Luke motioned for her to stop. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Sara, but are you saying he got that version from Boatwright?”
“Exactly. He went into our room, and I heard him talking on the phone. He said your name. When he came out, he told me he had purchased a ticket to Austin, leaving yesterday morning, and would be back in a few days. Then his cell phone rang. Ryan looked at the caller ID and returned to our room and shut the door.” Sara paused. “That was strange. He never before had shut that door. We didn’t have any secrets.
“When he came out, he had his coat on and was carrying his briefcase. He told me he had to leave for a few minutes. That’s the last time I saw him alive,” Sara said as great rivers of tears rolled down her cheeks.
Ryan’s dad had chosen to leave Luke and Sara alone. Now he stepped into the living room and interrupted. “Mr. Vaughan, it’s time for you to leave.”
Sara stopped him. “No, Max, it’s all right. His daughter’s dying. I want to help if I can.”
Max shook his head and returned to his office.
“Who called, Sara?”
“Ryan didn’t say. He took his briefcase with him, so I figured it was Boatwright or someone else from the office.”
Luke sat silently as he allowed all of the information to sink in, then asked, “What was in the briefcase?”
Sara shook her head. “It was never found. The police searched his car and the park. There was no sign of it. That’s another reason I know it wasn’t suicide. Someone had to have stolen it.”
Luke rose. “Sara, you know I hate to be bothering you now, but I need those discs. Do you think he had them with him? Do you think they’re around the house anywhere?”
Sara stretched her hands out in front of her. “I’m sorry, Luke. Strange as this may sound, I knew those discs were important to Ryan and to you. I woke up last night and couldn’t force myself to fall asleep. So I searched this house high and low. I even searched Ryan’s new laptop, the one he got after our house was bombed. I’m pretty good on computers. If there was something there, I could have found it. That data is not in this house or on his computer.”
Luke blew his breath out of pursed lips. “Then the discs had to have been in that briefcase. I agree with you, Sara. Ryan didn’t commit suicide. I’ll be leaving now. If you find anything useful, here’s my card. Call me anytime, day or night. Again, I’m sorry about your loss.”
“I will, Luke. I hope your daughter gets through this.”
97
As Luke pulled into the driveway at dusk, he saw Samantha, Whizmo, and Brad all gathered to greet him. Sue Ellen was conspicuously absent. He forced himself out of the mood that had settled on him and hugged Samantha and tried to give a cheery greeting to Whizmo and Brad. Then he sat in one of the rockers and told them about his day.
“Bottom line is that I came up short. The version that Ryan Sinclair told us about is nowhere to be found.”
“That sucks, Dad,” Samantha said. “What do we do now?”
“Here’s what we do, Sam,” Luke responded. “We finish this trial. The jury can still go our way.”
Whizmo had remained silent, quietly sipping on his beer. “Well, Brad and I have some good news. Brad, tell Luke what you found.”
Brad had been sitting on the steps. He got up to face Luke. “I searched PubMed and all of the medical databases I could find. There are some European journal articles that have been coming out recently that are pretty critical of Exxacia. There’s one very positive American article that praises Exxacia, only I did some digging about the authors. Every one of them has taken money, so-called honorariums, from Ceventa. In fact, one of the authors is a full-time employee of Ceventa. I’ll bet he wrote the whole damn thing. Paper copies of the articles are on your desk.”
Luke nodded his appreciation. “Thanks, Brad. Now I’ve just got to figure out how and when to use them. We’ll see who Metcalf calls on Monday and make the decision on the fly. Now, Whiz, what have you been up to?”
“First of all, Luke, you know I teach computer science. What you may not know is that I’m one of the world’s great hackers. Given enough time, there’s no server in the world that I can’t get into.” Whiz smiled.
“Go on, Whiz, get to the point,” Luke insisted.
“I got into Ceventa’s server, and here’s what I found.”
Whizmo bent over and picked a manila folder up from the floor. He extracted computer printouts of Ceventa documents and handed them to Luke, who flipped through them before he let out a low whistle. “Wow! Now we’ve gotta hope that Metcalf calls someone I can use these with.”
