CHAPTER 11 – WEDNESDAY
Wednesday morning Kelly checked in with Mary, Petrowski's administrative secretary.
"Mr. Petrowski wants to meet with you in an hour or so. I'll call you at your desk when he's ready." She rose, indicating he should follow.
"I have a desk?"
She led him to the administration support commons, the large room with the warren of cubicles. The place buzzed with routine activity. Most of the cubicles were occupied; phones rang and printers churned. Heckathorn's old office, still taped off as a crime scene was in one corner, the HR director's office in the other, and Jessica's larger cubicle was one of a handful along the walls.
Kelly's new "desk" was a table with a folding chair in the middle of the room. He was next to an old fax machine. Across a low cubicle partition was an area devoted to the two large printer/copier machines that served most of the front offices. The area also had cabinets for paper, toner and other supplies, plus recycling bins.
Kelly's table held a phone and a computer, and below was a smallish cabinet on wheels with two drawers – a normal drawer on top and a file drawer below.
"This is the intern desk," said Mary. "You can use it because we don't have an intern just now. We did, but then ..." She glanced at Heckathorn's office. "The intern decided not to stay."
It was perhaps the worst desk and location in the building, but at least the computer allowed Kelly to log in and address his accumulation of e-mails – over a hundred since he left on Monday. He could ignore most, but responded to a few. He also sent a note to the "leaders" list, an e-mail group that included all the people who held supervisory roles for running the studies – the team leaders, the director of phlebotomy, and the phlebotomy shift managers.
"Back at work, but still banned from clinical study wing. Supposedly assisting new COO, but that hasn't kept me very busy. Will check with Potts to see if I can resume some of my usual stuff from here."
The replies started right away.
"Welcome back, Kel. As long as you're up there, how 'bout you knock off Potts, too? Ha ha. :-)"
"That's awful," came a rebuttal from another list member.
"Sorry. Just joking."
"Careful what you say," came a third e-mailer. "E-mail's probly not private ... speshly with investigation goin on."
"You're new. Are you an intern?"
Kelly turned to find a guy about his age, short with straight black hair. His glasses were a little too big for his face. Kelly had seen him around. Jimmy, he remembered. Handled the mail, kept the printers full of paper, and ran errands. One of those errands, the "skin run," involved trips to Habiger Surgical Arts, or any of the other plastic surgeons in town. As the story went, it was weeks before a disbelieving Jimmy learned he was picking up leftover skin from surgical procedures, like tummy tucks. The pre-clinical research department used the skin for preliminary testing of topical drug applications.
"I'm here temporarily," said Kelly, "helping Mr. Petrowski, the new COO."
"Welcome to the ad commons."
"Yeah, thanks."
"You know about the murders here?"
"Uh, yeah. I certainly do."
"One of 'em right there," said Jimmy, pointing to Heckathorn's still-sealed office.
"You don't say."
"Guy back in the clinical study wing. He probably did it, but don't worry; he's gone. They suspended him. The cops searched his place."
"I heard about that."
Jessica breezed into the room, heading for her cubicle. "What about her?" said Kelly, just loud enough to catch her attention. Kelly lowered his voice. "The murders started just after she got here."
Jimmy looked at Jessica, then back to Kelly, cocking his head like a dog who just heard a curious sound.
Jessica turned and came toward them. "What about me?"
"Jimmy was just telling me about the guy back in clinical studies who's probably the murderer, but I pointed out that it's a pretty remarkable coincidence that the murders started just after you arrived."
"You dork," she said to Kelly. "Jimmy, you're right. It's the guy in back; he's a real poop. Don't believe anything Adam here tells you."
"I wouldn't believe that about you, Jessica." Jimmy was almost gushing. "I knew he was only kidding."
Jessica looked back at Kelly, who had remained seated. "And what are you doing here ... Adam?"
Kelly gave her the evil eye, pretending umbrage over her use of his real first name. "This is my desk." He gestured to it Vanna White style, as if showing off the latest new car on the Wheel of Fortune.
"Very nice," said Jessica. "And so conveniently located."
Kelly's phone rang. "And it even has a phone!" He framed it with another flourish of Vanna hands before snatching up the handset.
