Thirty-Four
The 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
