The Last Lie

by Dana Killion

  “Oh, come on, they’re not that bad. Maybe you need to see someone about your food issues?” she teased.

  “Yeah, a nutritionist. Let’s both go.” I laughed, quieting my inner healthy food preacher.

  “I’m sure you know the basics. Company was founded seven years ago. Privately held, no bankruptcy filings. No existing litigation that I’ve come across, but I’m working a lead at a local ad agency who says VTF is stiffing them for a 200k bill. She says the modeling agency they used hasn’t been paid either. And there are rumors about a bottle supplier who’s pissed about nonpayment.”

  “Who needs litigation when you’ve got the rumor mill? Vendors can destroy a company’s reputation quickly,” I said. “That also corroborates some of the stories I’m hearing that cash is tight. I understand that Nadell Capital is backing them, quietly. Maybe they’ve closed the wallet.”

  “Or the parties aren’t happy with each other. Pressure and money are a bad combo. The rumors about an IPO seem to be spreading like the flu. If that happens, speculation is that it could be as much as a $75-million deal.”

  “Whoa, that’s life changing.” I’d expected a healthy number, but that was staggering.

  “Your friend will be very rich,” Brynn said.

  If the deal closes, I thought to myself. “That’s enough money to change someone’s behavior.” Brynn and I looked at each other. How far Seth would go to ensure that windfall? How far would Nadell?

  “It would certainly change mine,” Brynn said. “I’d be sending you a sayonara text from a beach in Bali.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame you. Look, I’m going to plead my case with Borkowski again. Just keep on this for now and I’ll talk to you later.”

  I stood and returned to my office. My phone rang the minute I got back.

  “Andrea, Henry. I’ve got the reports for you. Belladonna, in all samples. Atropa belladonna, if you want to be technical. I’m sending the report over now via email.”

  “Was the concentration the same in all the bottles,” I asked.

  “Within a minor variance, I’d say they were all in the same target range.”

  “So, could we then conclude the belladonna is being added during bottling?”

  “Sounds like it to me. I don’t know how else you’d get this level of consistency.”

  “If it’s being added at bottling, then why isn’t everyone getting sick?”

  “Well, we have the batch issue. This is one moment. We don’t know the extent of the exposure, in people or time. The other thing that comes to mind is that the parts per million are relatively small, consistent, but small, so perhaps there’s some cofactor that’s influencing who gets sick and who doesn’t. It could be any number of things, including how much of the product the individual was drinking. We also have about 200 mg of caffeine and 40 mg of niacin per bottle, drink a few of these in a short period of time and your heart and your liver are going to be unhappy. Layer in belladonna, and we have a lot of unknowns. I just figure out what’s in the stuff. You guys take it from here.”

  “Thanks Henry. Do what you can on that bill for me.”

  “I can probably shave a few pennies off the top,” he laughed.

  I told him I’d get back to him with questions after I’d looked over the report and had hard copies printing even before we finished our phone call. Scanning the screen, I sorted through the scientific jargon as best I could, then emailed a copy to Michael and to Lassiter. I also phoned the hospital and left a message that I had sent the toxicology report. I wasn’t taking any chances that the information would get lost in the spam pile. I grabbed the printouts, my coat, and sent Michael a text that I was on my way to the hospital. As I drove, possibilities tumbled through my mind but the only scenario I could imagine was that the toxin had been added at bottling. The questions now were how long had this been going on and why?

  Lane was awake when I entered her room, flipping mindlessly through the TV options while my father read the newspaper. She seemed to have a little more color in her cheeks today but maybe that was my mind convincing me to look for the positive.

  After getting caught up on today’s symptom check-in, I listened to her complain about the food and lack of access to coffee. The mundane request nearly had me in tears. I promised to bring up a tray of whatever the hell she wanted after Lassiter came in. I was trying not to panic, but it wasn’t working. Moments later he entered the room, report in hand. He nodded hello to each of us, then walked directly to Lane.

