He shook his head. “She shouldn’t have done that,” he said, still staring straight ahead.
“Why not?”
Payne just shook his head.
“Anne LeRoy is dead.” Payne turned and looked at Sloane. “I found her electrocuted in her bathtub.”
Payne dropped his head and began to retch, gagging at first before bending over and throwing up between the bleachers the coffee and whatever else he had eaten for breakfast. When he had finished he used a brown paper napkin with the same logo as on the coffee cup to wipe his mouth. Perspiration had beaded on his forehead.
“You’ve met him, haven’t you?” Sloane asked.
“Who?”
“Dark-haired man. Ponytail, maybe six foot two, well built.”
Payne nodded.
“So have I.”
Payne’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. What would he want with you?”
“The designer of the toy had given me a file warning about the dangers of the magnets, not unlike the report Anne LeRoy gave you.”
“I can’t,” Payne said, his voice a whisper, “I have a wife and kids.”
“I had a wife too,” Sloane said. “Anthony Stenopolis killed her because she saw his face.”
Payne paled a ghostly white.
“So I know you’re scared, but if you think this is just going to go away, you’re wrong. It’s not going to end, whatever he might have told you. Once you do whatever it is he’s forcing you to do, he’ll come for you, just like he came for me and for Anne LeRoy.”
Payne shook his head. “How could he have known? I didn’t tell anyone. I tried to protect her. I tried to get her to drop it, but she . . .” He choked back tears.
“It has to be someone who knew about that report.”
“How did she get in touch with you?”
“She saw the article and called my office. She was going to give me a copy of the report.”
“I told her not to,” Payne whispered. “I tried to . . . Oh God.” He began to retch again. When he had finished, Sloane continued his questions.
“Explain it to me. Tell me why you shut down her investigation.”
“He told me to,” Payne said. “He knew about it . . . somehow. Anne didn’t take it well. She had worked very hard on the investigation and was upset. She said she would take it to the media and . . . I yelled at her. I told her that I would take legal action; I was trying to protect her. I was concerned . . .” Again Payne’s voice drifted.
“I need to know how you first came in contact with Stenopolis. I need to know all of the ways that he could have learned of Anne’s investigation.”
A young boy and his father walked onto the outfield grass carrying baseball mitts and began to play catch, the sound of the ball smacking the leather gloves as Albert Payne explained his ill-fated trip to China to inspect manufacturing plants being used by American companies, including the plant with which Kendall Toys had contracted. He told Sloane that Larry Triplett, one of the agency directors, had been insistent that Payne be included on the trip, that Triplett was incensed at how the former administration had gutted the PSA in its quest to deregulate the toy industry. He said Triplett was working with Senator Joe Wallace, from Indiana, who was sponsoring a bill that would provide the agency with more power and more money, and Wallace had called for a congressional hearing into the recent spate of toy recalls with the hope that the inquiry would cause enough consumer outrage to put political pressure on the members of the House and Senate to pass the bill.
“Maggie Powers was supposed to go on the trip as well, but she canceled because her son was getting engaged. She also was eager to have me go.”
“What happened over there?” Sloane asked.
“The factories were as I suspected. The manufacturers had worked hard to clean them up, but it was clear they were not following the regulations we try to impose on American companies. The workers were overworked and underpaid, and most of the products did not meet the quality control standards we seek to impose. In China if the regulation is voluntary, they ignore it. Following the inspections the government officials and owners insisted I attend a reception.” Payne blew out a breath. “After one of the receptions I woke up in the morning with what I thought was a horrible hangover. He was there.”
“Stenopolis?”
“I don’t know his name. There was an Asian woman asleep in bed beside me. I had no idea how I got there or who she was. I thought he was going to blackmail me, maybe try to bribe me but . . .”
Payne broke down, sobbing, his body shaking. He began to wipe at his face and chest, as if he had suddenly been sprayed. Sloane looked to Jenkins who wrote on a notebook and showed him the page. PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
Sloane could only guess at what horror was coming next.
Payne closed his eyes, grimacing, choking back tears as he said the words. “He shot her in the head. There was blood . . .”
Sloane put a hand on the man’s back, giving him time to regain his composure. Payne blew his nose into the napkin, took several deep breaths, and looked out at the ball field. “He said that if I didn’t do what he wanted he would make sure the Chinese had all the evidence they needed to convict me. Then he would kill my family.”
“What exactly did he tell you to do besides drop the investigation into magnets?”
Payne’s eyebrows inched together, surprised by the question. “He didn’t tell me to drop the investigation.”
“But you told Anne LeRoy . . .”
“I told Anne to drop it because I was trying to protect her. But he didn’t want the investigation dropped. He wanted the report changed. He wanted me to ensure that the report concluded there was no reasonable likelihood of any danger and that the Chinese manufacturers met U.S. regulations.”
“And the acting director would give that report at the congressional hearing,” Sloane said.
“Yes. Maggie Powers.”
“And you can’t think of who else knew about Anne’s investigation besides you?”
