Fever Dream

'I'm very sorry,' said Pendergast, extracting a small packet of tissues from his suit and offering her one. She took one, dabbed her eyes. She was making a heroic effort to hold herself together.

'We're not here to pry into your past life or disturb your marriage,' Pendergast went on in a kindly voice. 'I imagine it must be difficult to grieve secretly for someone you once cared about a great deal. Nothing we say in here will get back to your husband.'

She nodded, dabbing again. 'Yes. Morris was... was a wonderful man,' she said quietly, then her voice changed, hardened. 'Let's just get this over with.'

Hayward shifted uncomfortably. Damn Pendergast and his methods, she thought. This kind of an interview should take place in a formal setting: a police station with recording devices.

'Of course. You met Dr. Blackletter in Africa?'

'Yes,' she said.

'Under what circumstances?'

'I was a nurse with the Libreville Baptist Mission in Gabon. That's in West Africa.'

'And your husband?'

'He was the mission's senior pastor,' she said in a low voice.

'How did you meet Dr. Blackletter?'

'Is this really necessary?' she whispered.

'Yes.'

'He ran a small clinic next to the mission for Doctors With Wings. Whenever there was an outbreak of disease in the western part of the country, he used to fly into the bush to inoculate the villagers. It was very, very dangerous work, and when he needed help, sometimes I would go with him.'

Pendergast laid a kindly hand on hers. 'When did your relationship with him begin?'

'Around the middle of our first year there. That would be twenty-two years ago.'

'And when did it end?'

A long silence. 'It didn't.' Her voice faltered.

'Tell us about his work back here in the States, after he left Doctors With Wings.'

'Morris was an epidemiologist. A very good one. He worked for a number of pharmaceutical companies as a consultant, helping them design and develop vaccines and other drugs.'

'Was one of them Longitude Pharmaceuticals?'

'Yes.'

'Did he ever tell you anything about his work with them?'

'He kept quiet about most of his consulting work. It was pretty hush-hush, industrial secrets and all that. But it's funny you should mention that company, because he did talk about it a few times. More than most of them.'

'And?'

'He worked there for about a year.'

'When was that?'

'Maybe eleven years ago. He quit abruptly. Something happened there he didn't like. He was angry and frightened--and believe me, Morris was not an easily frightened man. I remember one evening he talked about the company CEO. Slade was his name. Charles J. Slade. I remember him saying the man was evil, and that the sign of a truly evil man was his ability to draw good people into his maelstrom. That was the word he used, maelstrom. I remember having to look it up. Morris abruptly stopped talking about Longitude shortly after he quit, and I never heard him speak of it again.'

'He never worked for them again?'

'Never. The company went into bankruptcy almost immediately after Morris left. Fortunately, he had been paid by then.'

Hayward leaned forward. 'Excuse me for interrupting, but how do you know he was paid?'

Mary Ann Roblet turned gray eyes on her, damp and red. 'He loved fine silverwork. Antiques. He went out and spent a fortune on a private collection, and when I asked him how he afforded it he told me he'd received a large bonus from Longitude.'

'A large bonus. After a year of work.' Pendergast thought a moment. 'What else did he say about this man, Slade?'

She thought for a moment. 'He said he'd brought down a good company. Wrecked it with his own thoughtlessness and arrogance.'

'Did you ever meet Slade?'

'Oh, no. Never. Morris and I never had any kind of public relationship. It was always... private. I did hear that everyone was in deathly fear of Slade. Except for June, that is.'

'June?'

'June Brodie. Slade's executive secretary.'

Pendergast thought about this for a moment. Then he turned to Hayward. 'Do you have any further questions?'