He took a deep breath.
“About ten-plus years ago, Azor went back and got a Ph.D. in biochemistry. I always felt he was a bit…intimidated by my own master’s in chemistry. Because when we used to talk about drug structure—specifically Cyclosporin-A analogs—he often would be forced to cede to my knowledge, sometimes graciously, sometimes begrudgingly. Not that I was smarter, but I had been more educated in this one particular area.”
Marge said, “I’ve found the perfect superhero for Berger.”
“What’s that?”
“MIGHTY EGO.”
Decker smiled. “Yeah, egos are something else. They make us able to live with ourselves.”
Marge laughed. “Otherwise, we’d all curl up and die from embarrassment.”
Berger kept talking. “Finally, Azor did go back to UCLA and he did receive a Ph.D. Which again gave him the formal educational advantage—at least on paper. Being involved in biochemistry years before Azor, I felt I still had the practical edge. I would have liked to further my interest in chemistry, but when Azor went back, I had to pick up the slack around the hospital. Which meant I worked long, long hours—”
Dorman tapped Berger’s shoulder, whispered in his ear. Berger sighed and nodded. He went on.
“Admittedly so, Curedon was Azor’s brainchild—a highly modified cyclophillin binder which seemed to be a very potent T-cell inhibitor. In theory.”
Berger stopped, regarded his lawyer, Oliver, and the deputy DA. They were staring at him. He cleared his throat and continued.
“The point is Azor had developed a potentially wonderful drug in his lab, but he lacked the practical experience to refine it.”
“And that was where you came in,” Oliver stated.
Berger eyed him with suspicion. “Yes, as a matter of fact, that was where I came in. He developed a very raw analog, I refined it into something more workable, albeit not perfect. Later on, Dr. Decameron and Dr. Fulton were brought into our club. Reggie fine-tuned the drug. Then Elizabeth set up the protocol for Curedon’s animal experimentation.”
The doctor smacked his lips.
“Azor had the reputation…and Azor got the funding.”
“From the hospital?” Oliver asked.
“From the hospital, from NIH grants, from private donations…from everywhere.” Berger clasped his hands together. “I worked over eight years on Curedon. There was extra pay for me through the grants, but the money hardly made up for the excessive time I had put into the drug. And I should remind you that I was doing this while maintaining a full-time cardiosurgical practice.”
Marge said, “He needs to remind us, Pete.”
Decker said, “He’s pissed.”
“Doesn’t justify what he did.” She paused. “But it explains his motivation. MIGHTY EGO strikes again. Must be hard to be number two, standing in the shadows of the top dog.” She smiled. “I should know about that.”
Decker jerked his head. “Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, nothing…” Marge returned her attention to the interview. “Nothing at all.”
Berger said, “The finalized drug sold to Fisher/Tyne bore little resemblance to Azor Sparks’s original Curedon. The Fisher/Tyne Curedon was developed after years of trial and error by four scientists working as a unit. Yet, Azor got all the credit.”
Oliver said, “Doctor, Sparks was the…how do you say it…” He flipped through his notes. “The primary investigator…the acknowledged chief, Dr. Berger. Because it was his drug you were refining. You knew you weren’t going to get the glory at the outset, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but…I mean…another—”
“You certainly must have known you weren’t going to get the money,” Oliver pressed.
Berger glared at him.
Oliver said, “True or false?”
Dorman said, “Detective, can we keep it friendly here? My client has been completely cooperative—”
“Think so? Then next time you try to arrest him.”
“Detective—”
“Do you know how much money Fisher/Tyne paid Dr. Sparks for the rights to acquire Curedon?”
Anger flickered from Berger’s eyes. “Something in the seven-figure range.”
“Do you know if any other fees were owed to him?” Oliver asked.
Berger said, “I was aware of something in the contract that promised him additional monies should the sales of Curedon reach a critical limit.”
Marge said, “Why are some people so mealy-mouthed? ‘Additional monies should sales reach a critical limit.’”
“Just the way academics talk.”
“You think guys like him and Sparks ever drop their masks?”
“Azor rode motorcycles.”
Marge nodded. It was a good point.
Oliver asked, “Is that clause in the contract—the one that promises him money if Curedon has big sales—still in effect after Dr. Sparks’s death?”
“I don’t know.”
Saugust said, “Detective, why don’t we let Dr. Berger continue…do you think you might take out a little of the history, sir, and bring it back to contemporary times?”
“I’m just trying to give you the appropriate background,” Berger snapped.
“Of course,” Saugust said.
Berger said, “Well, to make a long story short, even with all the hoopla of Curedon’s arrival, there were still problems. But nothing the team couldn’t hammer out.
“Since I was so instrumental in Curedon’s development, Azor assigned me the role of liaison from our labs to Fisher/Tyne. Sparks also gave me a bonus when Curedon was bought. Nothing compared to what Azor had made. But it was a nice gesture.”
“Did he give all his colleagues bonuses?” Oliver asked.
“Yes, I believe he did.”
“Generous guy.”
“He certainly had enough to play with.”
The room was quiet.