Payne shook his head, but then he stopped. His eyes widened.
product safety agency bethesda, maryland
THREE SOFT KNOCKS, but the door did not push open.
“Come in,” Payne said.
Peggy Seeley inched her head into his office like a kid sent to the principal’s office. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Come on in and shut the door.”
Seeley hesitated before doing as instructed. She sat in one of two chairs across from Payne’s desk and folded her hands in her lap, kneading her fingers and squinting, as if looking into a glare. Payne thought that she resembled a mouse.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Peggy.”
Seeley lowered her gaze. “I suspected it was only a matter of time with the budget problems.”
Payne raised a hand. “No, it’s not that. It’s not your job. I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”
Seeley slumped in her seat, her shoulders narrow, and her chest nearly concave. The squint became more pronounced.
“It’s about Anne LeRoy.”
“Is it the file? I told her to give the file back, like you asked. She said she was going to do it. I’m sure it just slipped her mind. She’s been interviewing, and well, that hasn’t been going too well—”
“Anne’s dead, Peggy.”
Seeley stared at him. “What?”
“There was some kind of accident in her home.”
Seeley covered her mouth with the fingers of both hands, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
“The police found her in the bathtub. It appears that she dropped the hair dryer. She was electrocuted.”
“Oh my God,” Seeley said, openly weeping. “Oh my God.”
He placed a box of tissue on the edge of the desk and she grabbed a handful.
“I’m very sorry. I know the two of you were good friends.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just a few days ago. The
police just called to advise me.”
“The police?” Seeley stopped blotting the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why did the police call you?”
“I’m not certain. They said that with an unattended death they have to follow through . . .”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. They’re reasonably certain it was an accident.”
“Reasonably certain?”
“That’s what they said.”
Seeley sat back, hands in her lap, no doubt contemplating Payne’s bizarre behavior during the past weeks, his insistence that LeRoy return the file, and now the police were asking him questions.
“I know that the two of you were close; I didn’t want you to read about it in the paper or be shocked when the police called you.”
“Me? Why would the police call me?”
“I’m sure it’s just routine. They wanted the names of Anne’s family and friends. Had you seen her recently?”
“Just the other . . .” Seeley caught herself. “No. Not recently.”
“So you didn’t note any bizarre behavior?”
“Bizarre behavior?”
“Anne didn’t say she was alarmed by . . . anything?”
Seeley shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“She didn’t discuss anything about her report with you?”
Seeley shook her head, more emphatic. “No. I don’t know anything about it. Just that you didn’t have the funding. I mean . . . she told me that, but nothing specific. No.”
Payne nodded. “Well, I know this must come as a horrible shock. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go home and try to relax. I’ll be letting everyone here know when I learn the details about the service.”
Seeley nodded and stood from her chair, making her way to the door, this time without hesitation.
“Oh, and Peggy.” Seeley turned. “You don’t happen to know if Anne still had a copy of her report, do you?”
Seeley shook her head, pulled open the door, and walked out, closing it behind her.
Payne waited a beat, then took out his cell phone and punched the numbers as he walked to the plate glass windows that overlooked the front entrance to the building and the employee parking lot. “She’s on her way down now,” he said. Within minutes Seeley burst out the front door in a fast walk, nearly jogging. “That’s her,” Payne said. “Light blue sweater.”
DAVID SLOANE SAT in the passenger seat, speaking into his cell phone. “I see her.”
Seeley fumbled in her purse, first for her keys, then for her cell phone. She dropped her purse in the process, nearly stumbled over it, and retrieved it before climbing into a green Subaru Outback. She had the phone pressed to her ear as she maneuvered from the parking space, the car coming to a jarring stop just inches before hitting the car parked in the space kitty-corner to it. She pulled forward, nearly clipping the bumper of another car, and sped from the parking lot.
Jenkins and Sloane followed her at a safe distance, hopeful that Payne had scared Seeley sufficiently that she would seek help, or at least let whoever she was working with know what had happened to Anne LeRoy. According to Payne, Seeley had every reason to be afraid of him. He had been acting bizarre ever since his return from China, prone to emotional bursts and obsessive about getting LeRoy to return the copy of the report she had downloaded. He said that making Seeley believe that the police were asking him questions, and therefore that he was a suspect, would not be difficult and should be sufficient to put her over the edge. Sloane hoped he was right.
Seeley drove northwest on River Road past homes and shopping malls, Sloane charting her on a map and trying to decipher where she might be going. He figured she might head home, but if so, it would not be for a while. The homes in this area were large and spread out. It was unlikely Seeley owned one on a government salary. She turned west on Falls Road, and the landscape did not change much: large homes and lots of lush acreage. In between the groves of trees Sloane saw swimming pools and private tennis courts.
“Any idea yet where she’s going?” Jenkins asked just as Seeley came to a T in the road and turned right. Jenkins slowed.
“Why? You think she’s worried someone’s following her?” He repositioned the map in his lap and traced his finger along MacArthur Boulevard.
