Ice Lake (44 page)

“Mmmm,” the detective murmured. His attention seemed momentarily lost to the maze governed by the astronomical clock on the president’s desk, where the planets and the earth’s moon continued to revolve in exact formation to their actual orbits. “When we talked yesterday, sir, I hadn’t had much sleep.”

“You looked rough. I remember.”

“The reason for my lack of sleep had to do with a kidnapping—a shooting and a kidnapping both—that had occurred overnight. Perhaps you know the victim. Her name is Lucy Gabriel. She works for Hillier-Largent.”

Honigwachs shook his head slightly, dismissively. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” he said. “In my business, I meet a lot of people.”

“I’m curious about something,” Cinq-Mars stated.

“So am I,” Honigwachs interrupted. He leaned back in his chair. “What right do you have to be here?”

“Excuse me?” the policeman asked.

“I understand that the SQ is investigating Andy’s death. I’ve been led to believe that Montreal detectives have no jurisdiction with regard to this matter. Therefore you have no reason, not to mention no authority, to be talking to me.”

Cinq-Mars loved it when the bad guys chose to be smug. No one ever taught them that pride shows up before a fall. Nor did they understand that their attitude gave away a range of inner emotions and proved they were not in control. Smiling, he brushed imaginary flecks off a trouser leg, a gesture that told the person he was questioning who was in charge, who knew where he was going and exactly how he was going to get there, and who was enjoying the experience so much that he intended to take his time.

“This is a friendly visit, sir. That’s allowed.”

Honigwachs snorted slightly. “That’s all very nice, Detective, but I was in a meeting. I happen to be a busy man. So if you’ll excuse me—”

“We could call it a business visit, if you’d prefer. Let’s pretend that I’m here to sell you a horse.”

“I don’t have time for your games, Cinq-Mars. I’d like you and your
partner”
he spat the word out as though referring to a diseased rat, “to go now.”

“I could arrange to have my questions asked at a stockholder’s meeting, if you’d prefer that, sir.”

Although he knew that it was a desperate ploy, that he was being baited, Honigwachs found the tease difficult to resist. “What questions are those?”

“Why it is that your Head of Security, Andrew Stettler, was closely connected to organized crime? He was friendly with the Hell’s Angels, sir, the most notorious and violent gang around. Stockholders might take an
interest in your reasons for hiring a convicted felon to look after security, without first checking if he had a criminal record. If you did check, and knew that he’d been convicted, why did you hire him?”

At the outset, Bill Mathers had been unclear on why they were re-interviewing Honigwachs, but now the line of questioning was beginning to make sense. Once they’d got Camille Choquette and Sergeant Painchaud on the hook, Honigwachs had seemed to drop out of the picture. Mathers reminded himself that the president of BioLogika was connected to the victim, and the nature of that connection had never been fully disclosed. Cinq-Mars, it seemed, had a point.

“As stated,” Honigwachs demurred, “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Bill,” Cinq-Mars directed, “make a note. Buy one share of BioLogika, and mark the date for the next Annual General Meeting.”

Shaking his head and chortling a little, Honigwachs said, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Count on that,” Cinq-Mars warned him.

“Andy had talents,” Honigwachs explained. “I decided to use them. As to his past, I was convinced that he had reformed. You know, sometimes the best security personnel are the ones who know how to beat security systems because they used to do it for a living.”

“I see.” Cinq-Mars looked across at Mathers and fiddled with his tie a bit, as though a thought had stuck in his craw and he needed to shake it loose. He also was not sure why he was here. He had been hoping that Werner Honigwachs was involved in this case, because he knew he’d enjoy the pleasure of the man’s arrest. But he had other people at the top of his list now, and so, if he was going to arrest Painchaud for Stettler’s murder and take this guy off the hook, he’d at least like the pleasure of worrying the arrogant company president one last time. “Sir, you told me during my previous visit that
pharmaceutical firms are interested in your secrets. In part, Mr. Stettler’s job was to protect against espionage, is that correct?”

