Murder at Naughton Pharms

Kelly slept for a few hours, but returned to work early on Saturday. Though he wasn't scheduled, he anticipated a number of problems. He was also curious about developments in the investigation. A police officer parked at the lot driveway checked Kelly's credentials before allowing him to pull in. A second patrol car, plus three unmarked SUVs and a crime scene investigation truck were situated near the building's main entrance. Kelly also spotted two vehicles from the company's private security firm. Those guards now had a table by the door. Kelly had to show ID and sign in.

  The front offices wouldn’t be staffed, but weekends were prime time in clinical research. Barb was again at the reception desk, it being her turn on the weekend rotation. "We lost five more from 146," she reported. "Word about Barry spread fast. And Dilman called, wondering if you’d be in today. I got the feeling he wants to talk to you."

  "Mind calling him back, letting him know I'm here?"

  "Sure." Barb picked up the phone.

  Kelly went to Unit 1, which was running study 146. Another private security guard stood by the counter outside the unit. Kelly showed his employee badge and the guard didn't give him any trouble as he swiped the key pad and went inside.

  Blood draws were underway at the testing tables, the phlebotomists working with practiced efficiency, every two minutes or so rolling their chairs and equipment to the next test subject. Those who already had their blood drawn were in line for breakfast or already eating.

  Peggy, the team leader on duty, greeted Kelly. "We're below protocol," she reported.

  "I heard."

  "And we might lose a couple more after they get their free breakfast. Do you think we'll cancel the study?"

  Kelly shrugged. "Hard to say."

  Kelly made a general announcement, trying once again to reassure everyone that there wasn’t any danger. "The police are on top of this, and there aren't many days left in the study, so we hope you’ll all hang in there with us." He spent another ten minutes fielding questions, most of which he couldn’t answer.

  Arriving at his desk, Kelly looked up the details on the study. He double-checked to confirm that the minimum number of test subjects was fifty. There was also a completion date stipulation that didn’t leave enough time for a supplemental trial. The client was Deephaven Pharmaceuticals, and the author of the protocol was a Dr. Thomas Whitcomb at the University of Minnesota, Rochester campus. Kelly suspected Whitcomb had a grant from Deephaven and had farmed out the study. Either Deephaven didn't do its own studies, or didn't have an opening in its schedule, or maybe they wanted a third-party lab – there were any number of possible reasons, but none of that mattered to Kelly. What mattered was contacting Whitcomb to see if they could get a variance on the protocol. It wasn't uncommon to seek clarifications or modifications before a study got underway, but requesting a change late in the game was unusual.

  A quick Internet search turned up Whitcomb's contact information. Kelly composed an e-mail that got right to the point – stating that the study had fallen out of protocol due to a loss of subjects. He cited the number of subjects remaining, the number of days left in the trial, and he looked up the reports from the study monitors to document when the subjects left the study. His only reference to the murders came when he attributed the losses to the "unsettling and tragic circumstances of which you are undoubtedly aware."

  Deephaven, along with any other clients, would have been alerted to the situation, but the alert might not have included Whitcomb specifically. Still, the second murder would be statewide news, so Kelly felt confident Whitcomb would know about it, or if he didn't, he'd find out quickly enough.

  Kelly read over the e-mail and felt it came out well. He hit save, planning to get Potts' okay, maybe even Dilman's, before sending it off. As study coordinator, it wasn't unheard of for him to contact a client, but typically it would be up to Potts or someone in Scientific Affairs. Even so, Kelly figured they'd appreciate having his draft to work from, and maybe even give him the okay to send it out as-is.

  His cell rang. The 9 to 5 instrumental ringtone was assigned to his Mom, a Dolly Parton fan. "Hey, Mom."

  "Kelly, I heard. Another murder?"

  "Yes. I would have called, but I came in early today; didn’t want to wake you."

  "A vice president?"

