"In other words, " Redding said, "first the patient has to be sensitive to the drug and then he has to get enough of it."
"Exactly. And statistically, that combination doesn't come up too often.
Arthgard has been so effective, though, and so well marketed, that literally millions of prescriptions have been written in the six years since it was first released in the United Kingdom. A death heref a death there. Weeks or months and miles in between. No way to connect them to the drug. Finally, a number of problems show up at just about the same time in just about the same place, and one doc in one hospital in one town in the corner of Sussex puts it all together. A little publicity, and suddenly reports begin pouring in from all over the British world."
"Do you have any idea how many hundreds of thousands of arthritis patients have had their suffering relieved by Arthgard?"
"I can guess. And I understand what you're saying. Risk-benefit ratio.
That's all people in our industry, or any health provider for that matter, have to go by."
"I've decided to keep Arthgard on the American market for ten more weeks." Redding dropped the bomb quietly and simply, then he sat back and watched Paquette's reaction. Noticeably, at least, there was none.
"Fine, " Paquette said. "Would you like me to continue the Denver testing? We have about an eighteen-month head start on the overall marketplace."
"By all means, Arlen."
Paquette nodded, scratched a note on the Arthgard file, and slid it back in his briefcase, struggling to maintain his composure. There was little to be gained by revealing his true feelings about what Redding was doing, and much-oh, so much-to lose. His involvement in the testing centers alone-involvement of which Redding possessed detailed documentation-was enough to send him to prison. In fact, he suspected that Redding could claim no knowledge of either facility and make that claim stick. Even if no confrontation occurred, the chances were that he would be fired or demoted… or worse. Several years before, a department head had been openly critical of Redding and his methods, to the point of discussing his feelings with the editor of the Darlington Clarion Journal. Not a week later, the man, a superb horseman, had his neck broken in a riding accident and died within hours of reaching Darlington Regional Hospital. "Have you the product test reports for this month?"
"Yes, sir. I took them off the computer yesterday evening."
Paquette was rummaging through his briefcase for the progress reports on the fourteen medications currently being investigated when he heard the soft hum of Redding's wheelchair. "Just leave the reports on my desk, Arlen, " Redding said, gliding to | I the center of the room. "I'll review them later. Could you bring my coffee over to the table, please?
I want to apprise you of a potential problem at the Omnicenter, and I could use a break from talking across this desk." Paquette did as he was asked, keeping his eyes averted from Redding as much as possible, lest the man, a warlock when it came to reading the thoughts of others, realized how distasteful the Arthgard decision was to him. On the day of their first interview, over eight years ago, he had sensed that uncanny ability in the aging invalid. It was as if all the power that would have gone into locomotion had simply been transferred to another function.
"Arlen, the Omnicenter was already operational when you joined us, yes?
"Sort of, sir." Paquette settled into the Chesterfield and took a long draught of the coffee he had surreptitiously augmented with cognac while Redding was motoring across the room. "The computers were in, our people were in place, and the finances had been worked out, but no formal testing programs had been started."
"Yes, of course. I remember now. You should go easy on that cognac so early in the day, my friend. It's terrible on the digestion. In the course of your dealings in Boston, did you by chance run into a woman pathologist named Bennett, first name Kathryn, or Kate?"
Paquette shook his head. He had set his coffee aside, no longer finding reassurance in the warm, velvety swallows. "Reese keeps me away from as many people as possible." He smiled and whispered, "I think he's ashamed of me."
Redding enjoyed the humor. "Such a reaction would be typical of the man, wouldn't it. He lacks the highly advanced abilities to appreciate and respect. With him, a person is to be either controlled or feared — none of the subtleties in between."
"Exactly." Paquette was impressed, but not surprised, by the insight. As far as he knew, Redding had had but one direct contact with the Metropolitan Hospital administrator, but for the Warlock, one was usually enough. "What about this Dr. Bennett?"
"She has begun investigating the Omnicenter in connection with two unusual deaths she has autopsied. The women in question had similar blood and reproductive organ disease, and both were Omnicenter patients."