“That’s right.” Boredom evident in his sigh, Honigwachs put a hand through his hair as if tempted to pull a fistful out by the roots. Then he sank with resignation into his chair again, preparing himself for a lengthy discussion similar to the one he’d endured at their first meeting.

“What about
your
business, sir? Does BioLogika engage in espionage? Do you spy on other companies and scientists to see what they’re up to? Did Andrew Stettler involve himself in that line of work? Was he, in fact, a company spy, someone who did illicit work on your behalf?”

Honigwachs shook his head and calmly checked his fingernails, as if to determine whether or not it was time for a manicure. “We’ve never felt the need, Detective. At BioLogika, we lead. Others follow. Others want to know what w
e
are doing.”

“Weren’t you interested in what Hillier and Largent took away with them when they formed their new company? You entered into a legal wrangle with that firm, did you not? Didn’t you want information on them?”

“I’m not afraid of Hillier-Largent, Cinq-Mars.” He was refusing to look at the policeman now, and his voice had adopted a dull monotone, as though the discussion was too mundane for a man of his intelligence.

“Who else left BioLogika with Hillier and Largent? Surely they didn’t go alone.”

“I don’t recall at the moment.”

“Anyone?”

He rapped his hands against his armrests like a horse’s galloping hooves, as if he wanted to speed the other man along, as if the progress of the slow and poky
was a great cross for a man such as himself to bear. “A few might’ve thought twice about the move. I’m not sure we cared.”

“Scientists leave and you don’t care?”

“Scientists,” the president scoffed. “Hillier was the best of the bunch and he wasn’t returning, obviously. He’d burned that bridge. The remainder are a dime a dozen. Cheaper than that, some of them. If they’re not loyal, then good riddance.”

Cinq-Mars looked over at Mathers, then back at Honigwachs. “I have to think that you couldn’t allow Hillier-Largent to establish itself without knowing what they were doing. Perhaps that meant hiring a man like Andrew Stettler, and sending him in. I happen to know that he was in contact with people at Hillier-Largent.”

His hands folded across his stomach now, the president offered up a nod of concession. “Maybe he had contact with individuals. Big deal. As I recall, the people at Hillier-Largent did him a favour and sent him over to me.”

“‘Yes!” Cinq-Mars enthused. “That still puzzles me. I don’t see why your arch-enemy would send you personnel. Unless, of course, Andy was
their
spy? Now that’s a thought. Here’s another question—why would you hire somebody sponsored by your rivals? That makes no sense, unless you thought that maybe Andy could help you penetrate Hillier-Largent’s security.”

“Really, Sergeant-Detective, you’re living in fantasy-land.” Honigwachs was sitting straight up now, inadvertently acknowledging that Cinq-Mars had trapped him. He had raised questions about his relationship with another company, and questions about Andy’s role. The president had not wanted that.

“Think so? Do you know Camille Choquette?”

“Who?”

Cinq-Mars did not bother to repeat her name but sat still, waiting.

“Her name’s familiar. Didn’t she work for me at one time? I think she did. She might have gone to Hillier-Largent, now that you mention it.”

“Actually, I didn’t. Mention it, I mean. Not with reference to Miss Choquette.”

“Anyway,” Honigwachs said.

“What about Lucy Gabriel? Do you know her?”

He shrugged.

“Is that a no?”

“I don’t recall the name. But thousands of people have worked for me. Who is she?”

“Just your average run-of-the-mill kidnap victim. She also worked for Hillier-Largent. Strange, your employees are being murdered, your competitor’s are being abducted. I keep trying to put two and two together, but nothing adds up.”

“I guess you have a problem there.”

