I took a sip of my fresh margarita and asked the question that was foremost in both our minds. “If it’s not Heller, then who? I can’t believe everything’s not based on trying to cover up Heller’s fraud.”
“No argument with that. And we don’t know that Heller’s innocent. Just that he’s not the one giving Orlov orders.”
“You think he knows about Orlov? And who’s responsible for directing him?”
She sipped her drink. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m debating whether to have him picked up for some tough questioning.”
The waiter interrupted to clear the now-empty bowl of steamers, and our lobsters were served with a flourish. When he finished, I asked, “Why debate? At least we’d find out how much he knows.”
Being Karen, she took a big bite of her lobster before answering. Then she looked up with a grin. “Mm, I like this place. But Heller. The downside of bringing him in is that it might send a warning to whoever we’re after. Plus, I’m not sure how much we’d get out of him. If he is implicated, he’s probably smart enough to keep his mouth shut.”
I tried the lobster, too. It really was good. “Yes, Heller’s probably smart enough to ask for a lawyer and keep quiet. But if not squeezing him, what’s the next move?”
She answered with a question. “Who else would want to protect the status of aloxinor? It’s important to Heller for his career, but how much money is involved?”
“A successful lung cancer drug? Probably hundreds of millions. Maybe more.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. I knew we’d be talking big bucks, but that’s quite a sum. Certainly enough to be a motive for murder. Who gets the payoff?”
“Most of it goes to the pharmaceutical company that backed the development of the drug and holds the patent. Pharmathor. I’m not sure of the details of the aloxinor deal, but typically five percent or so would come back to MTRI. Maybe half of that would then go to Heller, either personally or for research support.”
“So if we follow the money, which works more often than not, we should be thinking about Pharmathor. And a pharmaceutical company is interesting for a couple of other reasons. For one thing, they’d be likely to have thallium, which is otherwise hard to get. That’s where the woman who poisoned her husband in the New Jersey case got it.”
“I remember you mentioning that,” I said. “Plus, I bet you’re thinking that a pharmaceutical company might also be involved with trafficking pain killers, right?”
She rewarded me with a smile. “You’re reading my mind.”
“Hang on, let me see what Pharmathor makes.”
I took out my phone and Googled Pharmathor. Then I went to the products section of their website. “Looks like mostly cancer drugs. A few antivirals. But I don’t see any pain meds.”
She finished off the last bite of her lobster before answering. “Still, someone in the industry could easily enough have pain killer connections. Where are they located?”
I checked the website. “In Cambridge. I think the street address is in the Kendall Square area.”
“Interesting. That’s where the blackmail photos were sent from, remember?”
I nodded. “I do. You think we’re on to something?”
“Maybe. I think we should figure out who at Pharmathor was involved in aloxinor development. Presumably they’d be in line to profit from its success.”
Before I could answer, her phone rang. She looked annoyed. “Hang on a minute, I better see what this is.”
She answered with a curt, “Agent Richmond.” Then her face fell and she was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she spoke again. “All right. We’re at Hobbs Harborside. We’ll wait for them here.”
She turned to me with a shake of her head. “Orlov escaped. He killed both state troopers who were guarding him and stole a car at the hospital. He’s in the wind.”
“Jesus Christ! How’d he manage that?”
“I don’t know. I guess there’s a reason he’s considered one of the best.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m afraid they think he’s coming after us. Especially me, since I’m the one who took him down. They’re sending two units to keep watch over us.”
43
The woman that answered spoke in Russian. “Da?” She sounded abrupt, annoyed by the call.
“I need to speak to him,” Orlov said. Also in Russian.
“He doesn’t take random calls.”
“You know who this is?”
“Of course.”
“Then put him on the fucking phone!”
“Wait, I’ll ask.”
Several moments passed. Orlov almost ended the call. If he had to, he’d go back to Russia and do this in person.
Finally, another voice came on. Orlov recognized it immediately. Derkach.
“What do you want? It better be important for you to call this number.”
“I need the name of the man you set me up with.”
Derkach made a harsh, guttural noise. “You know I can’t give you that.”
“He’s broken our bargain. I need to make him pay.”
“Explain.”
“I’ve been arrested. I escaped and I’m in a safe place now. But it was his fault this happened. He insulted me and forced me to do something stupid against my judgment. I protested, but he wouldn’t listen. And now catastrophe, all because he broke the code.”
“Can you get out of the country?”
“Of course. But not until I deal with him.”
“You realize we’ll be finished if I give you the name of a client? I won’t be able to use you again.”
“I understand. I have funds for a comfortable retirement waiting for me in the islands.”
Derkach gave him the name.
44
Trying to sleep with Karen’s gun in bed between us hadn’t made for a restful night. Nonetheless, we’d been undisturbed, and the two cops who’d stayed and spent the night outside in their car reported that there’d been no sign of Orlov.
“I don’t think he’s after me, anyway,” Karen said the next morning.
