“Why is that?” asked Milo.
“Because younger people experience fewer side effects. And that way the companies can market the products as both effective and without major side effects,” Marcody replied.
He noticed Milo’s skeptical expression.
“You can choose to believe me or not. I’m telling you what the industry has become, and then you have to assess whether it’s relevant or not. Shall I continue?”
Milo nodded.
Marcody proceeded to show statistics indicating that the greatest innovation within pharmaceuticals occurred through publicly financed research, for example in connection with universities. That was where the truly sensational advances came from.
“And then one pharmaceutical company or another buys the patent, makes a group of university researchers wealthier, markets the new product, and earns billions.”
“And what’s so wrong about that?”
“The problem, in any event here in the U.S., is that it’s the public sector that finances the research, while the companies make money on it and get a patent monopoly, which means that they can dictate the price. In practice the public, that is, the taxpayers, finance the companies’ profits. That’s what’s perverse,” Marcody explained.
He stood up and went to get some mineral water in the kitchen.
“Can you say anything about what kind of products the companies are promoting on the market, if it’s the case that it’s only rarely that we’re talking innovative products?”
“The most profitable thing the companies do is to promote so-called ‘me too’ products, and to put pressure on the authorities to get their patent rights extended.”
Marcody explained that “me too” products were simply imitations of existing bestsellers.
“Where the length of patent rights is concerned, that involves billions of dollars, and the companies use an army of lawyers and lobbyists. You can imagine if you earn a billion dollars on a product every year, there’s a lot that argues for extending the monopoly as long as possible.”
“And they’re able to do that?”
“Oh, yes. They are extremely innovative when it comes to convincing politicians. In 1980 a patent lasted an average of eight years. Twenty years later the duration of patents increased to fourteen years.”
Milo thought about what Chiara Salvatore had said about Ingrid Tollefsen, that the encounter with a thoroughly commercial American pharmaceutical company did not necessarily go without a hitch for a conscientious, academically inclined Norwegian girl. But commercial prodding was one thing. Homicide was something else again.
“You say that the companies manipulate the research results, but isn’t it the case that this is being done more and more by independent companies?” he asked.
Marcody’s face broke into a big smile. As if this was a keyword he had been waiting for.
“There is no such thing as independence. The companies that conduct the tests for the big corporations are completely at the mercy of the pharmaceutical giants to get projects. It’s not the ones who do research who have the control, it’s those who finance the research who have the upper hand. Previously it was the case that researchers worked completely independently. Today the pharmaceutical companies dictate everything from how many test subjects there should be to their diet during the tests. And they even decide how the results will be published, or if they shouldn’t be released at all. In other words, they have full control.”
He looked at Milo seriously. The smile was gone.
“Today there is a completely separate business, a major industry, simply to conduct tests for the pharmaceutical companies, and it has become a major problem getting hold of enough test subjects. For that reason the companies pay good money to those who manage to acquire guinea pigs.”
“Is it now you’re going to say that the pharmaceutical companies exploit the poor in developing countries?” asked Milo.
“No, they don’t need to. They can exploit people here in the U.S. There are plenty to choose from.”
Marcody went over to some folders he had on the bookshelf, and came back with a copy of an article from the Bloomberg news agency.
“Some years ago, in May 2006, the authorities in Miami decided that a former motel should be demolished. It had been used as the biggest test center in the U.S., with over six hundred beds.”
Milo looked at the article. The owner of the hotel was FCB International, which had paid undocumented immigrants to participate in the trials. The conditions at the center were characterized as “ethically doubtful,” and a researcher from the University of Miami characterized the place as one big “human bazaar,” where as many as seven or eight test participants were stowed into each room in the almost dilapidated building.
“Is this common?” asked Milo.
“It’s not uncommon, in any event. The Wall Street Journal disclosed how a pharmaceutical giant used homeless alcoholics in Indianapolis in their tests. And you should have heard the company’s explanation.”
Marcody paused briefly before he continued.
“An executive with the company maintained that the homeless were actually driven by altruism, and deep inside wanted to give something back to society!”
He rolled his eyes and let Milo finish taking notes.
“I’ll give one more example since I’ve gotten started: I don’t know what kind of investigation you’re involved in, but it may be good to know that sometimes lives have been lost too.”
Milo stopped taking notes and looked up at him.
“I can e-mail a Boston Globe article to you where they write about a forty-one-year-old woman,” Marcody began. “This woman had struggled for years with schizophrenia and suicidal thoughts, but this was kept under control through treatment and medications. Then her doctor convinced her to participate in an experiment with a new antipsychotic drug. The doctor was paid well to find test subjects, and the woman was taken off her usual medication and instead put on various doses of this new product. When she got leave from the experiments, she went right out into the Mississippi and drowned herself. She should have had treatment, not participated in an experiment,” said Marcody.
