Bodily Harm (31 page)

Retrieving the cup, Payne sipped from the slit in the white plastic top while he waited for a silver Mercedes to back away from a parking spot. Then he stepped across the asphalt to the cars parked perpendicular to the businesses.

He thought again about the argument earlier that morning. His wife was fed up with what she called his “moodiness and surly attitude.” She said he was short-tempered with the kids and went off to “la-la land” even when he was home and if he didn’t snap out of it she wanted him to move out. Most nights he’d fallen asleep in the leather recliner in the family room,
watching television, mentally exhausted from another day wondering if, and when the man from China would return. He usually awoke in his chair and spent the evenings listening to the sounds inside the house and the voices in his head, some urging him to go to the police or perhaps to Larry Triplett, or maybe even Maggie Powers. Hell, they were directors of a government agency, they had to have connections that could help him, didn’t they?

But those thoughts did not persist, pushed aside by his vivid recollection of the man’s cool detachment as the back of the Chinese woman’s head exploded and the spray of blood splattered Payne across the face and arms. The man had made it clear he would think nothing of killing Payne’s wife and children in similar fashion and leave enough evidence to link Payne to their murders as well as the murder of the Chinese prostitute. The police would assume Payne had gone off his rocker, gone absolutely crazy, and there would certainly be enough witnesses to confirm his recent erratic behavior to make that scenario plausible.

The only thing that got him out the door in the morning was the hope that it would all be over soon. He would provide Powers with a favorable report on the Chinese manufacturing facilities and profess no knowledge of any dangers from new technology. Powers would testify similarly before Congress, Joe Wallace’s bill calling for more stringent safeguards on products and more funding to the agency would be defeated, and Payne could get on with his life and get back to his family.

Anne LeRoy would not have that opportunity.

He squeezed between two parked cars but came to a sudden stop when a man walking in the opposite direction blocked his path. A hanger slid from his grasp to the ground, his wife’s tan vest. He would have also spilled his coffee but for the white plastic lid.

“I’m sorry.” Payne crouched to retrieve the hanger.

“Let me help.” The man bent to help pick up the dry cleaning.

Payne raised his eyes. “Thank you, but I think I can . . .”

Behind him Payne heard a car stop, though he did not take his eyes off the barrel of the gun, only partially concealed by the man’s leather jacket.

“You are going to stand and get into the backseat of the car behind you. You’re not going to yell, or say a word. Do you understand?”

Payne nodded.

“Good. Now, slowly.”

When Payne did as instructed the man slid into the backseat beside him and pulled the door shut as the driver exited the parking lot.

SLOANE CONSIDERED ALBERT Payne in the rearview mirror. Two mornings after Anne LeRoy’s death, Sloane and Jenkins had tracked Payne from his home in Bethesda to the strip mall. They had dismissed the thought of walking into his office to talk to the man, uncertain whether Payne had pulled the plug on LeRoy’s investigation as part of a scheme to conceal the information. If so, Payne could alert others involved that Jenkins and Sloane were in Washington, D.C., and asking questions. They decided to surprise Payne instead, but where? Not at his home; Payne had a wife and children. They also couldn’t very well do it at his place of business, where Payne would have the comfort of dozens of coworkers, not to mention security guards and video surveillance cameras. That meant following Payne until the right opportunity presented itself. The opportunity had come that morning, when Payne stopped at the strip mall to pick up the dry cleaning. Sloane and Jenkins had discussed the need to avoid a
confrontation in a public place, but Payne had been surprisingly compliant. He had slid quietly into the back of the car, where he now sat looking like a man resigned to his fate and not interested in trying to fight or even negotiate.

As Sloane drove, Payne spoke barely above a whisper. “Do you work for him?”

Sloane and Jenkins made eye contact in the mirror. Albert Payne was not calm. He was paralyzed by fear.

“Relax, Mr. Payne,” Sloane said. “We’re not going to hurt you; we might even be able to help you.”

Despite the reassuring words, Payne continued to bite at his lower lip, and his eyes remained unfocused, a vacuous gaze.

