Chapter 16
Rudker watched from his third-floor office as the cop escorted Sula across the parking lot to the blue Impala. He was disappointed she was not cuffed. An image of Sula naked and cuffed to a bedpost slid into his thoughts. She was not really his type, with her long silky black hair and cinnamon skin, but her face was striking. She had a decent body too, long and lean but not enough cleavage. Still, she aroused him. Or was it just her humiliation that made him hard?
He would have liked to pursue the fantasy but he had some search-and-destroy missions to carry out. He strode into his outer office and spoke to his secretary. “I’ll be out for the afternoon. If anyone calls, tell them I’ll get back to them on Monday.”
“You have an appointment at four with Allen Sebring from Anderson and Shire Consulting.”
“Cancel it.”
“You’ve already canceled him once.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Rudker kept moving. He was not prepared to deal with the accountant yet. Before he reached the elevator, Marcy Jacobson came running up behind him.
“We need to discuss a few things about closing out Diane Warner’s employment.”
“Like what?” Rudker slowed and turned to face her. Marcy looked pained and the expression irritated him.
“What happens to the money in her pension fund? Who gets her office? Believe it or not, people have already asked.”
“All of that can wait until we discuss it Monday. Meanwhile, I don’t want anyone in her office.”
Rudker boarded the elevator and quickly closed the doors. Why did people bother him with all this trivial stuff? Couldn’t they make decisions on their own? In a moment, Rudker chuckled. They didn’t make decisions because they were afraid to. Because he was famous for saying, Why wasn’t I consulted? He knew he was difficult to work for at times, but he paid people well and his job wasn’t any easier.
He crossed the courtyard and entered the R amp;D building. He briefly considered rounding up Steve Peterson to help him with the task of sorting though Warner’s files. Steve would be better able to recognize what was relevant to Warner’s DNA research. He rejected the idea. He didn’t want to stimulate interest in Warner’s work by seeming determined to cast it aside. Scientists were inherently curious, stubborn to a fault, and contrary by nature. Rudker had almost gone that route himself. He’d earned his B.S. in biology but had gone on to earn a master’s in business because laboratories bored him. The degrees had suited him well in the pharma industry.
Rudker stuck his key in the lock only to discover that the door was unlocked. It only confirmed his belief that Sula had been in the office. He’d told the cops he’d seen her coming out, but he hadn’t. She’d been standing near the entrance. He pushed in and locked the door behind him.
Warner’s filing cabinets were unlocked too. He knew she had not left them that way. Proprietary behavior was also in the blood of researchers. Rudker spent twenty minutes skimming through folders, looking for references to the Puerto Rico patients. The search was so tedious. He wondered how long Sula had been in the office. How far had she gotten?
In the third cabinet, he found three folders of notes about the Phase I testing in healthy patients. He put them all through the shredder, nearly filling the wastebasket. He moved quickly through the remaining files, growing impatient with the chore. Next, he searched her desk, finding an odd assortment of felt-tip pens, a collection of half-eaten protein bars, and a prescription bottle of nambumetone, an anti-inflammatory often used by people with arthritis.
In a moment, he located a clear plastic case with about ten CDs. A quick search turned up the key for it. Rudker decided to simply take the entire collection. The woman was dead, and her research belonged to the company.
The only other item of interest was a calendar sporting pictures of half-naked firemen. It was dated 2007. Obviously, Warner had kept it for the photos. It was interesting what you learned about people after they were dead.
With the CD case tucked under his arm, Rudker left Warner’s office and locked it behind him. He would have Peterson and Marcy sort through everything else. Company property would be boxed and saved, personal property would be boxed and sent to Warner’s heirs. If she had any.
Rudker wanted to feel relieved, but it was too soon. Sula had papers in her hand when he saw her yesterday. He believed those papers had come from Warner’s office and he intended to get them back. Why would she risk her job looking for Warner’s notes unless she planned to do something with them? What if Sula already had? Rudker refused to believe it. The idiot had come into work this morning as usual. He suspected that whatever she’d taken from Warner’s office was in her home.
He intended to take it back while she spent the night in jail. He’d used his acquaintance with the police chief to pressure them into keeping her overnight. Rudker had looked Sula up in the human resource files and knew she lived alone on the corner of Friendly and 26th. He’d cruised by her place the night before, and it seemed unlikely that the small 1950s home had a high-tech alarm system installed. Sula was a twenty-five year old single woman, making $28,000 a year. She couldn’t afford anything of value, including an alarm system. Getting in would be a piece of cake. He just had to wait until the neighborhood was sleeping.
Robbie sat at Jason’s computer and tried to write something funny. He’d gone down to the comedy club the night before, but only as a spectator. It bothered him to be there and not perform, but he hadn’t written any new material in a while, and he couldn’t keep doing the same old bit.
He had three main subjects he could joke about: depression, working at a drug factory, and not getting along with his father. The woman who ran the club said all humor came from pain and Robbie suspected she was right. The clinical trial also seemed like a good source of material. He tried to come up with a before-and-after joke. Before I started on this drug, I was seriously depressed. Now I’m like the energizer bunny, only not so…
His roommate burst into their two-bedroom apartment and shouted, “Party!” just as Robbie took his Hot Pockets out of the microwave. He nearly dropped the plate.
“Shit, Jason. You need an early warning device.” Robbie transferred his food to their garage-sale dining table as Jason danced around the living room in a bizarre show of happiness.
“Guess where?”
“Tell me.” Robbie pushed aside a pile of newspaper and sat down.
“Jennifer Krazanski’s.”
“Hot blond from history class?” Jason was a student at the UO.
“Yep. She invited me personally.” Jason was a good-looking guy who didn’t lack for first dates, but his puppy dog energy turned serious girls off.
“I’m happy for you.”
“For us.” Jason rushed over and punched Robbie on the arm. “You’re going.” His roommate grabbed one of the Hot Pockets and bit into it, then let out a garbled yell and spit the mouthful on the table.
“Hot?” Robbie tried not to smile.
“How long did you nuke that for?”
“Couple of minutes.” Robbie looked away. “I don’t think I’ll go.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been moping around here for days. You’ve got to get out.”
Robbie didn’t say anything. He had been off his old medication for two days, and now this was his second day on the new stuff. So he was in a low spot. It was too early to tell what would happen with the new drug, but it had been a rough week. He’d missed work yesterday for the first time in months. Even though he felt better today he didn’t think he had the energy to party.
“Chug some Mountain Dew if you have to. You’re going.”
In the long run it was easier to go along than to resist Jason. Around 9:30, they climbed into his roommate’s old Toyota and headed for west Eugene. They picked up a six-pack of Miller on the way, and Robbie agreed to drive home. He never drank much. One beer loosened him up, and two beers made him contemplate the pointlessness of most people’s lives, especially his.
Located at Jefferson and 26th, the two-story glass-and-brick home jutted above all its neighbors. They found a parking spot across the street, two houses down.
