“Can you describe the testing that was performed on the XKL-1?” Ben asked, forcing himself to look away from the screen.
“You name it, we did it. Stress testing, collision testing, front impact, rear impact—every test that could be performed, we performed.”
“Well…I’ve searched the corporate records, as has my legal assistant, and we haven’t found any test reports.”
“Really?” King thought for a moment. “Well, it’s a five-year-old project. They must’ve been thrown out.”
“Hmm.” Ben scrutinized King carefully. “And, you’re certain the design was thoroughly tested?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“And the results were positive?”
He spread his hands across the table. “We put the product on the market, didn’t we?”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question.”
“The quality control department would never intentionally release a product it didn’t believe to be safe.”
“That…still doesn’t answer my question.”
For the first time, King’s dander appeared to be rising. “I’ve answered it several times.”
“No, you haven’t. My question is: did the testing prove the design was safe?”
“Yes, it was safe. It was incredibly, wonderfully safe. God spare me from the persistence of a lawyer.” He leaned back into the corner of the booth. “I thought you were on our side.”
“I am. I just want to know what happened.”
King glanced absently at a group of hostesses building a pyramid with their bodies. “Well, that’s what happened.”
Rob seized the opportunity to jump in and smooth the troubled waters. “Do you have any explanation for what happened to Jason Nelson, Mr. King?”
“How could I know what happened? I wasn’t there.”
“But you are familiar with the case.”
“I read the case summary Crichton sent over.”
“Can you speculate as to what happened?”
“Well, anyone can speculate. Perhaps the kid was drinking. Perhaps he was necking with his girlfriend and lost his balance. Perhaps he just wasn’t paying attention.”
“The Nelsons strongly believe that what happened to their son was Apollo’s fault.”
“Because that’s what their attorney has told them to think. You think they dreamed up this defective leaf spring theory on their own? Of course not. That’s the lawyer’s work. He’s looking for a deep pocket. After all, if the accident was the kid’s own fault, the parents are not going to get any money from anyone. And that lawyer is probably working on a contingency fee.”
“The Nelsons don’t strike me as particularly greedy—”
“It’s not just greed. It’s expiation. How horrible they must feel—they were with their son when it happened. They permitted him to ride on that flatbed—probably encouraged him to do it. Can you imagine the guilt they must feel? How much better if they can blame a third party, and transfer all their guilt to them.”
Ben had to admit there could be some truth in what King said. He had seen attempts at absolution through litigation before. “Last question, sir. Do you know where Al Austin is today?”
“No,” he said hastily.
“Any idea at all?”
“None whatsoever.”
Was it just that Ben didn’t like the man, or was there something more? For whatever reason, Ben had a distinct mental image of the man’s nose getting longer with each denial. “Can you explain why he left Apollo?”
“I doubt that even Al could explain why he left. I liked Al, I really did, but he was the kind of guy who was never happy with whatever he was doing. Always looking for something better. For all I know, he left to discover America, or write the great American novel, or climb the mountains of Nepal.”
“I hope not,” Ben said. “I doubt if I can get a subpoena served in Nepal.”
“Leave Al alone,” King said wearily. “He’s of no use to you.”
“Yeah. That’s what I keep hearing.”
Jenny bounced back to their table. “What’s wrong? You haven’t knocked.” She giggled and jiggled. “Don’t you have an appetite?”
Innuendoes for an appetizer. Neat. “I do,” Ben said. “I’d like some Buffalo wings.”
“We don’t have that,” she replied. “But if you like, Megan will do the funky chicken on your table.”
“That’s quite all right. What do you have?”
“Hamburgers.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else.” She winked. “Except knockers, of course.”
Ben sighed. “Hamburgers it is, then. By the way, is there any chance you could change the channel on that television?”
29
BACK AT HIS OFFICE, Ben finished dictating his notes on his meeting with Bernie King. There was something there, but he wasn’t sure what. One thing he was sure of, though—he was tired of all these calm, placid faces telling him not to worry, not to investigate, not to stir things up. Millions of dollars were potentially at stake, and everyone in the company was going out of the way to appear blasé about learning what really happened. That just didn’t ring true.
After a few more moments’ thought, Ben picked up the phone and dialed his old office on the North Side. Loving answered the phone.
“Loving? This is Ben. How’s business?”
He heard a noise on the other end of the line that he took for sullen grunting. “Aww, I’m making ends meet, Skipper. Been tailing naughty husbands, mostly. It ain’t the same since you left, though. You brought in such weird clients. There was always someone I could extract information from.”
Usually by terrorizing them and threatening to make their lives a misery, Ben reflected. Ben had first met Loving after he’d represented Loving’s wife in their divorce. Loving had burst into Ben’s office one day, enraged, ready to do some damage. He was so grateful afterward when Ben didn’t press charges that he offered to help Ben out with his fledgling practice. Eventually, he began working full time as Ben’s private investigator. He was generally effective, although his methods were as a rule less than subtle.
“Did you ever figure out where the ex-husband in the Crawford case hid all his money?” Ben asked.
“Oh, yeah. Days ago. Piece of cake.”
“What’d you do? Trace his bank transfers through computer networks?”
“Nah. I held him upside down over a swimming pool till he volunteered the information. You know, dip his head under for a minute, pull it out for a second. You’d be amazed how willing he was to talk after a while.”
No doubt. “Well, I’ve got a new case for you.”
“Really?” His excitement was evident. “You mean that hotshot corporation you work for is going to hire me?”
“You should just report to me. This is somewhat…unofficial.”
“Even better. Just like the good ol’ days.”
“This is a tough assignment, Loving. I don’t know…maybe I’m expecting too much from you….”
“Whaddaya mean? You saying it’s too tough for me? Just let me at it.”
Perfect. “I need you to find a man named Al Austin. All I know about him is that he used to work in Tulsa for the Apollo Consortium, in the engineering and design department. He worked on a suspension system design project called the XKL-1 about five years ago, but disappeared before the product was released onto the market. I don’t know why and I don’t know where he’s gone. I’m sorry—I realize that doesn’t give you much to go on.”
“Apollo employee, huh? I know some Apollo guys. They like to hang out at the Bull-N-Bear on Harvard—you know, shoot some pool, have a few brewskies. I’ll see what I can find out.”