Jessica couldn't help a smile as she rolled her eyes and peeled away toward her cubicle.
Kelly covered the phone mouthpiece. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy."
"Yeah, me too, Adam," but Jimmy seemed a little uncertain, not quite following what had just transpired.
It was Mary on the phone. "Mr. Petrowski's ready for you."
"On my way."
When Kelly arrived at the COO's office, Petrowski came from behind his desk and gestured to a small meeting table by the windows, which looked out on a garden and pond generally referred to as the executive courtyard. They sat across from each other, Petrowski sighing, as though taking a load off.
"I'll be speaking at the POA meeting tomorrow. I wrote up some remarks and sent them to Connie. She's looking them over. After I get her comments, I'd like you to look at it, too."
"Isn't that a bit over my pay grade?"
"Nope. You're pay grade's fine. I just want your impressions. Get your reaction."
Kelly shrugged. "Okay. I suppose I can do that."
Petrowski leaned forward. "I hear you've been suggesting to the cops that the company founder might be involved in the murders?"
"Well, yes. Just a theory."
"You might want to back off on that. A number of our significant shareholders still regard him with ... well, apparently reverence isn't too strong a word. They were already concerned because the share price has been dropping on all this bad news."
Kelly wondered how Petrowski knew he was the source of the Naughton idea. At first he thought of Amundson, but it seemed unlikely that anyone in the police department would reveal the source of a tip. Then he remembered mentioning the idea to Dilman and Potts last Saturday.
"For better or for worse," continued Petrowski, "Dr. Naughton still gets associated with the company. It would have helped if they'd gotten the company name changed. That was probably a mistake. Anyway, pissing off their beloved Doctor Naughton is just adding to the shareholder anxiety."
"I can understand that."
"Good. You can go. I'll call when I get the revised remarks from Connie for you to look at."
"Speaking of things for me to do, I was thinking I could do quite a bit of my old job from up here. If that's okay with you, I could check with Potts. I think he'd like the idea, since he's one of the people who has to pick up the slack."
"Sure."
Kelly headed down the hall to the Reagan museum, where he found Eddie Potts at his desk.
"Hell, yes," said Potts to the idea of Kelly resuming some of the coordinator duties. "I've been too busy working on the POA meeting to do much else."
"At least you don't have to move the POA to Houston."
"Thank God for that, though maybe it would be safer there."
"I suppose until they arrest somebody, we'll have a lot of nervous people. Were there many cancellations for the meeting?"
"Nothing unusual," said Potts. "There's always a few. No way of knowing if the murders scared them off, but all this news about the killings is actually going to work in our favor. Marketing came up with a great shtick. We're having lapel pins made for the entire sales force -- plastic yellow ribbons that say 'Naughton Remembers.' Instant connection for the salesm
an. He'll have sympathy on his side from the moment he walks through the door."
"Or she," Kelly noted. He wasn't sure of the ratio, but wouldn't be surprised if most of the sales people on the street were women. The same couldn't be said of management.
"Or she. Of course."
"Kind of a downer, though."
"That's where you come in." Potts almost giggled. "We're going to make sure they all know the story about you scaring Westby. What an ice-breaker!"
"Are you shitting me?"
"No. It's brilliant. Especially for the rookies. This is just the thing to help them stand out; gives them a way to establish rapport. It's perfect."
"I don't want sales people all around the world telling stories about me."
"Oh, they won't mention you by name, Westby either. The sales veep loved the idea. The yellow ribbon makes the connection to all the news coverage, gets the conversation started, then they follow it up with the story about Westby. The sales will be easy-peasy."
Kelly rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'll be at my new desk ... if you can call it that ... in the commons. The extension there is 617. Anything in particular you want me to start with?"
"S-A has posted a handful of new protocols. I think 159 through 163. I haven't done a damn thing with them, so you can just start at the top and get them rolling."
Kelly returned to his desk, finding the commons as busy as ever. He wished he'd brought the ear buds for his cell – he could have cut the office din with tunes. As it was, he did his best to focus on the scheduling and staffing for the new studies.
