Table of Contents
Cover
Also by Charles Atkins
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Also by Charles Atkins
THE CADAVER’S BALL
GO TO HELL
THE PORTRAIT
THE PRODIGY
RISK FACTOR
ASHES, ASHES *
MOTHER’S MILK *
The Lilian and Ada mystery series
VULTURES AT TWILIGHT *
BEST PLACE TO DIE *
DONE TO DEATH *
* available from Severn House
ELIXIR
Charles Atkins
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2020
in Great Britain and 2020 in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2021 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2020 by Charles Atkins.
The right of Charles Atkins to be identified
as the author of this work has been asserted
in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-9050-4 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-705-7 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0426-4 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described
for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are
fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
To Harvey and Cynthia Atkins
ONE
At six and a half, Jen Owens knew she would not have a seventh birthday. It didn’t bother her, not that part, at least. What hurt, and she fantasized about it for hours every day, was the kitten she would never have. It would come as a present in an open-topped box with pink or blue satin bows and shiny rainbow paper.
From her child-sized chair that overlooked the parking garage for Boston’s St Mary’s Children’s Hospital, she spun her beloved fantasy. She’d have hair, not the half inch of blonde fuzz that fell victim to every new bout of chemo or radiation, and wear overalls with bright red suspenders. Like a smooth river rock, the details fit. Parts she left open. Like when she finally got to look in the box, would it be a fur-ball white Persian or a green-eyed tabby? Sometimes with short hair, but more often with the luxurious coat of a Maine Coon. She pictured white-tufted ears, symmetrical markings, and little noises it would make as it looked up at her and tried to climb the walls of the box. Tears streamed as she saw herself reach in and touch it for the first time. She whispered to no one, the names she’d picked out, Stewie if it were a boy kitten and Gracie if it were a girl.
She closed her eyes and imagined kitten fur against arms and her cheek. She heard the soft purr in her ear.
‘Jen.’
A familiar man’s voice intruded.
She sighed, and it all evaporated. She opened her eyes. ‘Dr Frank.’ Not as good as the kitten, but her favorite adult, though she did love Mommy and Daddy. She liked the way he looked straight at her, when so many others, including Mommy and Daddy couldn’t look her in the eye. But not Doctor Frank.
She’d sometimes glimpse him in the hall, surrounded by white-coated doctors and nurses, always in movement, always in a hurry. Like the ducklings in one of her favorite books set in the Boston Gardens, which she’d never seen, though she knew it was close. But not now, now he was quiet. His warm brown eyes were focused on her.
‘Are your parents here?’
‘No.’ It was the middle of a Monday, they both worked. ‘Is it a holiday today? It’s not Saturday or Sunday.’
‘They asked me to meet them.’ He pulled out his cell. ‘I guess I’m early.’
‘You’re always early.’
‘You’re observant.’
She watched as he settled cross-legged on the small Thomas the Train carpet in front of the window. Even so, his head was higher than hers as she sat in her chair. ‘You’re tall. I like that. I can see you from far away. You need a comb. You got happy hair.’
He smiled and pulled his fingers through a mop of dark curls. ‘It starts combed, but as the day goes on, it gets happy, does its own thing.’
‘Better than mine,’ she said, staring out the window at the bustle below. Ambulances, medical personnel, and just people passing by the hospital on their way to wherever. She felt his gaze.
‘Thinking about kittens?’ he asked.
‘Yup. You should have one up here.’
‘You know we can’t.’
‘They have therapy pets on other floors.’
‘I know.’
She wanted to keep going, but she knew the reasons, and she didn’t want to waste her time with Dr Frank on something neither one of them could change. Like her never having a seventh birthday. ‘Why do Mommy and Daddy want to see you?’
‘They didn’t say, but said it was important.’
‘OK. So what did you bring me?’
From a lab coat pocket he pulled out an iPad. ‘I found this.’
; She waited as he opened an app that filled the entire screen with a kitten.
Her breath caught. ‘Let me see.’ Enthralled, she took it. Then she started to cough. Dr Frank’s calming hand landed on her back, as one cough blossomed into another and then another, like they’d never end.
‘Ssh.’ He smoothed circles between her shoulder blades as she struggled for breath. Her fingers clenched the tablet as the kitten stared back at her. ‘Ssh. Tighten your tummy muscles,’ he instructed. ‘That’s right.’
