Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [121]
“This is a private office!” the secretary said.
“I understand you people are police officers,” said Dalquist. “Now, if you have a warrant, I’d like to see it.”
“We don’t have a warrant,” said Hayward. “We were hoping to speak to you informally. However, if we need a warrant, we’ll go get one.”
A hesitation. “If I knew what this was all about, that might not be necessary.”
Hayward turned to Pendergast. “Special Agent Pendergast, perhaps Mr. Dalquist is right and we should get a warrant after all. By the book, I always say.”
“It might be advisable at that, Captain Hayward. Of course, word of the warrant might get out.”
Dalquist sighed. “Please sit down. Miss Farmer, I’ll handle it from here, thank you. Please close the door on your way out.”
The secretary left, but neither Hayward nor Pendergast sat down.
“Now, what’s this business about avian flu?” asked Dalquist, his face flushing. Hayward stared but could see no glimmer of knowledge in his hostile blue eyes.
“We don’t work on flu here at all,” Dalquist went on, stepping back behind his desk. “We’re a small pharmaceutical research company with a few products to treat certain collagen diseases—and that’s it.”
“About thirteen years ago,” Hayward said, “Longitude conducted an illegal research project here into avian flu.”
“Illegal? How so?”
“Safety procedures weren’t observed. A diseased bird escaped the facility, infected a local family. They all died, and Longitude covered it up. And are still covering it up—as certain recent homicides would suggest.”
A long silence. “That’s a monstrous charge. I know nothing about it. Longitude went through a bankruptcy about a decade ago. A complete Chapter Eleven reorganization. There’s nobody here from those days. The old management team is gone; we downsized, and we now concentrate on a few core products.”
“Core products? Such as?”
“Treatments for dermatomyositis and polymyositis, primarily. We’re small and focused. I’ve never heard of any work being done here on avian flu.”
“Nobody is left from a decade ago?”
“None as far as I know. We had a disastrous fire that killed the former CEO, and the entire facility was shut down for months. When we restarted, we were essentially a different company.”
Hayward pulled an envelope from her jacket. “It’s our understanding that, at the time of your bankruptcy, Longitude closed down research lines on several important orphan drugs and vaccines. Just like that. You were the only facility working on those lines. It left millions of sick people in the Third World without hope.”
“We were bankrupt.”
“So you shut them down.”
“The new board shut them down. Personally, I wasn’t involved with the company until two years after that period. Is there a crime in that?”
Hayward found herself breathing hard. This wasn’t good. They were getting nowhere. “Mr. Dalquist, your corporate filings indicate you make almost eight million dollars a year in salary and benefits. Your few drugs are very profitable. What are you doing with all that money?”
“Just what every other corporation does. Salaries, taxes, dividends, overhead, R and D.”
“Forgive my saying so, but considering those profits, your research facility looks decidedly run-down.”
“Don’t let appearances fool you. We’ve got state-of-the-art equipment here. We’re isolated, so we don’t have to run a beauty contest.” He spread his hands. “Apparently you don’t like the way we do business. Maybe you don’t like me. You may not like that I make eight million a year, and that we’re now quite a profitable company. Fine. But we’re innocent of these accusations. Totally innocent. Do I look like the kind of man involved in murder?”
“Prove it.”
Dalquist came around his desk. “My first impulse is to stop you cold, make you get a warrant, fight this thing tooth and nail in the courts, use our highly paid attorneys