'Do you have a picture of him?'
Phillips hesitated. 'It would be in my old annual report file.'
'Please get it.'
The man rose, disappeared through a door leading to a library. A few moments later he returned with an annual report, which he opened and handed to Pendergast. The agent gazed at the picture printed in the front, above the CEO's message, and passed it to Hayward. She found herself gazing at a strikingly handsome man: chiseled face, a shock of white hair over a pair of intense brown eyes, jutting brow, and cleft chin, looking more like a movie star than a CEO.
After a moment, Hayward laid the report aside and resumed. 'If the project was hush-hush, why'd they bring you in?'
A hesitation. 'I mentioned the accident. They were using parrots at the lab to culture and test the virus. One of the parrots escaped.'
'And flew across the Black Brake swamp to infect a family in Sunflower. The Doanes.'
Phillips looked at her sharply. 'You seem to know a lot.'
'Keep going, please.'
He took another gulp of his drink, his hands still shaking. 'Slade and the group decided... to let the, ah,
'And it didn't.'
Phillips nodded. 'The family died. Not right away, of course. That was when they brought me in, after the fact, to advise on the legal ramifications. I was horrified. They were guilty of egregious violations of the law, multiple felonies up to and including negligent homicide. The legal and criminal exposure was catastrophic. I told them there wasn't any viable legal avenue for them to take that would end up in a place they'd like. So they buried it.'
'You never reported it?'
'It all fell under attorney-client privilege.'
Pendergast spoke again. 'How did the fire start? The one Slade died in?'
Phillips turned toward him. 'The insurance company did a thorough investigation. It was an accident, improper storage of chemicals. As I said, at the time the company was cutting corners to save money any way they could.'
'And the others in the avian group?'
'I didn't know their names, but I've heard they're dead, too.'
'And yet someone threatened your life.'
He nodded. 'It was a phone call, just days ago. The caller didn't identify himself. It seems your investigation has stirred the pot.' He took a deep breath. 'That's all I know. I've told you everything. I was never part of the experiment or the death of the Doane family. I was brought in after the fact to clean up--that's all.'
'What can you tell us of June Brodie?' Hayward asked.
'She was Slade's executive secretary.'
'How would you characterize her?'
'Youngish. Attractive. Motivated.'
'Good at her job?'
'She was Slade's right hand. She seemed to have a finger in every pie.'
'What does that mean?'
'She was heavily involved in running the day-to-day business of the company.'
'Does that mean she knew about the secret project?'
'As I said, it was highly confidential.'
'But she was Slade's executive secretary,' Pendergast interjected. 'Heavily motivated. She'd see everything that went across his desk.'
Phillips didn't reply.
'What kind of a relationship did she have with her employer?'
Phillips hesitated. 'Slade never discussed that with me.'
'But you heard rumors,' Pendergast continued. 'Was the relationship more than just professional?'
'I couldn't say.'
'What kind of a man was Slade?' Hayward asked after a moment.
At first, it appeared as if Phillips wouldn't answer. Then the defiant look on his face softened and he fetched a sigh of resignation. 'Charles Slade was an amazing combination of visionary brilliance and extraordinary caring-- mingled with unbelievable greed, even cruelty. He seemed to embody both the best and the worst--as many CEOs do. One minute he could be weeping over the bed of a dying boy... the next minute, slashing ten million from the budget and thus orphaning the development of a drug that would have saved thousands.'
There was a brief silence.
