A Murder Too Personal (ed rogan)

by Gerald J. Davis

A door opened behind us and a man and a woman in exercise clothes came into the gym. They glanced briefly at us and walked on. Something she said made me want to know more. I got off the stool and slung my jacket over my shoulder.

  “So long, doll,” I said. “Keep those gorgeous buns tight.”

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  “Well, the semester’s over and I have abbreviated office hours, but I could see you this afternoon at three,” Edelstein said over the phone.

  “Fine,” I said. “Where will I meet you?”

  “Come to my office. I’ll take you to the most popular student hangout.”

  “Outstanding,” I said. Then I asked him, “Do you remember me?”

  “Sure I do, Rogan,” he guffawed. “You were the one voted most likely to end up under a beer truck.”

  “Yeah, that would be me. Makes me feel good to know my reputation preceded me.”

  The drive down to Princeton was a breeze and the BMW didn’t overheat. It was a little after three when I got to the campus. Edelstein was waiting for me in his office. He hadn’t changed much from the way he looked as an undergraduate, except that his sandy hair was thinner and less curly. Or maybe it was just because he cut it shorter and combed it straight back. He used to be as big as a house. Now he was as big as a small condo complex. He had the same awkward grin and the same soft, sibilant voice. His glasses were different. In the old days, he wore gold wire-rimmed aviator glasses. Now his lenses were large and square and rimless. His face was as unlined as a teenager’s, which you could probably attribute to the fact that he had so much money he could tell the dean to take a trip to Kosovo whenever he felt like it.

  When he saw me, he chuckled loudly, came over and punched me in the arm. It was my bad arm. He saw me wince.

  “What’s the matter? You getting flabby?” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s the aging process, you know.”

  He nudged me again. “Never heard of it. Anabolism. Catabolism. It’s all a state of mind.”

  “Maybe for a biologist like you,” I said. “You can repeal the laws of the double helix but the rest of us have to live with it.”

  He nodded. “Still the same old Rogan. You haven’t changed at all. Better looking than ever, in fact. You could have played a senator from central casting.”

  “Except I feel like the great old white leviathan, with all these scars on my carcass.”

  He grinned. “I’ll engineer a new skin for you that will regenerate your tissue and repair all your scars.”

  “Can you do that?”

  He shrugged. “In a few years, maybe. It’s not my top priority.”

  I took a brief look around the office. It was academic nondescript except for the photos on the wall. There were pictures of the statues on Easter Island, the Sydney opera house, the Great Wall of China and Saint Peter’s in Red Square. Nice work if you can get those sabbaticals and have the bucks to enjoy them.

  “What is your top priority?” I asked him.

  “Well, right now it’s finding a cure for sepsis using recombinant DNA. But I don’t think we’re going to find it for a while. It’s very difficult. There are so many different forms of…” He stopped in mid-sentence. “You must be thirsty. Driving all the way from New York. My top priority right now is buying you a beer. It’ll bring back those good old drunken undergraduate days.”

  I slung my arm around his shoulder. “Couldn’t think of a better priority myself.”

  We strolled across the campus in a time warp, like medieval monks among the gothic buildings. Nothing had changed. It was as if the sixties and the seventies and the eighties and the nineties had never existed. The waves of time had washed over the campus in never-ending echelons, erasing all memories. All the agony of Viet Nam, the riots of the sixties, the oil crisis of the seventies. All lost in the dim mists of history. Lord Macaulay had said, “Nothing matters very much, and hardly anything matters at all.” The kids, the buildings, the campus, everything looked as peaceful as it did back then. Some boys were playing Frisbee while another group tossed a football back and forth.

  We talked about buddies, marriages, divorces, cancers, deaths and heartbreaks, a hell of a lot more cynical than we were the last time we walked on the freshly-mown grass. The buildings didn’t look any older than they did two or three millennia ago.

  Edelstein took me to the tavern we used to frequent when we were undergraduates. It was a working-class bar but it was too early in the afternoon for the usual patrons. Dim and dank and smelling of brew, it hadn’t changed at all over the years. Only the bartender had changed. He’d been old then. He was positively ancient now. He looked like one of those villagers from the Caucasus who live to be a hundred and twenty.

  He recognized me and said with a glint in his rheumy gray eyes, “You college boys…you all get older, but you all come back. I remember you, sonny boy. You used to like your beer.” His hands shook as he poured us a couple of Rolling Rocks.

  “Still do, Pops,” I said. “Only now it’s the non-alcoholic kind for me.”

  He snorted. “What’s the point, sonny boy?”

  Edelstein led me to a booth in the back. There was a man by himself at the next table, hunched over a shot of whisky, and a boy and girl sitting across from us in a booth holding hands. They were college kids and they were deep in conversation about something to do with political correctness. The boy was saying something about “censorship by the minority” and the girl responded by saying something like “dead white males.” Then the boy’s hand slipped under the table and started playing with the girl’s crotch.

  On the jukebox, Johnny Cash was singing a song about falling into a burning ring of fire.