“Well,” Whiz said, “I think it was some philosopher who said that it was always darkest before the dawn. I do believe that the sun is about to rise.”
98
Luke got the call at seven o’clock on Sunday morning.
“Luke, you’ve got to come over here,” Sue Ellen said.
“What’s up? Did they find Josh?”
“No, just get over here now. We need to talk face-to-face.”
Luke hung up the phone, not liking Sue Ellen’s tone. He slipped on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and thongs and left the house. Brian again approached him, and again he told Brian that he was only going three blocks to Sue Ellen’s. Brian returned to his patrol car and called his counterpart at Sue Ellen’s to alert him that Luke was on his way.
Luke opened Sue Ellen’s door to find her on the couch, a Kleenex box in her lap. Without a word she handed him a packing envelope. When he extracted the contents he found a San Marcos High School T-shirt with blood splattered on the front, as if someone had landed a fist on Josh’s face.
“That’s Josh’s shirt,” Sue Ellen sobbed. “Luke, we can’t go on with the lawsuit. Look at this note that was with the T-shirt.”
Luke took the note from her. It read, If this lawsuit continues, the next delivery will be a finger from Josh’s throwing hand. So much for quarterbacking for the Longhorns.
Luke chose to tread lightly as he sat beside Sue Ellen. “What do you want me to do?”
“Dismiss the lawsuit tomorrow morning, Luke! I can’t take it anymore. I love Samantha, but I love Josh more.”
Luke ran his fingers through his hair and rose to stand at the window. Then he turned. “Sue Ellen, we’ll be through with this case in two days. It’ll all come out all right,” he pleaded.
Resolve appeared in Sue Ellen’s face. “No, Luke. I’ve gone as far as I can go. If you won’t dismiss the case, I won’t be beside you tomorrow. Maybe whoever is doing this will notice that I’m off the case. I love you, Luke, but you’re on your own. I’m sorry.”
Sue Ellen bolted up the stairs to her bedroom. Luke contemplated following her but instead turned and left the house.
Desperate, Sue Ellen regained her composure and called Whizmo.
“Hey, Sue Ellen, any word on Josh yet?” Whizmo asked.
Sue Ellen explained what had happened that morning. “Whizmo, you’ve got to convince Luke to drop the case. He won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Whizmo thought about the request and responded, “Sue Ellen, I’m not willing to do that yet. I know what you’re going through—”
“Dammit, don’t say that! No one knows what I’m going through,” Sue Ellen interrupted.
“You’re right,” Whizmo said softly. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, but I’m not willing to interfere with Luke’s decision. Still, I’ve got an idea. I know a few folks in the Hill Country, some of them that wouldn’t cooperate with the law if a trooper handed them a thousand dollars in advance. I may have better luck. Let me wind up a little project for Luke and I’ll hit the road this afternoon. Don’t give up hope.”
99
Whizmo, of course, was talking about his biker friends, not the lawyers and doctors and stockbrokers, but the ones who worked as mechanics and laborers to maintain their biker lifestyle. A number of them also supplemented their income dealing dope and wanted nothing to d
o with anyone remotely connected with law enforcement. Whizmo knew most of these bikers in Central Texas. What they did for a living was not his concern. They had the common bond of the Harley, and he treated them as equals. His search for Josh would be with them. While it was possible that one of them could be involved, Whizmo really doubted it. All he was looking for was a lead. Besides, like Luke and Sue Ellen, he was convinced that Ceventa was somehow behind the kidnapping.
After Whizmo got off the phone with Sue Ellen, he surveyed the trial projects Luke had given him and figured he could take the rest of the day off. He went to his desk and picked up a photo of Josh, a copy of the one that the law enforcement officers had plastered around San Marcos. He looked at Josh’s handsome face and thought, Hang in there, young man. I’m coming for you.
Whizmo headed west. He didn’t need a map. He knew the roads and knew the hangouts where he was seeking a lead. The first one was barely outside the San Marcos city limits. The patrons there were a mixture of the old hog riders and some of the young professionals. There were maybe a dozen Harleys along with a handful of pickups in the gravel parking lot.
