Bodily Harm (6 page)

“Is it work? Is it the report you’re trying to get done for the Senate hearing?”

“All I wanted was a little peace and quiet,” he said. “I don’t want to hear about her boyfriend or argue about why he can’t go to the mall with his friends when we’re sitting at the breakfast table to eat. Is that too much for a man to ask?”

“You’re scaring the kids.”

He turned. “Maybe they need to be scared. Maybe if I blow
off some steam now and then people will realize when I’m goddamn serious.”

“You don’t need to swear.”

He shook his head. “No one takes me seriously. No one respects me.”

“Is it something at work? Is it Maggie Powers?”

He walked toward the front entry. “It’s not work, okay? Work is fine. Don’t start badgering me about work.”

“I’m not badgering—I just want to help, Albert. You’ve never been like this. We’ve always been able to talk about things. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Is it the stress? What did the doctor say about your rash?”

He grabbed his jacket from the hook beside the front door and picked up his briefcase, opening the door. “It’s a rash. It’s just a rash. It’s not like I’m dying,” he said and slammed the door closed behind him.

HALF AN HOUR later, Payne slipped the small white bag with the prescription cream from his briefcase and shoved it in the upper drawer of his desk. He could now add to his list of maladies, which included elevated cholesterol and blood pressure from being overweight, a rash that itched liked hell and dried out his skin until it flaked. The doctor said it was stress related.

No shit.

Payne already knew from the lump of reddish brown hair in the bathtub drain each morning and the ever increasing streaks of gray in what was left on his head and his beard. He adjusted his glasses and considered the drab walls of his office, his first after nearly two decades in cubicles. The director of investigations had once been one of the Product Safety Agency’s highest-profile posts, overseeing all agency investigations and enforcement
actions against manufacturers of defective products. But with the prior administration’s mandate of deregulation, Payne’s staff had been cut by nearly 70 percent, with those having the most seniority, and therefore the highest salaries, pruned first. Given the continuing recession, they had not been replaced, which pretty much ensured no new enforcement actions, despite the change in administrations. Actions that had been under way came to a screeching halt, or settled with the manufacturer paying a token fine and promising to do better.

The latest joke circulating the office was that the agency walked small and carried no stick. Manufacturers had little to fear.

Sitting at his desk, Payne regretted his morning outburst, one of several since his return from China. He’d pick up some flowers on his way home. Maybe take everyone out for pizza. Screw the doctor.

He shut his eyes and massaged the headache at his temples, but the memory of the bloodied mess on the hotel room pillow forced them open, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath. He picked up the dual picture frame with the photograph of his smiling wife on the right and of his son and daughter on the left. The man had been clear about further consequences should Payne not follow his instructions precisely.

Payne removed the bottle of aspirin from his desk drawer and just as he popped two in his mouth his office door opened and Maggie Powers stepped in. “How was your trip?”

Payne choked down the pills. “Sorry,” he said. “Something stuck in my throat. You’ll have my report by the end of the week.”

Payne’s trip to inspect Chinese manufacturing plants had sprung from public outrage over a series of product recalls and reports of serious deficiencies in the Chinese manufacturing facilities that more and more American businesses favored. Public outrage had led to the predictable congressional grandstanding,
which led to inquiries about what the PSA would do about the problem, which was nothing, given the agency’s skeletal staff.

Powers stuck her reading glasses on top of her head, using the frame to keep her shoulder length, auburn-tinted hair out of her face. “Don’t be so official all the time, Albert. I saw you earlier and you looked like you got some sun. I was hoping it meant you allowed yourself a little play time.”

Payne forced a smile, not about to tell Powers his red glow was a rash. “They kept me pretty busy,” he said.

“I wish I could have gone.” Dressed in a cream-colored pants suit, open-toe shoes, and a strand of pearls, Powers looked very much like the wife of a successful McLean, Virginia, attorney. “But a son only gets engaged once.” She rolled her eyes. “Hopefully. From the looks of the in-laws, I wouldn’t put a lot of money down on this one going the distance.”

