Elliot spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon at the office taking care of administrative chores he had been ignoring over the past few weeks.
At 3:15 he readied for his 4:00 meeting at Biovonix with Dr. Banik. After refueling at the coffee machine, he hopped onto the Decarie Expressway and headed north until it emptied out onto Route 40 westbound. About fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Biovonix, a medium sized campus of buildings off Route 40 in an area known as the West Island.
Elliot asked for Dr. Banik at reception and was almost immediately greeted by an escort to take him to Banik’s office. The escort was a stocky fellow, and due to an apparent love affair with his Bowflex, his head seemed to rest directly on his shoulders as if he had no neck at all. His laser straight posture and short cropped hair immediately made him think of someone with a military background. The escort seemed completely out of place in his surroundings and looked as comfortable in his suit as your grandfather might look in drag.
With a minimum of protocol, he motioned Elliot to follow through a warren of hallways that eventually led them to Banik’s second-floor office. Outside the office in a spacious foyer was an admin assistant, whom he assumed to be the one he spoke to on the phone.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Dr. Banik.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Forsman. My name is Emily, and if you wait right here, I will see if Dr. Banik is ready to see you.”
On the other side of the open area was a desk with another suited pretender propped up behind it. This man also clearly came from a military background, the same close cropped hair, the same straight posture, the same humorless demeanor. The only obvious difference was a cheesy moustache that dripped down off the sides of his mouth like a '70s porn star might have. The man across the office reminded Elliot of someone, someone he knew. Moustache looked up to see Elliot eyeing him and stared right back as if a challenge had been thrown. Elliot continued to stare back because he was sure that he knew that man, or at least had met him at some point in the recent past, but he couldn’t recall where or when. Elliot looked away when Emily came back and ushered him into Banik’s office.
Banik’s office was impressive. A huge square area bounded by glass on three sides and mahogany and stainless steel on the entry wall. The lighting, furniture, and décor were flawlessly executed, and Elliot knew immediately that this office was a showpiece for the entire company. A tall, distinguished man he presumed to be Dr. Banik met him inside the door and introduced himself.
“Mr. Forsman, please come in,” the man said as he offered his hand.
“Dr. Banik. Thank you for seeing me today on such short notice, and please, call me Elliot,” he said as he looked around in awe. “This is quite an office.”
“It is. Let me give you the tour before we get started,” Banik replied as he walked over to the glass wall on the right with the expectation that Elliot would follow. He did.
Their small talk was interrupted when they reached a windowed wall that looked out over a roofed area that was open to the outdoors. The area below was filled with tables, chairs, and benches. Elliot saw that there was already a number of staff eating and relaxing.
“This is an area where the staff can eat, have a coffee, relax and socialize. On Friday afternoons, we serve cold refreshments like beer and wine, all complimentary, of course. We believe strongly that our staff is our most valuable asset, and this is one of the many ways we express that belief.”
Elliot nodded in appreciation, not knowing what else to say. They continued walking over to the far wall that looked south over the Biovonix property toward Highway 40. “You’ll notice that our current campus only occupies a small portion of the Biovonix property,” said Banik as he swept his arm across a considerable mown area that fronted and surrounded the existing campus.
“We have a plan to build on the unused land and foresee that in five years the Biovonix campus will be quadruple the size it is today.” He pointed to future sites for various production facilities as they walked along the front wall.
The wall on the left of the room overlooked a large laboratory area. “This is where the magic happens,” Banik stated proudly. “Most of our research and development is done right here in this room and the surrounding supporting areas.”
“Very impressive, Dr. Banik,” Elliot said. “Is this also where the pre-clinical test trials occur?”
“No. We do little trial work onsite. Almost all of the pre-clinical trials are performed by university affiliates. Most pharmaceutical companies work in this manner.”
Banik moved over to an area behind his desk where the solid wall was covered with accreditations, diplomas, and awards; obviously, Banik wanted Elliot to appreciate his importance. “You have quite an impressive resume of recognition on the wall,” he said, now understanding that acknowledging Banik’s grandeur was part of the dance he orchestrated. It was at that time that Elliot clued in that he needed this huge office to house his over-inflated ego.
“Thank you. But these are only pieces of paper on the wall. My real accomplishment is the work I do to make our world a better, healthier place to live in.”
His modesty was as false as a prom night promise, but Elliot continued walking along the queue of framed pomposity until he reached the last one, a small, framed certificate that had a burgundy colored square in the center of a gold frame. He stopped and read this one only because it was much smaller and quite different from all the others.
“WBC? I’ve never heard of that school,” Elliot stated as a question.
“That stands for Westmount Boys School, a private grade school that closed down years ago. It brings back memories of where I came from and how far I’ve come.”
