Green Kills (12 page)

New York, October 22, 2013, 11:20 AM

Ronnie could not continue to ignore the fear that had begun to
take root. Gadi, the only person he could always trust, was gone without a
trace.
And Liah?
Something had changed in her since
his marriage proposal, which he’d been sure would make her the happiest person
on earth. For the past week, he hadn’t been able to understand her behavior.
Then there were these messages he’d been getting from an unknown party. Who was
the sender? Where did he get his information from? Is he sending his messages
in order to help? Or perhaps he was attempting to mislead him. Maybe it was
another one of Henry’s or one of the other partners’ dirty tricks?

He recalled a quote from Asimov: “In life, unlike chess, the
game continues after checkmate.”
It’s time to start taking the initiative
,
he decided and straightened up. Filled with motivation, he took out his phone
and dialed.

“Good day, Jim speaking.”

“Hi Jim,
it’s
Ronnie. I’m curious to
hear about the autopsy results for the two people who died on the operating
table.”

“Hi, Ronnie.
Good to hear from you,”
Jim sounded genuinely pleased. “Unfortunately, no postmortems were performed.
The families objected, so the bodies were taken and buried.”

“I don’t get it. Isn’t it standard procedure to perform a
postmortem in a case of unexplained death?”

“Absolutely.
But in both cases, for
religious reasons, the families objected to the autopsy and threatened a
lawsuit if it was performed against their will. As far as I know, they signed
documents releasing the hospitals from any responsibility and demanded to have
their loved ones released for burial.”

“I —” Ronnie attempted to understand when Jim cut him off and
continued, “What could possibly explain this strange behavior is that the
Philadelphia family belongs to the Amish community, and the New York
family are
Orthodox Jews from Brooklyn. As far as both
families are concerned, the deaths of their loved ones were an act of God.”

“A strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Not only is that strange, I also can’t think of a reason the
patients died. All the previous operations were successful, we used the same
medicine that was used in those procedures and even so this tragedy occurred.
Of course, we’re checking all the processes on our end again, but I have to say
so far we haven’t discovered any problem and everything seems in order. So
either we’ve been struck by ill fortune, or someone interfered in a criminal
way.”

“Are there any more vials remaining from this batch, ones we
could send to a neutral laboratory to be examined?”

“Unfortunately, no, those were the last of the batch we used for
all the clinical trials.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll send you a photo of all the vials left in the safe.
They’re all empty and were all used in the previous trials.”

“What bothers me even
more,
is the fact
the same disaster took place in two different hospitals, with two different
medical staffs, while using the same medicine from a batch that’s already been
checked,” Ronnie summed up quickly. “I’m going to Mount Sinai, where the
patient from Brooklyn had surgery. I’ll try to fish for information that’ll
help us
understand
what’s going on. Meanwhile, you
keep checking as well, and update me if you find out anything.” He disconnected
and pressed the receiver against his forehead, the thoughts gushing in his
mind. A few long minutes later, he called Gadi and reached only his voicemail
again. Ronnie sighed with frustration and rose from his seat.

“Evelyn, I’m going out of the office, and I’m not sure I’ll be
coming back today. I’ll be available on my phone.”

“Take care of
yourself
, Ray,” she
murmured without raising her eyes from the document she was reading.

Ronnie stopped for a moment and tried to catch her eye. She
continued to concentrate on the paperwork on her desk, so he turned and left.

A taxi stopped next to him and spat out a passenger. He slid
into the backseat in his stead. “Mount Sinai,” he instructed the driver, took
out his phone, and dialed.

“Detective Quincy,” a firm voice was heard from the other end of
the line.

“Hello, this is Ronnie Saar.”

“Hello, Mr. Saar. I’m glad you called. I promised you an
update,” Quincy replied in a matter-of-fact way. “According to Verizon, only
two telephone calls were erased. One call came from an unlisted number in China
or Hong Kong, about the time Mr. Lumner arrived at the hotel; the other one was
made by Mr. Lumner to his wife, about two thirty AM.”

“Strange that he called his wife so late at
night.”

“Good point. We asked her about the call, and she admitted it
was strange, but there was a power outage at her house, and the electric
company repairmen were there to fix the problem, so she was awake when the call
came in. She made the comment that they must have gotten there so quickly
because of the late hour. Because she was busy with them, she couldn’t really
speak with her husband for long. From what she can recall, all he said was that
he missed her. Beyond that, nothing out of the ordinary was said between them
during the conversation.”

“And the call from China? I understand you’ve reached a dead end
regarding that call as well. Could you explain, please?”