Whizmo walked through the front door and was greeted by the bartender and got hand waves from some of the customers. “Whiz, where you been?” the bartender asked as he handed Whizmo a Bud Light.
“Gotta pass on the beer, Howie,” Whiz replied. “I’m going to be doing a lot of riding today.” Whiz pulled Josh’s photo from his pocket. “I’m looking for this kid, name’s Josh Taggert, big kid, six feet, two hundred pounds, sixteen. He’s been missing for nearly a week. You seen him or maybe something out of the usual around here lately?”
Howie studied the photo and shook his head. “Nope. Never saw him. Troopers have been by here, asking the same questions. As to anything unusual, the answer’s no. We’ve had a couple of fights, but that’s just par for the course.”
Whizmo nodded his thanks and took the photo to each of the customers, asking the same questions and getting the same answers. Then, his shoulders a little slumped, he left, mounted his bike, and went to the next bar on his mental list.
By ten o’clock that night he was fifty miles from home and had struck out. At his last stop he threw five hundred dollars down on a table where three of his biker buddies sat and said, “Look, dudes, this kid didn’t just disappear. I can’t get back out here for another day, maybe two. Put the word out and see what you can stir up. Here’s my cell number. Call with anything. I don’t care how small or insignificant you may think it is. Understood?”
“We’ll do what we can, Whiz,” one replied. “Can’t promise anything, though. It’s a damn big country.”
100
Judge Nimitz took the bench before the jury entered. As was his custom, he surveyed the status of his courtroom. “Counsel, is everyone ready? Mr. Vaughan, I notice Ms. Taggert is absent. I presume she’s running late. Do you want to give her a few minutes?”
“No, sir. Ms. Taggert is ill. I’ll be going it alone from here on out.”
The judge guessed what the problem was but chose to keep his opinions to himself. “Ms. Metcalf, please call your next witness.”
When the witness had been sworn, Metcalf asked him to introduce himself.
“My name is Horton Thornberry. I’m a hepatologist, ladies and gentlemen. That’s a liver doctor.”
Audrey Metcalf liked how Dr. Thornberry looked and handled himself. He was in his sixties, had a white mustache and a gleaming bald head. His manner was self-assured and his demeanor gracious. Clearly the jury was interested in hearing what he had to say.
“Tell the jury a little about your background, Doctor.”
“I graduated from USC with a degree in microbiology and went to medical school at UCLA.”
“Go on, Doctor,” Metcalf urged.
The witness turned to the jury. “I did a three-year residency in internal medicine at USC and then a fellowship in hepatology at Stanford.”
Metcalf sized up the jury and decided to get to the issues at hand. “Doctor, are you familiar with a drug called Exxacia?”
“Certainly, Ms. Metcalf. There’s an article in the Annals of Hepatology that recently came out. I was one of the coauthors. The purpose of the article was to evaluate Exxacia and any risk of liver damage with it. That’s something important to do with any new antibiotic.”
“Doctor, I’m putting a copy of that journal article on the overhead. Is this the one you’re talking about?”
“Correct, Ms. Metcalf. May I suggest you turn to the conclusions on the last page.”
Metcalf had those conclusions highlighted. “Doctor, can you summarize what you and your colleagues found?”
“Certainly. I’m sure the jury can read what’s highlighted, but the bottom line is that Exxacia has approximately the same toxicity to the liver as do most other antibiotics. The risk is small but always there.”
Two male jurors on the back row nodded in agreement as they listened.
Now Metcalf was ready to drop a bomb. As near as she could tell, Luke never saw it coming and was not prepared to counter it. “Dr. Thornberry, one more thing. Do you have an opinion as to the cause of Samantha Vaughan’s liver failure?”
