Authors: Larry D. Thompson
Whizmo, of course, was talking about his biker friends, not the lawyers and doctors and stockbrokers, but the ones who worked as mechanics and laborers to maintain their biker lifestyle. A number of them also supplemented their income dealing dope and wanted nothing to do with anyone remotely connected with law enforcement. Whizmo knew most of these bikers in Central Texas. What they did for a living was not his concern. They had the common bond of the Harley, and he treated them as equals. His search for Josh would be with them. While it was possible that one of them could be involved, Whizmo really doubted it. All he was looking for was a lead. Besides, like Luke and Sue Ellen, he was convinced that Ceventa was somehow behind the kidnapping.
After Whizmo got off the phone with Sue Ellen, he surveyed the trial projects Luke had given him and figured he could take the rest of the day off. He went to his desk and picked up a photo of Josh, a copy of the one that the law enforcement officers had plastered around San Marcos. He looked at Josh’s handsome face and thought,
Hang in there, young man. I’m coming for you.
Whizmo headed west. He didn’t need a map. He knew the roads and knew the hangouts where he was seeking a lead. The first one was barely outside the San Marcos city limits. The patrons there were a mixture of the old hog riders and some of the young professionals. There were maybe a dozen Harleys along with a handful of pickups in the gravel parking lot.
Whizmo walked through the front door and was greeted by the bartender and got hand waves from some of the customers. “Whiz, where you been?” the bartender asked as he handed Whizmo a Bud Light.
“Gotta pass on the beer, Howie,” Whiz replied. “I’m going to be doing a lot of riding today.” Whiz pulled Josh’s photo from his pocket. “I’m looking for this kid, name’s Josh Taggert, big kid, six feet, two hundred pounds, sixteen. He’s been missing for nearly a week. You seen him or maybe something out of the usual around here lately?”
Howie studied the photo and shook his head. “Nope. Never saw him. Troopers have been by here, asking the same questions. As to anything unusual, the answer’s no. We’ve had a couple of fights, but that’s just par for the course.”
Whizmo nodded his thanks and took the photo to each of the customers, asking the same questions and getting the same answers. Then, his shoulders a little slumped, he left, mounted his bike, and went to the next bar on his mental list.
By ten o’clock that night he was fifty miles from home and had struck out. At his last stop he threw five hundred dollars down on a table where three of his biker buddies sat and said, “Look, dudes, this kid didn’t just disappear. I can’t get back out here for another day, maybe two. Put the word out and see what you can stir up. Here’s my cell number. Call with anything. I don’t care how small or insignificant you may think it is. Understood?”
“We’ll do what we can, Whiz,” one replied. “Can’t promise anything, though. It’s a damn big country.”
Judge Nimitz took the bench before the jury entered. As was his custom, he surveyed the status of his courtroom. “Counsel, is everyone ready? Mr. Vaughan, I notice Ms. Taggert is absent. I presume she’s running late. Do you want to give her a few minutes?”
“No, sir. Ms. Taggert is ill. I’ll be going it alone from here on out.”
The judge guessed what the problem was but chose to keep his opinions to himself. “Ms. Metcalf, please call your next witness.”
When the witness had been sworn, Metcalf asked him to introduce himself.
“My name is Horton Thornberry. I’m a hepatologist, ladies and gentlemen. That’s a liver doctor.”
Audrey Metcalf liked how Dr. Thornberry looked and handled himself. He was in his sixties, had a white mustache and a gleaming bald head. His manner was self-assured and his demeanor gracious. Clearly the jury was interested in hearing what he had to say.
“Tell the jury a little about your background, Doctor.”
“I graduated from USC with a degree in microbiology and went to medical school at UCLA.”
“Go on, Doctor,” Metcalf urged.
The witness turned to the jury. “I did a three-year residency in internal medicine at USC and then a fellowship in hepatology at Stanford.”
Metcalf sized up the jury and decided to get to the issues at hand. “Doctor, are you familiar with a drug called Exxacia?”
“Certainly, Ms. Metcalf. There’s an article in the
Annals of Hepatology
that recently came out. I was one of the coauthors. The purpose of the article was to evaluate Exxacia and any risk of liver damage with it. That’s something important to do with any new antibiotic.”
