“How long will you be gone?” She looked worried.
“Just a few days. Are you okay?”
“Of course. Call me when you know.”
“Always.” Rudker kissed her again, picked up his bags, and headed downstairs to wait for the car service.
Entering the Eugene airport always gave him a chuckle. If he was searching for someone, it would take about six minutes to cover the entire building. Checking in also took about that long. It was worlds apart from the San Francisco airport he’d flown in and out of for the ten years he’d worked at Amgen. He’d started at the biotech company as a product manager and worked his way up to vice-president. Toward the end, he’d been traveling ten days out of every month.
At 8:15 in the evening, the airport was practically deserted. One person was in the line in front of him and a young woman paced nearby, talking on a cell phone. The guy at the counter was trying to check his bags and had some malfunction with his ticket. To distract himself, Rudker mentally reviewed his presentation to the board.
While he was checking in, the girl on the phone began to cry, then to beg the person on the other end to come pick her up. Rudker turned and stared. She was young, probably still a teenager, and her jet black hair was short and spiky. She also had silver rings in both eyebrows. Rudker didn’t understand how any of that was supposed to be attractive.
“Please,” she cried over and over. The clerk handed him his boarding pass, which he tucked into his jacket pocket. He dug out his wallet, walked over to the girl, and handed her thirty dollars. “Call a cab.”
Feeling grateful he had not had to raise a daughter, Rudker walked away before she could react. After a few seconds he heard her call out, “Thanks.” He passed through the inspection area without having his body searched and considered that an immediate payback.
Two and a half hours later, he moved through the Seattle airport with equal efficiency. At midnight it was also nearly empty. He took a cab downtown to Cavanaugh’s on Fifth Avenue and checked in. He had swallowed two melatonin tablets on the way, so five minutes after lying down, he was out and slept like the dead for five hours.
Chapter 6
Wednesday, April 14th, 6 a.m
The call from the concierge jolted him awake. Rudker splashed cold water on his face, then spent forty minutes on the treadmill in the third-floor gym before showering. Until he’d hit forty, his nervous energy had kept him lean. Now he had to work at it. He dressed in the charcoal suit, choosing a striped silver and light-blue tie. Pharma people on the west coast were slightly more casual than their counterparts in the east coast corridor. He’d been on a panel at a pharma marketing conference in Edison, New Jersey, and every guy in the room had been wearing campaign colors: dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. The women, fortunately, made some livelier choices.
Nervous excitement kept him from having breakfast, but he downed his usual assortment of supplements: vitamins B, C, and E, zinc, kelp, calcium, and DHEA. Prevention was the key. He’d read the side-effect profile of too many pharmaceuticals to leave his health in the hands of drugs. Except for the Zyprexa and an occasional migraine pill, he steered clear of chemicals.
The company sent a car for him at 7:15, and Rudker arrived at the Stewart Street headquarters with thirty-five minutes to kill. Not wanting to look eager, he circled the entire campus on foot, ignoring the dark sky that threatened rain. With twenty minutes left, he headed up to the executive suite. He stopped at Gerald Akron’s office, but the secretary told him the CEO was in a meeting. A meeting before the meeting? That seemed odd, perhaps even ominous. No, it could be anything, he told himself.
He found a reading nook on the west side of the executive suite and tried to concentrate on the two reports he’d prepared, but his mind kept surging forward to the board meeting. He imagined the announcement, saw them reach out, one by one, to shake his hand. A board member! Rudker’s heart pulsed in his fingertips. Abruptly, he pushed out of the chair and began to walk the hallway again. After what seemed like an eternity, the clock said 8:20. It was time.
Rudker entered the boardroom at the end of the hall and immediately sensed something was wrong. The group didn’t exactly go quiet, but they all glanced up at him as they wrapped up hushed conversations. John Harvick, the chairman, walked over and welcomed him with a handshake. Rudker felt a little better. He had to stop being so paranoid. Right. If he could do that, he wouldn’t need the Zyprexa.
He took a seat near the door on the opposite end of the table from where the chairman sat. The room was surprisingly small and had no windows. Meeting rooms were always like that. Architects rarely wasted prime window real estate on anything but offices. He hated the confined feel.
Harvick called the meeting to order. Rudker surveyed the people seated around the long mahogany table. Gerald Akron, Art Baldwin, Harvey Kohl, Jane Kranston, Richard Mullins, and Jim Estes. The “super seven” had control over a company that pulled in $14 billion a year in revenue. They had control over his future.
“Let’s get a quick update on the merger,” Harvick said, looking at Akron, JB’s chief executive officer.
“Firing on all cylinders,” Akron reported. The heavy bald man stood to deliver the rest of his brief: “The SEC wants us to sell two of our cardiovascular products, both with sales under $80 million. Genzar wants the pair. We’ve identified twelve middle management positions and five R&D staff that can be eliminated during the merger. And plans are in motion to move Prolabs’ R&D operation to Seattle. The only holdup is the final approval to build a new factory in Eugene.”
“Anything we can do to push that?” Harvick looked at Rudker.
