“Looks like it’s really coming along, Chief,” Simmons says as he takes a drag of his Marlboro and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“Didn’t you get the memo, like ten years ago, Simmons? No fumar in el precincto,” Kennedy says with a laugh.
Simmons eyes the cancer stick appreciatively. “The job’ll kill me way sooner than this will.”
“Specially if the commish gets wind of this.”
Simmons licks his thumb and forefinger, extinguishing the cigarette between them. Kennedy looks on with amusement. “What? Simmons says. One of the benefits of playing classical guitar all these years. See—nothing but callouses.”
“Matches your personality. So what’s up?”
“Just thought you could use some help on this, that’s all. Kinda tough working it alone.”
Kennedy’s first impulse is “no.” He has men on it and is more than capable of running the case himself, and Simmons is a strange guy with a knack for rubbing others the wrong way. He looks the detective third grade over. Tall, reed thin, crumbled old dress shirt, and yellow tinged fingertips. This guy’s pathetic. I’ll throw him a bone and see where it takes us. Anything to keep him off the nicotine.
Kennedy scans his desk, sorts through the clutter. “All right, here’s the list of Malekoviec’s students from the last five years and her piano instruction books. You know classical music, see what you can make of it.”
Simmons smiles, his yellow enamel on full display. “Thanks Chief.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now grab your coat. We’ve got some suspects we need to interview.”
Chapter 6
The thirty-second boat ride from East 149th Street in the Bronx complete, Kennedy and Simmons tie up to North Brother Island’s tiny, new wooden dock. They stroll past four other rowboats, all equipped with outboard motors. Ahead of them lies a short stretch of beach, two hundred feet beyond that a patchwork building surrounded by overgrown trees, poison ivy, kudzu vines, and swaths of porcelain berry. Old lampposts and fire hydrants dot the landscape.
“Jesus, what is Hyslop thinking having a lab out here?” Kennedy says with disgust as a flock of black ravens surge out of a tree just ahead and fly menacingly close.
Simmons’ eyes scan the area, blinking rapidly, as if they are cameras snapping rapid-fire photos. “Looks like a scene from one of the Planet of the Apes movies,” he says with a mixture of fear and awe. He climbs over an old fire hydrant and dodges the remnants of a curb. “Wasn’t this place a hospital at one point?” he asks.
“Yeah. Pretty sure they kept ‘Typhoid Mary’ and a bunch of TB patients here back in the thirties.” Kennedy shakes his head as he looks at the structure ahead, a mishmash of the original reddish-brown brick held together by large swaths of new wood construction, most of which wasn’t painted or even stained. “Sure hope the city council gave Hyslop a good deal on this place. Doesn’t even look like it’s up to code yet.”
A sign above the doorway, its font an impressive calligraphy that belies the surroundings, reads ‘Institute of Immunologic Breakthroughs.’ Kennedy raps his knuckles on the front door and jabs at the doorbell. Silence. Simmons shrugs his shoulders. “Not exactly a hotbed of activity, huh, Chief?” Kennedy turns the doorknob and pushes, but the door refuses to budge. Leaning his shoulder into it, he tries again, this time falling forward a few feet as the door jerks open. He catches himself just before his face hits the worn, hardwood floor and straightens up to his full height as Simmons trails behind and closes the door.
The startled woman seated in front of Kennedy looks on curiously. “May I help you? We weren’t expecting any visitors today.”
Kennedy displays his shield for the receptionist, an exotic-looking, middle-aged woman with jet black hair pulled into a taut pony tail. He glances at the nameplate before her. “I’m Detective Kennedy from homicide, Ms. Aloni. This is Detective Simmons. We’d like a word with your boss.”
Aloni regains her composure as she looks up at Kennedy, her eyes locking on his. Then friendly, with a hint of a flirt, “Let me check his schedule.” Her fingers fly along the computer’s keyboard. “Hmm, Doctor Hyslop is in the middle of a reformulation at the moment. He can’t be disturbed now but should finish up in another hour or so. Is there something I can help you with in the meantime?”
