by Janet Dawson
“Which meant someone intercepted them,” I continued. “Probably Nolan. For all I know, Sue Ann did log those sheets, and Nolan deleted them from the record. Which brings us to item number three.”
The third photocopy was marked “Confidential” and dated Wednesday of the week that Rob died. The same day he’d come to my office, when he told me he didn’t have all his facts lined up yet, but expected to have them soon. The paper I held in my hand was the confirmation he’d been anticipating. He must have found it in Patricia’s files that afternoon, or the next day.
It was a note from Patricia to Nolan describing a conversation she’d had with Yale Rittlestone that day, on the subject of a voluntary recall of the ice cream that was probably contaminated with salmonella.
“I’ve discussed it with Yale,” she’d written. “We’ve already sold all the units produced that day. This is the first we’ve heard of any alleged problems. There doesn’t appear to be much risk. Besides, with the upcoming initial public offering, Yale says we don’t need the black eye a recall would bring. Let’s ignore this and see if it goes away. I’m sure we can neutralize Lawter.”
“He showed you this, didn’t he? When?”
Leon glanced at the incriminating photocopy. “Yeah. Wednesday night, the day before...” He stopped, swallowed, then spoke again. “He even gave me a copy. Said he wasn’t gonna be neutralized. He said if we didn’t recall the ice cream voluntarily by Friday, he’d blow the whistle, with the health department, the press, everyone.”
“What did you do then?”
“I talked to Nolan,” he said. “Thursday morning. I told him he’d better talk with Mayhew and Rittlestone. Nolan said he’d take care of it.”
“What happened then?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t. Nolan told me to go back to the plant and keep my mouth shut. He’d handle it. So I went back to the plant. I didn’t hear a thing. Until the cops come to the door Friday afternoon, to tell Carol that Rob’s dead.”
“And you didn’t ask yourself why he was dead,” I said, “other than to decide he’d conveniently killed himself.” Leon didn’t answer. He avoided my eyes, and Robin’s furious glare. “No, I guess you didn’t. It was easier that way. Like telling yourself you had nothing to do with Rob’s murder.”
Forty-one
I LEFT LEON TO THE NOT-SO-TENDER MERCIES OF Robin, and headed back to Bates. It was nearly two when I walked into Cube City. Gladys looked startled at my begrimed condition. Nancy Fong was just plain mad. Given her quiet and almost passive manner during the past two weeks, the angry woman who propelled herself at me was a jarring sight, one that left Gladys openmouthed with astonishment.
“You’ve been gone for nearly four hours.” Her voice was just this side of shouting, certainly loud enough to be heard out in the hallway. I shut the door of Cube City, then turned to face her. “I know you’re not a temp,” Nancy snarled. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’d better tell me before I pick up that phone and call Buck Tarcher down in security.”
It looked as though she wasn’t even going to wait that long. Her hand was reaching for the phone as I pulled my license from my purse and held it in front of her.
“I’m a private investigator,” I told her.
Nancy’s hand froze on the phone. She turned and examined my license. Gladys abandoned whatever she was doing and left her cubicle for a better look.
“Well, I will be damned,” Gladys said. “Who you working for?”
“Rob Lawter.”
The phones started shrilling in all three cubicles. We ignored them, and the calls rolled over to voice mail.
“Then he was murdered,” Nancy said finally. “The police told Alex that Rob got a threatening note. And that it looked like someone had been in his apartment that night. But I had a feeling, when I first heard the news. Something just didn’t fit.”
“So you did a little poking around his apartment building that day you were supposed to be home with a migraine.” I smiled at her. After a moment, her mouth moved into what might have been a smile.
“Not that it did me any good. Neither of his neighbors was very informative.”
“What made you think Rob’s death wasn’t an accident?” I asked.
“Rob was preoccupied, that last week,” Nancy said. “As though something was bothering him. After he died I looked through his files, but I couldn’t find anything. I didn’t know what to look for.”
“Well, I do,” I said. “At least now. Where are Patricia and Hank?”