Cinq-Mars shifted his weight around. He caught a glimpse of his partner observing him, and it was evident that Mathers was amused. The younger man liked to watch his senior in action, that was one thing, but Mathers was also tickled by the evidence of his partner’s rancour. Cinq-Mars shot a little smile back at him, as if to confirm their little sport. He didn’t like Honigwachs, and even if he was innocent of any crime, he wasn’t going to leave him alone without first making life uncomfortable for him. He believed that his presence alone made Honigwachs uneasy, so he was in no hurry to depart the man’s company. “Sir, on the night of Saturday, February twelfth, into Sunday, the thirteenth, the night that Andrew Stettler was murdered, where were you?”

Honigwachs was still a moment, mildly smirking. Then he rubbed a finger just over his upper lip, to dry a
thin line of perspiration. “Here,” he answered, smiling more broadly. “In my office. I had work to do. I often come by when the premises are empty. A job like mine, Cinq-Mars, isn’t nine to five.”

“Who saw you here?”

“The security guard, I suppose. No one else was around. The building was pretty much empty.”

“So you were in the vicinity.” Down the great length of his imperial nose, Cinq-Mars studied the man under duress.

“What do you mean, vicinity?”

Cinq-Mars nodded toward the lake. “That’s the scene of the crime, sir. You’ll have to agree, it’s not far. By your own admission, you were in the vicinity.”

“I wasn’t on the lake.”

“You were in the vicinity.” The detective’s beeper sounded. He clicked it off and passed it to Mathers to answer. Both the senior detective and the executive watched the junior policeman leave the room. Cinq-Mars stood and retrieved his winter coat from the back of the chair. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. We’ll be in touch.”

“You’re supposed to be a hotshot cop,” Honigwachs protested. “If you’re accusing me of the crime, you’re nowhere near solving it.”

“I have not accused you of the crime, sir. We’ve had an exchange of views. If I had accused you of murder, you wouldn’t be sitting comfortably in your chair. You’d be handcuffed and in a state of agitation. I know. I’ve arrested many people. You’d hear the charge loud and clear. You’d want your lawyer on hand for the occasion, sir, if for no other reason than to help you believe your ears. For now, I’m off.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Cinq-Mars.”

“Then who killed Andrew Stettler?”

“Not me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Honigwachs shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Maybe it is,” Cinq-Mars mused, and shifted his overcoat over his shoulders. “Or maybe it’s not as good. Maybe it’s better, there’s always that possibility. Not that it matters. In my work, I try not to leave matters to guesswork. Do you think that Andrew Stettler was involved, perhaps, in illegal activities—corporate spying, for example—that cost him his life? Is that not a possibility?”

Honigwachs held his ground. “I don’t see it.”

Cinq-Mars didn’t want to leave this man with his confidence intact. He crossed to the corner of the desk where the astronomical gizmo was located, the one that kept distracting his attention.

“The event horizon,” Cinq-Mars mentioned, inviting the question.

“Pardon me?” Something in Honigwachs appeared to stir. He straightened, as though he’d suddenly been prodded with a stick.

“Seizes the imagination, doesn’t it? That plateau in space-time where objects—planets, stars, light—drift before falling into a black hole. The most terrible wonder in the universe, don’t you think? Here, on earth, people die, enemies die, while the knowledge they carried with them continues on. But a black hole bends light into itself. Deflects time. Consumes everything, and the knowledge of the material, of matter, is crushed within its sphere.”

“Do you have a point, Cinq-Mars?” Honigwachs inquired.

“This. Andrew Stettler was shoved down a black hole.”

Honigwachs twisted an impressive topaz ring on his left index finger back and forth repeatedly, until he seemed to decide consciously not to do it any more. He put his hands on the surface of his desk with all the
digits closed together, then he spread only his thumbs apart before returning them to their original position, hands closed. People talked with their bodies, Cinq-Mars knew, with their gestures and postures, and the movement of the thumbs seemed to admit his question, then close on any possible response. “The metaphor escapes me,” the president of BioLogika admitted.