Kennedy absently taps his badge on the desk. No choice but to wait. “Irina Malekoviec was a patient of Doctor Hyslop’s who died hours after her last treatment. I’d like to speak to anyone involved in creating the compound used to treat her.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” Aloni flexes her fingers several times, then waves the detectives toward a stack of wooden folding chairs propped against the far wall. As she rises from her desk, she adds, “Please pardon our informality and make yourselves comfortable. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?”
Simmons interjects, a nervous laugh and yellow-stained teeth on full display. “Got any Red Bull?” He winks. “Rough one last night.”
Kennedy rolls his eyes. Aloni, puzzled, smiles. She turns left at the rotunda behind her desk and a few steps later reaches a door to the lab. She raps on the door, waiting a few seconds before going in.
Kennedy drifts over to the rotunda and grumbles, “Red Bull. Really, Simmons? Next time you have something brilliant to say, don’t.”
Simmons joins Kennedy in the rotunda, sunshine streaming in from their right through floor-to-ceiling glass panes that afford an excellent view of the island. Simmons jerks his head away from the glass, toward where Aloni disappeared. “Notice anything unusual about her, Chief?”
Kennedy stares at Simmons, his annoyance unmistakable. “What’d I just say, Simmons?”
“Flexed her hands a few times after working the keyboard. Might have arthritis, like Malekoviec.”
“Yeah, so? Lot of people have arthritis.”
“Could make her a suspect.” The words come faster now. “Like maybe she’s desperate for a quick cure herself before it’s too late.” Simmons nods his head with excitement. “She coulda, I dunno know, had someone in the lab play around with the medicine they gave to Malekoviec, hoping to speed up a cure for herself.”
Kennedy’s face sours. What the hell am I gonna do with this crackpot? No wonder nobody wants him as a partner. With his best stab at diplomacy, Kennedy says, “It’s a bit doubtful, Simmons, but I’ll interview her, check into it. Any other breakthrough observations?”
“Naw, that’s all I’m saying.”
Kennedy laughs as he unbuttons his coat and admires the view of herons nesting about twenty feet away, high up in the trees. Then with more sarcasm than he intends, “Any chance I can get that pledge in writing, hotshot?”
Simmons laughs nervously and resumes the head bobbing as Aloni re-emerges, hands poised in front of her chest. She notices Kennedy examining a small defect in the window. “What’s this?” he asks.
“Oh, that. Our senior lab technician, Todd Zigler, likes to shoot for fun sometimes. I guess that one got away from him.” She smiles. “Would you like to speak with Mr. Zigler now? He should be able to answer any questions you have until Doctor Hyslop frees up.”
“Sure, that would be great.” Kennedy stands up, eyes her hands. “All that typing must be rough.”
Aloni’s face reddens as she averts her eyes and rubs one hand over the other. “Yes, and the RA doesn’t help.”
“RA?”
“Sorry. Rheumatoid arthritis. It was in remission for a long time, but about six months ago it came roaring back.”
Kennedy looks over to Simmons, his eyes speaking for him—keep quiet, I’ve got this.
“Sorry to hear that. Any cure for it?” Kennedy asks expectantly.
Her face brightens. “Not yet, but Doctor Hyslop will change that soon. He’s absolutely brilliant.” A moment passes. Then awkwardly, “I have a lot of reports to catch up on. Mind if I lead the way to Mr. Zigler now?”
“That’d be great. Thanks for your t
ime.” Kennedy catches Simmons’ eye and jerks his head. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 7
Harold Hyslop leans back from the maze of test tubes, pipettes, and reagents before him, stretching his back and working the kinks out of his neck. “I just don’t understand it, Todd. I’ve tested and retested the compound we gave Jacobs to use on Ravello, and I’m still at a loss for why he had an adverse reaction to it.”
Zigler shakes his head in frustration as he peers at the empty injector he’s holding. “I don’t know either, boss. In earlier treatments the silicon coating on the syringe’s rubber stopper leached into our compounds over time, but there’s no sign of that here.”
“Whatever the cause, we must eliminate it with the reformulation or risk an even deadlier reaction next time.”