He sounded calm, and that helped. His voice stayed deep and like a rock she held onto it. She squeezed her tummy and hated the pain that ran from the back of her mouth all the way to her belly. It burned. She stared at the kitten, and then up at Dr Frank and into his eyes. Those were real. And then behind him, in the doorway she saw Mommy and Daddy and a man she didn’t know. She tightened her tummy hard as she could. She didn’t want Mommy and Daddy to see, but Mommy’s eyes looked scared.
‘I’m OK.’ She wheezed and forced a smile. The burn at the back of her throat was bad, and a tickle threatened to reignite her cough. ‘I’m OK.’ She felt Dr Frank’s hand leave her back as he stood and, before greeting her parents, he walked over to the bed, turned a dial, and came back to her with the greenish breathing thing that went in her nose. He handed it to her. She looped the pieces around her ears, stuck the little bits up her nostrils and then tightened the slidey thing around her neck so it wouldn’t fall off.
‘You good?’ he whispered.
She nodded, clenched, and smiled.
He pulled a grape Tootsie Pop from his pocket, and gave it to her.
She nodded thanks. Too scared that if she spoke the coughs would start and she wouldn’t be able to stop.
She watched as he turned to her parents and the strange man. He was different with them, just as with the white-coats who followed him around. She wondered what the difference was, like a switch on a machine.
‘Jim, Marnie.’ He shook her parents’ hands, and made eye contact. His gaze darted to the strange man in the dark-blue suit. Like the game where you name the different emojis, she tried to imagine what was going through Dr Frank’s mind.
He doesn’t like that man. Does he know him? She moved from her chair by the window, letting the sweet grape candy coat her throat, but taking careful ninja steps, both to not get the cough restarted and to not make her parents take what was shaping up to be an interesting morning out of her room. She hated that. The ‘We don’t want her to hear.’ Or, ‘It’ll upset her.’
‘You had something you wanted to discuss,’ Dr Frank said.
Her mommy cleared her throat, and wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘Jim and I wanted you to meet Mr Crisp. He’s with Doughton Pharmaceuticals and he—’
‘Where’s your badge?’ Dr Frank asked the man in the suit.
Jen braced up against the bed, fascinated by the tone in Dr Frank’s voice. He’s mad.
‘Dr Garfield, I was hoping to talk to you today about stage three trials we’re doing with Robenazide. And little Jennifer here is exactly who—’
She saw Dr Frank’s fists clench and his jaw twitch.
He’s real mad. I’ve never seen him mad. Mommy is scared and Daddy wants to run away. And what kind of name is Mr Crisp? Is Dr Frank going to hit him? He wants to.
‘Dr Garfield,’ her mommy spoke, ‘I hope you’re not upset, but I was online looking at different experimental drugs and it seemed like this might be a fit for Jen. I contacted their hot-line and then Mr Crisp got in touch with us and said Jen was exactly the right fit, with her type of …’ she lowered her voice, ‘cancer, and …’
Jen felt Mommy’s fear, she talked too fast, and didn’t know where to look. Daddy doesn’t want to be here. And we all know I have cancer, so why whisper like I don’t know.
‘Marnie, Jim.’ Dr Frank’s voice now sounded calm, but his face was pink, almost red, from the tips of his ears to an inch below his hair. He reminded Jennifer of a cartoon character about to explode. He looked back at her and shook his head.
Mr Crisp spoke, ‘Dr Garfield this is really a unique opportunity and there would of course be no cost to the Owens and you’d be credited as an associate investigator.’
‘Shut up,’ Dr Frank said. He stared at Mr Crisp. ‘You need to leave. You don’t have clearance to be here. And if I find that you’ve crossed any lines with the Owens, I will report it to the FDA.’
‘But we invited him,’ Mommy said.
‘We should have called first,’ Daddy said. He looked at Dr Frank, ‘I had a feeling this was a bad idea.’
‘Dr Garfield,’ Mr Crisp persisted. ‘I understand your concern here, but frankly Robenazide could offer Jen additional time. I think you owe it to her and the Owens to at least—’
Jen repositioned herself as Dr Frank’s broad back blocked her view of Mr Crisp. Then when she caught his expression, she gasped, he’s going to hit him.
