The Beekeeper's Secret

by Sally Fernandez

  With a coffee cup in one hand and thumbing her phone with the other, Max did a quick search. “Listen to this,” she said, “the GoBoldly website appears to provide an opportunity for the public, and I quote, ‘explore the innovative research and technological breakthroughs of America’s biopharmaceutical industry, and get to know the people behind the fight to prevent, treat, and cure disease’. It sounds proactive.”

  “Except for the fact that many in the public have already been brainwashed to believe that every time they face an ailment, there’s a pill that can come to the rescue. Already, three-quarters of the population are over the age of fifty and are on prescription drugs, which makes it also highly profitable.”

  “You’re so cynical.”

  “It’s easy to be, Max, because what’s damning is the FDA’s history of painfully slow clinical trials and drug approvals for cancer treatments. And at the same time, the pharmaceutical companies continue to pump out drugs with cute names and happy-looking colors—all the while, knowing they only treat the symptoms, not the cure. The model is broken, hopefully not beyond repair, but while we’re getting sicker, their wallets are getting fatter. It defies the imagination to think they’re that naïve and unaware that they’re creating a society becoming chronically dependent on these drugs. What does it take to see that the opioid epidemic is out of control?”

  “Calm down or you’re going to need one of those pills. You’ve made your point and perhaps you’re right. Jeff was interested in all the possibilities alternative medicine had to offer. We know that from Allison. But why meet with Slater so often? I mean, based on your theory, he would be fighting against them.”

  “Slater also met with the beekeeper. The more logical conclusion would be that he was exuding pressure by using the FDA to go after the doctors to suppress their ideas.”

  “But why?” She looked at Sam curiously.

  “Remember; you’re the one who threw out the possibility that Dr. Mizukami was helping Prince develop a super pill.”

  “Right, and if our beekeeper was getting into a new line of work, then there must be powerful people providing the funding. The apiary was a relatively miniscule operation.”

  “And like Bradstreet, the beekeeper’s death was also intertwined with the FDA. You can’t deny that,” Sam reminded her.

  Max took a moment to consider what they were suggesting. “Let’s slow down. I’m still grappling with the idea that Big PhRMA or the FDA would dirty their hands. Granted, in spite of their clean hands, the FDA has a tradition of raiding offices and shutting down practices for reasons of their own.”

  “And they turned a blind eye when companies repackaged orphan drugs or drugs that fell into disfavor for insufficient warnings of side effects and even worse, death.”

  “Orphan drugs?” That was a new one for Max.

  “They’re drugs that are developed to treat specific rare diseases. But then the drugs are relabeled, which is referred to as off-label and marketed for other uses. It’s a tactic used by the pharmaceutical companies to generate huge profits before its patent expires and a generic drug hits the market.”

  “Isn’t that rather unethical to transform an old pill into a new one? In name only?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t stop them from chasing after more dollars. According to a Wall Street Journal article by Peter Loftus, ‘Since 2013, the price of a 40-year-old, off-patent cancer drug in the US has risen 15-fold, putting the life-extending medicine out of reach for some patients.’ An example of off-label, is when Eli Lilly took Prozac off the market due to reported incidents of suicide that had surfaced and attributed to the drug. So, what did they do?”

  “Called it something else?” Max played along.

  “Precisely. The same drug became Sarafem. It sounded less threatening and much more feminine to accommodate you ladies. It was then marketed to treat severe PMS rather than depression. You can also be sure it cost the consumer more. And there’s more than enough evidence that Big PhRMA resorted to this ‘disease-mongering’ with a consistent habit for dressing up old pills, giving them new names to address the new societal anxieties that they themselves created. There’s also an abundance of evidence that Big PhRMA owns the FDA, giving them complete autonomy and control. I remember reading a Harvard study that proved the allegation. Give me a minute to look it up for you.”

  Sam was on a roll and Max did not want to steal his thunder. She waited patiently as she sipped her coffee.

  “Here it is. It was written by a group of Harvard professors, titled Institutional Corruption of Pharmaceuticals and the Myth of Safe and Effective Drugs. According to their report, ninety percent of all new drugs approved by the FDA over the last 30 years, have little or no advantages compared to the existing drugs. The report slams the administration for its failure to ‘honestly and ethically approve new drugs.’ It states that ‘the FDA cannot be trusted.’ They claim to produce solid evidence ‘to show that the FDA is nothing more than a pay-for-play front group that caters strictly to the interests of the pharmaceutical industry.’ So, there it is in black and white.”

  “You know that Lou Dobbs guy. Well, I heard him on his TV program say, ‘Inhabitants of the swamp have over time become a federally protected species,’ stressing the point that, ‘Swamp creatures have become swamp fossils.’”

  “Sounds like the FDA is one of the relics,” Sam snickered.

  “Seriously,” Max asked, ‘didn’t the president recently appoint a new FDA commissioner to clean up their antics?”

