“You’re damn right that’s why I’m here.” Kingsbury stuck his finger in Boatwright’s face. “I depended on you to get my drug through. My company and I have a lot invested in Exxacia. Aren’t you the man in charge?”
Boatwright retreated behind his desk. “I am the director of CDER, but if I overrule one of my medical review officers, it raises red flags all the way to the top. Believe me, I want Exxacia approved, and I wish it could be today. The way things were going in that committee room, if I hadn’t suggested the clinical trial, there was a likelihood they were going to vote down the drug.”
“Damn it, Boatwright, that will cost my company a year and hundreds of millions in profit,” Kingsbury fumed. “And think what it will do to our stock. Once the word gets out, our stock will drop twenty or thirty percent when it should have doubled just with an approval letter.”
“Calm down, Dr. Kingsbury. Think long term. Another year or so and then you’ll be producing that hundreds of millions of profits every year.”
Kingsbury finally took a seat. “All right, Roger. Sorry I got so pissed off. What do you want in that study?”
“Your call, Alfred. I suggest that you design a trial that will put Exxacia in the best possible light. I’ll approve whatever you submit.”
“I’ve got it, Boatwright,” Kingsbury said with a smile. “We’ll design a trial that will have twenty-five thousand patients, maybe one of the largest you’ve ever seen by a pharmaceutical company. We’ll put it on a fast track, maybe less than a year, and then dump that data on Dr. Sinclair and his team. I’ll depend on you to push them to make a quick decision. No way they’ll be able to do a critical analysis of our data in a few weeks, right, Boatwright?”
Boatwright nodded his head in agreement. “You get us the data, and I’ll set the time limit to either accept or reject the drug. You can count on me.”
Kingsbury moved into action. First he assembled his marketing team and ordered them to run small classified ads in every medical trade journal in the country. He knew it wouldn’t take much to attract physicians to apply to be clinical investigators. After all, the family practitioners and internists were among the lowest-paid physicians in the country. To participate in a clinical study was not only good money, it was easy. Really all the physician had to do was follow the protocol, monitor the patients, and report the results. On top of that, these were not really sick patients, particularly the ones with sinus infections and bronchitis. It wasn’t like they were testing a new drug to treat heart failure or cancer. So the ad ran:
NEW DRUG APPLICATION
Major international pharmaceutical company seeks qualified physicians to investigate a revolutionary new antibiotic for treatment of sinusitis and similar respiratory infections. Contact us at Exxacia.com for further details.
As soon as the ads hit physician offices in November, the Exxacia team was overrun with e-mails. After minor screenings they selected nearly all of the family physicians, a few internists, and none of the infectious disease specialists. The team recognized that too much knowledge could be dangerous to the approval of their drug.
18
Luke heard the sound of a motorcycle on the street in front of the house. It stopped, and someone turned off the engine. He rose and looked out the window to see a Harley-Davidson in mint condition at the curb. Chrome reflected the afternoon sun; the saddlebags were a deep maroon; the body was a luxurious red. My God, Luke thought, it’s Morgan Freeman coming to my office. Then he looked more carefully and realized that the rider merely looked like the actor. The slender, middle-aged man strapped his helmet to the handlebars, glanced at the house, and started up the sidewalk. Curious, Luke opened the door and met him on the porch.
“Afternoon, sir.” The visitor spoke as he extended his hand. “Name’s Wilson Moore. I’m a history professor over at Texas State. You got a few minutes?”
Luke took an instant liking to him. “Sure, you want to come in or sit out here on the porch?”
“Out here’s fine with me. Too nice a day to be inside.”
“Have a seat. Let me holler at my assistant to get us some iced tea.”
While Luke went inside, Cocoa nosed her way through the screen door and sidled up to the stranger on her porch. Finding him to her liking, she permitted him to scratch her back until Luke returned with a tray complete with two tall glasses of tea and various sweeteners. “Now, what can I do for you, Professor Moore? You need a good lawyer?”
