скачать книгу бесплатно
Several minutes later she’d flipped through every single form, scanning each applicant’s name.
No Jim Thomas.
Detective Thomas had been certain his brother had taken part in the trial. Perhaps he’d misunderstood or perhaps his brother had lied.
She slipped his business card from her pocket and studied it. He deserved to know he was operating on false assumptions.
Jess reached for the lab phone but stopped. She needed to speak with Miles Van Cleef before she made any contact with Thomas.
Knowing the media showcase should be long over, she pushed out of her seat and headed for the man’s office, more than ready to put this entire episode behind her.
“I CAN ONLY GIVE YOU A minute, I’m afraid.” Van Cleef spoke without looking up from the jumbled mess of papers on top of his desk.
Jess never ceased to be amazed someone so brilliant could be so unorganized, even though the man was able to put his fingertips to whatever he needed without a second thought. Perhaps his clutter was actually a physical manifestation of his brilliance.
Jess shook off the random thought and refocused on the reason she’d asked Van Cleef for the meeting. She stood behind the chair opposite his desk rather than sitting.
“I thought you should know why the gentleman in the leather jacket was actually here.”
“Ah.” Van Cleef lifted his gaze. “How did your detective work go?”
Funny he should choose the word detective.
Jess hesitated for a split second, then plunged in. She summarized Thomas’s allegation regarding the earlier failed trial, watching as color fired in Van Cleef’s neck and face.
No wonder. He was more passionate about the integrity of New Horizon’s work than anyone. She’d known he wouldn’t take Thomas’s claims lightly, but he had to be made aware the rumors were floating in the public.
“The results of the prior trial are inconsequential to the current testing.”
Van Cleef’s words hit Jess like a ton of bricks.
Prior trial?
Had Thomas been right? And if so, where was the data?
“When I accepted this new position, I wasn’t informed HC0815 had been through prior trials.”
“Trial,” Van Cleef corrected. “As in one and one only. A complete disaster for a variety of reasons, most of them having to do with Whitman Pharma’s withdrawal of the product from the FDA approval process.”
Jess’s head spun with questions. “Why is there nothing in the database?”
Van Cleef shook his head, his wire-rimmed glasses sitting crooked as usual. “No reason to keep information on products that don’t gain approval.”
“But what if the trial exposed a risk to patients? What if the data presented safety implications for the Hepatitis C indication?”
Her question captured Van Cleef’s attention completely. The man visibly tensed. “The drug was pulled by Whitman. It’s not for you or me to question why.” He frowned, his expression intense, serious. “Ancient history. You’re paid to stay on top of the current Whitman clinical trial, not worry about the past. Have there been any alarming side effects to date?”
“None documented.” Jess shook her head, debating whether or not to tell Van Cleef the rest of the conversation.
She drew in a deep breath, hesitating.
“If that’s all, Jessica, I really do need to get back to work. The media showcase set me back hours, as usual.”
“The detective claims there’s been a suicide in the current trial.”
Van Cleef’s white brows snapped together. “That’s preposterous.”
“His younger brother,” Jessica continued. “A supposedly healthy candidate. He jumped from his dormitory balcony after allegedly taking HC0815.”
“I’m assuming you’ve already checked the records? The case report forms?”
Jess nodded. “No record of a Jim Thomas in the applications. No record of a suicide in the results.”
“There you have it.” Van Cleef nodded, then refocused on his work, dismissing her with this move. “Your detective is mistaken. End of story.”
But as Jessica headed back toward her work area, she couldn’t shake the memory of Detective Thomas’s determination. His was the face of a man who knew what he was talking about—or at least was fully convinced he was telling the truth.
In addition, she couldn’t remember ever being dismissed so abruptly by Van Cleef. Was he hiding something? Was he trying to brush off her questions?
She hated to think so, hated that the idea had crossed her mind, but now that it had, she had to see her questions through. It was how she was wired.
On the off chance there might be information that had been purged from the records and databases, she had to locate the one person who might have had access to, and knowledge of, additional information.
Scott McLaughlin. He might have left New Horizon, but the guy had a mind like a steel trap. If he’d ever seen data from the previous trial or reviewed Jim Thomas’s application for the current trial, he’d remember.
Now all Jess had to do was convince the man to talk.
ZACH LEANED OVER HIS kitchen table and scrubbed a hand across his face. Disgust and anger fought for position in his gut as he reread the local newspaper article covering Jim’s death.
His brother, never one to seek the spotlight, would have hated the attention. Even more importantly, he would have hated the implication he’d committed suicide because he’d grown weak mentally.
Weak.
Not the Jim Zach had known all his life.
Zach sank into a battered kitchen chair and spread the pieces of the puzzle across the table. The article. The notes from the investigation. The list of friends who had detailed Jim’s downward spiral.
He traced a finger across each of the investigational notes, all in his handwriting, all recreated from memory after one quick glimpse of the department files.
He stopped his hand when his fingertips brushed against a short stack of paper. Hard copies of the e-mails from Jim detailing the start of the semester and his work with New Horizon.
Zach’s heart grew heavy in his chest.
He had to admit his brother’s tone had changed in the days before his death. Zach should have realized something was wrong, should have done something. Anything.
The familiar guilt edged through his system. He did nothing to shove the sensation away. Hell, he deserved to feel guilty. He’d failed the younger brother who had looked up to him as he would a parent.
