Silent Epidemic (Book 1 - Carol Freeman Series)

by Jill Province

  “What is it we’re looking for?" he asked. 

  “Anything about this study that we don’t already know."

  “They are getting ready to turn something into the FDA.  There has to be documentation of that somewhere." 

  “And just how do you plan to get into all these locked offices?"

  “I have the CEO’s key, remember?" 

  “And what about the filing cabinets," he ventured.  

  Sheila reached in her pocket and pulled out a nail file.  Smiling, she held it out for him to see.  Jerry groaned and placed his head in his hands.

  “I can do this alone," she reminded him. 

  “Over my anxiety-ridden body."  

  “Then it’s a date. And stop looking so worried.  We are close enough now to taste victory.”  

  Jerry knew the real underlying reason for Sheila’s obsessive and unrelenting mission to destroy Dominex.  He just wondered if her final victory would be enough.

   

    

   

     

   

   

    

  Chapter 24

   

  Brian sat nervously in the waiting room of the office of Dr. Bradford, Forensic Psychology.  Brian had never heard of forensic psychology before.  When the AJC attorney handed him his appointment card, he’d thought they had stepped the evaluation up a notch to see if he was also a murderer.  Cox laughed at him and assured him that the doctor conducted evaluations for all psychological profiles that would be used to either present or contest proceedings in court.  He knew he was sane, but even still, he did not trust the process of something so intangible.  He had seen plenty of movies where two psychologists would present opposite findings of the same individual.  That kind of outcome would never happen in DNA testing.  Psych results were subjective, not scientific, and yet still maintained so much power in the final outcome.

  Brian heard his name called and followed the doctor inside.  “Have a seat," Dr. Bradford offered.  Brian sat tentatively.  “Try to relax," the doctor said, noticing Brian’s nervousness.  “This is a meeting to confirm your healthy state, not disprove it."  Brian liked him already.  He was not in the mood for idle chat and appreciated him cutting to the chase. 

  “This kind of thing goes on all the time," the doctor continued.  “Anyone can claim anything in court, and they usually do.  I’m here to make sure your rights and your sanity are defended." 

  Brian let out a long sigh of relief, and said, “Thanks."  He wondered if he should share the fact that his wife was at the bottom of this whole mess.  But as angry as he was at her, he couldn’t outwardly discredit her to others.  He doubted that he ever would. 

      “So, tell me about yourself," the doctor began.  Open-ended questions were the best way to learn about a person.  The monologue also provided a road map for the sensitive ear.  

  Brian took a deep breath and began his story. He told the doctor about his job, his house, and current illness brought about by his sedative addiction.  He spoke for a solid ten minutes without mentioning his marriage or lack of children.  The doctor now had his first road sign. 

  “I noticed that you haven’t mentioned anything about your marital status," Bradford interjected.  “Can you tell me about that?"  

  Brian began to squirm in his chair.  This did not go unnoticed.

  “I’m married to a woman named Pam, and we have no children."  The doctor waited through the awkward silence.  “It’s her job, mostly."  

  “What about her job?" Bradford interjected. 

  Brian sighed, and said, “She is her job.” 

  “And what does that mean to you?" the doc prodded.  

  “I want children, she wants money and status."  There, it was out, and Brian knew he couldn’t go back to being the perfect patient.  Bradford was busy writing something while Brian attempted to regain his bland appearance.  

  “And how do you feel about that?" Bradford asked.  

  Brian was trapped.  He had no choice now but to bear his soul. 

  “I resent it."

  “Understandable," the doctor said, while continuing to write.  “And how has this effected your relationship with your wife?"  

  Brian thought carefully before choosing his words. 

  “We are very distant," he said finally. 

  “And how has that affected you?" Bradford added.  

  This guy was good.  Brian was quietly amazed at how quickly the man had gotten to the heart of the matter.

