Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

"Put that thing away." Rip's words were almost lost in the noise of the medical center's food court as medical students, residents, and staffsnatched bagels and pastries to augment their breakfast coffee.

He looked around but no one seemed to be paying attention to him and Sara, tucked away at a corner table. Sara had told him she had something to show him, but when she opened her purse the last thing he'd expected to see was a revolver. She closed her purse and dropped it onto the floor beside her chair, where it settled with a slight thud. Rip flinched at the noise. He leaned closer to Sara. "What are you doing with a gun? Where did you get it? Do you know-?" Sara patted the air in a calming gesture. "What am I doing with it? The next time someone shoots at me, I plan to shoot back. Where did I get it? You might be surprised to learn that they sell these things in stores all over the city. And as for your next question, I already have a current concealed carry permit, and I know how to shoot." "Why would you have a gun permit?" Sara glanced to either side of them and confirmed that the adjacent tables were empty. "When Jack and I were married, he insisted we both have guns for protection. His argument was that sometimes we had to come out at night for an emergency, and hospitals aren't always in the best part of the city. He bought a gun for each of us. We both took the classes, got the permit. I carried the gun in my purse when I went out at night. He used an ankle holster for his.

But when nothing happened, we gradually stopped carrying them, and I was glad. I hated to have them around. When we divorced, I told him to take my gun with him. Now I wish I'd kept it." "Is it safe for you to carry that around? What if you drop your purse?" "The cylinder holds five cartridges. I keep the hammer down on an empty chamber. I make sure the safety's on. The gun's a one-pound paperweight until I need to use it." She pointed her finger and dropped her thumb like the hammer of a gun coming down. "But when I need to use it, it'll be there." Rip shook his head. "I don't know what's happened to you.

Right after that shooting, you told me you were scared to death. You were ready to jump at your shadow. Now you've turned into a gunslinger who's itching for a fight. What made the difference?" Sara had wondered that herself. Was it the aftereffects of the shooting that changed her? Was she ready to fight back because, all around her, patients were developing serious, potentially lethal illnesses from medication she'd agreed to give them? Had her attitude hardened after Mark found the recorder in the attic? Maybe it was the cumulative effect of all these events. Whatever the reason, she had to agree with Rip. She'd changed.

Bob Wolfe closed his laptop computer and rubbed his eyes. He'd been over Jack Ingersoll's presentation repeatedly, running it again and again last night until he literally fell asleep at the computer.

He awoke long enough to set an alarm for 5:00 a.m. and fall into bed, fully clothed. His biologic time clock was all fouled up, so this morning he was dependent on a combination of strong, black coffee and nervous energy to keep him going. At 7:00 a.m. he picked up the phone and dialed the number for Ingersoll's room. The call was answered after two rings, and Wolfe silently cursed Jack for sounding so chipper this morning. "This is Bob Wolfe. How are you this morning?"

"Fine, fine. The dinner last night was shorter than I'd expected-I guess most of the attendees were as jet-lagged as I was-so I managed to get a good night's sleep." There was an audible gulp, followed by the clink of china on china. "I'm just having a room service breakfast before I get dressed and leave for the conference." "I suppose I'll see you there." Wolfe swallowed some of his cold coffee. "I just wanted you to know that I've been over your presentation, and I think you've nailed it. No inaccuracies that I can see." "That's good."

Another pause, another clink. "I guess I'd better get moving." "Good luck-" It took a second for the click on the other end of the line to register. Wolfe dropped the phone into the cradle and stared into space. Up until now, Ingersoll had been eager to cooperate with Jandra, striving to keep the carrots coming while avoiding the stick.

Maybe the dinner last night had convinced him that he truly was a VIP, that he didn't need Jandra's approval and backing. If that was the case, a dose of the stick might be in order. And it ought to be administered before Ingersoll made his presentation at the mid-morning general session. Wolfe grinned with self-satisfaction as he picked up the phone, dialed "0," and asked in passable German for Herr Generaldirektor Lambert. He was told that Herr Lambert wouldn't be on duty for another two hours. "Then reach him at home. I expect him to call me in my room within five minutes." "Begging your pardon, Herr Wolfe-" "I represent Jandra Pharmaceuticals. Herr Lambert knows the value of our business. Give him the message!" Wolfe slammed the receiver into its cradle and began to pace. He checked his watch every few seconds. This had to be done before Ingersoll left for the conference. Three minutes after he'd bullied the desk clerk, his phone rang. "Dr. Wolfe." "Herr Doktor, this is Wilhelm Lambert," the general manager said in flawless English. "How can I help you?" "Thank you for calling back so quickly. As soon as we hang up, I want you to phone Professor Ingersoll's room and give him this exact message."

Sara hurried down the hall, already late for the internal medicine department's not-to-be-missed meeting, Grand Rounds. "Got a minute?"

Rip fell in beside her. "Not really," she said. "I want to hear this lecture. The guy won a Nobel Prize in medicine for his work." He matched her stride for stride. "I think when you hear what I have to say, you'll agree it's more important than hearing a lecture by a Nobel Prize winner." Sara made a sharp right into a side hall where they'd have a bit of privacy. "Okay, what is it?" "Does the name Ed Drummond mean anything to you?" "Not offthe top of my head. Why don't you tell me what you've got, instead of playing twenty questions?" "Ed Drummond was one of our earliest Jandramycin patients," Rip said.

"Septic shock from Staph luciferus pneumonia. Ring a bell?" "Vaguely.

What about him?" "He developed kidney failure." "So he's the one,"

Sara said. "Right. And it was hard to treat him because of his age and all his other medical conditions." Rip paused like a quiz-show host about to announce a winner. "He died yesterday." Sara took a step back, stopping when she felt the wall's cold tile against her. "So now …" "Now Jandramycin is killing patients." "Are you sure his death was due to the kidney failure?" "His doctor signed the death certificate that way. There were other factors, of course, but that was the primary cause of death." Sara pointed back the way they'd come. "We need to speed up our efforts. Let's go back to my office and work on this." "What about Grand Rounds?" Rip asked. "If we solve the Jandramycin puzzle, we might win a Nobel Prize ourselves." She shrugged. "And if we don't, more people are going to die."

Jack Ingersoll checked his appearance one more time in the bathroom mirror. He frowned when he heard the phone ring. Was that Bob Wolfe, calling again to remind him that his presentation today was important… to both of them? As if he needed a reminder. He looked around at the room he'd been given, thought about first-class travel and nice honoraria paid discreetly through the program committees of international meetings. He knew what was on the line, knew it better than the man who was bullying him. "Doctor… er, Professor Ingersoll." "Herr Professor, this is Wilhelm Lambert, the Generaldirektor of the hotel. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you by calling." Despite the words, there was no apology in the tone. "Matter of fact, I was just leaving for my meeting," Ingersoll said. "Then I will be brief. We've had a bit of confusion about your room. It seems that Jandra Pharmaceuticals may not, after all, be paying your expenses. I will attempt to contact Herr Doktor Wolfe later today to clarify this. Perhaps it will even be necessary for me to call the company's office in America, but that will take several hours because of the time difference." "I-" "In the meantime, please stop by the front desk on your way out and leave your credit card information, so that your bill can be covered." A click signaled the end of the conversation. Message delivered. Ingersoll hung up the phone and turned to stare out the window of his room. The sun was up now, and he had a great view of the city, but his mind failed to register those images. Instead, he focused on the conversation he'd just had. He'd spoken with Wolfe only yesterday about Jandra covering his expenses.