"So are a fair percentage of all the women in Boston, " Paquette said.
"Have you talked to our people?"
"Carl called me. Both women have participated at various times in our work, but never with the same product. The Omnicenter connection appears to be a red herring."
"Unfortunately, we have other herrings in that building which are "That is precisely my concern, " Redding said, "and now yours. I have sent instructions to Reese that he is to find a way to divert young Dr.
Bennett's interest away from our facility. He seems to think he can do so. However, I have had my sources do some checking on this woman, and I tell you, Norton Reese is no match for her, intellectually or in strength of character."
"He would be the last to admit that."
"I agree." Redding opened a manila folder he had apparently placed on the coffee table prior to Paquette's arrival. "Here are copies for you of all the information we have obtained thus far on the woman. I want you to go to Boston and keep tabs on things. Do not show yourself in any way without checking with me first. Meet with our Omnicenter people only if absolutely necessary."
"Yes, sir."
"There is a small item in that report which may be of some help to us.
Bennett's father-in-law heads the law firm that handles the Metropolitan Hospital account, as well as some of the Northeast business of the Tiny Tummies line of breakfast cereals. Although the connection 1S not generally known, Tiny Foods is a subsidiary of ours. The man's name is Winfield Samuels. From all I can tell, he's a businessman. Paquette nodded. Coming from Cyrus Redding, the appellation "businessman" was the highest praise. It meant the man was, like Redding himself, a pragmatist who would not allow emotions to cloud his handling of an issue. "Do you have any idea of what Reese has in mind to deal with the doctor?"
"No, except that Carl Horner says he seems quite sure of himself. "If that's the case, " Paquette said, "I should be back in just a few days."
Redding smiled benignly. "I told you how I perceive the Bennettreese matchup, Arlen, " he said. "I've had reservations made for you at the Ritz. Open-ended reservations."
METRO DOC LABELS BOBBY JUNKIE.
The layout editor of the Herald had, it seemed, dusted off type that had not been used since D-Day. The paper lay on the living room floor, along with the Globe and Roscoe, who was keeping an equal distance between himself and both his masters. It was still afternoon, but the mood and the dense overcast outside made the hour feel much later The calls had begun at two that morning and had continued until Jared unplugged their phones at four-thirty. Letters, typed on Kathryn Bennett's stationery and signed by her, had been dropped off at both Boston dailies and all three major television stations sometime during the previous night. The gist of the letters was that, driven by conscience and a sense of duty to the people of Boston, Kate had decided to tell the truth about Bobby Geary. Stan Willoughby, who was mentioned in the letter, and Norton Reese, as Metro administrator, were called immediately by reporters. The pathology chief, not as sharp as he might have been had he not been woken from a sound sleep, confirmed the story, adding that Kate was an honest and highly competent pathologist whom, he was sure, had good reason for doing what she had done. It was not
until an hour after speaking with the first newsman that he thought to call her. By then, Kate's line was so busy that it took him almost another hour to get through. Meanwhile, Norton Reese, aided by Marco Sebastian and an emergency session with the hospital computers, had confirmed that there was, in fact, no patient named John Schultz ever treated or tested at Metropolitan Hospital. Reese was careful to add that he knew absolutely nothing of the allegations lodged by Dr. Bennett, whom he described as a brilliant woman with a tendency at times to rebel against traditional modes of conduct. Questioned for details, he refused further comment.
The house was like a mausoleum. Both Kate and Jared had attempted to go to work for business as usual, but both had been forced by harassing reporters to return home. Over the hours that followed, they sat, drapes closed, ignoring the periodic ring of the front doorbell. The telephones remained disconnected. There was a silence between them chilly enough to offset even the warmth from the wood stove. "Jared, do you want a cup of coffee?"
"Thanks, but no. Three in an hour and a half is a little over my limit."
He leaned forward from his easy chair and plucked the Herald from beside Roscoe's nose. Beneath the headline were insert photos of Bobby Geary's parents, along with a quotation from each about Kate, neither the least bit complimentary. "Goddamn tabloid really knows how to slobber it on," he said, unable to mask the irritation in his voice. "Honey, you do believe what I said about not knowing anything about those letters, don't you?"
