Bad Medicine Page 7

  Why was Gelman so widely disliked? The woman I’d met yesterday seemed pleasant enough. Sure, I could see where pressures from work and home would collide to make her focus on her professional priorities and avoid the kind of institutional chores that other faculty members seemed to resent her sloughing off. But did that really explain why roughly half of her colleagues wanted to destroy her career? Or was Carlson influential enough to have so decisively swayed faculty opinion against her, for whatever reasons he had?

  I had to admit that I was viscerally on Gelman’s side after meeting her yesterday. I certainly couldn’t imagine that the woman I’d seen in the ER waiting room had sabotaged her own freezer. But how much I could or should try to influence the upcoming tenure decision was a different question. One that I was still pondering when Anna knocked on the door and showed Mark Heller into my office.

  Time to meet everyone’s golden boy.

  13

  Heller wore a blue blazer, a white button-down shirt, and a confident smile for the occasion. I got up to meet him, and he greeted me with a firm handshake, the smile broadening as he looked down at me from his six-foot-one height advantage. I was surprised by the difference a couple of inches made.

  He started to take a chair opposite my desk, but I motioned him across to the conference table. “Let’s sit over here. It’s less formal than looking at each other across a desk.”

  He put a laptop that he’d brought with him on the table as he sat down. “Great. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me.”

  I began with my standard lead-in to interviews with tenure candidates. “I make a point of meeting personally with junior faculty who are coming up for tenure. I’ve found it’s important for me to get a better sense of tenure candidates than just what’s on paper. I realize this kind of chat can be pretty formal and off-putting for you, but the point is simply for me to have an opportunity to talk with you about your work and your goals for the future. And also about your experience here at MTRI. It’s my chance to get to know you as a person rather than just a CV. And, of course, I’m also happy to answer any questions you might have about the tenure evaluation process.” I smiled. “I can still remember back when I was up for tenure. The whole thing seemed scary and mysterious, basically my whole life was on the line, and I didn’t really know what was going on. That seems like unnecessary pain and suffering—so I’d be happy to offer any clarification on the evaluation process or address any concerns that you have.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your openness, but I’m fine with the process.” He shrugged. “Maybe a little nervous, but my work speaks for itself, and the senior faculty here have been very supportive. So I don’t have any issues, and I’m sure the tenure thing will go smoothly. But I’m happy to have the chance to tell you about my work. You missed my tenure seminar, didn’t you?”

  “I’m impressed by your confidence.” I didn’t say what I was really thinking—that he seemed so over-confident as to be best described as cocky. “And yes, I did miss your tenure seminar. I believe it was the week before I started here. So tell me, how did you get into your line of research?”

  Instead of answering, he opened the laptop. “Why don’t I just take you through my seminar? I’m sure it’ll answer all your questions.” He pulled up a PowerPoint presentation and turned the computer to face me. The title slide read “Curing Cancer Today.” Nothing modest about that.

  I really wanted an informal discussion, not a formal lecture. But I didn’t want to be overbearing, so I tried to turn him around gently. “Thanks, but I’ve been through your file and read your recent papers. I probably don’t need your whole seminar, but I would like to get more of an intuitive feel for how you approach research questions.”

  He smiled and plowed right ahead with the PowerPoint, as if he hadn’t heard. “Oh, it’s no problem. It’ll be easy enough to just take you through this.”

  With that he moved to the second slide and I sat back and listened. It was either that or cut him off more forcefully, which I decided would be unpleasantly rude. I interrupted with a couple of questions, but mostly he spent the next fifty-odd minutes working methodically through a full-blown seminar for his captive audience of one. As I already knew, it was an impressive story of successful drug development. But it was delivered with much more formality and at far greater length than I needed to hear.

  I struggled to avoid squirming in my chair and suppressed a sigh of relief when he finally finished. “Very impressive. So tell me, your major thrust now is dealing with the drug resistance problem?”

  “That’s right. The company behind aloxinor, Pharmathor, has given us a substantial contract to develop derivatives that would still target cancers that become resistant to the original drug. We already have two such compounds that I hope will be ready to enter clinical trials soon.”

  “Very nice. I assume your derivatives work on cancers that become resistant as a result of mutations in the RTK that aloxinor targets?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “How about cancers that become resistant by other mechanisms, like changes in parallel or downstream pathways? Can you estimate what fraction of resistance is due to mutations in the original aloxinor target?”

  The cocky smile faded. He knew where I was going with this. “About fifty percent of resistance is due to mutations in the original target. Dealing with those would be a very major advance.”

  “It certainly would. But what do you think of Carolyn Gelman’s approach, which would also work on cancers that become resistant by other mechanisms?”

  I could tell the question struck home as he flushed momentarily. But his recovery was quick. “I suppose it’s an interesting idea, but the data she has are pretty shaky. I believe you were at her seminar?”

  I nodded and he continued. “Then you saw that people don’t really believe her work. And I’ve heard that one of the patients in her trial has developed a severe toxic reaction, which sounds like a big problem.”

