Jeff Buick - Lethal Dose

Unfortunately for Jennifer Pearce, she had made a fatal error.

“The test case was using a carrier,” Jennifer explained to her staff, using the whiteboard in the meeting room. “She had the apolipoprotein E gene on her nineteenth chromosome. Her chances of contracting Alzheimer’s were several times greater than a person without the genetic mutation. And in addition, she had presenilins present in her system, which trigger the gamma secretase enzyme. And that enzyme is responsible for splicing the amyloid precursor protein.”

“But that still doesn’t explain the massive destruction of neurons,” one of her junior staff said.

“You’re jumping ahead, Robert. It’s the plaques and tangles that occur because of the amyloid precursor protein that cause the neurons to be destroyed.” She stopped as the door opened and Bruce Andrews entered. He stood by the door and motioned for her to continue.“So our thrust is to block enzyme activity, not produce another acetylcholinesterase inhibitor.” She set the marker down on the thin ledge at the bottom of the whiteboard and moved toward the back of the room.“Jeanette, please continue. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She reached the door and left the room, Andrews in tow. “What can I do for you, Bruce?” she asked.

He pointed back to the meeting room. “You should have finished. I like listening to brainstorming sessions. Takes me back to the days when I was a researcher, not a manager.”

“Oh, managing seems to suit you just fine.” She leaned against the wall to steady herself. “Seriously, what can I do for you? We’re really busy chasing a new avenue. We’ve had some good success with one of our new molecules bonding, and I want to get this new idea over to White Oak so we can test it.”

“I thought we might have lunch,” Andrews said. “It’s been a while since we talked.”

Jennifer swallowed. “I’ll check my Day-Timer. I may have an opening next week.”

“I was thinking today,”Andrews said.“No time like the present.”

Jennifer read the tone of voice: casual but firm. This was not going away. “All right. Today is fine. I’ll clear my calendar and meet you.”

“Fine. I’ll make reservations at the Lemaire. You know it?”

“I’ve seen the name somewhere, but I’m not sure where,” she said.

“It’s the formal dining room at the Jefferson Hotel. Do you know where the Jefferson is?”

Her mouth went dry. “Yes. I know where the Jefferson is.”

“Twelve o’clock?”

She nodded and headed back into the meeting room. She motioned for Jeanette to stay at the whiteboard and sat near the back among her research staff. The words were coming at her, but they weren’t sticking. The air in the room felt thick like porridge. Her breathing was shallow and fast, and her pulse was racing. What the hell was that all about? Why now of all times did Bruce Andrews want to have lunch with her? What did he know? What could he know?

She whispered something about having to make an important call to one of the staff members and slipped out the back door. The hallway was spinning, and she grasped at the wall to steady herself. A couple of workers in lab coats came rushing over to help, but she assured them she was okay and headed down the hall on shaky legs to her office. She needed to speak with Gordon. She reached her office, closed the door behind her, and grabbed at the phone. Her hand stopped inches from the phone and slowly retracted. Was there any way for Andrews to monitor her calls? She didn’t know. Her cell phone was in her jacket pocket, and she pulled it out and turned it on. Gordon’s number was in the phone’s memory, and she found it and hit send. A few rings, then voice mail.

“Shit,” she said, waiting as Gordon said his piece. When he was finished and the phone beeped, she said, “Gordon, it’s me. Bruce Andrews has asked me to have lunch with him today, and I’m worried that he knows something. I don’t know what to do. Call me when you get this message. Call me on my cell phone, not my office number.”

She hung up and set the phone on her desk, running her hands through her hair and putting pressure on the sides of her head. How much of what she was feeling right now was unsubstantiated panic? Bruce Andrews was the CEO of Veritas, and she was on the verge of a breakthrough in her Alzheimer’s research. It would make sense for the head of the company to spend an hour with the team leader to review their progress. That was his job, knowing where the different research groups were in their search for a new marketable drug. He was the one who went to the media and the investors and laid out the quarterly projections. Andrews had every reason to ask for an hour of her time. She felt herself begin to relax slightly.

Yet the timing was all wrong. It was two days since she and Gordon had sat in the Palm Court lounge at the Jefferson Hotel looking at scientific data that proved Triaxcion had been responsible for Billy’s death. Two days-what were the chances? And Andrews had asked her to meet him at the upscale restaurant in the Jefferson. Again, what were the chances? Slim to none. She felt the panic begin to rise again. The clock on her desk read 11:20. Time to go. With shaking hands, she slipped her cell phone into her pocket and locked her office behind her. She felt like a Christian heading out to meet the lion.

Bruce Andrews watched Jennifer Pearce cross the restaurant with the maitre d’. She looked composed, very businesslike. Her gait was normal, self-assured. She had changed since he saw her this morning, traded in the lab coat for a jacket that matched the pantsuit. She looked nice, he thought, for a dead woman.

What had ever possessed her to link up with Gordon Buchanan? The man was belly-button lint, a complete nobody from the wilds of Montana. He should have stuck to cutting down trees and left the business of prescription drugs to those who knew what they were doing. Look at the damage he had caused. Kenga Bakcsi had to be removed because Buchanan had dragged her into the Triaxcion mess. And now Jennifer Pearce. Andrews had had a man watching them who followed the pair to the airport. According to his contact, there had been quite a hug at the airport. Pearce and Buchanan, toe to toe, nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes like two puppy dogs in heat. Well, Gordon Buchanan was about to lose another person close to him.

“Hello, Jennifer,” he said, rising from his chair as she arrived at the table. “Thanks for coming.”

“It wasn’t a problem, Bruce. Minor adjustment to my schedule.”

They ordered drinks and lunch, talked about trivial things for a while, then Andrews steered the conversation to work at the office. He listened intently as she detailed the new direction her group was moving with respect to the new molecule she had discovered. He asked the right questions and she gave the right answers. They ate their main course and Jennifer declined desert. He asked for the check and set his napkin on his plate.

“That was excellent,” he said. “Did you enjoy your food?”

“Very much. Thanks for the invite.”

“It was time we got out together. A little one-on-one time. It’s difficult to make time these days. I think we’re all so busy that the little things get ignored.”

She smiled. “That’s true.” His statement about little things triggered a sudden thought. “I noticed something at the office the other day. Something that didn’t seem right.”

“What was that?” he asked, sipping on his coffee.

“Some of our everyday expenses are being logged in under R amp;D. That would make them eligible for tax credits. I don’t know if Accounting is actually claiming the credits, but if they are there could be some backlash. I know the forensic auditors are watching for stuff like that in the wake of the Enron scandal.”