Murder at Naughton Pharms

Ted brought his own glass of wine to Kelly's apartment to watch the news. He settled into Kelly's well-worn overstuffed chair. The living room also included an old rocker Kelly got from one of his college buddies. The chairs were drawn up to an old knee-high circular folding table on which Kelly had painted a chessboard on the worn vinyl.

  In contrast to the rest of Kelly's modest furnishings, his TV was only a year old, and being on the top floor he was able to get good reception, happy to do without cable or dish, though once he finished with school loans he planned to sign up so he could get the Twins and Vikings games.

  The murders again topped the newscast. A flashy graphic over the shoulder of anchorman Dane Sanders read "Naughton Murders." In the background was a stylized picture of the building. "Killer Unknown" dissolved onto the image, angling across the graphic in dramatic red lettering.

  "Sanders is the weekday guy," said Ted. "Must have brought him in for the big story. I bet they're glad it's not football season when they'd be preempted."

  Kelly hushed him.

  "Good evening everyone. Several developments to report tonight on the twin murders at Naughton Pharmaceuticals. But none of those developments includes a solid suspect, and the killer, or killers, remain at large. Paula Keen has been heading up our Eyewitness News team coverage."

  The screen changed, splitting the image to show both the anchorman and Paula.

  "She joins us now from the Eyewitness newsroom. Paula, it's a scary situation."

  "That it is, Dane. Employees at Naughton Pharmaceuticals have been asked not to speak with the media, but a few spoke to me on condition of anonymity, and they confirm that there is a good deal of anxiety – anxiety that will only ease when an arrest is made.

  Video of departing employees appeared.

  "Today police dug deeper, conducting more detailed searches in the building. And they also searched the vehicle and residence of a key person in the case."

  Video showed a fairly tight shot of a detective looking into the bed of Kelly's truck.

  "She said she wouldn't use that!" said Kelly.

  "She said she'd be discrete. Can't really tell what the vehicle is."

  "Pretty clear it's a blue pickup," said Kelly, disgusted.

  "The person in question was the caller to 911 after the body of Ronald Kupmeier was found, and he also found the second victim, Barry Heckathorn."

  The video switched to Kelly's apartment house, showing the door, door knocker, window, railing and steps -- all close-ups that didn't make the location readily identifiable.

  "The police were very clear, however, that there's no indication, no evidence at all, that the employee had anything to do with the murders, and he's not being called a suspect. They say the searches are routine, done with the full cooperation of the employee."

  The video returned to exteriors of the Naughton building.

  "Meanwhile, police are combing records of employees and test subjects, looking for anyone who might have a grudge, and Eyewitness News has learned that the police are chasing down one such lead, a former employee last known to be working somewhere in the western North Dakota oil fields."

  Back to the anchor-reporter two shot.

  "Paula, is it fair to call that person a suspect?"

  "Not at all, Dane. The lead investigator on the case, Sergeant Charles Haugen, says it's just a matter of leaving no stone unturned in a case where leads have been tough to come by."

  "Thanks, Paula. And now with our First on 5 Weather here's meteorologist...."

  Kelly turned off the television. "Could have been worse. I guess she honored the deal."

  "So, do you think the police are as baffled as it seems?"

  Kelly shrugged. "Sure seems like it."

  "What's your guess as to motive?"

  "One theory, and this comes from the janitor at work, is that they were killed to keep them quiet."

  "About what?"

  "I have no idea. And if it gets a person killed, I don't want to know."

  "My money's on 'deranged test subject.' Maybe somebody who blames the company for causing the voices in his head."

  "That's as good a guess as any."

  "Let's see … other common motives would be revenge, money. Probably not love," said Ted.

  "Yeah, I think we can rule out love. But there is one thing that has me wondering." Kelly squinted at Ted. "Off the record?"

  Ted smiled. "Sure, off the record."

  "I'm not supposed to tell anybody about this."

  "Mum's the word."

  "There's some talk of selling the company. And they'd spin-off the research division as a new independent company."

  "You think the murders have something to do with that?"

  "Well, no, or at least I have no reason to think so, except the timing. There is some idea that the murders could affect the deal, but I don't see where anyone benefits … especially since it's so speculative, but what do I know?"

  "Well, I'm sticking with deranged murderer. After all, who'd do this kind of thing if they weren't deranged?" Ted stood, made his way toward the door. "I'm making homemade chicken noodle soup tonight. Care to join me?"

  "Thanks, but I'm going to Jessica's for spaghetti."

  "The gal who called earlier?"

  "Yes. She works in H-R at Naughton, was with me when we found Ron Kupmeier."

  "That sounds romantic."

  "Don't knock it. It's my favorite way to pick up a gal. It's never failed."

  Ted chuckled. "I wouldn't make a habit of that. See you later."

