Page 31 of Flash Freeze

“What about your plant manager, Mr. Booker?” Athena asked, recalling that the man didn’t hold the CEO in high esteem.

“Booker?” Whitmore wrinkled his nose, regarding Athena as a dullard who asked senseless questions. “What about him? The man’s middle management, without an original idea in his head.”

“He told us—”

Whitmore cut in, a scowl replacing bafflement. “He told you what? That I wouldn’t sink millions of dollars into upgrading that leaky old dinosaur of a chemical factory? I already explained why.”

He shifted his attention to Bach, giving him a look that read, “Sorry you got stuck with this stupid woman.”

“So, you don’t think Mr. Booker was involved?” Bach asked for clarification.

“Hell, no. He could never pull off something like that, and why would he?”

Athena hadn’t intended to enter Booker’s name as a suspect. She just wanted Whitmore’s reaction. It was as dismissive as she’d imagined.

“I’m just glad whoever it was didn’t know where to plant their explosive,” the CEO continued. “They could’ve blown the entire facility sky-high. Come to think of it, neither Kerrington nor the environmentalist would’ve wanted the fallout from that disaster. Now, SinoFine Chemical & Materials—they’re our primary international competitor, notorious for dirty tactics. They might want to blow the whole thing up, but it’s just one facility, and the fallout could lead to a real armed conflict if they killed half a million Americans. You should be looking at the eco-freaks and Lone Star Industries.”

Charles Whitmore sat back in his chair, his pronouncement made, and gave them a look that said, “You’re dismissed.”

Athena didn’t flinch. “Mr. Whitmore, where were you Thursday night and Friday morning?” She knew a man like Whitmore wouldn’t have waltzed in and stuffed a bomb into the generator, but he might have struck Inspector Nolan over the head with a heavy object.

He let out a haughty sniff and sneered at her. “You can’t possibly think I would sabotage my own factory. Absurd!”

Bach answered apologetically, “I’m afraid it’s on the list of questions we’re required to ask. No offense intended.”

Whitmore pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose. Thursday night, I had dinner with my father, wife, and daughter. Dad helped Jessie with her homework. He likes doing that, makes him feel useful. Maggie and I watched TV and went to bed. Friday morning, I had a golf date. We teed off around nine a.m.”

“Your father lives here with you?” Athena asked.

Whitmore let out a stifled chuckle. “It’s still his house as long as he’s kicking.”

“We’ll need the names of those you golfed with,” Bach said in a serious cop’s tone. He laid a small notepad on Whitmore’s desk.

The CEO grumbled but scribbled them down. “I’ll have my security detail see you out. If you have further questions, please direct them to my attorneys. I don’t expect to hear from you two until you’ve made an arrest. Good day, officers.”

Taking that as a final dismissal, Athena rose from the uncomfortable chair, wondering if he’d done that on purpose to keep visitors out of his study. “Good day, Mr. Whitmore. Thank you for receiving us. This exchange has been quite enlightening.” She offered a sly smile before turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Whitmore snapped. “What do you mean by that?”

Her smile broadened at the tension in his voice.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Bach said and followed her out.

“Don’t walk out on me while I’m talking to you!” Whitmore’s voice thundered behind them. They kept walking.

Chapter 15

Whitmore’s golfing buddies confirmed they teed off around 9:30 a.m., not the 9:00 the CEO claimed; nevertheless, given the distance he’d have to drive, it wasn’t feasible. Additionally, the front gate security camera didn’t record Whitmore entering or leaving the property Friday morning.

“He could have used a different entrance,” Bach proposed as they sat in the bullpen with Athena’s agents.

“It’s more likely someone on his payroll took care of the problem for him,” Athena grumbled, drumming her fingers on the nearest desk. “Campbell, what about the computers and records from the burnt-out office? Could the tech department get anything?”

The ruddy agent, properly dressed on a Monday, shook his head. “Too much damage, and nothing was backed up to the cloud. Poof. Any evidence of blatant neglect, embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, gone.” He scratched his elbow. “Maybe Paulson can get something. He’s better than the guys down in tech.”

“Mr. Smith promised we’d get him and Howard back tomorrow,” Athena said.

A notification signal sounded, and Bach glanced down at his phone with a worried expression.