Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [112]
“Hmmm.”
“Next, the husband,” Alan said. “I talked to someone who worked in his company, CoStar. Says the husband hates her, has lots of bad things to say about her. But he’s in Mexico on vacation with his new girlfriend until next week.”
“Too bad.”
“Novell,” Alan said. “They keep only the last five years current. Prior to that, records are in cold storage at headquarters in Utah. They have no idea what they’ll show, but they’re willing to get them out if we’ll pay for it. It’ll take two weeks.”
Fernandez shook her head. “Not good.”
“No.”
“I have a strong feeling that Conrad Computer is sitting on something,” Fernandez said.
“Maybe, but we’ll have to sue to get it. And there’s no time,” Alan looked across the courtyard at the others. “What’s happening now?”
“Nothing. They’re hanging tough.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus,” Alan said. “Who’s she got behind her?”
“I’d love to know,” Fernandez said.
Sanders flipped open his cellular phone and checked in with his office. “Cindy, any messages?”
“Just two, Tom. Stephanie Kaplan asked if she could meet with you today.”
“She say why?”
“No. But she said it wasn’t important. And Mary Anne has come by twice, looking for you.”
“Probably wants to skin me,” Sanders said.
“I don’t think so, Tom. She’s about the only one who—she’s very concerned about you, I think.”
“Okay. I’ll call her.”
He started to dial Mary Anne’s number when Fernandez nudged him in the ribs. He looked over and saw a slender, middle-aged woman walking up from the parking lot toward them.
“Buckle up,” Fernandez said.
“Why? Who’s that?”
“That,” Fernandez said, “is Connie Walsh.”
Connie Walsh was about forty-five years old, with gray hair and a sour expression. “Are you Tom Sanders?”
“That’s right.”
She pulled out a tape recorder. “Connie Walsh, from the Post-Intelligencer. Can we talk for a moment?”
“Absolutely not,” Fernandez said.
Walsh looked over at her.
“I’m Mr. Sanders’s attorney.”
“I know who you are,” Walsh said, and turned back to Sanders. “Mr. Sanders, our paper’s going with a story on this discrimination suit at DigiCom. My sources tell me that you are accusing Meredith Johnson of sex discrimination, is that correct?”
“He has no comment,” Fernandez said, stepping between Walsh and Sanders.
Walsh looked past her shoulder and said, “Mr. Sanders, is it also true that you and she are old lovers, and that your accusation is a way to even the score?”
“He has no comment,” Fernandez said.
“It looks to me like he does,” Walsh said. “Mr. Sanders, you don’t have to listen to her. You can say something if you want to. And I really think you should take this opportunity to defend yourself. Because my sources are also saying that you physically abused Ms. Johnson in the course of your meeting. These are very serious charges people are making against you, and I imagine you’ll want to respond. What do you have to say to her allegations? Did you physically abuse her?”
Sanders started to speak, but Fernandez shot him a warning glance, and put her hand on his chest. She said to Walsh, “Has Ms. Johnson made these allegations to you? Because she was the only other one besides Mr. Sanders who was there.”
“I’m not free to say. I have the story from very well-informed sources.”
“Inside or outside the company?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Ms. Walsh,” Fernandez said, “I am going to forbid Mr. Sanders to talk to you. And you better check with the P-I counsel before you run any of these unsubstantiated allegations.”
“They’re not unsubstantiated, I have very reliable—”
“If there is any question in your counsel’s mind, you might have her call Mr. Blackburn and he will explain what your legal position is in this matter.”
Walsh smiled bleakly. “Mr. Sanders, do you want to make a comment?”
Fernandez said, “Just check with your counsel, Ms. Walsh.”
“I will, but it won’t matter. You can’t squash this. Mr. Blackburn can’t squash this. And speaking personally, I have to say I don’t know how you can defend a case like this.”
Fernandez leaned close to her, smiled, and said,