L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

“Did you get what you need?”

“Yes. Thanks. Lucia called Marta and we’re meeting her at 3: 15.”

“Good. We have time to stop for lunch then.”

Roman took off with his usual foot to the floor. Sula buckled herself in.

They ate lunch at a little roadside stand just outside of San Juan. The asopao de pollo was the best on the island Roman assured her. Sula loved the zesty combination of oregano, garlic, cilantro, and chili peppers. Garden fresh green peas cooled the fire and kept the dish from being too hot. Despite her hearty breakfast, she ate with gusto, sitting at a picnic table under a tattered sun umbrella. It was the best meal she’d had in a long time, and it had cost only two dollars and seventy-five cents.

Marta lived on the sixth floor of an apartment building in an area of San Juan called Hato Rey Central. They parked in a garage under the building and took the elevator up. Sula normally avoided both parking garages and elevators, but after surviving the flights to get here, finding Lucia, and getting a DNA sample, she felt too optimistic to give either much thought. Although on the way up, it occurred to her that the building was quite old, and she wondered if the elevator was regularly maintained.

No one answered their knock. Sula checked her watch: 3:07.

“We’re a little early.”

“So we wait.” Roman took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. Sula joined him.

“I really appreciate your help today. This would have been so much more difficult without you.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that. It’s nothing, really.”

Marta didn’t show up until 3:47, and when she did, she told them to get lost.

“But you told Lucia you would talk to me.” Sula smelled rum on Marta’s breath and felt a little desperate.

“I don’t feel like it now.”

“It will only take a minute.”

“I said, ‘get lost.’” Marta was a short sturdy woman with long reddish blond hair. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but Sula thought men would find her attractive. Maybe not at the moment, though.

Still hoping to win her over, she held out her hand. “I’m Sula Moreno, and this is Roman from the clinic.”

Marta turned away. “And you know who I am.” She unlocked her apartment door, stepped through, and slammed it shut. Roman made an unpleasant gesture.

Damn. Without the second set of DNA, there was no theory to test. Sula struggled to be optimistic. Maybe Marta would feel differently later this evening. Or tomorrow morning when she was sober. Sula couldn’t make herself walk away. She stepped up to the door and knocked timidly.

There was no response. She knocked louder. After a minute, the door jerked open and Marta swore at her in Spanish.

Sula didn’t back down. “I know how you feel. My father killed himself, and I was angry for a long time. But if you don’t help me, many more people may commit suicide. Nexapra has a genetic flaw that seems to affect Hispanic people.”

She had Marta’s attention. “Why Hispanic people?”

“I don’t know. And we might never know if you don’t give me Luis’ DNA.”

Marta bit her lip and mulled it over. Finally, she said, “I’ll give you the stuff Lucia said to, but I don’t want to talk.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

Marta turned and gestured for Sula to follow.

The small space reeked of stale cigarette smoke and perfume, but the view of the harbor was lovely. Marta didn’t invite her to sit.

“Wait here.” She stalked out of the room through a tapestry covered arch. A moment later she came back with a hairbrush and a pipe. “These belonged to Luis.” She thrust the items at Sula. “It’s all I have left of him.” Under the anger, she was still grieving.

“Thank you for making this sacrifice. This is important research.”

“Are we done?”

“Do you have a plastic bag?”

“Of course.” Marta brought her an empty bread bag. Sula decided it would be fine.

“Would you please write a note, indicating that you gave me these items and who they belonged to?”

Marta rolled her eyes. “I don’t have any paper.”

“I do.” Digging with one hand, Sula pulled the yellow tablet out of her shoulder bag. She found a pen in the side pocket and handed both to Marta.

Marta stepped over to the small table near the window. “What do I write?”

“Just say, ‘This pipe and hairbrush belonged to my husband Luis Rios. I gave them to Sula Moreno to give to the FDA.’ Then sign it and date it, please.”

Without sitting down, Marta scrawled the first half of the note. “How do you spell your name?”

Sula recited it slowly. Marta finished and signed with a flourish. “Is that it?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Sula tucked the note into the bread bag and stuffed the bag and notepad back into her purse. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Thanks again for helping me.”

Marta brought her hand to her mouth and looked as if she might cry out. Sula hurried from the apartment.

Roman looked relieved to see her. Sula gave him a bright smile. “All set.”

As they rode the elevator down, Sula felt like humming. Overall, her day had gone well, starting with Felisa’s unexpected cooperation. As they walked toward the car, Roman asked, “Where to now?”

Good question. Sula knew she should go back to the clinic and thank Felisa again, but then she would have to take a taxi back to the hotel. Now that she had the DNA samples, she really wanted to get on the next flight home and ship to the FDA as soon as possible. “The El Canario Inn, if you don’t mind.”

It would take months for the agency to compare the men’s DNA for a common mutation, but if Dr. Warner was right, they would find the genetic vulnerability. In the meantime, the regulators would ask to see Prolabs’ records for Luis and Miguel-along with the rest of the Puerto Rico participants. When Rudker couldn’t produce a paper trail, the agency would shut down the Nexapra trial until the company proved it had established a compliant system for storing data. At least she hoped it would play out something like that.

San Juan rush hour traffic was as bad as any big city, and the trip to the hotel took thirty minutes. Roman grew impatient and muttered things like “idiota” and “mierda” under his breath. Sula called Felisa to share the success of her visits and promised to be in touch with her.

When they reached the El Canario, she gave Roman a twenty as a thank you. She worried he might me offended by the amount, but he happily took the money and wished her “buena suerte.” Once inside her room, Sula called American Airlines to check for departing flight times that evening. After eight minutes on hold, she learned there was a flight out to Newark New Jersey, leaving at 7:05. From there, she could catch a connecting flight to Portland, Oregon, followed by a puddle jumper to Eugene, arriving home at 8:15 in the morning. She checked her watch: 5:37. With only carry-on luggage and a ten-minute ride to airport, she decided she could make it.

She called the front desk for a cab, then quickly packed up her bathroom stuff and dirty clothes from yesterday. A normal person would have taken a walk on the beach, had a nice dinner, and flown home in the morning. At the moment, Sula didn’t feel like a normal person. Her life was so unsettled, she couldn’t make herself relax. She had to get back home, get the DNA samples to the FDA, and find a job.

She also had to call her custody lawyer. Sula couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it yet. She dreaded having to tell Barbara she’d lost her job, but it was only fair that the lawyer know before they got to court. Now that the Nexapra business was taken care of, Sula could focus and start moving her life forward again. She took a Xanax to brace herself for the first of three back-to-back flights and felt more optimistic than she had in weeks. Sula hurried downstairs and stood outside to wait for the taxi, taking in all balmy air and sunshine she could while she still had the chance.