Ron's phone rang. He listened for a moment, and said, "Okay. I understand," and hung up. "They checked the tape. Lenny was talking on camera before the feed, and he said to Louise, 'The goddamn Japanese are going to own this country if we don't wise up.' It wasn't on air, but he did say it." He shook his head ruefully. "The NHK guy knows we didn't run it?"
"Yeah. But he's saying it can be picked up and he's protesting on that basis."
"Hell," Ron said. "So they even monitor our backhaul. Jesus. What does Keith want to do?"
"Keith says he's tired of warning New York talent. He wants you to handle it."
"Does he want me to call the NHK guy?"
"He says use your judgment, but we have a deal with NHK for the half-hour show we send them every day and he doesn't want that risked. He thinks you should apologize."
Ron sighed. "Now I have to apologize for what wasn't even on air. God damnit." He looked at us. "Guys, I have to go. Was there anything else?"
"No," I said, "Good luck."
"Listen," Ron said. "We all need good luck. You know NHK is starting Global News Network with a billion dollars in capitalization. They're going to take on Ted Turner's CNN around the world. And if past history is any guide . . ." He shrugged. "Kiss the American media goodbye."
As we were leaving, I heard Ron say on the phone, "Mr. Akasaka? Ron Levine, over here at AFN. Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Akasaka. Sir, I wanted to express my concern and deep apologies about what our reporter said over the satellite– "
We closed the door, and left.
"Where now?" I said.
¤
The Four Seasons Hotel is favored by stars and politicians, and it has a graceful entrance, but we were parked around the corner by the service entrance. A large dairy truck was pulled up to a loading dock, and kitchen staff was unloading cartons of milk. We had been waiting here for five minutes. Connor glanced at his watch.
I said, "Why are we here?"
"We're complying with the Supreme Court, kohai."
At the loading dock, a woman in a business suit came out, looked around, and waved. Connor waved back. She disappeared again. Connor got out his billfold and took out a couple of twenties.
"One of the first things I learned as a detective," Connor said, "is that hotel staff can be extremely helpful. Particularly since the police have so many restrictions these days. We can't go into a hotel room without a warrant. If we did, whatever we found in a search would be inadmissible, right?"
"Right."
"But the maids can go in. Valet and housekeeping and room service can go in."
"Uh-huh."
"So I've learned to maintain contacts at all the big hotels." He opened the door. "I'll only be a moment."
He walked to the loading dock and waited. I tapped the steering wheel with my hands, The words came into my head:
I changed my mind, this love is fine.
Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire.
On the loading dock, a maid in uniform came out, and talked to Connor briefly. He took notes. She held something golden in the palm of her hand. He didn't touch it, he just looked at it, and nodded. She slipped it back in her pocket. Then he gave her money. She went away.
You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain.
Too much love drives a man insane.
You broke my will, but what a thrill—
A valet came out onto the loading dock, carrying a man's blue suit on a hanger. Connor asked a question, and the valet looked at his watch before he answered. Then Connor crouched down and peered closely at the lower edges of the suit coat. He opened the jacket and examined the trousers on the hanger.
The valet took away the first suit, and brought a second one out onto the dock. This one was a blue pinstripe suit. Connor repeated his inspection. He seemed to find something on the coat, and scraped it carefully into a small glassine bag. Then he paid the valet and walked back to the car.
I said, "Checking Senator Rowe?"
"Checking a number of things," he said. "But, yes, Senator Rowe."
"Rowe's aide had white panties in his pocket last night. But Cheryl was wearing black panties."
"That's true," Connor said. "But I think we are making progress."
"What've you got in the bag?"
He took the little glassine bag out, and held it to the light. I saw small dark strands through the plastic. "Carpet fibers, I think. Dark, like the carpet at the Nakamoto conference room. Have to check with the lab to be sure. Meanwhile, we have another problem to solve. Start the car."
"Where are we going?"
"Darley-Higgins. The company that owns MicroCon."
¤
In the lobby beside the receptionist, a workman was mounting large gold letters on the walclass="underline" DARLEY-HIGGINS INC. Beneath that it read EXCELLENCE IN MANAGEMENT. More workmen were laying carpet in the hallway.
We showed our badges and asked to see the head of Darley-Higgins, Arthur Greiman.
The receptionist had a Southern accent and an upturned nose. "Mr. Greiman is in meetings all day. Is he expecting you?
"We're here about the MicroCon sale."
"Then you want Mr. Enders, our vice-president for publicity. He speaks to people about MicroCon."
"All right," Connor said.
We sat down on a couch in the reception area. On a couch across the room sat a pretty woman in a tight skirt. She had a roll of blueprints under her arm. The workmen continued to hammer. I said, "I thought the company was in financial trouble. Why're they redecorating?"
Connor shrugged,
The secretary answered the phone, routing the calls. "Darley-Higgins, one moment, please. Darley-Higgins . . . Oh, please hold, Senator . . . Darley-Higgins, yes, thank you . . ."
I picked up a brochure from the coffee table. It was the annual report of Darley-Higgins Management Group, with offices in Atlanta, Dallas, Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. I found a picture of Arthur Greiman. He looked happy and self-satisfied. The report included an essay signed by him entitled, "A Commitment to Excellence."
The secretary said to us, "Mr. Enders will be right with you."
"Thank you," Connor said.
A moment later, two men in business suits walked out into the hallway. The woman with the blueprints stood. She said, "Hello, Mr. Greiman."
"Hello, Beverly," the older man said. "I'll be with you in a minute."
Connor stood up, too. The secretary immediately said, "Mr. Greiman, these men– "
"Just a minute," Greiman said. He turned to the man with him, who was younger, in his early thirties. "Just make sure you get it straight with Roger," Greiman said.
The younger man was shaking his head. "He won't like it."
"I know he won't. But tell him anyway. Six million four in direct compensation for the CEO is the minimum."
"But Arthur– "
"Just tell him."
"I will, Arthur," the younger man said, smoothing his tie. He lowered his voice. "But the board may balk at raising you above six when company earnings are down so much– "
"We're not talking about earnings," Greiman said. "We're talking about compensation. It has nothing to do with earnings. The board has to match current compensation levels for chief executives. If Roger can't bring the board into line on this, I'm going to cancel the March meeting and ask for changes. You tell him that.'