‘You do that,’ encouraged Parnell, refusing the condescension. ‘I’ll memo him today that you’ve positively guaranteed that everything has successfully been recovered, that there is no danger whatsoever to Dubette, but to expect immediately to hear from you if there are any further problems you haven’t anticipated. That should cover it, shouldn’t it?’
‘Your success has made you extremely confident, Mr Parnell.’
‘On the contrary, Monsieur Saby, what I discovered made me extremely concerned. As I imagine it did you and your research staff.’
Parnell sent his third email of the morning to Newton, setting out the conversation with Henri Saby and his recommendation that the proposal be abandoned and not pursued to eliminate the mutation-causing element in the cocktail. Parnell paused, in mid-composition, unsure whether to include his suspicion that Paris hadn’t recovered everything, but decided against what amounted to calling the French chief executive a liar.
Beverley Jackson was the last to arrive that morning, frowning at the already assembled group, but directly and without embarrassment meeting Parnell’s look, not childishly trying to avoid it. There were going to be some operating changes, Parnell announced, anxious to correct the drift he’d detected within the unit. He told them he considered it pointless involving everyone in a stalled research programme. He wanted to concentrate the influenza search with Lapidus, Pulbrow and Beverley, freeing up the others for work upon which they had been engaged before being given the specific assignment. If Lapidus’s team made any promising advances – or there was progress from Russell Benn’s division – it could revert to being a full-unit project.
‘You should know, too, that the additional French stuff mutated like all the rest. I’ve recommended to Newton that the entire development be abandoned.’
‘If it ever should have been tried in the first place,’ said Lapidus.
‘If it ever should have been tried in the first place,’ echoed Parnell, in agreement. ‘Anyone got any problems with the new routine?’
‘Fine by me,’ said Sato. ‘Be good to get back to something practical.’
‘Do you want to be the liaison with Benn’s people?’ asked Lapidus.
‘Makes more sense for you to do it, as team leader, doesn’t it?’ suggested Parnell.
‘I think so,’ accepted Lapidus. ‘I’ll make a call and get myself known. Which group do you plan to be part of?’
‘Something else you should know,’ offered Parnell, still anxious to re-establish the earlier cohesion between them. ‘Writs for my wrongful arrest are being served today on the DC police who arrested me. There’ll be publicity, how much I don’t know. But I’ll be occupied elsewhere from time to time.’
It was a remark that would return to mock him.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Dwight Newton, his voice barely controlled.
‘I’ve sent you three emails this morning, Dwight,’ reminded Parnell. ‘Which – what – are you asking me about?’ The similarly high-pitched summons had come within thirty minutes of his return to his office from what he hoped to have been a restoration of the near-camaraderie of their early days.
‘You know damned well what I’m asking you!’ insisted Newton, striving to recover although the words were still strained. ‘Suing Metro DC police! That’s what I’m talking about – stirring it all up again!’
‘The judge allowed me that course of action.’ He had expected internal reaction but not this initial level of something close to hysteria. Something else which might be indicative, although he wasn’t sure of what.
‘You know what’s going to happen! Just when things were calming down!’
‘Dwight, it hasn’t anything to do with Dubette. It’s to do with me and a Washington DC police department … my civil right. I was wrongfully arrested and charged, without any proper investigation, and I’ve every justification – and legal invitation – for doing what I’m doing.’
‘And every justification and legal invitation to do this?’ demanded the thin man, waving a sheaf of lengthy legal papers, the discarded envelope for which was teetering on the edge of the man’s desk.
‘I don’t know what that is,’ said Parnell.
‘A witness summons, that’s what it is. I’m being legally required to appear in court for your damned action!’
Which meant, Parnell reckoned, that Harry Johnson would have received the same warning notice. He hadn’t expected it to be like this. ‘I didn’t know that you were going to be called. But I did tell you about the writs, earlier, in one of this morning’s emails. And you were there, at my arrest. Saw how it all happened,’ reminded Parnell.