“That sounds crazy, the way you tell it.”
“It is crazy. And I can send you documentation of all this. The reason that this is not generally known is that the companies are smart enough to see when they have to give in. Settlements are made with the opposing party when the case is in the process of growing out of control, enormous damages are paid, and then they bind the injured parties in legal agreements so that they can never talk publicly about the case again.”
Milo turned to a new page, and continued noting key words. The way Marcody described the pharmaceutical industry, it had moved miles away from its original social purpose. That it was about earning the most money possible did not surprise Milo, but that the industry resorted to manipulation and even lawbreaking was hard to swallow. He thought about the conversation with Anja Nyhagen about the market for steroids. About how apparently legitimate products were channeled into a black market that was far bigger than the market for patients with medical needs for these types of products.
It was the polished financial powers in symbiosis with smugglers, juicers, and organized crime.
And Forum Healthcare was in the middle of it. Listed on the stock exchange in the U.S., but with steroid ampoules that reached all the way to a fifteen-year-old Norwegian who finally had been summarily executed.
“Do you know a company called Medical Research?” Milo asked after a little while.
Alex Marcody nodded slowly.
“Absolutely. They specialize in conducting tests for pharmaceutical companies. They have offices and test centers in an old motel in New Jersey. A forty-minute drive from here.”
“Do you know whether they’ve been involved in cases like the ones you’ve just been talking about?” asked Milo.
Marcody shook his head, and Milo wanted to curse.
“
Medical Research hasn’t been involved in any. Yet. But their predecessor was.”
“Predecessor?”
“Yes, Medical Research is not that old. They’ve probably only been active a little more than two years, as far as I know. But the owners, a couple of Italians and two Americans, previously ran a company called Frontier Research.”
“What happened?”
“They tested a new heart medicine for one of the big companies. It turned out that two dozen persons who were involved in the trial only a few months earlier had been involved in testing another medication under the auspices of Frontier. Some new pill for stomach ulcers. The mixture would turn out to be fatal for several of the test participants.”
“Fatal?”
“Five died of heart failure. One of those who died was only seventeen. A boy on the run from child services.”
34
Kathrin was delayed.
Milo found a window table, ordered a vodka tonic and googled Medical Research.
The company described itself as a “next-generation research company based on fundamental scientific traditions.” But based on the description Marcody had given of the closed motel and the offices in a somewhat run-down part of New Jersey, Milo assumed that behind the antiseptic white Internet images from a sterile laboratory environment, the reality was off-white.
They might very well maintain that they were on “the front line of American scientific medical research,” but Milo knew that it was more a matter of being well-located in the backyard of Wall Street.
A new search told him that the company’s owners, Lucca Salvatore, Daniel Bergamoro and Thomas Schweibeinder, each had a one-third share. Salvatore had the medical background. Schweibeinder was a former head of research at one of the big pharmaceutical companies, while Bergamoro was described as an investor in technology and health.
Milo checked Frontier Research, the company they had run before Medical Research, and Marcody’s story was confirmed. The company had closed down after the fatal tests a few years earlier, but a short time later they were running again with their new company.
So, one of the owners was Lucca Salvatore. The husband of Chiara Salvatore, Ingrid’s mentor. Who had not seemed particularly enthused when Milo asked about how well Ingrid and Lucca knew each other.
He sipped his drink and looked around the place. Kathrin was still not to be seen, and he proceeded to check his e-mail.
One of them was from Lehman. The subject field was blank, and the e-mail contained nothing but a link to an article on VG Net.
Lehman Sues the Government
The high-profile attorney Philip Lehman is mad as hell about the treatment of the undocumented asylum seeker “Juliana” who is living in hiding. Now he is suing none other than the Norwegian government.
By Jørn Ekvett and Ola Selsfjord
“The authorities have acted in both an incompetent and inhumane way here. Incompetent because they have committed a number of serious case-processing errors. Inhumane because they completely overlook what happened to the family of the poor girl,” Lehman thunders.
He is best known as a defense counsel for businesspeople with doubtful reputations, but is now showing a different side. After becoming aware of the girl’s situation, he chose to get involved in her case.
“Does this mean that you are working pro bono for her?”
“A number of us are involved and outraged. She will not have to pay a penny for this. And we are willing to fight all the way through the legal system.”
The rest of the article contained a little of the background of the case, and a “no comment” from both UNE and the Ministry of Justice.
Milo noted that the journalists were content that Lehman was fighting gratis for the poor undocumented asylum seeker, and had to praise the attorney for how elegantly he had answered without lying.
“What’s making you smile like that?”
Kathrin kissed him lightly on the cheek and sat down at the table. She set her bag on the floor next to her chair and set her cell phone on the table.
“Just an e-mail I got,” he replied.
“Okay, then. You seem excited.” She looked at him carefully. “Have you had a good day in the pursuit of criminals?” she teased.