  I turned back to Edelstein. “I understand Insignia is about to get FDA approval on their new drug, this HBF gene thing.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “I assume this means a lot of pocket change.”

  He grunted. “You could say that.”

  “I’m looking into a murder case. Two murder cases. My ex-wife and her sister were both killed. You never met Alicia but…”

  “Yes, I did,” Edelstein said.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “I met Alicia.”

  “When?” I felt like a bloody idiot.

  “A couple of years ago. It was at a party my partner, Chisolm, gave to celebrate some contract. Your ex introduced herself. She told me she was a securities analyst. She said she was thinking about covering biotech. She asked me for some advice. I told her I’d be glad to help her anytime.”

  He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “About four months ago, she called and said she was preparing a research report on Insignia and could I help her with some evaluations. I told her I’d been out of the company for several years but I’d call some people I knew there and put her in touch with them.”

  “Alicia never covered biotech,” I said.

  Edelstein took off his glasses and closed his eyes. “Interesting,” he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “She said she’d already spoken to Chisolm, so I told her to call a fellow named Eric Hobley who was in charge of the clinical trials. After she did, Eric called and said he wanted to meet me.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at me. “It was a very disturbing meeting.”

  I stopped him. “Did this meeting have anything to do with the FDA approval?”

  He nodded. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to bring a new drug to market?”

  “I can guess,” I said.

  “More than your guess. It can be in the neighborhood of a hundred million bucks.”

  “Pretty high rent neighborhood.”

  He leaned back in the booth and took a swallow of beer. So did I, except I finished mine.

  “I don’t want to say too much because I don’t have all the facts, but I’m going to put you in contact with Hobley. He’ll be able to fill in the details.”

  “Will they get FDA approval for the drug
?”

  “Probably,” he said. He drained what was left of his beer. “That’s what troubles me.”

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  Eric Hobley looked just like I thought he would. He was a thin wiry guy, about five-six, with a high-pitched voice and a shock of brown hair over his forehead. His eyes were dark and deep-set and constantly moving. The only sartorial feature I hadn’t predicted was the bow tie he wore with a starched white shirt.

  “Alan Edelstein said you were a man of confidence,” he said.

  It was a familiar expression in Spanish, I’d never heard it used in English before.

  “Honestly, I’m a little concerned and I don’t know what to do.” He chewed on his thumbnail. His nails were all bitten to the quick. It was tough to see what there was left to chew on.

  I got up and went to the outer office. The glass partition hadn’t been replaced yet and I could see his bald spot through the opening.

  “Want some coffee?” I asked him.

  “Sure,” he said. “With milk and sugar, please.”

  I went back to my desk and handed him a cup of black coffee. “You’ll have to take it black. I don’t have any milk or sugar.”

  He made a face but took a sip anyway.

  I sat down, rolled my chair back and put my feet up on the desk.

  He took a few more sips, made a few more faces, but didn’t say anything.

  Finally I said, “What are you concerned about?”

  He started to work on his other thumb. “I don’t want to get into any trouble, but I’m in a very difficult position.”

  He stopped talking and sat there as if waiting for a revelation.

  I said to him, “Tell me about it.”

  He swallowed hard and said, “All right. You know the kind of work I do. I’m a technician. I work on the clinical trials at Insignia.” He took another sip and it was evident he wasn’t enjoying the coffee. “I’ve never had any trouble before in my life.”

  He looked like he’d never even had an overdue video rental.

  “Well, we’re about to get FDA approval on a new blood product that we manufacture through genetic engineering.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And I’m in charge of compiling the clinical trials.”

  This guy seemed to have a real problem getting to the point.

  “So?”

  His eyes kept darting around the room. He opened his mouth and then shut it. He didn’t say anything for almost a minute.

  “So what’s the problem? The mice started fucking the cats?”

  “No, no, no.” He shook his head vigorously. “You don’t understand. The clinical trials were conducted on volunteers. That is, human volunteers, you see?”

  “I kinda guessed that.”

  “Well, anyway, I believe…no, I know that the trials were not valid and reliable. The study design was flawed and, to make matters worse, the data were doctored.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Up to this point, he hadn’t looked me in the eye once. But now he did. For the briefest split-second.

  “Mr. Chisolm had all the technicians use just one kind of blue Bic ball-point pen. All the records were kept with this one specific kind of pen. And I personally witnessed Mr. Chisolm change the results on several occasions. I was familiar with the parameters of the study and the control group and I know for a fact that the data and the results are different. What I don’t know is whether the changes were material enough to get us the approval.”

  “How significant are the changes?”

  He brushed back his forelock with his hand and moved to the edge of his chair. “Well, you see, the clinicals are supposed to show that the drug is safe and efficacious. We have a problem in both areas. There have been unfortunate side effects and even three fatalities. Now, that’s still within acceptable limits but it appears that the fatalities were ascribed to other causes rather than to the drug.”

  “Would that be enough to stop approval?” I asked.

  “Not in and of itself. But it raises serious questions and would require additional testing. And that, of course, would cost more money.”

  “Is that serious?”

