – for a specific market?’
‘Yes.’
‘I really thought we’d already talked all this through, Dwight?’
‘I suppose we had.’
‘We got anything more to talk through?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You really sure about that, Dwight?’
‘Yes, I’m really sure.’
‘I’m glad about that. Really glad we’re understanding each other. Now tell me about Parnell.’
‘I haven’t seen him yet. He rejected our attorney, Gerry Fletcher. But Baldwin kept Fletcher in court to represent Dubette’s interests.’
‘Why didn’t Parnell want our guy?’
‘Fletcher thought the only way was to enter a plea.’
Grant nodded, but didn’t immediately comment. ‘Parnell’s an ornery son of a bitch and isn’t that the truth?’
‘I guess.’ How much further – how much more – was he expected to capitulate?
Grant said: ‘That was a good move, keeping Fletcher in court to watch our backs. Important to keep ourselves up to speed on anything and everything that might adversely affect the company. There’s too much publicity: I’m worried about it affecting the stock. Let’s get the legal department to ensure a legal heavyweight better than Fletcher, in case we need him.’
‘Need him for what?’ risked Newton.
‘Unchallenged situations, getting out of hand. We’ve got nothing to hide, everything to protect. You understand what I’m saying?’
‘I think so.’
‘Get public affairs working. Give the media full access to what Rebecca Lang did: I don’t want Dubette fouled up in any mystery theories that her death had anything to do with what she was working on, OK?’