  "Yes. Barry Heckathorn. I don’t think you’ve met him." Kelly didn’t want to get into the whole story of finding him … not right now anyway.

  "Are you sure you're safe there?"

  The question gave Kelly pause. He hadn’t really thought about that, but here he was, alone in his office. "Yeah, I’m safe, Mom. There’s other people here, and they’ve got guards at the doors. And the cops are still around."

  They talked a few minutes longer, and she invited him to the house for lunch. He said he'd try. As he hung up, his desk phone rang. Dilman. He asked Kelly to join him and Potts in his office. When Kelly arrived, he found Dilman dressed weekend casual: polo shirt and slacks, but Potts was in his standard uniform, a too-tight white shirt. Today his tie was red with white stripes. Dilman invited Kelly to sit in one of two armchairs facing his desk. Potts leaned back against the credenza that ran beneath the windows.

  Kelly recounted for them the scene the night before, explaining how he happened to find Barry Heckathorn dead in his office chair. Dilman shared that the police were going through the company’s records, looking for problem employees or problem test subjects – anybody with a gripe. Kelly mentioned the idea of Naughton having motive. The thought seemed to startle Dilman.

  "Naughton? Are you serious?"

  Kelly shrugged. "It's just that he might be harboring a grudge, but I don't honestly think he's likely."

  "Not at his age, no. Though he could be crazy enough." Dilman rose and gazed out a window. "Well, until the cops make an arrest, we’ll keep the security company on the entrances 24-7." After a moment of silence, he turned from the window. "Our rep from George March is meeting today with the board of directors and top management. We're going to have our hands full dealing with this."

  George March, LLP, was the company's accounting firm. It also offered consulting services. It had started in Fargo, but had grown, now with offices in a dozen states. It offered a wide array of business consulting services, but Kelly wondered what they could offer in crisis like this.

  Dilman paced to the front of the desk and sat against the edge. "Kelly, there's an issue you can help with, but it involves information that must be kept confidential. Can we trust you to keep that confidence?"

  Kelly hesitated, not wanting to make any open-ended commitment.

  Dilman recognized Kelly’s reluctance. "It’s insider information about a business situation that cannot be made public just yet. It's the kind of information that only upper management would typically know about, and anybody trading on such information would be in violation of the law. I'm willing to tell you, but you need to understand why it's sensitive information."

  "Okay," said Kelly, slowly, warily. "I understand."

  "Here’s the deal," said Dilman. "The company’s being sold. And we’re spinning off the research division as an independent facility." Dilman let that sink in. "The buyer only wants the patents and the existing product line … the brand names. It’s a huge deal, Kelly. Eddie and I are going with the new lab. The working name is Red River Analytics. We’re keeping this entire complex, and without all the other departments, we can expand … run more units. It’s a gold mine, Kelly. There’s no other independent research labs in the region, and the subject pool here is ideal – less trouble than most parts of the country. Until now, the company has only been dabbling with outside contracts, but there’s big money in the independent market."

  "Big money," echoed a nodding Eddie Potts, his arms crossed.

  "And we see a place for you. There’s going to be a lot of opportunity with this new company, and your work has not gone unnoticed. You’ve already moved up fast. You’re a smart, savvy employee and you know how it all works back there.
You’d have a bright future with Red River Analytics. I can see you being an important player in research management."

  "A promotion?"

  "Without a doubt. And who knows where it could lead. The business plan isn't set in stone, but the hope is to grow the company quickly. And what we're really going to shoot for is to establish satellite operations in other parts of the country, maybe even going public – an IPO. And you could be getting in on the ground floor."

  "Big money," said Potts again.

  "But we're getting ahead of ourselves," said Dilman. "The current situation could derail everything."

  "Really fuck things up," added Potts.

  "To put it more tastefully," said Dilman, with a glance of annoyance at Potts, "we're not fully capitalized yet. And the deal calls for the current independent projects to be part of the spinoff. They’re supposed to be assets, not liabilities, and as you know, that includes 146."

