by Rayna Morgan
Tom watched as Pat entered the room and leaned over the policeman. The rebuke she received made Tom sorry he’d sent her.
Cranston shook his fist at Gus before stomping out of the room. Tom laughed when he saw the gesture Gus made behind the policeman’s back.
Muffled shouts came from the hallway. Tom made no attempt to open the door or disclose his presence.
When Cranston returned to the interrogation room, his face had turned a deep shade of purple. The veins in his neck bulged. Being in the same room was not an enviable position. From the succession of facial tics, Gus understood his situation only too clearly.
Pat came in carrying a mug and a paper cup. She handed the cup to Tom.
“He didn’t look happy about receiving that information,” Tom noted.
“He was plenty happy when he read it, until he saw the source,” Pat replied. She blew on her coffee and looked at him over the rim of her mug. “Hope you two never work another case together.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“It’s the rest of us I’m worried about. We’re the ones he takes it out on.”
Tom cracked a smile before turning to observe the interrogation. “When he read my statement, did he get that I handed him the motive because Gus was Kim’s partner?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s going to shred the guy.”
Tom and Pat watched as Cranston spent the next few moments yelling, waving his arms, and pounding the table. Finally, the prisoner’s head nodded up and down instead of sideways. Tom knew it was going to work. Gus was ready to talk.
Tom raised his finger to alert Pat as the door behind her opened.
“What are you doing here, Lieutenant?” a voice asked sharply.
Pat spun around, almost tripping to get out of the Chief’s way.
Tom didn’t respond.
“Oh, forget it. I’m better off not knowing,” the commander decided. He retreated, closing the door behind him.
Tom rubbed his hand through his hair and Pat grinned. They resumed watching the interview.
The policeman straddled a chair.
Gus leaned over the table and twirled his thumbs as he began his version of events. “Kim and I had laid our hands on some serious gems.”
Tom noticed the vague manner in which Gus referred to the priceless necklace.
“I wanted to get rid of the piece and blow town, but Kim said we should lie low a few days. She said the cops would be questioning dealers once the robbery was reported, so she’d wait until things cooled off before takin’ it to a fence.” He paused, hesitant to continue.
“What are you stopping for? Keep going,” Cranston ordered.
Gus squirmed in his seat. His face stopped twitching, but he still looked plenty uncomfortable. “By the next night, I was too on edge to wait any longer. I went to the hotel lookin’ for her.”
“Anxious about your cut?” the cop suggested.
“Kim has a rep for not always playin’ fair.”
“You knew she was staying at the Surf and Sand?”
“She didn’t tell me where she was stayin’, but it wasn’t hard to find her. Kim always stays in fancy hotels. I always stay in flophouses.”
“So you went to her room?”
“I didn’t know which room she was in or what alias she was usin’ but that wasn’t a problem. Knowin’ Kim, I figured she’d pull off a small job or two while we were waitin’. Tourists and hotel guests are always easy marks, especially for someone with Kim’s looks.”
Gus licked his lips and asked for water.
“You can have some when we’re done,” Cranston told him. “Continue.”
“I saw her with some guy on the patio. I couldn’t get close enough to hear their conversation, but it didn’t matter. I knew if I waited, I’d get a chance to talk to her.”
The policeman stood up and turned his chair around. He walked around to the back of the chair and leaned over it. “When did you catch up to her?”
“I followed them to Room 616. I figured it was Kim’s room, but the guy she was with pulled a key out of his pocket and slid it into the door. It didn’t make me happy seein’ she’d be awhile, but there was nothin’ I could do about it. I went to the bar for a drink.”
Cranston resumed his seat at the table. “What happened next?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes later, I see the guy walk into the bar. He takes a stool across from me and looks at his watch. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I see my chance to talk to Kim. I hustled up to the room.”
“What did Kim say when you showed up at her door?”
“She didn’t say nothin’. I knocked twice but no answer. I figured she was in the shower or somethin’. So I picked the lock and went in.”
“How did you manage that?” Cranston asked.
Tom and Pat knew the answer from Lea’s experience.
“I got my ways,” was the only response.
“And was she?”
“Was she what?” Gus asked, confused.
“In the shower, dimwit.”
“Nah, she was zonked out on drugs.”
Cranston perked to attention. “How do you know?”
“It wasn’t the first time I found her in that condition. We all got our weak spots, hers is cocaine. I started searchin’ the place, you know, to see if she’d stashed the gem. The phone rang, and a message recorded. I heard enough to know I had to bail.”
“What was the message?”
Gus scratched his head. “I don’t remember. Somethin’ like, ‘Hey, babe, I hope you’re in the shower and not asleep already. My meeting is a no-show. I’ve waited long enough.’”
“What made you think he was on his way to the room?”
“Lemme finish. The rest of the message said, ‘Just checking to see if you want anything from the snack shop. See you in a few minutes.’ I couldn’t hang around. I left.”
“You didn’t think to get the key to Kim’s room?”
