CHAPTER 3 – FRIDAY 6:00 PM
Kelly had ignored his phone at the restaurant, but he finally checked messages after parking in the gravel lot behind the old house that held his attic apartment. His two buddies from college, Kermit and Steve had left a typically insensitive voicemail. "Dude, we hear you're knocking off people," said Kermit. "Yeah, way to go," said Steve in the background.
He also had another message from his mom, wondering how things were going. She still lived in the house where Kelly grew up. Last year he had stayed there to help out while she recuperated from back surgery.
Still sitting in his pickup, he called her back, updating their earlier conversation, relating the events of the afternoon – test subjects dropping out, the police presence, and the afternoon staff meeting. They talked a good twenty minutes.
When Kelly climbed from his truck, the sun was low in the sky, a pleasant summer evening. Ted Haarsager, the retired editorial page editor of the Fargo Daily, approached from the house. Ted lived on the second floor. Though nearly fifty years apart in age, he and Kelly had become friends, occasionally playing chess or relaxing on the fire escape outside Ted's apartment – the landing just large enough for a couple chairs. Both of them liked the music of the 40s and even jammed some, with Kelly on sax and Ted on piano or accordion.
"Kelly, I heard. A murder at your work." Ted, still a news hound, wanted to hear all the details. Kelly again recounted his day as they chatted across the corner of the pickup bed.
"Did you know him well?"
"Hardly at all. I doubt he'd know my name. He was one of the big shots. Second in command."
They chatted for a couple more minutes. Ted would have talked longer, but he had a date to play bridge. With a promise to get together soon, he excused himself and began the five block walk to the senior center on Main Avenue.
Kelly picked up his mail and climbed the two flights to his third floor attic apartment. Not everyone would appreciate the place, mostly because of the climb and the tiny bathroom, but Kelly liked it. It was close to downtown and he could see Island Park from the window in the narrow kitchen. The sloped ceilings created rooms of odd and interesting shapes, and you could hear the rain upon the roof and the wind in the leaves of the towering elm that sheltered the fire escape landing off his living room. The landing was a favorite spot, a place Kelly like to read, leaning back in the old metal patio chair, his feet upon the railing.
The basement of the old house had some storage spaces and one apartment that never seemed to keep a tenant long. The main floor was occupied by Kelly's landlord, Jerry Bidell, a friendly, but tightly-wound divorcee in his fifties. Jerry always seemed to have some pressing concern, real or imagined, involving his ex, his kids, a contractor, the city, or his bank. He owned a couple of other properties – another divided-up house that had recently suffered a fire, and a duplex close to Minnesota State University in Moorhead with a constantly changing cast of students. As nearly as Kelly could figure, the rents were Jerry's primary source of income.
Usually, Kelly worked out before eating. Tonight, he let the nachos settle before starting his thirty push-ups, sixty sit-ups, and thirty-minute run. Push-ups, sit-ups and running were part of the test he’d face in two weeks when the Fargo Police Department held a preliminary round of examinations for would-be applicants. There was also a written test and an interview to evaluate communication skills. Kelly couldn't do much to prepare for those, but he could make sure he didn’t blow it by being out of shape.
The exercise had the added benefit of giving him a chance to think, and there was plenty on his mind. Previously, anticipation of the exams and the extensive application process had dominated his thoughts, but Kupmeier’s death had pushed those concerns into the background. And there was also Jessica. Their nacho date was like no first date he’d ever had – unusually comfortable for two people who’d only just met. She was cute, friendly, smart, and unpretentious. He very much looked forward to seeing her again.
It was still light out as Kelly left for his run, but gathering clouds and a fresh, cool breeze suggested rain on the way. One of Kelly’s regular routes involved the bike path where the old Milwaukee Road rail line used to be. He chose that route tonight for the simple reason that Dr. Naughton had come up in the conversation. His warehouse lab was adjacent to the path. Kelly seemed to recall that the building had once been the Milwaukee Road’s depot or freight house.
Everyone in town knew of the semi-famous doctor. Naughton had been prominent as a successful, though eccentric, local businessman who had spurned buy-out offers and instead took the company public, earning himself millions, at least on paper. But the company ran into trouble when one of its drugs, the now infamous Amflexidyne, was pulled from the market after a number of deaths. That episode, along with concerns about some apparently hush-hush work Dr. Naughton did on the side, eventually led to his ouster by shareholders. Despite persistent talk about changing the company’s name, that hadn’t yet happened.
Kelly took a break in his run as he came upon Naughton's building. With the sky darkening, he could see light in a second floor window. He wondered what Doc Naughton did these days, whether he would invent a new drug and rise again.
The garage door opened, triggered by an approaching SUV. It crossed the parking lot and eased into the garage. Curious, Kelly left the path to get closer, making his way through the tall, late summer growth of grass, weeds and wild sunflowers that bordered the property. With the moon hidden by clouds, it was just dark enough that he wouldn't easily be seen by someone looking out from the lighted garage.
The driver climbed from the car. He was tall and wide shouldered. The upstairs light went off. A moment later, Doc Naughton himself appeared in the garage. He looked to be in good shape, moving well, younger than his years. The driver held the door as Naughton climbed into the passenger seat.
