Bad Medicine Read online

  Advance praise for

  BAD MEDICINE

  by Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 3

  “Written in a clear, captivating voice, Cooper draws you in from the very beginning…This is thriller writing at its best; you won’t be disappointed.”

  —Manhattan Book Review

  “Bad Medicine adds another new medical thriller to Geoffrey M. Cooper’s arsenal of hard-hitting novels…a compelling read, worthy of acclaim and recommendation.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Cooper outdoes himself in his latest medical thriller…Realistic, non-stop action, Bad Medicine is the ultimate in science suspense novels.”

  —Seattle Book Review

  Praise for Nondisclosure by Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 1

  IndieReader Discovery Award

  “Nondisclosure is one of the year’s best mysteries by a Maine writer…a gritty mystery, well-crafted with a complex, intriguing plot, tense suspense, vivid action and wholly believable characters.”

  —Central Maine Sentinel

  “This book manages to accomplish, in a short space, what few books are capable of with far more pages. It is at once a compelling mystery, a fascinating peek into the politics of academia, and a nuanced look at the Me Too movement.”

  —Manhattan Book Review

  “Geoffrey M. Cooper crafts a riveting saga of mystery, discovery, and redemption…Readers interested in medical thrillers will relish the turns taken in an engrossing story that’s hard to put down.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “A fast-paced medical thriller with a cast full of brilliant characters. Engaging and suspenseful to the very end!”

  —San Francisco Book Review

  “Nondisclosure is a highly recommended read for fans of politically charged murder mysteries, thrilling suspense novels, and current social issues.”

  —Readers’ Favorite

  “[A]n intriguing and meticulously plotted medical thriller that involves the inner workings at a top research university where scandal threatens to taint its important new discovery.”

  —IndieReader

  “Nondisclosure successfully continues in the same vein as The Prize as a story of murder and deceit in the world of scientific research and academia…Nondisclosure is an outstanding murder mystery, one that should help Geoffrey M. Cooper continue to make a name for himself as an intelligent, thoroughly entertaining writer.”

  —Colorado Book Review

  Praise for Forever by Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 2

  Readers’ Favorite Gold Medal

  “Complete with science, espionage, and action, Forever is a book that will keep you on your toes. This is a page-turner from start to finish.”

  —San Francisco Book Review

  “[A] gripping, science-based story that revolves around manipulation, mutants, and murky situations. Forever is designed to keep readers on edge to its satisfying conclusion.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Espionage, perilous international affairs, and cynicism can all be found in the chilling novel Forever. Cooper has delivered another riveting novel to keep you on the edge of your seat!”

  —Manhattan Book Review

  “A persuasive tale of scientific intrigue.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Cooper continues to impress with his suspenseful plotting and sharp, uncluttered prose. In Forever, he has skillfully given us a double whammy of scientific subversion and deceit intertwined with foreign espionage.”

  —Colorado Book Review

  “Geoffrey M. Cooper has written a chilling page-turner in Forever: A Medical Thriller. This gripping tale has many unexpected twists and turns, and the ending is unforeseen. It is a captivating read!”

  —Readers’ Favorite

  “[A] tight, edge-of-the-seat whodunit recommended for fans of meticulously researched science-based thrillers.”

  —IndieReader

  Praise for The Prize by Geoffrey M. Cooper

  National Indie Excellence Award

  Readers’ Favorite Book Award

  “Fans of Robin Cook–style medical thrillers will relish the interpersonal relationships, drama, and contrast between lab and scientific research special interests…[T]he result is a thoroughly engrossing science odyssey that touches upon social and research issues alike.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “An intense story about ruthlessness in the scientific community.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A fast-paced science thriller that would rival Michael Crichton or Patricia Cornwell.”

  —Manhattan Book Review

  “Geoffrey M. Cooper creates stunning antagonists in The Prize, while peeling back the curtain of the scientific community to reveal its humanity. A great read for science lovers and anyone who enjoys a big, juicy scandal.”

  —IndieReader

  “The Prize is a clever, suspenseful page-turner for seasoned lab-coat wearers and novice geeks alike.”

  —Colorado Book Review

  “A medical thriller at its best…a page-turner that is intelligently plotted and accomplished with unusual finesse and mastery.”

