Sarah felt Lenihan lean toward her, preparing to whisper advice. "When you say 'gone,' " Sarah asked, "do you mean destroyed?"
"Yes."
"Before or after John Bowden killed six people?"
"I had no way of knowing." Pausing, Callister spoke in measured tones. "It's important to remember, Ms. Dash, that this occurred before you filed this lawsuit and served us with a demand for the records we're discussing."
In other words, as Sarah understood the answer, no one had obstructed justice. "Nonetheless," she inquired, "did you believe that Mr. Reiner himself had destroyed the records you asked for?"
Callister's eyes narrowed. "Before or after I requested them?"
Surprised, Sarah hesitated for an instant. "After."
"Again, Ms. Dash, I had no way of knowing."
Sarah placed both arms on the arms of her chair, leaning slightly forward. "Did you suspect that?"
Briefly, Callister hesitated. "Yes."
"For what reason?"
Nolan, she saw, looked hyperalert now, but lacked the grounds, or perhaps the inclination, to interfere with Callister's answer. "I asked for other records," the witness responded, "and was told that they were also missing."
"Told by whom?"
"Reiner."
"What records were those?"
"Records showing the volume of P-2s sold in states adjacent to California." Pausing, Callister added more pointedly, "Also the invoices showing where we'd shipped the murder weapon."
Sarah glanced at Nolan. "What did Mr. Reiner tell you?"
"That no effort had been made to retain them."
"Did you happen to ask Reiner," Sarah inquired with the hint of a smile, "whether any effort had been made to destroy them?"
Callister frowned—less at the question, Sarah sensed, than at the intimation behind it. "Yes," he answered tersely.
"And what did Reiner say?"
"That he had no specific knowledge of what had happened to the records."
The edge of distrust in Callister's voice illuminated for Sarah an unexpected image of George Callister as a man caught in an environment he had begun to suspect was treacherous. "Aside from the disappearance of the records themselves, did you have any other reason to suspect that Reiner might be lying to you?"
"Objection," Nolan asserted. "Lack of foundation. I don't believe the record justifies an accusation of deliberate lying."
Slowly, Callister turned to his lawyer. "No," he said flatly. "I think 'lying' about covers it." Facing Sarah, he said, "Reiner and I had fundamental disagreements about the future of our company."
"Such as?"
"I wanted to discontinue making the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw bullet. In both cases, Reiner was adamantly opposed."
Abruptly, Sarah felt her litigator's field of vision open wide. "For what reason did you want to drop the Eagle's Claw?"
Callister paused to frame his answer. "In my view, its lethality exceeded our customers' requirements. Therefore the controversy involved in making such a bullet outweighed its utility.
"Reiner disagreed. In his view, the P-2 and Eagle's Claw were essential to our position in the marketplace. But the fact that I'm sitting here tends to validate my judgment."
The last two sentences hinted at disgust and a certain weariness. It was the first time, Sarah noticed, that any of Callister's answers had clearly exceeded the scope of her question.
Nolan seemed to notice as well. "We've been going for over an hour," he suggested. "Why don't we take a break?"
* * *
It was fifteen minutes before the witness and his lawyer returned to the conference room. When Sarah's questioning resumed, Callister angled his body slightly away from Nolan. The two men no longer chatted about football, or much of anything else.
"Given your concerns about Reiner," Sarah asked bluntly, "did you ever attempt to independently determine what had happened to the missing documents?"
Briefly, Callister glanced at the table. "I made no such attempt."
"Why not?"
Once more his eyes met Sarah's. "Because it would have involved investigating my own vice president of marketing. After the First Lady's family was murdered, I had more pressing concerns—like keeping this company afloat. It wasn't the right environment."
Between the phlegmatic lines lay an answer of startling candor: an internal inquiry which uncovered the truth would have been devastating to Lexington's public posture and, even worse, could have generated evidence damning in a lawsuit like Mary Costello's. "So it was better," Sarah said sharply, "to believe that Reiner was dishonest than to prove it."
The cast of Callister's broad midwestern face suggested both resentment and defensiveness. "The First Lady's mother, sister, and niece had been murdered with a gun and bullets made by Lexington Arms. Aside from the terrible impact on her family, these murders could have spelled the end of a century-old business which employs hundreds of good people. I owed all my energies and judgment to the task of protecting the company and the families who rely on it."
Sarah considered him. Abruptly, she asked, "Do you know a man named Norman Conn?"
"Yes. He's a longtime employee."
"Were you ever told that Conn believes Reiner destroyed a document suggesting that the shipment of stolen P-2s, including the murder weapon, were being sold at gun shows by members of a white supremacist group?"
Callister shook his head. In an emphatic tone which suggested genuine anger, he said, "Not until last week."
Nolan held out his hand between Callister and Sarah. "I will caution the witness not to testify regarding conversations with counsel."
"Outside of conversations with counsel," Sarah persisted, "were you ever told that Mr. Reiner destroyed documents?"
"I was not."
At once, Sarah changed tacks. "Are you familiar with Martin Bresler?"
"I am."
"How are you acquainted with Mr. Bresler?"
Callister sat back, seemingly inclined, as he had not been before, to put her question in a fuller context. "Mr. Bresler," he answered, "was the head of an industry group which included Lexington Arms."
Abruptly, Callister checked himself, as though fighting any tendency toward expansiveness. "What was the purpose of Bresler's group?" Sarah prodded.
"To find a middle way between the gun controllers and the SSA." Callister shrugged, seemingly unable to explain his answer without elaboration. "From the beginning of my time at Lexington, I planned to wean us off the revenue we derived from weapons like the P-2. The idea was to market quality and safety, rather than lethality. To me, that meant things like trigger locks and smart guns—weapons designed to protect the user, and prevent accidents or misuse by folks who shouldn't have them." Pausing, Callister seemed to recall anew the promise of his plan. "President Kilcannon may not have been our friend, but he was a fact of life. The idea was to get him and the trial lawyers off our backs. By far the best way to do it was to unify a number of gun companies in a common approach, then see if we could deal with the President. Martin Bresler was supposed to be our vehicle, and the trigger lock agreement with the White House our first step."