Dr Frank’s voice became different than she’d ever heard. ‘I am familiar with your drug and its failed studies. I am amazed that it’s been approved for stage three studies. But I imagine there’s been clever maneuvering to try and create an indication for extending life by two to three months.’ He turned to her parents. ‘Which I don’t want to discount, but what Mr Crisp neglected to mention is that those two to three months would be a nightmare, and that’s why Robenazide’s prior trials failed. I will not go into the details with Jen here but you do not want to put your daughter through that agony.’
Mr Crisp interrupted, ‘Dr Garfield I think you’re overstating—’
‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘What you have done here … you need to leave. And if you don’t I’m calling security to have you removed, and I will contact the FDA.’
Jen saw the moment Dr Frank lost his cool.
‘How can you do this to people?’ He closed in on Mr Crisp, who initially stood his ground and then backed out the door and into the hall. ‘To children? Are you even aware of the poison you’re peddling?’ He started to yell. ‘And you make them promises while hiding the horror-show that awaits. And then when you get enough kids to live another three months of agony, with one organ system shutting down after the next you take your results and get your poison onto the market. I can see the ads already, smiling children with puppy dogs. And in pages of tiny print that no one reads, you bury the truth of how they were tortured, and how their families had to watch, and how three months of unbearable pain and suffering was worse than the disease itself.’
Jen wheeled her portable oxygen tank, and chomped down on the fudgy center of the Tootsie Roll Pop as she followed the action into the hall. But too many adults obscured her view. She listened and pictured Dr Frank with a sword and happy hair as he shouted at Mr Crisp and ordered him to leave. Though she wondered if two or three more months wouldn’t be a good thing. But she knew her months and counted on her fingers; it still wouldn’t get her a seventh birthday or a kitten.
TWO
Frank stared at his mentor, white-haired Jackson Atlas, and wondered why he even tried. ‘You don’t understand.’ He doesn’t get it. What can I say to get a yes? There has got to be a way.
‘I do,’ Jackson replied from a leather chair, stained with sweat on the armrests. ‘But just because you can do a thing, doesn’t mean you should.’
‘They’re children.’ Frank argued. A wave of young faces raced through his mind, most of them dead … but not Jen Owens, not yet. She doesn’t have long. You need to make him say yes. While he knew from painful experience not to get attached to his patients, it was not a trick he’d managed to achieve. Jen’s imminent death felt real and awful. And I could save her.
‘That’s how it would start.’ Jackson said. ‘I’m telling you, the minute the drug companies get their hands into a thing it goes sideways. It always does, and you will have no control. Zero.’
Frank’s gut tightened. He let out a breath and looked around at Jackson’s familiar study, a conservatory in a Tudor in one of Brook
line’s oldest neighborhoods. The smell was dank, traces of tortoise dung and guano from Jackson’s pets, Killer the Galapagos tortoise and Harvey his potty-mouthed Macaw. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said. ‘You know how I work. I write down nothing. It’s all in my head. I can control that.’
Jackson snorted. ‘Not likely.’ He sat up and fixed Frank in his gaze. ‘You’re young. You don’t understand, with pharma it’s all about the dollar. But wrapped in a Madison Avenue moral shellac. Smiling faces, puppies, direct advertising to consumers desperate for a pill to fix what’s wrong. And doctors … we’re the worst. We don’t read the small print and believe what comes out of the mouths of sweet young marketing reps who don’t even have a degree in science. They are, without exception, pimps and whores, Frank.’
‘Pimps and whores. Pimps and whores,’ the macaw echoed, and then attacked a seed-embedded toy.
‘I’m not arguing about that,’ Frank said. ‘But if I don’t pursue the natural course of my research, someone else will. It’s just a matter of when.’
‘Maybe.’ Jackson said. ‘Eventually. It’s a can of worms you should not open. Or should I say, open further. And I’m sorry to do this. It hurts. You are, with the possible exception of one other, the most-brilliant researcher I’ve had the privilege to work with.’
‘Who was the other?’ Frank asked.
‘Not important. Though she is an object lesson … at least she was to me.’
‘If you’re shooting down years of my research it seems I’m entitled to something. Tell me who she is … or was.’ Tell me how I’m going to get you to agree, old man.
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