Case of the Chatty Roadrunner
Page 12
Vance took the book and studied the advertisement. His eyes traveled over to Sherlock, who was intently watching him. Then his gaze dropped down to the computer and the database he had been querying.
Without saying a word, Vance dropped the phone book on the table next to the laptop and began typing some commands. A series of results popped up in a second window. Vance closed the window and tried another set of commands. The second window then reappeared, with the exact same list of records which matched his search.
“What is all that?” I asked. “Since when do you know so much about databases?”
“Since I use them on a daily basis,” Vance reported. “The program might be a little different, but they all have the same functionality and work the same way. Now, look at this here.” He tapped the screen. “The first screen was a list of results which searched for the word ‘glucosoquin’. Then I did another search, only this time I added the word ‘death’.”
“The same amount of records came up,” Jillian said, appalled. “Is this glucosoquin responsible for killing people?”
Vance shook his head, “Not according to the VICs records. However, I can’t help but wonder about the correlation. It looks like all the glucosoquin sales also have the word ‘death’ somewhere in the notes.”
“Pick one,” I instructed. I then pointed at the screen. “What about that one? It’s from some clinic in Anchorage, Alaska. Read the notes. What does it say about that gluco-crap?”
Vance skimmed through the file, “Samantha sold the clinic twenty doses of the drug. The doctor on staff, one Dr. Thomas, took his patient to Canada, so he could administer the drug to the patient. And, it looks like this guy was in his fifties.”
“The patient or the doctor?” I asked.
“The patient,” Vance answered.
“Does it also have the word ‘death’ in the file somewhere?” Jillian wanted to know.
Vance was silent as he read. After a few moments, he tapped the screen.
“Bingo. Here it is. Looks like the patient was seen at a clinic back in the States and was then admitted to the local hospital’s ER.”
“Why?” I wanted to know.
“The notes says the patient passed away from complications due to the flu.”
Memories of the saved web page detailing the symptoms of the flu flitted through my mind. Coincidence?
“Was this directly after administering the drug?” Jillian asked.
Vance shrugged, “I don’t know. It doesn’t say.”
Jillian forward, “Yes, it does. Look above the Notes field and to the right. Samantha noted the date the patient was started on the drug. Do you see the death date? It was about three months.”
“Then it can’t be related to the drug,” I decided. “I would think if the patient had some type of reaction to it, then it would have done so right from the start.”
“True,” Jillian admitted. “However, you never know with these new-fangled drugs anymore. The side effects are laughably ridiculous. Perhaps someone should have run a longer test on the drug?”
Vance moved to another of Samantha’s sales. This time, he found a 24 hour clinic from Twin Falls, Idaho.
“Twin Falls,” Zack commented. “I’ve been there before. It’s right next to the Snake River Canyon in the southwestern part of the state.”
“What do the notes say about this one?” Jillian asked.
“The VIC sold ten doses of the drug,” Vance began, “and it was...”
“Twenty to the first one, and only ten for this one,” I recalled. “Does it say how much the drug was sold for? This had better not be one of these super-expensive drugs that only rich people can afford.”
Vance fell silent as he searched for an answer.
“The Idaho clinic was charged $350 per dose.”
I cringed, “Ouch. Yeah, I’ve heard worse, but wow, I’ve heard a lot better.”
“Just a moment,” Vance added, as he held up a finger. “The clinic in Alaska was charged almost $750 per dose. That’s more than double. What the hell for?”
“Where in Alaska?” I asked.
“Anchorage,” Vance answered.
I pulled out my phone and did a quick search. A nagging thought had occurred, and I was pretty sure I had the answer. After a few moments, my suspicions were confirmed.
“It’s based on population,” I announced, as I held up my phone. “Anchorage’s population is nearly 300,000 people. Twin Falls is considerably smaller.”
“How much smaller?” Vance wanted to know.