“Doctor, I’m putting a copy of that journal article on the overhead. Is this the one you’re talking about?”
“Correct, Ms. Metcalf. May I suggest you turn to the conclusions on the last page.”
Metcalf had those conclusions highlighted. “Doctor, can you summarize what you and your colleagues found?”
“Certainly. I’m sure the jury can read what’s highlighted, but the bottom line is that Exxacia has approximately the same toxicity to the liver as do most other antibiotics. The risk is small but always there.”
Two male jurors on the back row nodded in agreement as they listened.
Now Metcalf was ready to drop a bomb. As near as she could tell, Luke never saw it coming and was not prepared to counter it. “Dr. Thornberry, one more thing. Do you have an opinion as to the cause of Samantha Vaughan’s liver failure?”
The witness took off his glasses and turned to Luke. “First, Mr. Vaughan, I want you to know that I’m extremely sorry for what has happened to your daughter. However, in reasonable probability, the Exxacia she took did not cause her liver failure. We know that she had a history of heavy drinking for several years. That undoubtedly left her with some cirrhosis, or scarring on the liver. Then she appears to have taken Tylenol on a frequent basis for headaches. Tylenol is a wonderful drug, but the medical literature is full of articles warning about the risk of liver toxicity in certain people who take acetaminophen, the primary ingredient in Tylenol and a number of other headache remedies. In fact, the FDA just decided to reduce the recommended maximum dose of Tylenol because of its impact on the liver. My opinion is it is far more likely that Samantha’s liver failure came from the combination of cirrhosis and acetaminophen.”
“Just how certain are you of that opinion, Doctor?” Metcalf asked.
“Oh, I’m quite positive. I was on a team that studied the effect of acetaminophen on the liver as far back as twenty-five years ago. Since that time there have been dozens of other studies all over the world.” He turned to the jury. “Please understand, ladies and gentlemen, I’m not suggesting that you should not take Tylenol. For the vast majority of people, it’s a superb painkiller.” Dr. Thornberry paused, searching for an example. “Think of it like peanuts. Personally, I like peanuts. I’m sure most of you do. However, there are some people who are so allergic to peanuts that the smallest amount of peanut oil in food can send them to the hospital, even cause their deaths. Samantha developed a reaction to acetaminophen. It’s not really the acetaminophen, but a rare individual reaction to it, that causes the liver failure. I’m not even sure that any doctor understands why, but there are too many reports in the literature to conclude it was anything else. Does that clarify my opinion for you?”
Several jurors nodded their understanding.
Audrey Metcalf smiled, stood, and said, “Pass the witness, Your Honor.”
“Very well, let’s take our morning break.”
As the jury filed out, Luke went to a back corner of the courtroom and reached for his cell phone.
Dammit,
he thought,
I didn’t see this coming. I’ve got some ammunition for Dr. Thornberry, but the Tylenol issue is a problem. I was too focused on Exxacia.
When Brad picked up, he told him to research Tylenol and its effects on the liver. Could Samantha have taken Tylenol for years and suddenly have this kind of reaction?
Following the recess, Luke began his cross-examination. “Doctor, let’s talk about that journal article you’re so proud of. Fact of the matter is, you and the other authors were paid to write that article by Ceventa, true?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Vaughan,” the witness replied, indignation in his voice.
“Wait a minute, didn’t you receive twenty-five thousand dollars from Ceventa?”
“Mr. Vaughan, that money went to my research foundation.”
Luke thought about the answer and threw out a question he didn’t know the answer to, violating one of the cardinal rules of cross-examination. “Well, then, Dr. Thornberry, isn’t it true that you’re paid a monthly salary by that foundation?”
“That’s true. I spend a lot of time in research, and it’s only fair that I be paid.”
Luke went to an easel and wrote “$25,000” with an arrow pointing to the words “Thornberry Foundation” and another arrow going to “Dr. Thornberry.”
“Some people might call that money laundering, right, Doctor?”
Thornberry’s face turned red, and he stood in the witness stand. “Mr. Vaughan, I resent that.”
“Dr. Thornberry, you’ll need to take your seat,” Judge Nimitz commanded.
Thornberry looked at the judge. “Sorry, Your Honor. I was upset.”