  "Which just dropped below protocol," said Kelly.

  "Exactly. The loss of those test subjects puts us in a bad spot. If we end up taking a huge loss right off the bat, it could scare off our investors, or they’d want vastly different terms that could put us so in a deep hole that …" Dilman shrugged. "Well, we probably couldn’t do the deal."

  "We might be able to get a variance," said Kelly. "I've composed an e-mail to the author of the protocol, Dr. Thomas Whitcomb at ..."

  "No. No way. We can't risk it. If he insists on a do-over, we're screwed."

  "What else can we do?"

  "I've got that figured out. It's nothing you have to deal with, but we do need you to keep the study going – with as many subjects as possible. And don't add anything to the discrepancy reports.

  I know you sometimes elaborate on the reports from the study monitors, but you aren't really required to do so, right?"

  "No, I guess not."

  "Great." Dilman folded his hands in his lap. "Kelly, it's important that you realize everything that's at stake here. It's more than the opportunity afforded by this new company. It's also about saving the jobs of everybody you work with." Dilman pointed off in the direction of the clinical study wing. "Every person in the call center, every phlebotomist, every study monitor, every nurse, data entry, housekeeping, maintenance – all of 'em. If the sale doesn't include the spinoff, the place just closes. We’d have a dead, empty building here. There’d be a whole lot of people out of work."

  Dilman eased away from the desk, signaling the meeting was about to end. Kelly took the cue and rose from his chair.

  "Kelly, I know you've got your hands full, dealing with a lot right now, and I want you to know we appreciate it. We're not supposed to be making any salary moves with the sale pending, but in your case, we're making an exception. How does a 20% raise sound?"

  Kelly fought to suppress a smile. "Pretty sweet."

  "I know you've been thinking about a law enforcement career, but with this raise I bet you'd already be making more than a rookie cop. This is a good field to be in, and you're a natural at it. I hope you realize how good a career you could have. At least think about it, okay?"

  "Sure," was all Kelly could manage to say.

  Dilman escorted him to the door. "And Kelly, remember this is all top secret."

  The news of the sale and its consequences were almost as staggering as the murders. As Kelly made his way back to his office, he struggled to digest it all – the implications of the sale and the possibility of an exciting new company, one that wouldn't be involved with drug sales, competitive intelligence committees and drug marketing. He had his heart set on becoming a cop, but maybe Dilman was right. Maybe a career with the new company wouldn't be such a bad idea.

  Despite the enticing scenario, Kelly felt uneasy. It didn't take a lot of imagination to figure Dilman's solution to the problem could be less than honest. Why else keep it to himself? And as much as he appreciated Dilman's assessment of his value to the company, the praise and promises might be bullshit.

  On the other hand, the issue of all the jobs and the loss to the community – Dilman was right in figuring that argument would carry weight, though Kelly doubted Dilman or Potts gave a rat’s ass about people being out of work.

  A raise, promises of things to come, and jobs for a hundred or more people. But if Kelly's suspicions were right, it came with the expectation that he'd ignore any irregularities, turn a blind eye.

  Arriving back at the study wing, he encountered a contingent of three police officers in the company of Diane Lundeman, head of H-R.

  "They're doing more extensive searches," said Diane. "Company policy, as per the employee handbook, allows us to search employee desks and lockers. So, given the circumstances, we're allowing the police to do so."

  "Okay by me," said Kelly.

  The officers looked through the desks in the study wing office, including Kelly's. Bennie the custodian appeared at Kelly's side as they watched the officers move on to one of the study units.

  "They even searched my supply closet," said Bennie.

  "This will freak out more of the subjects," said Kelly.

  "If the subjects haven't left by now, I don't think a little searching will matter," said Bennie.

  Kelly went to the office and collapsed into his chair. He had the feeling he wouldn't get much work done. The morning had given him a lot to think about.