  “We’ve been able to determine what’s been causing you to be ill. Between the testing we’ve done and a toxicology report that your sister finagled, we finally have an answer.” He held up a file.

  Before Lassiter could say anything more, Michael rushed into the room. He was slightly out of breath and had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. We locked eyes briefly, but I quickly turned away while Lane and my father shot me confused looks.

  “Well, are you going to tell us already?” My father said to the doctor. “You need to get on with fixing her.”

  “We’ve confirmed that you’ve ingested a poison called belladonna,” Lassiter said to Lane.

  “What the hell is that?” My father was getting irritated. I didn’t often see his impatience come to the surface, but clearly he was exhausted emotionally and at his wits end.

  “Belladonna is a poisonous plant. Part of the nightshade family. Both the foliage and the berries are toxic,” Lassiter explained.

  “Well, that makes no sense. Lane here doesn’t exactly go foraging. I don’t think she’s ever been camping in her life.”

  Lane shot her eyes at us, a confused look on her face. I couldn’t tell if it was the illness, or she simply wasn’t following the conversation.

  “No, Dad, the poison somehow got into the energy drink she’s been using,” I said. “We aren’t sure how, but the testing lab I hired found the toxin in all six bottles they tested.”

  “That stuff isn’t supposed to be there, is it?” my father asked, rubbing his hand repeatedly over his forehead.

  “Unlikely,” Lassiter added. “Belladonna is occasionally used in some alternative medicine circles as a pain reliever. But it would be unusual to add this as a normal course of business to a beverage.”

  “We aren’t sure how the product came to contain the toxin,” Michael added. “Nor are we sure how long this has been going on. But we will find out.”

  His voice was strong, determined, comforting. I was grateful for his presence as I watched Lane and my father grapple with the news and saw the waves of confusion and fear wash over their faces.

  “It’s deadly isn’t it?” Lane said, her voice low and raspy.

  “It can be.” Lassiter added. “But now that we know what’s causing you to be sick, we can treat you. I’m going to start you on a medication called physostigmine. It may make you nauseous while we flush this out, but trust me, you’ll feel better in a couple days and we’ll get you back home.”

  “So, it wasn’t just me?” Lane asked, her eyes on me.

  “No,” I shook my head. “You’re not the only one to have gotten sick.” I didn’t volunteer that we suspected two deaths from the product. This was enough for Lane and my father to wrap their heads around for the moment. They were frightened enough.

  “I’ll go speak with the nursing staff and see that your treatment plan is adjusted,” Lassiter said. “And thank you, Ms. Keller,” he said to me. “I’ll check in later.”

  “Well, damn. Laney, time for you to eat some real food.” My father gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. I could see the relief in his face. Finally, answers. Lane on the other hand looked shaken.

  “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I said. “I need to speak with Michael.” He followed me into the hall.

  “Why didn’t you return my call last night?” Michael asked, looking hurt and distracted.

  “Because I needed some time and some distance.” A nurse interrupted us, rounding the corner, wh
ile she monitored a patient with a walker. I looked down at the floor, uncomfortable with the need in Michael’s eyes. “And this isn’t the place either. We’re here to discuss the fact that my sister has been poisoned. Can we limit the conversation to work? Please? For now anyway?”

  Michael, shot his eyes up at the ceiling before responding. “All right. But I didn’t do anything to hurt you intentionally.”

  “Choosing not to tell me you were meeting your ex-wife was intentional.” I forced my emotions down into the pit of my stomach. “When are you going over to VTF?”

  “You’re not coming,” he said, his jaw locked down hard. “Nice work on the lab, but don’t you dare say anything to your friend.”

  I stepped back. “I had no intention of speaking to Seth. I haven’t forgotten all of my legal training,” I said, feeling the sting of the accusation. “But what you’ll need to decide is whether to tell him he may have been ingesting belladonna himself.”

