Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

"I guess I could say I'm just following orders from the man running the study. But as a practical matter, if this comes to light I'll be tarred with the same brush as Ingersoll and whoever else is responsible." "What about a responsibility to patients?" "That brings up another problem," Sara said. "There may be some side effects of Jandramycin that are just now coming to light." "Explain," Mark said.

"One of the patients in the Jandramycin study has turned up with Guillain-Barre syndrome," Rip said. "There are at least two more that we know of who've developed different problems. We don't know the specifics, but it's enough to make us wonder if there are late effects of the drug that no one suspected." "Or that they knew about but chose to keep hidden," Mark said. "Assuming that's true, who are our suspects?" Sara asked. "Same list we've already named," Rip said.

"Ingersoll, Resnick, someone at Jandra, or a person as yet unknown.

Right now, all we have is questions. I think it's time to try to get some answers."

Outside the restaurant, John ransomed his car from the valet parking attendant. "Where can I drop you two? Back at the medical school?" "Yeah, I guess I'd better start making some phone calls," Rip said. "I'm going to have to call every patient who received Jandramycin and find out if any of them have developed problems." "Can I help?" Sara asked. "No, a call from me will seem like a routine follow-up, but a call from a doctor not involved in the case would send up red flags. This is going to have to be completely under the radar." "If you need anything from me, let me know," John said. After a short drive, the three doctors climbed out of the car in the faculty parking garage. John beeped the car locked and said, "Call me when you know more. We can meet at my house to discuss it." As a half-time faculty member, John shared an academic office with another part-timer. He decided to go back there and tackle the pile of unread journals on his desk. When he walked in, his secretary was attacking the keyboard of her computer as though it was an enemy to be subdued.

Usually, she greeted him with a smile, but today she kept her head down, barely acknowledging him. Strange. The mystery deepened as John entered his office: a middleaged man sat across from his desk. John dropped his briefcase and took his white coat from a hook behind the door. "May I help you?" The man rose and picked up his own briefcase from beside his chair. "Dr. John Ramsey?" "Yes." The man plunged his hand into the case and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he thrust into John's hand. "You've been served." He took two steps toward the door, turned, and added, "Sorry about that. Have a nice day." John stood immobile for a few moments, not daring to look down at the papers in his hand. Then he moved slowly to his swivel chair and dropped into it. Like a child peeking out from under the covers, afraid he'd see a boogeyman, John squinted and let his eyes scan the document he held. There, buried in unfamiliar verbiage, was his name, along with Lillian Goodman's and a number of other colleagues. True to their threat, the family of the woman he'd assisted was suing the medical center and every person remotely connected with her brief time there. And blameless or not, he knew the next few months would be terrible. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed and wished he could turn back the calendar-not a few days or a few weeks, but half a year.

Then Beth would be there. And he wouldn't feel as he did now-as alone as a man on a desert island, with no sign of a ship on the horizon.

Sara dropped her backpack by the door, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed into the one comfortable chair in her living room.

Automatically, her hand found the TV remote, but she let it fall onto the table with a clatter when she realized she didn't need background noise or diversion-she needed quiet and a chance to think. There was something about Jandramycin that wasn't right, something about the study and the people involved in it that set offalarm bells in her head. She had no proof, but her clinical intuition told her that the "wonder drug" had some late risks that had either been ignored or flagrantly hidden. Who would do it? Who could do it? Of course, this might have begun at the source with the people at Jandra Pharmaceuticals. She'd have to find out who had such access. She picked up a scratch pad from beside the phone, rummaged in the drawer of the small table until she found a pen, and made a note. "Jandra."

Beneath "Jandra," she wrote "Jack." Her ex-husband had control of the study, and its success or failure would have an enormous effect on his career. Then came "Resnick." She'd never liked the obsequious little doctor, and she could see him fiddling data and hiding information if it would benefit him. She tapped the pen against her teeth, fighting the urge to write the next name. No, he couldn't do such a thing. But he had almost as much access as Jack to the data. Finally, in handwriting that was uncharacteristically cramped, she scrawled,

"Rip." The ring of the telephone startled her. She dropped her pen, reached for it, and kicked it under the sofa. She'd get it later. Sara grabbed the phone just as her answering machine came to life. "Hi, this is-" She stabbed at the button to stop the message. "Hello.

Hello?" She could almost see Rip's frown from the tone of his voice.

"Sara, is this a bad time?" "No, I just dropped- Never mind. No, this is fine." "I missed connecting with you at the medical center, and I thought you'd want to know what I found out." Sara tucked her feet under her and rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the tension.

"Sure. Tell me about it." "I called everyone on the list of patients who received Jandramycin. Of the thirty-nine names I had, I was able to get information about thirty of them." "Pretty high rate of return for your calls. What did you find out?" "Interesting," Rip said. "Of the thirty, six have developed some sort of major medical problem."

"Such as?" "In addition to Chelsea, there's one other young man with Guillain-Barre syndrome. One woman has severe muscle pains and episodes of weakness, another has debilitating headaches and visual problems, a middle-aged man is being worked up for a bleeding disorder, and an older man looks like he's developing kidney failure."

Sara's mind was churning by now. Was there some kind of common link to these problems? And could she be sure they were all related to Jandramycin? "Still there?" Rip asked. "Yes. How much detail do you have on these patients?" "Not much, but I'm going to call their doctors tomorrow and see if I can't get more. Want to meet tomorrow about five to see if we can put this all together?" "Sure. Let's do it in my office. That way, we have my books and computer if we need to use them." They talked for a few more minutes before Rip rang off, pleading the same level of fatigue Sara felt herself. This had been quite a day for both of them. She no sooner put the phone down than it rang again. "What did you forget?" A voice she didn't immediately recognize said, "I forgot to ask you if you'd have dinner with me tomorrow night, but I thought I'd let you get home first." Sara smiled. "Mark, I'm sorry. I thought this was Rip calling back." "Nope, it's me. I really enjoyed our lunch together, even if it did turn into a game of 'What's wrong with this picture?' and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner together tomorrow, just the two of us." Sara didn't know what to say. This was all moving much too fast for her, and the addition of another person to the mix was more than she could handle. "I appreciate the invitation, and I hope you'll ask me again, but right now I've got too much going on in my life." "So much that you don't take time to eat?" "No, but-" She could see how this man would be good in the courtroom. He obviously thought well on his feet.