  —Readers’ Favorite

  “[A] serious account of how scientific investigation can be sidetracked by chicanery…The end spirals to a climax that is only partially predictable.”

  —San Francisco Book Review

  Also by Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Fiction

  The Prize

  Nondisclosure: A Medical Thriller

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 1

  Forever: A Medical Thriller

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 2

  Science

  Oncogenes

  Elements of Human Cancer

  The Cancer Book

  The Cell: A Molecular Approach

  Bad Medicine

  Copyright © 2021 Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63381-248-2

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63381-249-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Designed and produced by:

  Maine Authors Publishing

  12 High Street, Thomaston, Maine

  www.maineauthorspublishing.com

  Bad Medicine

  A Medical Thriller

  Brad Parker and Karen Richmond Book 3

  Geoffrey M. Cooper

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

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sp; Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  He pulled the hood of his parka tighter around his face as the two figures on the other side of the street drew closer. The gesture was natural enough. It was a cold night, mid-forties with a light rain falling. Not the nicest weather for late May, but this was Maine and winter was adamant in its refusal to depart. There weren’t many people out after midnight on a night like this, but York Community College was nearby, so there were occasionally some students hanging around. Like the two fools across the street. As they came nearer, he could smell the marijuana and see the joint they were passing unsteadily between them. He gave a thin smile of relief. No threat of recognition from these clowns, even if he didn’t have his face covered.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, there were still a few lights on at his destination. The Maine Translational Research Institute. Not a surprise. It was a busy laboratory facility that housed twenty or so active research groups, each run by a faculty member—a principal investigator—with a staff of technicians, graduate students, and postdoctoral researchers. People here—especially the students and postdocs—sometimes worked odd hours, so there were always a few in their labs or offices. As long as he wasn’t spotted, it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Nonetheless, he was reassured by the feel of the Makarov pistol on his left hip. It wouldn’t be needed tonight, but he would have felt naked going out on a job without it. An old friend from years ago—he’d made his first kill with it back when he worked for state security.

  Checking to be sure that the jacket hood completely covered his face, he let himself in through the institute’s unlocked front door. The lack of security at the place never failed to amaze him. There was a video camera monitoring the entrance, but that was it. He could only imagine that they felt safe because the institute was located in a small town in Maine. If it had been in a real city, there would have been locked doors, security guards, the works. But not here. Nothing except the single camera to monitor traffic in and out.

  Idiots.

  The lobby was empty but just to be sure he didn’t run into anyone, he bypassed the elevator and took the stairs up to the fourth floor. A cautious peek around the corner of the stairwell told him that the lights were on in one of the labs, about halfway down the hall. But the equipment room was immediately adjacent to the stairs, so hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem. Unless whoever was working down the hall needed something while he was there. It was enough of a possibility to give him a moment’s hesitation, but he’d be quick. An interruption was unlikely, and he’d just have to handle it if necessary.

  He pulled on purple latex gloves before he exited the stairwell. Then he ducked into the hall and opened the equipment room door. A quick look around revealed four ultracold freezers on the back wall, behind several tables covered with items of equipment like centrifuges, spectrophotometers, and thermocyclers, which were presumably shared by the four different labs on the floor. Using his phone as a flashlight, he went over and examined the freezers. Each was designated as the property of one of the principal investigators. One was conveniently marked C. Gelman, PI. The others were labeled with the names of Davis, Cohen, and Robbins—presumably the other three PIs on the floor. Nice and simple.

  He knelt down and turned off the battery-powered alarm switch at the bottom of the Gelman lab freezer. It was set to go off and send a signal to the maintenance office if the freezer lost power or if the temperature rose ten degrees above its setting of minus eighty degrees Centigrade—the one safety measure they actually had in place. But now the alarm wouldn’t be a problem. Then he unplugged the freezer from its emergency power circuit and cracked the door open. As long as no one happened to discover it in the next three or four hours, the contents would be ruined.

  Making sure the hall was empty, he took the stairs back down to the ground floor, pulled the hood over his head, and left the building unobserved.

  A job well done. According to the boss, losing the samples in that freezer would destroy Gelman’s study. Enough to put the bitch out of business.

  Nonetheless, he had a nagging feeling that more would be needed before his work was done. This little errand couldn’t be the whole story. There had to be more for the boss to have brought in someone with his special set of skills.

  2

  The granite and glass façade of Boston Technological Institute’s Central Administration Building—otherwise known as the Presidential Palace—gleamed as brightly as ever. It was an impressive building, designed to let visitors know that they’d arrived at the power center of a major university. I’d worn my best suit two years ago when I first visited it for a private meeting with the former president, Kenneth Emerson. But the sense of grandeur I’d felt on that occasion had worn thin by my second visit, when Karen and I had the pleasure of arresting Emerson for obstruction of justice and hauling him out in handcuffs for his role in the Mike Singer case.

  I’d been chair of BTI’s Department of Integrated Life Sciences when Singer, a leading professor in my department, had assaulted and subsequently murdered a student. The dean had asked me to help university detective Karen Richmond untangle the sordid mess, which had ended with Singer in prison and Emerson being fired for attempting to cover up Singer’s crimes. It had been a sad and ugly affair that had tarnished BTI’s reputation and soured me on academic politics. The only good thing was that it had brought me together with Karen.

  My former boss, Claire Houghton, had been elevated from her position as dean to take Emerson’s place as president of BTI. I liked her. She was smart, honest, and I’d always found her easy to work with. A welcome change from Emerson. But my dealings with him hadn’t left me with much respect for the office of the president. Which probably explained why I was dressed in nothing more formal than my usual lab outfit of jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt for today’s meeting with President Houghton.

  I felt pleasantly out of place as I crossed the Palace’s marble lobby, filled with busy-looking men and women in business suits, and took the elevator to the top floor. The receptionist outside the Office of the President looked at me as if I were a lost deliveryman. When she finally said, “Can I help you?” her tone indicated that the only thing she wanted to help me with was finding the nearest exit.

  I gave her my vain attempt at a winning smile. “I’m Brad Parker. I have a ten o’clock appointment with President Houghton.”

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow and looked me up and down. “You’re Professor Parker?”

  I broadened my smile. “That’s me.”

  “Oh. Well then, welcome. The President said I should bring you right in.”

  She got up and I followed her to an unmarked mahogany door behind the reception desk. It had previously borne a gaudy brass plate announcing that it was the Office of the President, Kenneth Emerson. A touch that the current occupant apparently felt was unnecessary.

  The interior of the office had also changed since my last visit. It was still enormous, of course, and the two glass walls with breathtaking views of the Charles River and downtown Boston were still there. But the dark wood paneling on the interior walls had been replaced with a lighter shade, and colorful abstract paintings hung in place of the portraits of former BTI presidents that had been there when Emerson occupied the office. The transformation was completed by the substitution of comfortable-looking modern furniture for the dark, heavy chairs and tables I remembered from Emer
son’s day. A different office for a different president.

  While I was taking it all in, Claire Houghton got up from her desk and walked across the room to greet me with a smile.

  “It’s good to see you, Brad. It’s been a while. Do you like what I’ve done with the office? Changed a bit from your last visit, hasn’t it?”

  Observant as ever, she’d noticed me looking around. “It has indeed,” I said. “Much for the better. I wouldn’t want to be sexist and say that you’ve given it a woman’s touch, but you’ve certainly made it more open and friendly.”

  She snorted. “Woman’s touch, bullshit! But I’m glad you like it. I wanted to get rid of as much of Emerson’s filth as I could.”

  I nodded. “You succeeded. I especially like that you ditched the portraits of ex-presidents. No need for Emerson to have a place on the wall.”

  “He wouldn’t have had one anyway. But what I have now are examples of the work of our students in the School of Fine Arts. The dean over there sends me a rotating selection every semester.”

  I took another look—they were good. “I’m impressed; our students do nice work.”

  She shrugged. “Some of them aren’t bad. And it’s a good thing to have in the office of a university president, don’t you think? Especially when parents come visiting with their checkbooks. But come, sit down, and let’s have a chat to catch up.”

  She led me to a light-blue leather couch next to the window overlooking the Charles River and sat across from me in a matching wingback chair. As we sat down, the receptionist came in with mugs of coffee and a small basket of scones.