As part of the commentary from Scientific Affairs, the protocols typically indicated whether a study was high priority or not. Low-priority studies could fill out slow periods, smoothing out the staffing, while other studies needed more prompt attention. Urgent studies could even mean restructuring the schedule.
As Kelly began the analysis of which study could occupy which unit and when, he was surprised to discover that 148, the study in Unit 2 he and Rhonda had supposedly terminated, had instead continued to completion – at least that's what appeared in the record.
His first thought was that Dilman had rigged it, but it wasn't like 146, the large, long-term, third-party study that could affect the spinoff of the new research company. Instead, it was a comparative trial involving one of their existing meds to see how it did versus a competitor.
Kelly checked the current work schedule to see that Rhonda was working in Unit 1. He called her.
"That was Potts," said Rhonda, explaining what had happened. "He finally returned my phone message from earlier that evening. He told me to keep the study going, but discontinue dosing for anybody who developed tolerance issues. He figured we might be able to salvage something if we didn't kill it. We did end up washing out quite a few people."
"I wonder which drug caused the problem."
"Could have been either one. Or maybe both," said Rhonda.
By design, it was normal for the people running the studies to be unaware of which test subject got which drug.
"I saw that the study kept going, so I wondered how that happened."
"I would have told you, but that's about the time you found Barry, and things went kinda nuts."
"No shit. And I hate to admit it, but I suppose Potts' decision was right. We maybe should have thought of that."
"Well, he wasn't pissed or anything."
"Okay, thanks."
Kelly was chagrined that Potts had come up with a better course of action, but Potts was more experienced – not completely worthless. Had to give him credit on that one.
An hour later, Kelly was fully absorbed in the details for one of the new studies when Jessica came by. "Are you breaking for lunch?"
Kelly noted the time on the computer clock. Almost noon. "I suppose I should." He smiled. "Especially if there's a beautiful blonde who wants to have lunch with me."
"Let's go look. Maybe we can find one in the break room."
Kelly laughed. He saved the open spreadsheet and they headed down the hall. On the way, Kelly stopped at Potts' office. "I'll catch up. I want to talk to Eddie quick."
Jessica continued on as Kelly knocked at the open door. Potts was at his desk.
"Kelleeee. Waz up?"
"Rhonda told me you kept 148 going. Sorry we didn't think of that approach."
"No prob, Kel. Sometimes we can get something useful out of studies that seem to be failing. Turns out that none of the 18- to 35-year-old women washed out. That gave us a little ammo for the POA. "
"That was quick."
"Well, that's not to say we have anything ready for the FDA, but Groton Labs is ahead of us – they already have FDA approval to market their depression drug for OCD. They even gave it a new name – Confidizone. But our guys ... I mean our salespeople ... can still make the point that Premaxicol is essentially equivalent, and we can say we have a study showing it's well-tolerated by young women, leaving it to the doctors to connect the dots. They know we can't promote it for off-label use, but wink wink, nod nod, they'll get the idea."
Kelly suddenly felt less remorseful about his attempt to kill the study.
"Jelly bean?" Potts gestured to the jar on his desk.
"No, thanks. I'm off to lunch."
Kelly headed off to the break room, where Jessica had just retrieved her salad from the community fridge. "Check this out," she said.
A flyer on the fridge looked like an old wanted poster. It featured a rather well-drawn, multi-colored sketch of a sandwich. "WANTED: bologna sandwich ... stolen and presumed eaten. Be on the lookout for dickwad thief."
Kelly laughed. "The thief is probably our murderer."
"Your friend Amundson should maybe look into this."
"That would be better use of his time than looking at me," said Kelly as he fed money into a vending machine. "At least I haven't heard from him in a while."
"I did," said Jessica.
"Really?"
"I'll get a table while you heat that up," she said, referring to the tub of lasagna Kelly had chosen. "I'll tell you all about it." While the mini casserole warmed in the microwave, Kelly bought an iced tea. He then joined Jessica, who shook a bottle of dressing before pouring it over a large home-made Greek salad.
"Amundson was in the parking lot this morning. Wondered if I'd seen you lately. I said, 'Sure, right here at work.' He didn't know they'd brought you back. I definitely got the feeling he thought that was a bad idea."
