When The Devil Whistles (15 page)

Connor was more or less awake when his phone rang a few minutes before 8:30. “Morning, Connor,” Max’s voice boomed. “So, what was so urgent that you were sending me high-priority e-mails in the middle of the night? What’s the spoliation issue?”

“Hey, Max.” Connor rubbed gummy eyes and held the phone away from his ear. “Big new case. About twenty million in fraud, and that’s before trebling or penalties. Allie thinks the defendant may destroy documents as soon as they catch wind of your investigation. She heard someone from their legal department talk about having a shred first, ask questions later policy.”

Max snorted. “Yeah? Well, it’s tough to run a shredder when you’re wearing handcuffs. I’ll tell that to their president when we serve him with a subpoena.”

Connor chuckled and walked into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker as he talked. “I’m sure that’ll get his attention, but what about the account executives who are going to have their careers destroyed when this comes out? One of them may try to shred himself out of trouble or start wiping hard drives. Also, that person from legal who Allie overheard was saying they’d done it before to kill a case.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, that’s a problem.” Max was silent for a moment. The coffeemaker gurgled and the blessed aroma of fresh espresso curled around Connor. “I’ve got an idea. Can you get Allie to swear out a declaration repeating what you just told me?”

Connor smiled and poured himself a cup of thick black coffee. “I’ll have it to you by noon. Mind telling me what your idea is?”

“Can’t—this is a sealed investigation. Just watch the evening news tomorrow and find out with everyone else.”

Allie’s home phone (which Connor had had swept for bugs) rang and the computerized caller ID voice announced that “Norman, Connor” was calling. She popped up from the kitchen table, where she was busy on her laptop, and grabbed a handset. “Hi, Connor. What’s up?”

“Lots. I put together a complaint and disclosure statement yesterday and sent them to Max Volusca early this morning.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Wow, that’s fast. What’s the rush?”

“You kidding? This is a big case and the target has a history of document destruction. We had to get this into Max’s hands as fast as possible.”

She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. “Okay, I was just a little surprised is all. I like to see the papers and sleep on them before we file.”

“Sorry about that. I’ll get you a copy ASAP and we can file an amended set if we need to.” His voice was distracted and she could tell he wanted to get to something else. “But anyway, I just got off the phone with Max. He sounds ready to jump in with both feet, but he’s going to need a little help from us. He wants a sworn declaration repeating the story you told me about shredding at Deep Seven.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Max wouldn’t say and I’d rather not speculate, but he hinted that whatever he’s up to will probably make the local evening news tomorrow.”

She winced. This just kept getting better and better. “I don’t know. Isn’t the idea to keep my name out of these cases?”

“It is, but this will stay under seal. Forever. Besides, Max will get suspicious if you say no.”

She said nothing. This was all moving too far too fast. She felt like she was in a driverless car that was picking up speed. She desperately wanted to get out, but didn’t see how she could.

“Allie?”

She closed her eyes. “Okay, send it over with a messenger and I’ll sign it.”

Allie switched on the TV at five the next day and perched on the edge of the wide leather sofa facing her television, sipping from a can of Diet Coke. She’d been as high-strung as a caffeinated cat ever since she talked to Connor yesterday morning.

The lead story on the local Fox station was about two baboons that had escaped from the Oakland Zoo. She clicked over to CBS. They were also covering the baboon story. ABC—more baboons. Apparently their names were Gavin and Arnold. When she found their hairy faces on NBC too, she jumped up and started pacing. “Come on! If I want to see baboons, I’ll go to a nightclub!”

Click. “… Forty-Niners quarterback controversy flared up again, which…”

Click. “… plan was endorsed by heavyweight political groups like the Harvey Milk Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender Club…”

Click. “… elderly woman reported having feces thrown at her by Gavin and Arnold…”

Click. “… raid carried out by the California Bureau of Investigation, acting on a warrant obtained by the Attorney General.” The screen showed the main entrance to Deep Seven’s headquarters. Half a dozen men in blue jackets emblazoned on the back with “CBI” were carting boxes out through the glass and steel doors. “A company representative denied any wrongdoing,” intoned a female newscaster over the video clip “and insisted that the company would be completely vindicated.”

