by Glenn Rogers
I waited while he typed.
“I am sorry, son. Of course that is more important than you driving me to my office. Sometimes I forget that your work is important, too.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I didn’t mean to be impertinent. I’m sorry.”
He typed.
“No,” the electronic voice said, “do not apologize. I am the one who owes you an apology. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad. Please don’t worry about it. But can we talk later? I really need to get back to what I’m doing.”
“Of course, son. We’ll talk later.” He clicked off.
June came out of the closet/dressing room a moment later having changed into jeans, a light weight orange sweater, and running shoes. She was carrying a handful of undergarments that she put into the suitcase. She didn't seem to mind that I saw her bras and panties as she put them in the small suitcase. Some women would have. She put another couple pair of jeans and sweaters and a couple of shirts into the suitcase.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said, “but I’ve had similar conversations with my father. The details were very different, but the jist of it was similar.”
I smiled. “Took me a while to figure it out,” I said, “but I think its part of the price you pay for being the child of a brilliant and driven parent.”
She smiled that friendly, easygoing smile that softened her and made you want to talk to her. She went back into the bathroom and quickly packed a second small case with toiletries and makeup.
“Ready,” she said as she came out of the bathroom. “Was that fast enough?”
“I didn't think a woman could possibly pack that fast.”
Another smile.
“So where to now?”
“Back to my office for a while.”
As we drove, June said, “So tell me about your dad.”
I gave her the abbreviated version. After working as an assistant district attorney he established his own law firm, serving the legal needs of the wealthy and powerful, becoming wealthy and powerful himself. I explained his dream of me becoming his partner and taking over the firm, and his disappointment when I decided not to become an attorney. I told her about the stroke he had last year and the physical disabilities he suffered.
“Mentally, he’s the same,” I said, “but physically …” I shook my head.
“Must be very frustrating for him,” June said. “I can’t imagine my father having to cope with something like that.”
“He lives with my sister now, so she has to cope with most of it. I don’t know if I could do it.”
We compared childhood experiences during the drive back to my office. I was surprised by the similarities.
When we arrived at my office, Wilson greeted us enthusiastically at the door and I paused to give him a good two-handed scratch behind the ears.
“Anything important happen while we were gone?” I asked Mildred.
“An unhappy wife wants you to find proof that her husband is cheating on her, and William Ryan called again, wanting to hire you as his chief of security for his campaign.”
June said, “The wannabe governor of California, William Ryan?”
I smiled. “It's not as impressive as it sounds. I've already turned him down twice.”
“He’s offering more money this time,” Mildred said.
“I still don't want the job,” I said.
“Other than that,” Mildred said, “the most exciting thing that happened is the mailman delivered a girlie magazine to you. It was supposed to go to the pervert insurance agent next door. It came in a brown wrapper so I had to open it to see what it was. Sad to see what passes for a real woman these days.”
I looked at June. She was biting her lip in a futile attempt to keep from smiling.
“Well, enjoy your magazine,” I said as June and I walked into my side of the office.
“I put it on your desk,” Mildred said.
It was indeed on my desk. I dropped it into the trash.
“You aren't going to look at it?” June asked.
“I know what naked women look like. I've seen lots of them.”
June nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Do you like to look at naked women?”
“I do. Very much in fact. I just prefer the real thing to photographs.”
“I see,” she said.
“You want some coffee or tea?” I asked.
“Tea would be nice.”
I showed her a wooden tray with little compartments for different kinds of tea. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, she selected English Breakfast Tea. I chose the same for myself and put two mugs into the microwave.
“So what do we do now?” June asked.
“We wait until the little bell rings. That means the tea is ready.”
Her expression was a combination of mild amusement and exasperation. “You know what I meant,” she said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So?”
“We go see your father.”
She looked away and took a deep breath. She thought for a long moment, nodded, and said, “Yes. That's what we do next.”
She looked at me and I looked at her.
“So let's go and get it over with,” she said.
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“Because we haven't had our tea yet. And because we don't yet have a strategy.”
“A strategy,” she said.
“Lyell Lindell,” I said, “as I’m sure you already know, is an important and powerful man. We can't just barge into his home or office and interrogate him. We need a strategy.”
She nodded. “You're right. And even if we have a good strategy, the experience will not be a pleasant one. I've seen my father reduce congressmen and senators to babbling idiots.”
I shrugged. “Not that impressive,” I said. “Most of them are babbling idiots to begin with.”
She smiled.
Chapter 46
We developed a complex strategy and disguised it in a veil of simplicity. June would confront her father with what was going on and ask him if he was involved. I would observe.
