Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

Your duties keep you busy. Sure they do. You cull through a mound of data your researchers accumulate and cherry-pick the best projects so you can take credit for them. Oh, well… "What can I do for you, Bob?" "It's what I can do for you," Wolfe said. "I can warn you that a Dr. Sara Miles from your institution called Jandra trying to get information about alleged late effects from Jandramycin. I tried to reassure her, suggested she talk with you, but she was quite persistent. She even called Dr. Patel's office." Jack felt his intestines knotting. "I trust she didn't get through to Patel." "No, but the news got to him anyway, and I got called in for a rap on the knuckles by Patel, Lindberg, and the head corporate attorney, a guy named Berman." "Sorry to hear that. Let me assure you that I-" "No assurances necessary, Jack, because we all know how important it is that Jandramycin move forward and do well, with no hint of any adverse effects to our miracle drug. And we all know the consequences of any information to the contrary being circulated." "Of course, and-"

"That's why I wanted to call you and-oh, by the way, I'm recording this conversation. I know you won't mind. I called to ask you the same question Berman asked me in Patel's office. Just for the record, you understand." "Uh, sure. What's the question?" "Are you prepared to state that you are unaware of any side effects from Jandramycin such as the ones mentioned by Dr. Miles?" There was a long moment of silence. "I need a yes or no answer," Wolfe said. "Please respond, Dr.

Ingersoll. Do you understand the question?" A recorded conversation, a loaded question, and his name tagged to his response. Ingersoll knew he was trapped. "I understand the question." "And your answer, Dr.

Ingersoll?" "Yes, I'm prepared to state that I know of no such effects." The chuckle on the other end of the line must have been similar to the serpent's response when Eve took a bite from the apple.

"That's all I need, Jack. See you in Frankfurt." Ingersoll hung up the phone and slumped onto his bed, almost knocking a suitcase onto the floor. He loosened his tie and tugged at his collar, but still couldn't get enough air. His good mood of ten minutes ago was gone.

Right now, he needed time to think. That, and a stiffdrink.

"I'm sorry it took so long to get the rental car," Sara said.

"That's going to make us late for dinner." "No problem." Mark Wilcox wheeled his BMW into the parking lot of the restaurant and hurried around to open Sara's door. The parking valet hustled up, and Mark tossed him the keys. Inside the restaurant, the maitre d' greeted Mark as though he were a long-lost cousin. "Dr. Wilcox, so glad to have you with us this evening." "Thanks, Hugo. I hope you have a nice table for us." "Of course. Right this way." As they wove through the crowded room, Mark watched Sara out of the corner of his eye. Even though this restaurant had only been open for a few weeks, it had already become an "in" spot. He was glad he'd come by here earlier and introduced himself to the maitre d, slipping the man a twenty-dollar bill instead of a calling card. Yes, Hugo, the table had better be good and the service fantastic. After that, Mark figured it was up to him. The spot to which Hugo showed them was perfect, a halfround booth toward the rear, where they could see everything and everyone without sacrificing their own privacy. The maitre d' presented menus with the flourish of a magician producing a silver dollar out of midair and padded away.

"Mark, this is so nice. Do you come here often?" "First time," Mark said. "But the maitre d'-" "When I was practicing law, I defended his brother." Mark had spent some time trying to come up with an explanation other than "I came by earlier and greased his palm." He hoped this one would suffice. The waiter eased up to the table, introduced himself, and asked what they'd like to drink. Mark picked up the wine list and looked at Sara. "Would you like a bottle of wine?" "Just water for me, please," she said. "San Pellegrino okay?" he asked. When she nodded her assent, Mark ordered and the waiter hurried away. "You could have had some wine if you wanted," Sara said.

"I just… I just don't drink." "No, no. That's fine." "Aren't you going to ask why?" He'd wanted to, but Mark figured she'd tell him if she wanted him to know. Apparently she did. "I'm an orphan. My parents were killed by a drunk driver when I was in college. When I got the message, I was at a party and I'd just taken a sip of the margarita my date brought me." "And you swore that was your last drink. Right?" "I know. Sounds silly, I guess." "Not at all. Not too many years ago, there were still people who wouldn't drive a German car because they had bad memories from World War II." The waiter arrived and poured their water as though it were Chateauneuf-du-Pape or some other high-priced wine. "Would you care to hear the specials?" he intoned.

"Give us a moment," Mark said. He turned back to Sara. "I respect your decision. And I appreciate you not lecturing me about the evils of alcohol." "I've made my decision, but that doesn't give me the right to make yours." She lifted her glass. "Now how about that relaxing evening you promised me? How many years did you practice law before you gave it up to go into medicine? I'll bet there's quite a story there." Mark dredged up stories from his law practice, his medical training, and his current situation as a primary care physician. Sara proved to be a great listener, and as the evening progressed he found himself doing most of the talking. "Sara, I wanted to get to know you.

Instead, you know almost everything about me and I know next to nothing about you. Help me, here." "Not much to say, really. Graduated from Southwestern Medical, did my residency here, then went onto the faculty. Got married while I was a resident, but that's over." "Would I know your husband?" She took another sip of San Pellegrino water.

"Jack Ingersoll." Wow. He hadn't seen that coming. Drop that hot potato right now. "Any children?" Sara shivered, and Mark wondered what he'd said. "I'm sorry. Is that a touchy subject?" "Our infant son, Jack Jr., died of SIDS. It wasn't long afterward that Jack divorced me." She reached for her coffee cup and found it empty. "But that's enough about me. Let's talk about more pleasant things." Mark beckoned to the waiter, who refilled their cups. Sara lifted hers to her lips and in the action her sleeve fell away from her watch. "Oh, my gracious. I had no idea it was this late. I'd better be getting home." "I wish we could stretch this out a bit, but I suppose we both have a full day tomorrow." He called for the check and covered it with a credit card, managing not to flinch at the total. No matter. The evening had been worth it, and he would have paid double the tab if it could stretch the night out longer. At her door, Sara said, "Thanks for a wonderful evening. The meal was wonderful, and I enjoyed getting to know you." Mark put on his most hangdog look. "Would you take pity on a poor guy and give him one more cup of coffee for the road? You wouldn't want me to fall asleep at the wheel, would you?" Sara laughed. "Oh, come on in. I'll make us both some coffee. I think caffeine addiction is a universal consequence of medical school." One cup turned into two as the conversation picked up where they'd left off. The pot was empty when Sara yawned and shook her head. "That's it. I'm kicking you out. I have to go to work in the morning." "I guess you're right. Thanks for the coffee." Mark followed Sara's lead and rose from the sofa. "I'll give you a-" "Mark. Did you hear that?"

"What?" "Listen." Mark strained his ears. At first he heard nothing.

Then he did. Faint at first, gaining in intensity and volume before dying away in a mournful decrescendo. The cry of an infant.