Richard Mabry: Lethal Remedy

Sara eased into her seat, the last of the group to arrive. She had no idea why Rip asked them to gather, but she could guess. And she could hardly wait to hear the news. "If this were an Agatha Christie novel, I'd say, 'I suppose you're wondering why I called you together.'" Rip looked around the room and relaxed when he saw a few smiles. The meeting place was a conference room down the hall from the cubbyhole that served as Rip's office in the Internal Medicine Department. Five people gathered at one end of a table that would seat thirty. John Ramsey and Lillian Goodman were seated across the table from Sara. Mark Wilcox sat beside her. Rip stood at the head of the table. "Is this about Jandramycin?" Sara asked. "Sort of. We can update everyone on the clinical developments first. Sara, tell them about Chelsea." Sara cleared her throat. "Chelsea Ferguson, the little girl with progressive paralysis from Guillain-Barre syndrome after receiving Jandramycin, is recovering nicely after she received a second dose of OMAL. She's getting some physical therapy to strengthen her muscles, and she'll be going home soon." "Me next, I guess," John said. "It's been a month since I had my Jandramycin, followed by a dose of OMAL. I've had no recurrence of the Staph luciferus infection of my hand. There's been no sign of any autoimmune complication from the antibiotic." "And John gave me permission to tell you his labs continue to be negative for HIV after the needle-stick that started all this," Rip added. "I think you can stop worrying now, John… for several reasons." "What other reasons?"

John asked. "I'll get to that. First, Sara and I are once more caring for Randall Moore." Rip waited to be sure John recognized the name.

Mark Wilcox obviously did, as he leaned forward in his chair. "He was treated with Jandramycin, and his Staph luciferus pneumonia cleared.

Sara and I had a long talk with him about the risks of the drug, and he elected to receive OMAL. Thus far, he's doing well. He's pleased enough with the care he's received at the medical center that he's dropping his lawsuit." Sara kept her eyes on John, and when the import of the news hit him, he relaxed and let out a deep breath. She knew the feeling. "Why are you and Sara back on that case?" Lillian asked.

"I thought the department chair asked Ingersoll to take over." "He did," Rip said, "but after the shooting, Dr. Schaeffer decided that perhaps it was best for Ingersoll to keep a low profile for a while."

"He must be doing that, all right," John said. "I usually pass him in the hall at least once a day, but haven't seen him recently." "It gets better," Rip said. "On Monday, Ingersoll didn't show up at his office.

His secretary was worried when he didn't respond to a page or phone messages. She let the chairman know, but he elected to sit on the news. This morning, the dean received a faxed letter of resignation.

Ingersoll apparently packed up and left, and no one has any idea where he is." Sara opened her purse and pulled out a wrinkled envelope bearing a strange-looking postage stamp. "I guess it's my turn now.

This came to my home yesterday. It's from Jack." She pulled a single page from the envelope. "Once he realized his professional reputation was down the tubes, he packed his bags, grabbed his passport, and caught a flight to Belize. He says he's got four million dollars in an offshore account 'thanks to Jandramycin's flaws,' whatever that means.

Apparently, he's gone for good." She handed the letter to Rip. "So what happens now?" John asked. "I just came from a meeting with the department chair. Dr. Schaeffer asked me to take over all of Ingersoll's patients and to complete the Jandramycin study. He will act as division head for now. In a month, when my fellowship is over, he'll solicit applications for a new head of the division. He assures me I have the inside track for that appointment." There were murmurs of approval. When the noise died down, Mark spoke up. "I doubt that my news can trump this, but I'll try." He waited until everyone was turned toward him. "I have a friend who's a criminal attorney, and I asked him to keep his ears open around police headquarters. This morning he called to tell me that agents of the FBI and representatives of the local police went to the offices of Jandra Pharmaceuticals and arrested… " He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and read from it. "Arrested Jandra's Chief Operating Officer, Dr. David Patel. They're certain he was behind the attacks on Sara and Rip." "How did they get him?" Sara asked. "The FBI received a packet of information from one of the doctors in Germany who were doing a parallel study of Jandramycin. It confirmed that Patel ordered them to hide the data that showed late complications from the drug. According to the letter that came with the packet, one of them apparently got an attack of conscience, fought with the other, and ended up killing him, then shooting himself." Mark folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. "But he left behind some 'in case of my death' instructions with his attorney. In this instance, the instructions were to mail the packets, containing information that incriminated Patel. It's only a matter of time before phone records tie him to Resnick. I predict his associates will rush to save their skins by testifying against him, and… you can guess the rest."

Sara looked around the room and saw the expressions of relief on every face. Across the table, John and Lillian allowed their hands to touch as they exchanged smiles. It was good to see John with someone who could help him through his loss. And Sara had no doubt that relationship would blossom after an appropriate time. She looked from Rip to Mark and back again. Both men had stood by her through this trying time. Since she'd first met Rip, she'd been fond of him, but more like a brother than any thing else. After Jack had swept her offher feet, Rip had melted into the background, always there to talk to, never showing his true feelings. But those feelings had become clearer as they'd worked side by side to solve the Jandramycin problem. There was affection there, and she had to admit that she felt the same thing. Mark had only been in Sara's life a short time, but he'd let her know clearly he wanted to be more than just a friend. She was no psychologist, but Sara recognized the likelihood that Mark's attraction to her was a reaction to his own loss in the death of his first wife. She hoped he'd find another woman to love, but she was certain it wouldn't be her. On the other hand, the possibility of a great friendship-with her and with Rip-was certainly there. She'd have to deal with her feelings for both men in the days ahead, but that would come later. For now, she was overcome with relief that this ordeal was over. Sara was no longer experiencing nighttime terrors. No one was trying to harm her anymore. And out of this terrible scenario had come the cure for a disease that would rival the pestilence and plague of the Old Testament. Her mind went back to the words she'd read in her mother's Bible. "You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday." Thank you, God, for that promise, and for fulfilling it in my life.