Nesler Pharmaceuticals is located in a business park of identical buildings on the outskirts of the city. We snake along a narrow asphalt drive in a maze of random parking lots, finally pulling up in front of a square, concrete building covered in fake stucco. There's a giant number "3" and letter "A" painted on the side. A blue and white Plexiglas sign over the double glass doors identifies Building 3A as the World Headquarters of Nesler Pharmaceuticals. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it seems like the world headquarters of something shouldn’t need a big directional number painted on it. The lobby consists of two metal chairs, one coffee table, a pale green ficus tree lusting toward the thin light from the doors, and a tall reception desk behind which sits Janet Thompson. I don’t know Janet, but the only thing on the shiny wooden surface of the desk is a carved metal nameplate that says, "Janet Thompson." Her face, hair and eyes are deep black, almost blue black. She’s young, probably not yet 30, and wears her hair in an elaborate spiral of miniature braids.
Lily approaches Janet’s desk and announces our arrival. I sit down in one of the metal chairs and shuffle through the magazines on the coffee table. There are recent issues of BioPharm, Pharmacy Today and Pharmaceutical Formulation & Quality plus a stray copy of Sports Illustrated, because there’s always a stray copy of Sports Illustrated. It’s mandatory in all lobbies and waiting rooms.
"Howard and Gavin will be right out," Lily says, joining me in the other metal chair. "They’re finishing up a conference call."
"Have you been here often?"
"A few times. Just after Michael started working with them."
"I thought it would be bigger."
"That’s because you probably only write about the big boys, like Merck or Glaxo. Nesler’s a little fish. At least they are until this new drug comes out."
"I’ve kind of wondered how they got together," I say. "Michael and I jumped right in to the research part of the relationship. He never told me how he got hooked up with Nesler in the first place."
"They contacted him. Everyone knew about Michael’s work. Drug companies were calling him all the time. I don’t know exactly what it was about these guys that moved them to the top of the list. Maybe it was because they were local, or their results. They had incredible early results."
My brain snaps to attention. We are entering territory I need information about, but it’s dangerous terrain. Step carefully because the trip wires are everywhere. Say enough to keep the conversation rolling, but don’t say anything stupid. I don’t know anything about the preliminary test phases. That was the stuff I couldn’t access during my computer research. If I can keep Lily talking, I can follow her footsteps into the middle of the story. Interview tip number one: state the obvious. Ask the questions as if you know the answers.
"You mean the tests they did prior to working with Michael?"
"Michael was so impressed with them, but you know that. You probably couldn’t get him to shut up about it. I heard the stories more than a few times myself."
I smile in agreement. Interview tip number two: do not fear the pause. Don’t follow every statement with another question. Let the interviewee fill the gap.
"I actually have a few favorites," Lily continues. "I love the one about the guy who was able to play the piano again. I almost cried the first time Michael told me about him. But I think the best one was that woman who recognized her daughter again after two years. You know the one I’m talking about?"
Interview tip number three: embrace the generality. Details are the job of our source.
There aren’t a lot of trade secrets in the world of investigation. It’s common sense mostly. But if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need more information than what’s readily available, remember that getting back out is always easier than finding a way in. Shove your foot in the door and nudge until they budge.
I nod yes and raise one eyebrow. "That was something."
"Can you even imagine what it would be like to know you’re losing touch? You can tell there’s something wrong but you’re not sure what. Like Alice tumbling down the well into Wonderland. It must be so scary."
Lily turns and stares out the glass doors of the lobby, as if she sees herself tumbling. As if she understands the fall.
"Don’t you think fear goes away as they lose their grip on reality?" I ask, hoping to interrupt her thoughts and get her talking about the tests again.
"I don’t think so," she says, still looking out the front windows. "It’s our first emotion. A baby’s cry. That’s fear of the unknown as we break through into the world."
Lily turns and looks at me.
"I think fear is the last to go."