“Well, hey, it’s Idaho after all,” I reminded him. I punched in another search. “Nearly 50,000 people.”
“The prices are based on population?” Jillian asked, confused. “I don’t understand why that would be.”
“Maybe Semzar was expecting the larger cities to be able to afford it more than those with a smaller population?” Vance suggested. “I’m not sure.”
“So, what happened to the Twin Falls clinic?” I asked.
Vance read through the file, “Let’s see. This patient was given glucosoquin and was eventually admitted to the hospital, too.”
“After how long?” Jillian wanted to know.
“Eight months,” Vance reported.
“Well, it’s not the drug, then,” I deduced. “I would think the time frames would be close enough to be similar.”
“What about symptoms?” Jillian asked.
“The clinic said the patient reported full body aches and a cough that refused to go away.”
“Oh. You’re right, Zachary. They couldn’t be caused by Samantha’s drug.”
Vance started shaking his head, “Au contraire, mon frere. There is a similarity.”
I shrugged, “And that would be...?”
“More flu symptoms. Body aches and coughs can be caused by the flu. Trust me, I should know. Victoria caught the flu several months ago and she went through hell trying to shake it. Body aches and coughs were just a few of the symptoms. Then she gave it to everyone in the house. Talk about the week from hell.”
“How old was this patient?” I asked.
“Late thirties,” Vance reported.
“Thirties for this one and the fifties for the other,” I recalled. “That really doesn’t help us, does it?”
“It’s just too coincidental,” Vance continued. “I mean, look at this. It looks like every clinic the VIC made a sale at, and we’re talking this glucosoquin junk, has some mention of something happening. I think it’s evident that the VIC thought something was up. Why else would she start taking notes like this?”
“You didn’t know my wife,” I told Vance. “That’s the kind of person she was. She was very observant. She took notes about everything.”
Vance punched a few keys on the keyboard. The screen changed again, and this time pulled up a different list of results. The detective let out an exclamation of triumph and motioned for the two of us to get closer.
“Here. Do you see this? What does this say to you?”
I looked at the screen. Another list of results were displayed. According to the report Vance had generated, the sales were of a mixture of other drugs, all from nearly two years prior to her switching over to glucosoquin. I shrugged at Vance. However, Jillian was also nodding. Whatever Vance had noticed, Jillian had noticed it, too.
Jeez. I was starting to think I needed to go back to school. I couldn’t be this dense, could I?
“Look at the Notes field, Zachary,” Jillian instructed. “Look how short they are.”
Comprehension finally directed a few rays of understanding my way. Those other drugs Samantha had been selling clearly hadn’t aroused any suspicion. Well, nothing noteworthy, anyway. But glucosoquin? She had a minimum of two paragraphs of notes for each entry. Vance was right. Samantha had suspected something was wrong with the drug, and from the looks of things, she had started her own investigation. Why, then, had she never asked for my help? Why hadn’t she told me anything about it?
“What was Samantha’s last entry?” Jillian asked.
I nodded. It was a good question. I just hoped the answer wouldn’t cause me nightmares. And, for the record, it did.
“All right,” Vance said, as he typed commands into the computer. “Give me a sec. I just have to sort by date modified and… here we go. It’s an entry in the Notes field, dated from the 22nd of November.”
“One day before her accident,” Jillian whispered, in shock.
“What’s it say?” I hesitantly asked.
“Just that she was taking her findings and was going to sit down with her boss and show him what she had found.”
“With Semzar,” I guessed, scowling as I did so.
Vance nodded and spun the laptop around so that I could see the screen, “Yep. That’s exactly what she was planning on doing, and now there are no more entries. Coincidence?”
Jillian squeezed my hand tightly in her own as she felt me take several deep, calming breaths. Vance looked up at me and then grinned.
“Do you know what this means? Someone at Semzar Pharmaceuticals knows there’s something wrong with glucosoquin and is desperately trying to keep it quiet. That means we’ve got to flush this guy out of hiding.”
