Afton jotted it down, thinking that Baden, Barton, and Kronlach sounded like a steamer trunk falling noisily down a flight of stairs.
Max leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “But this isn’t exactly legal business that I’m asking about. I’m simply trying to get a bead on Richard Darden. How long did he work here, was he well liked, that sort of thing.” He offered a thin smile. “It’s much more comfortable to talk here than in a stuffy interview room downtown.”
Cutler sighed and tapped a manicured index finger against the glass table. “I suppose,” he said.
Max proceeded to ask questions for the better part of ten minutes. While the Novamed execs were hesitant and sometimes bordered on snappy, he never lost his cool. Afton sat there, jotting the occasional note, fascinated by Max’s low-key interrogation, because, surely, that’s exactly what he was doing.
When everyone seemed to relax, when they sensed that the meeting was coming to a logical conclusion, Max gave a slow, reptilian blink and asked, “Did Darden have any enemies?”
Cutler tensed. “If you’re asking if someone here might have wished ill of him or his family, I would have to say no.”
“Nobody was unhappy because Darden hopscotched them on his way up the corporate ladder?” Max asked. “Or because his departmental budget was larger than theirs? Or because someone on his staff got canned?”
The three men looked at one another, then Cutler steepled his fingers. “Not that I can think of,” he said.
“Richard was well respected,” Vang said.
“He was beloved by everyone?” Max asked. “Because that would probably rank as a major first when it came to interoffice politics.”
Nader, the information guy, cleared his throat. “There was the issue of Bob Binger last year.”
“Do tell,” Max said.
Nader looked across the table at Cutler, seemed to get the go-ahead, and then proceeded. “Richard Darden was unhappy with Binger’s job performance. With his research methodology.”
“And how was the issue resolved?” Max asked.
“Binger was fired,” Cutler said.
“By Darden himself or someone else?”
“Obviously HR handled it, but everyone knew it was Darden’s decision,” Vang said.
“Is this Bob Binger still in town?” Afton asked. She’d been scribbling notes like mad.
“As far as we know,” Cutler said.
“I’m assuming your HR people can give us some basic information on Binger,” Afton said.
Cutler waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure there’s nothing your department can’t find on its own.”
“But you could probably do it a lot faster,” Max said. “Faster than you can say subpoena anyway.”
“Fine,” Cutler said. “We’ll provide you with that information.” He stood up and the two others followed suit. “If you’ll wait here for a few minutes, I’ll have someone pull Binger’s records.”
“Thank you,” Max said.
When the last footfall was heard on the carpet outside the closed door, Max turned to Afton and said, “I wonder if Darden is still employed here.”
“What?” He’d caught her completely off guard.
“Novamed wouldn’t be the first company to try to sneak a skunk into the woodpile.”
“Corporate espionage? Interesting theory.”
“Ain’t it?”
“If you’re right,” Afton said, “then how does the kidnapping fit in?”
“I don’t know,” Max said. “Not yet anyway. Or maybe it doesn’t at all. Maybe it’s two different things.”
Time was ticking away and Afton could hear a hint of desperation edging into Max’s voice. She was feeling it herself. “We have to huddle with those FBI guys,” she said. “Keith Sunder and Harvey Bagin. They were the ones who interviewed the execs at Synthotech, Darden’s new employer.”
Max glanced at his watch. “Yeah, we gotta do that.” He pulled out his phone and punched in numbers. But it wasn’t the FBI he was calling; it turned out to be his home. “Everybody okay?” he asked. “Roof’s still on the place?” The answer must have been yes, because he chuckled then winked at Afton. “Okay, looks like I’m gonna be late again. Think you can handle that, maybe order out for a pizza?”
While Max talked, Afton decided she’d better make that same call herself. But just as she pulled out her phone, a blond woman in a black skirt suit entered the room. She smiled at Afton, carefully set a sheet of paper down on the table, and said, “I believe this is the information Mr. Cutler promised you.”
“Are you from HR?” Afton asked. The woman was in her late forties, polished, and exuded a tight HR look. A look that said, I can fire your ass if and when I feel like it.
The woman offered another thin smile. “That’s right. I’m Betty Randle, director of Human Resources.”
Afton glanced at the printed sheet. It looked sketchy at best. “This isn’t very much.” She let her dissatisfaction show through.