Zach had let Jim down.
It was that simple.
He drew in a deep breath then blew it out slowly, bolstering his determination. He might have let Jim down in life, but he wasn’t about to let him down in death.
He’d start at the beginning and work this case harder than he’d ever worked another case. This time it was his brother’s memory he’d fight to vindicate.
Zach pulled a writing tablet from the far side of the table and listed the evidence he’d gathered so far.
Testimony from friends.
E-mails from Jim.
Prior Whitman Pharma clinical trial information from consumer watchdog group.
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. There wasn’t much to go on, and the first item on the list pointed to Jim’s declining mental state.
As Zach saw it, he needed concrete proof of two things—Jim’s involvement in the HC0815 trial and data from the previous Whitman Pharma drug study.
Jim had reported to the hospital affiliated with the college for his daily dose of HC0815, so there had been nothing in his personal effects to link him to the drug trial. And the only thing the Little Brother watchdog group had been able to provide regarding the earlier Whitman drug study was hearsay.
Zach needed far more in order to prove New Horizon and Whitman Pharma’s guilt and take them down.
He swept all of the papers to one side, frustration growing inside him as he ran the conversation with Jessica Parker through his head for what had to be the hundredth time since that afternoon.
Jessica Parker.
The key to unlocking the evidence Zach needed. The key to getting inside New Horizon.
While he’d like to think it possible to investigate without the woman, the truth was he needed her cooperation.
As Zach shoved the newspaper article and the investigative notes back into the manila envelope where he kept them, he flashed once more on Parker and her defense of New Horizon.
Earning the woman’s trust wasn’t going to be easy, but it was a necessity.
Now, all he had to do was figure out a way how.
JESS FINGERED THE business card in her jacket pocket as she walked from her car to her condo, revisiting the day’s events in her head.
She’d stayed at New Horizon even later than she normally did, and the heaviness of the impending night pressed against the fading sun. The late hour had also forced her to park farther away than she liked.
She’d left a message for Scott McLaughlin at his home number but hadn’t heard back from him. She’d decided against calling Detective Thomas. At least for now.
Once Scott confirmed what Van Cleef had said, Jess would break it to Thomas that he was operating under false pretense and his brother’s mental illness had been just that—and not the by-product of the clinical trial.
She turned the corner toward her street, passing the alley that ran behind the neighborhood grocery market. The small hairs at the base of her neck pricked to attention, and she mentally chastised herself.
The alley had given her the creeps since the day she’d moved in. It didn’t help that her favorite pastime was devouring one romantic suspense novel after the other late at night.
Her imagination was no doubt working overtime.
When movement sounded from behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see an attacker closing fast.
Instead she saw nothing. No one.
“Get a grip, Parker.”
She quickened her pace nonetheless, practically breaking into a jog as she approached the last intersection before her building. She came to a quick stop, looked both ways and moaned inwardly as a battered old Cadillac approached at a snail’s pace.
The widow Murphy. The bane of the neighborhood pedestrian. The woman should have lost her license years ago, yet still she drove. The problem was you never knew if she was going to be driving fast or slow…or both.
As if on cue, the car sped up, zipping past Jess in a blur.
Thank goodness she hadn’t made a move to cross the street.
She’d been so focused on Murphy’s car, Jess hadn’t sensed the presence behind her, but she sensed it now.
A footfall sounded. Several paces back, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Jess’s pulse began to race, and she squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, trying to calm herself, trying to think rationally.
She was merely on edge from sneaking around the lab and the files. Not her usual MO.
Logically speaking, it would make sense for another pedestrian to be on the street. After all, the October weather hadn’t yet turned terribly cold and the evening promised to be clear and beautiful.
Another footstep sounded, and Jess turned to offer a greeting, deciding to face her ridiculous fear head-on.
Her breath caught at the sight behind her. The sidewalk stood empty. Yet she’d heard the footfalls. That she hadn’t imagined. No way.
Something moved beyond the stand of small maples the town had planted during its beautification project. A shadow. A shape.
A man?
Jess wasn’t about to wait to find out. She pivoted to face the street, breathing a sigh of relief when she spotted no oncoming traffic in either direction.
She sprinted across, heading straight for her condominium complex, not daring to steal another glance over her shoulder. Not wanting to risk the slightest slowing of her pace.
As she reached the steps to her building, the sound of someone running behind her was unmistakable. She’d be a fool to punch in her security code and risk whoever followed gaining entrance to her otherwise secure condo. She’d rather face her pursuer head-on, screaming for help in the open.
Hers was a close neighborhood, and she had no doubt help would be with her in no time flat, if needed.
The footfalls slowed as they neared, and Jess turned, doing her best to mentally prepare for whatever—and whoever—she might find behind her.
A middle-aged man stood close yet kept a respectable distance. His complexion was scarred, as if he’d battled severe acne in his youth. His dark hair had begun to recede, and he’d slicked it back, creating a stereotypical New Jersey tough-guy appearance. His manner of dress, however, belied his intimidating looks.
He wore an impeccable suit, crisp white shirt and tightly knotted tie. His clothes showed not a hint of wear or wrinkling, as if he’d just dressed or emerged from a corporate limo.
He reeked of money and confidence, and Jess didn’t recognize him from the neighborhood.
“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping the fear that had her trembling inside wouldn’t infiltrate her voice.