Professor Moore added Splenda to his tea, stirred it, and spoke. “First, just call me Whizmo.”
“Kinda strange name. Where’d that come from?”
“High school buddies. Somehow they shortened Wilson Moore to Whizmo, and I’ve been stuck with it ever since. Even my students call me Whizmo—Professor Whizmo when the dean’s around. Don’t need a lawyer. I’m looking for a place to live, and I’ve been noticing that you have an apartment over your garage. Is it for rent?”
“Well, it’s empty and has been since we remodeled this place. I’ve thought from time to time about renting it out. Just never got around to advertising it. I’ve got a daughter to put through college before long and could use the extra money. Don’t you have a place to live?”
A frown crossed Whizmo’s face as he fumbled for words. “Luke, I’ve been a history professor here for twenty years. I’ve even got a distinguished chair that pays me an extra forty thousand a year. I also teach a graduate seminar in computer science. There wasn’t a degree in it when I was in school, so I’m self-taught but pretty damn good, if I say so myself. I’ve got a big old house on the west side of town. My wife and I raised two kids there. They’re both out on their own now. One lives in Houston and the other in San Antonio.” Whizmo paused and summoned the strength to go on. “I lost my wife to cancer last year.”
“I’m sorry, Whizmo,” Luke said, finding it easier to say the strange name.
“No need, Luke, only I’ve been rattling around in that house with memories everywhere I turn. I finally decided I needed to put it on the market and move somewhere else. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but your garage apartment looks like a good interim stop. It’s close to campus. I can walk some days and other days ride my Harley.”
“Don’t you own a car?” Luke asked with some amazement.
“Got an old pickup out at the place. Don’t use it except to haul wood and stuff. I’ve been riding Harleys since I was a kid. Second nature to me.”
“How long do you want to rent the place?”
“I’ll sign for a year and then evaluate my situation. Mind if I have a look?”
Luke rose and beckoned Whizmo to follow him around to the back. “I’ve got to warn you that it may be a little dusty. I’ll get a maid to clean up if you decide you want it.”
Luke opened the door and let Whizmo step in. The transformation from three years before was remarkable. Recessed lighting cast a pleasant glow throughout the living area and kitchen. Stainless steel appliances glistened from behind the kitchen bar. A fireplace occupied one wall. Two bedrooms shared an adjoining bathroom. The old windows had been replaced by modern picture windows with miniblinds to provide privacy.
Whizmo let out a low whistle. “Wow, this is more than I imagined. Frankly, I figured it would be your average run-down garage apartment. What do you want for this?”
Luke scratched his head. “You know, Whizmo, I don’t have a clue. You tell me?”
“How about fifteen hundred a month? And if you’ll let me have one of the garages I’ll throw in another hundred.”
“Done.” Luke smiled. “Why a whole garage?”
“Oh, I’ve got another Harley. It was my wife’s. It’s the one thing that I just can’t get rid of. Not yet, anyway. We had too many great rides and great memories to part with that, at least for now. Then, I’m into woodworking and I’ve got a few power tools. You need any furniture, I’m your man.”
“Deal, Whizmo. No lease necessary. If I’ve got to have someone sign a lease for m
y garage apartment, I don’t want that person living behind me. Now, let’s go back to the porch and seal this with a beer.”
Over the next several weeks Whizmo hauled furniture, all handmade, to the apartment. Luke volunteered to help with the heavy stuff. Then came the woodworking tools, along with a lathe, table saw, drill press, jointer, hand planes, and a large table, old and scarred. There was just enough room left for two motorcycles.
One Saturday Luke heard a low rumble and glanced out to see Whizmo turning into the driveway on a different Harley. He parked it in the backyard and proceeded to wipe it down with loving care. Luke wandered out to admire it with Samantha not far behind.
“She’s a beaut, Whizmo,” Luke said. “That one your wife’s?”
“Yep, she put sixty thousand miles on it before she died. We knew every road in the Hill Country. Hell, we even made Sturgis a couple of times when we were younger. This your daughter?”