“Doesn’t give any indication,” Jenkins said, turning right and following.
The scenery became more rural, trees on both sides of the two-lane road. Sloane could no longer see any houses between the foliage. “The road ends,” he said. “She’s going to Great Falls Park.”
“How far?”
“Maybe a mile.”
“Any turnoffs between here and there?”
“Not that appear on the map. You can slow down.”
Jenkins checked his rearview mirror. With no one behind him, he slowed considerably. In the distance they watched Seeley turn right.
“That’s the park,” Sloane said. “She’s meeting someone.”
Before the roundabout to the entrance to the park Jenkins stopped. “Get out. Take your cell phone with you.”
Sloane exited the car wearing sunglasses and slipped on a Washington, D.C., tourist’s ball cap. He walked the road to a paved footpath as Jenkins turned right and followed Seeley’s car into a parking lot. A moment later his cell phone rang. He pressed his earpiece to answer.
“She’s getting out of the car. Headed in your direction.”
Sloane continued down the path to a visitor’s center and plucked an information pamphlet from a plastic container near a window. He positioned himself near the Potomac River, which ran parallel to the footpath. It still being tourist season, Sloane stepped closer to a group, hoping to blend in. People milled about the grounds and stood on a footbridge overlooking the blue-green tinted water. It was warm out. Most wore shorts and tank tops and carried cameras.
After several minutes he spotted Seeley walking down the path toward him and held up his cell phone, as if to take a picture of the water. “I got her,” he said.
Seeley walked briskly past the visitor’s center and continued down the footpath. Still considering his pamphlet, which included the trails along the Potomac, Sloane followed at a safe distance and watched Seeley use a footbridge to cross over the river to a path on the other side, continuing south. The rush of the water became more pronounced as it funneled over a series of steep jagged rocks and through a narrowing gorge. Tourists passed Sloane on the path, walking in the opposite direction.
“You there?” Jenkins asked.
“I’m here,” Sloane said, talking over the rush of the water. “She’s still walking.”
“I think we have a winner,” Jenkins said. “Silver Mercedes with government-issued plates just pulled into the parking lot. Driver looks to be talking on a cell phone.”
Sloane looked up as Seeley stopped and reached into her purse. She pulled out her cell phone and pressed it to her ear.
“She’s getting a call,” he confirmed.
Jenkins described the person getting out of the car as Sloane watched Seeley turn right at a fork in the path. When he reached the fork he saw that the path led to a second footbridge overlooking a spot where the water cascaded over a short falls. Sloane went straight, then left the road for a less worn, unpaved footpath through the trees that emerged downriver and provided a view of the footbridge on which Seeley stood waiting.
Ten minutes later Seeley’s contact arrived. They stood on the bridge talking as Sloane pretended to take photographs of the falls with his cell phone. They spoke for less than fifteen minutes. Seeley’s contact left first, leaving her alone on the bridge. Sloane followed the trail back to the walking path and hurried over to the fork in the road, turning toward the bridge where Seeley remained standing, looking out over the brown water and falls.
Sloane removed his sunglasses and his hat as he approached. “Peggy Seeley?”
Seeley’s head snapped in his direction. Her eyes registered fear. For a moment Sloane worried
that she might scream.
“I’m David Sloane,” he said, offering her his business card. “I’m the attorney in the article you gave to Anne LeRoy.” Seeley’s facial expression softened from concern to confusion. “Anne called me. We were supposed to meet the other night. I know what happened.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t,” Sloane said.
Seeley’s eyes narrowed.
“Things are not what they appear to be, Peggy, but you need to trust that what I’m about to tell you is the truth, because your life is now in danger.”
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
ALBERT PAYNE KEPT one eye on the road while trying to read the directions he had downloaded from the Internet. Large oaks lined the streets, but the sidewalks and gutters were pristine; not a single leaf dared to have fallen. A lifelong resident of Bethesda, Payne knew that John Roll McLean, the former owner and publisher of the Washington Post, had built a railway to link the outlying areas to Washington, D.C., and named one of those train depots after himself. McLean probably never imagined the impressive roll call of residents who would someday live in the multi-million-dollar homes built on wooded lots with manicured lawns and gardens. Just eleven miles from Washington, D.C., McLean’s residents included diplomats, members of Congress, and high-ranking government officials, as well as executives of the three Fortune 500 companies that maintained corporate headquarters nearby.
Payne slowed, confirmed the address, and turned just past a six-foot brick post adorned with an ornate light fixture. The driveway inclined and veered to the left, the lawn outlined by subtle Japanese garden lamps, and proceeded past the front entrance to a three-story, Colonial-style brick home with three white dormer windows protruding from the roof and leaded-glass windows. He parked in an area to the side of the home and took a moment to compose himself before stepping from the car. At the front door he pushed the illuminated doorbell and didn’t wait long before a teenage boy in a T-shirt and baggy shorts answered.
“Hi. Is your—”
“Albert?”
Bodily Harm: A Novel Page 25