  Since Kelly had some time before his dinner date, he decided to swap his pickup for his hobby car, a 1977 Delta 88 Royale coupe that he kept in his mom's large double garage. With the news footage making it clear a blue pickup had been searched, other reporters could be watching for it, either in the company parking lot or maybe even at his apartment if they discovered where he lived.

  Kelly had just pulled into his mom's driveway when she came out through the door to the attached garage. She carried a potted hosta and a trowel.

  "You're still planting? It's August."

  "Edna Mae gave this one. I don't have one quite like it. Now I've got to find a place for it!"

  Much of the front yard was dominated by Tanya Kelly's flowerbed. Kelly sat on a boulder that anchored one end of the garden as his mom began to excavate a spot at the base of a lighthouse yard ornament.

  "I saw the news," she said.

  "Me, too."

  "You found both bodies?"

  "Didn't I tell you?"

  "No."

  "Guess I didn't want to freak you out."

  "I don't freak out." She eased the pot over to tip out the hosta. "At least the story confirmed that the police aren't calling you a suspect."

  "They're probably still wondering, but I think they believe me. The reporter came by the apartment earlier and I explained things. She agreed to keep my name out of it."

  Tanya Kelly tapped down the soil around the hosta. "I ate already, but if you're hungry, there's some cold chicken and some potato salad."

  "No, I've got a dinner date with Jessica."

  "Well, now who is Jessica?" Tanya Kelly looked at her son with a blend of exasperation and amusement.

  "I didn't tell you about her, either?"

  "No."

  "She's new at work. Jessica Gulsvig."

  "Related to the Gulsvigs at our church?"

  "I don't know. There's Gulsvigs at church?"

  "Well, if you ever went …"

  "I think she grew up on a farm. I'm not sure."

  "You're supposed to find out those things. A mother wants to know. Is she pretty?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "A hot date then."

  Kelly shrugged.

  "Are you excited to see her, or not?"

  Kelly couldn't help a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty excited to see her."

  His mom beamed. "Well, you bring her by sometime."

  Kelly swapped his truck for t
he Delta 88. The Oldsmobile wasn't one of the more prized vintage cars, but it had been his grandfather's, which made it special. It didn't look like much in its current condition – the paint dull and faded with primer covering patches of body putty – but it ran okay. A lot of work remained, but he hoped it would one day be a stunner, sporting a top-notch paint job ... metallic brown or maybe emerald green. He imagined it that way as he drove to Jessica's place about a mile south of I-94.

  As he arrived at the rented, bi-level twin home, it was still bright daylight, a typically beautiful summer evening in North Dakota. At the top of the driveway, a pinwheel fan in a large pot of marigolds spun slowly in a light breeze. The door to the unit was set back to the side of the attached garage. Kelly rang the bell.

  "It's a boy!" exclaimed the man who answered. He was tall, thin, and well-tanned. He leaned toward Kelly as though sharing a confidence. "She didn't tell me her friend Kelly was a boy. Come on in! I'm Clifford."

  Jessica appeared at the top of a short flight of stairs leading to the main floor. "Hi, Kelly. I see you met Cliffy." She was wiping her hands on a towel. "Spaghetti in about ten minutes. The TV's on. 6pm news about to start." She headed back to the kitchen.

  Clifford waved Kelly into the living room. "I was in Minneapolis; just got back, but I read about the murders and Jessica's been texting. How awful. Jessica says you were there."

  "Yep." Kelly settled on the sofa. Clifford sat on the arm of a matching, but cat-scratched chair.

  "Did you know those two?" asked Clifford.

  "Not really."

  As the news started, Jessica came from the kitchen to watch. It was Channel 5 again, but a different reporter, live from City Hall. A police news conference had just ended, and the reporter worked from notes, relating new details: the cause of death was suffocation, and both victims had pills in their mouths – over-the-counter meds, not drugs from Naughton Pharmaceuticals. The reporter then led into a clip with Lt. Warren Powers, identified as supervisor for the investigation. He stated that the victims had been gagged with duct tape and shocked repeatedly with a stun gun. As the clip continued, the reporter could be heard asking about suspects.

  "We have no clear suspects at this time, but we are following a number of leads. We also welcome any information from the public on the victims or on any suspicious activity around Naughton Pharmaceuticals on Thursday or Friday night."

  The reporter wrapped up the segment by saying the police had no reason to believe anybody participating in the drug trials was involved or in any danger.

  "Sweet," said Kelly. "They didn't repeat any of the stuff about me."

  "You?" said Clifford.

  "At five they had video of the police checking out my pickup in the parking lot. They searched everybody's desks today, too. I guess the news conference gave them something new to go with."

  "Dish up!" Jessica announced. "You're first, Kelly. We'll eat out on the deck. Lemonade and silverware are already out there."

