Authors: Margaret Fenton
Beth, one of the receptionists
downstairs, buzzed me. “Royanne wants to know if you are going or what?”
“Oh, hell. Tell her I’ll be right down.”
I packed up my stuff and raced to the elevator. Royanne was in the lobby, chatting
with Beth and Nancy and fanning herself.
“There you are. I was about to die in
that car.”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
Pablo greeted us at Los Compadres with a
big smile. I think he was relieved to see that we’d patched things up. He
seated us and brought us our drinks. I picked up a tortilla chip and nibbled a
corner.
“You’re awful quiet today.”
“Sorry. Just distracted.”
“I’ve got to make a decision about
Madison Accounting Services. This afternoon. My boss is really pushing me to do
this loan.”
“I’d go ahead.”
“You mean —”
“I don’t think Alexander Senior had
anything to do with Michael’s death. Or Karen.”
“That’s a relief. I really kind of like
Old Man Madison. And this deal is going to launch his company to the next tier.
He won’t do so bad either, financially. What about Zander?”
“He’s the wild card. I’m not sure what
role he might have played in all this. I don’t think he put the drug in the
juice, but I bet he knows who did. Anyway, as far as he’s concerned, it’s over.
Ashley’s in jail, so he’s off the hook. Oh, and by the way, it looks like he
might be getting some help for his addiction.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“I hope he can quit.”
“Me, too. So how’s the Geek God?” she
asked.
At the mention of Grant, my memories
quickly flashed back to the other night and what he’d said yesterday. I felt my
face grow warm.
“Good Lord, you’re blushing. Is it that
serious?”
“Yeah, I think maybe it is. I like him a
lot.”
Royanne grinned from ear to ear.
“ ’Bout time.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little bit messed
up because of this case. Hopefully he can overlook that.”
We ate our usual lunch and Royanne
dropped me off at work. “See you next week,” she said as I shut the door to the
van. I went to one quick appointment and worked on paperwork in the afternoon.
Russell was there when I got back from the home visit. “We still on for
drinks?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got to run a quick errand,
but I’ll meet you here at five thirty.”
At quarter to five I left for the
library. I parked in the small public lot behind the building and entered the
towering, angled glass structure through the back door. I made my way to the
mystery section and was browsing through a book about a woman who solved
mysteries dealing with gravestones when someone behind me whispered in my ear, “Follow
the money.”
I jumped. “Jesus!”
“Sorry.”
I put the book back on the shelf and
faced him. “God Almighty. You scared the shit out of me.”
He was chuckling, standing so close I
could smell his cologne again, mingled with the slight scent of starch from his
light pink shirt. Pink was really his color. His gaze traveled over my body
once before meeting mine.
“And I said no Deep Throat jokes.”
Amusement sparkled in his blue eyes.
“Sorry. Here.” He handed me a manilla folder with a small stack of photocopied
articles. “When do I get my story?”
“Soon.”
“Uh-huh.” He hadn’t moved and we were
inches apart. “When do I get to take you to dinner?”
“Never.”
“Never? Never-ever?”
“I can’t be seen with you. You know
that.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Yes. I mean, no.”
“Which is it?”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Then what is?”
“Kirk —”
“Is it minivan man?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” For a second I swore I saw real
disappointment in his eyes. He leaned to me and barely brushed his lips on the
skin just in front of my left ear. He whispered, “You’ll let me know if it
doesn’t work out.” Then he left.
I stood there, a bit tingly, and took a
couple of steadying breaths. I waited until I was sure he was gone before
leaving the library. I tossed the folder into the front seat of my Honda and
called Russell’s extension from my cell. He and Heinrich met me in the parking
lot of the DHS building.
`
We decided on Fuel, the pub-like bar Grant
and I visited on the Fourth. We found a table in the back and I ordered a
Riesling. Both Russell and Heinrich were politically active, and they caught me
up on their latest events as Russell sipped his Cosmo and Heinrich his dark
brown beer. Then Heinrich asked in his thick German accent, “What did you want
to speak to me about?”
“Do you know anything about drug
research?”
“A little bit.”
“Let’s say I have an idea for a new
drug. What happens?”
“It depends. Are you employed at a large
drug company?”
“I’m just some girl with a biomedical
degree.”
“Ah. First you have to set up your
business. And find funding.”
“How does that work?”
“Here in the U.S., large drug
manufacturers sponsor most clinical trials. They have much money. Sometimes
researchers get grants from the National Institutes of Health. Smaller
companies may use a combination of a sponsor and an NIH grant.”
“For?”
“First you have your overhead, of
course. Your lab, doctors, staff, and such. Then you need money to pay the
participants in the study.”
Russell asked, “The patients get paid?”
“Oh, yes, often they do. They may get
paid a stipend, plus their travel costs and expenses. It depends on the study.
And many times, doctors get money too. The doctors that refer the patients get
compensated.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It takes a great deal of cash.”
“Okay, so let’s assume I’m able to raise
the money, through a sponsor or whatever. Then what?”
“Then you would develop the drug and do
preclinical studies. Experiments on animals to prove that your drug is safe for
the people to take. If you succeed in this part, then you go on to clinical
trials.”
“And then you can sell the drug?”