Kelly sighed. "I was hoping he'd given up on me as a suspect."
"He laid it on pretty thick. He has this whole profile about you worked out."
"Yeah, I know ... hero complex, college drop-out, cop wanna be."
"And momma's boy, and violent past..."
"Violent past? That's crap."
"But momma's boy? That's on the mark?"
"No. I'm close to Mom. She raised me on her own, and I lived with her last year when she was recovering from surgery, but I'm no momma's boy ... at least not in any unhealthy way."
Jessica smiled. "Amundson says you've got a criminal record for fighting in a bar."
"Yes, but I was just keeping my buddy Kermit from getting creamed by a drunk, a guy he played hockey against in high school."
"For Amundson, it all adds up to you being a prime suspect."
"Well, good for him." Kelly sighed. "Not much I can do about it."
"Will the criminal record hurt your chances with the department?"
"I hope not. A bigger problem is this murder investigation. If that's still going on, and there's even a one percent chance I could be the guy, I don't suppose they'd consider me."
"I told Amundson he's wrong. He countered by warning me to stay away from you."
"He's probably hot for you. Looking to steal you away."
Jessica wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so. He's more Cliffy's type."
"Amundson? No way."
"Maybe, but my radar's pretty good."
Kelly scraped
out the last of his lasagna and pitched the bowl into the nearby trash. "Oh, here's a story for you. Remember that study we killed the night Heckathorn was murdered?"
"Not really. I know you came to work that night, but I don't remember the particulars."
"Rhonda and I cancelled a study because of a tolerance issue, but Potts' vetoed our decision, and he was probably right – something I hate to admit – but it turns out they're planning to use part of that study to promote off-label use for Premaxicol."
"And?"
"Well, technically it's against the rules. You're not allowed to promote for off-label use, but they've got ways to make that pitch without saying it in so many words. The legal department is real clear on what they can say and what they can't."
"But if there was a tolerance issue ...."
"They found one category of subject – one demographic – that didn't report a problem at the high dosage level needed to help with obsessive compulsive disorder. That's what they'll tell the doctors, and you can be sure the sales person won't dwell on the tolerance problem that the rest of the people have. And the doctors – how many will remember the specifics about the side effects? That's part of the problem with off-label use – there's rarely good documentation. The doctors could end up prescribing it for anybody."
"The more I learn about this business, the crazier it seems."
"Oh, shit. That reminds me. This is better yet. They're even using the murders to help sales."
"What?!"
Kelly told her about the yellow ribbons and the plan to use the Westby story as a rapport builder.
Jessica dropped her plastic fork to the table. "That's an appetite killer." She pushed the dregs of her salad to the side.
"Changing subjects, want some company tonight?"
"Yes," she said, abruptly, petulantly, a bit of theatre to suggest that Kelly's stories had left her in need of consoling.
He chuckled. "Seven-ish?"
With that settled, they returned to their desks. The afternoon was passing quickly as Kelly prepped the new studies and answered occasional questions from Petrowski. That all changed when Amundson suddenly appeared at his side, sitting backwards in a chair he'd pulled over from a vacant nearby desk.
"Hey, sport. Got a minute?"
Kelly looked around the room, wondering if Amundson had attracted any attention. It didn't seem so. "Actually, I'm pretty busy."
"Too busy to help with a triple murder investigation?"
Kelly decided he had a few questions of his own. "Okay, but not here."
"Sure. How about the parking lot?"
They went outside to a hot and muggy August afternoon, the kind of day that quickly left a person sweating. A haze of wispy cirrus clouds did little to take the edge off the sun's rays.
Amundson led the way, heading toward Kelly's car. A patrol unit was stationed nearby. The officer climbed out as they approached. Backup, Kelly realized.
"I'd begun to wonder where you were when I didn't see your truck," said Amundson. "You switched vehicles on us."
"I switched, but it had nothing to do with you. The media was showing too much interest, and they knew the truck."
"Sure. That's a good story."
"Don't get me wrong. I don't mind avoiding you, either."
Amundson walked around the Delta 88, casually looking in the windows. Kelly suspected it wasn't the first time. "Go ahead. It's not locked."
