Whiplash
Page 33
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Sherlock spoke for the first time, her eyes locked on Royal's face. "Actually, we're close to locating your thief, Mr. Royal. You see, we found a witness who saw her. And once we have her, we may not need you or your company's help any longer. That would not be in your best interest, Mr. Royal.
"I do not believe either you or Ms. Alvarez murdered Helmut Blauvelt. You don't seem to me to be murderers. But he is dead nonetheless, and he had an appointment to see you yesterday."
"No! I told you, I didn't even know Mr. Blauvelt was in the U.S.!"
"Mr. Royal, a waiter at Chez Pierre overheard Mr. Blauvelt speaking on his cell phone Sunday evening. He spoke of you, seeing you on Monday morning. Come now, Mr. Royal, as I said, I don't believe you killed him, so why not tell us the truth? Don't you want to help us catch Mr. Blauvelt's murderer?"
Bowie went still at her smoothly delivered lie.
Bender the Elder opened his mouth, but Royal shouted over him, "All right! It doesn't matter anyway. So I knew Blauvelt was coming, but only the day before he arrived, and it was he who called me, not the directors in Germany. Mr. Blauvelt gave me no indication why he was here, and I did ask him, but he said it would wait for our meeting. I was mildly alarmed because I know his reputation. I did not see him before his murder and that's the truth. That's all I know. It doesn't help you at all because he's dead."
"Whatever it was that led to the break-in, could it be that Mr. Blauvelt was here to deal with the situation, or the person responsible?"
"I don't know."
"His death could mean someone was desperate, about to be exposed. Have you thought about the fact you might be next?"
18
Apprentice Toms and Bender the Elder talked over each other, Bender winning out with his booming cauldron-stirring voice. To Sherlock's delight, he actually smacked his fist on the tabletop and lost it, his breath coming harsh and fast. "You baited Mr. Royal into saying this. I don't like your unnecessary scare tactics, Agent Sherlock, that insult both Mr. Royal and Schiffer Hartwin! And your name-Sherlock!-it's absurd, you made it up, right? It is meant to be funny?"
Sherlock gave him a sweet smile. "Maybe it is funny. I'll tell you, though, it gives some people pause, Mr. Bender. Does it give you pause, sir?"
"I am not the bad guy in your silly plot, Agent Sherlock!"
"No sir, I'm sure you're a fine, honorable man. However, Mr. Royal did, finally, admit he'd been lying. He knew Mr. Blauvelt was here, knew he was coming to see him. We're past that lie, aren't we, Mr. Royal?"
Royal didn't say anything, only nodded.
Sherlock looked over at Dillon, who had his head down, working on MAX. She knew he'd heard her questions, knew he'd heard her lie that pushed Royal into some truth about Blauvelt. The small smile on his mouth gave him away.
She looked back at Bender the Elder to see him shooting his cuffs in a practiced movement. He was regaining his control. He eased back his querulous voice, filling it again with authority, and hints of sarcasm. "I apologize, Agent Sherlock. It was not right of me to insult your name, no matter how-unusual."
Savich looked up now at Bender, whose jaw was still so tense Savich was surprised it didn't crack. Sherlock had pushed a major leaguer nearly to blows. He looked over at Caskie Royal, sprawled back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed and indifferent, but not quite managing it. Was he still not telling the whole truth? Had he also known why Blauvelt wanted to see him? Why Blauvelt was murdered?
Savich hit a final key on MAX's keyboard, read silently for a moment, then looked up at each of them impartially, shaking his head. "Maybe this is easy, so very easy."
"What's so easy?" Andrew Toms frowned, his pen tapping against the table in double time.
Savich said, "It's on the Internet, for all to see, right up front in articles in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times."
"What is, Agent?"
Savich closed MAX's lid, bringing all eyes to him. "Mr. Royal, I could be wrong, but from just the little bit I've read online, the stakes might be high enough."
Royal frowned, rearranged himself in his seat.
"The drug is called Culovort, and Schiffer Hartwin has been the sole manufacturer of the drug at Cartwright Labs, in Bartonville, Missouri, and in Madrid, Spain. Lately there's been a shortage of the drug, and the cause of the shortage came to light in March."
Bender said, "This drug has nothing to do with anything."
"So you know all about Culovort, do you?" Savich studied each of their faces. "This drug has been off patent for many years now, which means its yearly income doesn't add much to Schiffer Hartwin's bottom line. Still, there has been quite a stir on some of the medical blogs related to cancer and among colon cancer support groups. Enough to cause quite a stir in the organization, no doubt. Enough to interest Helmut Blauvelt?"