I took another big gulp of coffee, hoping to clear the cobwebs. “Why not? You’re the one who took him down. And hurt him in the process.”
“Yes, but I’m a professional. He’ll view my arresting him as just business, part of the game. But his boss is another story. You saw how willing Orlov was to give him up to us. He feels that his boss betrayed him, which makes him responsible for the mess Orlov’s in now.”
“Meaning you think Orlov’s planning to take revenge on his boss?”
“That’d be my guess,” Karen said. “Unless he’s just going to head for Canada. In either case, I don’t think he’s going to make another run at us.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Glad you think so. But how can he be going after his boss if he doesn’t know who he is?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows more than he’s been willing to tell us.” She shrugged. “But that’s not going to help us any. Let’s get back to figuring out who at Pharmathor made a profit from aloxinor. And stands to take a fall if Heller’s fraud is discovered.”
“All right. I can dig up the aloxinor contract and see who signed for Pharmathor.”
“Maybe later,” she said. “But there’s no reason to assume the official signatory is the organizer, is there?”
“No, I suppose not. What then?”
“Let’s go talk to Carlson. I suspect that he’ll be cooperative after having spent the last couple of nights in a cell.”
***
The Wells City Jail was a small holding facility in the police station, meant for temporary housing of local prisoners. Most arrests in Wells were for property crimes, so a prisoner being held on a murder conspiracy charge was something of a local celebrity. Two cops brought him in handcuffs to the small interrogation room where Karen and I were waiting. They pushed him into a chair across the bare wooden table from us and stood in the back of the room.
>
“You can take the cuffs off and leave us alone,” Karen said.
“I don’t think that’s wise, ma’am,” one of the cops replied. “He’s a dangerous felon.”
Karen rolled her eyes and showed her badge. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
Carlson rubbed his wrists when they took the cuffs off. The three nights he’d been locked up clearly hadn’t agreed with him. His skin was gray, his eyes were puffy, and he smelled like rancid cheese—no doubt from wearing the same clothes he’d had on when Karen arrested him.
“Please, can you get me out of here?” he pleaded. “You know I’m not involved in any crazy murder scheme.”
“That depends,” Karen said. “We need some information.”
“Anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Are you aware that Heller’s data on aloxinor was faked?” I asked.
Carlson’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. “What? That’s impossible!”
“I went back over the primary data from his trial. He fudged the patient records to get a response rate of eighty percent. The real response rate was only fifty percent, which wouldn’t have been good enough to get FDA approval.”
Some of Carlson’s usual cockiness returned. “He couldn’t have. I reviewed those data myself for the IRB. I remember going through the patient records and counting up the number of responses. My count matched his exactly.”
“You looked at the chart summary for each patient?”
He nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. And the number was right.”
I tried to look as disgusted as I felt. “Too bad you didn’t do your job right and go through the full record of patient visits. I did. And the visit reports don’t match the summaries. That’s what Heller faked.”
“Oh my God.” He put his head in his hands. “Oh my God, how could he?”
He looked up trembling. “What’s going to happen? I didn’t know, you have to believe me.”
I actually did. He was again guilty of incompetence and negligence, but I didn’t think he was part of the fraud. I looked at Karen and she nodded. Then she took over.
“Heller will be disgraced and thrown out of his profession,” she said. “And in all likelihood go to prison. What will happen to you is going to depend on what you have to tell us next, so think carefully about what you have to say.”
“I’ll tell you anything. Did Heller hire that man? Turgenev, or whatever you said his name is.”
“Orlov,” Karen said. “No, Heller’s not his boss.”
Carlson’s eyes widened in panic. “It’s not me! Please, you have to believe me.”
“We know that,” Karen said. “And you’re going to help us figure out who it was.”
“How? I told you, I don’t know anything about this.”
I jumped in. “You have connections at Pharmathor, going back even before Heller came to MTRI, right?”
“Yes, Pharmathor has supported my research for some time. I first introduced them to Mark.”
“Who at Pharmathor was involved with development of aloxinor?”
“There have been several people. The project officer for both Mark’s project and my own lab is now Sharon Talbot, one of their Research and Development people.”
“Did she initially sponsor the project?”
“No, that was Arthur Friedland. But he got a promotion and left the project soon after aloxinor won approval. Now I believe he’s one of their vice presidents, or something big like that.”
“All right,” Karen said. “Let’s see where that takes us.”
She got up and knocked on the door.
“Wait. Please. Can I get out of here now?” Carlson whined.
“Not yet. If your information helps, then maybe.”
“As long as you agree to resign from MTRI immediately,” I added.
We watched as the guards took him away. Then I said, “I remember Arthur Friedland’s name. Claire Houghton mentioned him. He’s a member of the BTI board of directors. The one who pushed her to fire me as director.”
“Sounds like we should give Mr. Friedland a closer look,” Karen said.
“Let’s see if I can find out more about him.” I used my phone to go to the Pharmathor website. The senior management team was listed with their pictures, including Arthur Friedland. I clicked on Friedland’s name, which brought up a pop-up bio.