“I took my job very seriously,” Berger said. “Worked very hard with Fisher/Tyne, smoothing out the areas that needed improvement.”
“Such as?” Oliver asked.
“Primarily improving the efficacy of the drug and the honing down of the unwarranted side effects. As I worked through these problems, studying the interactions at a cellular level, specifically Curedon’s propensity for human cyclophillin binding and its corrolate of immunosuppression, I discovered something very interesting. I proposed the following theory. That if one modified the drug’s butenyl ring structure, you could further increase the affinity for cyclophillin binding to a fourfold level. On a theoretical basis only, of course.”
“Of course,” Oliver said.
Dorman said, “Doctor, I think you’re going to have to simplify the technical aspects of your research.”
Berger was peeved. “On a strictly theoretical basis, I thought I discovered a better drug than Curedon.”
“Ah.” Oliver held up his finger. “That I understand.”
“Mind you, I had nothing tangible. Just an idea. And a very abstract one at that. But I was pleased with myself. Nevertheless, I didn’t think about pursuing it. I didn’t have the time or the resources. In passing, I happened to mention my idea to someone at Fisher/Tyne. He got very excited.”
“Shockley,” Oliver said.
“No, his boss, Joseph Grammer. Dr. Grammer was intrigued. We met a couple of times. Talked a bit about my idea. Developing any drug is a very expensive proposition. And like they say, a bird in the hand…”
No one spoke.
“Grammer took the matter up with Fisher/Tyne’s executive board. He came back and told me the bad news: I had almost been granted funding. But then the moment of truth. The board didn’t have enough funds to support my research, and support Curedon at the same time. Since Fisher/Tyne had already spent an enormous sum for Curedon, and since it was almost ready for human trials, the board wasn’t keen on going back to square one with my analog. The board voted to continue Curedon research. And I was left in the cold.”
“Made you bitter?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Berger insisted. “I was not bitter. Disappointed, yes. But not bitter. I continued on with Curedon, figuring the matter to be dropped.”
The room was quiet.
“Oh my,” Berger said. “Oh my, oh my.”
“Deal’s been cut, sir,” Saugust said. “Why don’t you just get it off your chest.”
“About a week later…” Berger sighed. “A week later, after my defeat, Gordon Shockley came to me with a proposition. How would I like to see my theoretical drug turned into a practical moneymaking venture? I asked him what he had in mind.”
Berger’s hands turned into white-knuckled fists.
“He started naming numbers—”
“Who named numbers?”
“Shockley. Shockley informed me about the enormous sums of money that Fisher/Tyne was planning to spend on Curedon’s R and D. He said if we could develop something even equally as good as Curedon and cut our fees by half…we could undersell Curedon and still make out like bandits.”
“Undersell to whom?”
“To Fisher/Tyne. It’s happened before. A company will abandon a project if they have something better lined up. In truth, we would have sold to any drug company willing to put up cash.”
“And you agreed to work with Shockley,” Oliver said.
“We live in a country that prides itself on free-market enterprise. As long as patents laws weren’t violated, I did nothing illegal in agreeing to develop a new drug.”
“Maybe not illegal, but unethical,” Oliver said.
“Was it any more unethical than Azor taking all the credit for work I did?”
Oliver looked at his notes, then at Berger. He sat back in his chair. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Dr. Fulton—that’s Elizabeth Fulton for the records—she told us that any scientific discoveries that came from Sparks’s lab were his to publish. That’s just how it is in the academic world.”
Berger was miffed. “Do you want to hear my story or not?”
“Besides,” Oliver went on, “Sparks wasn’t screwing you up by monkeying with the computers—”
“I’m getting to that,” Berger responded fiercely.
“Rather slowly,” Saugust whispered under his breath.
Berger gave Saugust a hard glance, but went on. “Not wanting to be accused of academic pirating, I quit the job as liaison and handed it over to Reggie. In private…on my own time…I began working with Shockley on developing a competing drug to Curedon.”
“Where’d you get the money? Where’d you get the lab?”
“Shockley provided the money, told me he’d settle the account once we sold my drug.” Berger rubbed his cheeks. “Since I had no other source of funding, I didn’t probe. As far as the labs…I worked on my off hours and weekends at Fisher/Tyne—”
“So that’s really where you were the night of the murders,” Oliver butted in. “Tustin’s right around the corner from Fisher/Tyne’s labs. You weren’t at any dinner show—”
“I was there—”
“So tell me about the play, Doc. Better yet, whistle me a tune from the musical.”
Berger was silent.
“Way to go, Scott!” Decker said.
Marge shook her head. “I should have picked up on that. Tustin being so close to Fisher/Tyne.”
“Me, too. So this time it’s Scott. He did good.”
“He did good.”
Oliver said, “Your wife wasn’t home when we called your house. Where was she?”
“She had nothing to do—”
“I’m not saying she did,” Oliver interrupted. “Where was she?”
