Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [70]
“Yes.”
“And your complaint presents an immediate and serious problem for him.”
He nodded. “Let’s say it comes at a very sensitive time.”
She was silent for a moment, peering at him over her reading glasses. “Mr. Sanders, I misjudged you. I had the impression you were a timid man.”
“They’re forcing me to do this.”
“Are they.” She gave him an appraising look. Then she pushed the intercom button. “Bob, let me see my calendar. I have to clear some things. And ask Herb and Alan to come in. Tell them to drop whatever they’re doing. This is more important.” She pushed the papers aside. “Are all the mediators on this list available?”
“I assume so.”
“I’m going to request Barbara Murphy. Judge Murphy. You won’t like her, but she’ll do a better job than the others. I’ll try and set it up for the afternoon if I can. We need the time. Otherwise, late morning. You realize the risk you’re taking? I assume you do. This is a very dangerous game you’ve decided to play.” She pushed the intercom. “Bob? Cancel Roger Rosenberg. Cancel Ellen at six. Remind me to call my husband and tell him I won’t be home for dinner.” She looked at Sanders. “Neither will you. Do you need to call home?”
“My wife and kids are leaving town tonight.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You told her everything?”
“Yes.”
“You are serious.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m serious.”
“Good,” she said. “You’re going to need to be. Let’s be frank, Mr. Sanders. What you have embarked upon is not strictly a legal procedure. In essence, you’re playing the pressure points.”
“That’s right.”
“Between now and Friday, you’re in a position to exert considerable pressure on your company.”
“That’s right.”
“And they on you, Mr. Sanders. They on you.”
He found himself in a conference room, facing five people, all taking notes. Seated on either side of Fernandez were two young lawyers, a woman named Eileen and a man named Richard. Then there were two investigators, Alan and Herb: one tall and handsome; the other chubby, with a pockmarked face and a camera hanging around his neck.
Fernandez made Sanders go over his story again, in greater detail. She paused frequently to ask questions, noting down times, names, and specific details. The two lawyers never said anything, although Sanders had the strong impression that the young woman was unsympathetic to him. The two investigators were also silent, except at specific points. After Sanders mentioned Meredith’s assistant, Alan, the handsome one, said, “Her name again?”
“Betsy Ross. Like in the flag.”
“She’s on the fifth floor?”
“Yes.”
“What time does she go home?”
“Last night, she left at six-fifteen.”
“I may want to meet her casually. Can I go up to the fifth floor?”
“No. All visitors are stopped at reception in the downstairs lobby.”
“What if I’m delivering a package? Would Betsy take delivery of a package?”
“No. Packages go to central receiving.”
“Okay. What about flowers? Would they be delivered directly?”
“Yes, I guess so. You mean, like flowers for Meredith?”
“Yes,” Alan said.
“I guess you could deliver those in person.”
“Fine,” Alan said, and made a note.
They stopped him a second time when he mentioned the cleaning woman he had seen on leaving Meredith’s office.
“DigiCom uses a cleaning service?”
“Yes. AMS—American Management Services. They’re over on—”
“We know them. On Boyle. What time do the cleaning crews enter the building?”
“Usually around seven.”
“And this woman you didn’t recognize. Describe her.”
“About forty. Black. Very slender, gray hair, sort of curly.”
“Tall? Short? What?”
He shrugged. “Medium.”
Herb said, “That’s not much. Can you give us anything else?”
Sanders hesitated. He thought about it. “No. I didn’t really see her.”
“Close your eyes,” Fernandez said.
He closed them.
“Now take a deep breath, and put yourself back. It’s yesterday evening. You have been in Meredith’s office, the door has been closed for almost an hour, you have had your experience with her, now you are leaving the room, you are going out . . . How does the door open, in or out?”
“It opens in.”