“Hank’s in a meeting with Yale Rittlestone. Patricia’s in her office. At least, she was fifteen minutes ago.” Nancy narrowed her brown eyes, and her dislike of the current Bates regime was plain. “Are they involved in this?”
“We’re about to find out. Gladys, call Sue Ann Fisk. Don’t tell her anything, just find out where Nolan Ward is.” Gladys was on the phone before the words were out of my mouth.
I turned to Nancy. “Who else is in that meeting with Rittlestone? And where are they?”
“Frank Weper and David Vanitzky,” she said. “They’re in Rittlestone’s office. I overheard Rittlestone telling Ann Twomey that they weren’t to be disturbed. So it must be important.”
If what David had told me about Weper’s reaction to Rittlestone’s coup was true, I was willing to bet the two partners were having it out.
Gladys hung up the phone in her cubicle. “Sue Ann says Nolan just left. He’s on his way up here to see Patricia.”
Which meant Leon had called Nolan after I left the house. Had Nolan warned Rittlestone or made the attempt? I was hoping Rittlestone’s secretary was taking his do-not-disturb words to heart
“Gladys, go down the hall and keep an eye on Rittlestone’s office. I need to know if that meeting breaks up. Right now I’ve got to talk with Patricia. Before Ward gets to her.”
Gladys gave me a mock salute and opened the door. “I guess I can think of a reason to chat up Ann Twomey,” she said as she headed for the south hallway and her assignment.
“I’m going with you to Patricia’s office,” Nancy told me, mouth twisting. “I wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China.”
When Nancy and I pushed through the door, Patricia gave no indication that Nolan had preceded his trip upstairs with a warning phone call. She had several file folders open and spread out on the surface of the desk in front of her, and she glanced up as we entered. The strain of the past two weeks had left her looking haggard. She pushed back her dark curly hair and mustered up some of her imperial mien, directing a single word to Nancy. “Yes?”
“Have at it,” Nancy told me. She stood with her arms folded and her back against the door, so that anyone who tried to open it would have to knock her down.
Now Patricia’s face moved from tense to alarmed. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. Now she pushed back her chair, half rising from its padded seat and back. “What is this?”
“An inquiry into the murder of Rob Lawter. You should be able to answer my questions, since you were there the night it happened.”
She froze. Then she dropped back into the chair, gripping its arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about a salmonella outbreak that will probably be traced to Bates Best ice cream. One you chose to ignore.”
Her mouth tightened, but her expression remained impassive as I laid it out for her, the information I’d uncovered myself as well as what I’d bullied out of Leon Gomes. “Rob obtained a copy of your memo to Nolan. Yale Rittlestone was more concerned about the IPO than he was about people getting sick. Rob was about to blow the whistle and give Bates a bigger black eye than you ever thought possible.”
I moved toward her, placing my hands on the desk and battering her with my words. “It would have been so much simpler to pull the damn ice cream.” I shook my head. “There would have been some publicity, but that’s why companies like Bates pay spin doctors like Morris Upton. So it
cost the company some bucks and some bad press. You’d have been better off in the long run for handling the situation as soon as possible.”
Now she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I favored her with a grim smile and continued my rundown of the facts as I saw them.
“But you didn’t handle the situation. You and Yale and Nolan ignored the problem and hoped it would go away. You knowingly let that contaminated ice cream stay on the shelves. And you tried to ‘neutralize’ Rob with a threatening note. But when he found your memo—”
The door rattled as someone tried to open it. I glanced over my shoulder. Nancy stood her ground. Whoever was outside, probably Nolan, knocked. This was confirmed when I heard his high-pitched voice. “Patricia? Are you there?” There was another knock.
“We’re in a meeting,” Nancy said in a low voice.
“I need to talk with Patricia,” the man insisted.
“We’ll just be a minute,” Nancy said, gripping the doorknob.