EIGHT
“Sometime later that night, after everyone had retired for the evening, something pulled me out of a deep sleep. The bed was softly shaking, and it took me a few minutes to figure out why. Both corgis were awake, and both appeared to be pacing around the confines of the bed.
“What are you two doing?” I quietly asked the dogs. “Stop that. Go back to bed, okay? There’s absolutely no reason for you two to be awake.”
Have you ever tried to give a dog an order in the middle of the night? Did it work for you? No? Well, here’s an unsurprising news flash: it didn’t work for me, either.
Then Sherlock started whining, as though he was eager for something to happen. Maybe he had to go outside to go potty? I was finally able to clear my eyes and focus on the clock on the nightstand: 5:25am. I turned to look down at Sherlock, who continued to pace restlessly on the bed. Watson, for her part, was sitting directly on her rump in the middle of the bed, watching Sherlock wear a path in the rumpled comforter.
I groaned again and reached for my clothes. That’s just peachy. Obviously, the dogs needed to go potty. That meant I had to make myself presentable, which meant I had to stumble about like a blind man while trying to quietly find my clothes. Once properly attired, I clipped the leashes on the dogs and reached for the door handle. Right about then, both dogs lifted their heads and kept their ears pointing straight up. Sherlock’s hackles were raised and I could tell he was moments away from barking.
“Knock it off, Sherlock. You will not be barking in here, thank you very much. Jillian is sleeping in the other room. Do not wake her up, okay?”
Once again, my concerns fell upon deaf doggy ears. Sherlock started barking like crazy, as though he believed the Boogeyman himself had just walked into the room. Naturally, that worked up Watson, who also started barking. I tried valiantly to shush them both up, but to no avail.
Jillian’s bedroom door opened. Her hair was tousled, she was wearing one of the fuzzy gray robes the hotel had provided, and she was staring at me with a confused expression on her face. Before she could say anything, I angrily pointed down at the dogs.
“I don’t know what has set them off,” I grumbled, as I pulled on my shoes. “I’m going to take them outside and see if they have to go potty. If not, then I’m about ready to tell them to…”
I trailed off as I had just managed to open the door and was forcibly yanked outside, as though the leashes I had wrapped around my hand had just been attached to a team of horses. I was physically pulled out of the casita and am ashamed to say that we made it nearly a dozen feet before I was able to get my balance and bring my team of Clydesdales to a stop. Sherlock snorted with exasperation while Watson looked back at me, no doubt wondering what the holdup was.
Shivering in the cool desert night air (yes, it can get cold in Phoenix during the night), I yawned and looked for the closest patch of grass for the dogs to relieve themselves. However, before I could spot a suitable locale – and also realizing I didn’t have any poop bags with me – movement in my peripheral vision had me looking to my left. There, darting stealthily away from me and heading towards the parking lot, was a figure dressed in black and clutching something close to his or her chest.
Having seen weirder sites in my many years of living in Phoenix, I grunted once and turned back to the dogs. I had spotted a designated ‘pet area’ and was ready to guide the dogs to it when I heard a loud cry of alarm. Then, the door to Vance’s casita banged open. He was hastily pulling on clothes when he spotted me.
“Zack? What are you doing up? Did you hear…? Scratch that. Did you see someone run by?”
I nodded, “As a matter of fact, I did. Why?”
Vance hurried out of his casita and hastily stooped to tie the laces on his shoes.
“Where’d he go? Quick, man. We have to find him!”
“He was running towards the parking lot,” I reported, growing alarmed. “Why? What’s going on?”
Several nearby lights flicked on as hotel guests in other casitas were awoken by our loud exchange. Jillian appeared in the doorway to my casita, holding her cell phone.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“Someone broke in to my room!” Vance shouted at her, as he broke into a run. “They’ve taken the laptop! Come on, Zack. We’ve got to catch them!”
“I’ll call the police!” Jillian called out after us.
