"Well, hers wasn't the only one. And a delay of two years or more at this stage… I mean, some of the investors…" Another shrug. "I think you can see the problem."
"I think so." Stuart clipped out the response and realized that he was struggling to keep the outrage from his voice. "Caryn was threatening to blow the whistle on what she'd come to believe was a faulty product, and if she succeeded it would cost some people maybe millions of dollars. Isn't that about it?"
"I don't think she was quite to the point of blowing the whistle on anything. She just needed some hand-holding, the usual last-minute reassurance. She wanted to go forward as much as the next investor, I believe."
"She didn't talk to you about trying to postpone PII's production?"
"Not with any specificity, no. There really was just too much riding on all this. In another couple of months, both of you would have been smiling all the way to the bank. I'm sure of it."
Stuart felt that if he sat more than another minute or two under Furth's unyielding gaze with its unflappable geniality, he might be forced to come back inside the building with his gun and blow the guy away just on general principles. But there was one more avenue he needed to explore, if gently.
"So, Fred, let me ask-has a homicide inspector named Juhle called you?"
The change of topic didn't scare Furth. In fact, it seemed to put him on firmer ground somehow. Matter-of-fact, he nodded. "Yesterday. He asked what I was doing Sunday night."
"Let me guess," Stuart said. "Sleeping in bed."
"Eleven o'clock Sunday night, what would anybody be doing if you've got to be up at five thirty?"
"Five thirty?"
"Wall Street time. You're in the markets, that's when you're up if you want to make the six-thirty bell. But you already knew what I'd told him?" A question.
Stuart said, "I asked him if he was even looking for any other suspects-besides me-and he said he'd checked alibis with everybody on Caryn's cell phone. Which included you."
"So now you're asking me?" The question didn't seem to bother him, or maybe Fred Furth was so programmed for affability in his career that like Marie Antoinette he wouldn't show any anger or resentment even if he were facing his executioner.
"I mean no offense," Stuart said, adopting the tone, "but somebody must be lying about where they were if they killed Caryn, and I intend to find out who that was."
"Well." Again, palms up, unfeigned innocence. "It wasn't me. I'd say you could ask my wife or any of my three kids, but I'd really prefer you didn't see the need to do that. But because my heart goes out to you, it really does, I'll tell you more than the inspector asked. I barbecued a chicken on my new rotisserie. It was great, rosemary and lemon. Outstanding. And had half a bottle of wine-you know Chalk Hill Chardonnay? Awesome stuff. Then put the kids down by seven thirty-the oldest is six, so bedtime's always early. And I was sawing logs myself by nine. So no, I didn't kill Caryn. Besides which, I thought she was a great person. Smart, interesting, fun."
Stuart nodded, and suddenly found himself unable to speak. Evidently his wife had remained smart, interesting and fun to some people right up until the time she'd been killed. Covering his emotional lapse with a sip of coffee, Stuart put his mug down and got to his feet. "One more thing, if you don't mind? Did any of the other investors know she was working to get this postponement on going into full production?"
"Not that I know of. Not through me, certainly. Someone may have gotten some wind of it out of PII directly, but even that would have been unusual."
"Well." A chagrined look on his face, Stuart held out a hand. "Thanks for your time. Sorry for the questions."
"No problem," Furth said. "I wish I could have been more help."
The cab of Stuart's truck baked at close to one hundred degrees out in the lot. Opening both doors for cross-ventilation, he checked behind the front seat on the passenger side where he'd stashed his duffel bag and saw that it was where and how he'd left it and then, on second thought, brought it out and reached down to the bottom where he'd thrown in his little-used first generation cell phone. Going to stand in the shade of an olive tree while the cab aired out, he punched in his daughter's number.
"Hey, Dad. Where are you?"
"How did you know it was me?"
"You're kidding, right? You're in my address book. You call, your name comes up."
"Where?"
"On the window? In front? Hello? But let's play another game. Where are you?"
"Palo Alto. Talking to some people Mom did business with."
"What about?"
"What she was doing with them. If maybe it made somebody mad at her."
"Shouldn't the cops be doing that?"
"They're not, though. And I've decided I'm not going to get arrested, so it's up to me."
"What do you mean, you're not going to get arrested?"
"I mean pretty much the standard meaning. I'm not going to jail."
"Yeah, but… Dad, I don't think it's like they ask your opinion."
"No, I know. Which is why I wanted to call you and tell you how you could reach me if you need to. You've got my cell number?"
"Didn't we just do this? It's in my phone. How else would it know it was you calling?"
"Right. Yeah. Of course. But my point is that you can reach me anytime, but don't tell anybody you know where I am." "Anybody? What about your lawyer?" "No. I'll contact her if I need to."
"What about Debra?"
"You can tell Debra, but I don't really want to talk to her." "Why not? She's being nice to me."
"I know that. She's a fine person, and I'm glad she's letting you stay with her, but I just can't talk to her right now, okay? And I promise I'll do what I need to for the funeral. But for now, I've got to do some things and maybe stay out of sight."
"But what if… I mean, if they say you're under arrest, they can just come and get you."
"If they can find me, which is why I don't want you telling anybody about my number."
"But they might shoot you. Don't they do that, for like resisting arrest?"
"Nobody's going to shoot me, Kym. I'm just laying low, okay?" "I don't like it. I really don't like it, Daddy." "Well…"
"What if they do shoot you, then what? First Mom, and then… I mean, what am I supposed to do if…" This, Stuart knew, was classic Kym beginning her downward spiral, and it was only going to get worse if he didn't stand firm.
"Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie. Hold up. Whoa. We'll be in touch all the time, you and me. I'm not going to confront any policemen, I promise. If they find me, I'll go along. But I really, really want to avoid that. I'm not going to let anybody kill me. Cops or anybody else."
"You know what you tell me whenever I say anything like that?"
"No. What?"
"Famous last words."
It took him the better part of five minutes to end that conversation on anything less than a disastrously negative note, but he kept at it until his daughter was at least giving lip service to respecting his decision. In the course of the talk, though, he asked her if she'd tried to reach him at their house earlier in the day and she'd told him no. Debra hadn't tried to call him either.
He'd been sure it was a woman's voice on the answering machine when he'd been packing, so it must have been Gina. Which meant there may have been a development. He considered it for a few seconds, and decided it probably wouldn't be profitable to talk to her in person, plus he was all argued out with his daughter, so he called his own home number to get the message Gina must have left.
But it wasn't Gina.
"Hello, this is Kelley Gray Rusnak from PII calling for Stuart. Stuart, I don't know if you remember me, but I was Caryn's lab assistant down here. You and I met a couple of times. I see what they're saying in the papers about you and Caryn, but you know I've read all your books and I just don't believe you're the kind of person who could hurt someone, especially Caryn. And I don't know, maybe you're already in jail, but I haven't heard that on the news yet and I probably would have, so I thought I'd try to reach you at your home number. I think maybe there's something you should know about that's been going on here, that Caryn was kind of worried about…"