put these people on airplanes and lodge them at luxury hotels just so they can read papers to each other that they could more conveniently and at less expense read at home. Steinhardt could at least answer one question for him. “What does AV/AS stand for?”
“AV is standard nomenclature. AIDSVAX. One of the first vaccines tested-this was years ago-was AIDSVAX B/B.” Steinhardt's smug expression told Seeley he didn't have to ask what AS stood for.
“And this was entirely your work? No one else contributed to it?”
The scientist didn't flinch. “Of course it was. I have people working for me, assistants, but their work is entirely routine, on the order of cleaning test tubes. None of them does any science.”
“And Lily Warren?”
Steinhardt frowned, and Seeley expected to hear yet again that Warren was a crackpot.
“She was my graduate student at the university.”
“Which university is that?”
“UCSF. The University of California at San Francisco. I had my laboratory there before I brought it here. Surely, you've read my resume.”
“And Warren worked with you at UCSF.”
“ For me. We only did the most basic science there. Nothing patentable. In any event, she was little more than a glorified lab technician.”
Seeley had seen Warren's resume in the black witness binder, as he had Steinhardt's. She did her undergraduate work at Johns Hopkins, took her doctorate at Rockefeller University, and then got a postdoctoral fellowship in Steinhardt's lab at UCSF. She wasn't just his graduate student, as he said; she was a postdoc. And she was not someone who cleaned test tubes.
“You're aware, she's made a claim that she discovered AV/AS.”
“I'm also aware that no one, not even St. Gall, has displayed the poor judgment to take her claim seriously.”
Was it possible, Seeley wondered, for this man to utter one word without condescension? In theory, Pearsall's decision to make Steinhardt Vaxtek's leadoff witness was correct. Corporations may pay for the research and development that it takes to produce a new drug, but jurors want to see the invention's human face, the scientist whose genius and tireless effort produced a miracle out of nothing more than an idea and a few cell cultures. Seeley revised his estimate of Steinhardt's prospects as a witness. In the hands of a capable trial lawyer, which he knew Thorpe was, arrogance like this was going to destroy Steinhardt in the courtroom. If Seeley kept him as the leadoff witness, the damage to Vaxtek's case could be irreparable.
Seeley said, “If new facts come out, St. Gall can still change its mind and call Warren to testify. I need to know if we're going to find her fingerprints anywhere near AV/AS.”
“I can assure you, Lily Warren has no claim to my discovery.”
Steinhardt saw that this didn't satisfy Seeley, and with a curt gesture motioned him closer. “You are my lawyer, is that right? Anything I tell you is confidential?”
“I'm Vaxtek's lawyer, not yours.”
“A technicality.” Steinhardt drew closer. The eyebrow arched; the shoulders shrugged. “You are a man of the world, Mr. Seeley, so you will understand. This young woman was infatuated with me. Such things happen. She is attractive, and she can even be charming, but of course it would have been unprofessional of me to take an interest. This ridiculous claim of hers is revenge, nothing more.”
“Did you tell Leonard about this? Ed Barnum?”
“What is there to tell? As I said, I don't want to injure her professional opportunities.”
Even if Seeley believed Steinhardt, Warren must have had a substantial enough claim to the invention that St. Gall had not initially thought her a crackpot. Why, then, had they so precipitously dropped her and stipulated that Steinhardt was the sole inventor?
“Is there anyone else who might make a claim to AV/AS?” Seeley knew the question would infuriate Steinhardt.
Steinhardt shook his head.
“You are the sole inventor of AV/AS?”
“Of course I am!” He came out of the chair, directly at Seeley, his face twisted in anger and dark from the rush of blood. “What have I been telling you?”
“You're going to have to learn to control your temper. I'm being gentle with you. Emil Thorpe, who will be cross-examining you, will not. The jury will turn against you if you can't do better than this. But, if it's a consolation, the press will love it.”
“Have you looked at my laboratory notebooks?”
Seeley remembered asking Palmieri to review Steinhardt's notebooks.
Behind Steinhardt, a slender woman came into the office. Her suit and the way she wore the scarf knotted at her neck told Seeley that she was either European or had mastered the look. She had a small stack of euros in her hand and a slender envelope.
Steinhardt took the bills and envelope and placed them on the desk. The exchange was wordless, and she left.
“You need have no concerns, Mr. Seeley. I will return from Paris on Sunday, in ample time to testify. It is imperative that I be the one to explain my discovery to the court.” He started to unbutton the starched white jacket. “You do have me on your list as the lead witness?”
Pearsall had already told him he was. The man's insecurity was as staggering as his ego.
“He left you instructions to put me first, didn't he-the poor fellow who jumped in front of the train?”
“Rest assured,” Seeley said, “you will be the most important witness in the trial.”
THREE
The last week before the start of a major trial rises and falls on ocean swells of crisis-exhibits to be readied, last-minute motions to be filed, witnesses to be prepared-but the crises had become predictable over the years, their resolution as inevitable as their occurrence, and Seeley had left to Palmieri all but the most daunting of them: where to place Alan Steinhardt in the lineup of witnesses and how to rebut any last-minute claims by Lily Warren.
Still, Seeley knew that he could make better use of his time than chasing down Highway 280 after a gold BMW with Leonard, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the open window, deftly changing lanes three and four cars ahead of him. Leonard had promised that his house in Atherton was no more than twenty minutes from Vaxtek's offices and gave Seeley rapid-fire directions in the event they lost each other in traffic. “I want you to get to know Renata and me,” Leonard said. “You've changed. I want to get to know you.”
Seeley was curious about Renata. He had met her at the wedding nine years ago, a period when he was drunk or hungover most of the time, and he remembered only fragments of the event. He assumed that the attractive woman in the snapshots in Leonard's office was Renata, but could not connect these images to the young bride who had pressed her body into his as they moved across the ballroom floor.
One other memory stood out. As Seeley was leaving to find Leonard in the hotel kitchen, Renata took his hand and, rising to her toes, whispered a message-a goodbye? a wish? a secret? — in his ear. With the music and the noise, Seeley had not made out a single word. From Renata's expression when she drew away, he at once saw the urgency and consequence the words had for her, but he was too drunk or embarrassed, for her or for himself, to ask what she had said. From time to time in the years since, when he passed a wedding party or saw couples dancing, Seeley thought about what Renata's words might have been. He wondered, too, whether he owed her an apology for not fulfilling whatever promise his silence had implied.
Leonard's street in Atherton, when Seeley found it, was a well-shaded cul-de-sac. Magnolia, eucalyptus, and chestnut trees, even an improbable palm here and there, formed a canopy over the narrow lane, and there were no sidewalks. Seven-foot hedges hid lawns and houses from view. Seeley asked himself what these people were hiding and what they were hiding from. The evening had turned cool, and the dusty medicinal scent of eucalyptus filled the rental car.