Kelly retook the bike path to avoid being lit up by the SUV's backup lights. He was jogging again by the time the car pulled away.
Seeing Naughton's driver rekindled the idea that Naughton could be involved with Kupmeier’s death. A bruiser like that could easily handle the task, but Kelly found the idea more amusing than realistic.
By the time Kelly arrived back at his apartment a light rain had begun to fall. He turned off the air conditioner and opened a few windows to the refreshing, moist breeze.
His cell rang … work ringtone. It was Rhonda Johnson, the study team leader on the four- to-midnight shift in Unit 2.
"Kelly, two of the subjects got into it. Randy dislocated a finger breaking it up. We called the cops and they hauled one of the guys away. I'm starting to worry that we're reaching a tolerance limit. The subjects are getting pretty edgy. I tried calling Potts, but it went right to voicemail. I was about to end the study, but thought I'd check with you, get a second opinion."
"What are the subjects reporting?"
"I haven't had a chance to total up the latest responses, but the previous report did show some irritability kicking in, and our anecdotal observations back that up."
"When's the next dose scheduled?"
"We wake 'em up at two."
"That gives us some time. But no matter what, I don't suppose you'd release anybody tonight."
"No. Might not be safe for them to drive."
"Did Randy stick around?"
"Yes and no. He's here, but Judy's working on his hand. It wasn't pretty; broke the skin. He might want to leave after she puts his finger in a splint. Dave came over from Unit 3 to help, but he can't stay, and he's not up to speed on this protocol, but he's better than nobody. We're keeping up on the vitals and the blood draws, but the study design doesn't include irritability in the reporting classifications. I guess Scientific Affairs didn't want to know that – big surprise. I went ahead and added it, but we'll have to go back through and code all the responses before we can generate a revised report."
"I'll come in and do that. We should be able to get a better handle on it before the dosing at tw
o."
"In the meantime, I'll call the team members on the next shift; see if somebody can come in early."
Kelly took a quick shower then drove to work. He was a bit surprised at how normal the place looked – the police cars were all gone, though there was a lone security company car near the clinical study entrance. Kelly also noticed a light in the administration wing where Barry Heckathorn’s office would be, a theory confirmed when he spotted Heckathorn’s Escalade in its reserved parking spot. Nothing like a murder to keep the VP of communications working late.
Kelly's plan was to get the data updated in a way that allowed him to generate a proper report documenting the problem. It would provide a basis for a decision on whether to continue the study or to kill it. Since the report would be based on the subjects’ comments, the decision wouldn't be completely objective, but at least he wouldn’t be killing the study based on anecdotal information only to find out later that there wasn’t a significant problem. Normally, it was Potts' call, but in his absence, it fell to the team leaders, occasionally with Kelly's help.
A security guard posted just inside the clinical study entrance checked Kelly's ID and logged his arrival. That was new. Kelly also noticed that Unit 5, the crime scene, was still sealed.
Kelly visited briefly with Rhonda in Unit 2 before heading to the office. He could access the database from his desk, giving him some peace and quiet. Had Scientific Affairs included the irritability side effect in the software, the report would have been a simple matter. As it was, he had to assign each pertinent response to the new category and give it a value. Fortunately, it wasn’t a huge study. When he finished, Kelly returned to Unit 2 and shared the results with Rhonda.
"That's what I thought," said Rhonda. "At least one of the drugs is starting to drive them batty."
"End it?" asked Kelly.
"Yep."
They decided to continue to collect data – vitals, blood draws and comments – until 2am, but foregoing the scheduled dosage. They would then suspend the vitals and the blood draws, letting the phlebotomists call it a night, but continue to gather comments on any side effects. After breakfast, all the subjects would likely be excused, unless there were indications that extended monitoring was needed.
It was after midnight when Kelly returned to his office to write up a report and e-mail a copy to Potts. When finished, he killed the lights, pausing for a while in the darkness to look out upon the rain swirling beneath the parking lot lights. He was about to leave, but noticed Heckathorn's car, still parked by the main entrance. He decided to wander over to the administration wing, lend Heckathorn some moral support and find out the latest. If anybody had inside dope on the murder, it would be Heckathorn, the main contact with the police department.
Kelly didn't bother turning on the hallway lights; the glow of the exit signs and the transient light from outside was enough to light his way, and he rather preferred the softer light. He also expected light from Heckathorn's office, but as he neared that part of the hallway, no office light was apparent. He figured Heckathorn must have left, on his way to the car, or maybe he turned off his lights to relax or take a nap. Perhaps he had a couch.
Heckathorn's office wasn't right on the hallway. Instead it was off the administration support commons, a large room where low cubicles framed the desks of various administrative support staff. Kelly made his way past the desks, deciding he'd leave Heckathorn alone if he was crashed out. Peering through the blinds, he concluded that to be the case, with the shadowed figure of Heckathorn reclined in his office chair. Kelly was about to leave when the room was suddenly lit by the headlights of an arriving patrol car. The patrolman got out and headed toward the main entrance with some urgency.
"Barry," called Kelly. He went to the door, knocked, then swung it open and turned on the lights.
Heckathorn was not asleep. He was duct-taped to his chair, his head bent back, eyes staring lifelessly.