BLIND TRIAL

by Brian Deer

  “I can hardly hear you.”

  “We can go out to dinner maybe. And maybe they’ll let me take the weekend off out here. I’ve got an open ticket back. You know, first class.”

  “You need to speak up.”

  “I’m just killing time, okay? Look, what you doing tonight? If I can work something out? If I can keep them all happy, maybe we could hook up and, you know, go someplace cool.”

  With every passing minute, this sounded more unlikely. “But there’s Hiroshi, and what’s happened with him. And I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning.”

  “Probably got cold feet.”

  “Don’t be insane. No, it’s about respect. He came out here to ask me something incredibly special to him, which he did. He’s a very close friend. And it’s a huge decision I have to make. It might affect our whole lives. I can’t say I’m too busy even to see him.”

  SOMETHING CHANGED, drawing Trudy awake. Sounds and motions felt different. The tone of the Sentra’s engine had dropped considerably. A force pulled her this way and that. Also, a slope: the car was rising. A turn signal clicked. They were slowing.

  Her eyelids flickered: 12:36. “Where are we? What are we doing?”

  “Oh, hi, you awake, then? We’re, well, coming off for gas. And you know what? I think maybe the car’s on the fritz.”

  She maneuvered herself upright, adjusted her seat, and elbowed the pillows at her back. The Sentra sounded fine. Rented cars rarely failed. “Where’s this? Where are we now?”

  “Town called Ukiah. Gone a hundred miles.”

  At least he’d followed her instructions.

  They turned west on a street called Talmage Road, then north to the main drag, South State Street. Then they passed a restaurant, the Garden Cafe, thirty yards from the Regency Inn.

  Ben stopped outside and pointed to a Chevron gas station across the street, broiling in the midday heat. “Want to grab a coffee, let me shoot over there, fill the tank, and check the car over?”

  “That’s a good idea. I could do with some relief. I was thinking it’s about that time.” She opened the door into ninety-five degrees, and nearly tripped on a flight of brick steps.

  Inside, the cafe was cool and dim, with old lumber in beams and furniture. Trudy ordered a large latte macchiato and a baby kale salad. Ben left to look at the car.

  Fifteen minutes later, he burst through the door and dropped into a chair. His face glistened. “Sorry to say this, ma’am, but I think we got problems. The car keeps cutting out. It was doing this before, while you were asleep. Now it’s worse.”

  That was all they needed: a defective vehicle. She’d known a few of those in her time. She abandoned the salad, Ben paid the bill, and they hurried across State to where he’d parked.

  The Sentra was scorching, the seats oven hot. Her pillows felt ready to burn.

  He pressed the ignition: a dull click, then nothing. “What’s up, I wonder?” He tried again. “Seems like something’s wrong with something crucial.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  “What you think?”

  “You’ve got the power on, haven’t you?” She opened and shut a window. “Not a flat battery.”

  “Know nothing about cars. Nothing at all.”

  “Now’s the time to learn then. Lights working?”

  They were.

  He opened the glove box. “Dollar’s bound to have a rescue service. But I’m wondering, you think it’s jammed? You think maybe I should rock it?”

  Trudy yanked the door handle and climbed out. “Be a wire, or the solenoid, or the starter motor, if they still have them, I should think. Open her up.”

  “Better call the rental company.” He tugged a folder from the glove box. “Better get an expert. Be on the safe side.”

  “Come on now, open her up. And come out here and lift it. Let’s take a look at this thing.”

  She surveyed the engine: how they’d changed since her youth when she used to help her father on the ferry. If she’d fixed one engine, she’d fixed fifty engines. She pointed into the compartment. “Look there.”

  “Look where? What where?”

  “Over there. See the relay?”

  “What? That thing there, you mean?”

  “You got it, right there. Relay’s slipped out. Push it back.”

  Thirty-six

  THE TWO-BANK, no-Micky-D, town of Garberville, California, nestled among Douglas fir and ponderosa pine forests where the South Fork Eel River rejoined Route 101 after a four-mile meander to the west. Slopes rose two thousand feet to Little Buck Mountain, and the river drained creeks from a warren of canyons (Connick Creek, Sawmill Creek, Little Sproul Creek) before swelling into Benbow Lake. Elevation: five hundred feet. Population: one thousand. Nearby fields of marijuana products mellowed in the morning fogs.