“There wasn’t time. Besides, Kim hadn’t moved the whole time I was there.” Gus rubbed his index finger on the skin under his eye to stop the spasm. “I swear, I never thought she was dead, and I sure as heck didn’t kill her.”
“So, why were you caught breaking into the room next to the crime scene?”
“I figured Kim was planning to use 616 as safe storage. It was one of our usual plays.”
The inspector chewed on his inside cheek. “Safe storage?” he asked.
“We never stashed goodies in a room where we stayed.” His response was impatient, as though he were explaining something to a blockhead. “You know, so the cops could never catch us with the goodies on us.”
“Which meant Kim was staying in the adjoining suite,” Cranston concluded.
“When I heard she was dead, I went back to the hotel. The loot had to be in one of those rooms. I could hardly break into 616, it being a crime scene and all. By breaking into the adjoining suite, I’d have access to both rooms.”
“So what did you find?”
“I didn’t have time to look since there was someone waitin’ when I got in. You guys know the rest.” He leaned back. “So, are we done here? I don’t know nothin’ about no murder. About them other things,” he mumbled, “the knife and stuff—”
“Breaking and entering, and aggravated assault,” Cranston spat, “is that what you’re calling stuff?”
Gus cowered. “I need to talk to a mouthpiece.”
Cranston rubbed his hands across his belly. “Sure, we’ll call one. While we’re waiting, let’s hear it again, from the top.”
Tom threw his empty cup in the wastebasket. “I’ve heard enough. Gus is good for the break-in and threatening Lea, but he didn’t kill Kim.”
“I agree, but it doesn’t sound like the man in charge does.”
“That’s Cranston being a lazy cop. It will be a lot easier to convince the district attorney to hang the murder on a two-bit con artist with priors. Their chance of winning in court stacks up better than
it did with Eric.”
“That’s cold, boss. You don’t give the man any credit for wanting to find the real murderer?”
“He rarely gets hung up on principles,” Tom replied.
“Like arresting the right guy?”
“Like justice.”
He opened the door and checked to see if anyone was in the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Pat asked.
“To hear what kind of cock and bull story Eric and Maddy have come up with about a new suspect.”
“They could be onto something.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll keep an open mind.”
Pat jerked her head toward the room where Cranston was grilling Gus.
“Don’t be like him.”
“Not in a million years.”
Chapter Eighteen
When Lea and Maddy arrived at Eric’s room, he removed files from the chairs, closed his laptop, and sat on the bed.
Lea dropped her purse on the table and pulled up a chair. “How are you doing?”
“I’m better since Maddy brought me home and—”
Maddy slumped into the other chair. “Just tell Lea about the missing file.”
Lea rolled her eyes. “My sister’s being rude.” She turned to Eric. “She said you have information that may have a bearing on the case.”
“That’s right.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “John gave me a file Friday afternoon.”
“John?” Lea repeated.
He glanced at Maddy. “The man I was sitting with at the bar when I saw you in the hallway.”
“I can’t picture him.” Maddy shrugged her shoulders. “I was trying to become invisible at the time. But I remember telling you to pick up something you left on the bar.”
A flash of irritation crossed Eric’s face. “The ploy you used to get away from me.”
Maddy stared out the window.
“Who is John?” Lea asked.
“John Simpson.” Eric settled back against the pillows. “I ran into him at a college reunion a couple of months ago. I wouldn’t say we were friends in school, but we were on the swim team together. He swam the last leg on our relay team. We won the state title three years in a row. In fact—”
“Spare us a rundown of your athletic achievements,” Maddy griped.
Eric continued, a slightly wounded look on his face. “It was late Friday night of the weekend event. Everyone had been drinking. You know how difficult that first get-together is. People comparing to see how well, or badly, their classmates have done.”
“Having never gone to a class reunion, I wouldn’t know.” Maddy tossed her head. “We don’t need details, get on with it.”
“I had seen John earlier in the evening. We ran down our teammates and relived all our victories.”
Maddy sighed and twiddled her thumbs.
Noting her impatience, Eric continued. “A couple of hours later, I ran into him again. No, actually, I’d say he came looking for me. This time, he wanted to talk about my work. He heard I’ve made it big in the investment field.”
He feigned embarrassment, but any attempt at modesty didn’t play well.
“I told him about my job as a hedge fund manager, but it would have been pointless discussing stocks with him. He didn’t seem the type to play around with discretionary income.” He looked at his buffered nails. “To tell the truth, I was trying to get away from him when he said he’d like my advice. I figured he wanted a tip on a sure-fire penny stock, you know, like other working stiffs who invest on-line.”
Lea was put off by the comparison, but encouraged him to keep talking. “Is that what he was after?”
“Not at all. I was rather dumbfounded when he explained his dilemma.” He walked to the mini-bar and pulled out a pre-bottled cocktail. “Bloody Mary, anyone?”
Maddy drummed her nails on the table. “Which part of the new you who drinks less is this?”
Eric replaced the bottle without unscrewing the cap and faced them.