"I do not believe either you or Ms. Alvarez murdered Helmut Blauvelt. You don't seem to me to be murderers. But he is dead nonetheless, and he had an appointment to see you yesterday."
"No! I told you, I didn't even know Mr. Blauvelt was in the U.S.!"
"Mr. Royal, a waiter at Chez Pierre overheard Mr. Blauvelt speaking on his cell phone Sunday evening. He spoke of you, seeing you on Monday morning. Come now, Mr. Royal, as I said, I don't believe you killed him, so why not tell us the truth? Don't you want to help us catch Mr. Blauvelt's murderer?"
Bowie went still at her smoothly delivered lie.
Bender the Elder opened his mouth, but Royal shouted over him, "All right! It doesn't matter anyway. So I knew Blauvelt was coming, but only the day before he arrived, and it was he who called me, not the directors in Germany. Mr. Blauvelt gave me no indication why he was here, and I did ask him, but he said it would wait for our meeting. I was mildly alarmed because I know his reputation. I did not see him before his murder and that's the truth. That's all I know. It doesn't help you at all because he's dead."
"Whatever it was that led to the break-in, could it be that Mr. Blauvelt was here to deal with the situation, or the person responsible?"
"I don't know."
"His death could mean someone was desperate, about to be exposed. Have you thought about the fact you might be next?"
18
Apprentice Toms and Bender the Elder talked over each other, Bender winning out with his booming cauldron-stirring voice. To Sherlock's delight, he actually smacked his fist on the tabletop and lost it, his breath coming harsh and fast. "You baited Mr. Royal into saying this. I don't like your unnecessary scare tactics, Agent Sherlock, that insult both Mr. Royal and Schiffer Hartwin! And your name-Sherlock!-it's absurd, you made it up, right? It is meant to be funny?"
Sherlock gave him a sweet smile. "Maybe it is funny. I'll tell you, though, it gives some people pause, Mr. Bender. Does it give you pause, sir?"
"I am not the bad guy in your silly plot, Agent Sherlock!"
"No sir, I'm sure you're a fine, honorable man. However, Mr. Royal did, finally, admit he'd been lying. He knew Mr. Blauvelt was here, knew he was coming to see him. We're past that lie, aren't we, Mr. Royal?"
Royal didn't say anything, only nodded.
Sherlock looked over at Dillon, who had his head down, working on MAX. She knew he'd heard her questions, knew he'd heard her lie that pushed Royal into some truth about Blauvelt. The small smile on his mouth gave him away.
She looked back at Bender the Elder to see him shooting his cuffs in a practiced movement. He was regaining his control. He eased back his querulous voice, filling it again with authority, and hints of sarcasm. "I apologize, Agent Sherlock. It was not right of me to insult your name, no matter how-unusual."
Savich looked up now at Bender, whose jaw was still so tense Savich was surprised it didn't crack. Sherlock had pushed a major leaguer nearly to blows. He looked over at Caskie Royal, sprawled back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed and indifferent, but not quite managing it. Was he still not telling the whole truth? Had he also known why Blauvelt wanted to see him? Why Blauvelt was murdered?
Savich hit a final key on MAX's keyboard, read silently for a moment, then looked up at each of them impartially, shaking his head. "Maybe this is easy, so very easy."
"What's so easy?" Andrew Toms frowned, his pen tapping against the table in double time.
Savich said, "It's on the Internet, for all to see, right up front in articles in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times."
"What is, Agent?"
Savich closed MAX's lid, bringing all eyes to him. "Mr. Royal, I could be wrong, but from just the little bit I've read online, the stakes might be high enough."
Royal frowned, rearranged himself in his seat.
"The drug is called Culovort, and Schiffer Hartwin has been the sole manufacturer of the drug at Cartwright Labs, in Bartonville, Missouri, and in Madrid, Spain. Lately there's been a shortage of the drug, and the cause of the shortage came to light in March."
Bender said, "This drug has nothing to do with anything."
"So you know all about Culovort, do you?" Savich studied each of their faces. "This drug has been off patent for many years now, which means its yearly income doesn't add much to Schiffer Hartwin's bottom line. Still, there has been quite a stir on some of the medical blogs related to cancer and among colon cancer support groups. Enough to cause quite a stir in the organization, no doubt. Enough to interest Helmut Blauvelt?"