Her dark eyes are as soft and sad as that very first day I saw her at Michael’s memorial. Her hair is loose around her face. I want to reach out and touch it, brush it back gently behind her ears.
A door opens behind the reception desk and Howard Stanich and Gavin VanMorten finally make their appearance.
I haven’t seen either man since the service, but they haven’t changed in the month that’s gone by. Howard is starched and pressed to within an inch of mannequin status. He’s dressed in a sleek silver gray suit with a white shirt and pale yellow tie. Gavin, although his brown wool suit is just as nice as Howard’s and easily worth a month of my salary, looks rumpled and a little sleepy.
"Mrs. Rudolph, Mr. Mackey."
Howard approaches us like a long, lost friend. He embraces Lily then heartily shakes my hand. Gavin waits in the background, a lopsided smile on his round face.
"I am so very sorry to keep you waiting," Howard continues. "Damn conference calls. They’ll monopolize your life if you let them. I thought we’d start today with a quick tour since Mr. Mackey has never seen our facilities."
"Albert. Please call me Albert."
"My pleasure. Would you like to take a look behind the scenes, Albert?"
Howard gestures toward the door through which he and Gavin just entered. I look at Lily. Gavin looks at me.
"Well come on then," Lily says, walking toward the door. Gavin opens it for her and she steps through into the hallway. We follow.
"Which way first, Howard?" Lily asks.
"I think the research pod. That’s the most interesting."
Howard leads us down a narrow hallway with black steel doors about every forty feet. Each door has a small red plaque with a number and a letter. Alphanumeric, just like the building. We enter door 17C.
"This is our main research pod," says Howard. "It’s the heart of the operation. We call it our B&B, beakers and burners."
He smiles at me. I realize he’s made a little joke, probably a rare occurrence for Howard. He strikes me as someone who might find laughter a waste of time. Why laugh when you could spend that minute multiplying four digit numbers in your head? I smile back and glance around the room. It’s fairly large, maybe 3,000 square feet with plain white walls and a gray vinyl tile floor. Steel-topped tables fill most of the available space. Each table holds the trappings of experimentation: glass tubes, petri dishes, autoclaves, centrifuges, and dozens of high-tech testing and measurement devices. There are two people in requisite white lab coats working together at one of the tables. They had looked up briefly when we walked in, but are now completely uninterested in our existence. It seems odd that only two people are working in such a big lab. It’s too late for everyone to be at lunch.
"Is this where you started your work isolating the amyloid-beta protein plaques?" I ask.
That should sound impressive to Howard. I’d come across a Swiss study in my research that mentioned Nesler’s experiments in conjunction with its own. The article, thankfully written in layman’s terms for USA Today, explained the core theory of how certain proteins called amyloid-beta or AB proteins often clump or tangle in the brains of Alzheimer’s patients. This appears to have the same effect on the brain as plaque build-up in our arteries can have on the heart. The reporter quoted the Swiss researcher as crediting Nesl
er with the discovery of a drug that appeared to be able to distinguish and attack only the clumping AB plaques, leaving intact the longer form of AB that occurs in healthy nerve cells.
Howard nods. He doesn’t seem at all impressed by my question. I search for body language and find what I’m looking for. His hands, which had hung in a loose clasp in front of his crotch just a moment before, are now white knuckled.
"If I understand the function of the antibodies created by your vaccine, and please correct me if I’m wrong here, clearing away the plaques seems to reverse symptoms of brain degeneration, creating new nerve connections, and in some cases, even new neurons."
"Well put," Howard says, relaxing his hands and slipping them into his pockets. "Of course there are many people working on the same assumptions. It’s a promising area of research right now."
"But I’ll bet it’s nice to be the first one to the table, and with such positive results. I’ve read some of your patients test at new intelligence levels."
"It’s not as excessive as you might have heard."