  Ben tried to refuse to drive north from Ukiah. But Doc Mayr brushed aside his objections. Upon instruction from Doctorjee to return to the hospital, she vowed to do anything but. After fixing the car, she demanded to see trees. “Trees are my passion,” she insisted. To prove it, she got out fifteen miles south of Garberville, and hugged a massive coast redwood trunk.

  The redwoods lent their name to the tiny town’s main drag: the old through-route of Redwood Drive. He checked out storefronts as they searched for the place he’d arranged to meet Gennifer Heusch. Then Doc Mayr raised a hand toward a double-fronted restaurant, with a neon sign.

  Calico’s Cafe

  He spun the wheel right and brought the Sentra to a halt outside a sporting goods store across the street. As they turned, he glimpsed a woman who he guessed was the sister, sitting at a table outside the restaurant. She was aged maybe forty, in a lumberjack shirt: blonde hair, big breasts, and narrow shoulders.

  A pair of turquoise earrings bounced around her face. “You medical people, you’re so conscientious,” she called. Her accent: Pittsburgh meets pit bull.

  Doc Mayr ordered carrot cake and tea for three, then lied even better than Sumiko. “Oh, epidemiology, you know? Routine sampling. And we’re partly concerned with oral contraceptives.”

  “Helen weren’t on no pill.” The earrings bounced. “Wanted a baby out of Peter, would you believe? Oh, how we laughed. That city turned her soft in the head.”

  “Yes, my colleague here spoke with Mr. Glinski, but he didn’t say a great deal, I don’t think.”

  “Huh, Peter. Know when Helen was sick? Know what he did? Took some youth away on vacation, out the country.”

  The women traded pleasantries until the carrot cake arrived, then Doc Mayr reverted to their mission. “So, your sister’s heart issue wasn’t silent then? I assumed it was. She’d prior symptoms of some kind, did she then?”

  “I’d say you need to speak with her physician about that. Said to your colleague here on the phone, ‘Track him down and save yourself the journey.’ He’ll give you everything you need.”

  The vaccine chief shook her head. “Oh, no. No trouble. We were in the neighborhood. Glad to get out of the office.”

  “Dr. Desai. Indian gentleman.”

  “Oh, thank you. That’s useful. Ben, could you write that down?”

  He pulled out his Samsung. “How you spell that?”

  “Look, it’s all here. I was forgetting. I found it after all.”

  Ms. Heusch produced a document from the back pocket of her jeans: the certificate for her sister’s death. She unfolded the paper and pushed it across the table. “There you are, Dr. Pandit Desai. Was great, he was. Fantastic. Nothing he wouldn’t do for our Helen.”

  Doc Mayr took the certificate, donned her tortoiseshell glasses, and Ben watched her inspect the page. Then he saw her face twitch as if a snake bit her foot. For nearly the first time: an expression. Her mouth slipped open. Her eyebrows shot up. Her cheeks drained as pale as her hair.

  Ms. Heusch leaned forward. “You okay there, doctor? Looking peaky as
a bowlegged mule.”

  The vaccine chief stared like the certificate was her own. She raised it, as if checking a watermark. “Must admit I’m feeling a little off today. Thank you. I have a condition, I’m afraid. Do you think I could get a glass of water, please?”

  Ben moved to stand, but the sister volunteered. “That’s okay, honey. You stay there.”

  The cafe door banged behind her.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all. Not at all. No, no. There’s nothing wrong.”

  He reached over the table and took the paper.

  California Department of Public Health

  His eyes danced through a standard death certificate.

  Name of deceased͒—First—Middle—Last…

  Sex—Race—Birthplace—Decedent’s residence…

  He skipped across the page and down grids of boxes.

  Manner of Death: Natural—Accident—Homicide—Suicide…

  Then his eyes backed up. “Fuck me.”

