If she had the nerve to show her face around here again, he would fire her on the spot. She must not be allowed to access any of the buildings or offices. That wasn’t enough though. Rudker wanted the paperwork back, whatever it was. It belonged to Prolabs and Sula no longer worked for Prolabs. He would have to talk to Marcy about that too, but first things first.
He buzzed the receptionist in the front office. No one answered. Damn, he needed her to find a phone number for him. Since when did everyone go home so early? He dialed 911. A dispatcher asked calmly, “What is your emergency?”
“I don’t have an emergency, but I would like to speak to the police chief.”
“Please hang up and dial 682-5111.”
Rudker dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered. “Eugene Police Department. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to report a theft.”
Chapter 14
After forty minutes in the dark supply room, Sula finally heard Peterson leave. She waited another ten minutes, then crept out into the nearly dark building. Exhausted and shaky, she passed an office with light showing and knew she wasn’t alone in the building. She moved quickly and left by the side exit.
She wanted to go straight home, but her purse and truck keys were in her office. The thought of running into Rudker terrified her, so she considered walking, but she needed her house key too. Sula crossed the courtyard and used the master key to enter the main building. Hallway lights were on, but no one appeared to be in the facility. Despite her fatigue, she skipped the elevator and took the stairs to avoid encountering anyone. Sula had never been in the building this late before, but she knew that some salespeople worked odd hours.
She ran from the stairwell to her office, picked up her things, and ran back. Once on the cement stairs, she moved more slowly, not wanting to slip and fall in her muddy heels. In the parking lot, she discovered Rudker’s Jeep was still there. Dear God, he was still in the building. Sula’s legs shook so hard she could barely stand.
At home, she was too distressed to think about dinner, so she cleaned her shoes, showered, and put on fresh clothes. Washing away the fear, sweat, and mud of the day failed to give her a sense that everything would turn out all right.
The thought that she might have blown her job, and chance for custody, make her sick with despair. How could she have been so reckless? It was one thing to be concerned about a group of patients, but it was whole new step to risk everything that was important to her. What if her concern for those patients was pointless? Peterson thought it was. Yet Sula had heard Dr. Warner plead her case, and she had read too many news stories about antidepressants and suicides to dismiss the idea that an ethnic population could be at risk. She still held hope the documents she’d pilfered from Warner’s office would reveal something.
Sitting down at her computer desk, Sula turned on a reading light and begin to scan through the papers. They were intake files with patient names, medical histories, prescription histories, and the clinicians’ assessment. She soon realized none of the patients had any antidepressants in their drug histories and none of the notes said any thing about depression.
These subjects were from the Phase I trials, when they tested the drug in healthy people just to make sure it was safe. Disappointed, Sula kept reading. No Phase II data appeared. No Puerto Rican research center was named in the pages. It was interesting to note that several of the Phase I patients complained of headaches and irritability after taking the drug for a few weeks, but it apparently hadn’t been cause for concern.
She gave up on the photocopied files and pulled the disk out of its unmarked case. It was plain silver and could have been anything. The fact that Warner had hidden the disk, then died shortly after, gave Sula goose bumps.
She popped it into her computer and crossed her fingers that her CD drive would work well this evening. Everything in her setup was out of date, but saving up for the duplex had kept her from buying the laptop she wanted. She clicked the icon and waited while it loaded.
The list of contents was short: Miguel Rios, Luis Rios, mr DNA, lr DNA. Sula’s stomach fluttered. These must be the cousins in the Puerto Rican trial who had committed suicide. Warner must have made the disk after her fight with Rudker. She’d copied everything she thought was important and hidden it, clearly worried that Rudker would destroy the files in the database. Sula thought it likely that he already had.
She clicked on the folder labeled Miguel Rios. The opening pages resembled the documents she’d photocopied. Personal history, followed by medical history, followed by physical exam. Miguel Rios had not been a happy man. He had been diagnosed with depression at age twenty-three and had taken seven different medications during the next nineteen years. At one point, he’d been on Depakote and Prozac at the same time. Depakote was a powerful anti-psychotic that was also used to control epilepsy. Her father had taken it for a while, but he’d hated it. He said it took away his spirit.
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?