“Samantha, this is Professor Moore. He teaches history and computers over at the university. Samantha’s a junior. She’ll be heading to college in another year.”
“My pleasure, Samantha. Just call me Whizmo like everyone else does. You ever been on a motorcycle?”
“No, sir, I mean Whizmo. I’m scared of those things. A friend of mine has a Kawasaki and shattered his leg. I’ll stick to cars. I’ll be getting my license soon, right, Father?”
“Probably about the time you go to college will be soon enough.”
Samantha glared at him and, without another word, walked back to the house.
Whizmo stood and wiped off his hands. “Strikes me that you and Samantha have a few issues.”
“More than just a few, Whizmo.”
19
Samantha and Jackie Sutherland, a classmate, stumbled out of the fraternity house a little after midnight. Two members of the fraternity chased them down the sidewalk.
“Samantha, you and Jackie can’t leave. We’re tapping another keg and have five more bottles of tequila. Besides, the band’s going to play until two.”
“Sorry, guys,” Samantha slurred, “I’m already in too much trouble. I’m an hour past curfew as it is.”
“Yeah,” Jackie giggled, “and if I drink any more, I’ll be barfing all over the lawn. Thanks for a good time.”
When they got to Jackie’s Chevrolet Malibu, Jackie handed the keys to Samantha. “Here, Sam. You drive. I’m too drunk.”
Samantha hesitated. “My dad made me wait until I was seventeen to get my license. I don’t want to risk getting it suspended.”
“Dammit, it’s only a few blocks to our neighborhood. You can do it. I’ll watch out for cops.”
The two girls got in the Malibu with Samantha in the driver’s seat. “Jackie, I can’t even get the key in the ignition.”
Jackie grabbed the keys and pushed one into the ignition and turned it. The engine coughed once and then started. Samantha checked all her mirrors and pulled slowly out into the street. As they cut across campus, she made sure she drove five miles under the posted speed limit. She knew that she shouldn’t be driving but was pleased that she seemed to be sober enough to obey the traffic signs and keep on the right side of the street. When they approached the edge of the campus, Jackie suddenly leaned forward and threw up a full night’s worth of beer, tequila, Doritos, and cheese dip. Samantha looked over to try to help. “Hold on, Jackie, I’ll pull over. Then we’ll find a filling station to clean out the car before we get home.”
Distracted by Jackie, Samantha never saw that the light at the intersection was red as she went through it, not until she got to the other side and saw a state trooper stopped at the light.
“Oh God, Jackie, I just ran a red light and a trooper saw us.”
“Make a run for it, Samantha. He’ll have to turn around, and we can cut down a side street.”
Samantha looked in her rearview mirror and saw the trooper’s lights come on at the same time she heard his siren. “Not gonna do it, Jackie. Maybe I can sweet-talk him out of a ticket.”
Samantha pulled over to the curb, and the trooper stopped behind her. He got out of his car, carrying a large flashlight, and approached the Malibu. Samantha rolled down her window. “Evening, Officer.” She gulped. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes, ma’am. That light was red.” The trooper sniffed the inside of the car. “Whew, that’s a powerful smell. Why don’t both of you young ladies step out.” He stepped back to confirm that no traffic was coming as Samantha exited the car. “Oh, and bring your purse so I can have a look at your driver’s license.”
The phone rang only once before Luke picked it up. “Sam, where the hell are you? Are you all right? Your cell phone’s not working.”
“I’m okay, Father. They took my cell phone away from me.”
“Who’s they?”
“I’m in jail,” Samantha mumbled.
“For God’s sake, for what? It’s a mistake, right?”
“Er, I was driving Jackie’s car and ran a red light.”
“And they took you to jail for that?”
“There’s more. They also charged me with DUI.”
“DUI! You were drinking again and driving,” Luke sputtered.
“I’ll try to explain. Can you come down here and bail me out? I think it’s something like a thousand dollars,” Samantha pleaded.