A light tapping on the glass door to the lab draws their attention. Hyslop, annoyed at the intrusion, hesitates, then waves his receptionist in. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Doctor Hyslop, but there are two NYPD detectives out front. They’d like to speak with you about the compound we made for Irina Malekoviec.”
Hyslop stabs at a ream of papers on the workbench, shaking them at her. “I’m in the middle of the Ravello reformulation. I mustn’t be disturbed right now.”
Aloni pulls back, stammering. “Uh, sure, sorry to interrupt.”
Zigler, wide-eyed, looks at Hyslop, shakes his head. Guy doesn’t have a clue how to treat people, especially women. “I’ll speak with them in my office.” He silently returns the syringe to its holder and rises from his chair.
Hyslop bows his head in embarrassment as he smooths out the papers on the bench. “I’m so sorry, Kiki. Ms. Malekoviec’s death has me terribly upset... and in poor control of my emotions, I’m afraid.” He nods to her. “Please accept my apology and assure the detectives I will be with them shortly.”
Kiki is startled by the mea culpa. “Yes, Doctor, I’ll pass on the message.”
Hyslop turns back to his work, shaking his head and mumbling as Aloni and Zigler file out. “So little time... need to set things right.”
Chapter 8
“So, Mr. Zigler, what can you tell us about your work in the lab?”
Zigler wrings his hands. He bobs forward and back in his chair as he makes tentative eye contact with the detective. “Well, um, I’m Doctor Hyslop’s senior lab tech.” His eyes dart from Kennedy, seated to his right, to his odd-looking partner, Simmons, straight ahead and just to his left.
Kennedy leans forward. “And?”
Zigler squeals, his voice more schoolgirl than a twenty-five-year-old man. “Oh, like what do I do exactly?” Zigler blushes. “Well, I was brought in just over a year ago,” eyes darting between the detectives, “to straighten out some issues the FDA had with our lab.”
“What kind of issues?” Kennedy asks.
Eyes darting again. “Uh, look, I don’t want to make any trouble for Doctor Hyslop. He cleaned everything up, so we’re good now.”
Kennedy stares right through Zigler. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Okay, okay.” Hands wringing again. “A few patients died. The cops came in, found they were all accidental, no charges or anything. But the FDA didn’t like how Doctor Hyslop was doing some things, so they forced him to make some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“Bless his heart, Hyslop was doing it all: intaking patients, doing formulation, supervising a few techs, doing quality control, etc., etc., and so on. They had him hire me, take some of that off his plate.” Speaking as if an FDA employee now, he continues, “Make sure intake, formulation, quality testing, and dispensing medications are all separated from each other. Improve record-keeping and reporting of adverse effects.” Zigler lets out a nervous laugh. “Everything’s all peachy now. Doctor Hyslop’s got his areas and I’ve got mine.”
“I’m going to need the names of the deceased, all their treatment records, FDA stuff, the whole works.”
“Sure, Detective, no problem.”
“Getting back to your duties...”
“Sure.” Zigler swallows. “I’ve recruited all the techs we’ve added in the last year. I supervise them, making sure they’re handling their portion of the formulation process correctly.” He fans himself, his white-tipped nails beating rapidly back and forth. “Whew. A little warm for December, huh?”
The detectives stare back in silence.
Simmons interjects. “How many other techs? They all work on the same compound at the same time?”
“Actually, there’re seven others and me. They split into three groups of two, Group A working on the compound first, then Group B, and so forth.”
Kennedy stares at Simmons before re-engaging Zigler. “I see, so it’s an assembly-line of sorts.”
“Exactly. A little unusual for a lab, but that’s the way, Har—uh, Doctor Hyslop, likes it.”
Simmons wipes his nose with the back of his hand and rubs it on the fabric of his chair. Kennedy eyes him with disgust. “So, you’ve got three groups of two. That’s only six. What about the other tech?”
“They perform the quality control testing with me.”
“Okay, which tech helps you out?”
“It varies; they rotate every week so everyone is expert with each role. The less experienced techs, I look over their shoulders a lot. The more experienced ones, well, I pretty much leave them be, just check over things at the end.”
