Whiplash (30 page)

Erin forgot about her throbbing back and stared hard at Savich. She said slowly, thinking her way, "Dillon, are you saying that case of arsenic poison at the restaurant in Washington is related to the vice president's accident?"

Sherlock said without fuss, always a smooth liar, one of the skills Savich most admired in her, "Not a clue, but Dillon has to go check it out since Senator Hoffman's already asked for him personally once. Bowie, we're really sorry about Vice President Valenti. It will be all right that Dillon's in Washington for a couple of days. I'll keep digging here."

Bowie's cell phone started up "Silver Bells" again. He looked wildly around for his cell. Erin dug into the tray and handed it to him.

When he punched off, he said, "That was Agent Kesselring. He's on his way. The two directors from Schiffer Hartwin aren't far behind him." He shook his head. "I almost forgot about them. Savich, Sherlock, you guys with me on this?"

"Oh, yes," Sherlock said. Savich smiled and nodded.

Bowie turned at the light knock on the conference room door, then watched Andreas Kesselring stride in.

Andreas Kesselring, looking polished as usual in a gorgeous pale gray suit, a pristine white shirt, and a subdued skinny-striped gray and black tie, stood a moment in the doorway of the conference room until all their attention was on him. He said to Bowie, his voice low to show the depths of his displeasure, "Why did you not call me? I had to find out about Mr. Royal's murder from three waitresses talking to each other when they brought my breakfast in the hotel dining room."

Three waitresses brought him his breakfast?
Sherlock thought it was odd that he lowered his voice when he was truly angry. He sounded so finely controlled, though his anger was so hot it nearly glowed. "I called Agent Painter, the FBI agent you assigned to me, but he was unavailable. His cell phone didn't appear to be turned on."

Sherlock gave Kesselring her sunny smile. "Good morning, Agent Kesselring. To be perfectly honest here-and that is always my motto-no one thought about it. So much has happened in such a short time, you see, and since all of us were about to fall over from exhaustion, we had to get just a bit of sleep, not that much for any of us, only a couple of hours. But you are here now." She looked down at her watch. "I hope the directors will arrive soon."

Kesselring said, "They will be here any moment. I was told their driver is escorting them, but they decided not to bring Mr. Bender and Mr. Toms. They are hoping for a more personal conversation, perhaps for some rapport and understanding with you.

"Both Herr Doktor Dieffendorf and Herr Gerlach are very upset about Mr. Royal's murder. We are all anxious to learn the details, since none of you chose to call me."

Kesselring strode to the conference room table and slapped both palms down right in front of Bowie. "I request that you tell me right now what has happened. The directors are reasonable men, but they fully expect me, an agent of the BND sent here to help, to know something useful. If I am to contribute to this case, I cannot be purposefully kept in the dark. I do not intend to fail in my assignment here. My career in the BND is very important to me."

Bowie put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. He smiled up at Kesselring.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking," Bowie said.

Kesselring cursed-at least Sherlock thought he was cursing since it was in German. Then he threw his hands up. "On top of that, I heard your vice president crashed his Mercedes into a tree and will probably die. Everything is falling apart, and here you are, Agent Richards, sitting here,
thinking!
"

Bowie said, "Okay, thinking time is over. Here's what happened." He told Kesselring about the alarm being turned off at the Royal house, about how Mrs. Royal had awakened, heard the single shot that killed her husband. He left out Savich and Sherlock's part and a bit more as well. No reason for Kesselring to know every little single detail. ". . . Since Mr. Royal's murder is all part of this case, the FBI will be in charge, not the local police department."

"This is very distressing," Kesselring said after a moment of silence. He turned to Erin. He didn't look happy. "Why are you here?"

"Surely you remember that someone blew up my Hummer yesterday, Agent Kesselring. The FBI wants to keep an eye on me."

The door opened and Dr. Adler Dieffendorf marched in, looking for all the world like a king on the hunt for his throne. He said without preamble, "Agent Kesselring, are these the FBI agents who are supposed to capture poor Helmut's murderer and explain Caskie Royal's death?"