Patricia rose from her chair again, as though she wanted to make a break for the door. I pinioned her with my eyes and said, “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers. And you’d better start talking. You’ve got more to worry about than losing your license to practice law. The way I see it, you’re looking at a murder charge.”
The possibility of jail time finally sank in. Her face crumpled. “I didn’t kill him. It was—”
“Don’t tell me it was an accident,” I said harshly. “I’m not in the market for swampland in Florida. Rob didn’t fall out that window, any more than Charlie Kellerman happened to be crossing the wrong street at the wrong time.” Now her face went white around the mouth.
I nodded. “Oh, yes, I know about that, too. Charlie saw you that night, and he recognized you. He was putting the bite on you for money. When the bite got too big, you arranged a meeting with Charlie. When he walked across the street, your good friend and bed partner Yale Rittlestone ran him down with a stolen car. Now which one of you killed Rob?”
Patricia started to shake, as though she had palsy and she couldn’t control the shudders. When she finally spoke, the quaver extended to her voice. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. We were only going to talk with him, try to make him see reason.”
“Your version of reason is damned skewed,” I told her.
“Yale offered him money. Rob was insulted. He started shouting. He said people like Yale think they can buy off the whole world. Well, not this time, he said. Not this time.” She gasped in some air. “Yale lost his temper. He has a temper. He hates being thwarted. He was shouting back. And he hit Rob.”
More than once, I thought, remembering the autopsy report.
“It happened so fast,” Patricia said. “I don’t know if Rob stumbled, or if Yale pushed... the window was open...” She stopped and buried her face in her hands.
“I’ll bet Yale was going to pay off Charlie, too. No temper there. Just cold-blooded premeditated murder.”
I gazed down at her. Then I glanced sideways at Nancy, who had moved away from the door, an expression of utter contempt on her face as she stared at Patricia. “Call the Oakland Police Department, Homicide Section. Ask for Sergeant Vernon or Sergeant Hobart. If they’re not in, anyone will do. Just get the police here fast.”
“Where will you be?” Nancy asked.
I smiled. “It’s time I had a talk with Yale Rittlestone. But he’s not going to like what I have to say.”
Forty-two
NOLAN WARD HAD BEATEN ME TO YALE RITTLESTONE’S office, or at least the exterior chamber that was staffed by Ann Twomey. At the moment, the CEO’s secretary was taking her role as gatekeeper quite seriously.
“He said he wasn’t to be disturbed,” she said stubbornly, standing between Nolan and the closed door that led to the inner sanctum. “No matter what.”
“That’s telling him, Ann,” Gladys chimed in. Arms folded over her chest, she was perched on the front of Ann’s desk, a modern oak piece that faced the door leading to the hallway. The surface of the desk was neat and orderly, an appointment book open near the phone console. Next to this was a box of tissues and a flowered china mug resting on one of those plug-in coasters that kept the contents, in this case tea, warm.
“But this is urgent,” Nolan insisted.
“That’s what they all say.” Ann had obviously heard that one before. Dressed in a camel-colored coatdress and heels, she was taller than Nolan by a few inches and certainly more imposing. Now she loomed over him, giving no indication that she planned to back down. I appreciated her success in keeping him out of the CEO’s office, but now I wanted in and both Ann and Nolan were barring my way.
I looked at the closed door, feeling the emanations from behind it. I could hear voices, too, raised in anger and passion, all talking at once.
I traded looks with Gladys, who straightened in anticipation. “They’re all in there. Jeff Bates, too. Is the shit about to hit the fan?”
I nodded and moved toward the door. “Is it ever.”
“Oh, great. Can I watch?”
“Just as soon as I get in there.”
It was getting crowded in front of that door. Without a word Gladys picked up the mug of tea that had been sitting on Ann’s desk. Then she slid off the desk, walked the few steps toward the door, and dumped the tea all over the front of Nolan’s suit. Some of it splashed on Ann’s coatdress. Both of them jumped back, gasping with astonishment. Nolan scrabbled in his pockets for a handkerchief, spluttering an expletive as he mopped at his tie.