  It was an ugly way for him to portray the work of a colleague, but I wasn’t going to get into that with him. “It’s true that one of her patients is ill, but I’m not at all sure that it’s a case of drug toxicity.” I glanced up at the clock that Anna had strategically placed on the wall. “Anyway, it’s getting late and I also wanted to ask how you feel you’ve been treated during your time at MTRI. Have the senior faculty been supportive as you’ve worked to develop your career? Have there been any problems you’d like to bring to my attention?”

  “My senior colleagues have been great. The only problem I’ve had has been with Gelman.”

  “Because she’s working on aloxinor resistance?”

  “Partly that, yes. She’s tried to push in on my success. But worse, she keeps attacking me, hinting to people that I’m trying to interfere with her work. She’s even said that she suspects me of sabotaging her lab and unplugging her freezer.”

  I sat back and pursed my lips. “I’ve heard that, although not from her. What do you think happened?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? But I can assure you, I had nothing to do with it.”

  At least on that point, I knew from Karen’s analysis of the video that he was telling the truth. But I decided to see what would happen if I pushed a little. “I certainly hope not. Where were you when it happened?”

  He sat up rigidly straight. “They say it was after midnight, when I was home asleep. Why are you asking me that? The cops already interviewed me.”

  “Just curious. I was wondering if you had an alibi that would put any rumors of your involvement to rest. Was anyone with you?”

  “I’m afraid not. I live alone.”

  “Too bad.” I shrugged. “Hopefully the cops will figure it out soon.”

  “Do you really think I’d do something like that?”

  I didn’t tell him that I was the only one who knew that he hadn’t. Besides Karen. And of course, whoever the saboteur actually was. But I did offer some reassurance. “Don�
�t worry; I can’t imagine you’d do anything that stupid. And I’d certainly never suspect you without evidence.”

  He exhaled deeply. “Thanks. I was starting to get nervous. I hope I can count on your support.”

  “I can’t make any guarantees, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I said. “Your record speaks for itself.”

  The confident smile returned as he said goodbye and left.

  14

  By five in the afternoon, I’d picked up Rosie and we were headed back to Boston on I-95. Unless the traffic was a mess, we’d be home by six thirty or so. I texted Karen, who said that she and dinner would be ready and waiting. And not to worry if Boston traffic did its usual job on estimated travel times.

  My phone rang as I was approaching Kittery, the last exit in Maine before crossing the Piscataqua River into New Hampshire. I couldn’t think of anybody besides Karen who might be calling, so I pulled over to the side of the road and checked the phone. The call was from the Maine area code with a number I didn’t recognize. Maybe Anna calling about something at MTRI?

  Since I’d already pulled over, I took the call. The voice on the other end was unsteady and the words came out in a rush.

  “Dr. Parker, it’s Carolyn. Carolyn Gelman. I’m so sorry to bother you. I…I’ve just had some terrible news.”

  Had that asshole Carlson pulled something on her?

  “Carolyn, calm down. It’s fine that you called. What’s going on?”

  “It’s my patient, Emily Weston. You remember, in York Hospital.”

  So not Carlson. But maybe worse.

  “Of course I remember. Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, it’s horrible.” She was having trouble getting the words out between sobs. “She’s gotten worse. She’s having trouble breathing and they’ve moved her to intensive care.”

  “My God! I’m so sorry. Are you at the hospital? I’m close by; I can meet you there if you want.”

  “No, I’m at home. The kids are here and my husband’s stuck in Portland, so I can’t leave. There’s nothing I could do at the hospital anyway.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I hate to ask this, but could you come over? I…I just need someone to talk to. This is so awful…what if she dies? I feel terrible.”

  She sounded desperate. And she must be if she had to ask me, really no more than a stranger, for support. Were there no friends she could talk to? And was her husband so busy that he couldn’t be there when she needed him in an emergency?

  So much for my trip to Boston.

  “Of course I’ll come over, no problem at all. I’m in Kittery now, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Her sigh of relief was audible. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. We’re in Kennebunkport, I’ll text you the address.”

  I called Karen while I waited for Carolyn’s text. She was less than thrilled, and even more so when I told her that this might mess up the rest of the week, not just tonight. Depending on what was happening with Carolyn’s patient, I might need to stay at MTRI and deal with the fallout rather than going back to Boston. But, as usual, she understood.

  “Do what you need to do,” she said. “I’ll come back up Friday afternoon anyway. You owe me a big lobster dinner at Hobbs after this.”

  Carolyn texted me an address on Ocean Avenue in Kennebunkport. Google Maps told me it was about forty-five minutes away, apparently right on the ocean. I got off the highway at the Kittery exit and turned around, heading back north on I-95 to Wells. Then I got off and took US 1 and Route 9 to Kennebunkport, where I found Ocean Avenue and proceeded to Carolyn’s address. Which turned out to be less than a mile from the Bush family compound on Walker’s Point.

  The house was a large contemporary with lots of glass, sitting on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. Maybe not as spectacular as the Bush compound, but not too shabby. I remembered that Carolyn’s husband was a lawyer. He must do well—no way Carolyn could afford this on an academic’s salary.