‘What about the other email you sent?’ continued Newton, spider’s leg fingers drumming on the table in front of him. ‘Dubette could be destroyed if anything else leaks out!’
‘Why should it? How can it?’ demanded Parnell, wishing there was a recording being made of this exchange. ‘France hasn’t got anything to do with my arrest or Rebecca’s murder or suspicions of terrorism, has it, Dwight?’
‘What sort of question is that?’
‘One you prompted me to ask, by what you said.’ Jackson’s cliché wormed into Parnell’s mind. How quickly – for what reason – would Newton twist in the wind of cross-examination in a witness box? ‘You’ve seen from my email that I spoke to Saby?’
‘You tell him about the continuing mutation?’
‘Of course. And I’ve kept everything for you to examine.’
‘I’ll have Russell Benn duplicate, as well,’ said Newton.
‘I’ve recommended that everything be abandoned,’ said Parnell.
‘I read your email,’ insisted Newton, stiffly.
‘Will it be scrapped?’ persisted Parnell.
‘I’ve got to talk to people,’ avoided Newton. Suddenly, the words bursting from him as they came into his mind, the man said: ‘This is a total mess – a mess of your causing.’
‘Dwight, I don’t properly understand why you’re so overwrought. Of course Dubette will come into focus again, because of the circumstances. But the case is between me and a police department. Dubette are on the periphery.’
‘I’m being called!’ protested Newton, again.
‘As a formality,’ improvised Parnell. ‘I guess everyone who was in Showcross’s office that morning will be summoned. They’ll have to be.’
‘You talked this through with Jackson, Beverley’s ex-husband?’
‘Of course I talked it through with Barry Jackson, my attorney,’ qualified Parnell. It was obvious Newton would know of the former husband-and-wife relationship, but Parnell hadn’t liked the phrasing of the question.
‘You should have talked it through with me … with Peter Baldwin … as well.’
Too many immediate responses crowded in upon Parnell. ‘Have you told Baldwin?’ Would Jackson have enjoined the company counsel, along with everyone else?
‘I wanted to talk to you first. Understand what’s happening.’
‘Why should I have talked to you and Baldwin?’
‘Courtesy,’ said Newton, shortly.
‘It was courteous that I told you this morning, before the issuing of the writs and before you received the witness summons.’
‘Your association with Dubette hasn’t been a good one, has it?’ suddenly demanded the vice president.
‘No,’ agreed Parnell. ‘Although I would have thought there was one particular association of which Dubette would be profoundly and commercially grateful. And I’m disgusted by the other inference possible from that question.’
Newton flushed. ‘I’m sorry … I’m … I’m sorry …’
‘You got something else … something you haven’t said yet … that you want to talk to me about, Dwight?’
‘No!’ said the other man, sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know what I mean,’ admitted Parnell. ‘There’s been a lot of this conversation that I’m not sure I’ve un
derstood what you’ve meant, either.’
‘Dubette can’t withstand being this constant focus of attention!’ protested the research vice president.
‘I couldn’t withstand the prospect of wrongly being accused and maybe even jailed for murder,’ said Parnell. ‘I guess that gives us something in common.’
His required copy of Barbara Spacey’s third psychological assessment was waiting for Parnell when he got back to his office. The overconfidence, verging upon aggression, that she’d noted in her first examination had been evident, which she interpreted to be his recovering from the trauma of his recent experiences. He had been more questioning about the need for such assessments than during either of their two previous encounters, referring to a well-known English novel involving police-state control and even brainwashing. She’d assessed that as a restoration of his earlier self-confidence. She hadn’t used the word paranoia, which Parnell wouldn’t have protested at if she had, unwilling to draw any attention to the personnel files that he intended disclosing to the FBI investigators.
It was mid-morning when Barry Jackson came on the line. ‘Everything’s served,’ the lawyer announced.
‘I know. I’ve already had a complaint session with Newton.’
‘He should have taken counsel’s advice. It could be argued he shouldn’t have done that.’
‘You should have warned me.’