Kennedy nods. “When we’re done, I’d like to see the schedule of who worked where on the Malekoviec compound and a complete list of the patients you’ve treated.”
Zigler nods back, smiling, his fear easing. “Sure, no problema.”
“So’d everything check out when you tested the Malekoviec medicine?”
Zigler bites his lip and squirms in his chair. “Uh-huh. The mixture was well within specs.”
Kennedy’s eyes narrow. “You don’t sound too convincing.”
Zigler wipes sweat off his brow with his hand. “This next part may not make a lot of sense.”
Skeptically now, Kennedy says, “Try me.”
“Being within specs doesn’t tell the whole story.”
Kennedy’s eyebrows arch. “Yeah, how so?”
“The treatments Doctor Hyslop designs are so complicated, with each matched to a particular patient’s physiologic and immunologic characteristics.” Zigler’s eyes dart between Kennedy and Simmons. “Yes, we confirm there are no glaring irregularities in our compounds, but...”
Simmons cuts in, “You guys really don’t know.” He nods his head excitedly. “The testing, it’s basically a crapshoot, stab in the dark, right?”
Todd nods his head repentantly, the words tumbling out. “The last few months we’ve been moving soo fast. Signing up as many patients as we can. Working hard to get FDA approvals before our biggest competitor, Grayson Limerock and his Immunogenetics Offerings, beats us to it. Trying to figure out techniques to help Doctor Hyslop’s brother Phil.” He shakes his head in frustration. “We’re working so hard on development, our testing can’t keep up.”
Kennedy leans back in his chair, his pensive look morphing into frustration. “That’s just great,” he moans as he ticks the points off on his fingers. “We have to figure out if we’re dealing with a homicide, an accidental bad reaction to a medication, or something else entirely.” Kennedy shakes his head, spitting the words out. “Now you, the quality control guru, are telling me you can’t even properly test the medications you’re manufacturing?”
Zigler squirms again, then says with resignation, “In a nutshell, yes.”
Simmons: “So, you guys paying off the FDA or what?”
Kennedy glares at Simmons, clenches and unclenches his right hand.
Zigler interjects, his laugh high-pitched and grating. “No, detectives, nothing like that. We have an exemption, similar to a Class II 501(k), from the FDA. It cuts out a lot of the red tape, cost, and reporting requirements, so we can get the drugs to market faster.”
/> “Yeah, well good luck with that exemption if your patients keep dropping dead,” Simmons says with a snort.
“Tell me about it,” Zigler says dejectedly. “I’m the guy who has to report bad complications to the FDA. Never a fun job.”
Kennedy’s eyes tear through Simmons flesh as he growls, “Why don’t you stick to taking notes, and I’ll do the talking?”
Simmons pulls back, then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you say, Chief.”
“Tell me more about your competitor. Limerock, right?”
“He runs a billion-dollar company based in Manhattan and is our fiercest competition.”
Kennedy looks around. “No offense, but this isn’t exactly a high rent district. How are you guys in the same league as Limerock?”
“Mr. Limerock may be better financed, but we’ve got a slew of patents he’d love to get his hands on,” Todd says with pride.
Simmons jumps in. “Want ’em badly enough to kill for?”
Zigler shrugs his shoulders. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe?”
Kennedy scribbles in his notepad. “So, what’s this about Hyslop’s brother?”
“Phil. He’s got a failing heart, been on the transplant list for like years, but he’s slipping away.” Todd shakes his head with grief. “Doctor Hyslop’s being trying to develop a compound that tricks the body into accepting organ transplants from anyone so he can get Phil the heart he needs in time.”
“What, you mean like no more matching donors and recipients?”
“Exactly. It would revolutionize the field and save Phil. But it, well, I’m not sure we’ll figure it all out in time.”
Simmons cuts in. “You think Hyslop would cut corners with the testing to try and speed up a cure?”
Todd’s eyes dart to the left. “Well, I know he puts a lot of pressure on himself to save Phil.... But no he wouldn’t consciously do anything that could put another patient at risk.”
Kennedy nods his head. “No, of course, not consciously.... But, who would know if he did? No way to test the compounds for sure, right?”
Forbidden Cure Part Two Page 2
