Кэтрин Коултер - Whiplash

"What does it matter who called the police? They were called, weren't they?"

"Why don't you tell me why that wasn't the first thing you and Caskie did."

Alvarez shrugged. "We were anxious to see if the thief got away with anything valuable, like confidential files or e-mails. So the guard called. I repeat, who cares?"

"I'm thinking you guys didn't call because you were afraid the first question put to you would be why the two of you were there alone on a Sunday night."

"We were working on the budget-we had adjustments to make, production dates to change-"

"That doesn't sound all that urgent. So how long have you been sleeping with Mr. Royal?"

"I am not sleeping with him!"

"What did the thief take, Ms. Alvarez?"

"Nothing, as far as I know. That's what Mr. Royal told me last night. He hasn't said anything different to me today."

"How many times did you meet with Mr. Blauvelt?"

"Only once, when he was here three, four months ago, his first visit to our office, I believe."

"No, he's been here many times. All right, what was your meeting about during this visit several months ago?"

Sherlock saw Alvarez's face go utterly blank, then watched her brain snap to. Alvarez said, her voice ice chips, "Not that you'd understand, but we spoke of the reasons behind some budget overruns on drugs we distribute. It's all very involved. After our discussion, he met briefly with Mr. Royal, then, so far as I know, he returned to Germany, pleased that we had resolved the situation."

"You're lying to me, Ms. Alvarez, and I do hate that. You know as well as I do that Mr. Blauvelt wouldn't know a budget overrun from a Gesundheit ."

"I am not!"

"Why did Mr. Blauvelt come here this time?"

"I have no idea. I didn't even know he was coming."

"You must know Mr. Blauvelt was Schiffer Hartwin's enforcer, their messy-problem solver. Whenever he showed up, it meant there was a screw-up that needed his brand of fixing. This always involved people, Ms. Alvarez, not production problems. Who was he here for this time? Who was the problem, Ms. Alvarez? Were you the one he came to see?"

CASKIE ROYAL'S OFFICE

Savich studied Caskie Royal, sitting erect and confident in his executive leather chair behind his equally impressive mahogany desk, and watched him thread a Cross pen through his large blunt fingers. He knew Royal had been first string quarterback in his senior year at Florida, and he still looked fairly buff, though living well was starting to thicken his waistline. His hair was thick, dark brown with flecks of gray at the temples, the politician's You can trust me look. Savich knew about his tomcat reputation and imagined Sherlock could tell him what it was that made women look his way. His dark eyes were intelligent, but Savich saw cunning lurking in them too. At first he looked decisive, a man at the top of his game, sure of his place in the sun. But his hands were the giveaway-nervous hands, fiddling with the pen, his fingers tapping. Savich imagined he'd been instructed to make nice and to get this mess shut down cleanly. He doubted Royal could be intimidated, at least not here on his own turf. A laid-back, more conciliatory approach, then.

Royal asked, "May I ask why the FBI is visiting me, Agent Savich? It was a break-in, probably some competitor looking for some advantage, new and exciting to them, no doubt, but nothing more. I know poor Helmut Blauvelt was found murdered in Van Wie Park, but I will tell you right now I know nothing about that." He looked down pointedly at his Rolex.

Savich smiled to himself. "I realize you're a busy man, Mr. Royal, and we will make this as quick and painless as possible. Did your employers at Schiffer Hartwin call you from Germany?"

"Yes, of course they did. We are all very upset by this. They want me to help you as much as possible, but as I said, I don't know how I can." Royal shrugged.

"Helmut Blauvelt was here to see you, Mr. Royal?"

"No, I have no idea why Mr. Blauvelt was even here in the U.S." Royal sat forward, folded his hands in front of him. He looked serious and concerned, the picture of cooperation.

Savich sat back in the chair, crossed his ankles, and said easily, "Mr. Blauvelt was a man to be reckoned with, Mr. Royal. He took care of people who were causing problems, as I'm sure you know. He was a fixture at Schiffer Hartwin when you first came on board five years ago as CEO. He possibly did your own background check."

"I heard rumors, nothing more. Believe me, I didn't know what, if anything, he was here to do."

"When was the last time Mr. Blauvelt came to see you, Mr. Royal?"

Royal's eyes never left Savich's face. He splayed his wide palms on the desktop. Nice manicure, Savich saw.

"I don't remember. Wait, oh, yes, it was maybe a year ago. We discussed cost overrun problems with a new drug. We resolved questions and he left."

"Actually Blauvelt was here three and a half months ago. Why was he here then, Mr. Royal?"

"He was? I'm sorry, Agent Savich, but I don't believe I saw him. Perhaps he was here on vacation."

Savich merely continued to look at Royal. Clearly he was an ambitious man who enjoyed his perks, a man unlikely to let any morals or ethics impede his progress toward his goals. Surely he was bright enough to come up with a better answer than that to suit Savich. "Why don't you look it up in your appointment book, Mr. Royal. It will only take a moment."

Caskie Royal turned his chair to the credenza behind him where his computer sat next to a photo of a pretty blond woman in a white summer dress with two boys, one standing on each side.

"Your family, Mr. Royal?"

"What? Oh, yes, that's my wife, Jane Ann, and my two sons, Chad and Mark."

He raised his hands to the keyboard, then shook his head at himself. "Sorry, I forgot." He swiveled his chair toward the desk again and opened a drawer, withdrawing a datebook covered in beautiful Moroccan leather. He looked up after a moment. "Here we are. Yes, I remember now. He came over to speak to me about one of our employees. A manager at Rexol, our distribution plant in Missouri. Blauvelt was here to discuss problems with his performance. He wanted me to fire him.

"I, ah, I talked him out of firing the employee, Mr. Rink, who is a good man, very experienced. I explained to Mr. Blauvelt that we could trust Rink to turn things around. He was having personal problems. I told Blauvelt I'd speak to Rink, oversee his work more closely. Blauvelt agreed and left. There was nothing more to it than that."

So Royal had quickly come up with a nice fleshed-out story on the fly. Savich was impressed. "You are a very important man in the Schiffer Hartwin hierarchy, Mr. Royal. Why would corporate in Germany send Blauvelt over to speak to you about the performance of one of your own employees?"

Royal continued to smile, looking more sincere than the pope. He said, "I recall they sent a message through him, Agent Savich, giving me their ideas and expectations. Not a big deal."

"All right, Mr. Royal. You're certain Mr. Blauvelt wasn't scheduled to meet with you on this trip to the U.S.?"

"No, he wasn't."

"Would you mind telling me what you had on your computer that might tempt a thief ?"

"E-mails mostly, and endless reports, Agent Savich. A great many reports are copied to the CEO, reports on programs in research and development, reports on our cost structure, reports on the status of drug production and distribution, you get the idea."

"No reports that were particularly critical? That might be of interest to a competitor?"

"That's hard to say, Agent Savich. There were so many reports, I don't think a thief could have located a specific one. But whatever the thief was after, he was out of luck." He smiled.