  Brian told the doctor about his unhappiness, his workaholic way of dealing with it in the past, and about his subsequent turn to sedatives.  “Looking back on it now," Brian concluded, “those pills did one thing, and one thing only.  They dulled out the part of my brain that kept a running tab on my unhappiness." 

  “That’s a pretty good assessment," the doctor agreed. 

  “It also came with a big price," Brian added.  “Not only am I sick from going off that drug, but I am more keenly aware of my unfulfilled needs now than I was before I started taking sedatives.” 

  “That must be very difficult for you," Bradford prodded. 

  “It is.  Our marriage is virtually over.  I used to run off to work anytime I needed the distraction.  But now there is nowhere to run, and I have had to take an honest look at everything." 

  “And what have you come up with?"  

  “That she is who she is," Brian concluded.  “She will never be loving or caring.  Pam is interested in Pam, end of story.”  Brian sat back in the chair while the doctor finished writing.

  “What do you plan to do about your illness?" Bradford questioned. 

  “Ride it out.  I have to believe that the withdrawal will pass.  I can’t be addicted to a drug.  I have to do this." 

  “Good for you," the doctor agreed.  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?"  Brian thought for a moment and then shook his head.  “Great," Bradford concluded and stood to shake Brian’s hand.  Out in the lobby Brian nodded to the receptionist.  That wasn’t too bad. 

  Dr. Bradford picked up the phone and dialed the number for the AJC.  “Wendy," he began.  “If Brian Carter is a hypochondriac, I’m the Pope." 

  “No kidding," Cox said. 

  “He never even mentioned the horrible thing his wife is planning to do to him in court." 

  “He’s a good man," Cox agreed. 

  “Hell," Bradford said, “he’s a better man than me."

     

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  Sam Reynolds and company were ready to call it a day.  The study was scheduled for completion in just one week.  They had been working hard to put out fires and keep other fires from starting.  Each member of the study team looked as though they had not slept in a month.  In Sam’s case, that was almost true.  In the process of concluding the meeting, Sam was checking in with each staff member for damage control.  “We have our court date set for this Monday," he reminded everyone.  He Turned to Paul Pratt and nodded for him to continue. 

  “The so called ‘witnesses for the defense’ are all taken care of.  The only remaining witness is going to appear questionable at best."   

  “How’d we pull that off?" Charles asked, always one beat behind his front line workers. 

  “We have an affidavit from someone who wishes to remain anonymous, but with enough credibility to make the witness look like a nut case," Pratt explained. 

  “Can we guarantee her anonymity?" Sam questioned. 

  “We won’t know that until Monday afternoon," Pratt continued.  “I filed the motion with the Judge yesterday, but as of three this afternoon, he still hadn’t made a decision." 

  “What happens if he denies the motion?" Jeff inquired. 

  “She will still have to come forward," Pratt stated.  Everyone
looked at the attorney questioningly.  “That was the beauty of this whole thing," he explained. “Once someone comes forward and makes an official statement, we get our testimony whether it’s voluntary or not.  In fact, she will have no choice about testifying if it comes down to that." 

  “Good work," Sam agreed.  “How about the other volunteers?"

  Margie picked her head up from the printout she was studying and cleared her throat.  “I have contacted everyone," she concluded.  “Each of the disgruntled volunteers is receiving a small settlement, which, by the way, they were thrilled to get." 

  “How many of the volunteers are receiving settlements?" Sam asked.  Margie looked back down at her printout and did a quick calculation.  “Two hundred and thirty eight," she announced. 

  “That’s almost half of them," Sam sighed with exhaustion. 

  “And the numbers don’t include the three volunteers that Mr. Pratt dealt with, plus the three deaths resulting from the study." 

  Everyone busied themselves with the papers and notes before them.  No one wanted to discuss the fact that there had been three deaths out of a seemingly random sample of five hundred people.  The volunteers had been handpicked for their probability to succeed.  In a true random sample, the results would have been far worse.  This carefully planned study group was an overly optimistic micro sample that would multiply in the millions when translated to the public at large. “Let’s move on," Sam directed.