"Yes," Kesselring said in an emotionless voice, "they are."

The great man paid Kesselring no more attention and immediately strode forward, his hand extended. "Ladies, gentlemen, I am Adler Dieffendorf, managing director of Schiffer Hartwin Pharmaceutical. This is my director of sales and marketing, Werner Gerlach."

Bowie made introductions, then waved Dieffendorf and Gerlach to their chairs. Kesselring remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the conference room wall.

Dieffendorf sat forward, his long face concerned, his elegant hands clasped on the table in front of him. "I will tell you, Agents, it came as a tremendous shock to us yesterday when Mr. Royal, our longtime company CEO, literally ran away from us on our drive here to Stone Bridge.

"Then, this morning, we were told Mr. Royal was murdered last night! The murderer was himself murdered? It seems too incredible to be true. Who could have killed him? Was he associating with violent criminals?

"I would have more readily understood if Mr. Royal had taken his own life, out of remorse, perhaps, or to make amends for a wrongdoing, but Agent Kesselring assures us he was murdered. We are over our heads, Agents. We do not know what is happening here. It seems his murder and that of my good friend, Helmut Blauvelt, must somehow be connected, but we do not know how or why. We have asked Agent Kesselring to assist us, but he seems to be unable to be of much use. We very much need your help in these matters."

Nicely presented, Bowie thought, looking from Dieffendorf's sincere, concerned face, to Gerlach's, who also looked back at him openly. But Gerlach looked pale, and his lips were seamed tight.

Bowie had imagined Dieffendorf would have charisma; to hold his position as managing director of Schiffer Hartwin for so many years, he'd have to have something going for him. He'd never had any major missteps, until now.

He'd also shown he could be self-deprecating, always an engaging stance, and he seemed charming and fluent. Bowie suspected he'd rehearsed his eloquent monologue, but perhaps not. The man was intelligent and smooth. He was a respected figure in Germany and in the world of drug companies. He was, Bowie noted, well dressed, but not flamboyantly so, like Kesselring and Herr Gerlach. He appeared quietly dignified, a man to be trusted.

"It is our intention to solve these cases," Bowie assured him. "Would you like to add anything, Mr. Gerlach?"

Gerlach blinked, then slowly shook his head. "Not at the moment. I believe my colleague has expressed our sentiments very well."

Werner Gerlach was a small man, exquisitely dressed, his suit even more expensive than Kesselring's. He looked very tightly wound, held together by sheer willpower. The man had his own powerful position in Schiffer Hartwin, overseeing the sales and marketing of all their drugs, and he'd been there for as many years as Dieffendorf. Gerlach, Bowie saw, never looked away from Adler Dieffendorf for long.

Sherlock smiled and said to Gerlach, "I hope you and Herr Dieffendorf slept well last night? No jet lag?"

Gerlach said with only a slight accent, "One always tries, naturally, but with all the uncertainty surrounding our trip here, no, I did not sleep well. I usually don't in a foreign country."

Dieffendorf looked at Savich. "I have heard of you."

Savich arched a dark eyebrow.

Dieffendorf continued, "I have heard of both you and Agent Sherlock. I have met Quincy and Laurel Abbott. I knew their father. I was shocked to hear what they were accused of doing."

Sherlock said, "I myself am hoping they will go to jail for such a long time they'll build a wing with their names on it."

"That is clever, Agent Sherlock. If they are guilty, I trust they will."

Bowie said, "Both you and Herr Gerlach speak excellent English."

Dieffendorf said politely, "Thank you. We still have a bit of an accent, one does, you know, when one doesn't learn another language until one is older. Both Werner and I attended Columbia Business School here in the early 1970s."

Bowie leaned forward. "Mr. Dieffendorf, Mr. Gerlach, you do realize that you, Mr. Bender, and Mr. Toms were the last people to see Mr. Royal alive? Since you freely admit he ran away from you, it would seem obvious he must have been afraid. Of you?"

"Naturally not!" Mr. Dieffendorf immediately calmed himself. He pulled back, drew a deep breath. "That is absurd, Agent Richards. Mr. Royal had nothing to fear from us."

