The Associate (4 page)

The john had paid up front and tipped her afterward, and he hadn’t roughed her up or asked for anything exotic. The only downside to the evening was the motel, a by-the-hour fuck pad in a run-down part of town. A lot of Irene’s clientele stayed in the classy rooms at the Mirage or the other upscale casinos on the Strip and the motel was definitely a comedown. Still, the room was clean and the john was satisfied with a quick in-and-out, so she didn’t have to work hard for her money. When Irene got ready to go, the john surprised her by telling her that she could stay in the room because he had to catch an early flight. She accepted the offer and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Irene never heard the door being jimmied and had no idea that there was someone else in the room until a gloved hand clamped across her mouth. Her eyes sprang open and she tried to sit up, but the muzzle of a gun pressed hard into the flesh of her forehead and forced her head deep into her pillow.

“Scream and die. Answer my questions and live. Nod slowly if you understand me.”

The feeble light cast by the flashing neon sign on the bar next door revealed that the speaker wore a ski mask. Irene nodded slowly and the gloved hand withdrew, leaving the sour taste of leather in her mouth.

“Where is he?”

“Gone,” she gasped in a voice hoarse with fear.

“Say good-bye, bitch,” the intruder whispered. Irene heard the gun cock.

“Please,” she begged. “I’m not his friend, I’m a pro. He was a pickup at the Mirage. He fucked me, he paid me, and he left. He said I could use the room for the night because he had an early flight. I swear that’s all I know.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

The prostitute’s eyes shifted to the clock radio on the nightstand.

“Fifteen minutes. He just left.”

Two cruel eyes studied Irene for what seemed an eternity. Then the gun withdrew.

“Stay.”

The intruder vanished though the door. Irene did not move for five minutes. Then she raced into the bathroom and threw up.

The main entrance to Reed, Briggs, Stephens, Stottlemeyer and Compton was on the thirtieth floor of a modern, thirty-story office building in the middle of downtown Portland, but Reed, Briggs leased several other floors. A week after delivering the boxes of discovery to Aaron Flynn’s office, Daniel stepped out of the elevator on the twenty-seventh floor at 7:30 in the morning. This floor, where Daniel had his office, could only be entered by tapping in a code on a keypad that was attached to the wall next to one of two narrow glass panels that bracketed a locked door. Daniel started to reach for the keypad when he noticed what appeared to be some kind of microphone affixed to the wall above the keypad. Taped next to it was a sign that said:

REED, BRIGGS’S KEY ENTRY SYSTEM IS NOW VOICE-ACTIVATED. CLEARLY AND LOUDLY SAY YOUR NAME, THEN STATE “OPEN DOOR NOW.”

On closer inspection Daniel could see that the “microphone” was really a round, metal cap from a juice bottle that had been taped to a small, plastic pencil sharpener. Both had been painted black. Daniel shook his head and tapped in his number. The lock clicked and he opened the door. As he expected, Joe Molinari was lurking behind a partition staring through the glass panel that gave him a view of the keypad.

“You’re an asshole,” Daniel said.

Molinari jerked him behind the partition just as Miranda Baker, a nineteen-year-old from the mailroom, approached the door.

“Watch this,” Molinari said.

Baker started to tap in her code when she noticed the sign. She hesitated, then said, “Miranda Baker. Open door now.” She tried the door, but it would not open. She looked puzzled. Molinari doubled over with laughter.

“That’s not funny, Joe. She’s a good kid.”

“Wait,” Molinari insisted, trying to stifle his laughter for fear that Baker would hear him. She repeated her name and the command. Molinari had tears in his eyes.

“I’m going to let her in,” Daniel said just as Kate Ross, one of Reed, Briggs’s in-house investigators, got out of the elevator. Kate walked up to Miranda as she was saying her name for the third time and yanking on the doorknob. Kate took one look at the sign and ripped it, the pencil sharpener, and the bottle cap off of the wall.

“Shit,” Joe swore.

