say.
“Deal.” She turned to the guy with the camera. “Ready?”
“Roll.”
She held out the microphone. Rudker smiled and said, “Making life-saving medicines is the greatest business in the world. Protesting against it demonstrates ignorance and a lack of compassion for people who are suffering.”
He closed his mouth and waited for the cameraman to get out of his away. When he did, Rudker pushed past both of them and ran out the main door. He didn’t see Sula in the courtyard, so he started around the side of the building.
Once outside, Sula’s instinct was to run to the front of the R amp;D lab, cross the courtyard, and scoot into main building where she could hide in the safety of her own office. She resisted the idea and turned right instead, running toward the back of the R amp;D building. From there, she had two choices: keep going up the hill into the trees or go right again and head for the auxiliary parking lot. Her instincts said trees. She loved the forest and always felt safe and happy there. She’d spent half her childhood hiking the hillside behind the family trailer.
Again, she resisted her impulse and sprinted across the narrow lawn that spanned the back of the building. The grass was soggy and her heels squished into the soil underneath, slowing her down. For a fleeting second, she wondered if any of the scientists were looking out the windows as she passed, wondering about the absurdity of her mad dash.
As she neared the corner, she slowed, chest heaving from exertion. It occurred to her that Rudker may have anticipated her moves. The last voice she’d heard behind her had not been his. Someone else, a woman, had spoken to him, perhaps slowing him down. To recoup that time, he had probably gone back out the front to cut her off. He could be right around the corner, waiting to grab her.
Sula stopped and gulped in air. A small cry of anguish rose in her throat. She fought the urge to sob. She had to be smart about this. Tall shrubs adorned the corner of the building, so she squatted between the greenery and the wall and peered around the corner. Her view was partially blocked by another shrub, so she slowly rose until she could see the full length of the building.
Rudker stood at the far corner, staring into the parking lot. Sula pulled back, stumbled through the shrub, and took off running-back the way she’d come, passing the same labs with the huge windows. Terrifying as it seemed, she decided to go back inside the R amp;D building. She would find a place to hide. Rudker might not think to look for her there. She hoped he would give up and go about his business.
Sula rounded the next corner, swinging wide around the shrubs. She sprinted for the side door, reached it, and turned the knob. It was locked.
The master key Marcy had given her for Diane’s office was still in her right hand. Her left hand clutched the papers she’d copied. They were badly crumpled on one edge, but she still had them. A small sob escaped her throat. She had risked so much without even know if they had anything useful.
She remembered the disk and clutched at her stomach. It was still there. She could feel it through the layers of fabric. With trembling fingers, she shoved the key in the door knob and turned. It clicked. Thank God. She entered the building, found the hallway empty, and headed for the labs in the back.
The research area had glass on the top half of most of its interior walls, but the individual labs were separated by supply rooms with solid walls. In the first lab, Sula saw a young man sitting at a bench and peering into a microscope. She kept moving.
The second lab appeared empty, so she entered it and reached for the door to its supply room. Locked again. She used the master key, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. Her watch said 4:48. The five-by-eight room was lined with shelves filled with clinical supplies: beakers, Petri dishes, and an assortment of things she didn’t recognize. Sula got her bearings, turned the light off, and took a seat on the floor. She planned to stay until it was dark enough to sneak out.
She crossed her legs, straightened her back, and turned her palms up on each knee. Meditating would be the only way she could get through the long, claustrophobic wait. It took ten minutes just to get her heart slowed down. Emptying her mind proved to be more difficult. The process was abruptly interrupted by someone entering the lab. The sounds were soft but distinctive, the creak of a door, the click of a light switch, soft footsteps across the floor. Her heart took off again, like a startled bird in flight. Rudker had found her.
She heard whistling. A happy sound, very un-Rudker like. She let out the breath she’d been holding and hoped whoever it was didn’t plan to work late. The possibility that he would enter the closet kept Sula on edge.
She checked her watch, which glowed pale blue in the dark: 5:01. A few minutes later, she heard the lab door swing open again, and a different voice called out, “Peterson. Got a minute to talk?”
“Sure.” The scientist’s voice was barely audible in comparison.
Rudker’s voice boomed again. “I just got back from Seattle and a meeting with JB’s board of directors. They want some assurance that Nexapra is on track, that its efficacy is as good as we say it is, and that its side-effect profile is as good as we say it is.”
“It’s even better. We’re always cautious in our assessments just to be on the safe side.”
Sula stood and stepped toward the door. Peterson was hard to hear.
“Do you have any concerns about adverse drug reactions once the product hits the general public?”
“None. Of course, there will be some ADRs. You know that. It’s part of the business. Why the sudden concern?”
“The board is reacting to the regulators who say people under eighteen shouldn’t take SSRIs because of the possibility of suicide.” Rudker was clearly dismissive of the idea. “They want assurance-before they spend millions on clinical trials and advertising-that the product won’t be recalled or given a black box warning before it produces an ROI.”
Sula sensed that Rudker was probing to see what Peterson knew or thought about a genetic flaw.
“A black box warning?” Peterson’s scorn was unmistakable. “That’s ridiculous. SSRIs are one of the safest developments to ever enter the market, and Nexapra is going to be the safest in the class. Is this about Warner’s theory?”
“Partially.”
“It’s conjecture,” Peterson responded. “Warner is a brilliant scientist, but she’s wrong about this. Yes, there are genetic, metabolic differences in the rate at which patients process chemicals through their systems. But pharmaceuticals never made anyone kill themselves. The people who commit suicide while taking antidepressants are reacting to their own disease state. The drug just gives them the physical energy to act on their impulses.”
Sula slumped in despair. Was Warner wrong? Had she risked her job-and possibly custody hearing-for nothing?
Rudker, on the other hand, was pleased. She could hear the happy tone in his voice when said, “That settles it. I’ll reassure the board that their concerns are unfounded. Thank you.”
She heard the outer door open and the room went quiet. Peterson started moving around, but he didn’t whistle. She realized he probably didn’t know Warner was dead. One of the things Marcy had asked her to do was to write a memo to the staff about the R amp;D director’s death, but Sula hadn’t circulated it yet. People in the corporate building probably knew because Serena wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it, but the news had obviously not reached the researchers.
Sula started to sit back down, then hesitated. Peterson’s footsteps were moving toward the door.
Chapter 13
Rudker picked up his travel bag and headed out the front exit. He did not feel as relieved as he should have. For one thing, Sula had been in Warner’s office and had taken some of her papers. He may not have caught up with her yet, but he would. More important, Diane Warner had specifically said she found a genetic marker that made the two patients susceptible. After hearing Peterson’s views on the subject, it seemed Warner hadn’t shared her latest discovery with her partner. Because she knew Peterson was skeptical of the whole concept? Or because she didn’t have proof?
