It was David Benton’s idea to change the previous routine and arrange the interviews with Harry Johnson and the two Metro DC officers to a tightly controlled schedule preventing any intervening exchange between the three. The FBI agents ensured that each of the personal lawyers, as well as the attorneys for Dubette and Metro DC police, knew not just of the agenda but also its sequence, in the hope of unsettling the security chief and the two police officers more successfully than they had previously.
Johnson was first. He wore the same crisply pressed suit as before, but this time there was none of the bravado swagger. He sat in the field-office interview room between William Clarkson and Peter Baldwin, pointedly avoiding eye contact with either FBI agent, deferring to Clarkson to acknowledge the reminder that he had already been read his Miranda rights against self-incrimination, and also during the discussion about formal recording. Clarkson agreed to the tape procedure and waited until it started before stating that he was aware of the formal warning of a later court challenge from Peter Bellamy’s representative, and placing on record the possibility of his entering a matching inadmissibility objection in the event of any charges being proffered against his client.
‘I also wish recorded that my client has fully co-operated whenever called upon to do so,’ continued Clarkson.
‘A co-operation which is noted and which is appreciated,’ said Dingley.
‘Fact is,’ continued Benton. ‘We’ve come up with a few more things that puzzle us. That photograph, of you and Helen and Bellamy, for instance.’
‘I declined to allow my client to answer that question,’ said Clarkson. ‘I continue with that advice.’
‘Why is that?’ said Dingley.
‘It has no bearing on this enquiry whatsoever.’
‘It has a very direct bearing on whether Mr Johnson knew or did not know Officers Montgomery and Bellamy before they arrived at Dubette Inc. on the day they arrested Richard Parnell,’ said Benton.
‘Why?’ demanded the lawyer.
‘The inconsistency, between what Officers Montgomery and Bellamy have told us – that they knew your client – and his assertion that he didn’t know them.’
‘I forgot,’ burst in Johnson, shrugging off Clarkson’s restraining hand. ‘It’s as simple as that. I think that photograph was taken at my farewell party, a whole bunch of Metro DC police guys having a good time, having a few drinks. Now I’ve seen the pictures, of course I can remember them, but only as people I saw around. And I didn’t recognize them the day they arrived at McLean to ask about Rebecca Lang.’
‘Tell us about Edward Grant?’ suddenly asked Dingley.
Instantly there was the caught-in-headlights blink of the previous encounter. Clarkson looked enquiringly sideways, but Johnson didn’t respond. Peter Baldwin said: ‘As the attorney representing Dubette, I’d like an explanation of that question.’
Both agents ignored him. Still talking to the security chief, Dingley repeated: ‘Tell us about Edward Grant.’
‘What about him?’ said Johnson.
‘That’s what we’re asking you,’ said Benton.
‘I’d like this explained,’ Baldwin continued to protest.
‘You friendly with him, Harry? Know him socially maybe?’
‘This is ridiculous!’ said Baldwin.
‘Sir!’ said Dingley, turning to the company lawyer at last. ‘I think we could be very close to a criminal investigation being impeded
…’ He switched back to Johnson. ‘What’s the answer, Harry? How well do you know the president of Dubette Inc.?’
‘Of course I know of him,’ said the bulging man. ‘ Because he is the president of the company.’
‘You know him when you joined Dubette, way back in 1996?’
‘No!’
‘Even before you joined Dubette, when you were in Metro DC police administration, surrounded with all those computers and records and files?’
‘This transcript will be challenged,’ declared Clarkson.
‘Absolutely,’ said Baldwin, supportively.
‘We got the court release, Harry. Of all those ’96 internal investigations,’ said Benton. ‘Interesting reading.’
‘You got a special relationship with the president, Harry?’ picked up Dingley.
‘I want…’ started Baldwin, but Johnson spoke over him. ‘I am the head of a division. Of course I know Mr Grant. And he knows me. It’s that sort of company.’
‘Somebody told us about that, one big happy family,’ remarked Benton. ‘So, how soon did you get to know Edward Grant, after you joined Dubette.’
‘I don’t remember, not exactly. A few months, maybe.’
‘Even though he spends most of his time in New York?’ said Dingley.
‘He comes down often enough.’
‘That’s the only time you see him, the only times you speak?’ seized Benton. ‘On the occasions when he comes down from New York?’
The blinking had subsided, replaced by the wariness which both agents recognized. Johnson said: ‘There’ve been occasions when we’ve talked.’
‘In New York?’ pressed Dingley.
The guardedness stayed, but Johnson shifted in his chair, as if preparing himself. ‘I told you before that my section has to be alert for people – drug dependants – trying to enter the premises – gain access in some way. There’s another sort of burglary, nothing to do with addiction. Commercial stealing, by competitors. That, in fact, is far more serious than losing a few phials of tranquillizers or stimulants. If a competitor got an informant inside McLean, it could cost the company millions – millions in wasted research expenditure and millions more if someone else got the product on to the market first. That’s how – and why – Mr Grant and I talk sometimes.’
‘How, you going to New York?’ asked Dingley. ‘Or when he comes down to Washington?’
‘I don’t go to New York. When he comes down to Washington. Sometimes by phone.’
‘Where is this taking us?’ demanded Baldwin.
Once more the agents ignored the intervention. Benton said to Baldwin: ‘Mr Grant obviously knows about your involvement in this case. Have you and he spoken about it?’
‘I have been keeping New York informed of every aspect of the enquiry, to the extent to which I know about it,’ said Baldwin.
‘Has Mr Grant spoken to you about it?’ asked Dingley.
‘Through Dwight Newton I know that he was – and continues to be – extremely distressed, as does the rest of the board,’ said the company lawyer. ‘Mr Grant ordered that every assistance be given, to everyone involved. He even offered to pay for Rebecca’s funeral and the reception afterwards. The family declined.’
The switch back to Harry Johnson was like a whip snap. Dingley said: ‘How’d you think part of your left thumb print came to be on the flight number you said you didn’t know anything about? The only print, in fact, on that piece of paper found in Rebecca’s purse?’
‘How…?’ began Clarkson, but this time it was Johnson who put his arm sideways, silencing the lawyer.
‘I think I know…’ said Johnson. ‘I didn’t remember it… still don’t, not in the way that helps… but some time back a shipment from Paris got lost. I got involved looking for it. So did Rebecca: co-ordinating shipments was a part of her job. The actual flight number, as being the one that got involved and cancelled in a terrorist alert, didn’t register with me. But I think it was the one that the shipment was supposed to have been on.’
‘How long was that before her death?’ asked Benton.
‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Johnson. ‘Weeks, I guess.’
‘Was the shipment found?’
‘Yes,’ said Johnson, at once. ‘It was a customs mix-up, at the French end.’
‘So, why did Rebecca keep the number in her purse?’ said Benton.
Johnson shrugged again. ‘I haven’t any idea. I didn’t even know it was there until you told me. And even then couldn’t account for it.’