"Then why did he run? Tell me, what exactly did you discuss with him?"

"We made it clear we wanted the truth from him about the papers, that we would hold him accountable for his actions at the production plant in Missouri. He swore to us there were no so-called Culovort papers, that it was absurd that he, the CEO, would purposefully shut down this drug's production. He assured us there had simply been miscalculations during a planned expansion at the Missouri plant that had adversely affected production. He claimed he knew nothing about our production problems in Madrid, that he could not possibly have predicted that.

"He also said he knew nothing about Herr Blauvelt's murder, that his shock was as great as anyone else's. But then this grown man, our own American CEO at that, suddenly runs off from our meeting-at a rest stop for heaven's sake! It was the most astounding behavior from a man of substance I have ever seen in my professional career. As if he were a schoolboy, trying to escape a scolding. It was dishonorable and undignified."

"Then why did he run, Mr. Dieffendorf ? Was he afraid of what you would do to him?"

"How could he be? I made no physical threat. Why would I? You see, I knew he was lying, but when I taxed him with it, he still would not admit to any wrongdoing. I suppose he knew, in your American slang, the jig was up. He must have feared we would expose him to the police and that is why he ran. He did not want to go to jail. He doubtless planned to leave the country."

"That would have resulted in a scandal," Bowie said. "Schiffer Hartwin would have been exposed as the company that pulled production on a necessary cancer drug. You surely wouldn't want that, would you?"

"We could have contained any scandal. I would not have allowed Mr. Royal to harm the company's reputation."

Savich said, "I understand the company's reputation is very important to you. Where were you and Mr. Gerlach early this morning, about two a.m.?"

Dieffendorf's white eyebrow shot up. He looked appalled and baffled, and turned quickly to look at Kesselring, but Kesselring merely nodded. "It is an appropriate question, Herr Dieffendorf, albeit insultingly delivered."

Dieffendorf turned back to Savich. "You are considering that Mr. Gerlach and I murdered our own CEO?" He gave a sharp laugh. "You are desperate, Agent Savich. I must say I find this amusing," and he flicked a dismissing glance at Savich. "Just think, Werner, Agent Savich is referring to us as suspects. That is a diversion I did not expect."

"Why?" Bowie asked. "Agent Savich is speaking openly. It is his job, part of establishing a workable dialogue. Isn't this what you wanted, Mr. Dieffendorf ? To resolve all these questions?"

Dieffendorf shrugged. "What does it matter? We were both trying to sleep. We never left the suite. Now I will ask you a question. What motive could we possibly have?"

Savich said easily, "Other than preventing a scandal for Schiffer Hartwin? Perhaps because you yourself ordered Mr. Royal to shut down Culovort production, Mr. Dieffendorf, but with the theft of the Culovort
papers, you were afraid Mr. Royal would, as we say in American slang, rat you out."

"That is absolute nonsense!" Dieffendorf was on his feet now, outrage bringing violent color to his face.

Kesselring stirred against the conference room wall, but he didn't say anything.

Bowie said, "Surely you realize you and Mr. Gerlach had motive and opportunity to kill Mr. Royal."

Dieffendorf's fast heavy breathing was the only sound for several moments in the conference room. He finally nodded slowly. "Yes, of course, you had to inquire."

Bowie nodded. "Did you ask Mr. Royal if he knew anything at all about Helmut Blauvelt's murder?"

"He said he knew nothing about it." He paused, tapped his fingertips together. "Do you know, he lied about everything else, why not about Helmut as well? His running from us, his co-workers"-Dieffendorf shrugged-"as much as it pains me, it makes the conclusion almost inescapable. But even if that is true, even if he did murder Helmut, the question is why, exactly?"

Bowie said, "Tell us why Helmut Blauvelt was here."

"I don't know, Agent Richards. Of course I have wondered. Perhaps it was personal business. I did not send him. I do not know whether his murder is connected to Mr. Royal's or to the break-in. I frankly would not be surprised if it were, at this point, but I have no direct knowledge of that. Have you made any progress yourself in solving Herr Blauvelt's murder?"