Brian Freemantle - Dead End

‘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 cliche 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 understood 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.’

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.’