“What’s going on?” Marlene growled.
“One of our Ph.D.’s from Lawrence Berkeley Laboratories took a specimen of blood from Jennifer for research purposes and he found amazing results—incredible results that could change everything.”
Terri told them about the magnesium levels. “Magnesium is the fourth most abundant element in the body and it’s critically important to the normal functioning of all of our cells. We need to correct her deficiency before we consider any other treatment or diagnostic procedure.”
“You mean this whole thing could be a chemical deficiency?” Mickey asked, “and not Mad Cow Disease?”
Tears streamed down Terri’s cheeks. “Yes—yes, I think so—no, I hope so.”
“How soon can you tell?” asked Marlene.
“I don’t know. We must monitor the magnesium in her blood to make sure it doesn’t get too high, especially with her bad kidneys. High magnesium has problems of its own. It may take time for the whole system to balance out.”
“Jennifer’s going to survive her kidney failure?” Mickey asked.
“She should.”
“She may not have Mad Cow Disease?”
“I hope so.”
“Jennifer has no sign of the melanoma?”
“We can’t find anything.”
Mickey lowered his head into his lap and began to cry.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Matt and Shelly looked out the courthouse window at the pouring rain. They were waiting for Quinn Conner to come out of the grand jury room.
“How did it go?” Shelly asked.
“We obtained indictments for possession of stolen goods, criminal conspiracy, and voluntary manslaughter for the death of Becky Norton. Kendall Pharmaceuticals, its directors, officers, employees, and agents are criminally liable in that they acted in the scope of their duties, and that their actions were designed to benefit the corporation.”
“Did they name individuals?” Matt asked.
“They included, Lionel and Richard Kendall, Karl Muller, Woody Hawkins, and Eddie Macy.”
Shelly shook her fists in triumph. “Fantastic!”
“What about more specific indictments against Hawkins and Macy,” Matt asked. “They’re dirty as hell.”
“Those guys are smart and experienced,” Quinn said. “They know how to protect themselves. Unless you guys can come up with more, we may only get them on the conspiracy charges.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Shelly said.
“What have you heard about the Kendalls?” Quinn asked.
“First, papa Kendall, Lionel, fired his son Richard, then the board of directors asked for Lionel’s resignation. Rumor has it that the corporation will seek the protection of the bankruptcy courts. With everything we have, our best shot is against Richard Kendall. He was the moving force behind the theft of the BCG, the murder of Emile Gigot, and all the criminal action by their security people against Lisa Gomez, Terri Powell, and if I can prove it, the death of Becky Norton.”
David Birch felt tense as he approached Greg Wincott’s office. The traffic and the heavy rains this morning hadn’t helped his disposition.
“Mr. Wincott will see you in a moment,” Greg’s secretary said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No thank you.”
After twenty minutes, the secretary’s phone buzzed and she picked up. “Mr. Wincott will see you now.”
Greg sat behind his desk with Evan Klack at his side.
“What’s he doing here?” David asked, pointing to Evan.
Greg ignored the question. “You knew from the start, didn’t you, David?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So it was Richard Kendall, all on his own, who arranged for the theft of BCG from Laval.”
“He asked me for leads on promising lines of research into new drugs, so I told him about the BCG.”
“And he knew just where to get it?” Greg asked.
“I don’t know what he knew or how he knew it. I resent your implications.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Evan said. “You knew what was going on from the start. That’s why you disparaged the observations about our mice—their behavior and their premature deaths. Your conspiracy with Kendall also explains why you were so willing to manipulate the data. If we had known, we may have stopped the use of the vaccine on patients.”
“Yes,” David said with a smirk, “and how many melanoma patients would be dead.”
“I almost asked how you lost your moral compass,” Greg said, “but I think you never had one. We’re going to share our information with the district attorney. I hope they nail your ass.”
“Anything else,” David said as he stood.
“Yes,” Greg said. “You’re fired.”
“Richard Kendall will never permit that. I have a contract. I’ll sue.”
“Please, go ahead. By-the-way, Mr. Kendall no longer works for Kendall Pharmaceuticals, and neither does his father, Lionel.”
As David started for the door, Greg said, “When you apply for your next job, please have them come to me for references.”
“I’m worried about Richard,” Katherine Kendall, his mother said as she sat with Lionel in the kitchen of their estate in Northbrook.
Lionel shook his head in disgust. “He’s hiding with his tail between his legs. Your son succeeded where everyone failed, he destroyed my life’s work.”
“We’re not exactly in the poorhouse, are we Lionel?”
“I never should have listened to you, Katy. He never had the stuff to run Kendall.”
“All he ever did, my love, was to try to please you. That wasn’t going to happen, was it?”
“He’s not a child. I gave him the job. I told him what I expected of him, and he screwed it up. He destroyed my company.”
“Whatever’s happened, he’s our son, and I want you to see that he’s okay.”
“I called everywhere. Nobody knows where he is.”