Howard’s face is smooth as ice. Throw out those bottles of skin cream, forget the Botox; it’s much more effective to simply excise all emotion from your personality. Howard’s a flippin’ fountain of youth.
"The tabloids took some of Michael’s television interviews and blew them out of proportion," Howard continues. "We have some dramatic stories to tell, but sometimes the media makes it sound like we’re creating geriatric geniuses. That’s preposterous of course."
Of course. End of conversation. Really smart folks, like Howard, are masters at directing a conversation. They can stop you dead if you’re not careful. And once they’ve turned off the ignition, they do not like to restart.
"But the limbic system is so complex," I continue. It’s like I’m poking Howard with a stick. "Can you really rule out anything?"
He breathes out a silent sigh—through his nose, so the only evidence he’s perturbed is a slight pause and the rise and fall of his silk tie.
"We certainly hope our trials continue without complications. Anytime you’re working with something that has to cross the blood-brain barrier, you’re in uncharted territory."
"If you two are going to continue the neuro-whatever mumbo-jumbo, I’m finding another tour group," Lily says. She is standing behind Howard and her sudden insertion into the conversation startles him. In her heels, Lily is nearly as tall as Howard, and I realize her outfit of tailored linen pants and pale gray sweater set is a perfect match for Howard’s suit. They could pose for a Corporate Chic magazine cover. I brush some imaginary lint from my slacks and wish they didn’t look so shiny at the knees.
"I’m sorry, Lily, you’re right," he says. "I imagine Albert and I could stay here all day discussing the finer points of antibody accumulation, but perhaps we should save that for another time when we won’t bore our companions to tears."
Howard turns his back to me and points at the two people in lab coats.
"Sheila and Hiroshi are working on a dosage matrix. It’s one of the last operations before we go into testing next month. By then, we should be in the new facility. Don’t you think, Lily?"
"You know contractors, Howard. They say next month, they mean three months. I was over there last week and it looked like they’d made progress on the framing, but they haven’t started the sheet rock yet."
Gavin, who is standing right next to me, speaks for the first time this afternoon.
"Have you seen the new lab, Albert?"
His voice is louder than it needs to be. There’s a lot about Gavin that’s a bit much. A little too hefty, a smidge too generous with the cologne, a habit of staring at you with his small green eyes a moment too long.
"No, but I’m looking forward to it. Lily tells me we’ll go over there soon. Maybe next week."
"I’m surprised Michael never took you there," says Gavin.
"He showed me the plans. He was very proud of it."
"It will be one of the premier research labs in the country when we’re finished," Howard says, taking back control of the conversation. "We’re all very proud of it. Shall we let these folks get back to their work?"
I didn’t notice Sheila and Hiroshi had ever stopped working. I imagine a group of nude showgirls could walk through and receive the same nonchalance. Howard holds the door open and ushers us back into the hallway.
"Most of these other rooms are storage and offices, but I do want you to see the manufacturing pods."
I wonder why they call everything "pods." It reminds me of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and I consider asking Howard if they ever check the basement for pods, but I doubt he’d get the joke. Lily is walking next to me down the hallway. She glances up and catches me smiling to myself. She smiles back then quickens her pace to pull even with Howard.
"One of the things we pride ourselves on here at Nesler is our dedication to quality assurance," Howard says.
A cell phone rings.
Howard interrupts himself. "Would you excuse me for just a moment? Gavin, take them through Quality Control and into Manufacturing. I’ll be right behind you."
Gavin steps forward and picks up Howard’s speech. "We understand each and every pill we manufacture has the potential to make a life or death difference to the person who takes it. We’re rigid in our monitoring of all phases of research, testing and manufacturing. If you’ll follow me."
We march along behind Gavin. I glance over my shoulder. Howard has walked several feet away from us. His back is turned and he’s talking on a small silver cell phone the exact color of his suit. His voice is low and quiet, and with Gavin rambling on about integrity and quality, I can’t distinguish what Howard’s saying, but I can tell he’s extremely tense. Even someone as normally rigid as Howard gives off some physical clues. His shoulders are pulled up almost to his ears and his knees are locked. I bet even his butt cheeks are clenched. Must not be good news.