Sloane pulled off the road into the gravel parking lot of a nearby sports complex with multiple soccer and baseball fields. At the back of the lot he parked near two baseball fields built side by side. Jenkins motioned for Payne to exit the back door. Payne left the dry cleaning on the seat but still held the cup of coffee. They climbed a row of metal bleachers and sat, a breeze blowing the tall, thin trees planted alongside the third base line. The baseball field was empty.

“What is this about?” Payne asked.

“Anne LeRoy,” Sloane said.

The lenses of Payne’s glasses were flecked with dry skin. He looked to have a rash all about his neck and face, which still had remnants of a white cream recently applied. “You know Anne?”

“No. But she called me,” Sloane said. “She said she had done an investigation on magnets in toys. She said you pulled the plug on her investigation. I need to know why.”

“Who are you?” Payne asked.

“I’m an attorney.”

“An attorney?” Payne exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath. “I don’t understand.”

Sloane handed Payne a copy of the article in the
Washington Post
.

“I have a case against Kendall Toys. I represent two families with children who died ingesting magnets that came from one of their toys. Kendall is about to bring that toy to market for the Christmas holiday, and all indications are that it will fly off shelves and into the homes of millions of children.”

Payne read several paragraphs before putting the article down on the bench and staring out at the empty ball field. Another breeze silently rustled the branches of the trees.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

Sloane knew fear was the cause of Payne’s reticence, but he also did not have the time or inclination to play games. LeRoy’s death meant Stenopolis was close. “Yes, you do, Mr. Payne. Anne LeRoy told me all about it.”

He shook his head. “She shouldn’t have done that,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

“Why not?”

Payne just shook his head.

“Anne LeRoy is dead.” Payne turned and looked at Sloane. “I found her electrocuted in her bathtub.”

Payne dropped his head and began to retch, gagging at first before bending over and throwing up between the bleachers the coffee and whatever else he had eaten for breakfast. When he had finished he used a brown paper napkin with the same logo as on the coffee cup to wipe his mouth. Perspiration had beaded on his forehead.

“You’ve met him, haven’t you?” Sloane asked.

“Who?”

“Dark-haired man. Ponytail, maybe six foot two, well built.”

Payne nodded.

“So have I.”

Payne’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. What would he want with you?”

“The designer of the toy had given me a file warning about the dangers of the magnets, not unlike the report Anne LeRoy gave you.”

“I can’t,” Payne said, his voice a whisper, “I have a wife and kids.”

“I had a wife too,” Sloane said. “Anthony Stenopolis killed her because she saw his face.”

Payne paled a ghostly white.

“So I know you’re scared, but if you think this is just going to go away, you’re wrong. It’s not going to end, whatever he might have told you. Once you do whatever it is he’s forcing you to do, he’ll come for you, just like he came for me and for Anne LeRoy.”

Payne shook his head. “How could he have known? I didn’t tell anyone. I tried to protect her. I tried to get her to drop it, but she . . .” He choked back tears.

“It has to be someone who knew about that report.”

“How did she get in touch with you?”

“She saw the article and called my office. She was going to give me a copy of the report.”

“I told her not to,” Payne whispered. “I tried to . . . Oh God.” He began to retch again. When he had finished, Sloane continued his questions.

“Explain it to me. Tell me why you shut down her investigation.”

“He told me to,” Payne said. “He knew about it . . . somehow. Anne didn’t take it well. She had worked very hard on the investigation and was upset. She said she would take it to the media and . . . I yelled at her. I told her that I would take legal action; I was trying to protect her. I was concerned . . .” Again Payne’s voice drifted.

“I need to know how you first came in contact with Stenopolis. I need to know all of the ways that he could have learned of Anne’s investigation.”