  He wondered about Dilman's scheme. If Dilman planned to lie about the shortfall in the number of subjects, that would be no small piece of work. Any discreps filed by the shift leaders would need to be dealt with ... either by stopping them at the source or having someone in I-T make them vanish. Or maybe someone in Scientific Affairs would falsify the report to the client, with someone making up the data for the missing subjects.

  A rap on the door window. It was Sergeant Haugen with Amundson in tow. Kelly let them in.

  "Is this a good place to visit?" asked Haugen.

  "Sure," said Kelly. He gestured to chairs at nearby desks.

  "We'd like to go over things again," said Haugen. He sat beside the neighboring desk and pulled a pad of paper from his valise. Amundson leaned back against a desk across from Haugen.

  "Let's start with the first murder," said Haugen. "You were here two nights ago, the night Ronald Kupmeier was killed, right?"

  "Yes." Kelly recapped the story of coming in on Thursday to help in Unit 1.

  "When you got here, did you see anything unusual?"

  "No."

  "No strange cars around?"

  "Not that I noticed."

  "How about Kupmeier's Cadillac? Did you notice it in the lot?"

  "He drives a Lexus. But no, I didn't see it."

  Haugen paged back to older notes on his pad of paper. "That's right. A Lexus. How did you know he drove a Lexus?"

  "I'm a car guy. I bet I could tell you who owns every ride in the exec lot. Some nice cars up there. It's Barry who drove a caddy, an Escalade."

  "And you say you left around 1am. Didn't hang around at all, went straight home?"

  "Yes."

  "No stops for gas? Talk to anybody? See anybody?"

  "No. Went home and crashed. I slept in some, and came in later than usual on Friday."

  "And you had an appointment to show a new employee around? Jessica Gulsvig?"

  "Yes."

  "And I understand your tour was interrupted a time or two? Some issues popped up that you had to deal with?"

  "Yes."

  "If not for that, you might have been the first to find the deceased?"

  Kelly thought for a second. "I suppose so. But we might not have seen him. He was in the back of the barracks. Maybe we could have seen him from the front of the room. I'm not sure."

  "Instead, one of the test subjects found him. And that's when you called 911?"

  "Yes."

  "How did you know he was dead?"

  "He was stiff. I could just tell. Looked awful."

  "Didn't check for a pulse?"

  "No."


  "Did you recognize the pills he choked on?"

  "Pills? I didn't know about that."

  "Right. And we'd rather not make that public just yet, so it's best if you keep that to yourself."

  "Sure."

  "He was tied with … was it rope?" Haugen searched back through his notes. "Zip ties?"

  "I don't know. He was under a blanket." Kelly suddenly realized Haugen was asking questions designed to trip up the murderer. He face flushed as he realized they considered him a suspect.

  "And then you just happened to come in last night, too."

  "Unexpectedly. I didn't plan to."

  Amundson drew up a chair, sat backwards in it, leaned in close as he stared at Kelly. "We have developed a possible theory of the case."

  "Yeah?"

  "The circumstances surrounding these murders suggest a certain criminal profile. The murderer could be the type of guy who has a need to be important, like being the guy who finds the bodies. Someone who wants to be the hero, suggests possible suspects. The kind of guy who might fantasize about becoming a police officer."

  "Oh, come on," Kelly protested.

  "A guy who goes to school for six years, but doesn't get a degree. A guy with no father figure in his life. Lived with his mom until recently."

  "I had nothing against either of the guys who got killed. And I was living with Mom because she had back surgery, needed some help."

  Amundson continued, "Last night, when we looked at your computer, that seemed to verify your story, but there are two or three gaps in the time stamps when you could have easily gotten away for a while, done the deed and hid the evidence."

  "Well, I didn't. I went up to Barry's office just once, right as the first patrol car arrived."

  "The patrolman says all the lights were off," said Haugen. "You were wandering around in the dark?"