“After you finish the three phases of
the clinical trial and the FDA approves it.”
“Three phases? That sounds like it takes
forever.”
“It does take time. But it is necessary.
Companies test for side effects, safety, and to see if the drug is effective.
They also compare your drug to medicines already on the market, to make sure it
would work better than the ones already out there.”
“That’s a long process.”
“And yet, there is always a need for
improvement. There have been drugs on the market that have been pulled off
because they were not safe.”
“Who regulates the safety part of it?”
“It depends. Either the FDA or OHRP.”
“I’ve heard of the FDA. What’s the
OHRP?”
“The Office of Human Research
Protections. Why do you want to know about all this?”
I answered his question with a question.
“Have you ever heard of a company called BaxMed? They do drug research.”
He shook his head. “No. I know of a few
biotech companies at the incubator, but that is all.”
“Incubator?”
“The university has a biotech incubator.
They help start-up companies. Are you thinking of investing in this BaxMed?”
“Oh, no. I just wondered how they
worked, that’s all. It has to do with work, so I can’t really go into it right
now.”
Russell asked, “Is this the case —”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Russell asked.
“Because there are still questions to be
answered.”
Russell muttered, “Fool,” under his
breath.
Heinrich, confused, asked, “I want to go
into pharmaceutical research when I get my master’s, so if you hear they are
good, please do let me know.”
Heinrich had been in this country for
ten years, but occasionally talked about going back to Germany. As the
bartender brought me another glass of wine, I asked Heinrich about his future
plans and inadvertently started an argument between him and Russell that blew
over quickly. They’d been together eight months, and it looked to me like they
were getting more serious. I hoped so. Heinrich had been good for Russell. A
stabilizing force.
We finished our drinks, and I paid the
bill before we left. In the small parking lot, I thanked Heinrich for the
information and told Russell I’d see him tomorrow.
In my car on the way home, I thought about
my theory. Ashley goes to work at BaxMed Friday night. She sees someone at
their office. Trey, perhaps. They have a fight about — what? Michael? Zander?
Or something at BaxMed? Whatever it is, it nearly gets her killed, and scares
her half to death. Time to find out more about that company.
I U-turned in a gas station and took
Lakeshore to Mountain Brook. By the time I pulled up to the Madison’s house, it
was almost eight fifteen. I could see lights burning at the back of the house.
I parked on the drive, empty today, and rang the bell.
Karen answered the door. “You again?”
“Sorry. I know it’s late.” I studied her
for a second. One of her eyes was drooping slightly, and she’d slurred her
greeting a tad. She’d been drinking. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She let me in. “Come on through to the
back. Alexander and I were just having a celebratory drink.” Or two or three.
“What’s the occasion?”
“I’ll let Alexander tell you.” She
ushered me into the apricot and gold room we’d met in before. Alexander was
relaxing in one of the upholstered chairs, a glass of neat amber liquid on the
marble table at his side. He stood when he saw me, but it took some effort. “Do
come in,” he said. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thanks.” The two glasses of wine
I’d had at Fuel were more than enough when I was driving. “What are you
celebrating?”
Alexander answered, “I got the funding
today to take my business to the next level. A big move. You’ll be reading
about it in the paper.”
“Congratulations.” And to you, Royanne,
I thought.
“Thank you. What can we do for you?” He
motioned for me to sit down and I complied.
“I wanted to ask you about BaxMed.”
Karen asked, “What about it?”
“How are they doing?”
“Why? What do the Baxters have to do
with anything?”
“I’m just curious.”
Alexander answered. “Walt’s having the
time of his life. He was a doctor here for years, but he was always interested
in research. Now, with his son on board, they’re doing very well.”
“Are you an investor? In BaxMed?”
“Not anymore. I helped them with the
initial start-up costs. Helped them get going with a little loan. Walt’s paid
me back already.”
“Why aren’t you an investor? Do you know
how BaxMed is financed?”
“I think he has a sponsor. I don’t know
who. One of the larger drug companies, I would imagine. I don’t think he needs
my money. Besides, Walt and I don’t like to mix business with friendship. I’d
rather have him as a fishing buddy than a business partner.”
“But things are going well?”
“To my knowledge, yes. Why?”
“I don’t think it’s anything. How’s
Zander? Is he home?”
At the mention of Zander’s name, both of
them stiffened. Alexander answered, “No, he’s not here. We don’t know where he
is.”
“Oh. Well, tell him I said hello when
you see him.” No wonder Zander was angry. His parents griping at him to get
clean when they were piss-drunk by eight o’clock on a Thursday. Who’s to say
which addiction was more acceptable?
Karen walked me to the door. Once I was
out on the stoop, she said, “Claire —”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you. We’re seeing Dr.
Conover again tomorrow.”
“I hope he’s helping.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“It’s confidential. He never would.”
“It is helping. Alexander and I are
seeing things differently. Patterns we’ve never seen before.”
“Hang in there. I know it’s hard, but it’s
worth it.”
I took a left at the end of the long
driveway and made my way to Highway 280. Traffic was still quite heavy, so it
wasn’t until I’d made the turn onto I-459 and was under the bright lights
illuminating the on-ramp that I noticed the truck.
A ten-year-old black pick-up truck.
Jimmy was back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight