Authors: Larry D. Thompson
The Trial (31 page)
When the Ceventa team got back to the Holiday Inn, Metcalf asked Kingsbury to change out of his suit so that they could get it pressed for the next day, then to join her in the conference room by the elevators in thirty minutes.
Kingsbury opened the door to his suite and was met with a shock. Roger Boatwright was sitting in the living room next to the window.
“Boatwright! What are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?”
Boatwright kept his seat, but his hands were trembling. “One question at a time. How did I get past the guards? Not very difficult. When I got to this floor, one of Metcalf’s young lawyers that was at my deposition was talking to the guard. I explained that you had asked me to meet you in your suite. He got a guard to let me in.”
“This is outrageous!” Kingsbury thundered. “I’m going to have you thrown out.”
Boatwright’s right eye ticked furiously. “Maybe you better hear me out before you throw me out, Alfred.”
Kingsbury finally took a seat and waited for Boatwright to continue.
“You and I made a deal when I got Exxacia approved. It was five million dollars. Since that time I’ve called repeatedly, and you’ve ignored me. You said to wait a week. Well, I’m damn tired of waiting. Now Joanne is on a ventilator and I’m so depressed I can’t take enough sedatives to get any sleep at night. I want the rest of that money wired to my Swiss account by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Otherwise, I’m going to Luke Vaughan.”
“You can’t do that. You’ll destroy your career!” Kingsbury sputtered.
“Alfred, at this point, I don’t really care. My life is in shambles anyway. Look, I know you had Sinclair killed. You think anyone will believe it’s a coincidence that he got those discs from me and died that same night? I figure that when you weigh that five million against what you’ve got to lose, you’ll make the right decision. If that money is not transferred, I’ll destroy you and your company. I’m staying in this hotel, down three floors. Let me know when the money’s transferred.”
When Boatwright was gone, Kingsbury walked over to the window and angrily punched in a number on his cell phone. When the other person answered, he said, “I’ve got another job for you.”
Sue Ellen spent every waking minute at the command center established by the FBI in the basement of the courthouse. Every lead they developed had fizzled out. She had felt her life being destroyed each time she got a delivery from the kidnappers. Now the deliveries had stopped, and her panic escalated. The FBI agents and Sheriff Jenkins assured her that they were doing everything they possibly could and would continue to do so. Their assurances no longer meant anything to her. When she got back to her house that afternoon, out of desperation she called Whizmo. Thirty minutes later Whizmo climbed her steps and was met at the door.
Whizmo didn’t like what he saw. Sue Ellen had black bags under her eyes. She had noticeably lost weight in only a couple of days. She had a tall glass of Scotch in her hand. “Thanks for coming, Whiz,” she said as she hugged him.
“Glad to do so. You’re not looking so good. You getting any sleep?”
“I can’t, Whiz. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the phone to ring. The task force has come up with nothing. I guess the only good thing is that they haven’t found a body.” Sue Ellen burst into sobs. After she wiped her eyes and regained her composure, she asked, “Have you got any leads?”
Whizmo shook his head. “I’ve got my posse out there. They’ve struck out, too. I’m sorry.”
Sue Ellen collapsed into a chair. “I don’t know what to do. Help me, Whiz. Please do something,” she pleaded.
Whizmo realized he had to make one last effort, not just for Sue Ellen, but also for his own peace of mind. “Tell you what, all I’ve got left to do is run the computer for Luke tomorrow. Brad can do that. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll hit the road again first thing in the morning. That’s all I can do.”
Audrey Metcalf was seated at the defense table, looking over her notes, and Kingsbury was in the first row of the audience as they waited to start the day. A legal assistant came through the hallway door, approached Metcalf, and whispered something. Astonishment overcame her, and she turned and stared at Kingsbury. Then she motioned him to follow her out into the hallway and down to an empty room one floor below. When she shut the door, she exploded. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t understand,” Kingsbury replied.
“Roger Boatwright was found hanging from the showerhead in his room three floors below us. Someone used his tie to hang him, probably to make it look like suicide. The tie gave a little, and one toe was touching the tub. He’s not dead yet, but the doctor says he may not survive. Alfred, I didn’t even know he was here.”
“Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t either.”
“That’s a goddamn lie, Alfred! I also learned he was in your room yesterday!”
“All right, all right, I did talk to him. He was depressed. Said his wife had Lou Gehrig’s disease. He tried to blackmail me. I told him to go screw himself. He left my room, and I never saw him again. I presumed that he left town. It probably was a suicide attempt.”
Metcalf lowered her voice. “So that’s it. Ryan Sinclair commits suicide in Maryland. Boatwright attempts suicide in San Marcos. You know, Alfred, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. I’ll do anything to win a case, even bend the rules when necessary, but murder is not in my playbook. I’d withdraw as your counsel right now, but Judge Nimitz would never let me do it at this late stage. I’ll do my job and do my best to win for Ceventa. After that, I never want to see or hear from you again.”
