He whispered, “Next time you pray, ask Yitzy to forgive me for endangering your life.”
She glanced at his face, blinking back moisture from her eyes. “Did you have feelings for him, Abram?”
Bram stared at her, not believing his ears. “What?”
“I know you didn’t do anything.” She forced herself to look at him. “But did you have feelings for him?”
Bram’s face turned stony, his voice permeated with anger. “You can think whatever you want about me. I don’t care. But don’t you dare call yourself a religious woman. Yitzchak was my best friend. And a truly religious woman knows what real friendship is all about. For you to ask me such a question is reprehensible. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He slammed the door and stomped off, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her fears, and her tears.
26
Oliver knocked on the open door, then walked inside Berger’s office. Marge followed.
The place was half-empty or half-full, depending on one’s perspective. The diplomas and certificates had been taken off the walls, but the books were still shelved. On the floor rested a dozen half-packed boxes. Berger was on a step stool, depleting the top shelf of its contents.
In Oliver’s mind, it appeared as if Berger was planning to bolt. Which gave all the more credence to his Fisher/Tyne conspiracy theory. But Berger offered a different explanation.
“Three of my associates have been murdered, Detective. I don’t plan to stick around to make it an even number.”
Marge said, “So you’re running out on the hospital-”
“Not at all.” Berger stood on his tiptoes and extracted the larger medical tomes from the highest shelf. “I’m not running out on anyone.” His voice was remarkably steady. “I’ve applied for a much deserved sabbatical. And I’m taking it whether or not it’s approved.”
“Leaving the hospital in the lurch,” Marge said. “New Chris has already lost Sparks and Decameron. Without you, it’s going to fold.”
“Better that than the hospital providing me a hero’s burial.” He stepped down, holding an armful of books. “You two don’t have a smidgen of empathy regarding my plight, do you?”
“I have a smidgen,” Oliver said.
The doctor shook his head, kneeled down, and placed the texts in a box. “Figures. The police are noted for their lack of human compassion.”
Oliver said, “Why were you and Shockley fudging the Curedon data?”
Berger jerked his head up. “Come again?”
“You and Shockley had hacked into Fisher/Tyne’s data banks and were doing funny business with Kenneth Leonard’s Curedon numbers. I want to know why.”
“You’re crazy. You’ve got no warrant. Get out of here.”
Marge said, “We’ve traced a cuckoo’s egg to your computer, Dr. Berger. Ordinarily, computer hacking’s a federal crime. Meaning you’d plea your case to the FBI. But since we’ve got the rather major matter of a couple of murders-”
“I had nothing to do with them!” Berger snapped. “Look, people! Open your eyes! I’m terrified! What the hell do you two want from me.”
“How about some answers to some questions.”
“But I don’t know anything!”
“I think you do,” Oliver said. “I think you knew that Kenneth Leonard was on to you and Shockley.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea to what you’re referring. You’re talking gobbledygook.”
“Look, sir,” Marge said patiently, “why don’t you just start at the beginning. Because, at the very least, you’re going to get hit with charges of scientific fraud.”
Berger’s eyes darted from side to side. “Get out of here! Both of you! And take your disgusting accusations with you.”
Oliver held up a dozen sheets of computer paper. “Know what these are?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
Marge said, “They’re the latest Curedon data trials, Dr. Berger. Does that pique your interest?”
Berger stopped packing, ran his tongue across his teeth.
Oliver said, “The latest report given to the FDA by Decameron himself. After he ran the data. Decameron ran it. Not Fisher/Tyne. Know what? These numbers looked very promising. Which is particularly puzzling. Because the numbers Fisher/Tyne had been giving the FDA hadn’t been all that hot. And Gordon Shockley had told us that his numbers hadn’t been too good, either.”
Marge said, “Which means there was a discrepancy between Decameron’s statistics and what Fisher/Tyne was reporting to the FDA.”
Berger got up, wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “You two burst into my office, making all sorts of ridiculous claims, holding up generic data charts-”
“They’re not generic. Come take a look for yourself.” Oliver proffered Berger the results.
Berger hesitated, then snatched the papers and skimmed them. He held them aloft. “Where’d you get hold of these?”
Though he hated to admit it-even to himself-the sentiment was there: God bless Farrell. Oliver said, “None of your business.”
“This is confidential information,” Berger said. “There is no way you could have gotten this unless you did something illegal. I could have your badges for this.”
Oliver grinned. “I don’t think so.”
Again, Berger looked at the papers. “For all I know, you could have made up some numbers-”
“We got the numbers directly from the FDA,” Oliver interrupted. “That can be verified.”
“So…Reggie doctored the data. I’m not surprised. He’s a worm. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
“And why would he doctor data?”
“I guess we’ll never know. Now get out of here with your horrid slander. Because we all know that both of you two aren’t capable of understanding any results, let alone interpreting them properly.”
“No, they can’t interpret the data, Myron. But I can.”
Berger whipped his head around. Elizabeth Fulton was at his door, arms folded across her chest. “I accessed your files this morning, Myron-”
“That’s illegal-”
“It’s peanuts compared to what you did. Snowing all of us…me, Reggie, Azor. Hacking into the Fisher/Tyne data network and changing the numbers. You made them look worse to get the Curedon trials stopped.”
“You’re finished, Liz!” Myron cried out. “I’m bringing you up on charges with the medical ethics board-”
“I saw your hidden research, Myron,” Elizabeth said venomously. “You and Shockley were working on your own chemically related T-cell inhibitor. You were trying to undercut Azor, undercut the entire Curedon project!”
“I’m a goddamn scientist in my own right. And I’ve got a right to work on whatever I damn well please without someone spying on me.”
“But you have no right to falsify our data to further your own research!” She walked up to him, spit in his face. “How could you do such a low-”
“Fuck you, lady!” Berger shouted. “Who do you think brought Curedon to fruition in the early years? Who do you think actually took the drug from something theoretical and developed it into something that’s marketable? You think Azor developed the drug? Lady, let me tell you something. The bastard stole my research-”
“What are you talking about, Myron. All your research came from Azor’s lab. I was there.”
“Lady, you came in after I handed him the drug on a silver platter. Because no one was interested in what Myron Berger had to say about T-cell inhibitors. Only what the great Azor Sparks had to say. Meanwhile, Azor didn’t give a flying fuck about Curedon. All Azor was interested in was Jesus and harvesting hearts. Him and that stupid CB radio, trying to outrun the ambulances to the fatal car accidents, hoping to walk away with some poor brain-dead bastard’s heart-”
“You’re an asshole!”
“And you’re a stupid bitch. A washed-up one at that. Because I’m filing charges on you for scientific espionage-”