"Of course I believe you. Why would you think otherwise?"
"No reason, I guess." The anger she had felt earlier in the day had been greatly muted by frustration and the growing realization that beyond a simple denial and the call for a handwriting analysis of her signature, she had absolutely no cards to play. Even the signature was of doubtful assistance to her claims of innocence. No one had yet come forward with the original letter, and on the photostat she had seen, the signature appeared quite accurate. "Why would somebody do this? Why? " Jared seemed to be talking as much to himself as to her, but it was clear that in his mind, confusion and doubt remained. "You say that Yoda and this Detective Finn were the only two besides you who knew about the amphetamines?"
"I said as far as I knew they were. Reese has it in for me, and he has his finger in just about every pie in Metro. He could have found out somehow, and…" She shrugged and shook her head. "I don't think much of the man, but I can't imagine him doing a thing like this."
"You know, Kate, you could have told me you were going to fake Geary's autopsy report. I mean, I am your husband."
Kate glared at him. "Jared, the three of us decided that nobody else should know. Call Mrs. Willoughby or Mrs. Finn and ask if their husbands told them. Do you share all the inner secrets of your work with me?"
"You never ask."
"Give me a break, will you? Listen, I know you're upset. You are a public figure, and directly or indirectly, you're getting negative press. But don't go blaming me, Jared. I didn't do anything."
Jared rose, shuffled to the stove, and began stoking embers that were already burning quite nicely. "I spoke with my father this morning, " he said over his shoulder. "My God, Winfield must be absolutely fried over all this. Do you think it would help matters if I called him?"
"He thinks you should call a press conference and admit that you sent the letters."
"What?"
"It's his feeling that as things stand, it looks like you performed an act of conscience, and then I talked you out of owning up to it."
"So my father-in-law wants me to lie in public to keep his protege from losing any votes."
Jared slammed the poker against the stove door. "Dammit, you already did lie. That's what caused all this trouble in the first place."
Kate felt herself about to cry. "I did what I thought was the kindest and fairest thing I could do for that boy and his family."
"Well, now you're going to have to think about what's kind and fair to this boy and his family."
"So you think that's what I should do, too?"
A loud pounding on the front door precluded Jared's response. "Police.
Open up."
Kate opened the door a slit and peered out, expecting to see another overly resourceful reporter. Instead, she saw Detective Lieutenant Martin Finn. Any lingering doubt they might have had about whether or not the policeman was responsible for the letters evaporated with the man's first words. "You really fucked me, Dr. Bennett. Do you know that?"
"I'm sorry, but I didn't send those letters, " she said with exaggerated calm. "Would you like to sit down? Can I get you some coffee?"
Finn ignored her questions, and instead, remained in the center of the room, pacing out a miniature circle on the rug. "I went along with this because I'm Irish and a fan, and look what it gets me. I was up for a promotion. Maybe captain. Now, thanks to you and your fucking grandstand play, I'm going to be lucky I don't get busted to dogcatcher."
"Went along with it? " Kate was incredulous. "Lieutenant Finn, it was your suggestion in the first place. For the kids of Boston. Don't you remember saying all that? " Her voice cracked. The day had been punishing enough without this. Suddenly, Jared pushed past her and confronted the man. Though he was taller than Finn, the policeman was far stockier. "Finn, if you've said what you came to say, I want you and your foul mouth out of here. If not, say it. Then leave."
"I'll leave when I'm fucking ready."
"Get out."
Jared stepped forward, his fists clenched in front of him. It was only then that Kate sensed how heavily Finn had been drinking. She moved toward them, but not quickly enough. With no warning or windup, Finn sank a vicious uppercut into Jared's solar plexus. A guttural grunt accompanied the explosion of air from his lungs, as he doubled over and dropped to his knees. Kate knelt beside her husband. "You damn animal," she screamed at Finn. "I wish it had been you, lady, " Finn said as he turned and walked clumsily from the house. The antique vase Kate threw shattered against the door as it closed behind him. Jared remained doubled over, but his breathing was deepening. "You okay? " she said softly. "Never laid a glove on me, " he responded with no little effort.
