Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

“Where?”

“Hold on — I wrote it down somewhere... Here we go. Plumb, George Haversford. Born, ’34; married Mary Ann Champlin, ’58; two kids, blah blah blah... out of grad school in ’60 with a D.B.A.; Smothers and Crimp, 1960 through ’63, left as a partner. Controller, Hardfast Steel in Pittsburgh, ’63 till ’65; Controller and chief operating officer, Readilite Manufacturing, Reading, Pennsylvania, ’65 through ’68; a step up to CEO at an outfit called Baxter Consulting, stayed there till ’71; ’71 through ’74 at Advent Management Specialists; went out on his own with the Plumb Group, ’74 till ’77; then back into the corporate world in ’78 at a place called Vantage Health Planning, CEO till ’81—”

“The guy hops around a lot.”

“Not really, Alex. Moving around every couple of years in order to up your ante is your basic corporate drone pattern. It’s one of the main reasons I dropped out of it early. Hell on the family — lots of booze-hound wives who smile a lot and kids who turn delinquency into an art form... Where was I? Vantage Health till ’81; then it looks as if he began specializing in medical stuff. Arthur-McClennan Diagnostics for three years, Neo-Dyne Biologicals for another three, then MGS Healthcare Consultants — the Pittsburgh place you asked me to look up.”

“What’d you find out about it?”

“Small-to-medium hospital outfit specializing in acute-care facilities in small-to-medium cities in the northern states. Established in ’82 by a group of doctors, went public in ’85, OTC issue, poor stock performance, got reprivatized the next year — bought out by a syndicate and shut down.”

“Why would a syndicate buy it, then shut it down?”

“Could be any number of reasons. Maybe they discovered buying it was a mistake and tried to cut their losses fast. Or they wanted the company’s resources, rather than the company itself.”

“What kinds of resources?”

“Hardware, investments, the pension fund. The other group you asked about — BIO-DAT — was originally a subsidiary of MGS. The data analysis arm. Before the buy-out it got sold to another concern — Northern Holdings, in Missoula, Montana — and was maintained.”

“Is it a public company?”

“Private.”

“What about the other companies Plumb worked for? Are you familiar with any of them?”

“Not a one.”

“Are any of them public?”

“One second and I’ll tell you... Got the old PC cooking. Let me make a scan list. You want to go all the way back to the accountants — Smothers and whatever?”

“If you’ve got the time.”

“Got more time than I’m used to. Hold on just one second.”

I waited, listening to keyboard clicks.

“All right,” he said, “now let’s scroll up the exchanges and run a search... here we go.”

Beep. “Nothing on the New York.”

Beep. “No Amex listings on any of them, either. Let’s see about the Nasdaq...”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“No listings, Alex. Let me check the list of private holdings.”

Beep.

“Doesn’t look like it, Alex.” A slight edge in his voice.

“Meaning none of them are in business?”

“Looks like it.”

“Do you find that unusual?”

“Well,” he said, “businesses do fail or close down at a pretty high rate, but this Plumb guy does seem to be the kiss of death.”

“Chuck Jones hired him to run the hospital, Lou. Care to revise your thinking about his intentions?”

“Think he’s a spoiler, huh?”

“What happened to the other companies Plumb was associated with?”

“That would be hard to find out — they were all small, and if they were privately held, there’d be no stock ramifications, little or no coverage in the business press.”

“What about the local press?”

“If it was a company town with lots of people being thrown out of work, maybe. But good luck tracking that down.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Is this really important, Alex?”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be a hell of a lot easier for me to track,” he said, “knowing the ropes. Let me play Tarzan and climb a few.”

After he hung up, I called Virginia Information and got the number of the Ferris Dixon Institute for Chemical Research. A pleasant female voice answered, “Ferris Dixon, good afternoon, how may I help you?”

“This is Dr. Schweitzer from Western Pediatric Medical Center in Los Angeles. I’m an associate of Dr. Laurence Ashmore.”

“Just one second, please.”

Long pause. Music. The Hollywood Strings doing The Police’s Every Breath You Take .

The voice returned: “Yes, Dr. Schweitzer, how may I help you?”

“Your institute funds Dr. Ashmore’s research.”

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering if you knew he was deceased.”

“Oh, how horrible,” she said, but she didn’t sound surprised. “But I’m afraid the person who can help you with that isn’t in.”

I hadn’t asked for help, but I let that pass. “Who might that be?”

“I’m not exactly sure, Doctor. I’d have to check that.”

“Could you, please?”

“Certainly, but it may take a while, Doctor. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll be moving around. How about if I get back to you?”

“Certainly, Doctor. Have a nice—”

“Excuse me,” I said. “As long as we’re talking, could you give me some information on the institute? For purposes of my own research?”

“What would you like to know, Dr. Schweitzer?”

“What kinds of projects do you prefer to fund?”

“That would be a technical question, sir,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, either.”

“Is there some kind of brochure you could send me? A list of previous studies you’ve funded?”

“I’m afraid not — we’re a fairly young agency.”

“Really? How young?”

“One moment, please.”

Another long break. More Muzak, then she was back.

“Sorry for taking so long, Doctor, and I’m afraid I can’t stay with you — I’ve got several other incoming calls. Why don’t you get back to us with all your questions. I’m sure the right person will be able to help you.”

“The right person,” I said.

“Exactly,” she said with sudden cheer. “Have a nice day, Doctor.”

Click.

I called back. The line was busy. I asked the operator to put through an emergency interruption, and waited until she came back on the line.

“I’m sorry, sir, that number’s out of order.”

I sat there, still hearing the pleasant voice.

Smooth... well rehearsed.

One word she’d used jumped out at me.

“We’re a fairly young agency. ”

Odd way to describe a private foundation.

Virginia... anything down there always spells government to me .

I tried the number again. Still off the hook. Checked my notes for the other study the institute had funded.

Zimberg, Walter William. University of Maryland, Baltimore.

Something to do with statistics in scientific research.

The med school? Mathematics? Public health?

I got the university’s number and called it. No Zimbergs on the medical school faculty. Same at the math department.

At Public Health a male voice answered.

“Professor Zimberg, please.”

“Zimberg? No such person here.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I must have gotten the wrong information. Do you have a faculty roster handy?”

“One moment... I’ve got a Professor Walter Zimberg but he’s in the Department of Economics.”

“Could you please connect me to his office?”