“No thanks,” he said.
“But I’ve interrupted you,” she said. “Please go on.”
“Well, the basic situation is what I’ve described. You and I worked hard on the sale to Fairfield, and we did that because we wanted to preserve your father’s legacy. And your husband’s.”
“Legacy,” she repeated. In the gloom, he wasn’t sure whether her dress was charcoal gray or navy. “That’s a pretty word.”
“And a pretty big accomplishment,” he said. She seemed to brighten. “Harold Stratton created a company that did what it did as well as-or better than-any other, and he did it right here in Fenwick. And then your husband put Fenwick on the map, as far as corporate America was concerned.” Dorothy had had a glossy vanity biography of her husband, Milton, privately printed, copies distributed widely. Nick knew she always responded to the most unctuous praise of her father’s historical significance. “So the prospect of seeing Stratton bundled in brown paper and shipped to the Far East-well, I think he’d be appalled. I know I am. It isn’t right. It’s not right for Fenwick, and it’s not right for Stratton.”
Mrs. Devries blinked. “But you’re telling me all this for a reason.”
“Well, sure.”
“I’m all ears, Nicholas.” She used his full name as if he were a grade student, and a little small for all three syllables.
“You’re part owner of the company. You sit on the board. I thought if I could enlist your support, we might be able to present the case together to the others. That way, they’d see it wasn’t just about a manager trying to save his job. Because this deal-well, frankly, it would be a disaster. The Chinese aren’t interested in our manufacturing facilities. They’ve got their own. They’re going to gut Stratton, run a fire sale of the shop machines, and pass out walking papers to the remaining employees.”
“That puts things rather starkly.”
“It’s a stark situation.”
“Well, you do have a flair for the dramatic. That isn’t a criticism. But then you haven’t come here to consult, have you?”
“Sure I have.”
“Because I didn’t hear you ask me my opinion. I heard you telling me yours.”
“I just thought I should fill you in,” Nick said, perplexed. “See what you thought.” A pause. “I’m interested in getting your…help and guidance.”
A watery smile. “Is that right?” she said.
Nick looked at her, and his face started to prickle. Had she already known before I came here?
“I must say I’m a little taken aback to hear you make an argument that’s based on sentiment, as opposed to dollars and cents. Because, you see, I don’t recall your seeking my help or guidance when you decided to discontinue the Stratton Ultra line. Which was, of course, one of my husband’s proudest legacies.” In a quiet voice, she added, “Pretty word.”
Nick said nothing.
“And I don’t recall your seeking my help or guidance when you decided to lay off five thousand workers, dragging the Stratton name through the mud,” she went on. “And after Milton worked so hard to make it a byword for what was best about Fenwick. That was part of his legacy, too, Nicholas.”
“Dorothy, you voted to approve the layoffs.”
“Oh, as if I could stop that train in its tracks! But please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not complaining. We sold the firm. Almost all of it belongs to Fairfield Partners. And so we must be very businesslike about the whole thing.”
“With all respect, Dorothy, aren’t you bothered by the idea of Stratton being owned by-by the Chinese government? The Communist Chinese?”
Dorothy Devries shot him a wintry look. “Please. Coming from you? Business is business. My family made good money when we sold to Fairfield, and we stand to make quite a bit more when they sell it to this consortium.”
“But for God’s sake-?” He saw something in her face. “You knew all about it, didn’t you?”
She refused to reply. “Nicholas, I didn’t give you Milton’s job in order for you to dismantle his company, believe it or not. But you did. You cheesed it up with all that Office of the Future eyewash. You got rid of what was real, what was solid, and replaced it with gilt and papier mâchè. Milton would have been appalled. Though I suppose I really can’t judge you without judging myself, can I? I’m the one who gave you the keys to the corner office.”
“Yes,” Nick said, finally. “And why did you?”
Dorothy sat silent for a while. “As you might imagine,” she said with a drawn smile, “I’ve often asked myself the same thing.”
92
Audrey had promised to keep Noyce in the loop, that was the thing. Strictly speaking, she knew she had the right to go right to the prosecutor’s office and request an arrest warrant for Conover and Rinaldi without even telling Noyce. She knew that. But it wasn’t right to exclude him. It was a matter of courtesy to keep Noyce updated. She’d told him about the gun match as soon as she found out, and there was no reason to start keeping him in the dark now. It would infuriate him, but worse, it would hurt his feelings, and she wasn’t about to do that.
Music was playing softly in Noyce’s office as she entered. Audrey recognized Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo,” a trumpet solo.
“Is that Louis?” she asked.
Noyce nodded, absorbed. “Ellington and Armstrong recorded this in one take. Unbelievable.”
“Sure is.”
“The Duke was great at composing under deadline pressure, you know. The night before a recording date, he’s waiting for his mother to finish cooking dinner, and he goes to his piano, and in fifteen minutes he knocks off a piece he calls ‘Dreamy Blues.’ Next night his band plays it over the radio, broadcasting from the Cotton Club. Later he renames it ‘Mood Indigo.’” Noyce shook his head, waited for the song to end, and then clicked off the CD player. “What can I do you for?”
“I think we’ve got enough to arrest Conover and Rinaldi.”
Noyce’s eyes widened as she explained, then just as quickly narrowed. “Audrey, let me take you out for ice cream.”
“I’m trying not to eat-”
“Well, you can watch. I’ve been thinking about one of those chocolate-dipped strawberry sundaes at the Dairy Queen.”
Noyce tucked into a boat-sized dish of soft-serve vanilla ice cream smothered in syrupy strawberries, while Audrey tried to avert her eyes, because it looked too good, and her will was weak when it came to desserts, especially in the midafternoon.
“You don’t want your butt out there for false arrest, Aud,” he said, a strawberry smear at the side of his mouth. “You realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?”
“You think Nicholas Conover’s all that powerful?”
“He’s a wealthy and powerful guy, but more to the point, he now works for a holding company in Boston that’s going to be intent on protecting their investment. And if that means suing the police department in the town of Fenwick, Michigan, they’ve got the resources to do it. That means they sue you. And us.”
“That could work the other way too,” she pointed out. Her stomach was growling, and her mouth kept filling with saliva. “The holding company could get nervous about having a CEO charged with first-degree murder and jettison him.”
Noyce didn’t look up from his ice cream. “You willing to take that chance?”
“If I have a genuine belief that Conover and Rinaldi were involved in a homicide, and I got a prosecutor to back me up on it, how is that false arrest?”
“It just means more of us in the soup. Plus, I can tell you, you’re not going to get a prosecutor to write a warrant unless he’s sure he can win the case. And I worry that we’re still thin on the ground here.”