  The certificate was completed—handwritten—in black ink. And the writing? He’d seen it before. The grandiosity. The ls. The cross-strokes. The G in “Glinski.” Bottom left to top right. Unmistakable.

  He focused on the “Signature and Title of Certifier” box.

  Pandit Desai, MD

  The name was different, but there could be no mistake. It couldn’t be. And yet it was. The attending physician at the death of Helen Glinski was the Executive Vice President, Research & Medicine. Here he was again. Doctorjee.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

  Ms. Heusch came back with a big bottle of water and three glasses packed with ice. “Been in the sun? You city folks need to take care.”

  “Thank you so much. Yes. Yes.”

  Cause of Death… Immediate cause… (a) Cardiac arrest

  Sequentially list conditions, if any, leading to cause…

  (b) Heart failure

  (c) Dilated cardiomyopathy

  Ben refolded the certificate as Doc Mayr talked. “This is such a lovely part of the country, isn’t it? You mind if I ask what you do in these parts? So lucky to live with the trees.”

  Ms. Heusch sampled the cake. “Ted—that’s my husband—works at a little thing they got going over Rancho Sequoia way, and I got me a part-time job at this and that.”

  “Oh, you’re so lucky.” The blowup sex doll was now concrete.

  “Yup. We got fishing, hunting, and stuff we don’t talk about—and Shelter Cove ain’t so far. Got a mighty fine black pebble beach.”

  Ben relaxed his lips to keep his face neutral and forced himself to think of other things. Was that dog a Border Collie or a Shetland Sheepdog? Why so many faces on that ‘Missing Persons’ poster? Three seniors played cards at another table outside the restaurant. But what game? Why the deck in the middle?

  Then, without really meaning to, he found himself speaking. “So, your sister… What happened with her?”

  TRUDY GULPED water until only ice remained, then took a small piece in her mouth. She felt sure there was nothing Gennifer Heusch could say now that would do anything but make this worse. Cardiac arrest? So, Helen Glinski’s heart stopped. You could write that on any death certificate. And dilated cardiomyopathy? A damaged heart muscle? Just possible. But that wasn’t the issue.

  The issue was Doctorjee: why did he confirm the death? What on earth was he doing with Helen Glinski?

  “You okay there now, honey? Want me to get you something else?”

  “Just fine. I have this condition, like I was saying. Now and again, it gets me down. That’s all.”

  “Well, you know Helen, she had everything. Least, always figured she had. Always complaining about something or other.”

  Ben raised his hands and scratched behind his ears. “What, you mean a hypochondriac, was she?”

  “That’s the word. Ever since a bitty girl. Mom was the same. Dr. Desai went into all that side of it. How that kind of thing runs in families.”

  Way beyond his authority, the young lawyer persisted. “So what, she got symptoms then, your sister, like before Peter’s vacation, you were saying?”

  “Oh, she was complaining long time before that. Think a lot of it was in her head, if the truth be known. Yeast thing in her mouth problem first. But I couldn’t see it. Thrush sort of thing, she said. Helen was always getting run down real easy, and then she lost a whole lot of weight.”

  “Was she trying to? On a diet was she, or…”

  “Ted reckoned she got that eating and throwing up thing, baloonia. Best part of a year it went on. Always a picky eater, but she figured something was going on. Then she was talking about pains in her gut and the headaches. Always something new she was coming up with.”

  Trudy didn’t want to hear. None of this was in the database. This was a whole different clinical picture.

  “Right,” Ben went on. “I get it. And this guy, Dr. Desai. What’s he say about all that?”

  “Oh, he was just, awesome, you know. What an amazing man. Wonderful doctor. Real caring guy. Think Helen found him through her volunteer thing. Breast Cancer Awareness. Did the whole thing by the book, he did, second opinion, and the whole nine yards. Fantastic.”

  “But he didn’t seem to, like, win it, you know? I mean your sister, she, well, like, she died.”

  “Dr.…”

  “Ben.”