  27

  The nursing staff was back in Lane’s room when I returned. Another round of vitals and one of the nurses was adding something to her IV bag. Lane fidgeted in her bed. Somehow the news about the belladonna seemed to have made her more agitated rather than calming her down.

  “What are you putting in there?” She pressed the nurse.

  “We need to flush out your system. I’m adding some medication the doctor has ordered to counteract the toxin. You should be feeling better soon.”

  “I don’t want you putting anything in there without telling me what it is. I want to see the doctor. Now!”

  “I’ll send him in as soon as he’s free.”

  She spoke to Lane like you would an elderly aunt. Part compassion, part this-is-for-the-best. But Lane wasn’t having any of it. She pulled at the needle in her arm until the nurse grabbed her hand.

  “Ms. Lane, I need to do this. I need you to calm down and let the medicine do its work. I’m sure you be much more comfortable without restraints.”

  I stepped over to the other side of the bed. “Lane, it’s going to be fine. Everyone’s here to help you feel better. Remember, the doctor told us he was adding a new medication. Now that we know what’s wrong, you’ll be out of here in no time.” I smiled and followed the nurse’s lead on voice control. “Can I get you something? Are you ready to eat?”

  “How about a goddamn coffee? A real coffee, not the hospital crap.”

  I looked at the nurse, who shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” There was no way I was adding to her caffeine load, but I’d fight that battle when I returned. The idea seemed to calm her down enough for the nurse to finish the IV. “Dad?”

  “Sure, how about a muffin?”

  I looked at him as if to ask “you got this?” He took the hint and nodded. So I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs.

  There was a juice bar in the food court where I ordered complicated concoctions for everyone with silly names like Mango Dance Off. Then headed to the neighboring stand and loaded up on bakery items hoping the carbs would distract Lane from the missing coffee. Morning snacks covered, I parked myself at a table and put in a call to my former boss, State’s Attorney Denton Tierney, leaving a message with his assistant. No telling how many people had been exposed. Law enforcement would determine the course of the case, if there was one, but I knew Tierney would prefer the advance notice.

  As I stepped off the elevator with the cardboard tray of drinks, my phone rang. Assuming it was Tierney’s office, I set the tray on the floor and fished in my bag for the phone.

  “Ms. Kellner?” A young female voice said. “This is Olivia. From the other day. At the diner.”

  “Yes, of course, how are you?”

  “I need help. The cops are here. Do you know what’s going on?” Her voice trembled as she asked the question. “Am I getting arrested?”

  Michael and his crew had wasted no time. They’d probably already been staked outside the VTF plant with a search warrant when he and I spoke outside of Lane’s hospital room. Olivia sounded terrified. I could imagine the chaos as the staff watched with confusion and worry, not knowing what to do, while cops descended on their workplace.

  “You’re at the plant?”

  “Yes, they just got here. They’re in the office with Martin. They won’t let me go in.”

  “That’s okay. Just sit tight until you’re told what to do. Is Mr. Bowman there?”

  “No, but the receptionist called him as soon as the cops got here. I think he’s coming. What’s going on? I don’t know what to do. Nobody knows what to do.”

  “There’s no reason to believe that you’re in any trouble. If the detectives have any questions for you, answer them as honestly as you can,” I said, hoping to calm her down.

  “Do I like, need an attorney or something?”

  I knew it was likely that Olivia would be questioned, but probably not today. “You have the right to have an attorney present. If the police ask any questions of you that make you feel uncomfortable, stop the questioning until you have counsel. I don’t think they’ll need to speak to you today, but they’ll let you know.”

  “This is because of that guy, the one that died, right? Are they going to shut us down?”

  “The police are investigating whether there’s a connection,” I said, uncertain about how much more to say. Olivia was a scared kid who’d trusted me enough to reach out, but she also had information about operations at VTF and a police interview seemed inevitable.