"Could you bring over the wastebasket, please? Just in case."
"You poor darling. Can I do anything else? Get you anything?"
Slowly, Jared sat back and straightened up. His eyes were glazed.
"Just remind me again what I told that minister."
"For better or for worse. That's what you told him. Jared, I don't want to sound corny, but that was a pretty wonderful thing you did standing up to that animal."
"For better or for worse? You sure that was it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Katey, I don't know how to tell you this, but in some perverse way getting hit the way I just did felt good."
"I don't understand."
"Right before Finn came in I was ready to tell you that I agreed with my father in thinking everything would be simpler and look better for all of us if you would just admit to writing the letter. Then that asshole started in. All of a sudden, I realized how wrong I was… and I'm sorry. I couldn't stand hearing him talk to you that way. Katey, please just try to remember that there's a lot going on that's confusing to me.
Sometimes I feel that living with you is like trying to ride a cyclone.
Sometimes I feel like a slab of luncheon meat between one slice of Winfield and one slice of Kate. Sometimes He whirled to the wastebasket and threw up. Sheila Pierce stared past Norton Reese's sweat-dampened pate at the stucco ceiling of their room in the Mid City Motel and reminded herself to continue the groans that the man found so exciting.
Careful not to disrupt his rhythm, she reached up and reassured herself that her new diamond studs hadn't come dislodged. "Oh, baby, " she murmured. "Oh, baby, you're so good. So good." She wished she could have seen Kate Bennett's face when the reporters started calling. Reese was hardly a Valentino for her, but she had to give credit where credit was due, and Reese deserv
ed what she was giving him for what he had given Bennett. "Oh, baby, come to me. Come to me, " she moaned. It had been a thrill just to watch, Kathryn Bennett, MD, Miss Perfect, confused and irritable, suddenly not in control of every little thing. How good at last to be the one pulling the strings. Too bad there was no way for Bennett ever to know. "Don't stop, Norty. Oh, yes, baby, yes. Don't stop."
Friday 14 December
Compared with the conference rooms of other departments in Metropolitan Hospital of Boston, the one belonging to the pathology unit was spartan. French Impressionist prints mounted on poster board hung on stark, beige walls. Below them, metal, government-surplus bookcases were half filled with worn, dogeared texts and journals. The meager decor, plus a large, gouged oak table and two dozen variegated folding chairs did little to obscure the fact that prior to a modest department wide renovation in 1965, the room had been the hospital morgue. Some among the twenty-nine assembled for the hastily called meeting still sensed the auras of the thousands of bodies that had temporarily rested there. Kate, Stan Willoughby seated to her right, stood at one end of the table and surveyed the room. There were six pathologists besides the two of them, some residents, and a number of lab technicians. It bothered her terribly to think that one-or more-of them might be capable of an act as malicious as the Bobby Geary letter. Those in the room were, in a sense, her family-people she spent as many waking hours with each week as she did with her husband. It had always been her way to deal with them in a straightforward manner, respectfully, and with no hidden agendas. There were only two characteristics that they knew she would not tolerate-laziness and dishonesty. However, to the best of her knowledge, none in the room could be accused of either. The closest had been the business of Sheila Pierce's claiming she had misplaced the required vouchers and certification for her Miami trip, and even then, Kate had no proof of her suspicions. Besides, the matter had been settled between them with little disagreement. John Gilson, the unit's electron microscopist, Liu Huang, a meticulous pathologist, whom Kate tutored in English, Marvin Grimes, the always pleasantly inebriated deiner, Sheila, herself, so very bright, so dedicated to the department, momentarily, Kate's eyes met each of theirs. "I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your schedules to hear me out, " she began. "I know the last day and a half have been… how should I say, a bit disrupted around here."
Side Effects Page 12
