Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“Ah,” Oliver said. “I guess it takes a person of very high intellect to know the difference.”

Marge shot Oliver a look, and he backed off. He asked, “Did you express your lab’s frustration with Dr. Berger directly to Dr. Sparks?”

“Of course not. We had complete confidence in anyone who represented Dr. Sparks. And I don’t want to imply that we were unhappy with Dr. Berger. We just felt that Dr. Decameron was…”

Oliver said, “More with the program?”

Shockley’s smile was condescending. “Better suited to the job.”

“Dr. Decameron told us the initial trials of Curedon looked promising.”

“Yes.”

“He’s also told us that some of the latest data was not so promising.”

Shockley said, “There are always wrinkles. That’s why we have trials before the drug is presented to the public, my friends.”

“Would you have the latest results?”

“Not at my fingertips.”

“Could you get them for us?”

“No. They aren’t your business.”

Marge said, “We can get them from Dr. Decameron.”

“So do that.” Shockley’s smile was smug. “You know, I am trying to help you out. But you can’t expect the company to just open up its data banks for you. First, it would serve no purpose. Second, it’s confidential information. For all I know, you two might be industrial spies.”

Oliver couldn’t help it. He broke out laughing, swinging a look Marge’s way. “My Ph.D. in chemistry must be showing.”

Shockley frowned. “Are you putting me on, Detective?”

Oliver said, “Yes, sir, I am putting you on. I apologize.”

Shockley glared at him. Oliver flashed him the peace sign. “No disrespect meant.”

Mollified, Shockley folded his hands and said, “Besides, you wouldn’t get a thing out of the trial data. Just a bunch of numbers and figures. Impossible to interpret unless you’re intimately involved in the trials.”

Meaning you dumbshits couldn’t understand them anyway. Marge said, “What do you think about Sparks ’s other colleague, Elizabeth Fulton?”

“I never dealt with her.”

“Never?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, I believe I did say never, Detective.”

Oliver said, “You spent lots of money developing and refining a drug like Curedon, right?”

“Researching and refining,” Shockley corrected.

“Yes, you’re right, of course. Sparks developed the drug.”

“Yes, he did.”

Oliver said, “Say you spend lots of money researching and refining a drug, and it turns out to be a bust. What happens?”

“We move on.”

“You take a huge loss just like that?” Oliver said.

“We move on,” Shockley repeated.

“Then how do you stay in business?”

“Our profits exceed our losses.”

Marge thought of something that Decameron had brushed upon. “How about this, Doctor? We all know there’re a million different names for the same aspirin tablet out there, right?”

“I’ve never analyzed all the different acetylsalicylic compounds. I can’t answer that yes or no.”

“You’re being picky, Doctor,” Oliver said.

“I’m being exacting.”

Marge was not about to be put off. “What if a drug proved to be safe and effective. But not much more effective than what’s available on the shelves.”

“Or what’s in the pharmacies,” Oliver stated.

Marge said, “Do you still market the drug?”

“I can’t answer that, Detective.”

“Not even evasively?” Marge asked.

Shockley smiled, but said nothing.

Marge said, “I mean why would drug companies spend all this money to put something on the market when it’s not a big improvement over what’s already out there.”

“Like we have a million types of cold medicines,” Oliver said. “Or a million types of toothpastes.”

“Or a million types of cola sodas, Detectives.” Shockley made quote signs with his fingers when he stated the word million. “Or all the different brands of cigarettes, coffee, orange juice, yogurt, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Different strokes for different folks,” Oliver said.

“I couldn’t have phrased it better,” Shockley said.

“Is Curedon more effective than what’s out there?” Oliver asked.

“Detective, we’re back to where we started.”

“Are the trials going to continue now that Dr. Sparks is gone?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Shockley said. “But I can’t see why they shouldn’t continue.”

“And you’d still be working with Dr. Decameron?”

“I’m not sure of anything at the moment.” Shockley stood. “Your police business has caught us all off guard.”

“Our police business?” Marge said. “Is that your way of saying Dr. Sparks’s murder?”

“Yes, Detective. Exactly.” Shockley walked over to the door. “I do have business to tend to. If you both don’t mind, it’s getting late. Do call if you have further questions. If I’m not available, you can always leave them with my secretary.”

Marge and Oliver exchanged glances. They were being unceremoniously dismissed. Oliver shrugged. They both got up and thanked Shockley for his time.

“You drive or I drive?” Marge asked.

Oliver flipped her the keys. “We didn’t learn too much, did we?”

Marge opened the door, slid in the driver’s seat, and reached over to unlock the passenger door. Once Oliver was belted in, she started the motor. “We learned that Decameron replaced Berger in the Curedon trials. If Shockley’s to be believed…that he didn’t complain to Sparks about Berger…I’d like to know why Sparks yanked Berger from the trials.”

“Yeah, that’s something.”

Marge pulled the Matador out of the vast parking lot chock-full of Japanese subcompacts. She turned left, onto the lone boulevard leading to the freeway. “I wonder how Berger felt about it…being cut from Curedon.”

“Maybe it was Berger’s decision.”

“Nah, Sparks made all the decisions regarding Curedon. The rest just followed orders.”

“And Berger resented Sparks for making the switch.”

“Possibly.”

“And that’s a motivation for murder?”

“What if money was involved? Whoever worked with Sparks got a piece of the profit?”

A good point, and Marge told him so. She took the on-ramp to the 405 North. “You know, Scott, you put money together with big egos… you get a powder keg.”

“Man, ain’t that so. I’ve never seen people so full of themselves.”

“Guess you play the part of God long enough, you begin to believe your own method acting.” Marge switched over to the left-hand lane. “We also found out that Shockley preferred Decameron over Berger. That says a lot.”

“You’re right. Berger must have been a real obstacle for Gordon Shockley to prefer a gay blade like Decameron.”

“Yeah, Scotty.” Marge fidgeted. “I want to talk to you about that. You think it was wise, bringing up the gay thing?”

Oliver grinned. “Made Shockley feel real uncomfortable. You know, Marge, sometimes you just gotta go for it. I had to get to the prick, and I did. He began to talk a little after that. Plus, he lost that smug smile of his.”

“What if it gets back to Decameron?”

“So what?” Oliver picked up the old thermos and took a swig of lukewarm coffee. “But if you want me to tell Decameron what went down, I’ll do it. I’m not the least bit embarrassed. I’d call him a queer to his face. He’d probably love it.”

“I don’t know about that.” She paused. “Does anything embarrass you, Scotty?”

“A lot embarrasses me, Margie. But I’m not gonna tell you about it.”

Marge smiled. “Too embarrassed?”

Oliver smiled back. “Too embarrassed.”