“Yes, I know. But this is about something that I think involves you more directly.”
“Okay. Michelle . . . what was it, again?”
“Lang.”
There was a short delay, presumably while Garsten wrote the name down. “Okay, what can I do for you?”
“It’s about the DNC technology that they use. I’m sure you’re aware that there have been allegations concerning adverse side effects.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Possibly—of course we’ll have to go into it all at the appropriate time. But what I wanted to ask about was a man called Jack Anastole. I believe he was a partner of yours at one time.”
Garsten’s voice took on a cautious note. “Yes, he was. What about him?”
“It’s all right, Mr. Garsten. I am aware of the recent unfortunate incident. But it’s my understanding that he claimed at one time to be in possession of documented proof that the claims concerning harmful effects of DNC had been fabricated.”
It all seemed straightforward and clear-cut. Michelle had reasoned that if Anastole had worked with Garsten, there was a chance that Garsten knew or might have access to whatever Jack had known. Garsten worked for Eric and Vanessa now, and Michelle represented interests that stood to benefit equally if the claims could be disproven. They were all on the same side. There was no reason for Garsten not to share what he knew—or at least to acknowledge that he was in a position to help, even if he chose not to go into details over the phone.
But it seemed that either Garsten knew nothing, or if he did, he had reasons for not seeing things the same way.
“I’m sorry Ms. Lang, but there’s not a lot I can tell you,” he replied. “Jack had a lot of dealings with Microbotics that he handled himself. I don’t know what he might have discovered.”
Michelle frowned at the unexpected brusqueness. “Did he have any records that might still be available somewhere?”
“Not with us. He took everything when he moved east. I was as surprised as anyone when he showed up back here again.”
“Did he bring anything with him, as far as you know?” A spur-of-the-moment question. It seemed a possibility if Anastole had come back on business that involved Microbotics.
“I’ve no idea. Whatever was in his hotel room, I guess. You’d have to talk to the Seattle Police Department about that.”
Impasse. Michelle sought for a continuation, but there was nowhere to go from there. “Well . . . I guess we’ll manage either way. Thanks for talking, anyhow. I’ll let you get back to your game.”
“Huh. Bunch of geriatrics, all of ’em. Not worth watching.”
“We’ll probably talk again next week.”
“I look forward to that.”
“Goodnight, then.”
” ‘Bye.”
Michelle replaced the phone. Well, it had been worth the try, she told herself. And there was no harm done that she could see. No harm done; but there had been that evasiveness in Garsten’s manner, and the instant apprehension at the mention of Jack Anastole’s name—sensed rather than explicit in anything Garsten had said. Was Garsten involved in the conspiracy that she was now convinced existed? She stared at the screen, thinking. . . .
But there was nothing further to be done about it tonight. Lawyers needed to go on more than just hunches. She switched off the machine and her thoughts with it. Going through to the living room, she mixed herself a vodka with tonic, a splash of lime, and not too much ice, and settled down on the couch with the remote to find a good movie.
In his house in the Magnolia district on the west side of the city overlooking the Sound, Phillip Garsten sat pinching his mustache and staring at the phone for a long time. Finally, he picked it up again and called a private line, but there was no answer. He tried another number and raised Andrew Finnion, head of security for Microbotics Inc.
“Andy, it’s Phil. Do you know where Martin is tonight?”
“On the yacht. He’s entertaining. I don’t think he’d appreciate interruptions unless the world’s about to catch fire. Why, what’s up?”
“I’ve just had an attorney for that Japanese outfit onto me, wanting to know things about Jack Anastole. It’s a ‘she,’ and she’s asking too many questions. I don’t like it. I think we could have a problem. Can you get in touch with Martin and tell him I need to talk to him before Monday.”
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