I turn back around and follow Gavin and Lily around a corner.
The rest of the tour consists of the manufacturing floor, for which we have to don "bunny suits" so as not to contaminate the environment with any of our disgusting human cells. It’s like wearing a giant paper napkin.
We finish up back in another alphanumeric hallway, this one with standard wood doors and yellow door plaques. Gavin knocks twice on door 8E then takes us through into a tidy office with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, an oriental carpet and a large oak desk with two leather chairs facing it. The top of the desk is empty except for a brass lamp, a digital clock, a crystal paperweight devoid of any paper-holding duties, and a single file folder. Howard is seated behind the desk.
"I trust the remainder of the tour was a success," he says, standing as we enter the room. "I’m sorry I was unable to catch up to you. With all the details to take care of for the new testing, I’m a slave to my phone. Please, have a seat. Janet is bringing coffee."
Howard indicates the two chairs in front of his desk. I look at Gavin. It’s been a long time since I played musical chairs, but I can tell there aren’t enough here to go around.
"I have a few things to take care of before the end of the day," Gavin says and nods for me to sit. "So, if you’ll excuse me." He reaches out and quickly shakes Lily’s hand and then mine. His hand is a little sweaty.
As soon as the door closes behind Gavin, Howard sits down and indicates we should do the same. He slides the file folder over to one side and addresses Lily.
"I thought we could take a few minutes to go over any questions Mr. Mackey, excuse me, Albert might have concerning Michael’s work with us."
Lily looks at me. "That’s your cue, Albert. What do you need to know?"
Howard smiles at me. His eyes are watery blue, small and very close to the bridge of his nose. All his features are small and sharp. Even his chin comes to a point. When he smiles, nothing crinkles—just like his suit.
The door opens again and Janet Thompson carries in a black lacquered tray with three white
coffee mugs. Steam circles above each mug. She sets down the tray on the expanse of empty space that is Howard’s desk.
"Thank you, Janet," says Howard.
"There’s cream and sugar and I also brought honey. I know Mrs. Rudolph likes honey." Janet smiles shyly.
"You are so right, Janet," says Lily. "Thank you for remembering."
"I think that’s everything, Janet. Thank you."
The smile vanishes and Janet wipes her hands across the back of her skirt. Her nails are long and painted in red, black and gold stripes
"Yes, Mr. Stanich. If you need anything else, just call me."
She hurries out.
The room is silent except for the clink of Lily stirring the honey into her coffee.
"So, Albert," Howard says. "Tell us how we can help with this book of yours."
"It’s not really my book; it’s Michael’s book. I’m just trying to pull everything together into coherent pages."
"I’m sure that is a monumental task. Especially now."
Howard looks at Lily.
"I’m sorry, Lily. Is this going to be too difficult for you? If you’d rather Albert and I finish this alone, I’m sure Janet would be happy to keep you company out front."
Lily sets her coffee mug back on the tray. There is an air of cold professionalism about her I haven’t seen before, as if someone snapped on a fluorescent light over her head. The angles of her face distort from refined to razor sharp. She stretches forward, ready to pounce on Howard and rip out his throat. This is a profoundly different woman from the one who, just a few hours earlier, spoke with such sweet eloquence about the miracles of Michael’s work.
"I’m fine, Howard. As I’ve told Albert over and over again, this book is what keeps me going. I’m happy to stay. I’m not going to come unglued or anything if that’s what you’re worried about."
"Of course not," Howard backpedals. "I don’t mean to offend you. I’m happy to have you stay. In fact, I’m sure you can add quite a bit to the discussion. I know Michael shared his enthusiasm for this project with you."
The Eulogist Page 6