The dogs took one look at Vance’s retreating form and barked excitedly. They knew something was happening, and they were determined to be involved. Therefore, when I sprinted after my friend, the corgis didn’t need to be asked twice. As it turns out, I was the one in danger of being left behind, since it was all I could do to keep up with Vance and the dogs.
We arrived at the parking lot just in time to see a dark, unmarked van go peeling out onto the street. I cursed loudly, and even remembered thinking that I was glad Jillian wasn’t there to hear me. Vance then jingled his keys in front of me, as if he knew this might have been a possibility.
I caught sight of our rental van, where Randy had returned it earlier in the evening. However, Vance brushed by me as he ran towards the other car. I immediately scooped up the dogs and ran as best as I could after him.
“Buckle up, amigo,” Vance told me, as the Challenger roared to life. “That son of a bitch is not getting away from us.”
I cast an anxious look at the corgis in the back seat, who were each standing up on their hind legs so they could see out the windows. My seatbelt clicked into place and I nodded my readiness. Then, I was slammed back into my seat as all 500+ horses that were hiding under the hood surged to life at the same time.
I will say, for the record, that had I known that’s how much horse power the car possessed, then I probably would never have gotten into the blasted thing with my power-hungry friend. But, that doesn’t do me any good at the moment. From Vance’s perspective, an important piece of evidence had been stolen, from under his own nose, and my detective friend was determined to rectify the situation.
It felt as though the Challenger burned rubber through the first three gears. We were on E. Camelback Road, traveling west, before I was able to catch my breath. Vance, to his credit, handled the car like a pro. We were weaving in and out of traffic so fast that I actually had to shut my eyes a few times. He delicately shifted through the gears as he navigated around obstacles and not once, I might add, did he touch the brakes. How he managed to keep all four wheels on the ground as we rocketed by other veh
icles was beyond me.
And speaking of traffic, what the bloody hell were so many people doing out of bed this early? The sun wasn’t due to put in an appearance for just over an hour, yet there was so much traffic on the road that I was reminded of rush hour on the freeway. We were zipping by cars so fast that, to me, they were practically standing still.
Sherlock barked at each car we passed, as though the corgi was scolding the other drivers for being in our way. Watson had lowered herself to a sitting position and was content to keep an eye on things from there. I gave each of the dogs a quick pat before returning my attention to the road. Come to think of it, based on how aggressively Vance was driving, I would have done better sitting in the back seat with the dogs.
“There he is!” Vance cried, as he pointed at a van several hundred feet ahead of us.
The vehicle in question, a dark, unmarked panel van, was seen traveling erratically across all four lanes as it tried valiantly to shake us from its tail. The van skidded around a slow-moving semi, which caused the driver to slam on his brakes. The semi immediately jack-knifed, and brought traffic to a standstill, but not before Vance zipped by the huge rig just as it slid to a stop.
Then, we watched the van take a hard 90° right turn. Honestly, I was surprised the driver of the van didn’t lose control and roll it. As we neared the turn, I kept expecting to feel the Challenger slow, since I was certain the last thing Vance wanted was to have to explain why he totaled a $50,000 souped up muscle car. However, what I didn’t expect Vance to do was speed up, grip the hand brake, and apply it as he counter-steered around the turn. What was the result? We drifted around the corner, all without having to slow down one bit.
I grinned like an idiot the entire time.
“Dude, where the hell did you learn how to do that?”
“Practice,” Vance answered, as he spun the wheel to correct the car. “Lots and lots of practice.”
“That’s cool as hell!” I exclaimed, as Vance smoothly pulled out of the turn. “You gotta teach me that!”
“You’d need a manual transmission, rear-wheel drive car for that,” Vance casually explained, as he shifted through the gears. In a matter of moments, we had caught back up to the van. “Your Jeep wouldn’t cut it. It was a dangerous move, and I probably shouldn’t have done it.”