The scene switched to a photo of two familiar simian faces. “Now for an update on the search for the Oakland Zoo’s escaped baboons.”

Allie turned off the TV and dropped the remote onto the teak coffee table. It clattered loudly, making her jump. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “Okay,” she said to the empty room.

The air in her apartment suddenly felt thick, stale, and unwholesome, like the atmosphere inside a long neglected attic in summer. She walked outside, but once on the balcony she felt eyes watching her.

She went back in, but left the sliding glass door to the balcony open. A fresh breeze flowed in, and that helped. A little. “Okay,” she repeated. She took another deep breath. “Okay, this is working.” Now came the hard part.

24

C
ONNOR DECIDED THAT HE COULD DO A LITTLE INVESTIGATING OF HIS OWN
without too much risk. Now that the complaint was on file and Max had, in his subtle way, alerted Deep Seven to the fact that they were under investigation, there wasn’t much to lose by interviewing former employees. The worst they could do was say they didn’t want to talk to him.

He pulled out the list of Deep Seven ex-employees that Allie had given him. A low-level marketing vice president, an accountant, an IT guy, and a security guard. He tried the accountant first.

After two rings, a cheerful woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Janet Lee?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Connor Norman. I’m an attorney with the law firm of Doyle & Brown, and I’m investigating a matter related to a former employer of yours. It doesn’t involve you at all, but you may be a witness. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Unlike most witnesses he cold-called, she didn’t suddenly become more reserved after learning she was talking to a lawyer. “Oh, sure. A friend of mine works at Doyle & Brown. Susan Mendoza.”

Connor knew her friend—a perky, social forty-something who never missed a firm party. “In our billing department. Right. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

“Thanks. So, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about Deep Seven.”

Silence. Then, “I can’t really talk about that.”

Connor pulled out a legal pad, plucked a pen out of a pewter mug on his desk and got ready to take notes. “Okay. Can you tell me why not?”

“I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”

An NDA? Interesting. “Did they say why they wanted you to sign it?”

“I’m sorry, but this conversation is making me uncomfortable. I have to go. Goodbye.”

Click.

Connor put the receiver down slowly. Then he dropped the pen on his pad and stared at it. Well, that had been different. He’d had lots of witnesses refuse to talk to him, but he’d never had one go from hot to cold that fast. One second they’re chatting about a mutual acquaintance, the next she clams up like a door slamming. And the second after that, she hangs up on him.

He tried the marketing veep next, but that conversation was even shorter. As soon as Connor identified himself as a lawyer, the man politely ended the conversation. He also had signed an NDA and didn’t want to talk about it. A little on the paranoid side, but Connor wouldn’t have thought anything of it if not for the oddness of the first call.

His third call went to the IT guy, but the line was disconnected. Connor jotted down a note on his to-do list: “Do search on Samuel Stimson & find good number.”

The ex-security guard was next. Unlike the first two, he didn’t immediately end the conversation as soon as Connor revealed who he was and why he was calling. But Connor’s conversation with him was hardly a normal witness interview: “So you’re investigating Deep Seven, huh?”

“That’s right. Do you have time for a few questions?”

“Let me ask you one first. Does this have anything to do with that raid at Deep Seven yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not with the government, right?”

“No, I’m with a private law firm.”

“You might want to let the government do the investigating.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“It might be healthier.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Connor swallowed hard. “Well, thanks for the tip, but I’d still like to talk to you. My first question for you is—”

“Weren’t you listening to me? Look, buddy, I just answered every question you need to ask.”

Click.

25

T
HE
P
ACIFIC
O
CEAN SPREAD CLEAR AND FLAT
,
A PLAIN OF POLISHED GLASS
under an empty sky. Mitch stood on the bow of the
Grasp II
, enjoying the view and the gentle breeze as the ship cut through the still air at five knots. The horizon was so sharp and distant that he thought he could see the slight curve of the Earth.