“Yes, I’d say so. Not bad at all.”
“So who’s the villain, then? Is it a sick ax murderer? Or the greedy businessman? Or maybe an hysterical professor?”
He sipped his drink.
“All of them. They’re all guilty. We’re all guilty.”
“Oh, that´s deep. Are you in a thoughtful mood?”
“I’m in a thirsty and hungry mood.”
She took his hand and squeezed it.
“Me too.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her.
Then he stroked her hair.
“Will you order a glass of white wine for me?” she asked, getting up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He nodded, and soon made contact with the waiter. Two minutes later a wineglass was on the table.
The taste of her mouth still lingered on his lips until he rinsed it away with the bitter flavor of vodka and tonic.
Her phone, which she had left behind, suddenly vibrated. Without thinking, he glanced down at it and immediately turned cold. He did not recognize the number, but the name that now showed on the display he definitely recognized.
OLIVER TRIMONI.
The second in command at Forum Healthcare. Senior vice president of business operations. Who Milo had forced to look at pictures of the dead Ingrid Tollefsen during the meeting on Friday afternoon.
Was that why Kathrin was slipping in all these questions about his work?
Instinct made him get up, put a fifty-dollar bill on the table and leave the place.
Out on the street he turned left while he discreetly tried to see if anyone was shadowing him.
He continued another block, turned right, then left again and disappeared into a Gap store.
Behind a clothes rack he looked toward the entrance to see if anyone was following, but only saw shoppers with big bags.
For a moment he considered going back. Confronting her. Bawling her out. But he did not want them to know that he knew.
He took out his cell phone and sent a text message.
SORRY. HAD TO RUN. SOMETHING IMPORTANT CAME UP. I’LL CALL LATER.
Then he walked quickly out to the street, hailed a taxi and got in.
TUESDAY
35
He was on the phone the whole hour in the lounge before boarding at the Newark airport.
Benedetti reported that they had been unable to make contact with Lucca Salvatore yet, and that they were considering issuing a search warrant for him. Milo briefly reported on the old case involving Frontier Research, in which research subjects had died.
“Salvatore may definitely have had a motive if Ingrid threatened to destroy his marriage. He is already scandalized, and if Ingrid pressured him, he may have cracked. As far as we know, he also had opportunity. He is supposed to have been in Rome at the relevant time, but we still lack concrete evidence.”
“I know,” said Milo.
He reported that he was on his way back to Oslo, and had scheduled a new hearing with Oriana.
“Oriana?”
“The asylum seeker. The one who most likely can tell what really happened to Ingrid’s brother.”
He related what Sørensen had said about the two Pakistani gang members who had also been in Rome when Ingrid was killed.
“You follow that lead, and we’ll stick to Salvatore,” Benedetti concluded.
After they ended the call, Milo called Sørensen.
“As soon as we have testimony from Oriana that confirms who in the Downtown Gang shot Tormod Tollefsen, we’ll take action,” said the chief inspector.
“Sounds good. But it still remains to link them to the killing in Rome.”
“We’re getting there. We’re getting there,” Sørensen answered.
They ended the call, and Milo looked up his father’s phone number. He sat there staring at it. He wanted to know what his father knew about the shipwreck over thirty years ago, but was uncertain whether he had the energy to dig into family secrets now that the investigation had entered an even more intense phase. He decided on an intermediate solution, and wrote a text message instead.
I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT A CERTAIN SHIP THAT SANK IN 1977. I’LL CALL YOU WHEN I’M BACK.
He was about to call Oriana when his father phoned.
“Why are you asking about this?” he wanted to know.
“Because this shipwreck has come up in several contexts,” Milo replied.
He did not want to tell him what Sunniva had said, but related what he had found out about his grandfather in New York.
“So Antonio had an apartment and a mistress in Manhattan? Well, I’m not surprised,” his father said.
He almost sounded pleased.
“And he’s not the only one who has mentioned this shipwreck. I would really like to know what happened. What it means,” said Milo.
“It doesn’t really concern you,” his father answered evasively.
“I think it concerns me to the very highest degree. And I want to know.”
His father remained silent a moment. When he spoke again, there was a note of resignation in his voice.
“When are you back from America?”
“Tomorrow, but I’m going straight to work.”
“What about dinner here on Thursday?”
“Agreed. And then you’ll tell me?”
His father sighed.
“I have to think about it, Emil. I have to think about it.”
They finished, and Milo had no time to analyze his father’s response. He needed to call Oriana before he boarded the flight.
“Hello,” she answered in a low voice.
“Hi, it’s Milo. I’m on my way back and I’m landing early tomorrow. Will you be ready then?”
She did not have time to answer before she burst into tears.
“Oriana? What is it?”
“Olena … I don’t know what I should do.”
“What about Olena?”
“She’s disappeared.”
The Oslo Conspiracy Page 23