Amundson completed his circuit of the car, then he handed Kelly a folded piece of paper and a pen. "I don't suppose you'd leave anything interesting in there, but I figure it's worth a look."
The paper was another Consent to Search form. Kelly signed and handed it back.
"This junker must have set you back fifty bucks or more."
Kelly ignored the taunt. Amundson started in the driver seat, checking all the storage spaces and reaching into possible hiding spots behind the dashboard. "You know, your ideas about Doctor Naughton have been a pain in the ass."
"Sorry about that. It was a long shot, but it doesn't seem like you've got any better ideas."
"But I do."
"Right. Your profiling theory. Jessica told me you shared that with her. She wasn't impressed."
"Our lieutenant wasn't impressed that we checked out Naughton again – all the way out by Kindred no less." Amundson got out and flopped the front seat forward, accessing the back where he found a windbreaker, a window scraper and a compact umbrella.
"Does Naughton have a lab out there?" asked Kelly.
"No. It's not even his place. It's in the name of his pal, Ivers."
Amundson pulled up the back seat to examine the space beneath it.
"No animals in crates out there?"
"Nope. We found a crate, but it was empty. He says it was left over from a government contract. He took it to the farm just to get it out of the way."
Amundson replaced the back seat bench, climbed out, and went around to passenger side, where he resumed the search. The uniformed patrolman kept a close watch on Kelly as he leaned on the still-open driver's door, looking in on Amundson.
"No sign of a lab out there?"
"Nope," said Amundson, as he felt behind the dash. "Just a house full of old furniture and a couple old barns."
"Nothing in the long barn built against the hillside?"
"You sound familiar with the place."
"I've seen it."
"It was a henhouse once. Large chicken and egg operation. Now it's mostly empty. Just some junk."
Amundson popped open the glove box. "Binoculars. Been spying on anyone we know?"
Kelly kept silent, not wanting to admit that he and Bennie had watched the search.
"Flashlight." Amundson shined it at Kelly. "Nice and bright. Fresh batteries?"
"I was working on the dash wiring."
"I thought you liked it dark."Amundson turned off the light and set it aside.
"What are you talking about?
"Saturday night, when you were wandering around the building with the lights off."
It took Kelly a second to understand. "Is that the real reason you like me as a suspect?"
"There's a lot of reasons."
"Sure, but the profiling. You know that's a reach."
"What I know, is that it all fits, and I think we'll eventually find the evidence to prove it."
"The lights ... I actually get that. I left them off for the reasons I told you, but I can see why it looks suspicious."
Amundson's inventory of the glove box also turned up the mosquito spray and two ancient road maps for Minnesota and North Dakota. "Hey, you actually have gloves in the glove box."
"Yeah. Bulky winter gloves are just the thing when you don't want to leave fingerprints."
Amundson ignored the sarcasm. He stuffed the items back in the glove box and climbed from the car. Kelly opened the trunk, anticipating the next stop. Amundson looked at the pile of junk, apparently wondering where to start.
"Holy crap, dude."
Kelly smiled. "Have at it."
The trunk held a mother lode of spare parts – alternator, radio, shocks, hubcaps, spark coil, and even a tail light assembly. There were also tools and various can't-live-without items like tarps, jumper cables, jack, road flares, rain coat, sleeping bag, and an old Chilton service manual that included the 88.
"Might even be a body under all that if you look closely," said Kelly.
Amundson poked around without enthusiasm. However, from one of the tool boxes, he fished out a nearly spent roll of duct tape.
"Well, now that's suspicious," said Kelly. "A guy having duct tape in his trunk."
Amundson held it carefully from the sides as he read the printing on the inside of the roll.
"Right," said Kelly. "You wouldn't want to mess up my fingerprints. Or maybe I used the gloves. Yeah, I remember now. It took forever to get the tape started with those gloves on."
Amundson tossed the tape back in the tool box. "Wrong brand." He closed the
trunk. "Let me know if you switch cars again. And before you pass along another tip about Naughton, or anyone else, it might be good if it's grounded in something real." Amundson turned away, heading to his car and dismissing the patrolman with a nod.