Just then the doorbell rang.
Lionel and Katherine looked at each other.
When Lionel opened the door and saw two uniformed police officers, he knew.
“Lionel Kendall?” one officer asked.
Lionel nodded. “And this is Mrs. Kendall.”
“I’m sorry to inform you, sir, that we found your son, Richard in his Six North Michigan apartment. He was dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
Lionel heard Katherine choke and begin to cry.
“Did he leave a note?”
“Yes,” said the officer, producing a plastic bag containing a wrinkled piece of paper that read, “Forgive me father. Take care of mother.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
San Francisco General was abuzz with the news about Jennifer Howe. Terri had heard from several department heads, research associates, and as she moved around the hospital, the usual somber looks of concern became broad smiles.
While Jennifer was in route back to the ICU, Terri, overwhelmed with joy, called Matt.
“Take it easy, Babe. I can’t understand you.”
Terri took a deep breath and told Matt what had happened.
“Unbelievable—amazing. All of Jennifer’s problems were due to magnesium deficiency.”
“We understand magnesium problems,” Terri said, “but we never appreciated the effects of this type of total body deficiency and what signs and symptoms it could produce. It makes me wonder if we’ve missed this problem before.”
“This wipes the whole question of Mad Cow off the map, doesn’t it?”
“I hope so. We’ll know only after we correct her deficiency and see how she responds.”
“This calls for a celebration,” he said. “I’ll put a bottle of Maison Chandon Brut on ice for tonight. I’m so happy for you, for Jennifer, and her family.”
When Jennifer arrived back in ICU, Terri wrote orders to gradually replenish her magnesium. She knew it would take time and require careful monitoring to
make sure they didn’t overdo it.
She called Chester McCoy. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Twas nothin’, ma’am,” he said.
“All right Chester,” Terri smiled. “No more aspersions against the dialect, the intelligence or the breeding habits of Mississippians.”
“You’re a very intelligent woman, Dr. Powell.”
“It’s Terri.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“As we correct her deficiency, could you monitor the levels of magnesium in her cells?”
“Smart, and a mind reader, too,” he said. “I was just about to call you and ask if we could do just that.”
“Thank you, Chester.”
“One more thing, ma’am.”
“Anything.”
“My name goes first when we submit this case for publication.”
“Okay, Chester, but please let me present the case at meetings. Most people don’t understand Mississippi!”
Chester laughed.
Within moments of adding magnesium to Jennifer’s IVs, the heart irregularities disappeared.
They adjusted the concentration of magnesium in the dialysis fluid so her treatments wouldn’t remove magnesium from her body.
By the third day of magnesium repletion, Jennifer opened her eyes.
“Can you hear me?” Terri asked.
Jennifer couldn’t speak, but managed to nod her head, yes.
“You’ve been really sick,” Terri said, “but you’re getting better.”
Jennifer’s eyes moved left to right in a searching pattern.
“Wait one second,” Terri said. “Someone wants to see you.”
Terri made room for Mickey who grasped Jennifer’s hands and placed a kiss on her lips.
“Welcome home,” he said, as his eyes filled.
“I’m so happy to be home,” Jennifer said with tears streaming down her cheeks.
On the fourth day the removed the endotracheal tube and Jennifer breathed on her own.
Each day brought slight improvement.
Chester called daily. “The concentration of magnesium in her cells remains low, but I think it’s going to be that way for a while until you catch up with her deficiency. How’s she doing clinically?”
“Each day, a little better,” Terri said. “The heart irregularities are gone and she’s more alert.”
Although Terri knew the nurses would call, she had the habit of looking at the urine collection meter for signs of recovery of kidney function.
“I do that, too,” Mickey said. “It’s weird studying her urine that way.”
By day six, Jennifer’s speech returned, and finally they could converse.
“We think this whole thing was magnesium deficiency. All that chemotherapy, especially the platinum and perhaps the antibiotics caused your kidneys to lose magnesium.”
“I don’t have Mad Cow Disease.”
“I’m almost positive you don’t.”
Jennifer stared at Terri. “You mean I’m going to live.”
“I hope so. We’re still not sure how long the vaccine will control your melanoma, but right now, we can’t detect any tumor in your body.”
Jennifer turned to face Terri and whispered, “Thank you.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Henri Charles called Terri on the afternoon of Jennifer’s sixth day of treatment.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
She told him of the findings from Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory.
“Enjoy it,” Henri said, “this is one of the few times when the unexpected brings salvation rather than disaster.”
“Virtually every neurologic sign and symptom is gone or improving. I find no evidence of melanoma. If only her kidney function would improve.”
“It can take weeks.”
“I know.”
“What is the status of the Phase I trial?” he asked.
“It’s on hold. I’m glad you called, Henri. What’s happening with the Cambridge study, and when can you get us uncontaminated BCG?”
“Their patients are doing well. None show any evidence of neurologic disease.”
“It may be early, you know,” Terri said. “It may take years before symptoms appear.”
