"Did you happen to ask Reiner," Sarah inquired with the hint of a smile, "whether any effort had been made to destroy them?"
Callister frowned—less at the question, Sarah sensed, than at the intimation behind it. "Yes," he answered tersely.
"And what did Reiner say?"
"That he had no specific knowledge of what had happened to the records."
The edge of distrust in Callister's voice illuminated for Sarah an unexpected image of George Callister as a man caught in an environment he had begun to suspect was treacherous. "Aside from the disappearance of the records themselves, did you have any other reason to suspect that Reiner might be lying to you?"
"Objection," Nolan asserted. "Lack of foundation. I don't believe the record justifies an accusation of deliberate lying."
Slowly, Callister turned to his lawyer. "No," he said flatly. "I think 'lying' about covers it." Facing Sarah, he said, "Reiner and I had fundamental disagreements about the future of our company."
"Such as?"
"I wanted to discontinue making the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw bullet. In both cases, Reiner was adamantly opposed."
Abruptly, Sarah felt her litigator's field of vision open wide. "For what reason did you want to drop the Eagle's Claw?"
Callister paused to frame his answer. "In my view, its lethality exceeded our customers' requirements. Therefore the controversy involved in making such a bullet outweighed its utility.
"Reiner disagreed. In his view, the P-2 and Eagle's Claw were essential to our position in the marketplace. But the fact that I'm sitting here tends to validate my judgment."
The last two sentences hinted at disgust and a certain weariness. It was the first time, Sarah noticed, that any of Callister's answers had clearly exceeded the scope of her question.
Nolan seemed to notice as well. "We've been going for over an hour," he suggested. "Why don't we take a break?"
* * *
It was fifteen minutes before the witness and his lawyer returned to the conference room. When Sarah's questioning resumed, Callister angled his body slightly away from Nolan. The two men no longer chatted about football, or much of anything else.
"Given your concerns about Reiner," Sarah asked bluntly, "did you ever attempt to independently determine what had happened to the missing documents?"
Briefly, Callister glanced at the table. "I made no such attempt."
"Why not?"
Once more his eyes met Sarah's. "Because it would have involved investigating my own vice president of marketing. After the First Lady's family was murdered, I had more pressing concerns—like keeping this company afloat. It wasn't the right environment."
Between the phlegmatic lines lay an answer of startling candor: an internal inquiry which uncovered the truth would have been devastating to Lexington's public posture and, even worse, could have generated evidence damning in a lawsuit like Mary Costello's. "So it was better," Sarah said sharply, "to believe that Reiner was dishonest than to prove it."
The cast of Callister's broad midwestern face suggested both resentment and defensiveness. "The First Lady's mother, sister, and niece had been murdered with a gun and bullets made by Lexington Arms. Aside from the terrible impact on her family, these murders could have spelled the end of a century-old business which employs hundreds of good people. I owed all my energies and judgment to the task of protecting the company and the families who rely on it."
Sarah considered him. Abruptly, she asked, "Do you know a man named Norman Conn?"
"Yes. He's a longtime employee."
"Were you ever told that Conn believes Reiner destroyed a document suggesting that the shipment of stolen P-2s, including the murder weapon, were being sold at gun shows by members of a white supremacist group?"
Callister shook his head. In an emphatic tone which suggested genuine anger, he said, "Not until last week."
Nolan held out his hand between Callister and Sarah. "I will caution the witness not to testify regarding conversations with counsel."
"Outside of conversations with counsel," Sarah persisted, "were you ever told that Mr. Reiner destroyed documents?"
"I was not."
At once, Sarah changed tacks. "Are you familiar with Martin Bresler?"
"I am."
"How are you acquainted with Mr. Bresler?"
Callister sat back, seemingly inclined, as he had not been before, to put her question in a fuller context. "Mr. Bresler," he answered, "was the head of an industry group which included Lexington Arms."
Abruptly, Callister checked himself, as though fighting any tendency toward expansiveness. "What was the purpose of Bresler's group?" Sarah prodded.
"To find a middle way between the gun controllers and the SSA." Callister shrugged, seemingly unable to explain his answer without elaboration. "From the beginning of my time at Lexington, I planned to wean us off the revenue we derived from weapons like the P-2. The idea was to market quality and safety, rather than lethality. To me, that meant things like trigger locks and smart guns—weapons designed to protect the user, and prevent accidents or misuse by folks who shouldn't have them." Pausing, Callister seemed to recall anew the promise of his plan. "President Kilcannon may not have been our friend, but he was a fact of life. The idea was to get him and the trial lawyers off our backs. By far the best way to do it was to unify a number of gun companies in a common approach, then see if we could deal with the President. Martin Bresler was supposed to be our vehicle, and the trigger lock agreement with the White House our first step."