  “Yeah, that would be Dr. Scott Gottlieb. Refreshingly, he blamed the FDA as well for their delay in the distribution of generic drugs into the marketplace, citing their lack of a scientific and regulatory framework as well. At the same time, he admitted the FDA was not just a regulator, but a powerful tool used by Big PhRMA, helping it to maintain its monopolies. There’s high hope among many that he’ll be able to restore the FDA to a limited, less regulatory role. But they’ll always be ineffective under the weight of Big PhRMA.”

  “The pharmaceutical industry is always chanting from the rooftops that they are highly regulated. Won’t a limited, less regulatory role have the…”

  “Yes, the fox will be watching the hen house.”

  “Sam, keeping with the animal metaphor, this case is turning you into a rabid dog. And I thought I was the cynic in this partnership.”

  “The more I read the worse it gets. Here’s one last example. The FDA gave conditional approval for the drug Avastin to treat breast cancer. But a year later they rescinded the approval because the manufacturer, Genentech, could not prove it was effective. But between the time it was first released, and the FDA began the process to reverse their original decision, Genentech generated six billion dollars in sales—billion, with a “B”! The money was too good to let go. So Slater’s counterpart, a man named Evan Morris, started an all-out campaign that delayed the process another year before it was finally taken off the shelves. Bit get this—during this time, it earned them another billion dollars. In total, it’s reported that Genentech spent upwards of fifty million dollars a year on shaping government policy under the tutelage of Morris. But unlike Slater, Morris’s embezzlement of millions of dollars was uncovered. The guy ended his life by blowing his brains out.”

  Max listened, although she had already concluded Big PhRMA was too big to fail. But to what extent they would go to protect their empire, was the trillion-dollar question. “It’s a dangerous game they play. But as damning as the evidence appears, I still don’t see them hiring assassins to kill doctors who are pushing natural products outside their purview.” Max remained standing, alternating her sips of coffee with contemplation.

  “What are you mulling over now?”

  “Slater is the shill for Big PhRMA, and often times in a quasi-brotherly, quasi-bullying relationship with the FDA—but just maybe he’s also the middleman for the Consor
tium.”

  “Christ! You really believe the Consortium is our missing link?”

  An unsettling look blanketed her facial expression.

  “What’s wrong, Max?” Sam was becoming equally unsettled. Are you trying to tell me something? I’m finding you alarmingly difficult to read.”

  She sensed his angst, but her insides were churning. She could no longer hold back. “First!” she erupted, “they control our resources by perpetuating a climate change hoax! Now!—they utilize Big PhRMA in their Agenda 21 goal to control our population. How the hell could Noble accept such a utopian vision? And in a group whose strategy is to eliminate the deplorables—to kill their detractors at all costs?!”

  “Where is this coming from? That bastard is gone. Noble is out of your life, even if the depraved organization lives on.”

  “Not Noble—Daniel.”

  “Princess, what are you talking about?”

  “The man in the car was Daniel. I left to meet him…”

  “You what?!”

  Max held up her hand, thwarting off further anger. Then she calmed herself down and tried to reassure Sam that Daniel was there to make amends. She relayed the philosophical conversation that took place, trying to explain away her outburst. She omitted the implied threat for her to walk away from the investigation.

  Sam was clearly pissed-off. First, for her not telling him sooner, and second, because he was absolutely sure she was withholding information from him. “Do you mind telling me what in the hell case we’re trying to solve here?”

  Max’s phone rang, saved by the proverbial bell. “Hold on.”

  Sam gritted his teeth, waiting impatiently.

  “Hey, Max, what have you found out about the senator’s murder?” Ray asked.

  “In all honesty, not much. Other than a beekeeper in Clovis, New Mexico, died from massive bee stings, but not enough actual bee stings to kill. But guess what, Chief—he had the same exact amount of bee venom in his bloodstream as the senator.” Max winked in Sam’s direction.

  “Why do I not trust you, Max?”

  “Thanks a lot!”

  “Send me what you have so far. And make sure you keep me posted!”

  “Will do.” Max hit the End Call button.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Ray wanted to know if we found out anything more.”

  “True to form, I noticed you didn’t tell all.” Sam was still seething.

  “There’s nothing to tell until we’re sure.” Max smiled gently, “Please calm down. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But back to answer your question; we’re trying to find out who murdered Jeff. I’m convinced if we find the beekeeper’s killer, we’ll find Jeff’s killer.” It can’t be Daniel. It was a vision she could not shake.

  “We can’t lose sight that many of these doctors and Big PhRMA have shared the same wrestling ring,” Sam recalled as he attempted to control his anger.

  “Agreed, but we can’t make it our primary focus.” She deliberately got off topic. “It’s getting late. Tomorrow, see what you can find out about this guy named Sorenson. He could have been the last person to see Jeff alive. Also, try to contact the Japanese doctor; he should be back from his trip by now. I also want to know what he and the beekeeper were up to. I’ll give Erin Elizabeth a call and see what relevant information she may have pertaining to our case. Then, I’m going to pay Slater a visit.”

  “That’s all! Guess we have our work cut out for us as soon as we find the time to breathe.”

