The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  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-work
ers"-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?"

  Bowie nodded. "We expect everything will come together shortly. Tell us about the sabotage of the Spanish facility."

  Dieffendorf said, "Whoever carried it out contaminated our chemical production vats and tubing. The entire facility has had to be shut down for a thorough decontamination. It has cost us many millions of dollars already, certainly nothing anyone in our company would have an interest in doing. Thus far we ourselves and the Spanish police have no good idea who perpetrated that act. I can assure you if anyone in our company was involved, I will do everything in my power to help you find him."

  Savich said, "It seems fairly obvious to me, Mr. Dieffendorf. The Culovort production was not only cut off in the U.S., it was also cut off in Spain. You have no other facilities, so now there is a worldwide shortage of Culovort. We understand a French company is garnering windfall profits."

  "If you are speaking of Laboratoires Ancondor and their drug Eloxium, yes, they have profited handsomely from our troubles, of course everyone has noticed that. We have gained nothing from it. I have no proof of any complicity on their part, but if any of this was a conspiracy of some sort, they were certainly the ones who gained from it."

  Savich said easily, "You know, Mr. Dieffendorf, sooner or later money transfers can always be discovered, contacts traced, if they exist. Would it surprise you to know that Mr. Royal had nearly a half million dollars stashed in an offshore account?"

  Dieffendorf looked unimpressed. "Not a large sum for a CEO. But if it was ill-gotten, it would be a calamity. I do not look forward to what the Schiffer family would say, having their CEO of American operations not only murdered under suspicious circumstances, but now he was involved in a crime? That is even worse." He shook his head, trying to gather himself. He said finally, "It is certainly looking like Mr. Royal was involved in wrongdoing. Perhaps he was helping someone who would profit from the worldwide shortage of Culovort, perhaps he had a hand in planning it all. Clearly, there are vicious criminal elements involved, if they have murdered more than once. Now, gentlemen, ladies, is there any other way we can be of assistance?"

  Bowie said, "Mr. Dieffendorf, would you be willing to send me all the threats Schiffer Hartwin has received since the severe cutback on Culovort production?"

  "We will, of course, cooperate to the fullest, without jeopardizing our company's position." Dieffendorf added with a nice understated shrug, "There are always unhappy people, Agent, all over the world, who must blame a drug for their misfortunes."

  Bowie said, "This list, sir, we would like it to include only those people who were unhappy about the unavailability of Culovort, no other drug."

  Erin spoke for the first time. "Can you tell me when Culovort will be back up to full production, sir?"

  "It is now a priority," Dieffendorf said, his head cocked to one side as he looked at Erin. He looked down at his watch. "I fear it is time we returned to Schiffer Hartwin. We have much more information to assemble before we can return to Germany." He rose, followed quickly by Gerlach. "Thank you, Agents. I am sorry we could not be of much assistance to you. If you will fill in Agent Kesselring, so perhaps he may contribute something positive to your investigation?

  "Oh, yes, Agent Savich, if you have the Culovort papers, may we please have them back? They are the property of the company."

  Savich smiled. "Those papers are evidence now, Mr. Dieffendorf. It is my understanding we don't have the only copy. I fear you must prepare yourself for their release to the media and the Department of Justice."

  The two directors left, leaving Kesselring standing against the wall, looking like he'd get great pleasure from shooting them. "If I do not aid significantly in solving these murders, I will have failed for the first time in my career. It is possible that my career will be ended." He turned to Bowie. "You have my cell phone number."

  He turned and left the conference room.

  47

  FIFTH FLOOR, HOOVER BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Friday afternoon

  Agent Ruth Warnecki steered Aiden and Benson Hoffman into the CAU. The large room was crowded with agents and staff, all talking on cell phones and landlines, while computer keyboards clicked away above the hum of hard drives. One agent was whistling. The noise was a din, hard to hear over.

  Ruth smiled at the two men. "It's a bit hectic. What with the vice president's accident, we're all very busy."

  Aiden Hoffman, Senator Hoffman's eldest son, stared around him. "Can you tell us why Agent Savich wanted to see us, Agent Warnecki?"

  Ruth smiled. "As to that, I'll leave it to Agent Savich. Now, come with me, gentlemen." She led them down the hall to an interior conference room, opened the door, bowed them in, and closed the door behind her. Savich was standing beside the table, speaking on his cell phone. He studied Aiden and Benson as he rang off.