Berger sighed. “At her sister’s house. When I heard the horrid news coming home from the lab, I realized I was going to have to explain why I was so far away from my house. I bought a copy of the Orange County Register, looked in the entertainment section, saw the listing for the dinner show. I stopped by and picked a couple of ticket stubs off the sidewalk. If I had told the truth…that I was at Fisher/Tyne working on a competitive drug, people would have gotten the wrong idea.”
“Or the right one—”
“I did not kill Azor!”
“Detective, please!” Dorman cut in.
Oliver said, “Go on, Dr. Berger.”
“I went home…” Berger sighed again. “Quickly changed into dress clothes, called up my wife, and told her to borrow something dressy from her sister. Then I had her take me to the hospital, to make it look like we were coming back from the theater. She was furious at me…having to invent this facade for me. But…she was also scared. She knew if it all came out…”
“Somebody see you at Fisher/Tyne, Doc?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. There are guards there. But I don’t check in with them, as I have my own key from Shockley.” Berger dropped his head. “My work is very hush-hush.”
“So no one can verify—”
“I swear I didn’t kill anyone!” Berger was almost in tears. “Look, I’ve taken a lie-detector test. I’ll take another one. I’m telling you the truth.”
“There goes his alibi,” Marge said.
“Don’t he know it,” Decker said.
“What do you think?”
“I think we need to question him extensively.”
“Do you want me to go on?” Berger asked quietly.
Oliver nodded. “Yeah, continue your story, Doc.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Okay, it’s the truth.”
“Where was I?”
“You were working on a competing drug to Curedon.”
“Yes. Correct. And things were going very well. I was making incredibly good progress on my drug…which I named…Marasporin…which was a marriage between several known cyclosporins and Curedon. I was surprised how fast things were going. There was just one problem.”
“What?” Oliver asked.
“Reggie Decameron,” Berger said. “He was working with Fisher/Tyne on Curedon…smoothing out the bumps. Actually, he was ironing out the wrinkles faster than I could develop my drug. Shockley was alarmed at how scientifically facile Reggie was. The man, for all his perversions, was a brilliant thinker. And contrary to what I stated before, I am sorry he’s dead.”
Marge said, “He just gave us a reason for wanting Decameron out of the picture.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Stupidity or is he really innocent?”
“He passed the lie-detector test,” Decker pointed out.
“He is also an admitted liar.”
Decker nodded, took out his notepad, wrote down Berger’s words, and underlined them.
Berger said, “Shockley was frantic with worry. After all, he had invested money in me. Lots and lots of money, or so he told me. I, for one, suspect he had invested other people’s money in me. So who knows to whom he was beholden. He suggested a way to slow Curedon’s progress with the FDA.”
“Tamper with the data,” Oliver said. “You plugged in false data to make Curedon look bad.”
“Not bad, heavens no. Just…not as good.”
“The higher mortality rate Decameron was concerned with,” Oliver said. “He was right. It was a technical error. But one that was done on purpose.”
Averting his eyes, Berger whispered, “It was a terrible mistake on my part.”
“Not a mistake, Doctor. A felony—”
“Detective, please,” Dorman chided. “Dr. Berger has been made aware of the seriousness of his error in judgment. There’s no need to remind him.”
Berger said, “My…crime, I think, is a by-product of the computer age. One tampers with numbers in machines, one is never confronted with the direct consequences of one’s errors. I didn’t see faces, I just saw numbers.”
“All those newfangled falderah machines,” Marge grumped. “Just suck you into sinnin’.”
“Talk about cheap rationalizations.” Decker rolled his eyes. “Satan goes high tech.”
Berger continued. “Fisher/Tyne logs its computer time meticulously. All operators have to keep precise records of their machine usage. We couldn’t use the computer on Fisher/Tyne’s end because unaccounted minutes would show up on the log.”
“So you got to the computer on your end,” Oliver said. “How’d you break into Leonard’s system?”
Berger smiled ruefully. “How do you think? Leonard was in on it.”
No one spoke. Finally, Oliver said, “Leonard was in on it?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“Not an even cut, but a sizable portion. Shockley arranged it all. At that point, I was already drowning in deceit. I felt I had no choice but to agree.”
“Don’t tell me,” Oliver said. “Then Leonard got greedy.”
Berger hid his face for a moment. “It does sound like a sordid story, doesn’t it?”
“Keep going, Doctor,” Saugust prompted.
Berger said, “Kenny started whining. That he had the most to lose because he was actively doing all the illegal shenanigans. And this was true. He demanded a bigger cut and made threatening noises when we balked.”
Oliver said, “He tells on you, he screws himself up.”
“Actually, Detective, we pointed that out to him.”
“And?”
“And we never got any farther in our negotiations.” Berger wiped sweat from his brow. “Because a week later, Azor was murdered. Not knowing what was going on, I kept a low profile, stopped taking calls from either of them. Then yesterday…when I found out about Kenny and Reggie…”
He wiped sweat off his brow and bald head with a handkerchief.
“This should be self-evident. I became truly terrified.”
Oliver put down his notebook. “Was Shockley the only one you dealt with at Fisher/Tyne?”
“He’s the only one I know about.” Berger paused. “Though I have no way of proving this…I always felt that Shockley was moving with Grammer’s permission.”
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