  “Dr. Ben, that man tried so hard. Tests he done. Practically brung the hospital up to Corona Heights. I said, ‘Helen, you go into the hospital if you want.’ But he said, ‘No way, we’re gonna give her the best right here with her family and friends.’ And he sure did that. Call, and he came running for a whole month when it was bad. More than a month. Other times too. Next day, same day couple of times, all kinds of medication. Two of these, three of those. No charge. Not a cent.”

  “That’s in San Fran?”

  “I was up and down 101 like a rat in a drain. Then Helen got to wondering if it was something in the water. Had all her teeth fillings changed, so couldn’t be the mercury. And Dr. Desai said, ‘Well, it could be the city water,’ or something mental, you know? And he asked if she’d be better up here with fresh air and dark skies. So up she came, and me and Ted had her.”

  “And her physician here?”

  “Oh, Dr. Desai would come right on up, just the same. I mean, awesome. Amazing.” She paused for breath. “Still makes me feel kinda… You know?”

  Trudy felt nauseous, sick, frightened. She heard Ben say, “Sorry. Really sorry.”

  She folded her eyeglasses. She’d a question: one question. But she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. “Now, we’ll get all these forms to fill when we get back.” Her hands were steady; her voice anything but. “Government thing. National data collection and what have you. But I’m sure we can get all that from the doctor.”

  “Didn’t I say that on the phone to Dr. Ben here? Dr. Desai, well, he wrote a whole heap of notes about Helen.”

  “And you say he got a second opinion, did he? You remember who that was, at all?”

  Gennifer Heusch tapped her forehead. “That’d be what now? What now? Nope. No. It’s gone… Can’t remember. Came over to Helen and Peter’s place before we brung her up here. Ted had to help her downstairs to the garage, on account of the doctor’s wheelchair.”

  Thirty-seven

  WernerVac Clinical Evaluation Center, San Francisco, 16:35 Pacific

  HOFFMAN GRABBED his phone, which lay buzzing on Wilson’s table. Its screen announced the caller: Marcia Gelding. By now he’d realized that his order had been ignored. He took a breath and smiled. “Hey, Marcia.”

  The shit had struck. Her British accent said it all: Masterpiece Theater on steroids. “Not at all good. Are you alone? Are you completely alone? We need to have a serious conversation.”

  He rapped on the table, prompting Wilson and Doctorjee to look up from where they huddled at Wilson’s desk. The EVP had unloc
ked the database and, while they hadn’t found much, it was sufficient for concern should government inspectors come calling.

  “Gotta take this guys. Close the door as you leave… Marcia, this the Wurlitz contract?”

  “I’ve not even seen that. I’ve had Trudy on the phone yet again.”

  “Damn that. Must apologize. Old girl’s getting difficult, is she? You know how crazy she’s been lately. And I’m thinking all the stress of next week might be affecting her. This thing’s her baby, I know.”

  “Mark phoned me at home last night and said she sounded irritated, which wouldn’t be news. But then this evening this. I’d no choice but to speak with her. She’s well… Well, I don’t know… I don’t know what to say.”

  “What’s rattled her cage now then? Tell you the truth, I’m getting to think the old girl might be losing the plot.”

  “Yes, but look, she’s apparently gone to some woman, who knows where? About some lost to follow-up, or whatever, involving that young doctor who was complaining about Frank Wilson at the Washington conference.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, it’s her sister, she says. The volunteer’s sister. And what Trudy’s saying about this… Well, I don’t know. I just don’t know what to make of it… I want you to look into it. Today. In fact, now. This minute.”

  Hoffman looked at the ceiling as he absorbed the implications. So much for the motherfucking dickheads. And so much for Ben Louviere, loyalty, and trust. Not only did it appear that he’d driven to Garberville, but he must have switched off his phone. “A sister you say? What she know about anything?”

  “That’s what I thought. But what Trudy’s saying is… Well, honestly, I don’t know. You might be right. She might be losing her marbles. But, in any event, what she’s saying is my executive vice president wasn’t only out there working as a physician, would you believe, but he wrote the death certificate of a volunteer on the trial.”

  “What? The vaccine trial?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold on. What crap’s all this? That sounds hundred percent proof crazy. Can’t even see he’d be registered with the medical board here. Must be some other Viraj Grahacharya.”