‘Too late now.’
‘There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
‘There’s a lot I want to talk to you about. I’ve scheduled a press conference for this afternoon.’
‘You should have warned me about that too, for Christ’s sake!’
‘That’s what I’m doing now! You can make it, can’t you? Dubette can’t stop you. You’ve got the legal justification. And a judge’s virtual guidance.’
‘It would still have been polite to have told Newton that there was going to be a press conference.’
‘You tell him!’ said Jackson, with a hint of exasperation. ‘He’s got all the time in the world to round up as many lawyers as he wants to attend, if they think there’s a need.’
‘They’ll think there’s a need,’ predicted Parnell.
‘I’ll break the inviolable rule and buy lunch, but on one condition.’
‘What’s the condition?’
‘Today you drink water, not wine.’
‘Very biblical.’
‘You didn’t know I could walk on water?’
‘I’d hoped you could.’
Twenty-Seven
Barry Jackson arranged the conference in a midtown hotel, and chose the restaurant to which Beverley had taken him on their first outing, which tightened Parnell’s discomfort. It increased further when Jackson remarked that it was one of Beverley’s favourites, and Parnell decided to confront his difficulty.
He said: ‘I know.’
Jackson smiled, nodding. ‘So do I. She told me you’d been out together, although not that she brought you here.’
‘The first time,’ quickly admitted Parnell. ‘It’s only been twice. And I want …’
The lawyer’s hands came up like forbidding shutters. ‘I don’t want any explanations for why you and Beverley saw each other. I told you, we’re good friends with separate lives, to pursue as we want … as we choose. You and I will never have a personal problem about you and Beverley …’ Jackson let a heavy moment settle. ‘But there’s a reality to talk through. Your fiancée was murdered. You almost got railroaded. You’ve got the sympathy vote, Joe Ordinary – except that you’re not that ordinary – who got caught up in a situation beyond his control. But today we might, just might …’ Jackson narrowed his forefinger against his thumb. ‘… manage to shake a few trees eventually to bring down a few forbidden apples. We got the FBI waiting, with their baskets outstretched. You and Beverley are grown-up, consenting adults, responsible for everything you choose to do. And whatever you guys choose to do is entirely your business. I’m the last one to sit in judgement. But others would and are being invited to be judges and juries. And there’s the media, before whom a feast is being laid out, with you with the apple in your mouth. If there is the faintest whisper that so very soon after the death of your young fiancée you’re involved with another woman, you lose your sympathy vote so fast there’ll be scorch marks on the ground. And quite irrespective of however much convincing law I can argue – and I can argue a hell of a lot – I need totally innocent, railroaded Joe Ordinary next to me in every court and in every witness box … you in step with me and with what I’m saying?’
‘It’s a pretty effective and convincing speech,’ said Parnell, sipping the insisted-upon mineral water but wishing it were wine.
‘It’s meant to be. I spent almost as much time rehearsing it as I did preparing for this afternoon’s conference.’
‘There’s nothing between Beverley and me!’ insisted Parnell.
‘You missed the point,’ accused Jackson. ‘It’s nothing to do with whether or not you and Beverley are into a relationship, which I know you’re not, because Beverley told me you weren’t, and she and I only ever lied to each other once and haven’t done since. It’s public perception.’
‘I do know – do hear – what you’re saying,’ assured Parnell. ‘It isn’t a problem, because it isn’t a problem – a situation that exists.’ What had Jackson meant about he and Beverley only ever having lied to each other once?
‘I’m glad that’s cleared,’ said Jackson.
‘So am I,’ said Parnell, meaning it.
‘How’s your steak? I only ordered a salad when it was your treat, remember?’
‘The steak’s great and there’s still your bill to come.’
‘With other things,’ said Jackson seriously, the brief respite over. ‘I told Beverley to talk to you about refusing a psychological assessment.’
‘She did. I told her I’d back her.’ A flicker of doubt bubbled up in his mind.
‘Why did you take the assessment?’ asked the lawyer, directly.