  "Well, yeah, in a way. I didn't mess with the lights. The exit signs and the lights from outside, that was plenty of light." Though true, Kelly's explanation brought a smirk from Amundson. Haugen was more stone-faced. Kelly continued: "It was raining. I like watching the rain, and you can see out better at night with the lights off."

  "Sure," said Amundson.

  Haugen put away his notepad, exchanging it for a clipboard. "We'd like permission to search your apartment and your truck." He passed the clipboard to Kelly. It held a Consent to Search form. "We have a couple people at your building. Your landlord will let them in."

  Kelly shook his head, but signed the form and handed it back.

  Amundson made a call on his cell. "He signed. Go ahead." He hung up.

  Haugen stowed the clipboard and stood. "If you can think of any way to better account for your time the night of the murders, that would be helpful. Is your truck locked?"

  "No."

  Amundson and Haugen turned to leave, but Haugen hesitated, turning back to Kelly. "Look, don't worry about this. From what I gather you have a good reputation, and I have a hunch you've been honest with us, but you realize we have to check you out, right?"

  Kelly nodded.

  After Haugen left, Kelly stewed for a moment. It seemed Amundson was playing bad cop, Haugen good cop. Haugen seemed sincere, but then Amundson did, too.

  Kelly decided he better call Ted, alert him to the apartment search.

  "I was just upstairs looking for you," said Ted. "I heard there's a second victim."

  "Barry Heckathorn. Same M-O as Ron Kupmeier's murder. Somebody has it in for our management."

  "I hope you're safe there."

  "I do, too. But it's actually the cops giving me trouble at the moment. They asked permission to check my apartment. I told them okay, and Jerry's letting them in. I found the body last night, so they're checking me out in case I've suddenly become a homicidal maniac."

  "Yes, officer," said Ted, as though speaking to an imaginary policeman. "Kelly was a loner, seemed like a nice guy, but kept to himself. I never would have thought."

  "Yeah, very funny. Anyway, I think they're doing the search right away, and I didn't want you to wonder what was going on. And if there's any way you can keep an eye on the proceedings, I'd be interested to hear how it goes."

  "I hear a parade on the stairs now. I know most of the veteran detectives. I'll go up and nose around. They won't let me in, but I'll see what I can see."

  "Thanks. I should be home this afternoon sometime."

  As he hung up, there was another knock on the door's glass window. Jessica. He let her in.

  "I heard you were here," she said. "On a Saturday?"

  "Morbid curiosity. And I thought I might be able to help calm the troops."

  "You okay?" She looked at him with concern, picking up on the anxiety he felt in the wake of the visit from Haugen and Amundson.

  "A little stressed," Kelly admitted. He sat at his desk. Jessica took the same chair as Haugen, plopping down with a sigh. She seemed tired, but under the circumstances, Kelly got the impression she was holding up relatively well. "Sorry about calling last night."

  "That's okay. I'm glad you did."

  "How's it going up front?"

  "The police have been going through the employee files and incident reports, and the Crisis Management Team is being re-launched. Diane's going to head it up and we're going to recruit someone from marketing. Right now we're waiting for a consultant from George March who's going to help the committee get reorganized. She should be here pretty soon. Other reps from the consultant are meeting with the board. That's going on now, but not here. They're meeting at the George March offices."

  "I don't blame them. This place is hazardous for managers. The police have anything new to say?"

  "Not really. What have you heard?"

  "Sergeant Haugen and another detective were just here. They had me sign a consent to search my apartment and my truck."

  Jessica's eyes widened in surprise. "You? Why?"

  "I was here when both bodies were found; I don't have an alibi, and they think it's possible that I could be some kind of attention-seeking, homicidal nut job."

  "Well, that's crazy. I was with you when Mr. Kupmeier was found. I saw the look on your face. There's no way."

  "Thanks." Kelly's appreciation for her words ran a lot deeper than 'thanks' could convey. Finding himself on the wrong side of Amundson and Haugen had him feeling pretty low. "I suppose it makes sense that they'd have to check me out, but it still sucks."