  He nodded. “You bet it is. We’re at the end of the line. Our venture capitalists have said they’re going to pull the plug. They told us they’ve sunk in too much money already and they weren’t going to invest any more. This was our last chance.”

  “Would it be a problem if you didn’t get the approval now?”

  He looked at me as if I’d asked, would it be a problem if the sun didn’t rise tomorrow.

  “It would mean the end of the company and all the years we’d put into it.” He fidgeted in his seat and cast his eyes down.

  I took my feet off the desk and sat up. “OK. What can I do?”

  “I can’t in good conscience let a flawed drug onto the market without verifiable clinicals. Too many people’s lives are at risk.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Honestly I’m afraid to do anything myself. I’m not a brave person. But I believe in doing the correct thing. You can see I’m in a terrible dilemma. I want to blow the whistle but…”

  I finished his sentence. “You’re scared? You want me to do it for you?”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “OK,” I said. “Your fairy godmother just granted your wish. But first I’m going to ask you some questions. And I need some sharp answers.”

  He sighed with relief. “I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  “Did you know a woman named Alicia Rogan?”

  “Yes. She called me a few months ago. Early April, I think it was. Said she was doing some research on Insignia and could I assist her. At first, I thought this could be the answer. She would be the conduit for me to get the clinicals out to the proper authorities. I gave her copies of as much of the flawed documentation as I could. But that’s where it ended.”

  This was starting to smell most foul. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Hobley spread his hands helplessly. “She didn’t do anything with the information.”

  That’s what you think, buddy boy. This amateur was playing a game and he didn’t even know what game he was playing or how high the stakes were.

  “I never could reach her after that. She never returned my calls. It was as if she used me and then discarded me. I was terribly discouraged after that.”

  “Did you notice any changes in Chisolm after you gave Alicia the documents?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing special that I could point to…except maybe…he became even more intense than before…more determined.”

  “More determined to do what?”

  “To get the FDA approval.”

  I sat back. So Alicia had been a busy beaver. Jergens wasn’t the only one she’d been blackmailing.

  “What do you think she did with the copies you gave her?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Beats me. As far as I know, she never wrote that research report.”

  You bet your sweet ass, buddy boy. She was getting a lot more mileage out of those papers than just a fat Wall Street paycheck.

  I took my feet off the desk and leaned forward in my chair. “Here’s what I want you to do,” I said. “Is there a back entrance to the place where you keep the clinicals?”

  He looked at me again briefly. “Yes, there is. The files are kept in a room next to the lab.”

  “Can you leave that door unlocked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there an alarm?” I said.

  He nodded. “Yes, but I can turn it off.”

  “Good. Now how do I get over the fence?”

  He thought for a minute. “There’s a gate on the north side. No one ever uses it, though. I think I can leave it unlatched for you.”

  I got up. “Outstanding, Eric. We’re going to be excellent partners in crime.”

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  Hobley was as good as his word. The north gate was left unlocked. I pushed on it a
nd it swung open with a little effort and a loud squeak. The noise was almost as loud as the chorus of the crickets. Fortunately, their chirping would have drowned out any sound quieter than a freight train chugging up a forty-five degree grade.

  Before I headed for the buildings I broke the catch of the lock with the butt of my gun to make it look like a forced entry. There was no use pointing an incriminating finger any more than necessary. Nobody could tell who was going to catch the flak for this unorthodox entry. Chisolm was going to be pissing in his pants when he learned about this surgical removal.

  The lights were on in the two low-slung buildings, but otherwise the night was black as hell and twice as forbidding.

  I dropped to a crouch and crossed twenty meters of lawn to the back of the nearest building. That was where the offices were. I flattened myself against the building with my back to the brick wall. In front of me, about fifteen meters away, at the edge of the parking lot was a white security van. The lettering on the side of the van was too indistinct to make out. Next to the van was Chisolm’s fool car, the Hummer. So Chisolm was working late. Either he was doing some honest productive work or he was doctoring up some more phony clinical trial results.

  The windows behind me were above eye-level, so I couldn’t get a look inside the building. There was no way of telling if there was a batallion inside or just a lone security guard. Hobley had given me some intelligence, but his information might have been inaccurate or obsolete. I hated to go blind into a situation like this.

  It was another twenty meters to the second building. I made my way over in a crouch. Both buildings were two stories. This one housed the labs. Hobley had described the emergency exit. I ran my hand along the brick wall until I found it, maybe five meters down on the far side. It was a solid steel door that opened outward. I put the heels of both hands against the door. It was cold to the touch in spite of the warm evening air.

  I listened. There wasn’t a sound except the crickets. I couldn’t see a damn thing for the blackness and I didn’t want to use a flashlight unless I had to.

  The door didn’t have anything to grab on to. I ran my hands over the entire surface. Then, halfway down on the left-hand side, a piece of cardboard stuck out an inch. That was where Hobley had taped over the lock. I pulled the piece of cardboard slowly until I could get a couple of fingers inside the door. This was the moment of truth when the alarm would go off.