“Good grief,” Gladys said, setting the mug on a nearby filing cabinet. “I’m so sorry. I tripped over my own feet. How clumsy of me.”
I stepped between Ann and Nolan and reached for the doorknob. Nolan grabbed my arm, but I twisted away and sent him reeling into the wall.
“What in the blue blazes is going on around here?” Ann demanded. She didn’t wait for any explanations. Instead she picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Security? Mr. Tarcher, come up to Mr. Rittlestone’s office right away.”
When I walked into the CEO’s office, Yale Rittlestone was on my left, standing behind the desk positioned midway on one of the exterior walls, between two windows. He was in the middle of a heated argument with David Vanitzky. Now he stopped in mid-rant and glared at me, furious at being interrupted.
“We’re in a meeting, damn it. I don’t want to be disturbed.” Then he realized I wasn’t Ann. “Who the hell are you?”
I let him stew for a moment as I surveyed the room. Hank Irvin was standing to Yale’s left. He looked startled as he recognized me as the office temp. Or perhaps he was beginning to realize I was something more.
The man just beyond Hank, seated in a chintz-covered wing chair, was much older, with a deceptively mild face and eyes hidden behind spectacles. Frank Weper, in the flesh, and a black suit that made him look like an undertaker. His eyes flicked over me and then dismissed me, just as quickly.
Jeff Bates, former occupant of the CEO’s desk, was in the far corner of the other exterior wall. He’d been looking out the window. When he turned and saw me, his mouth opened as though he were going to speak. I shook my head.
David stood in the middle of the room, between Yale’s desk and a round conference table. He looked surprised, and then his face turned cagey, as he waited for me to make my next move. I walked toward David, then turned and gazed at the man behind the desk. From the corner of my eye I saw Gladys standing in the doorway, blocking Ann and Nolan from entering.
“Get out,” Rittlestone shouted as he moved around the desk, heading toward me. “We’re trying to conduct business in here.”
I didn’t budge. That irritated him even more. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his fingers curled toward his palms to form fists. He was used to being obeyed, and he didn’t like it much when people didn’t snap to as ordered.
“I have no intention of leaving,” I told him, keeping my voice level. “As for your business, it’s
over and done with. I’m a private investigator working for a man named Rob Lawter. You killed him, and another man named Charlie Kellerman. And you’re going down for murder.”
On hearing my words, Hank Irvin looked as though I’d hit him in the stomach. Then his face changed quickly. I could see the wheels turning as he considered ways to disassociate himself from Rittlestone.
“Murder.” Frank Weper spoke from the wing chair, using the calm tone of someone who considered murder a means of leverage rather than a crime. “Well, this does throw a different light on things, doesn’t it?”
“This woman’s crazy. I don’t know what she’s talking about.” Yale waved his arm toward the door. I glanced in that direction and saw Buck Tarcher muscling his way past Gladys. “Get her out of here, Tarcher.”
David stepped behind me and moved toward the door, as though to intercept Tarcher. I kept talking.
“I’m talking about salmonella. The very word is enough to scare most food processors. But not you. You, Ward, and Mayhew conspired to keep contaminated product on the shelves. Rob Lawter was threatening to blow the whistle. When he wouldn’t back off, you and Mayhew went to his apartment and argued with him. You hit him and pushed him out a fifth-story window. Kellerman saw both of you that night, recognized Mayhew, and started blackmailing her. You had her arrange a meeting in Oakland. After she paid him, he crossed the street. Before he got to the other side, you gunned the car you’d stolen and ran him down.”
I let the impact of the words hit the listeners, then I continued. “You stole that car from one of your R&W employees, Carol Hartzell. She’s Rob’s sister, by the way. But you knew that, just like you knew she lived with Leon Gomes, the dairy plant manager. You also knew she had a car, a green Buick. You swiped her keys, had a duplicate made, then went to San Leandro on BART last Friday afternoon to steal that car. Better to implicate Leon, because he bought the contaminated milk and he knew too much.”