“I have to copy them first. Don’t push me, Gregory. They’ll be ready tomorrow. At noon. I want to see Karen at the same time.”
He jabbed a forefinger at me. “You’re not getting near Karen until those tapes are in my hands.” He shoved the glasses onto his face, spun, and walked away.
I noticed his feet again. “Hey Gregory,” I called. “Where’d you get those boots?”
He turned. “They’re German. Hard to find. Got them on the Net.”
Clearly he was proud of them.
17
I hurried back to Jenny’s apartment, not knowing whether I was on my way to a peace parley or war council. At four o’clock, George and Abe Harros were scheduled to arrive. I prayed they were late.
George Harros had called Jenny’s last night to arrange the meeting. Jenny wasn’t thrilled about it, but I wanted to find out what they knew. I’d taken her to dinner later and we’d reached a truce of our own.
It was four on the dot when I parked the Scout. I bounded up Jenny’s stairs, and after a quick knock, let myself in.
I did not like what I saw. The two Harros men occupied one of the living room sofas. Fay, in a short skirt, legs crossed, sat on the other. There was some activity in the kitchen. Jenny was at the dining room table, twirling a strand of hair into a knot. Her eyes filled with reproach when she saw me.
“They just get here?” I asked softly.
“They’ve been here for half an hour” She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Look at what they’re doing to my kitchen.”
Although their backs were turned to me, the shapes of the two men in the kitchen shot a little dagger of panic through my gut. They were the ones who’d been after us in the copy shop. Harros must have hired them, not Dugan.
One of the men was up to his elbows in the refrigerator, filling up a trash bag of evidence. The other was scraping something out of the microwave. The latter looked over his shoulder and gave me a little smirk.
I said, “What are you guys, private investigators? You find the smoking gun yet — or did you bring it with you?”
The smirk needed only a couple of millimeters to turn into a scowl. His complexion was light and sand-freckled, his eyebrows nearly invisible, but the scowl had unexpected menace. He stabbed his chisel-like instrument into the side of the microwave.
“Whoops,” he said.
“Don’t worry. Mr. Harros will pay for it.”
I was torn between staying in the kitchen — to make sure they didn’t do more damage, plant evidence, or install some kind of listening device — and dealing with Harros in the living room. I went for Harros. The kitchen guys had probably already done their deeds, and I couldn’t leave Jenny alone any longer.
I motioned for her to come with me into the living room. She answered by making a face, but moved to the steps between the two rooms. My cordial greeting to Mr. Harros brought a cool nod. He wore a tie and vest. His steel-streaked hair was slicked back. His prominent features jutted into the room. Abe sported some nice Italian shoes.
“I need the names of the two men in the kitchen,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” Abe answered.
“I need their names or they are leaving now.”
George Harros gave a disgusted sigh, took a card from his wallet, and thrust it at me. William Pratt Agency, the card said.
“Looks like you’ve got two Bills in your life,” I remarked. “The good one and the bad one.”
Fay giggled, but the observation did not have the relaxing effect I’d aimed for on the others. “His name’s William,” Abe said coldly.
I gazed at him long enough to make him look away. Then I grabbed a side chair, plunked it at a right angle by Mr. Harros, and launched into my version of events. I started with the dinner party and ran through our visit to the hospital, adding that we went to Sheila’s apartment with Fay only to get contact information for Abe.
“I don’t see what we’ve done to deserve hostility,” I concluded. “We’ve been here to help from the beginning.”
Harros cleared his throat. His voice had an even keel now. “That’s all very well. But perhaps your efforts derive from a sense of guilt.”
“A point,” I allowed, “but off the mark. We do feel terrible about what happened to Sheila. We feel grief and regret. But not guilt. Jenny was impeccably careful about what she served.”
“I’m a doctor,” Abe said. “I’ve got the autopsy report. The swollen tissues, angio-edema, hyperinflated lungs, they all add up to the fact that Sheila ate something in this apartment that killed her.”
“Sheila may have ingested or somehow got the stuff that produced anaphylactic shock that night. That doesn’t mean she got it here. I’ll tell you what. Let’s review her last night step by step. Does anyone know what else Sheila did that day?”
“She left work early,” Abe said. “Doug Englehart and others confirm she departed around 4:30.”
“She arrived here at about seven. I also happen to know she was in a parking lot at Kumar Biotechnics around six.”
Both Abe and George Harros looked at me in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Abe burst.
I let a long stare sink in. “At what point did you give me the opportunity?”
“The more I hear you talk, the less I like,” Harros rumbled. “But go on, take some more rope.”
“Sheila was nervous about something in that parking lot. It’s shared by two companies that are bidding for a contract with LifeScience. She must have been there for work.”
Abe shook his head. “No. Dugan and Englehart said nothing was on her agenda.”
I remembered Sheila’s startled look when I turned the camera on her. I wondered if, when I looked at the tape, I’d find Neil Dugan lurking in the background. “Anyway, the next time I saw Sheila was when I let her in here around seven.”
“So you were the last person to see her in the lot and the first when she got here?” Abe made it sound incriminating.
“I’m sure someone saw her somewhere in between. I myself was talking to Gregory Alton, the CEO of BioVerge. You can check on it.”
“We will,” Harros assured me. “Now, the dinner party. Fay has told us what was on the menu. But we’d like to hear your version, Jenny. Tell us precisely who provided what item.”
Jenny was on the step between the dining room and living room, her chin cupped in her hand. She looked like a captured villager brought before an inquiring colonel.
She listed, in a careful voice, what went into the dinner. She had bought the salmon at the Fish Market on El Camino. Potatoes, dill, and green beans had come from the Gilman Street farmers’ market. Fay had gotten the cheeses. Marion brought mozzarella and basil for the salad, and Sheila herself brought tomatoes. Another couple provided ice cream and berries for dessert. Various guests brought wine.
“So you were allegedly throwing this party with Fay, yet you bought most of the ingredients yourself?” Harros asked.
“Fay was supposed to share the cost with me. She did help cook.”
Fay recrossed her legs. “During the party, Bill’s friend Wes tried to pick up Sheila. I guess she told him to get lost. Bill ended up talking to Sheila during the entire dinner. I don’t think Jenny liked that.”
“Excuse me?” Jenny objected.
Harros held up his hand. “Marion has confirmed this. Now let’s move on. What did Sheila eat and drink?”
I repeated the list that Jenny had just recited. “She ate and drank the same things the rest of us did.”
“But you noticed Sheila was unwell,” Harros said.
“Her eyes became red and swollen. She said it was just hay fever. She excused herself and went into the bathroom. I went to help Jenny in the kitchen. When I came out, Sheila had left.”