  "No wonder you're stressed."

  Kelly sighed. "If they're looking at me, they must be hurting for good leads."

  "How about that former employee they were looking for?"

  "Mickey Bartz? They didn't mention him. But that reminds me … I took a run last night, went by Naughton's lab on Second Avenue; saw Naughton with a scary dude who looked capable of some dirty work."

  "Did you tell the police?"

  "Yes. Though maybe I shouldn't have. Passing them tips is apparently part of the criminal profile I fit."

  "That makes no sense."

  "You wouldn't think so. Anyway, I told them about Naughton last night, or I guess I should say this morning. Naughton was already on their radar, but if they're taking him seriously as a suspect, they're not letting on. I get the feeling Haugen wasn't that interested, but he did take a few notes."

  "Well, with Bartz and Naughton, at least they do have some suspects."

  "Probably a few hundred," said Kelly. "Every wacko who's been a test subject here."

  "Now, now," scolded Jessica in good humor. "As a human relations professional working toward her PHR certification, I can tell you that's no way to refer to people with emotional challenges."

  "How about wing-nuts? "

  Jessica shook her head in disgust. "The only wing-nut I know is the study coordinator."

  Kelly managed a smile, Jessica's visit improving his mood. "Yep, maybe he's even number one on the suspect list."

  Jessica wrinkled her nose. "You really think so?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I have no idea
, but if I'm number one, the investigation must not be going well."

  "I hope they solve the case soon. It'll be really weird at work until they do. Don't you think they should cancel the studies?"

  "That could happen, but I don't think so. I met with Dilman, and if anything, he's all about keeping things going. He's concerned about the financial loss." Kelly wanted to tell her about the pending sale of the company, but held off, recalling Dilman's admonishment about the sensitivity of the information.

  "I wonder if the company has insurance to cover that type of loss."

  "Hard to imagine a policy covering 'shut down due to murders.'" Kelly's cell rang. 9 to 5 ringtone. "It's Mom."

  "Then you better take it," Jessica admonished.

  Kelly smiled, appreciating her humor. "Hey, Ma."

  "The police wanted to search the house."

  "Your house?"

  "Of course. What other house would it be? I told 'em no. I didn't want them digging around the place."

  "Sorry about that. I should have called you. I let them check my apartment and truck. It didn't occur to me that they might want to check the house."

  "Why are they investigating you?"

  "It's just because I was here both nights. That makes me someone they have to check out."

  "They also had a few questions about when I've seen you, talked to you."

  "Crap. It's just routine, mom. They don't have any good suspects yet, so they're digging everywhere."

  "They were nice enough about it, but I still told them no. Have you decided if you're coming for lunch yet?"

  "Yes, I can come. I may as well leave. I don't think I'll get much done here. I'll be there in a bit."

  "Lunch with Mom," he told Jessica as he ended the call.

  "They searched her house, too?"

  "They wanted to, but she said no."

  "Good for her."

  "I could use some company tonight," he said. "Care for another Roger's date?"

  "I could use some company, too," she said. "But how about spaghetti at my place? I told my roommate I'd cook."

  "Super." Kelly agreed to join them at six. He then headed out as Jessica returned to the administration wing for her meeting.

  As he approached his pickup, a gal with press credentials hanging around her neck hastened over to him. He recognized her from the local TV newscasts, but didn't know the name.

  "Excuse me. This is your truck?"

  Behind her, a television photographer grabbed a camera from the Eyewitness News 5 van and headed toward them.

  "Yeah." Kelly climbed in.

  "Why were the police looking through it?"

  "Just routine. They've been searching pretty much everything."

  She spotted his ID lanyard. "A. L. Kelly?"

  Shit, thought Kelly, regretting that he hadn't taken off his ID. He closed the door.

  She persisted. "Can we get an interview?"

  He started the truck and backed out, the cameraman recording as he drove away.