Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [119]
“What can you tell us of June Brodie?” Hayward asked.
“She was Slade’s executive secretary.”
“How would you characterize her?”
“Youngish. Attractive. Motivated.”
“Good at her job?”
“She was Slade’s right hand. She seemed to have a finger in every pie.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was heavily involved in running the day-to-day business of the company.”
“Does that mean she knew about the secret project?”
“As I said, it was highly confidential.”
“But she was Slade’s executive secretary,” Pendergast interjected. “Heavily motivated. She’d see everything that went across his desk.”
Phillips didn’t reply.
“What kind of a relationship did she have with her employer?”
Phillips hesitated. “Slade never discussed that with me.”
“But you heard rumors,” Pendergast continued. “Was the relationship more than just professional?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“What kind of a man was Slade?” Hayward asked after a moment.
At first, it appeared as if Phillips wouldn’t answer. Then the defiant look on his face softened and he fetched a sigh of resignation. “Charles Slade was an amazing combination of visionary brilliance and extraordinary caring—mingled with unbelievable greed, even cruelty. He seemed to embody both the best and the worst—as many CEOs do. One minute he could be weeping over the bed of a dying boy… the next minute, slashing ten million from the budget and thus orphaning the development of a drug that would have saved thousands.”
There was a brief silence.
Pendergast was looking steadily at the lawyer. “Does the name Helen Pendergast or Helen Esterhazy ring a bell?”
The lawyer looked back, not the slightest glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “No. I’ve never heard either of those names before. At least, not until you showed up at my door, Agent Pendergast.”
Pendergast held the door of the Buick open for Hayward. She paused before getting in. “See how smoothly that went?”
“Indeed.” He closed the door, walked around the vehicle, and slipped in himself. The irritation she had noted earlier seemed to have disappeared. “And yet I’m rather curious.”
“What about?”
“About your representations about me to our friend Phillips. Telling the man I would have threatened him, used his son’s criminal record against him. How do you know I wouldn’t have handled him as you did?”
Hayward started the car. “I know you. You would’ve hammered the poor man down to within an inch of his life. I’ve seen you do it before. Instead of a hammer, I used a carrot.”
“Why?”
“Because it works, especially with a man like that. And it’ll help me sleep better at night.”
“I hope you don’t find the beds at Penumbra disagreeable, Captain?”
“Not in the least.”
“Good. Personally, I find them most satisfactory.” And as he turned his face forward, Hayward thought she saw the ghost of a smile flit across it. All of a sudden she realized she might have been mistaken in assuming how he’d have handled Denison Phillips IV. But, she mused, now she never would know.
56
Itta Bena, Mississippi
THE ROAD RAN FLAT THROUGH THE SWAMP outside the small town, cypress trees on either side, a weak morning sun filtering through their branches. A faded sign, almost lost in the landscape, announced:
Longitude Pharmaceuticals, Inc.
Established 1966
“Greeting the Future with Better Drugs”
The Buick bumped and vibrated on the poor road, the tires slapping the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, Hayward could see a dot approaching that soon resolved itself into Pendergast’s Rolls-Royce. He had insisted they take two cars that morning, claiming to have various research errands of his own, but she was pretty sure he was just looking for an excuse to get out of her rented Buick and back into his more comfortable Rolls.
The Rolls rapidly approached, exceeding the speed limit by a generous margin, moved