  “We have the data prepared for the FDA," Jeff interjected, “and it’s air tight." 

  “Good," Sam agreed.  “We’ve done all we can do.  Let’s go home."  

  Everyone stood, grateful for the coming weekend.  Jeff lingered behind, waiting for the room to clear.

  “Sam, we’ve been keeping that data locked in my office.  Do you want to take it home over the weekend?"  Sam thought for a moment.  There hadn’t been a peep out of the Sheila team since their offices and apartments had been searched.  He couldn’t think of any reason to rock a boat that had been sailing smoothly to this point. 

  “Nah," he said.  “I really can’t think of a safer place, can you?"  

  Jeff shook his head. 

  “Just checking.  I need some rest from this whole mess and I’m not sure I could do that with the data hiding in my house." 

  “Fine," Sam agreed.  “Let’s get out of here."  Sam followed Jeff out of the office, locking the door behind him.

     

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  Sheila and Jerry sat in the Wendy’s across the street and watched the remaining management team drive out of Dominex’s vacant parking lot.  “Don’t you just love Fridays?" Sheila remarked, picking up a French fry. 

  “I don’t know how you can eat fries at a time like this," Jerry said.  He hadn’t touched his salad, and the ice had all but melted away in his diet Pepsi.

  “You aren’t a seasoned criminal," Sheila said, accusingly.  “It’s a skill, like anything else.  You develop the stomach for it over time." 

  “I don’t want to develop a stomach for it," Jerry said, pushing the food aside.  “After this is over, it’s over."  

  Sheila looked at him and knew he was adamant on the subject. 

  “Yes, I promise," she said soothingly.  She took hold of his hand.  It was damp with sweat.  “Try to relax," she offered.  “I’m a pro."  

  Jerry just shook his head at her. 

  “My girlfriend, the pro."

  “It‘s show time," Sheila said, popping one more fry for the road.

  The two walked past the night shift doorman and nodded.  “Good evening, Ms. Montgomery," the doorman said, touching the visor on his cap. 

  “Hey, Bob," Sheila sang. “Forgot my laptop." 

  “Yes ma’am," the doorman answered.  “I‘ll have to ask you to sign in.”

  “Oh, I‘m not staying,” she reasoned.  “I just need to grab the computer and I‘m outta here.”  The doorman looked a little uneasy, but didn‘t press the issue as the two walked briskly past him. 

  “She can’t work without her laptop," Jerry called back from down the hall.  

  When they were out of earshot, Sheila said, “Why don’t you just throw up on his shoes while you’re at it?" 

  “Sorry," Jerry said sheepishly.  “When I’m nervous, I talk." 

  “So does everyone else," she whispered loudly, “so stop it."  

  Jerry followed her through the hallway, working to control his anxiety.  When they reached Sam’s office, Sheila hesitated. 

  “What is it?" Jerry whispered. 

  “If you were going to hunt for incriminating data, where would you look?" she asked.  Jerry thought for moment, and then pointed to Sam’s door.  “Exactly," Sheila agreed.  “And since we already know how paranoid these people are, I’m guessing they thought of that, too.  Follow me."  Sheila flew down the corridor and Jerry had to jog to keep up with her.  When she reached Research and Development, she pulled out a key. 

  “Jeff’s office?" Jerry whispered questioningly. 

  “We don’t have a lot of time," Sheila said.  “If I only get one shot, I’m willing to gamble on Jeff Edwards.” 

  “It’s an extra door."  

  “This key unlocks every door," she announced, holding it up as though it were a prize.  With two swift movements they were both standing inside Jeff’s office. “Now, you keep watch," Sheila directed, “while I unlock the file cabinet.”

  Jerry stood in the doorway and watched his accomplice open a file cabinet with a nail file.  The whole process took under five seconds.  “I’m glad I’m on your side," he remarked. 

  “You have no idea how lucky you are," Sheila added.    

   Jerry stared down the deserted hall while Sheila began thumbing through Jeff’s files.  “Anything?" Jerry whispered nervously. 