“Of course,” Henri said, “but your patient has a rapidly progressive course—maybe that’s characteristic of these prions.”
“About the BCG?”
“We’ve sent a new batch to Cambridge.”
“What about us?”
“What’s your relationship with PAT and Kendall Laboratories?”
“Right now, we have none. Kendall is filing for protection under the Bankruptcy laws and faces additional legal problems. Please don’t think of PAT in the same breath as Kendall. David Birch, Kendall’s surrogate at PAT, no longer works for the company and I can assure you of the integrity and high moral standards of the Wincotts, who run the company.”
“Where do you stand with the University and the authorities?”
“The whole thing is a mess. If our results hadn’t been so spectacular, we’d be out of business. With our results, everyone’s looking for a way to justify continuing the study.”
“I’ll talk with the Wincotts and get them the BCG ASAP. I can lend them technical support, and if the university does too, we can get a new vaccine out in four to five months.”
“I know you’ve considered this, Henri, but what if the new vaccine doesn’t work?”
“Then we’ll need to look at prions from an altogether new point of view. We know that prions exist in all animals and may have benefits. Some researchers have suggested that prion related diseases are due to an imbalance between good prions and bad ones. If the new vaccine doesn’t work, then we’ll need to consider that the prions are responsible for your cures, not the BCG.”
“After all the Mad Cow craziness,” Terri said, “it’s going to take a multimillion dollar Madison Avenue campaign to spin prions into friends.”
“If the media managed to interest the public in the talents of Paris Hilton, rehabilitating prions will be a cinch.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” Quinn Conner said, as Matt and Shelly sat before her desk, “but, Richard Kendall’s suicide is a major blow to our investigation. He was the weak link for sure and with a little arm twisting he’d have turned on his associates to save his own ass.”
“Do you think Hawkins and Macy had anything to do with Richard Kendall’s death?” asked Shelly.
“That’s the way I would have written it in a novel,” Matt said. “It’s totally consistent with the situation and their personalities.”
“The Chicago Police Department CSI people went over the scene in detail,” Quinn said, “and couldn’t find anything except evidence of suicide.”
Matt smirked. “That wouldn’t be difficult for the criminal minds of Hawkins and Macy.”
Quinn was less than convincing when she said, “I still think we have at least a criminal conspiracy case against Kendall and its employees, based on the evidence and Karl’s tapes and emails.”
“Pack your bags, Eddie,” Woody Hawkins said, “our country calls. We have a job in Pakistan.”
“It’s a shame about Ricky Kendall,” Eddie said. “He could have proven dangerous to us.”
Woody smiled. “Well, there’s no substitute for luck.”
“What about Quinn Conner?”
“She’s got nothing. Let’s see if she can even get a subpoena. If she can serve it, she still must get past the DOD. Not to worry, Eddie. Not to worry.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
One the tenth day of Jennifer’s hospitalization, she was alert, fully ambulatory, and had no evidence of neurological damage.
“I’m transferring you to the ward,” Terri said, “if it’s okay with you.”
“Get me out of here,” Jennifer said. “The kids can visit there, can’t they?”
“Of course.”
“What’s happening with my magnesium?”
�
��It’s gradually increasing. We still need to give you supplements.”
“They’re killing me,” Jennifer said. “I spend hours every day on the toilet having diarrhea.”
“Now you know how Milk of Magnesia works. I’ll cut back on the dose. It shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ll have the dietitian talk with you about magnesium rich foods.”
By the fourteenth day, Jennifer was feeling great, but her kidneys had yet to recover. She received three times a week dialysis treatments.
“Can’t I get these on an outpatient basis?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes, I’ll make the arrangements,” Terri said. “Don’t give up. Your kidneys could come back yet.”
“Kidney failure and dialysis are a small price to pay for being alive. If I don’t recover function, can I get a kidney transplant in the future?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“What’s happening with the Phase I study? Patients must be all over you for treatment.”
“We’ll have a new vaccine soon, but proving that it works in the lab will take time.”
Jennifer hugged Terri. “Words can’t express how I feel about all you’ve done. You went out on a limb for me—I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Terri reddened. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Terri arrived at 6:30 a.m. the next morning and went to Jennifer’s room. She was sound asleep.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Terri said. “Today’s your day.”
Jennifer shook her head. “God, I was sound asleep. I’ve never slept this well in years.”
As Jennifer sat upright in bed, she wriggled her bottom. “Something’s wrong, my bed is soaked. I’m all wet.”
Terri helped Jennifer out of bed and as she pulled back the sheets, her nose received the unique stench of urine. “It’s urine, Jen.”
“What? Suddenly, Jennifer felt the need to cross her legs as the urge to urinate returned for the first time in weeks. She rushed into the bathroom and uttered a strong sigh.”
When she returned to the room, Jennifer said, “What does it mean?”
“It means your kidneys are back in action.”
A Simple Cure Page 28