  “Is Seth getting arrested? Is Martin?” The tough young woman I’d encountered initially now sounded like a 10-year-old kid. Gone was the attitude, but so was adult leadership as her boss sat isolated with a couple detectives.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. That will be up to CPD. Right now they’re simply gathering information to find out if there is a link and whether there is any risk to the public.”

  “You mean all of our product might make people sick?” Her panic was back, suggesting that the idea of the drink being dangerous was a new one. I tucked that away.

  “CPD has to investigate all the possibilities.” I kept my voice calm and my response vague, but regretting my word choice. Olivia seemed on the verge of losing it. She also seemed to be looking for assurances that I couldn’t give her. There wouldn’t be any charges today, but I certainly couldn’t make any promises about what the future held, including what would happen as word got out.

  “Olivia, CPD will tell you when you can go home, but there may be reporters calling or showing up at the plant. You have no obligation to speak with them. I just wanted you to be prepared in case that happens.”

  “Why would they want to talk to me? I don’t know anything.”

  “They’ll try to speak to anyone who leaves the plant. It’s nothing to worry about, just say nothing and go on your way.”

  If they weren’t on it already, the media would descend like the vultures that we were. Blocking exits, calling repeatedly, making accusations with their questions. Anything to get a quote or a bit of information that made the story seem different from the other news outlets.

  I could only imagine how frightening it would be once the attack dogs picked up on the scent. Yet ironically, she’d chosen to call me, a journalist, for advice. I’d viewed our previous conversations primarily through the lens of a concerned sister. Now, there was no longer an option but to treat this as the news story it was.

  We ended the call after I told her she could call me again anytime. But where were the rules guiding me as I toed the line between journalist, a friend to Seth, and involved party? Link-Media couldn’t sit silent on this; I needed to bring Borkowski up to date.

  28

  What did I say? Your love life’s going to be splashed all over the headlines. Again.”

  I was standing in Borkowski’s office being chastised only half in jest. I’d rushed back to the office after my phone call with Olivia. Lane seemed to have calmed down by the time I returned with her food so I told my father I had to get
back to work and asked him to call if there were any changes. Now I was bringing Borkowski up to date on the VTF situation and getting major shit for it.

  “And as I’ve said, repeatedly, my love life is not part of this. I have no romantic connection with Seth Bowman. Period. End of conversation.”

  “Well, there’s a certain photograph that is going to call that into question. Why the hell didn’t Martinez bring this in?” Borkowski was pacing as was his habit when he needed to think. I stood just inside the door watching the Oriental carpet he’d installed go threadbare before my eyes.

  “You’ll have to ask him, boss,” I said, not bothering to stifle the sarcasm. “Staffing is your responsibility, as I recall. I’m bringing you the story I have, and we need to figure out how to attack it. I have the contacts. I have the information. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve earned a seat at this table. It should be my lead.”

  Borkowski grumbled something I couldn’t make out and then tossed his glasses on the desk.

  “Fine, but no holding back. You and Martinez work it together. It’s called cooperation.”

  “Shall I dictate for him?” I shot Borkowski a dirty look, but he knew what I meant. Martinez had been his pick not mine, and I’d promised to stay out of hiring decisions. It was one of those awkward lines Borkowski and I had drawn to clarify his position running day-to-day operations. Neither one of us wanted the staff running from mommy to daddy when someone’s ego got bruised. But that didn’t mean I had to be silent when we were in private, just like in any other marriage. I turned to leave.

  “I’m glad your sister’s okay,” he said.

  “Thanks. I guess this means I can expense the lab testing.” I gave him a smile and left to find my charge. We could have the next round of the Martinez conversation another time. Eventually, the man would need to be fired or moved to something less taxing and Borkowski knew it, even if he wasn’t ready to admit he’d made a mistake bringing him on board.

  I found Martinez at his desk, head bopping to whatever was flooding his earbuds. He pulled them out when I sat down next to him and Sinatra floated out. Interesting. I wondered if he was the only male fan under seventy. Our conversation consisted of me downloading while he copied down every word as if he were a court reporter.