“Unfortunately you are right. Someone invested a lot of work in
routing that telephone conversation so its origin would remain confidential,”
he replied, his frustration clearly showing. “Our experts were unable to trace
the origin of the call. It could have been made from China, but it could’ve
originated in the United States as well. I know it’s frustrating, but
unfortunately there’s no way to determine whether the conversation was related
to business matters or to the suicide. The postmortem showed the cause of death
was indeed a high dose of sleeping pills. No evidence of violence was found on
the body. Therefore, even though there are still a lot of unresolved questions
surrounding this case, we have no choice but to close it as an unfortunate
suicide.”

“OK. Thank you for your cooperation. If your conclusions change,
I’d appreciate an update.”

“Of course.
Have a good day, and we
expect you to reciprocate.” The call was disconnected.

Ronnie tried to call Gadi again. “Please leave a brief message,
and I’ll get back to you shortly,” the voicemail message promised again.

“We’re here, sir. Seventeen fifty not including tip, please.”

He handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and made his way to
the hospital through worry-filled family members and frantic medical staff.

New York, October 22, 2013, 1:40 PM

“Yes, Jim,” Ronnie answered the call, ignoring the reproachful
stares from the other people in the elevator.

“When you get to Mount Sinai, look for Brian Campbell, he’s our
technical support guy over there. I let him know that you’re coming; he’ll try
to connect you with the right people over there. I’m sending you a text message
with his phone number.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

The elevator door opened, and Ronnie found himself in front of
the orthopedics department’s reception desk. He dialed the number Jim had sent
him and turned his head when he heard “My Way” playing nearby. “Hello, this is
Ronnie Saar. I’m in front of the reception desk,” he began to say, when he
noticed the Sinatra fan raising his head and searching for him. Ronnie waved
his hand, disconnected the call, and approached Brian.

“Jim suggested that I wait for you here. How can I help?” Brian
extended his hand hesitantly.

Ronnie responded with a brief handshake. “I’m interested in
speaking with the surgeon so I can try to better understand what happened in
the operation.”  

“As I’ve already explained to Jim, no one here will agree to
talk to you. Even though Mount Sinai received release forms from the family,
the hospital’s lawyers won’t allow any staff members to speak to outside
parties,” Brian explained. “Trust me, I’ve tried to fish for information and
failed.”

“Where can we find the doctor who performed the operation?”
Ronnie insisted.

Brian leaned over the reception desk and exchanged whispers with
one of the nurses, who smiled at him fondly. He straightened up and began to
walk toward the patient rooms, signaling for Ronnie to follow. “We’ll stalk Dr.
Bijrani. Right now, he’s visiting a patient in room 409,” he whispered.

That doesn’t sound good
… Ronnie remembered what he’d
learned during his military service: Bijrani was a common last name for members
of the Baloch tribes of Pakistan and Afghanistan, tribes known as Moslem
fanatics. Before he was able to reply, he found himself standing in front of a
man in his late forties dressed in green surgical scrubs. A name tag was
displayed on the right lapel of his lab coat and his face was adorned with a
thick black beard, already strewn with white.

“Excuse me, Dr. Bijrani,” Brian addressed the doctor, who looked
at him curiously.

“Yes, Mr. Campbell? How can I help you? If it’s about the
operation again, you’re wasting your time.” The doctor turned to leave.

“Pleased to meet you.”
Ronnie hurried
to intervene. “My name is Ronnie Saar and I’m the chairman of TDO. I’d really
appreciate a minute of your time. I understand there’re things you can’t talk
about, and that’s fine. I promise to keep the conversation brief.”

“It will indeed be brief,” the bearded doctor muttered.

“Was there anything in the patient’s medical history that could
explain what happened?”

The surgeon gave Ronnie a blazing stare and hissed, “When I told
you I wouldn’t speak with any of you about the medical details of the deceased
patient or what happened in the operation, what part of that
didn’t
you
understand? But just so you won’t get any ridiculous conspiracy
theories into your head, I can only tell you the operation was routine, and
that the patient was a perfectly healthy man who had the misfortune to undergo
surgery at the wrong time. You should check for the problem with your company
and not at the hospital.”

“What do you mean by his ‘misfortune’?” Ronnie hurried to ask.
Bijrani walked away, while turning his head and muttering, “You…you always
think other people are responsible for your problems.” Then he disappeared
around the corner.

“What was that all about?” Brian wrinkled his forehead.