Kate said something to the young woman. They looked through the glass and stared coldly at Joe and Daniel. Miranda tapped in her code and opened the door. She flashed the two associates an angry look as she brushed past them.

Kate Ross was twenty-eight, five-foot-seven, and looked fit in tight jeans, an oxford blue shirt, and a navy-blue blazer. Kate stopped in front of the associates and held out the sign, bottle cap, and pencil sharpener. Her dark complexion, large brown eyes, and curly black, shoulder-length hair made Daniel think of those tough Israeli soldiers he’d seen on the evening news. The hard look she cast at Joe and Daniel made him glad that she wasn’t carrying an Uzi.

“I believe these are yours.”

Joe looked sheepish. Kate turned her attention to Daniel.

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” she asked sternly.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with this,” Daniel answered.

Kate looked skeptical. She dropped the bottle cap, pencil sharpener, and wadded-up sign into a garbage can and walked off.

“What a spoilsport,” Molinari said when Kate was out of earshot.

Daniel hurried after Kate and caught up with her just as she was entering an office she shared with another investigator.

“I really didn’t have anything to do with that,” he said from the doorway.

Kate looked up from her mail. “Why should I care how you preppies amuse yourselves?” she asked angrily.

Daniel reddened. “Don’t confuse me with Joe Molinari. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I’m a working stiff, just like you. I didn’t like Joe’s practical joke any more than you did. I was going to let Miranda in when you showed up.”

“It didn’t look that way to me,” Kate answered defensively.

“Believe what you want to believe, but I don’t lie,” Daniel said angrily as he turned on his heel and walked down the hall to his office.

Reed, Briggs used a large wood-paneled room on the twenty-ninth floor for important depositions. As Daniel hurried toward it he narrowly missed running into Renee Gilchrist.

“ ’Morning, Renee,” Daniel said as he stepped aside to let her pass.

Renee took a few steps, then turned around.

“Daniel.”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Briggs thought you did a good job on the Fairweather memo.”

“Oh? He didn’t say anything to me about it.”

“He wouldn’t.”

The partners never told Daniel what they thought about his work and the only way he could tell if they believed it was any good was by the volume of work they gave him. It dawned on Daniel that Briggs had been loading him up for the past month.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Renee smiled. “You’d better get in there. They’re about to start the deposition.”

At one end of the conference room, a wide picture window offered a view of the Willamette River and, beyond it, Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens. On another wall, a large oil painting of the Columbia Gorge hung over an oak credenza. On the credenza, silver urns filled with coffee and hot water stood next to a matching platter loaded down with croissants and muffins and a bowl filled with fruit.

Dr. Kurt Schroeder, a Geller Pharmaceuticals executive who was about to be deposed, sat at the end of a huge, cherrywood conference table, with his back to the window. Schroeder’s thin lips were set in a rigid line and it was obvious that he did not enjoy his position on the hot seat.

To Schroeder’s right sat Aaron Flynn and three associates. To Schroeder’s left sat Arthur Briggs, a reed-thin, chain-smoker who always seemed to be on edge. Briggs’s jet-black hair was swept back revealing a sharp widow’s peak and his eyes were always moving as if he expected an attack from behind. In addition to being one of the most feared attorneys in Oregon, Briggs was a mover and shaker of the first magnitude with a heavy hand in politics, civic affairs, and almost every conservative cause of note. Daniel thought that Briggs was probably a sociopath who had channeled his energy into law instead of serial murder.

To Briggs’s left was Brock Newbauer, a junior partner with a sunny smile and whitish-blond hair. Brock would never have made the cut at Reed, Briggs if his father’s construction company had not been one of the firm’s biggest clients.

Daniel took the chair next to Susan Webster. Arthur Briggs shot him an annoyed glance, but said nothing. Susan scribbled,
You’re late,
on her notepad and moved it slightly in Daniel’s direction.

“Good morning, Dr. Schroeder,” Aaron Flynn said with a welcoming smile. Daniel placed a legal pad on the table and started taking notes.

“Good morning,” Schroeder answered without returning the smile.