  Carolyn opened the door before I had a chance to ring the bell. Her eyes were red and her hand was trembling as she took mine in greeting. “Thank you so much for coming. I just didn’t know who else I could call.”

  “It’s not a problem, I’m happy I could stop by. Are your kids here? A boy and a girl, right?”

  “I finally got hold of the sitter, and she was able to take them for the night.” She shook her head sadly. “First good thing that’s happened all day. How’d you know I have a boy and a girl?”

  “It’s in your file somewhere. How’s the patient doing?”

  “I haven’t heard anything more. They promised to call if there’s any news. Can you come sit with me?”

  I followed her into the living room and she motioned me to a cream-colored leather couch in front of a sliding door leading to the deck and the ocean. She started to sit across from me, but interrupted herself. “Can I get you a drink or something?”

  I didn’t want to make this a social call, but she looked like she could use something. Although she also looked like she might already have had one too many. I left the door open. “I’ll join you, if you’d like one. Whatever you’re having will be fine.”

  Her phone rang before she made it to the kitchen. She grabbed it, and I watched her face fall as she listened. The tears were flowing when she hung up. “She’s worse, they had to put her on a ventilator. They…they said I needed to come now if I want to see her.”

  I got up and put my hands on her shoulders. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  She took my left hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. Thank you for being here.”

  Rosie started jumping up and down in the front seat as soon as she saw us leave the house. I’d almost forgotten she was waiting in the car. “Sorry, I have my dog with me,” I said to Carolyn. “Hope that’s okay.”

  She tried a smile. Without much success. “It’s fine. I like dogs.”

  We got in, and after greeting me, Rosie turned to Carolyn. With that sixth sense dogs have, she knew how upset Carolyn was. When Carolyn ventured to pet her, Rosie hopped into her lap, licked her hand, and snuggled up to her. And so the three of us made our way to York Hospital. I drove as fast as I could, Carolyn stared out the window and absently rubbed Rosie’s head, and Rosie offered whatever comfort licks and snuggles could provide.

  Inside the main entrance, we were greeted by the same woman at the concierge desk who’d been there yesterday. When we told her that we were here for Emily Weston, her face filled with concern. She asked us to wait while she called Dr. Ashland.

  Perhaps ten minutes passed, with Carolyn growing increasingly nervous, before a middle-aged woman in blue scrubs approached us. “I’m Dr. Ashland. You’re here for Mrs. Weston?”

  Carolyn nodded. “I’m Dr. Gelman. She’s my patient, in my clinical trial. Can we see her?”

  Instead of answering, Ashland looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m Dr. Parker, director of MTRI,” I explained. “I assume you know that your patient is enrolled in one of our lung cancer trials, which Dr. Gelman is leading.”

  “I’m aware,” Ashland said. “All right, I can take you in briefly. She’s unconscious and on a ventilator. I’m afraid things aren’t going well.”

  We followed Ashland to the ICU. There were two beds occupied, one of which had a patient on a ventilator with a nurse hovering around her.

  Carolyn went over and stood beside Emily Weston. “I’m so sorry,” she said, stroking the patient’s forehead. A clump of loose hair fell out.

  “Is she losing her hair?” I asked.

  The nurse answered. “Yes, the poor thing. We see that all the time with patients on chemo.”

  We stayed there for several minutes, with Carolyn holding Emily’s hand and crying softly. Then Dr. Ashland said that we should go and promised to call if anything changed.

  I put my arm around Carolyn for support and the nur
se took us back to the main desk. As we approached the entryway, I noticed a short man with long blond hair talking to the woman at the concierge desk. He must have heard us coming, because he glanced over at us before he turned away from the desk and left the hospital.

  When we reached the desk, the woman behind it gave us a sympathetic smile. “I’ll pray for Mrs. Weston. And you can be sure that she’s in the best of hands. It’s too bad you missed her brother, he left just a minute ago.”

  “Is that the man you were talking to?” I asked.

  She nodded and I left Carolyn at the desk to see if I could catch him. But by the time I got through the door, he was getting into his car. A black SUV, I thought a Subaru. He drove past me and I waved to get his attention, but he kept going and I watched him pull out of the parking lot.

  15

  He pulled over to the side of the road just outside the exit from the hospital parking lot and dialed the emergency number. When it went to voice mail, he said, “Sorry, lost dog.” The return call came immediately.

  “What is it? It better be important for you to use this number,” the boss said.

  “I’m at York Hospital. The woman they admitted here is going down; they just put her on a ventilator.”

  “Good. But why are you there? What if someone remembers you?”

  “They wouldn’t give out information on the phone, I had to come by and pump them. It’s all right, nobody could recognize me with the disguise I have on.”

  “If you say so. It’s your neck. Anything else?”

  “Yes, that woman Gelman was here. Along with the new MTRI director.”

  “They were together?”

  “Very much so. I saw them in the lobby. He had his arm around her.”

  The boss was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. Then the muffled voice said, “Are you suggesting that something’s going on between them? That would account for the support he’s giving her at the institute.”