  The elevated deck gave them a good view. The neighboring twin homes were identical except for color and some variation on deck design. The yards and fences, however, differed widely -- a barren yard here, an elaborately planted garden there, an elevated pool, a swing set, snowmobiles on a trailer and everywhere were sheds of various shape and size. Smoke rose from a neighbor's grill and children in another yard played at some made-up game involving a soccer ball and brooms.

  "So, how do you two know each other?" asked Kelly.

  "Little Country Theatre," said Clifford, referring to the theatre program at North Dakota State.

  "He was Mr. Marmalade," said Jessica, as though Kelly should be impressed.

  Kelly nodded appreciatively, as though he had a clue who Mr. Marmalade was. "And who were you?" he asked Jessica.

  "Oh, I steered clear of the footlights," said Jessica. "I worked on the running crew."

  "You'd be good on stage," said Clifford. He looked at Kelly. "Don't you think she'd be good?"

  "If looks had anything to do with it, sure. She's probably the best looking gal on the whole block."

  Clifford snorted, appreciating Kelly's understatement.

  Jessica smiled. "Thank you, but I'd get too nervous and forget all my lines. I like it behind the scenes."

  "So," said Clifford, addressing Kelly. "What do you do at Naughton Pharms?"

  Kelly, smiled, not having heard the company called that before. "I guess you could say I help shepherd all the migrant 'pharm-workers.' I coordinate the research studies, where we pay people to take drugs and be tested."

  "Ooo, a big shot."

  "Not at all. It's just busy work. Sounds more important than it is."

  "He's highly thought of," countered Jessica.

  "You like that work?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I like what I do, but the industry as a whole ... I have mixed feelings about that."

  "These murders…" Clifford leaned over his plate, wielding his fork for emphasis. "It could be some psycho. Did you know psychos are way more common among business executives?" He leaned back, nodding in affirmation of his own observation.

  "There is some speculation about the killings being related to a business-related cover-up."

  Clifford's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped as he looked from Kelly to Jessica and back. "Uh-huh. That could explain it! And those psychos are absolutely selfish. They'd kill and not have any pangs about it." He sliced the air with his fork for emphasis. His brow suddenly knotted and he looked off into the distance, deep in thought. "I think Mr. Marmalade was probably a psycho."

  "Yuh think?" Jessica rolled her eyes.

  "Well, okay, maybe it's obvious, but I hadn't thought of it that way. Hmmm. Maybe that would have juiced up my performance."

  "Oh, you were plenty juiced," said Jessica. "You rocked. The play would have tanked without you."

  "Aw, thanks, girlfriend." He looked at Jessica with genuine affection. "Look, you two, I have to go to work, but thanks for the spaghetti; and Kelly, it was nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you, too," said Kelly, genuinely having enjoyed Clifford's company.

  Clifford rose to leave, plate and fork in hand. He looked at Jessica, but pointed his fork at Kelly. "Nice boy. You can keep him." He turned his attention to Kelly. "And you … you better be nice to my Jessie." He wagged the fork like a scolding teacher. "Or you might have to face Mr. Marmalade."

  Kelly laughed. "Wouldn't want that!"

  "Bye, Cliffy," said Jessica.

  Clifford gave her a smooch on the forehead and went inside.

  "Where does Cliff work?"

  "Tonight he's at the Humane Society. Evening shift. He'll be back around eleven. He spends time with the animals, cleans cages, answers phones. He also works at Doobies ... usually Thursday through Saturday. He runs tech for the bands and he also pull shifts behind the bar, even waits tables sometimes. He's still in school, though. Sociology and art history."

  "I need to go back and finish my degree one of these days." Kelly helped himself to another piece of garlic toast.

  "So, do you think the psycho cover-up theory might be right?"

  "I really have no idea."

  "It's creepy to imagine it might be someone we know."

  Kelly nodded. "To me, nobody at work seems likely. I hope the cops can figure it out soon."

  "Speaking of the police, isn't your testing day coming up?"

  "Yep, two weeks from today. I'm pretty excited about it, though Potts and Dilman are trying to talk me into staying on."

  "Really?"

  "I'm not supposed to talk about it, but there could be some changes coming, and they say I could have a bright future there."

  "Are you considering it?"

  "Well, I haven't totally ruled it out. Becoming a policeman has been my dream, but I imagine I'd make a whole lot more money by staying. I kind of get the feeling though, that they're trying to buy me off."

  "How so?"

  "They're under some pressure on one of
the studies. The murders threaten to blow it up. Dilman says not to worry about it, he'll take care of it, but he's asked me not to file any discrep reports."

  "What's a discrep report?"

  "A discrepancy report – any problems with the protocol, anything unusual. Stuff like that."

  "And you're normally supposed to do that?"

  "Well, as coordinator, it's not officially my responsibility … it's the job of the study team leader ... but I occasionally add something, or even write it for them."

  "Why would he ask you not to?"