“Interesting. He came to Pharmathor over ten years ago in their Research and Development division. Then, like Carlson said, he was promoted to a top post around the time that aloxinor became a success story. And guess where he was before Pharmathor.”
Karen looked impatient. “Okay, I’ll bite.”
“Purdue Pharmaceuticals. The manufacturers of OxyContin. He left just before the scandal about their marketing practices broke.”
“The overly aggressive marketing that people think contributed to the opioid crisis? And that led to criminal convictions of three of their executives?”
“The same.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “Let’s go pay Mr. Friedland a visit.”
45
We stopped at the Drakes Island house for some prep work. Karen said she wanted to get a backup team to cover us at Pharmathor headquarters and went upstairs to call her Boston office. I went out on the deck with my iPad and sent an email to MTRI faculty saying that a personal emergency had come up and I wouldn’t be in today. The meeting to discuss tenure cases would have to be rescheduled for early next week. Theoretically, my directorship would be over after today, but I didn’t think there’d be a problem extending it once I brought Claire Houghton up to date on recent events.
Rosie jumped up on my lap and we watched the sandpipers dart in and out of the surf while I waited for Karen. I wasn’t sure what she had planned for our visit to Pharmathor, but I was looking forward to it with nervous anticipation. With any luck, confronting Friedland would bring us to a conclusion. As long as Orlov wasn’t after her for revenge. Maybe it would be a good idea for me to start carrying a weapon until he was out of the picture.
My thoughts of protecting Karen were interrupted by my phone’s ringtone. I didn’t recognize the number, but I took the call anyway. Maybe someone from MTRI was calling in response to my email.
A deep voice spoke with what I’d come to recognize as a Russian accent. “You’re a dead man, Parker. You and your bitch FBI girlfriend.” Then the caller disconnected.
I broke into a sweat. Orlov! I jumped up and ran into the house, to find Karen coming down the stairs.
“Orlov just called me! He’s coming for us.”
She looked at me with a mischievous smile and held up a phone. “Good, you thought it was Orlov. You can relax, it was just me. With the new voice changer software.”
“What?”
She laughed. “I sent our tech guys a tape of Orlov and had them install software on his phone to deepen my voice and give it a Russian accent, at least somewhat like his. From your reaction, I guess it worked.”
I didn’t know whether to be angry or just shocked. “What the hell for? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry about that. I needed to give it a test run. C’mon, I’ll explain while we drive to Boston.”
***
Karen kept a heavy foot on the gas, so we were turning onto Storrow Drive in Boston in just over an hour. Just enough time for her to brief me on her plan and for me to get my head around the act I was supposed to pull off. It’d be tricky, but unlike some of her ploys in the past, it didn’t seem dangerous. I was good to go by the time she turned off Storrow Drive to cross the Longfellow Bridge into the Kendall Square area of Cambridge.
Largely because of its proximity to MIT, Kendall Square had become a world hub of biotechnology. It was home to more than a hundred biotech and pharmaceutical companies, including some of the giants of the industry, such as Genzyme, Biogen, Alnylam, and Bristol Myers Squibb. It felt like we were driving through a canyon surroun
ded by towering steel-and-glass buildings as we made our way to Pharmathor headquarters on Third Street and parked in front of the building. Illegally, of course.
A security guard inside the entrance pointed us to an elevator bank and told us that Mr. Friedland’s office was on the twenty-second floor, along with the other top executives. We exited the elevator in a large waiting area and were greeted by a young dark-haired woman at a glass-top reception desk. Karen took a seat in one of the leather lounge chairs near the elevator, while I told the receptionist that I was here to see Arthur Friedland.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No. I’m Professor Brad Parker, director of MTRI. An emergency has come up that I need to discuss with Mr. Friedland immediately.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Friedland’s fully booked today. I’m afraid he’s a very busy man, but if you could call his office to make an appointment, I’m sure his administrator will be able to set something up for you.”
I shook my head. “He’ll want to see me now. Just let him know who I am and that I’ve uncovered a problem with Mark Heller’s research. I can assure you, it’s something that he’ll want to know about without delay.”
She frowned but said to wait a moment and went down the hall to relay the message. I resisted the temptation to follow her and barge into Friedland’s office. If the message I’d planted didn’t get me a meeting, then he wasn’t our man.
But she returned in a few minutes with a smile pasted on her face. “This must be your lucky day. He’s had a cancellation and says he’d be happy to meet with you.”
She led me to an office in the northeast corner, where an administrative assistant greeted me, knocked on the mahogany door behind her desk, and ushered me into a cavernous office with oil paintings hanging on mahogany-paneled walls, an oversize oriental rug, and luxury antique furnishings. Friedland rose from behind a black executive desk with carved leather panels to greet me with a vague smile. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a full head of bright red hair and a tan that looked like he spent considerable time in the sun.
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