Luke was getting nervous. They were about ready to start the day’s evidence, and Whizmo wasn’t there to handle the computer and exhibits. Then Brad walked into the courtroom, carrying his computer. “Where’s Whiz, Brad?”
Brad shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know, Luke. He called early this morning and said he had something else to do. I’m handling the computer today.”
Luke nodded as the bailiff called for order.
Luke rose and, remembering the judge’s rule, asked to approach the witness. As he walked toward Dr. Kingsbury, Luke displayed a small pill bottle to the jury. He set it down in front of the witness. “Can you identify that bottle, sir?”
Kingsbury picked it up, examined it, shook it slightly, and said, “It’s a bottle of our antibiotic, Exxacia. I presume the pills inside are our antibiotic. As I’ve already said, it’s the most effective antibiotic to come along in the last twenty years.”
Luke took the bottle from Kingsbury and walked to the jury box, where he set it on the rail. Turning to Kingsbury, he said, “It’s also one of the most deadly, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Vaughan! It’s been approved by agencies in over twenty countries. They certainly wouldn’t approve a drug that wasn’t safe.”
“You know, don’t you, Dr. Kingsbury, that my daughter is dying of liver failure because she was a
subject
of your clinical trial?”
Kingsbury replied very quietly, “I’m very sorry about your daughter, but I understand her liver problem is not related to Exxacia. We had very few problems with our clinical trial.”
“Well, let’s just see about that, Doctor. We’ve been able to get the real version of the Exxacia trial. Brad, would you put that authentication page on the screen?”
Brad hit two keys on the computer, and the document appeared.
“You see, Doctor, it has the FDA logo at the top and a verification that this is the final version of the Exxacia clinical trial, and it’s signed and sworn to by a Roger Boatwright, PhD. Please note the date. Now, Brad, please put up the other one.”
Brad replaced it with an identical document but with a later date.
“Your Honor, Your Honor.” It was Metcalf, on her feet. “May we approach the bench?”
Judge Nimitz motioned for the lawyers to come forward. “Your Honor, this was not listed as an exhibit. We object. Besides, it’s hearsay.”
“Judge, I just took care of the hearsay objection. It’s an official government document. And they can hardly be surprised, since I’ll prove that they had this version all along.”
“But, Your Honor—”
“Enough, Ms. Metcalf. Your hearsay objection is overruled. I’ll carry your other objection along for a while until I see where Mr. Vaughan is going. Proceed.”
“Both of these came from the FDA, only you convinced Roger Boatwright to submit the second one to the advisory committee because it had been whitewashed of problems and any staff memos critical of the drug, right, Dr. Kingsbury?”
Kingsbury stood at the witness stand and pointed a finger at Luke. “Absolutely not. We would never do such a thing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dr. Kingsbury, you need to take your seat,” Judge Nimitz said sternly.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Luke said. “Here’s an e-mail memo from Ryan Sinclair, MD, addressed to Roger Boatwright. You knew Dr. Sinclair, didn’t you?’
“I did, sir. Fine young doctor. Committed suicide only last week.”
“Actually, he was killed, wasn’t he, Dr. Kingsbury?”
“Not according to what I read in the papers.”
“This memo describes all of the problems with the Exxacia clinical trial. You and the FDA knew that this trial was full of forged patient signatures, false documentation, manufactured vital signs, protocol violations at nearly every site. I could go on and on.”
“Of course not, Mr. Vaughan,” the witness replied, his voice a little more subdued this time.
“Did you know that one of your investigators in Louisiana is serving a five-year federal prison sentence because he falsified nearly every one of more than four hundred patient charts?”
“Yes, sir.” Kingsbury nodded. “I did hear about that after the drug was approved.”
“But look here, Doctor, Brad has just put up another memo, this one from your very own staff long before the drug was submitted to the advisory committee, detailing all of the problems with that doctor in Louisiana. Ceventa ignored it and submitted all those results as part of your data, correct, Doctor? You even talked with Dr. Boatwright about this investigator and convinced him to leave his results in the version that went to the advisory committee without mentioning anything about his fraud, didn’t you?”
Clearly, Kingsbury was no longer in command. It had never occurred to him that he would meet his match in a small town in Texas. All he could say was “I had numerous conversations with Dr. Boatwright. I can’t remember them all.”
“Can’t remember, Dr. Kingsbury, or just choose not to do so?”
Kingsbury said nothing. Instead, he reached for a cup of water. The jury watched his hand tremble as he brought the water to his lips. Luke knew he didn’t need to push for a verbal answer and moved on.
“Now, going back to Dr. Sinclair’s memo, do you see where he said that Exxacia is far more dangerous than any other antibiotic currently on the market? The incidence of liver failure and death is at least ten times more than with other antibiotics. And at the bottom, it shows an e-mail copy going to you, right, Dr. Kingsbury?”