‘It didn’t seem important enough to refuse,’ said Parnell. ‘Being asked to undergo it was written into my contract.’
‘You still feel that it’s unimportant now?’
Parnell shrugged. ‘I’m English, not American, so I’m not protected by your constitution. It’s difficult now to know what’s important and what isn’t. But I think I’ve discovered something that is.’
‘What?’ demanded the lawyer, at once.
Parnell recounted the arrival of the remaining French samples and Harry Johnson’s easy production of the flick knife and said: ‘Which he lied about, to Dingley and Benton.’
‘Doesn’t make him guilty of anything but that,’ qualified Jackson, once more.
‘I think it’s interesting. And that Dingley will find it interesting, too.’
‘Let’s keep it until we get this over with,’ cautioned Jackson. ‘You ready for this afternoon?’
‘How the hell do I know?’
‘I’ll take all the questions,’ insisted Jackson. ‘Decide those you can answer and those you can’t. We don’t want to risk a contempt of court.’
‘Why hold a press conference at all, then?’
‘To impose pressure. That’s the object of this exercise, remember? Did you tell Newton?’
‘Of course. By email.’
‘And?’
‘When I did see him, he was only just holding on. There were times when he was practically hysterical, particularly about France becoming public.’
‘It’s enough to become hysterical about.’
‘It shouldn’t come out publicly through what we’re doing, should it?’ asked Parnell.
‘I don’t see how it impacts,’ said Jackson, shrugging again. ‘But who the hell knows?’
‘You’re talking of destroying Dubette.’
‘And you’re talking like a terrified, piss-pants employee frightened of losing his job. You forgotten being promised the joys of communal bugge
ry and oral sex, English boy?’
‘You’re confusing the two,’ protested Parnell. ‘And that’s what I don’t want to do, confuse the two.’
‘Why not!’ demanded Jackson, aggressively. ‘You got any good reason to be concerned about Dubette and its stock-market valuation, a company prepared to put a product on to a market where, but for the fluke of your involving yourself, it would have killed God knows how many people, probably without it ever becoming known? If what they tried to market through France becomes public – which I’m not intending it to, unless it simply happens that way – then tough shit for Dubette. You got some convoluted conscience about it, with the money I’m going to get you awarded, build a hospital in Africa where the kids who would have died can be properly treated with proper drugs.’
‘I thought the money you were going to get me was to pay your bill?’ said Parnell, with attempted cynicism that didn’t work.
‘Depending on how successful I am, there might be a little left over,’ said the lawyer. ‘Get hardass, Dick. Everyone else is, and there are more of them than there are of you.’
They entered the hotel through a side entrance, avoiding the initial camera ambush, but it was duplicated inside, lights and lenses directly in front of the dais and all around the edges of the cavernous room. A hedge of microphones had already been built on the waiting table. Every seat in the room was occupied. Parnell immediately isolated Peter Baldwin. Gerry Fletcher, the initially engaged trial lawyer, was beside him. Two other men Parnell didn’t know were clearly part of the Dubette group, all in the front row. Also in the front row, although quite separate from the lawyers, was Edwin Pullinger, the Bureau attorney, with Howard Dingley and David Benton. The room was extremely noisy and questions began to be shouted the moment they entered, adding to the din. The sudden flood of television lights and camera flashes made it difficult at first to see beyond the first four or five rows.
Jackson flapped his hands up and down in a quietening gesture and eventually the row subsided, although not completely. He had convened the conference to announce a civil suit against Metro DC police department and two of its officers, Jackson announced. A claim was being made for ten million dollars for the inconvenience, humiliation and damage to the professional reputation of his client, Richard Parnell, a renowned international scientist employed by Dubette Inc. Mr Parnell had been wrongfully and very publicly arrested on insufficient and inadequate evidence following what subsequently proved to be the murder of his fiancée, Rebecca Lang. Because of some unusual circumstances, that murder was currently being investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. His client would take questions but respond under advisement.
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