The witness took off his glasses and turned to Luke. “First, Mr. Vaughan, I want you to know that I’m extremely sorry for what has happened to your daughter. However, in reasonable probability, the Exxacia she took did not cause her liver failure. We know that she had a history of heavy drinking for several years. That undoubtedly left her with some cirrhosis, or scarring on the liver. Then she appears to have taken Tylenol on a frequent basis for headaches. Tylenol is a wonderful drug, but the medical literature is full of articles warning about the risk of liver toxicity in certain people who take acetaminophen, the primary ingredient in Tylenol and a number of other headache remedies. In fact, the FDA just decided to reduce the recommended maximum dose of Tylenol because of its impact on the liver. My opinion is it is far more likely that Samantha’s liver failure came from the combination of cirrhosis and acetaminophen.”
“Just how certain are you of that opinion, Doctor?” Metcalf asked.
“Oh, I’m quite positive. I was on a team that studied the effect of acetaminophen on the liver as far back as twenty-five years ago. Since that time there have been dozens of other studies all over the world.” He turned to the jury. “Please understand, ladies and gentlemen, I’m not suggesting that you should not take Tylenol. For the vast majority of people, it’s a superb painkiller.” Dr. Thornberry paused, searching for an example. “Think of it like peanuts. Personally, I like peanuts. I’m sure most of you do. However, there are some people who are so allergic to peanuts that the smallest amount of peanut oil in food can send them to the hospital, even cause their deaths. Samantha developed a reaction to acetaminophen. It’s not really the acetaminophen, but a rare individual reaction to it, that causes the liver failure. I’m not even sure that any doctor understands why, but there are too many reports in the literature to conclude it was anything else. Does that clarify my opinion for you?”
Several jurors nodded their understanding.
Audrey Metcalf smiled, stood, and said, “Pass the witness, Your Honor.”
“Very well, let’s take our morning break.”
As the jury filed out, Luke went to a back corner of the courtroom and reached for his cell phone. Dammit, he thought, I didn’t see this coming. I’ve got some ammunition for Dr. Thornberry, but the Tylenol issue is a problem. I was too focused on Exxacia. When Brad picked up, he told him to research Tylenol and its effects on the liver. Could Samantha have taken Tylenol for years and suddenly have this kind of reaction?
Following the recess, Luke began his cross-examination. “Doctor, let’s talk about that journal article you’re so proud of. Fact of the matter is, you and the other authors were paid to write that article by Ceventa, true?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Vaughan,” the witness replied, indignation in his voice.
“Wait
a minute, didn’t you receive twenty-five thousand dollars from Ceventa?”
“Mr. Vaughan, that money went to my research foundation.”
Luke thought about the answer and threw out a question he didn’t know the answer to, violating one of the cardinal rules of cross-examination. “Well, then, Dr. Thornberry, isn’t it true that you’re paid a monthly salary by that foundation?”
“That’s true. I spend a lot of time in research, and it’s only fair that I be paid.”
Luke went to an easel and wrote “$25,000” with an arrow pointing to the words “Thornberry Foundation” and another arrow going to “Dr. Thornberry.”
“Some people might call that money laundering, right, Doctor?”
Thornberry’s face turned red, and he stood in the witness stand. “Mr. Vaughan, I resent that.”
“Dr. Thornberry, you’ll need to take your seat,” Judge Nimitz commanded.
Thornberry looked at the judge. “Sorry, Your Honor. I was upset.”
“And you know that all of the other authors were paid by Ceventa, don’t you?”
“Mr. Vaughan, I can’t say for certain, but I presume they or their foundations received a similar stipend.”
“Stipend means money, dollars, doesn’t it, sir?”
Dr. Thornberry had begun to nervously bounce his right leg up and down, up and down. Some of the jurors took note and began to see the witness in a slightly different light.
Luke knew he had Thornberry on the run. “Isn’t it also true that the article was actually authored by Dr. Andrew Grizilli, a full-time employee of Ceventa? You and the others just looked it over and signed off.”
“Mr. Vaughan, Dr. Grizilli is a distinguished scientist. I read every word of the article and saw no reason not to approve it.”
“Just didn’t bother you a bit that Ceventa wrote an article, whitewashing their drug, as long as you got your twenty-five thousand dollars!” Luke nearly yelled.
“Objection, Your Honor! Objection! Argumentative.”
The Trial Page 25