“Why don’t we start by having you tell everyone your occupation.”

Schroeder cleared his throat. “I’m a board-certified pediatrician by training and am currently a senior vice-president and chief medical adviser to Geller Pharmaceuticals.”

“Could you tell us a little bit about your educational background?”

“I graduated from Lehigh University with a chemistry major and biology minor. My medical degree is from Oregon Health Sciences University.”

“What did you do after medical school?”

“I had an internship in pediatrics at the State University of New York, Kings County Hospital Center, in Brooklyn. Then I was assistant chief resident at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia as a pediatric resident.”

“What did you do after your residency?”

“I spent several years in private practice in Oregon before joining Geller Pharmaceuticals.”

“When you joined Geller did it have any particular focus on pediatric drugs?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Could you describe for us your job history after joining Geller?”

“I began in the clinical research and development division and rose through the ranks in various different positions of responsibility until I was appointed vice-president for medical affairs and later was promoted to senior vice-president. For the past eight years I’ve had responsibility for the development of, and gaining approval for, products we’ve discovered.”

“And that would include Insufort?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Now, Dr. Schroeder, I’d like to discuss with you the normal process for drug development and marketing and just sort of walk through the steps so that I’ll have an understanding of what’s involved in bringing a drug onto the market. And am I correct that the first step is identifying something that might have some pharmacological value?”

“Yes.”

“And then you conduct preclinical studies, studies that are not done with humans.”

“Yes.”

“And the preclinical studies involve animals.”

“Not necessarily. Prior to animal studies, you might conduct studies in tissues or cells. Maybe you would do a computer simulation.”

“Okay, but at some point you get to the stage where you do what are called preclinical studies to assess both safety and effectiveness?”

“Yes.”

“And when you do preclinical studies, the results of those studies are submitted to the Federal Drug Administration, or FDA, for review in what’s called an investigational new drug application or IND, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What is an IND?”

“It’s a request for an exemption from the regulations which preclude physicians or companies from giving a substance which has not been approved by the FDA to humans in a clinical situation. If the FDA approves the IND, you are permitted to conduct clinical studies of the drug with humans.”

“Can I assume that you, as chief medical adviser to Geller Pharmaceuticals, were familiar with the results of the preclinical and clinical studies conducted to determine if Insufort was a safe and effective product?”

“Well, I certainly reviewed the studies.”

Flynn smiled at Schroeder. “Can I take it that is a yes?”

“Objection,” Briggs said, asserting himself for the first time. “Dr. Schroeder did not say that he read each and every study and all of the documents involved.”

“That’s true,” Schroeder said.

“Well, Geller Pharmaceuticals conducted extensive preclinical rodent studies, did it not?”

“Yes.”

“You were aware of the results?”

“Yes.”

“And there were studies of primates, pregnant monkeys?”

“Yes.”

“And you were aware of those results?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And there were phase-one clinical studies of human beings?”

“Yes.”

“And you know about those results?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Dr. Schroeder, did any of the clinical or preclinical studies show that Insufort can cause birth defects?”

“No, sir. They did not.”

Flynn looked surprised. “None of them?” he asked.

“None of them.”

Flynn turned to the young woman on his right. She handed him a one-page document. He scanned it for a moment, then returned his attention to Dr. Schroeder.

“What about the study conducted by Dr. Sergey Kaidanov?” Flynn asked.

Schroeder looked puzzled.

“Do you have a scientist in your employ named Dr. Sergey Kaidanov?”

“Dr. Kaidanov? Yes, he works for the company.”

“In research and development?”

“I believe so.”

Flynn nodded and the associate to his right pushed copies of the document that Flynn was holding across the conference table as Flynn handed a copy to the witness.

“I’d like this marked Plaintiff’s Exhibit 234. I’ve given copies to counsel and Dr. Schroeder.”

“Where did you get this?” Briggs demanded as soon as he’d skimmed the page.

Flynn smiled and gestured toward Daniel.

“I received it as part of the discovery that young man over there delivered to my office a few days ago.”