Kelly leaned on the trunk, watching as they climbed in their cars. Even though Amundson still suspected him, he found it oddly comforting that there was a better reason than just the profiling – the business about the lights being off. The profile was demeaning, even creepy. He also wondered if Amundson was beginning to come to grips with the idea that Kelly wasn't the guy. His demeanor at times had been casual, even chatty. Or maybe he was trying to get Kelly to drop his guard, say something incriminating.
As Kelly headed back to the building, he realized he had an audience – people watching at the windows. Being spotted, some adopted a casual demeanor, turning away, sipping at their coffee. Others watched the departing police cars. Still others continued to stare at Kelly, quite unconcerned that their curiosity was noticed.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but at the security desk, Kelly sensed a little extra scrutiny as he checked in. In the administration support commons, stolen glances came from around the room as he returned to his desk.
Jimmy the mail guy scurried in from the hallway, a half-eaten powdered donut in hand. He went to the window and looked around as he scarfed down the rest of his snack. He finally turned away and returned to the printer area. He leaned on the divider at the back of Kelly's desk. "Hey, I heard the cops just searched somebody else's car." There was powdered sugar on Jimmy's chin. He licked his fingers and brushed crumbs from his shirt. "Did you see it?"
"I wasn't in here."
"Shit. I missed it, too." Jimmy looked around as though wondering who else he could ask, but he apparently didn't see anyone who would welcome his inquiry. Instead he looked back to Kelly. "You think anyone else will get croaked?"
Kelly raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"Won't be me," said Jimmy. He looked around as he dug into his pocket and surreptitiously showed Kelly a small spray tube on his key ring. "Pepper spray," he whispered, nodding.
"Ah. Smart. But don't use it until the murderer drags you out of the building. Everybody's eyes would be itching if you used it indoors."
Jimmy leaned back from the divider, staring blankly at Kelly, uncertain whether he was serious. Kelly nodded in solemn confirmation. He was spared from further conversation by his cell phone, which began a chorus of 9 to 5. Jimmy, still appearing puzzled, turned his attention to a tub of recycled paper in need of emptying.
Kelly answered the call. "Hey, Ma."
"If you're bored to tears, you could come over and fix my back door. It's not latching right."
"I'm actually back at work. The new COO was looking for someone to assist him, and they figured I'd be a good fit."
"You're back at work already? Your leave didn't last long."
"The study they were worried about became a non-issue, so that helped."
"You could still fix the door tonight. I'll make chicken and dumplings."
"Tempting, but I told Jessica I'd meet up with her tonight."
"Bring her. I'd love to meet her."
"I suppose I can check with her. Hang on."
Kelly walked over to Jessica's cubicle. She looked up with a smile as Kelly held the phone against his shoulder to mute it. "Mom's invited you over for chicken and dumplings tonight."
"Sure. I'd love to."
"Yeah, she'd love to." They made plans for dinner at seven, with Kelly picking Jessica up at 6:30.
Back at his desk, his phone's voice-mail light was blinking. The message came from Deborah, director of the call center, asking him to call. He did.
"Kelly belly," she said, using her pet name for him. "The recruitment rate has gone down the toilee. I don't think there's any chance of filling the schedule."
"Crap. I should have seen that coming."
"Well, who'd have thought a mass murderer on the loose would hurt recruiting?"
"Yeah, shit. Sorry about that."
"Not your job. Potts gets the big bucks. What's a manager for if he doesn't manage?"
"I'll go talk to him."
"Thanks, honey."
Kelly found Potts in the hall outside the conference room, chatting up one of the company's young female legal assistants who'd been working with the police to comply with the search warrant – redacting personal health information. Potts didn't seem to welcome the interruption, but the legal assistant did, and she made her escape. Kelly explained the recruiting problem.
"I'll talk to Lenny in S-A," said Potts. "We'll figure out which studies have priority, and we'll delay some others."
"The suspended advertising probably hurt, too," said Kelly.
"Right. Maybe we'll resume it. And the college students will be back soon. That will help. In the meantime, don't kill anybody else, okay?" Potts laughed, slapping Kelly on the shoulder.
"It's tempting," said Kelly.