  “Shush," was all she said, moving into the next drawer. 

  Jerry nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other while Sheila went through all four file drawers.  “Damn," she said, closing the last drawer.    

  “What do we do now?" Jerry asked. 

  “Closet," Sheila stated, moving to the door and grabbing the knob.  “Locked?" she said questioningly. 

  “Shouldn’t it be?"  

  “It wasn’t locked last time."  Sheila remembered how she had had to dive into Jeff‘s closet when she heard footsteps during her last search.  The closet had been easily assessable.  If it had been locked she would have been busted.  “I think this is a good sign," she whispered.  Now feeling more encouraged, she tried the CEO’s key.  It went into the hole, but would not turn.  “Double damn," she hissed under her breath.  She had not been prepared for the fact that individual closets might not be accessible to the CEO’s universal key.  Sheila reached inside her pocket and pulled out her own closet key.  It was a last ditch effort.  She slid the key into the slot while Jerry held his breath.  When the key turned and opened the closet door they both let out a long stream of air.  “The same contractor must have installed all the closet doors," Sheila announced from inside the closet. 

  “Let’s hear it for bulk discounts," Jerry added. 

  The file containing the research results was sitting in plain sight on the back shelf.  Sheila pulled out her tiny camera and began clicking on each page.  There were fifteen pages of data.  Jerry watched her in disbelief.  When she had photographed the entire contents of the file she neatly placed the pages back inside and returned it to the shelf.  “We’re out of here," she announced, locking the closet door.  After stepping into the hall, Sheila locked Jeff’s office.  “Piece of cake," she said, smiling at Jerry. 

  “We’ll party later," he stated, escorting her quickly out of the building.

  “Wait," she said, stopping in midflight.  “We better get the laptop out of my office." 


  “Good thinking, as usual," Jerry interjected.  

  Sheila stopped at her own office and retrieved the computer.  At the main entrance, the doorman looked up and nodded. 

  “Have a nice weekend," he called out. 

  “We definitely will," Sheila said, “and you have great weekend, too."   

      The doorman thought momentarily about signing in for the two visitors.  They weren’t visitors, he reasoned to himself.  They work here.  He turned back to his tiny television and the Atlanta Braves.  This was turning out to be a pretty good game.

   

  Sheila and Jerry walked quickly to the car.  They had parked Sheila‘s car just outside the employees’ entrance.  This was a critical and final move, and they did not want anyone to place them in the area after hours.  “Do you think the doorman suspected anything?" Jerry asked. 

  “Not so long as he was staring at my chest," Sheila said.  “I hate that.  I always want to tell people not to talk to ‘them.’  ‘They’ can’t answer you."

  “Sometimes it’s actually beneficial," Jerry interjected. 

  “Yeah, but it’s always annoying."

  They drove through the city at a snail’s crawl.  It was Friday and rush hour in Atlanta.  They had been sitting still at a traffic light, watching it turn from green to red for the third time.  “We’re never going to get through this light," he announced.  “Do you think we should put through a change of address with the post office?"  When he got no response, he looked over to find Sheila staring at a display case filled with wedding dresses in a store window.  Jerry forgot all about the traffic and reached out to hold her hand.  Neither one of them said anything.  Jerry was surprised that his outrageously independent career girl was even remotely interested in the whole idea.  “You would be a beautiful bride," Jerry ventured.  Sheila released her hand from his and slid closer to him, placing her head against his. 

  “Not yet." 

  “When?" he asked, pulling her closer.  

  Sheila stayed in the comfortable embrace for a few moments before meeting his gaze.

  “I can’t think about anything until I take Dominex out," she said, staring at him solemnly.  

  Jerry had been wondering how both their lives would be affected by the rise or fall of Dominex Pharmaceuticals. 

  “Sheila," he said carefully.  “What if everything goes exactly the way you want it to?" 

  “That would be lovely," she said with a confused expression.  “Why do you ask?"