Payne didn’t know how to respond. He and Powers had never discussed their personal lives, and the two were not exactly close, given that Powers was the primary reason Payne had so much free time. The former president’s appointment of Powers as a director of the agency had been a further step in that administration’s persistent efforts to deregulate American business. Powers, once a lobbyist for the Toy Manufacturer’s Association, had somehow managed to survive a contentious Senate hearing, and her arrival at the agency had been like the first domino in a falling line. One of the remaining two directors, Harvey Schoenstein, promptly resigned in protest, and the other, Larry Triplett, threatened to do so until certain members of Congress convinced him to be the good soldier and remain. Agency action could not be taken without majority approval. With Schoenstein’s resignation leaving an empty chair, Triplett could at least block Powers’s actions. Of course Powers could also block the initiation of enforcement actions against manufacturers. Until the new president replaced
Schoenstein they were at a stalemate, and things were not about to change overnight. Any new appointee, whenever appointed, couldn’t rush in with a regulation sledgehammer, not with American retailers continuing to suffer in a down economy and American manufacturers already shipping much of their work overseas to reduce costs.

Powers sat and crossed her legs. “So, what’s your initial assessment?”

Just when Payne thought he might get a nice quiet summer, the reports of significant injuries and fatalities from products manufactured in China began to surface throughout the nation. What was now referred to as the “summer of recalls” would culminate in a congressional inquiry to be led by California Senator Morgan Tovey, chairman of the Senate subcommittee with jurisdiction over the agency. Tovey had subpoenaed Powers to report on Chinese manufacturers’ compliance with U.S. regulatory standards, as well as to educate the committee on emerging technology that could potentially be dangerous to American consumers. Indiana Senator Joe Wallace had joined Tovey to coauthor a bill that would dramatically increase fines on manufacturers who put defective products on the market, toughen reporting requirements, and provide the agency with a much-needed budget boost to hire more investigators. Wallace had then worked behind the scenes to ensure Payne was part of the delegation to China.

“There are always a few problem areas, but for the most part it appears the Chinese have really cleaned up their act,” Payne said, trying to sound convincing.

“You see?” Powers smiled. “That’s exactly what the threat of losing billions of dollars in business will do. It just proves that the best regulator is the market itself. Wallace and Tovey need to understand that we can’t effectively dictate to Chinese manufacturers any more than we can dictate to American manufacturers. No
matter how many regulations we put in place we can’t effectively enforce them. They have to police themselves.”

“I’ll have my report to you a week before the Senate hearing,” Payne said.

“Thanks for the reminder.” Powers grinned. “Actually, I’m starting to look forward to it now. I just love proving other people wrong.”

PIONEER SQUARE
DEE’S HOUSE OF TOYS

THE BELL ABOVE the door jingled as Sloane stepped onto a landing and looked down a staircase upon a winter wonderland. Ornate white handrails bordered the three steps leading to a burgundy carpet and seven-foot candy canes with green street signs directing shoppers to aisles stocked with action figures, dolls, stuffed animals, trains and cars, and books. Toy soldiers stood sentry at archways, and overhead, kites and toy models hung from fishing line, as if suspended from a blue sky. A plane flew in circles, its propeller humming.

As he made his way to the counter, Sloane wondered what it would be like to see his own son’s or daughter’s eyes light up when they walked through the door. An attractive brunette rang up a sale on an old-fashioned cash register, though Sloane also noticed a laptop computer below the counter. Apparently even Santa was now online.

After the customer departed, the woman turned to Sloane. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the owner; I’m assuming that would be Dee?”

The woman smiled. “You’d be correct.” She offered a hand. “Dee Stroud.”

The name Dee had caused Sloane to envision a matronly aunt with an apron, not the woman in blue jeans with a figure an aerobics instructor would envy.

“David Sloane,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “The attorney? I saw you on TV.”

Sloane cringed, but Stroud explained that she had recently seen Sloane providing legal commentary on a local news station. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sloane?”

“I’d like to talk to you about Kyle Horgan.”