A young boy and his father walked onto the outfield grass carrying baseball mitts and began to play catch, the sound of the ball smacking the leather gloves as Albert Payne explained his ill-fated trip to China to inspect manufacturing plants being used by American companies, including the plant with which Kendall Toys had contracted. He told Sloane that Larry Triplett, one of the agency directors, had been insistent that Payne be included on the trip, that Triplett was incensed at how the former administration had gutted the PSA in its quest to deregulate the toy industry. He said Triplett was working with Senator Joe Wallace, from Indiana, who was sponsoring a bill that would provide the agency with more power and more money, and Wallace had called for a congressional hearing into the recent spate of toy recalls with the hope that the inquiry would cause enough consumer outrage to put political pressure on the members of the House and Senate to pass the bill.

“Maggie Powers was supposed to go on the trip as well, but she canceled because her son was getting engaged. She also was eager to have me go.”

“What happened over there?” Sloane asked.

“The factories were as I suspected. The manufacturers had worked hard to clean them up, but it was clear they were not following the regulations we try to impose on American companies. The workers were overworked and underpaid, and most of the products did not meet the quality control standards we seek to impose. In China if the regulation is voluntary, they ignore it. Following the inspections the government officials and owners insisted I attend a reception.” Payne blew out a breath. “After one of the receptions I woke up in the morning with what I thought was a horrible hangover. He was there.”

“Stenopolis?”

“I don’t know his name. There was an Asian woman asleep
in bed beside me. I had no idea how I got there or who she was. I thought he was going to blackmail me, maybe try to bribe me but . . .”

Payne broke down, sobbing, his body shaking. He began to wipe at his face and chest, as if he had suddenly been sprayed. Sloane looked to Jenkins who wrote on a notebook and showed him the page. PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

Sloane could only guess at what horror was coming next.

Payne closed his eyes, grimacing, choking back tears as he said the words. “He shot her in the head. There was blood . . .”

Sloane put a hand on the man’s back, giving him time to regain his composure. Payne blew his nose into the napkin, took several deep breaths, and looked out at the ball field. “He said that if I didn’t do what he wanted he would make sure the Chinese had all the evidence they needed to convict me. Then he would kill my family.”

“What exactly did he tell you to do besides drop the investigation into magnets?”

Payne’s eyebrows inched together, surprised by the question. “He didn’t tell me to drop the investigation.”

“But you told Anne LeRoy . . .”

“I told Anne to drop it because I was trying to protect her. But he didn’t want the investigation dropped. He wanted the report changed. He wanted me to ensure that the report concluded there was no reasonable likelihood of any danger and that the Chinese manufacturers met U.S. regulations.”

“And the acting director would give that report at the congressional hearing,” Sloane said.

“Yes. Maggie Powers.”

“And you can’t think of who else knew about Anne’s investigation besides you?”

Payne shook his head, but then he stopped. His eyes widened.

product safety agency bethesda, maryland

THREE SOFT KNOCKS, but the door did not push open.

“Come in,” Payne said.

Peggy Seeley inched her head into his office like a kid sent to the principal’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Come on in and shut the door.”

Seeley hesitated before doing as instructed. She sat in one of two chairs across from Payne’s desk and folded her hands in her lap, kneading her fingers and squinting, as if looking into a glare. Payne thought that she resembled a mouse.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Peggy.”

Seeley lowered her gaze. “I suspected it was only a matter of time with the budget problems.”

Payne raised a hand. “No, it’s not that. It’s not your job. I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

Seeley slumped in her seat, her shoulders narrow, and her chest nearly concave. The squint became more pronounced.

“It’s about Anne LeRoy.”

“Is it the file? I told her to give the file back, like you asked. She said she was going to do it. I’m sure it just slipped her mind. She’s been interviewing, and well, that hasn’t been going too well—”

“Anne’s dead, Peggy.”

Seeley stared at him. “What?”

“There was some kind of accident in her home.”

Seeley covered her mouth with the fingers of both hands, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

“The police found her in the bathtub. It appears that she dropped the hair dryer. She was electrocuted.”

“Oh my God,” Seeley said, openly weeping. “Oh my God.”

He placed a box of tissue on the edge of the desk and she grabbed a handful.

“I’m very sorry. I know the two of you were good friends.”