Luke didn’t reply. Instead, he slammed the phone down and walked to the bar, where he poured himself a double Scotch. Now what do I do? This has got to be the last straw. I’ve done the best I can to be a good father. And I’ve failed. “I know,” he said to Cocoa, who could see he was upset, “I’ll let her stay in jail a few days. Maybe that’ll shape her up. What do you think, Cocoa?”
Cocoa whined and went up the stairs to Samantha’s room, where she took her place on her side of the bed and waited for her roommate.
Samantha again burst into tears as she was led back to the cell. Then the tears turned to anger at a father who would do this to his daughter.
20
It was five o’clock before Luke managed to fall into a restless sleep. A ringing woke him at eight. He grabbed for the phone. “Hello.”
“Luke, Sue Ellen here. I’ve got the weekend duty. Samantha’s in jail.”
“I know, Sue Ellen. She called me a few hours ago.”
“Why aren’t you on your way down here to bail her out? It’s usually only a thousand dollars. In fact, I can probably get her released to your custody with no bail.”
“Thanks, Sue Ellen. I’ve been wrestling with this all night. I’ve done all I can. Let the system deal with her.”
“Luke, you can’t abandon your daughter,” Sue Ellen pleaded. “It’s not like she robbed a bank or assaulted someone. Kids her age end up here every weekend. That doesn’t make them bad kids.”
“Thanks for your advice, Sue Ellen, but I’ve made up my mind.” Luke returned the phone to its cradle.
Sue Ellen stared at her phone, not believing what she had just heard. Then she dialed the jail. “Omar, have you got an empty cell?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then would you get Samantha Vaughan out of the drunk tank and into that cell? She’s a personal friend of mine.”
“Will do, Sue Ellen.”
On Sunday morning there was a rap on Luke’s door. He went down the stairs in his bathrobe to find Sue Ellen and Whizmo standing on his porch.
“Can we come in, Luke?” Whizmo asked.
“Sure. Coffee’s made. Come on upstairs. I’ll grab some jeans and a T-shirt.”
Luke poured his third cup of the morning and joined his friends in the breakfast alcove. “I know what this is about. I’m not changing my mind.”
“Luke, I’ve got it all arranged. All you have to do is go with me to the police station and sign some papers saying that you’ll guarantee she’ll make her court appearance. Please, please, don’t do this to yourself and to her, please.”
Luke remained silent as he sipped his coffee and finally
spoke. “All right. I give up. She’s had two nights in jail. Maybe that’s enough. Let me grab my keys.”
Three weeks later Luke and a frightened Samantha sat on the front row in Judge Nimitz’s court.
“The State of Texas v. Samantha Vaughan,” the clerk called.
Luke rose with Samantha, who instinctively grabbed his hand as they approached the bench.
“Good morning, Mr. Vaughan. I presume this is Samantha.”
“Morning, Judge. I’m here as Samantha’s father and her lawyer.”
Judge Nimitz leaned over his bench and peered into Samantha’s eyes. “Young lady, do you realize that you could have killed someone that night?”
“Not at the time, no, sir. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, you’re damn lucky someone wasn’t walking across that street, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I could lock you up for a year for what you did.”
“No, sir. Please,” she begged. “I want to go to college this fall.”
“I understand. I’ve checked with your school and find you’re a very good student. Here’s what I’m going to do. Your fine for running the light is one hundred and fifteen dollars, which I presume your father will loan you. As to the DUI, I’m putting you on probation for one year. If you get in any kind of trouble with the law during that year, you will be locked up. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Mr. Vaughan, I presume that you will accept custody of her during the year of her probation.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
“Very well, then. And one more thing, Samantha. I don’t like these goths. They’re troublemakers, if you ask me. As a part of your probation, you are not to mingle with any of them and you are to burn all of your goth outfits. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I understand you have beautiful red hair. The next time I run across you in town, I want to see your red hair, not that awful black with the pink streak.”
The Trial Page 6