Her eyes widened. “You know Kyle?” She sounded as skeptical as the building manager.

“Is there a place we could sit and talk?”

“Is Kyle okay?”

Sloane did not want to alarm her. “He came to talk to me the other day. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions about him.”

Stroud smiled. “I was just craving a mocha latte. Let me get my assistant to cover the front. Do you drink coffee?”

STROUD COVERED HER ears as an odd-looking vehicle that carried tourists and could apparently travel on land and water drove past, the driver’s amplified voice blasting from a speaker.

“I hate that thing,” she said. “It goes right past the store all summer.”

Sloane and Stroud walked among a throng of tourists dressed in T-shirts and shorts, the maple trees and three-story brick buildings shading the Pioneer Square sidewalk from the bright summer sun. “How long have you owned your store?”

“Sixteen years. I opened when my daughter was five. People thought I was nuts.”

“Why?”

“Because at the time most toy stores were closing, not
opening. The chains were taking over, and they can buy in volume and sell at prices independents can’t touch. Most of my friends thought failure was inevitable.”

“But you opened a store anyway.”

Stroud flashed an impish grin. “I have a hard head.” She knocked on it twice and then fingered a gold chain around her neck as they walked. “The simple answer is I needed to make a living after my divorce, and toys are really all I’ve ever known. My father owned a toy store in Michigan, and I had always envisioned taking it over, but then I got married and my husband’s job moved us out here. Eventually Wal-Mart and Toys “R” Us drove my dad and just about everyone else out of business.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve succeeded.”

She stopped, this time to knock on a tree trunk. “Don’t jinx me. I’m surviving. Like all retail at the moment, the toy industry is in a slump. Kids don’t know how to play like they used to. They all want the video games and cell phones and iPods.”

Stroud stepped into an establishment called Kahili Coffee. “My friend Kelly owns it,” she explained. “He’s got a second store in downtown Kirkland near where I live; I like to support him when I can. Coffee companies have their own struggles, especially in this city.”

Sloane treated her to a mocha latte and ordered himself a cup of black tea. They agreed to share a blueberry scone and took a table along plate glass windows. The walls and floor were painted a burnt orange and tastefully covered with prints of coffee plants and leaves.

“What is it about Kyle you wanted to talk about?”

Remembering the building manager’s surprised reaction, Sloane asked, “That strikes you as odd, doesn’t it, that Kyle would come to see me?”

“
Curious
is a better word. Kyle doesn’t talk to many people.”

“When he came to my building to see me the other day I was
in a hurry and didn’t have much time to talk to him. He seemed very concerned about something.” Sloane decided to leave the specifics vague. “I just went to his apartment, but he wasn’t there.” Again, Sloane chose to leave out the details. “The building manager indicated Kyle sold some of his toys to you. I was hoping you could tell me more about him.”

“I really adore Kyle,” Stroud said. “He’s a sweet young man with an incredible imagination, and he can design just about anything.” She shook her head, her look becoming compassionate. “But he’s also a social misfit, probably manic. He can’t hold down a regular job. I feel sorry for him. I think he’s starting to drink. The last time he was in I smelled it on his breath.”

“Are his designs any good?” Sloane asked.

“He’s brought me several things over the years. I usually buy them because they’re different, not what you’re going to find in the big retailers. And they sell. But he also shows me designs that are just too far beyond what I’m capable of doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s into action figures. He’s probably a genius. But he needs to have them mass-produced to make them affordable.”

Sloane stirred a packet of sugar into his cup. “When was the last time you saw Kyle?”

She crossed her blue jeans and thought for a moment. “He came to the store to show me a design for an action figure that he said a child could build from plastic pieces, but that would also change into different shapes on its own. He tried to explain it to me, but I told him I couldn’t afford to have it manufactured. He needed a bigger toy company with more resources to finance him.”

Sloane opened the file and showed her one of Horgan’s drawings.

Stroud didn’t take long to consider it. “That’s it. He was very excited about it. I told him to get himself an agent and take it to
Kendall. Maybe that wasn’t the best advice.”