“As you might have guessed,” Andrew said, “we’re in a secured area now, with this hallway running past our outer ring of bio-labs. Clean rooms, as they’re more familiarly known to the public.”
They stepped along and passed a row of rooms that were white, brilliantly lit, and filled with complex-looking instrumentation. Inside, workers moved about purposefully. All were clothed in Tyvek jumpsuits, latex gloves, booties, and head coverings.
Afton wondered how anyone could work that way. The starkness of everything was intimidating and put her on edge. It was like staring into an impossibly brilliant void. If there had been a cold metal table with an alien autopsy going on, it wouldn’t have surprised her.
“All our clean rooms are Class one hundred,” Andrew said. “That means we allow only one hundred particles—point five microns or larger—per cubic foot of air.”
“That’s good?” Max asked.
“Compare that to a typical office space that has between five hundred thousand to a million particles per cubic foot of air,” Andrew said.
“In other words, no dust,” Afton said.
Andrew smiled faintly. “No dust.”
“And you manufacture what?” Afton asked.
“Medical test kits,” Andrew said.
“So you do animal testing?” Afton asked.
Andrew ignored her question.
“Human testing?” Max asked.
Andrew led them through another set of doors. “Almost there.”
Underfoot, the hard marble floor changed to carpet and they suddenly found themselves in the executive wing. But unlike the lavish wood-paneled offices typical of law firms or Fortune 500 companies, this was still relatively Spartan. All white with a modular reception desk at the center of what was a hub of offices and meeting rooms.
“And this is our conference room,” Andrew said, stopping abruptly in front of an elegant beech wood door.
“Take notes,” Max whispered to Afton. “I’ll do most of the talking, but you pipe in wherever.”
Andrew pushed on the conference room door and it opened with a slight whoosh. Three men in expensive suits with equally expensive haircuts were already seated around a bare, glass-topped conference table. No coffee, tea, bottles of water, or elegant French pastries awaited them. It was fairly clear that Novamed wanted this meeting to be over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Good afternoon,” Max said, striding in with confidence. With his height and bulk, he loomed over the seated men. “I’m Detective Max Montgomery, and this is my assistant, Ms. Tangler. He tossed one of his business cards onto the table. “We’re here to ask some questions.”
The man sitting nearest to him popped up quickly and stretched out a hand. “Bruce Cutler, CEO.” Cutler was tall and trim with short gray hair and piercing blue-green eyes. He radiated a subtle vibrancy and looked as if he’d be equally at home in a boardroom, crewing on a sailboat, or swanning around a black-tie charity function. Afton could see why Cutler had made it to the ranks of CEO. He just looked the part.
With the minimum daily requirement of mumbled pleasantries, the other two Novamed executives introduced themselves as well.
Shou Vang, the chief financial officer, was a wiry-looking Asian man with a placid expression. Afton figured a CFO probably needed to have a good poker face. Edmund Nader, a rotund man with florid cheeks and nervous, slightly damp hands, was their chief information officer.
Max and Afton took seats across from the men, and Max began. “So you know we’re here on a fact-finding mission concerning Richard Darden. We’re investigating the recent kidnapping of his young daughter.”
Vang gave a sympathetic nod. “We’ve been following the news.” He looked pointedly at Afton and she wondered if he’d caught her on TV last night with the dog. From his disapproving expression, she guessed he probably had.
“Our hearts go out to Richard and Susan,” Cutler said. “They were part of the Novamed family for a number of years.”
“I admire your collegiality,” Max said in a slightly sarcastic tone. “Yet you have a major lawsuit pending against him.”
Cutler’s jaw tightened. “That’s correct.” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.
Max frowned. “If I’m to believe the news stories, you accused Richard Darden of reneging on his confidentiality agreement and walking away with trade secrets. It would help if you’d elaborate on that.”
“I’m afraid our hands are tied,” Nader cut in. “Anything that deals with the lawsuit is proprietary information. You’d have to clear it through our attorneys.”
Max glanced at Afton.
“And those attorneys would be . . .” Afton asked, her pen poised to write.
Cutler blanched. “We retain the firm of Baden, Barton, and Kronlach. They handle all our legal matters.”