  "That's the question, alright. I've wondered what he's up to. I doubt it's anything we'd be particularly proud of. Whatever it is, they apparently have some concern that I could blow their plans."

  "And they think they can buy you?"

  "That's maybe a little strong. I think they hope to keep me on the sidelines; that I'd be content to not know what they're doing. Or maybe they're sounding me out or trying to soften me up to see how far I'd go to help."

  A gust of wind threatened the stack of napkins, but Jessica caught them. Kelly helped her clear the table and bring everything inside.

  "So," said Jessica, as she began rinsing off the dishes. "I did a little research the other day after our conversation about drug companies. There was an article about the problems caused by prescription drugs. They told the story of a woman who was on a blood pressure drug. Well, she developed incontinence, so they put her on a drug for that. And after a time, she began to have symptoms of dementia, so she went on still another drug. Turns out, all her symptoms were drug side effects – except for the initial blood pressure problem."

  "A good doctor or pharmacist should catch that."

  "They often don't, at least that's what the article said. Too many drugs and side effects to keep track of. In one case, a drug was pulled off the market, and that resulted in a measurable improvement in the country's overall death rate!"

  Kelly shook his head as he loaded rinsed plates into the dishwasher. "In a way, I can see how that could happen. We've had studies where we dropped people if they had an adverse reaction. The idea was that they wouldn't be helpful in determining a drug's benefit, but I always wondered about that. If you don't account for the vulnerable people, you're really not getting a representative result. I think that's especially true for senior citizens. The drugs are rarely tested on that age group."

  "And if a drug kills people, even one percent can be a lot of bodies." Jessica turned off the faucet. "Keeping something like that quiet ... that could be a motive."

  "Like Ron or Barry were about to blow the whistle on someone?"

  "Maybe."

  "Ron doesn't strike me as the whistleblower type, quite the opposite. Maybe not Barry, either. But I suppose it's possible."

  "Have there been problems with a Naughton drug?"

  Kelly shrugged. "Not that I know of, at least not since Amflexidyne, and that was years ago."

  After the dishes were squared away they sat together on the couch. "So, tell me about yourself," said Kelly. "Not trying to be pushy," he added. "It's really my mom. When I told her I was having dinner with you, she was full of questions I couldn't answer, so I thought I better ask or she'll be disappointed."

  "Ah," said Jessica, smiling. "Your mom. I wouldn't want to disappoint her. Let's see. Where to start?" Jessica hugged a couch pillow and looked at the ceiling. "Well, I grew up on a farm near Argusville. I have two brothers, one older, one younger. I went to Northern Cass High School, so I'm a Jaguar. I played volleyball, but we weren't very good. However, this year's team won the Class B State title – that was cool. I played flute in high school. In college, a friend got me started on bagpipes. I'm still only fair, but I play in the Shamrock and Thistle group, mostly a social thing, but it's fun. We do parades once in a while. I go to yoga class. I volunteer at the community theatre. I'm thinking about becoming a Big Sister. I tried Habitat for Humanity, but I'm a little dangerous with tools, mostly to myself, so I gave that up. I occasionally still help on the farm, mostly driving truck during harvest. I like watercolors, and I collect hand-blown glass art." Jessica gestured to nearby shelves that held several impressive glass gourds, vases and bowls. "Mostly they're done by a friend of mine, but I've started to watch for pieces from other artists, too, but there aren't many glass blowers around." She paused, looking toward the ceiling. "What else? Hmmm. Oh, I like to read non-fiction, mostly biography, and I also like mysteries if they're not too creepy. How's that?"

  "Very good. Mom will be pleased."

  "And you?"

  "Grew up in North Fargo. Played baseball in high school, sax in the band for a while, but didn't like the band teacher, so got away from it. Then in college I met a gal who played jazz piano and that got me interested again. I mostly tinker with older big band music, stuff from the 30s, 40s. I also played chess in high school. Took fourth in state as a junior. I liked shop. I tinker with cars. In fact, I drove my old Delta 88 over here. It's still a mess, but I hope I can get it looking pretty good some day."

  A cat jumped onto Kelly's lap. "Oh, hello there."

  The orange tabby briefly considered settling down, but instead scampered to Jessica.

  "This is Pester," she said. "He usually hides out when someone first comes over." She scratched the purring cat's neck and head. "He's kind of neurotic, sometimes skittish, but he still craves attention. And I suppose I should feed him." She got up, headed for the kitchen, Pester on her heels.

  "And I suppose I should get going," said Kelly.

  Jessica fed Pester, then met Kelly by the stairs leading down to the front door. He took her hand. "Thanks for the spaghetti. It was very good."

  "Well, thanks for coming. Glad you could join us."

  "I haven't known you as long as Clifford, but do I get to kiss you goodbye, too?"

  She stepped closer. "I suppose you should."