Rudker was ready. “I’ve got an insider on the city council and all we need to do is wait for their vote. I have a friend on the environmental committee too. So I expect quick approval of our plan to recreate the wetlands. We should know in a week or two.”
Kranston and Kohl laughed. Rudker gave Kranston a look.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the idea of recreating wetlands. It’s like promising to put up a new ghetto.”
Rudker relaxed a bit. “Eugene is a little odd that way. Nothing but weeds and ducks and a few scrubby trees out there in that acreage, but folks want to preserve it. The town also has ten percent unemployment. This factory will be built.”
“Excellent.” There was a long pause before Harvick continued. “Karl, I know you’re anxious to know our decision and we won’t keep you waiting any longer. We think it’s premature to offer you a position on the board, but we promise to reconsider the idea after you’ve had six months under your belt as chief operating officer.”
The air left his lungs as if being vacuumed. Rudker fought the panic. Fought the desire to shove his fist into Harvick’s face. He clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap several times before responding. “I’ve got twenty-five years in the business under my belt.”
“We know that, Karl. But never at a company that does more than a billion a year. Give it a little time.”
Stunned by their decision, he considered withdrawing his company from the merger. He had other offers. Yet he sat there, silent. Time was the problem. Prolabs was too close to financial collapse to start over with a new deal.
Finally Rudker nodded. “It won’t take long to show you what I can do.”
The voices in the room faded away and all he heard was the one in his head. Second man and no board seat. Nice lateral move. Rage and shame burned in his veins.
“Anything to update on Nexapra?” Now Kohl was asking questions.
Rudker pulled in a fresh supply of oxygen through his nose and spoke slowly. “We’ve started recruiting for Phase III clinical trials. The FDA has given us an okay for the protocol. We’re projecting a late-2011 approval date.” He sounded so calm.
“Excellent.” Kohl turned his next question to Akron, and Rudker’s mind flipped back to his humiliation. How could he have been so wrong about the board member decision? Did they know about P
rolabs’ financial mess? Were they toying with him?
He could feel his power position slipping away. Now it all rested on Nexapra. He had to push it through approval and to the top of the charts. He couldn’t let anything get in his way.
Chapter 7
Sula tried calling Dr. Warner in the research building while her computer booted up. After three rings, a recording of Warner’s voice asked her to leave a message. The head of R&D did not mention that she would be out of the office. Sula called Steve Peterson and he reported that Dr. Warner had not come in yet.
“She usually comes in by now though, right?”
“By 7:30, usually.”
Sula checked her watch, even though she knew it was 7:55. “She didn’t call?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you called her cell phone?”
“I tried it once and left her a message.”
“I’m going to call her home number.”
“Let me know what you find out.”
Warner’s home voice-mail picked up after four rings. Her message was pleasant but brief: You’ve reached Diane Warner. Leave a message if you like. Distressed, Sula hung up. Where the hell was she? The doctor’s absence was starting to scare her. Sula hit redial, waited for the answering machine, then left her name and number and asked Warner to please call.
She dialed Steve Peterson’s extension and he picked up right away, as if he’d been waiting. “This is Sula. Dr. Warner doesn’t answer her phone at home.”
“This is very unusual. Have you talked with anyone in human resources yet?
“No, but I will.”
“Keep me posted.”
Peterson’s concern fueled her own sense of alarm. Worst-case scenarios played in her mind. Warner was lying dead on her kitchen floor, a gaping knife wound in her chest from a home invasion robbery. Or maybe she was at the morgue, victim of a hit and run accident. Or in the hospital in a coma, but with no identification, so the nurses didn’t know who to call. Did Warner have a family?
By the time Sula reached the HR department on the third floor, her pulse raced and anxiety clutched at her heart like a boney hand. She forced herself to slow down, to breathe from her stomach before she entered the suite. Marcy’s assistant, Serena, was in the outer office behind a curved half wall. The young woman greeted her with cheerful chatter.
Sula could not be distracted. “Sorry to be abrupt, Serena, but I must see Marcy right away.”
“She’s in a meeting with a lawyer.” Serena lowered her voice. “There’s something big going on, and I think it involves Sergio.”
“I have a greater concern. Diane Warner hasn’t shown up for work in two days, and she hasn’t notified Steve Peterson either time. Has she called either you or Marcy?
“No.” Serena’s eyes went wide. “Do you think she quit?”
“Maybe. I need you to look up her home address for me.”
“Are you going there?”
“I feel compelled to do something.”
Serena rolled her chair in front of her computer and made a few mouse clicks. “It’s 2862 Spring Boulevard. Are you going now? Should I tell Marcy when she gets out of her meeting?” The girl, fresh out of high school, sparked with the energy of a new drama.
“Yes and yes. Please call North McKenzie hospital while I’m gone.”
“What do I say?”
“Just ask if they have a patient named Diane Warner. If they do, find out whatever you can.”
“I’ll do it now.”
Sula thanked her and hurried from the building.
Driving up Spring Boulevard, Sula barely noticed the half-million dollar homes. A dark thought kept circling in her brain. What if Rudker had made Warner disappear? It was such a huge leap that she kept pushing the idea away. Her family’s trauma had left her with a tendency to catastrophize and blaming Rudker seemed like a classic example of that response.
