'This is my colleague Sergeant D'Agosta.'
'How do you do?'
There was a silence as Marchand turned his cool eyes around the room. 'The subpoena?'
Pendergast slipped a copy from his black suit and handed it to the lawyer. The man scrutinized it.
'That's your copy,' said Hayward. Her voice was deadpan, neutral.
'Thank you. May I ask why this questioning could not be done at Mr. Bullard's convenience in his offices or on his yacht?' He addressed the question in general, to all of them. Hayward nodded toward D'Agosta.
'On an earlier occasion at Mr. Bullard's club, he refused to answer questions. On this particular occasion, he threatened me with what I think a reasonable person might consider implied blackmail. He gave every sign of imminent departure from the country. His information is crucial in our investigation.'
'Is he a suspect?'
'No. But he's an important witness.'
'I see. And this implied threat of blackmail-what's that all about?'
'It's a goddamned-,' Bullard began.
The lawyer cut Bullard off with a wave of his hand.
'The threat was made in my presence,' Pendergast spoke up. 'Mr. Bullard made a second threat, just before you arrived, for the benefit of the video recorder.'
'You're a damned liar-'
'Not one more word, Mr. Bullard. I believe you've said more than enough as it is.'
'For Christ's sake, George, these men are-'
'Quiet.” The lawyer spoke pleasantly, but there was a curious emphasis in his tone.
Bullard fell silent.
'My client,' the lawyer said, 'is anxious to cooperate. Here's how it will work. First, you will ask the question. Then, if necessary, I will confer privately with my client in the hall. And then he will give his response. Agreed?'
'Agreed,' said Hayward. 'Swear him in.'
They went through the process, the civilian administrator presiding, Bullard grunting his responses. At the conclusion, he turned again to his lawyer. 'Damn it, George, you're supposed to be on my side!'
'My client and I need to confer privately.'
Marchand took Bullard out into the hallway. A minute later they were back.
'First question,' the lawyer said.
D'Agosta stepped forward, glanced down at his notes, and droned out, in his most stolid cop voice: 'Mr. Bullard, on October 16, 2:02A.M. , Jeremy Grove called you. You spoke with him for forty-two minutes. What did you talk about? Start at the beginning and proceed through the call.'
'I already-' He stopped when Marchand laid a firm hand on his shoulder. They went out into the hall again.
'You're not going to let him do this with every question, are you?' D'Agosta asked.
'Yes, I am,' said Hayward. 'He has a right to a lawyer.'
The two men returned. 'Grove called me to chat,' Bullard said. 'A social call.'
'That late?'
Bullard looked at his lawyer and the lawyer nodded.
'Yes.'
'What did you chat about?'
'Just like I told you before. Pleasantries. How he was doing, how I was doing, how the family was doing, how the dog was doing, that sort of thing.'
'What else?'
'I don't recall.'
Silence. 'Mr. Bullard. You talked for forty-two minutes about your dogs, then within hours Grove is murdered.'
'That wasn't a question,' said the lawyer crisply. 'Next.'
D'Agosta found Hayward's rather penetrating gaze on him. He turned the page.
'Where were you during this call?'
'On my yacht. Cruising the sound.'
'How many crew were on board with you?'
'I went out without a crew. The yacht's computerized, I do it all the time.'