His pretentiousness was starting to make Elliot ill but he continued along the wall to a shelving unit holding a number of framed pictures. Most of the photos looked to be from corporate affairs and gatherings, but there were three pictures on the top shelf that were clearly family photos. The first photo on the right was of Banik in a graduation frock beside an older man who looked to be his father. The second photo was of Banik in a different graduation gown along with his mother, and the third was a vacation photo in a mountainous region with Banik's mother again as well as a younger girl. Alex looked to be about twenty years old and the younger girl about ten. Something about the girl made Elliot look more closely at her. She had long, blond hair and the hint of freckles on her cheeks, but what had drawn his attention to her was the crowded teeth in her smile.
“Your parents are divorced?” Elliot asked. Normally, he would not have asked such a personal question to a stranger, but he sensed that Banik would not be offended and would welcome the opportunity to talk about himself.
Banik took a deep breath before replying and looked at the three photos on the shelf and then back at Elliot.
“You are perceptive. Yes, my parents divorced when I was seventeen. My father and I moved to Canada from the old country and left my step-mother and step-sister, Anika, behind. I would have rather grown up with a mother in my life, but I think it’s turned out quite well for me. Don’t you think?” he said as he swept his arm around showing Elliot his office.
“I should think so. Dr. Banik, getting back to the point of my visit. My father was murdered a month ago, and I’m trying to recreate the events in his life prior to his death to find out why he was murdered. You met my father just a week before his death, I’m interested to know why he wanted to meet you.”
Elliot focused on Banik's face during this portion of the conversation in order to analyze his responses. For years he had studied the signals that the human body constantly sends out. Small, seemingly insignificant movements that occur during conversation told a story of their own. Intentional movements like waving hands while talking were of little interest to him. They were too easily fabricated; he was interested in unintentional twitches and micro expressions. These were the indicators that betrayed the speaker, the signs that told their ow
n tale irrespective of what words were spoken.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father. I remember his visit well; he was a smart man with a keen mind. He expressed an interest in one of our drugs, Isotin. As you may or may not know, Isotin has been in the news recently in anticipation of its approval from Health Canada.“
“Isotin. Isn’t that the new cancer super drug?”
“Super drug? Yes, I believe that’s what the media has labeled it. Assuming all goes well in the approval process, I expect it will usher in an entirely new class of drugs.”
“How so, Dr. Banik?” Elliot had already researched a good deal about the new drug and its potential, but he wanted to get Dr. Banik’s take on it. He could tell immediately that Banik was extremely proud of his accomplishment and wanted to give him an audience to see what else he might say.
“We’ve developed an offshoot of immunotherapy that can be modified to treat any type of cancer. Our labs have overcome the hurdles that have prevented all previous attempts to do this. The market, of course, is huge. We will launch our treatment for prostate and breast cancers initially and chip away at other cancers over time.“
“Impressive.”
“Yes, we are very proud. There are currently over six million people in North America alone with cancer. The cost of traditional cancer treatment is staggering. The cost of hospitalization and the strain it puts on the entire medical system are enormous, not to mention the pain and anguish for the patients and their families. The treatment will be expensive, but we have to recoup the billions we’ve put into research and development.”
“Amazing. What specifically did my father want to know about Isotin?”
“He was interested to know how it worked, at a biological level, and how it was being tested. I explained that to him and referred him to the clinical trials manager to gain an understanding on how it is tested.”
“Can I ask who is performing the clinical testing?”
“Certainly. We’re using a CRO, Milton-Hadfield, for all of our trials. I’ll extend the same offer to you as I did to your father and give you direct access to their director of clinical testing. He will be much better at answering detailed questions than I.”
“CRO?” Elliot asked although he was quite familiar with the term as his wife’s job was in the same industry before her death.
“Sorry about the acronym. It stands for Clinical Research Organization. There are hundreds of CROs around the world performing all levels of clinical research for pharmaceutical companies like ours.”
“Thank you. Did Dad say why he was so interested in Isotin?”
“I asked him that question myself. Being in the medical field, he told me that he had heard rumors about irregularities in the manner that it was being tested, particularly in the pre-clinical trials phase. He wouldn’t say any more than that. I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. Biovonix has nothing to hide. Our books, so to speak, are open, and if testing results have been skewed, we would like to be the first to know. After all, our reputation is on the line. My own clinical trials manager approached the university that performed the testing and found that the rumors were baseless.”
“That’s good to know,” Elliot said without much conviction. “I looked at the Biovonix stock price yesterday and see that there’s already been a substantial run-up in its price in anticipation of its approval. Is it fair to say that Biovonix’s future hinges on the success or failure of Isotin?”
“That would be an exaggeration, but I will say that the future we envision for Biovonix is certainly contingent on its success.”
“How much money does Biovonix stand to gain once Isotin goes into production?”
“Biovonix’s primary concern is the health and welfare of the people who will benefit from the drug. Isotin can make a difference, and we think that it could one day be compared to the discovery of penicillin or the polio vaccine.”
“That may be, Dr. Banik, but if you were to put a price tag on it, what do you think it could be?”
“The worldwide cost for cancer treatment drugs is now over $100 billion annually,” he replied. “Our treatment would target the most common cancers at the beginning and gradually be modified to treat most other cancers.”