First, there was no reason yet to assume Warner had disappeared. She might be home sick in bed and not answering the phone. Second, even if Warner was gone—for whatever reason—it didn’t mean Rudker had anything directly to do with it. He may have driven the woman from her job with intimidation or threats, but that was life in the corporate world. Dr. Warner seemed able to take care of herself.
Sula slowed as she approached the 2800 block. Considering the value of the homes here, Sula figured Warner was doing quite well financially and could afford to miss a few days of work or quit without notice. Now she felt apprehensive about her visit. She was over-reacting and butting into someone’s personal life. She could get fired.
She parked in front of Warner’s home and felt a flash of envy. Set back from the road on a slight rise, the house was four times the size of her little place and beautifully designed with fieldstone inlay. The lush yard was thick with grass, ferns, and hostas. Sula wondered if Dr. Warner hired someone to take care of it. She couldn’t imagine the tiny scientist out here mowing the slope on weekends.
The truck still running, Sula sat for a few minutes, paralyzed with indecision. What would she say? Just checking to see if you’re all right. Would that seem reasonable to Warner?
Sula shut off the engine. Now that she was here, she had to check. No one would criticize her for being too concerned. She started up the driveway, her pumps clicking against the smooth asphalt while rain dampened her clothes. Someone was watching her, she could feel it. Sula paused under the covered front deck to check her watch, 9:07, and take a beep breath before ringing the doorbell.
After a two-minute wait, she rang again. Nobody came to the door or stirred inside the house. What now? Should she leave a note? She’d already left a message on the answering machine. She noticed the green newspaper box was stuffed with several editions. Sula trotted down the steps and along the front sidewalk. She stared at the huge garage door and wondered if Warner’s car was inside. A locked gate prevented her from walking around to the side of the garage and peeking through the windows. That was probably a good thing. In this neighborhood, that sort of activity would likely get her arrested.
Sula jogged back to the truck and cranked up the heater. She was wet and cold and worried. She reminded herself it was too soon to jump to conclusions. She would wait and see if Serena’s call to the hospital had netted any information.
As Sula entered Prolabs’ driveway, she saw a young man on a bicycle. It was Robbie Alvarez and he seemed to be late for work. She slowed and rolled down her window.
“Hi Robbie.”
“Hey, Sula. How’s it going?”
“Good. Except that every time I see you on your bike, I feel guilty that I don’t get enough exercise.”
He laughed. “I don’t do it for the exercise. I’m just too broke to drive and the people on the bus scare me.”
“Any progress with Julie?” He’d told her about his affections one day when they had lunch together in the cafeteria.
“Not yet. But I keep trying.”
“That’s all you can do. Have a good day.”
“I will.”
Sula drove away, thinking Robbie seemed so sweet, so different from his father. She understood why he used a different last name and didn’t want people to know they were related.
“Dr. Warner is not in the hospital,” Serena blurted out as Sula entered the HR office.
“I don’t think she’s at home either.” Sula called Northwest McKenzie again and asked if they had any non-identified patients. They didn’t.
Marcy, the HR director, stepped out of her office and joined their conversation. “I called Dr. Warner’s son, Jeff, and left him a message. He’s the only family member we have contact information for.”
“Should we file a missing persons report?” Sula asked.
“Let’s wait to see what her son says. If he hasn’t heard from her, we will.”
Sula went back to her office and distracted herself by responding to the e-mails and phone calls that had piled up that morning.
At noon, she bought
a Luna bar from a vending machine and took it outside to the bench in the courtyard. The drizzle had stopped but the sky was still dark. The R&D building loomed in front of her and she couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Warner. The knot in her stomach made Sula feel certain the woman was not coming back.
What would happen to her research files? Would Rudker destroy Warner’s work on the genetic response to Nexapra? Without Warner, the clinical trials would surely move forward and the screening test would be forgotten. The thought filled her with dismay.
People could not be allowed to kill themselves simply because Rudker was too greedy and too impatient to develop a diagnostic test. Sula had suffered the grief of losing someone to suicide and had experienced the impulse herself more than once. She could not sit back and let those lives be lost. The trials had to be stopped. But how? She couldn’t go to the FDA without proof. All she had was a conversation she’d overheard. The recording she’d made was barely audible, and she couldn’t do anything that would risk her job right now.
Sula wondered if Peterson or one of the other scientists was aware of Warner’s discovery. If they knew about the genetic/suicide link, why hadn’t they been at the meeting with Rudker to back Warner up?
The horrible thought came back to her. Rudker made Warner disappear. What if he had not stopped at intimidation? On an intuitive level, Sula knew the man was capable of violence. But would he hurt—possibly kill someone—over money?
The thought made her jump up. She had to stay rational about this. She would be no help to Dr. Warner or future Nexapra patients if people thought she was flake. Sula tossed her wrapper in the trash and went back into the building.
She tried to write a press release, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Warner’s files. If the doctor had simply pulled a vanishing act, maybe she’d left behind the data that would point out Nexapra’s fatal flaw and put a stop to its development. Somebody had to get to that information before Rudker did. Unless it was already too late.
The Suicide Effect Page 4