L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

After a few minutes, she dragged a suitcase by him as she pounded down the stairs, crying softly.

“Why?” he called out to her retreating back.

For a moment she kept going, then at the bottom of the steps she stopped and turned back.

“Because I’m lonely. Because you’re never here.” Her voice gained volume and her face twisted in anguish. “Because you’re not really here even when you’re home. Because I don’t want to move to Seattle.”

His wife spun around and stormed out the front door. For a second, he heard the rain beating on the front step, matching the fury of his heart. Rudker wished he hadn’t hit Tara; that one slap could cost him dearly. But damnit, she had betrayed him. Totally blindsided him. After several long minutes of waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his ears, he went downstairs and took two Ativan. He thought he might have missed his Zyprexa again that morning, so he took one of those too.

Blood seeped from his knuckles, so he stood at the kitchen sink and ran cold water on his swelling hand. Rudker vowed to get back on track, to stay in control of himself until his external problems were resolved. He knew he should fight for Tara. He could win her back with the right promises-and he would. But it would have to wait. He was juggling too many critical things right now, any of which could blow up on him. The land rezoning and expansion. The fraudulent accounting, which could surface and derail the merger. And that damn PR person’s obsession with the Nexapra trials.

Rudker shut off the water and retreated to his study. Sula was his greatest concern and containing her was his top priority. Her visit to the research clinic had unnerved him. He doubted if the girl had learned anything significant, but clearly she was not giving up. He wondered what it would take to intimidate her. The idea of assaulting her was certainly attractive. Punishing offenders could be quite satisfying, as he had just experienced. Yet an anonymous attack would be difficult to pull off, and Sula would probably send the police to him even if she didn’t actually see her assailant. He could not afford to be questioned. Not with his career on the line and with Warner so recently assaulted.

One the other hand, an accident might be just what Sula needed.

The time Sula spent working on her sculpture was therapeutic. She’d managed to not think about her custody hearing, her unemployment, the theft charges against her, or the Nexapra trials for nearly two hours.

Of course, as soon as she put down the mig welder, she’d started brooding about all of it. Her custody lawyer still didn’t know she was unemployed, and Sula needed to make that dreaded call. She had decided not to tell Barbara about being arrested. The theft hearing was after the custody hearing, and no one involved in the custody dispute needed to know about it. The only thing she could do to improve her chances of winning custody was to find a job, one that paid more than unemployment. That might take a while. Unemployment in Oregon was over ten percent.

Recovering the DNA data seemed even more difficult. Paul hadn’t called yet to report how their Trojan horse was doing. On the positive side, she’d learned the last name of a third Nexapra suicide, but wasn’t sure what good it would do her.

She wanted to get out for a walk but it was too wet. She put on shorts and a Beyonce CD, then worked up a sweat dancing around the living room. Exercise was not a discipline with her. She did it only when she felt like it, and only as long as she enjoyed it.

Sula showered and changed into jeans. Unable to wait any longer, she called Paul. “Hey. How’s the hacking coming?”

“Hi. And I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good to hear. If you’re going to keep me in suspense about it, maybe I should drive over and pick up pizzas on the way.”

“Excellent idea. I have nothing here but a moldy tomato, a can of peaches, and some cat food.” Paul didn’t have a cat.

Sula didn’t take the bait. “See you in thirty.”

She called in two small pizzas from Papas-a Mt. Bachelor classic for her, with pesto, sausage, artichoke hearts, and wax banana peppers, and a Canadian bacon and pineapple for Paul. They had shared this meal a few times. The pizzas were ready when she arrived, and Sula put them on her UO/Visa card. Intuition told her she needed to keep what little cash she had on hand.

It stopped raining on the drive over. She heard her mother’s voice-a sweet, faint memory-calling it an omen for good things to happen during her visit with Paul. As much as she liked to keep her mother’s memory close, Sula rejected her spirituality. Gods and chants and superstitious hadn’t made her mother happy or kept her safe.

Paul opened the door as she got there and ushered her in with a string of exclamations about food and love. Sula took the boxes to the kitchen table, while Paul dug out a stack of napkins. They each devoured half a pizza before saying much.

“What’s happening with our Trojan horse?” Sula asked between napkin wipes.

Paul grinned, mouthful and all. “I have a password.”

“Hot damn. Do you know who the user is?” Sula pushed her pizza aside, too excited to eat now.

“Eric Sobotka.”

“He’s a scientist. He has access to the clinical trial database.”

“I know.” Paul was still grinning. “I’ve already been in there.”

Sula jumped up and went around the table to hug him. “What have you found?”

“Tons of stuff. But I don’t have any idea what I’m looking for, so that’s why I needed you here.”

“We’re looking for anything we can find about Miguel and Luis Rios. I should have given you the names.”

“You probably did.” Paul shrugged. “Let me eat one more piece of this heavenly pie, then we’ll get right on it.”

After forty minutes of searching, the names did not come up.

“Rudker deleted the files. I knew he would.” Sula slumped into a chair. She’d been pacing Paul’s living room for the last thirty minutes, checking over his shoulder on occasion. “Warner must have expected him to do that, which was why she made the disk. And I lost it.”

Paul turned to her. “You didn’t lose it. The bastard had you arrested, then broke into your home while you were in jail and stole it from you. Who would have seen that coming?”

“Certainly not me.”

“What now?” Paul did not give up easily either.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I’m thinking of going to Puerto Rico.”

“Get out.” Paul’s mouth fell open. “You don’t fly.”

Sula hadn’t let herself think about that part of it. “I have to get that data. A woman in Portland also committed suicide while taking Nexapra during a clinical trail. She was only twenty-eight. Her last name was James, but the clinician said she looked Hispanic.”

“Jesus. Clearly not a good drug for Latinos.” Paul shook his head. “Can you do it? Get on a plane and fly across an ocean?”

“I hope so. Maybe with enough Xanax in me.”

“Can you afford the ticket?”

“No, but I have a credit card.”

Paul leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “I have a free flight from years of building up credit card points. It’s good for anywhere on US soil. I’ll get you a ticket with it.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Of course you can. It’s not a gift; it’s a loan. Without any interest. You’ll pay me back whenever you can.”

Sula was overwhelmed by his generosity. She tried to refuse again, but he ignored her and turned back to his computer. In a few minutes, the Chase credit card site came up and Paul found the number to call for cashing in his travel points. While he was on hold, he asked, “When do you want to go?”