“John wanted my advice on being a whistle-blower.”
* * *
“You better explain. I’ll make coffee,” Lea said. She walked to the mini-bar and emptied a packet in the brewer.
“John works for D & M Pharmaceuticals,” Eric began.
“I’ve heard of them,” Lea responded. She filled the pot with water. “It’s one of the largest companies in the state. They’re responsible for a third of the stuff in people’s medicine cabinet.”
“It’s the main pharmaceutical stock I recommend to my clients.”
Maddy twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Is that the place with the sterile-looking lab buildings an hour north of here?”
“That’s it. Their corporate offices are housed in the compound as well,” Eric informed them. He walked to the balcony door and gazed at clouds skimming across the sky. “They had one or two product recalls in the past. There were rumors of problems with manufacturing. But they hired a new Director of Product Development several years ago. He brought the company’s stock back from the edge, and it’s been smooth sailing ever since. They’re blazing hot right now with their latest product.”
“What is it?” Lea asked.
“An antibiotic designed to combat drug-resistant infections. It’s already passed clinical trials and has FDA approval. It looks perfect on paper.”
“Is it on the market?” Lea asked.
“The company has rolled it out in five major cities. They’re planning national distribution next month.”
Lea placed paper cups in plastic holders. “It sounds like a money-maker.”
“The profit potential is huge,” Eric confirmed. “By the time a company’s put a new drug on the market, they’ve invested millions of dollars. But if it succeeds, it can be worth ten times as much.”
“So what’s John’s beef?” Maddy asked.
“He claims the research department informed the man in charge of product development of negative results in some of their testing. They may have distributed a bad batch of the drug which could cause serious side effects. If that’s true, the drug will be taken off the market.”
Lea poured three cups of coffee. “Can the company determine the problem, fix it, and get the product back on the shelves?”
“There could be a bigger problem in the way the situation was handled.” Eric accepted the cup Lea passed. “According to John, the product development manager didn’t order a recall. Instead, he had the batch removed from samples handed out to doctors and hospitals. Next, he sent the company’s salespeople to swap out the bad batch that had been sold to pharmacies. To cover his tracks, he ordered the reps to replace even good batches of the product. That way, it looked like the company was replacing the packaging of the drug, and not trying to pull a specific batch.”
Maddy spread her arms. “It sounds like problem solved.”
Eric shook his head. “I’m sure he hopes that’s the case, but even if the reps pulled the unsold stuff from the pharmacy shelves, there’s no way they got it all back.”
“Omigawd!” Maddy gasped. “You’re talking about people who already purchased the product. They’re out there taking the bad batch. How serious could the side effects be?”
“As serious as it gets.” Eric’s tone was somber.
“The development manager’s intent is clear.” Lea frowned. “He’s willing to roll the dice on any product they didn’t pull off the shelves. Settling lawsuits on the deaths or illness would be cheaper than a recall.”
“We’ve got to do something,” Maddy urged.
“Not so fast,” Eric warned. “D & M will bury you in a lawsuit unless you get proof.”
“What proof do we need?” Lea demanded.
“A smoking gun,” Eric replied. “That’s what John was giving me.”
“What kind of smoking gun?”
“One of the documents in the missing file is a copy of a memo authorizing the drug to be repackaged as part of a covert recall. It’s signed by th
e Director of Product Development.”
“What happens if we find the proof?” Lea returned to her seat at the table. “What consequences would the pharmaceutical company face?”
“It depends on the outcome,” Eric informed her. “At a minimum, the company is open to charges of securities fraud for failure to disclose negative information.”
“Since I’m not into stocks,” Maddy complained, “maybe you’d shed some light on what you’re talking about.”
“Before a pharmaceutical company can sell a drug,” Eric explained, “the company must prove to the Food and Drug Administration that the new drug is safe and effective. The drug must be submitted to clinical trials, and the results reported to the FDA.”
“You said the drug had FDA approval,” Maddy pointed out.
Eric raised a finger. “Even after approval, a company must report information in its possession that may negatively impact a drug’s safety. In addition, it’s considered fraud if investors are induced to make purchase decisions based on false information which could result in losses.”
“What’s the penalty for fraud?” Lea inquired.
“Convictions carry penalties up to twenty years’ imprisonment, not to mention significant corporate fines.”
Maddy raised her eyebrows. “And if the bad batch leads to serious illness or death?”
“The penalties and resulting lawsuits would be monumental.” Eric shrugged his shoulders. “Enough to put the company out of business.”
* * *
“It sounds like people at the pharmaceutical company have reason to want that file back,” Maddy reasoned.
“Absolutely,” Lea agreed, “especially the Director of Product Development who authored that memo.”
“What makes you think anyone knew John turned the information over to me?” Eric asked.
“Go back a step.” Lea folded her hands and leaned forward on the table. “How did John get his hands on the memo in the first place? I can’t imagine the product development manager—what’s his name?”
“Glen Jacobson.”
“Jacobson would make sensitive material like that readily available to company personnel.”