Briefly, Sarah scanned her outline. "After that agreement, did Bresler propose a next step?"
"Yes."
To the side, Harrison Fancher watched the witness closely. "What was the next step?" Sarah asked.
Callister grimaced. Tonelessly, he said, "For our five companies to require background checks before our dealers sold any of our weapons at gun shows."
His answer, with its echo of the Bowden murders, seemed to draw the other participants closer to the witness. Even the court reporter cocked her head.
Quietly, Sarah asked, "Did you ever reach agreement with the President?"
"No."
"What stopped you?"
Callister crossed his arms. "All the other CEOs withdrew their financial support from Bresler's group. In essence, they fired him."
"Why was that?"
Briefly Callister seemed to wince at some distasteful memory. "They claimed Bresler was becoming too divisive."
"Did any of them mention the SSA?"
Studiously, it seemed to Sarah, Callister ignored Harrison Fancher's presence. "They all did. They were afraid that the SSA would encourage its members to boycott any company that dealt with Kerry Kilcannon. Four million members, and all of their friends, is a hell of a lot of customers to lose."
Sarah glanced at Fancher. "Did any of them tell you that they'd been threatened by representatives of the SSA?"
"Not directly, no."
"Did you ask?"
"I did not."
Pausing, Sarah replayed the tenor of Callister's answer. "Did the SSA threaten you?"
"Objection," Fancher snapped. "However pejorative in tone, the question impinges on the defendants' First Amendment right of political association—including the formulation of legislative and political strategy. Such confidential discussions are not subject to discovery."
Sarah did not move her eyes from Callister. "You may answer," she told him.
"He may not." Turning to the witness, Nolan said with quiet emphasis, "The SSA's objection is well taken, George, and the right belongs to Lexington every bit as much as it does the SSA. I'm instructing you not to answer."
Facing Sarah, Callister said, "You heard my counsel, Ms. Dash. I'm under orders not to discuss any conversations with the SSA."
"That's obstruction," Lenihan burst out.
"Mr. Nolan," Sarah interjected with a controlled professionalism she found difficult to maintain, "your objection goes to the heart of
our case that the SSA conspired with others to enforce uniform conduct on the American gun industry, in violation of the antitrust laws, contributing to the murders of Mary Costello's family. You've got no basis for your instruction."
"Then take it to the judge . . ."
"You know damn well we can't," Lenihan snapped back. "By the time we get there you'll have passed this unconscionable gun immunity bill."
Nolan smiled. "Acts of Congress are your department, Bob, not mine. My job is to represent my client."
"Which one? The SSA?"
Staring at the table, Callister had seemed to turn inward—most likely, Sarah thought, out of distaste for the whole proceeding. Crisply, she told Lenihan, "Let's call the judge right now."
At once, Sarah rose, took a speakerphone from the corner of the conference room, and placed it on the center of the table. Glancing at her notes, she stabbed out Bond's number, and asked for the law clerk assigned to Costello versus Lexington Arms.
"We're in the middle of Mr. Callister's deposition," she explained. "A discovery dispute has arisen—an instruction to the witness not to answer questions essential to our case. We're hoping to speak with Judge Bond, describe the issues, and ask for an immediate ruling."
"Very well." The clerk's reedy voice was pompous with borrowed authority. "I'll find out what we want to do."
He put Sarah on hold. Silent, lawyers and witness gazed at the speakerphone as if it were a line to God. The room felt hot and close.
After a few minutes, interminable to Sarah, the clerk returned. "If there's a problem, plaintiff's counsel should file a motion. The judge says he'll rule in the normal course."
The answer struck Sarah in the pit of her stomach. "Thank you," she managed to say. The obligatory words had never felt more hateful.
When the clerk hung up, Nolan was the first to speak, the softness of his voice betraying his residual tension. "Why don't we have lunch, Sarah? The witness has been going long enough."
* * *
Eating a ham sandwich with Lenihan in her office, Sarah tried to bank her outrage. At least Nolan had given her time to think.
"There's something here," she speculated, "that Callister doesn't like."
Lenihan slumped in his chair, a portrait of frustration. "Yeah. Mike Reiner."
Sarah put down the sandwich, gazing out her window at the uneven skyline south of Market Street. "There's something else, I think. I just don't know if I can get to what it is."
* * *
Returning from lunch, Callister looked somber, all trace of humor vanished. "After your fellow CEOs cut off Martin Bresler," Sarah began, "did President Kilcannon contact you directly?"
"Yes. We met three times at Camp David."
"What did the President discuss with you?"