He knows I’m Israeli
, Ronnie realized but said only,
“Just another person who hates the pharmaceutical industry. Excuse me a
moment.” He dialed a number, listened for a moment, and then returned the
telephone to his pocket with undisguised vexation.

“Who else could help us, Brian?”

“Like I told Jim, I tried to talk to the nurses, the doctors,
and management. They’re all maintaining a bond of silence. Because no autopsy
was performed, I believe even they don’t really know what went wrong. As far as
they’re concerned, it’s better for this affair to go away and not evolve into a
medical malpractice lawsuit. But, Mr. Saar, perhaps there’s another way to get
answers to the questions you just asked the doctor.” Brian lowered his head.

“Which is?”

“Forgive me for saying this —” Brian stuttered when Ronnie cut
him off.

“Speak. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“I suppose you’re Jewish.” Brian looked at Ronnie, and when he
saw Ronnie was unresponsive continued, “As you know, Abraham Berkowitz, the
deceased, came from an Orthodox Jewish family from Brooklyn. You Jews have a
tradition called shiva. I suggest you take advantage of it and pay the family a
visit. Here’s their address.” Brian turned to the desk, wrote something on a
sheet of notepaper and handed it to Ronnie.

Ronnie put the note in his pocket and asked, “Before I leave,
could you please tell me more about your involvement in the experiments so far,
and whether you saw anything unusual in the last one?”

“Gladly.”
Brian seemed happy to share
details about his work routine with the chairman of the company. “Officially,
my job is to consult with the surgeons on how to use the drug we developed at
TDO — and also to be present during the operation, in case a problem arises. In
practice, because we’re a small company, I was also in charge of safeguarding
the medicine from the moment it arrived at the hospital to the time it was
taken to the operating room.”

“Why does the medicine need to be ‘safeguarded’?”

“Because we’re at the experimental stage that’s supervised by
the FDA, it’s important to track and document the location of the medicine
minute by minute, from the moment it’s manufactured to the time it’s used. One
can’t always plan the precise moment the medicine will be brought into the
operating room, and therefore, we must make sure no third parties have a chance
to interfere in the process. The medicine arrives in a sealed container,
straight from TDO, and is secured in the safe. The chair of the department of
orthopedic surgery has the key to the safe, and I keep the container key. I’m
the only one who can open the container in the operating room, an action that
breaks the seal impressed on the lock when the medicine was packaged by TDO.
That’s the procedure I followed in all the operations, including the last one.
There wasn’t anything unusual about the last container, and I’m willing to
testify that other than the five minutes I took for a coffee break, the safe in
which the container was stored was under my supervision at all times.”

“Could someone have sabotaged the container while you were
away?”

“Definitely not.
As I said, any attempt
to mess with the lock would’ve broken the seal, which would immediately
disqualify the medicine from use. Actually, the procedures do not call for me
being with the medicine once it’s locked in the safe, but Christian thought one
could never be too careful. Unfortunately, that didn’t help.” Ronnie saw
genuine sorrow on Brian’s face when he mentioned Christian’s name.

“And you’re sure the seal was whole? Perhaps you didn’t pay attention?
After all, I’m sure up till now everything has always gone smoothly, and you
didn’t have any reason to be suspicious,” Ronnie persisted.

“Of course I’m sure. Furthermore, since the first clinical
trial, I’ve been documenting all the processes. I thought one day the
documentation would give us a nostalgic way to remember the way the company was
run during its first years. I did the same this time. But only up to the moment
the container was opened. After that, as you know, I was required to leave the
operating room and let Dr. Bijrani perform the operation by himself.” Brian
took his iPhone out of his pocket, fiddled with it a bit,
then
smiled when he heard a beeping sound from Ronnie’s pocket, announcing an
incoming message. “I sent you a photo of the seal before I opened it,” he
explained. “If you look at the image properties, you’ll be able to see the time
stamp, which is the same as the time the operation started.”

“The bottle appears to be completely intact,” Ronnie muttered
while enlarging the image. “Could anyone have replaced the medicine in the
operating room?”

“I can’t see how. The medicine did what it was supposed to, and
the patient reacted well almost until the end of the operation. His condition
deteriorated only at the end of the process.”

“How do you know that?” Ronnie was surprised.

“Because of the length of the operation.
At least an hour had passed from the time I left the operating room to the time
the emergency medical staff rushed in.”

“I’m going to meet with the family now. Let’s hope I find
something that’ll help us shed some light on this mystery. Meanwhile, try to
squeeze some more information out of the nurses or the secretaries…I’ve noticed
they’re quite attracted to you.” Ronnie smiled.

Brian smiled back.