It was nearly four when we walked into the building. We took the express elevator to the top floor. June walked into her father's office suite across the reception area from hers as if she owned it. His administrative assistant was a sturdy looking sixty-something woman with graying hair, wearing a gray pantsuit with a white blouse. A frown appeared to be permanently affixed to her face, which made her look not only like she was seriously constipated but a little scary as well. The nameplate on her desk read Ms. Wentworth.
She said, “Hello, June. Can I help you?” It was not friendly, but matter of fact.
June said, “No. We're going to talk to Daddy.” She kept walking toward the door to her father's office. I took note of the fact the she referred to him as daddy.
Ms. Wentworth stood and said, “Actually, I’m afraid he's busy and...”
“He's not too busy to see me,” June said, cutting her off.
Ms. Wentworth stepped in front of June. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but he is. I can check his book if you like and see...”
June interrupted her. “Doris, you move out of my way or I'll move you out of my way.”
This was a side of June I'd not seen before. Her voice was firm and had an edge to it. The look in her eyes communicated as much as her voice.
Ms. Wentworth looked venomous for a moment but then looked away and relinquished her ground and let June pass. I followed. Where June’s office resembled a library in a British manner house, with lots of wood, leather, and books, Lyell’s office was contemporary, with lots of glass, chrome, open space and light.
Lyell Lindell looked up from the papers he held in his hand. His white hair was thick and wavy. His tan skin was beginning to wrinkle but his eyes were clear and lively. “June, sweetheart,” he said as he stood and crossed the expansive room toward her. He was six foot tall, solidly built and moved w
ith a youthful vitality. He was wearing gray slacks, a light blue Oxford button down shirt, a yellow and blue-stripped tie, and a camel hair sport coat.
“How nice to see you,” he said to June. They hugged.
He looked at me and asked, “And who is this strapping young man?”
“Dad, this is Jake Badger.” We shook hands. He had a strong handshake and a commanding presence. He was not a man to be trifled with.
“He's a private investigator that I've hired,” June said.
He looked at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Then he looked at June. “What have you hired him to investigate?” he asked her.
“Dad, let's sit down. This is not going to be easy for you to hear.”
He looked intently at her for a long moment. He shook his head. “I can't imagine ...”
“Please, Dad.”
“Well, okay, then,” he said. On one side of his massive office was a glass conference table that would seat eight people. On the opposite wall was a conversation area designed to generate a casual, friendly atmosphere. There was a cushy white leather sofa and two matching leather chairs arranged around a thick glass coffee table. June followed him; I followed her. He sat on the sofa. That left the chairs for June and me.
“Okay,” he said, with a warm smile. “What's this all about?”
June explained about her hiring me to figure out why Jane had left. I could see that Lyell was not happy about that, but he sat quietly and listened. June went on to explain how Lindell Industries security people had tried to warn me off and how, upon their failure, a parade of other hired thugs had tried either to warn me off or to kill me. She explained that I had killed two of them. Lyell studied me for a moment but didn’t say anything.
She told her father that she knew about the brain implant research. She told him about Cole Jamison and the attempt on his life and all the money Jamison been paid over the past twenty-nine years. She explained how Julie Winthrop had heard him admit that the L211 had failed and that people had died because of it.
“And now,” June said, “this morning, we were followed. They were assassins who intended to kill us.”
She paused and looked at her father. He was not a happy man. He returned her gaze but did not speak.
“Dad, what's going on?”
He looked from June to me and then back to June. Then he said, “Be sure, your sins will find you out.”
“What?” June said. “You're quoting the Bible? Dad, what's going on here?”
Lyell's eyes shifted back to mine.
I said, “He's admitting that he's complicit in the cover-ups.”
June looked at me and then back to her father. “Dad?”
He took a deep breath, stood, and walked to a huge window that provided a panoramic view of Los Angeles. He stood for a moment, hands clasped behind his back.
He stood. We waited. After probably two minutes June again said, “Dad.”
He turned, walked back and sat down.
“Yes,” he said, “mistakes were made. Over the years, quite a few. The whole brain implant thing was stupid. I don't know what any of us were thinking. It wasn't our idea. Couple of idiots at the Pentagon. But we got involved. It was a fiasco. People suffered.”
His eyes, roaming the table in front of him, were full of regret and guilt.
“And there were devices that failed,” he said. “Of course there were. Experimentation and innovation are not exact sciences. You do the best you can, but there are always malfunctions and failures. People don't understand that. They expect god-like perfection. There were hundreds of millions of dollars at stake.”
“And lives,” June said.
Lyell took another deep breath and nodded. “Yes. And lives.”
“And you covered up the failures.”
“Yes.”
“And Cole Jamison?” June asked.
Lyell shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“He used to work for you in R & D.”
“Lot's of people worked for me. I don't know him.”