Callister hesitated, eyes narrow with thought, as though still reluctant to divulge his private conversations with the President of the United States. "A potential agreement, brokered by the President with the thirteen cities who'd sued us, to end their litigation against Lexington Arms." His tone took on the edge of self-justification. "A single hundred-million-dollar verdict would wipe out Lexington Arms. The legal fees alone could drain us of our profits. If the President could offer a way out, I thought we should explore it."
"What was Lexington's side of the deal?"
"Though I couldn't admit that to the President, he was asking for a lot of what I thought we should do anyhow. Phase out the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw. Require background checks at gun shows." Briefly, Callister grimaced. "He also wanted us to retrofit our weapons to accommodate only magazines with a maximum of ten rounds."
This tacit reference to the murder of Marie Costello prompted Nolan to glance at Callister. "Did the President propose anything else?" Sarah asked.
"Not directly. But he acknowledged that we'd need money to offset the phaseout of the P-2, and suggested that it was possible to obtain a federal research grant from the Justice Department to help us develop smart guns—guns designed to fire only in response to the 'fingerprint' of the actual owner."
"What was your reaction?"
Callister ran a hand through the grey stubble of his crew cut. "That it would be hard to reach agreement without support from other gun companies, but that it was still worth trying." He looked briefly at Harrison Fancher. "I thought if we could agree on the outlines of a deal, in private, I could try to bring in some of the other manufacturers. So I told the President I'd take it to our board of directors."
Gazing at the pen she twisted in her fingers, Sarah pondered her next question. "Before you went to the board, did you discuss President Kilcannon's proposal with anyone at Lexington?"
"I didn't want the negotiations leaking. But I spoke with Ray Stipe, our general counsel." Pausing, Callister added in a neutral voice, "Also with Mike Reiner."
"George," Nolan interjected, "were your discussions with Mr. Stipe for the purpose of obtaining legal advice?"
"They were."
"Then they're covered by the attorney-client privilege and I instruct you not to disclose them."
Callister nodded, then turned back to Sarah. "Mr. Stipe aside," she inquired, "why did you consult with Mr. Reiner?"
"He was our VP of marketing. Much of the implementation of our agreement would have been up to him."
"Did Reiner express a view of the President's proposal?"
"Yes. He was vehemently opposed."
"Oh what grounds?"
"That the President was asking us to be the canary in the mine shaft." Callister's tone became cooler. "Reiner had helped develop the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw, and thought they were essential to fighting off our competition. He said accepting Kilcannon's plan was tantamount to suicide."
"Were Mr. Reiner's objections the reason that Lexington did not reach agreement with the President?"
"They were not," Callister answered firmly. "In my view the P-2 and Eagle's Claw were a dead end, and my job was to wean us from trying to outdo the other guys in making deadly weapons and lethal bullets. So I told Reiner I was going to the board."
"And did you?"
"Yes. I didn't want to put anything in writing. So I verbally outlined the President's proposal and asked them to consider it."
"What was the board's reaction?"
"There was a lot of uncertainty and concern. But they authorized me to meet further with the President."
"Did that happen?"
Callister seemed to draw a long, slow breath. "No."
"And why not?"
"Because I received a phone call from Charles Dane."
"Concerning what?"
"He said that he'd heard about my negotiations with the President, and requested a private meeting."
At once, both Nolan and Fancher seemed hyperalert, poised to intervene. Pausing, Sarah sought to frame a question which would avoid an instruction not to answer. "How did Mr. Dane learn about the negotiations?"
"I can't imagine it was Stipe." Callister summoned a tight smile, more to himself than for Sarah. "That leaves Reiner, or a member of our board."
"Did you meet with Mr. Dane?"
"Yes. At the offices of the SSA."
At the corner of her eye, Sarah watched Nolan. "Was anyone else there?"
"No." Callister's voice was flat, his features immobile. "Dane said he wanted to work things out alone."
Tensing, both Nolan and Fancher eyed the witness. Sarah glanced at one lawyer, then the other, and calmly asked, "What did Dane say to you at the meeting?"
"Same objection," Fancher cut in, turning to Nolan and the witness. "The question seeks to probe confidential discussion of political and legislative strategy protected by the First Amendment. The SSA requests that Mr. Callister not answer."
"So directed," Nolan told his client.
Sarah kept watching Callister. "Would you classify your meeting with Mr. Dane as a 'confidential discussion of political and legislative strategy'?"
Callister folded his hands, gazing silently at the
table. At length he looked up at Sarah with a new aura of equanimity. "Not in the main."
Sarah smiled faintly. "Then when you answer my questions, please leave out the 'confidential discussions of political and legislative strategy.' "
"Objection," Nolan snapped with rising annoyance. "It's impossible to segregate what may be a general discussion from the legislative and political discussions which are intertwined with it. I direct the witness not to answer any questions about his private discussions with Mr. Dane."
Balance of Power Page 67
