Read Online Lethal Remedy by Richard Mabry - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Mabry
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all the others since Jack left her. Eventually, it was time for bed. She almost said sleep, but corrected the words as they passed through her mind. Sleep was never a certainty any more.
She padded from the bathroom in her robe, warm from the shower, but not free of the emotional chill that was the undercurrent to her life. She was turning back the covers when the ring of the phone startled her. Who could be calling? This wasn't her week on call. Certainly not family or friends. She had none to speak of.
"Hello?"
"Sara, this is Rip. Did I wake you?"
She glanced at the clock beside her bed. A little after ten. "Not at all. Just settling in for the night. What's up?"
He cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure whether you'd want to know, but I decided—"
"What is it, Rip?"
"Does Jack drink?"
Sara thought back to their time together. "One glass of wine and Jack relaxed. Two glasses and he turned maudlin. Three glasses freed his inner self—belligerent and self-centered."
Rip's sigh came through clearly. "Bingo! He called me a few minutes ago. Apparently, he was pretty upset about all the delays in his trip. He was flying first class, and I'm guessing he couldn't turn down the free alcohol. After he landed here at DFW, he couldn't remember where he'd parked his car, so he called and asked me to come to the airport and pick him up. I suggested he take a taxi. He ordered me to come. I politely declined and told him that wasn't in my job description."
"How did you leave it?"
"I hung up on him. He called back a couple of times but I didn't answer. I wondered if this sort of behavior was unusual."
"Yes and no. Jack didn't drink much at all after we were first married. Then . . . then the baby died, and he started to drink heavily. And when he'd had a bit too much, he got really belligerent."
"Did he . . . did he ever hit you?"
Sara teased a tear offher cheek with her finger. "No, if I stood up to him he'd generally break down and ask me to forgive him. I suspect tomorrow morning he'll try to act like this never happened."
"Well, I hope he doesn't have a hangover in the morning. I have to tell him we may have compromised his study protocol in Chelsea's case, and I'm going to need him to be in the best possible mood."
"Why don't you let me break the news?" Sara said. She thought back to Jack's reaction after she'd shaken him awake to tell him his son was dead. If she could get through that, nothing Jack Ingersoll could say or do would bother her.
Bob Wolfe eased warily into the visitor's chair across from David Patel. Wolfe's shirt was plastered to his skin, held there by the sweat that began to form the moment Patel's secretary delivered this summons. He rolled his shoulders and leaned forward, trying without success to loosen the broadcloth straitjacket. "You wanted to see me?"
"Do you think Dr. Ingersoll got the message?"
Typical of Patel. No time given to social niceties. No wasted words. Down to the nitty-gritty. Wolfe wanted to reach across the desk and shake the man, but instead he pasted a confident smile on his face. "I sat him down and had a heart-to-heart. He understands that the data on Jandramycin has to be good, no exceptions."
"You use the carrot and stick?"
"Sure. The carrot was easy. More research grants. Coauthorship on every paper on the drug. We'll write them; all he has to do is add his name. Jandra will pressure the journals to print them. No problem."
"And?"
"He's our number one consultant, lecturing other doctors about the drug and its uses. Trips to speak all over the U.S. When we release Jandramycin overseas, he becomes a world traveler at our expense. Everything first class, with a handsome honorarium for each lecture."
Patel nodded once, practically an "attaboy" for him. Wolfe decided not to wait for the next question. "And the stick was even easier. If he crosses us up, we pull all his research money. No more lectures. No more papers. We could even—"
Patel held up one finger and
She padded from the bathroom in her robe, warm from the shower, but not free of the emotional chill that was the undercurrent to her life. She was turning back the covers when the ring of the phone startled her. Who could be calling? This wasn't her week on call. Certainly not family or friends. She had none to speak of.
"Hello?"
"Sara, this is Rip. Did I wake you?"
She glanced at the clock beside her bed. A little after ten. "Not at all. Just settling in for the night. What's up?"
He cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure whether you'd want to know, but I decided—"
"What is it, Rip?"
"Does Jack drink?"
Sara thought back to their time together. "One glass of wine and Jack relaxed. Two glasses and he turned maudlin. Three glasses freed his inner self—belligerent and self-centered."
Rip's sigh came through clearly. "Bingo! He called me a few minutes ago. Apparently, he was pretty upset about all the delays in his trip. He was flying first class, and I'm guessing he couldn't turn down the free alcohol. After he landed here at DFW, he couldn't remember where he'd parked his car, so he called and asked me to come to the airport and pick him up. I suggested he take a taxi. He ordered me to come. I politely declined and told him that wasn't in my job description."
"How did you leave it?"
"I hung up on him. He called back a couple of times but I didn't answer. I wondered if this sort of behavior was unusual."
"Yes and no. Jack didn't drink much at all after we were first married. Then . . . then the baby died, and he started to drink heavily. And when he'd had a bit too much, he got really belligerent."
"Did he . . . did he ever hit you?"
Sara teased a tear offher cheek with her finger. "No, if I stood up to him he'd generally break down and ask me to forgive him. I suspect tomorrow morning he'll try to act like this never happened."
"Well, I hope he doesn't have a hangover in the morning. I have to tell him we may have compromised his study protocol in Chelsea's case, and I'm going to need him to be in the best possible mood."
"Why don't you let me break the news?" Sara said. She thought back to Jack's reaction after she'd shaken him awake to tell him his son was dead. If she could get through that, nothing Jack Ingersoll could say or do would bother her.
Bob Wolfe eased warily into the visitor's chair across from David Patel. Wolfe's shirt was plastered to his skin, held there by the sweat that began to form the moment Patel's secretary delivered this summons. He rolled his shoulders and leaned forward, trying without success to loosen the broadcloth straitjacket. "You wanted to see me?"
"Do you think Dr. Ingersoll got the message?"
Typical of Patel. No time given to social niceties. No wasted words. Down to the nitty-gritty. Wolfe wanted to reach across the desk and shake the man, but instead he pasted a confident smile on his face. "I sat him down and had a heart-to-heart. He understands that the data on Jandramycin has to be good, no exceptions."
"You use the carrot and stick?"
"Sure. The carrot was easy. More research grants. Coauthorship on every paper on the drug. We'll write them; all he has to do is add his name. Jandra will pressure the journals to print them. No problem."
"And?"
"He's our number one consultant, lecturing other doctors about the drug and its uses. Trips to speak all over the U.S. When we release Jandramycin overseas, he becomes a world traveler at our expense. Everything first class, with a handsome honorarium for each lecture."
Patel nodded once, practically an "attaboy" for him. Wolfe decided not to wait for the next question. "And the stick was even easier. If he crosses us up, we pull all his research money. No more lectures. No more papers. We could even—"
Patel held up one finger and
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