  Max could tell Sam was still displeased with her, but she braved it out and sat down instead of retreating.

  “Is there something else you haven’t told me?” Sam was almost afraid of the answer.

  “What really happened to the assassin named L?” Max asked, as though she were asking about the weather.

  “Whoa! Where’s this coming from?”

  “It’s just been preying on my mind ever since I returned from Italy.”

  “You sure you really want to know?”

  Max nodded.

  Sam paused for a moment, and then made a full confession. “Jax called Erog and asked him to meet him at The Bachelor’s Mill, knowing the weasel would send the assassin instead of doing the deed himself. Then, he asked me to meet him there...”

  “Sam!”

  “He thought it was time for two old buddies to work together again to protect your honor.” Sam paused, noting Max’s furrowed brow. “The hacked wiretaps from Erog’s phone cited you as the next target. What choice did we have?”

  Max remained expressionless.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure what we would have done. But it didn’t matter. When we got there, L was already dead. So, we took his phone, hoping it would trace back to Erog. Max, what brought all this up?” It was Sam’s turn to be curious.

  “I don’t know. It’s been a weird day. Forget it, let’s get to work.”

  “You’re the boss. But stay away from Daniel.”

  Max stood up and went back to her office.

  Sam wasn’t buying any of it.

  Chapter 26

  Girls’ Night

  The day was grueling. First, Max was forced to listen to Sam’s long, drawn-out, morbid details of doctors dying. Her fortitude was in the full-test mode. Second, struggling to find a link between the doctors and Jeff’s killer was taxing her patience. But given all they had uncovered, including the shenanigans of the monster pharmaceutical complex, she could not get the beekeeper out of her mind. The pressure was ratcheting up, but she was determined to stay focused. The beekeeper must be the link, she thought. She looked down at the open file folder, the one containing specific information she had gathered on Senator Lance. The photo printed on the obituary stared back. After a moment of reflection, she spoke out in frustration, “Argh, Jeff, what the hell did you get yourself into?!”

  Buzzzzz!

  The sound of the front door buzzer grabbed her attention. She automatically glanced at the security monitor. Allison. Max checked her watch to verify the time. Somehow it had already crept up to the eight o’clock hour. As was par for the course, Allison was on time. She quickly closed the file folder and went to the front door to greet her long-time friend.

  “I see you’re working late again. Do your office lights ever go off?”

  “It’s lovely to see you too!”

  “Hey, Max, lighten up. Are you going to invite me in or do I have to stand out here on your doorstep?”

  “Sorry, Sweetie, it’s been a tough day. C’mon in. I’m ready to call it quits anyway.”

  Allison followed Max up the staircase to her apartment and into the kitchen.

  “How about a glass of wine?”

  “Perfect. Do you have any white? I’m kind of in that mood.”

  “Grab it out of the fridge and I’ll get the glasses.” As Max searched for two wine glasses without water stains left from her quick rinse method, she heard a shriek from across the room. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your refrigerator! It’s disgusting. There’s not one edible piece of food in here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Everything is processed with chemicals or preservatives. The cheeses, the meats, and all the drinks are loaded with sugar. Hawaiian Punch—seriously?”

  “Grab me the bottle of Sokol Blosser’s Pinot Gris—it’s organic. And excuse me, when did you become such a health freak?”

  “When Jeff almost…” Allison stopped mid-sentence. “Do you have a corkscrew?” she asked quickly to change the topic.

  “I’ll open it.” Max took the bottle from her, uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. “Let’s go in the living room. We both need to chill out.”

  Allison once again followed behind, refraining from conversation until they were seated.

  “Cheers,” Max offered, t
rying to lighten her mood.

  “Cheers,” Allison sighed.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I just left my support group. It usually makes me a little edgy afterwards.”

  “Then why go? All you do is listen to everyone else’s misery.”

  “Because it’s helping. You know, it could help you too—to get over Noble.”

  “I don’t need any help. I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

  “Sure you are. You work constantly. Other than that you have no life.”

  “Not true. I actually had dinner with Stanton last week.” Max smiled, making it seem more than it was.

  “Hmmm, how’s that going?”

  “Slow and casual. Enough of me. How are you really doing?”

  “All in all—life sucks. I’m lonely, and I miss Jeff.”

  Max noted the change in Allison’s expression. An unexpected calm washed across her face.

  “What’s up?”

  Allison began to talk a bit more about her support group. But then she zoomed in on the discussions she thought might entice Max to want to join. Not taking the bait, she moved on and mentioned her new acquaintance.

  “So he’s why you go to these things?”

  “I admit I look forward to the meetings, in part, to see him. But they’re also helping.”

  “Oh, really,” Max teased. Now she understood Allison’s change in demeanor.

  “It feels wonderful to have a man to talk with again. We have such fascinating conversations. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive and quite charming.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just meet him at a café, or a hotel, and can all the morbid talk?”

  “Knock it off. It’s too soon.”

  “It’s never too soon to move on with your life.”