“And you know that all of the other authors were paid by Ceventa, don’t you?”
“Mr. Vaughan, I can’t say for certain, but I presume they or their foundations received a similar stipend.”
“Stipend means money, dollars, doesn’t it, sir?”
Dr. Thornberry had begun to nervously bounce his right leg up and down, up and down. Some of the jurors took note and began to see the witness in a slightly different light.
Luke knew he had Thornberry on the run. “Isn’t it also true that the article was actually authored by Dr. Andrew Grizilli, a full-time employee of Ceventa? You and the others just looked it over and signed off.”
“Mr. Vaughan, Dr. Grizilli is a distinguished scientist. I read every word of the article and saw no reason not to approve it.”
“Just didn’t bother you a bit that Ceventa wrote an article, whitewashing their drug, as long as you got your twenty-five thousand dollars!” Luke nearly yelled.
“Objection, Your Honor! Objection! Argumentative.”
“Sustained. Mr. Vaughan, please keep your voice down.”
Luke nodded to the judge. He was not concerned that the judge had sustained the objection. The point was made.
Luke turned his cell phone on over the lunch break. Since he no longer had the use of Sue Ellen’s office, he walked back to his house to check on Samantha. As he mounted the steps, the phone rang.
“Luke, it’s Sara Sinclair. I was hoping to catch you on your lunch break. Is this a good time to talk?”
“What’s going on? You okay?”
“I’m doing as well as could be expected. Ryan’s funeral is this afternoon, and we’ve got a house full of people. A FedEx truck just delivered a package addressed to Ryan. I opened it and found some computer discs marked
Ceventa Clinical Trial
and one thumb drive. He must have mailed the package to himself before he was killed. Maybe he did it when he got that phone call.”
“Wow! Did you take a look at the data?”
“I excused myself from the family and locked myself in Ryan’s office. The discs appear to contain the clinical trial. The thumb drive has summaries of various sites and other information along with Ryan’s memos to Boatwright. Several of the memos show copies to Ceventa.”
Luke paced back and forth as he listened. “Sara, I know this is a bad time, but I need that data ASAP.”
“I know, Luke, that’s why I called. What do you want me to do?”
Luke pondered the situation, knowing that Sara couldn’t be late to her husband’s funeral. “Is there someone who could load that thumb drive on Ryan’s computer and e-mail it to me?”
Sara nodded even though Luke couldn’t see her. “My cousin is going to house-sit while we go to the funeral. We’ve had an outbreak of robberies when a funeral announcement is placed in the paper. He can do it.”
“Great! And I’ve got one more request. Can you ask him to make copies of the discs and the thumb drive and hide them somewhere in the house? Maybe you can take them to a safe deposit box tomorrow. Then, if you’re okay with it, I’d like him to take the discs to a FedEx Office location and have them overnighted to my office for delivery first thing tomorrow. Can you do that?”
“I’ll get it done. There’s a FedEx location not ten minutes from here. I really want to help. Maybe at least this way Ryan’s death won’t be in vain. Luke, you need to win this case for Samantha and for Ryan.”
“I will, Sara. I promise.” Luke clicked off the phone and punched in Whizmo’s cell phone. It rang four times.
Come on, Whiz, don’t be in class,
Luke thought.
Please pick up.
Then he did.
“What’s up, bro? I thought you were in trial.”
Luke explained. “Whiz, can you go to my office and start reviewing the data on the thumb drive?”
“You got it. I’ll get Brad to join me,” Whiz replied. “By now we have a pretty good idea of what you’re looking for. Remember what I said about that sunrise. It’s getting brighter in the east, my friend.”
“One more thing, Whiz. You do any good with Josh?”
“Struck out so far, but I haven’t given up.”
After lunch Metcalf called two Ceventa scientists to the witness stand. Both praised Ceventa as a company that was dedicated to saving lives through research and marketing of drugs. Each had been carefully selected for his complete lack of knowledge of Exxacia and the clinical trial. She had long ago decided to leave Rudy Kowalski in Baltimore. He knew too much. About all Luke could do with them was establish that they were paid by the defendant and would lose their jobs if they criticized the company. Of course, their stock reply was that there was no reason on earth to be critical of such a wonderful company.