  He motioned them to be seated at the table, then sat across from them. It was stone silent in this narrow, windowless interview room, locked down tight with the door closed, like a prison cell after the loud, busy unit Ruth had brought them through.

  "Do we need a lawyer?" Aiden asked, his voice tense.

  "A lawyer?" Unlike Aiden's, Savich's voice was calm and smooth. "I certainly hope not. I wished to meet with you both privately, and this seemed the best place. Thank you for coming on such short notice." Both men were buff and tanned, and reeked of good breeding, like their father. Unfortunately, neither son's eyes had their father's humorous twinkle or sharp intelligence. Despite their laid-back designer clothes, they looked scared. Good, Savich thought.

  Aiden, the older at thirty-eight, was sitting forward, his hands clasped. He looked both sincere and apprehensive. "We wondered why you asked us here, Agent Savich. I mean of course we're concerned about Vice President Valenti, Ben and I have known him all our lives. But asking us here-what do we have to do with what happened? I mean, sure he was driving our father's car, but-"

  Benson cut in on a nervous laugh. "It wasn't just a freaking car, it was a Brabus." Benson, thirty-six, wasn't as impressive a figure as his brother, either in height or looks. Clearly, he didn't have his brother's control either. Savich knew Benson was more in-your-face, less concerned with what others thought of him. Savich felt a barely banked temper roiling behind his eyes, ready to bubble over with the right provocation. At least he hoped so.

  "Maybe you don't know what that is, Agent Savich." Benson tried and failed to keep his voice light. A note of contempt bled through.

  "Why don't you tell me?" Savich said easily, amused by the barely veiled smirk on Benson's face.

  "Ben," Aiden said quickly, "Agent Savich drives a Porsche Carrera. Our dad really enjoys driving Porsches, always had a new Porsche in the garage when we were growing up. He told us your last one got blown up."

  Savich only nodded, watching Benson Hoffman's eyes go hot. Because Savich had made him look like a fool?

  Aiden said, "When you called, I thought at first you wanted to ask us what we knew about Dana Frobisher, the woman who died at the restaurant. Then when you mentioned the vice president, we thought you must be trying to get some background, since Dad doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone except for calls from the hospital. He's taking this very hard. Our mom died three years ago, and now his longtime friend may die too, and he was driving Dad's car. I thi
nk Dad feels responsible."

  Benson snorted. "He's mourning the car as much as Valenti. I hope he had it insured."

  Aiden looked pained. He ignored his brother. "Look, Agent Savich, what can we tell you?"

  "Why don't you tell me first about Dana Frobisher. Did you know her?"

  Aiden shrugged. "We met her a few times at the house. Our mother worked with her on a charity board, and Mom talked about her quite a bit."

  "Only at first," Benson said. "Then Mom didn't mention her again. I don't know what happened. We haven't seen her for what, Aiden, five years?"

  Aiden nodded. "Something like that."

  Savich said, "You said you've both known the vice president all your lives."

  "That's right," Aiden said. "Valenti and our mother were very close once upon a time, high school sweethearts, the way she told it. When we were little, she'd tell us stories about adventures they'd had growing up, places they'd gone, then she'd look embarrassed and shut up. Later I heard her say that when Alex Valenti went off to Harvard and she went to Stanford, they didn't see each other much anymore, and that's when she met Dad."

  Benson sat back in the uncomfortable chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and snorted. "I don't know why they let Mom into Stanford-on an academic scholarship-I mean, she never did anything with her degree, never made any money on her own. She did love her charities, though, joined every one she could find. Anyway, it's ancient history."

  Aiden said, his eyes serious on Savich's face, "Alex Valenti and my mother kept up with each other, stayed friends, and after Ben and I were born, our families sort of merged."

  "Yeah," Benson said, "the Valenti kids-always around, always welcomed by Mom whether we wanted them there or not."

  Savich said easily, "I guess both of you know the Richards family as well?"

  Benson said, "Oh yeah, we've all met. Even though Bowie's family's got tons of money, Bowie couldn't cut it, he ended up going to some police academy."

  Aiden said, "Bowie's an FBI agent, Ben. He got promoted to Agent in Charge in the New Haven Field Office last year."