Unlucky 13 - James Patterson Page 0,22

twenty minutes of thumb twiddling, we were shown to a conference room where we met CEO Jansing, a sandy-haired man of fifty with narrow, closely spaced blue eyes.

Jansing in turn introduced us to six other people sitting around the sturdy redwood table: the marketing director, the heads of PR, HR, and Security, two lawyers, and the head of the product-development team, who was attending the meeting by teleconference.

It was a diverse group with one thing in common: they weren’t glad to see representatives of the SFPD. Their body language and facial expressions told me they were wary, angry, defensive, and suspicious. It was obvious that they thought we weren’t friends of the Chuck’s family and that we could have a bad, or even a fatal, effect on their reputation.

Accordingly, Jansing was putting on an extraordinary show of force for a preliminary meeting with two midlevel cops.

I can’t say that he was crazy to do so.

After we took seats at the table, Jansing said, “The FBI tore apart our Hayes Valley store and found nothing. Frankly, I was a little surprised to hear from you, Sergeant Boxer.”

“We’re working with the FBI,” I told the executives, “but we’re running our own investigation on what may have been a double homicide. We have new evidence that places high explosives inside hamburger meat that originated at Chuck’s.”

Jansing’s eyebrows shot up.

“You can prove that?”

It was a bit of a stretch, but I said, “Yes, we can. Mr. Jansing, two people ate Chuck’s hamburgers and died as a result. It doesn’t mean that someone who works for you planted those explosives, but it does mean that Chuck’s is square one.”

What followed was like a freestyle Ping Pong tournament, in which balls could go to any table and anyone could return them. There came a point when so many aggressive questions were being fired at us that Conklin stood up and said, “Hey. That’s enough. We’re willing to talk to everyone in this office and keep it out of the Justice Department. Or we’ll get subpoenas and interview each of you down at the Hall. Up to you.”

Donna Timko, the product-development manager connected to the meeting by way of the two-way video screen, was the only person who expressed concern or humanity.

Timko said, “Sergeant Boxer, I can’t tell you how distressed we all are at any implication that Chuck’s could be involved in any way.”

Her voice broke, but Timko pushed on.

“We have already questioned everyone in the production division, and I can assure you, this random act of violence…it was not caused by someone who works at Chuck’s.”

And with that, Donna Timko started to cry.

Jansing said, “Donna, calm yourself, dear. It’s all right. We have nothing to hide from the police.”

And then he looked back at us.

“Do what you have to do, Inspectors. But do it fast so that we don’t have to take legal action for harassment by you.”

CHAPTER 26

WHILE THE FBI shut down Chuck’s central meat-processing plant in Petaluma and began sifting through I don’t know how many tons of beef, Conklin and I spent the next day at Chuck’s Prime’s HQ, taking statements from executives and office staff.

Here’s what we learned.

Michael Jansing had vision and high standards. His people liked and trusted him. He paid fairly. The product was good. Employees took pride in their jobs.

No one reported hate mail or knew of current or former employees who exhibited erratic behavior, insanity, or aggression.

Net/net: we did not have one stinking lead on who might have spiked a hamburger with military-grade explosives. And that meant we had no idea how to head off future belly bombs.

I handed the car keys to Conklin, who said, “Well, there went two days of my life that I can’t get back.”

“I’m never eating hamburger again,” I said. “I mean it. I’m off ground beef forever.”

I strapped into the passenger seat, and as Conklin drove us back to the Hall, I took out my phone and opened some mail. I got caught up in one e-mail in particular. I started laughing to myself.

“Okay. What’s so funny?” Conklin asked me.

“I want what Yuki’s having.”

“Hot sex with Brady? Really?”

“No. Shut up. Listen to this.

“‘Dear Girlfriends.

“‘I don’t even know where to start talking about the awesomeness of Alaska. But let me try.

“‘Crack a dawn this morning, we went out on a tender with an onboard naturalist, and OMG, we saw a pod of Orca whales. Yes! A family pod of them, breaching or “spyhopping,” where they point their heads straight out of the