Kingsbury managed to regain his composure. “It does, sir, but I don’t read all of my e-mails.”
Luke shook his head as he walked to the jury box and placed his arm on the rail, exuding the confidence that he was beginning to feel. “Doctor, you know that Dr. Sinclair wanted to submit the real, complete version of the clinical trial and you convinced Boatwright to block it.”
“Sir, I know no such thing.”
“Well, then, look at this memo from Boatwright to Sinclair. He’s replying to a memo from Dr. Sinclair, who wanted CDER to make full disclosure to the advisory committee. Instead, Boatwright says the FDA is investigating the irregularities in the Exxacia clinical trial and it would interfere with the investigation to disclose all of the problems with the trial like Sinclair wanted. Instead, they got the version with the problems eliminated, didn’t they? And it shows a blind copy of that e-mail going to you. I guess you didn’t read that one either, huh, Doctor?”
Kingsbury refused to make eye contact with the jury and instead gazed out the window as he mumbled, “Sorry, again I just don’t remember.”
Metcalf turned to her team and whispered to each of them, searching for some way to stop this bloodbath. No one had any suggestions. They just stared ahead with glum expressions on their faces.
Whizmo left at 8:00
A.M.
, knowing that he wouldn’t find any bars open before ten, and headed farther west beyond Fredericksburg, where he knew of at least a couple of other bars. At the first one he found only the bartender cleaning up for the day. Whiz showed him the photo and asked his standard questions and once again struck out. He returned to his bike and rode another fifteen miles, then stopped in front of a deserted bar. Tables filled the front porch, and a sign announced it was open. Rob Scott, the owner, had heard the approaching Harley and was standing in the door.
“Morning, Whiz. What brings you out so early?” Rob asked.
Whizmo dismounted and left his helmet on the seat. “Morning, Rob. I’m on a mission, but everywhere I turn I hit a dead end.” He handed Josh’s photo to Rob. “You seen this kid?” The bartender shook his head.
“Haven’t seen him around these parts. You want a beer?”
Whizmo hesitated. “A little early, but why not. I may be at the end of the road anyway. Give me a Shiner.”
Rob returned with the beer and sat opposite Whizmo while he told him the story and slowly drank the beer.
“Anyway, it looks like I made a promise I can’t keep. I’ve been in every bar between here and San Marcos. Nobody’s seen Josh. I suppose I’ll just have to head back and give his mother the bad news.”
Rob scratched his head as he considered the situation. “You been out to Charley’s?”
“Charley’s? Oh, you mean that place out on the Llano River. Is it still open?”
“Last I heard it was. It’s a pretty good piece out there, but there’s nothing around for miles. Damn good place to hide out. Might be worth a try.”
“Got nothing to lose, Rob. Thanks.”
Whizmo climbed on his Harley, buckled his helmet, and was off to one last biker bar. He turned off the highway onto a dirt road that wound down to the water’s edge, where there was a shack with a small deck facing the river. Five Harleys of various vintages were scattered around the parking lot. Whizmo stopped at the open front door and walked inside. The only light came from the door, a couple of windows, and the sliding doors to the deck. Even at ten in the morning, the bikers had beer in front of them.
All of the occupants glanced up from their beers and conversations as Whizmo stood at the door. Finally the bartender recognized him. “Whizmo, is that you? You’re a long way from home.”
“Morning, Charley. You’re right. It’s been a while.”
Whizmo explained what he was doing as his eyes became accustomed to the semidarkness. When they did, he spotted two bikers he knew. Whizmo walked over and pulled a chair up to the table where a short redheaded biker and a tall one with tattoos down his arms were nursing their first beers of the morning. “Monkey, how are you and Buzz hanging?”
“Doing good, Whiz. How about you?” the short one called Monkey replied.
Whiz pitched Josh’s photo onto the table. “I’m looking for this kid. You seen him?”
“Haven’t seen the boy, but we’ve seen the picture. Some state troopers have been by here a couple of times. We didn’t tell them anything. You know how it is, Whiz. We ain’t gonna talk to Deputy Dawg. If we did, the next thing we know, they’ll find some reason to look in our saddlebags and we’ll be facing some charges for guns or marijuana or something.”
“Understand, Monkey, but I’m not the man.”
“Whiz, I haven’t seen the boy, but I did see a big ol’ black Lincoln turning down a dirt road a couple of miles back,” Buzz said. “There’s an old cabin about half a mile down there. Wondered why that car was out here.”
Whizmo’s eyes brightened. “Black Lincoln our here in pickup country. Worth checking out. Can you show me the road?”
“Damn right. Anybody else want to go?”
The other three men rose at once.
“Let me warn you guys, this could be dangerous.”
“That’s no problem.” Monkey grinned. “We haven’t had any fun in quite a while, right, guys?”
The others nodded their heads in agreement.
“Any of you have any weapons?”
“You’re kidding, right, Whiz?”
