They sat on a taupe sofa, beside a glass table piled with dog-eared trade magazines. The woman spoke from her desk in a brisk manner. 'I'm Joan Farmer, Mr. Dalquist's personal secretary. He's going to be tied up all day and asked me to find out how we can help you.'
Hayward leaned toward her. 'I'm afraid you can't help us, Ms. Farmer. Only Mr. Dalquist can.'
'As I said, he's busy. Perhaps if you explained to me what you needed?' Her tone had dropped a few degrees.
'Is he in there?' Hayward nodded toward the shut door.
'Ms. Hayward, I hope I've made myself clear that he is not to be disturbed. Now: one more time, how can we assist you?'
'We've come about the avian flu project.'
'I'm not familiar with that project.'
Hayward finally reached into her pocket, removed the shield billfold, laid it on the table, and opened it. The secretary started momentarily, leaned forward, looked at it, and then examined Pendergast's shield, which he had removed as well, following Hayward's lead.
'Police--and FBI? Why didn't you say so up front?' Her startled look was quickly replaced by undisguised annoyance. 'Please wait here.' She stood up and knocked softly on the closed door before opening it and disappearing, shutting it firmly behind her.
Hayward glanced over at Pendergast. They both rose simultaneously, walked over to the doorway, and pushed through.
They found themselves in a pleasant, although somewhat spartan, office. A man who looked more like a professor than a CEO, with glasses, a tweed jacket, and khaki pants, was conferring with the secretary in front of a large desk. His white hair was carefully combed, and a white brush mustache sat above lips pursed in irritation as he watched them enter.
'This is a private office!' the secretary said.
'I understand you people are police officers,' said Dalquist. 'Now, if you have a warrant, I'd like to see it.'
'We don't have a warrant,' said Hayward. 'We were hoping to speak to you informally. However, if we need a warrant, we'll go get one.'
A hesitation. 'If I knew what this was all about, that might not be necessary.'
Hayward turned to Pendergast. 'Special Agent Pendergast, perhaps Mr. Dalquist is right and we should get a warrant after all. By the book, I always say.'
'It might be advisable at that, Captain Hayward. Of course, word of the warrant might get out.'
Dalquist sighed. 'Please sit down. Miss Farmer, I'll handle it from here, thank you. Please close the door on your way out.'
The secretary left, but neither Hayward nor Pendergast sat down.
'Now, what's this business about avian flu?' asked Dalquist, his face flushing. Hayward stared but could see no glimmer of knowledge in his hostile blue eyes.
'We don't work on flu here at all,' Dalquist went on, stepping back behind his desk. 'We're a small pharmaceutical research company with a few products to treat certain collagen diseases--and that's it.'
'About thirteen years ago,' Hayward said, 'Longitude conducted an illegal research project here into avian flu.'
'Illegal? How so?'
'Safety procedures weren't observed. A diseased bird escaped the facility, infected a local family. They all died, and Longitude covered it up. And are still covering it up--as certain recent homicides would suggest.'
A long silence. 'That's a monstrous charge. I know nothing about it. Longitude went through a bankruptcy about a decade ago. A complete Chapter Eleven reorganization. There's nobody here from those days. The old management team is gone; we downsized, and we now concentrate on a few core products.'
'Core products? Such as?'
'Treatments for dermatomyositis and polymyositis, primarily. We're small and focused. I've never heard of any work being done here on avian flu.'
'Nobody is left from a decade ago?'
'None as far as I know. We had a disastrous fire that killed the former CEO, and the entire facility was shut down for months. When we restarted, we were essentially a different company.'
Hayward pulled an envelope from her jacket. 'It's our understanding that, at the time of your bankruptcy, Longitude closed down research lines on several important orphan drugs and vaccines. Just like that. You were the only facility working on those lines. It left millions of sick people in the Third World without hope.'
'We were
'So you shut them down.'
'The new board shut them down. Personally, I wasn't involved with the company until two years after that period. Is there a crime in that?'
Hayward found herself breathing hard. This wasn't good. They were getting nowhere. 'Mr. Dalquist, your corporate filings indicate you make almost eight million dollars a year in salary and benefits. Your few drugs are very profitable. What are you doing with all that money?'
'Just what every other corporation does. Salaries, taxes, dividends, overhead, R and D.'
'Forgive my saying so, but considering those profits, your research facility looks decidedly run-down.'