“You didn't try to have him killed?”
He looked at June, pain and disappointment in his eyes. “Of course I didn't try to have him killed. I'm not a murderer.”
“Did you pay him?”
“I told you, I've never heard of him. If I don't know who is he, how could I be paying him?”
“Did you send people after Jake?” June asked.
“No. I covered up our mistakes and failures. Of that I am guilty. But I have never attempted to have anyone killed.”
“Do you know who did?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“No.”
I studied him for a moment. When we had entered his office just a little while ago he was Lyell Lindell, captain of industry. Now he seemed tired, worn out, diminished. There was a sadness in his eyes. No arrogance, no defiance. Just regret and sadness. And honesty. I believed him.
Tears filled his eyes. He looked at his daughter. “Your mother would be ashamed of me. I've let you down, too, haven't I?”
June went and sat beside him. As she took his hand, tears filled her eyes as well.
He turned and looked intently at her. “I didn't have anything to do with any murders or attempted murders.”
Before June could reply, I said, “I believe you, Mr. Lindell. But someone did. And we need to find out who.”
He nodded and seemed to recover something of himself. “How can I help?” he asked.
Chapter 47
“Other than you,” I asked Lyell, “who in the company would be highly motivated to keep the mistakes and failures secret?”
“In a company of this size,” he said, “it might be dozens of people. It could be anyone who was afraid that sloppy work or involvement in questionable activities might cost him his job.”
I thought about that for a moment. “That explanation doesn't take into account the fact that many of the things that have been kept secret, would have, I think, involved different departments, which means several different people would have been involved. But that doesn't feel right. This feels more like the work of one person.”
“Why do you think so?” Lyell asked.
June jumped in. “He's right, Dad. Someone's been paying Cole Jamison a substantial amount of money each year to keep quite about our corporate indiscretions.”
“How substantial?” Lyell asked.
“A hundred thousand a year plus a five percent bump each year.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty-nine years,” June said.
Lyell was quiet for a moment while he calculated. “That’s over six million dollars.”
The man obviously has a head for numbers.
June said, “And someone is paying to have people killed. Is it likely that there is more than one person in the company who would do those sorts of things?”
Lyell thought about that.
I said, “To pull it off, especially over a long period of time, it would need to be someone with a lot of authority and who's has been with the company for a long time.”
Lyell nodded pensively. “That would narrow it down a bit,” he said.
“How many possible candidates?” I asked.
“Eight, maybe nine,” he said.
June nodded in agreement.
“Really?” I said. “Eight or nine people who have been working here for thirty years or longer, who have been in a position of authority for all that time… someone who knew about the secrets and who would be willing to kill to keep the secrets secret. Given those parameters, eight or nine seems like too many.”
Lyell was listening to me and watching me intently. He said, “You have a very analytical mind, young man.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Jake used to be an FBI agent,” June said.
“Impressive,” Lyell said. June looked pleased.
I looked at my watch. It was almost five.
“We need to come up with a list of
the people who meet the criteria,” I said, “and then tomorrow I need to begin interviewing them.”
June looked at her father.
Lyell thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose ...”
I could see what he was struggling with. “Mr. Lindell, think of it like this. In creating a list, you're not accusing anyone. You're just saying that a person in this position had the power to be responsible for what has happened here.”
He nodded. “Well, first, it would be myself. Next would be the Director of Research, Joel Moffat, the Director of Internal Affairs, Ben Simpson, and the Chief Financial Officer, Gordon Baker.
“So other than you, only those three have been here long enough and had enough authority over that time to do something like this?”
Father and daughter both nodded.
“There may be others,” June said, “but these are the one’s you should start with.”
“Okay, then. We can get started first thing in the morning. Will these three people be available for interviews?”
“They will,” Lyell said with the authority of a man who was used to wielding the sword of power.
I felt like we had accomplished something major. Maybe we could make some progress now. I looked at June and said, “We have some things to do before we meet Alex.”
“Yes,” she said. “We need to go.”
We started to stand but Lyell said, “Could I ask one thing before you go?”
“Sure,” June said.
“You said that you hired Mr. Badger to look into why Jane left.”
June nodded.
Lyell looked at me. “Did you discover why?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. “She was pregnant.”
He took a moment to consider that. “Pregnant,” he said. His face was full of questions.
“She had a son. His name is Eric. He'll be thirty in a few months. He owns a pool cleaning business in Tempe, Arizona. He's a nice guy.”
Tears filled Lyell’s eyes. He looked at June. In a trembling voice he said, “I always thought she left because she discovered the mistakes we'd covered up and she was ashamed of me.”
June put her arm around her father and hugged him. They cried softly for a moment. Then Lyell said, “I have a grandson.”