According to Miguel’s intake interview, he often had thoughts of suicide but in all those years of depression he had never tried it. Yet after three weeks of taking Nexapra, the man had killed himself. No wonder Warner had been concerned.
Luis’ file was similar, although he had not become depressed, or at least hadn’t been diagnosed that way, until age twenty-nine. So he’d only been taking meds for five years. He also reported occasional suicide thoughts but according to his intake notes, he had never attempted it. Five weeks into his Nexapra trial, he had killed himself.
Sula’s heart went out to the family who had lost two people in two weeks to self-destruction. The parents would never recover. The kids would never understand. It was such a mystery how the same drug could help one person and kill another. It was true of many medications, not just mental health drugs. Working for Prolabs, Sula had learned a great deal about genomic breakthroughs in medical science. She was convinced pharma companies could do a better job of predicting how people would react to medicines. In the case of Nexapra, Rudker had learned they could predict a patient response and he refused to make it part of the prescription process.
It infuriated her.
Sula couldn’t get the DNA files to open. She’s suspected they might be too big for her system. She turned off the computer, laid down on her bed, and tried to figure what her chances were for keeping her job.
It seemed certain Rudker would want to fire her. She’d known since Monday when he threatened her. Yet she clung to the idea that she could salvage her job, that Marcy would fight for her. On the surface, Rudker had no grounds for termination, she told herself.
He hadn’t seen her inside Warner’s office. The papers in her hand could have been anything. She would say she had been distributing the memo she’d written about Warner’s death. Running from Rudker was weird behavior, but so what? It had been a tough day for her, with identifying Warner’s body and all. Firing her after she had experienced such a thing on behalf of the company would make Prolabs look bad.
Not that Rudker cared.
Sula got up and watched the eleven o’clock news. She was stunned to see the clips of protesters in Prolabs’ parking lot. They had demonstrated in front of the company while she was searching Warner’s office. She should have been out there making a statement. That was her job. People had probably looked for her. Dereliction of duty was grounds for termination.
She went to bed at midnight but was unable to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Tate. About how badly she wanted him back in her life, and how badly she might have blown her chances. How could she have been so reckless? Why made her think she could go up against someone like Karl Rudker? Or actually alter the course of a company as big as JB Pharma?
Sula tossed and turned and mapped out what she would say to people at work the next day. Around two, she got up and took a Xanax, hoping it wouldn’t make her sleep through her alarm.
Chapter 15
Friday, April 16th, 7:45 a. m
Sula pulled into the Prolabs lot and parked her truck in its usual spot. She was struck by how calm and pretty the campus seemed. A blue sky and morning sun bathed the buildings in postcard-perfect light. Yesterday’s events- the trip to the morgue, running from Rudker, protesters in front of the building-seemed surreal now, as if they had all been part of a crazy dream.
It was no dream, and it wasn’t over.
Paralyzed with fear, she was unable to get out of the truck. She wanted desperately to walk away and avoid the confrontation she knew was coming. The chance that she could salvage her job was so slim, it hardly seemed worth the humiliation of going back in there. Because the chance existed at all, she had to try. Sula willed herself to open the door and step out. Once she had the momentum going, she kept moving.
Inside the building, Cliff stood at his usual spot next to the metal detector walk-through. Sula braced herself for the possibility that he would hand her a small box containing her personal items and turn her away. Instead, he greeted her cheerfully. Sula smiled and asked about his family. He said everyone was just dandy. She grabbed her backpack and moved on. She shared the elevator with the company’s vice-president, who made pleasant small talk. So far so good.
She made a cup of fresh-brewed coffee in the break room as usual. Two sales people came in, greeted her briefly, then went back to their own conversation. Sula couldn’t detect anything quirky or standoffish in their behavior. Coffee in hand, she trudged to her office and sat down to open e-mails. Her watch said 7:58. Her computer clock said 8:05, but it gained time like crazy.
She needed to go see Marcy-about so many things-but first she had to send out the e-mail she had prepared about Diane Warner’s tragic death. In the correspondence, she promised her co-workers she would follow up with a time and place for the memorial service. Sula hoped Marcy would handle it. The thought of attending a funeral filled her with dread.
With an image of Warner’s pale face floating in her brain, Sula was already on edge when Marcy appeared at her door with a police officer.
Because of her experience at the department the day before, Sula assumed, for a moment, that he was there to follow up with Warner’s death. But as soon as the good-looking officer opened his mouth and said, “Sula Moreno?” her heart started hammering like she’d just run up a flight of stairs. Her throat was dry and she couldn’t speak, so she nodded.
“I’m Officer Hutchison. You’re under arrest for theft of company property.” The young man looked as if it pained him to say it.
Sula closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This could not be happening. And yet, it was. She locked eyes on the HR director. “Marcy, help me. You know this charge is ludicrous.”
Marcy looked as if she would cry. “I know it is, Sula, but Rudker filed a complaint. He wants you arrested, and I couldn’t talk him out of it. I tried, believe me, I tried.”
Sula turned to the officer. “On what basis?”
“Miss, I have to escort you out of the building now. We can discuss the circumstances at the station.”
Sula was too upset to argue. There seemed to be no point. She grabbed her purse and sweater and stood. Her legs buckled and she sat back down.
“Are you all right?” Marcy rushed to comfort her.
“Not really.” Sula stood again, legs still trembling. “Marcy, I’m sorry about all this. It really is a misunderstanding.”
“I know. But before you go, I have to ask for the key.”
Sula pointed to her desktop, where it lay, waiting to be returned. Marcy picked it up and pocketed it. Sula looked at the officer. “You’re not going to cuff me.” She had meant it as question, but it didn’t come out that way.
“Not if you come willingly.”
Sula moved toward the door and the officer stepped out of her way. She realized she would probably never set foot in this office again. But she didn’t look back. Nor did she cry. It was only a job, she told herself. As they walked toward the elevator, Officer Hutchison recited her rights. Then they boarded the elevator and exited the building in silence.
Inside the police department, she was taken to a small windowless room with pale, dirty gray walls and a scarred wooden table. A second cop followed her and Officer Hutchison into the small room. She introduced herself as Officer Whitstone, then the two cops sat across from her and began to ask questions. Sula was glad she had prepared what to say in hopes of salvaging her job. Now it might keep her out of jail.
“What were you doing in the-” Hutchison looked down at his notes, “the R amp;D building?”
“Looking for Steve Peterson. I wanted to tell him about Diane Warner.”
“What about Warner?”
“That she was dead. She hadn’t come to work in a few days, and he and I had both been concerned. I wanted to let him know what had happened to her.”