“So there are many billions of dollars at stake,” Elliot mused as he checked his watch.
“I see I’ve taken more of your time than I should have, so I’ll let you get on with your day.”
“I hope I’ve cleared things up for you, Elliot.”
Not really, he thought.
Banik walked Elliot to the door threshold where two stuffed suits were waiting.
“Ah, you’ve met Anton when he brought you up here,” said Banik as he motioned toward Head & Shoulders, “but let me introduce my chief of security, Enver Yilmaz,” Banik said with a sense of flair as if Elliot should recognize the name.
Yilmaz looked on from a dozen feet away. He made no effort to acknowledge or greet Elliot but watched him like a hawk on a mouse. The man had an air of authority about him that the other soldiers did not possess. There was no doubt that this man was in charge. His narrow face seemed to pull out forward from the middle, centered on a hawkish nose that hooked downward from the middle of the nose bridge. The only indication that Yilmaz was even aware of his surroundings was the fidget like movements that were transmitted to the toothpick sticking out the side of his mouth.
An almost imperceptible nod from Yilmaz sent Head and Shoulders down the hall with Elliot in tow. Elliot was led through the same maze of hallways without saying a word and wondered why a legit business man like Banik would need to staff military types for escort duties. Maybe it was a show put on just for him, but he doubted it.
Elliot decided not to go back to the office and instead went home. He needed to plan his activities for the upcoming days and run some errands.
“What did he want?” questioned Yilmaz after Elliot left.
“He wanted to know why I met with his father shortly before his unfortunate demise.”
“How did he know you met with him?”
“He found an appointment scribbled on a calendar on the kitchen wall,” Banik said in an accusatory tone looking directly at Yilmaz.
Yilmaz shrugged it off. “What did you tell him?“
“I told him the truth; the old man came in asking about Isotin.”
“Was that wise?”
“The old man didn’t have anything. I thought it was safest to play it straight.”
“Do you think the son knows anything?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t get a read on him. He’s a smart biscuit though. We need to keep an eye on him.”
Elliot was woken by a chirp from his cell phone. Rivka had news on the vehicle search and would meet him at the office. He read the text and lay in bed for a few moments trying to remember the last time he wasn’t woken up by a bad dream; he couldn’t. It was 7:00 a.m. and things were already shaping up to be a good day.
On the drive over to the office, Elliot thought about his partner, Rivka, and how he had lucked into her. Two years ago, Rivka knocked on the JFK door looking for an opportunity. She told him how she had been a Montreal cop for a dozen years before deciding to leave for personal reasons. She seemed too good to be true so he called his buddy Yves Renaud and asked if he knew of her. Yves validated that she was on the downtown beat for about a dozen years although he hadn't known her at that time. Yves had met her when she moved up into major crimes as a detective sergeant during the Stungun Killer case. The Stungun Killer raped and murdered nine victims in the Montreal area over a six-month period after which he inexplicably stopped and disappeared. Yves continued on to say that Rivka quit the force immediately after the Stungun task force was disbanded. There were rumors about conflicts with her boss, Detective Serge Amyot, but Yves didn’t know if they were true or not. Elliot never asked what made her quit, and she never offered. In any event, he hired Rivka and had reaped the benefits since.
&
nbsp; “Ell-liot. Guess who’s back with photos? Leave it up to the Hebrew Hellhound to sniff out the bad guys,“ she said as she passed the photos over to Elliot with a face splitting grin.
He saw the white van and a clear license plate number on the top photo. “Great work, Riv. Where did you find these?”
“I got lucky on my third donut shop, the one down on lower St Jacques.”
“What do we have?”
“These three photos are from the morning of the murder at 5:40 a.m.,” she said pulling out the top three pictures and pointing at the time stamp.
“The other three are from the previous day at 5:49 a.m..”
Both sets of photos showed the same white van picking up coffee. Elliot could see the silhouette of the man in the passenger seat. He must have been huge as the top of his head disappeared up into the roofline. That confirmed that this was the same duo that the jogger had spotted up on the mountain that morning. It was the driver who interested him though. One of the stills captured his face clearly as he was hanging out of the window accepting his coffee. He was a non-descript fellow in his late thirties or early forties. He looked to be about average size, and there were no uniquely identifying features to be seen, but Elliot was captivated by the man. This was the second time this week that Elliot had seen someone whom he was sure he’d met before but could not place him.
“What’s up?” asked Rivka. “Do you see something in that photo?”
“I swear I’ve seen his man before, recently, but can’t put my finger on where or when. And oddly enough, I had the same thing happen when I saw one of Banik's security guards yesterday at Biovonix.” He shook his head and moved on.
“Can you get Stella to run the plate?”
“I already phoned it in Kemosabee.”
“You have photos from the day of the murder and the day before. Did you check the previous days?”
“Yes. I went back a full week. There were no other photos of the van.”
Elliot gave this info a little hmmm sound and moved over to the throne of deduction.