Deadly Medicine

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medince” Page (1)

PROLOGUE

Bad things happen at night. The gas station attendant knew that. He didn't like being alone along the Taconic State Parkway in upstate New York and wondered why the hell he accepted the midnight-to-morning shift. The extra money wasn't nearly enough to repay the sense of dread he always felt in the small hours. He tilted his chair backwards, resting his shoulders against the cold brick of the garage, and peered south into the darkness of the northbound lane. At least 20 minutes had gone by since the last car had passed. Now a white mist of light again pierced the tall pine, elm and oak trees as a lone car approached. The cone of light from the headlamps spread out along the sky and trees like smoke. He was glad for the car, for any sign of life other than his own breathing and the calling of the night creatures. The car was coming fast, too fast for the narrow bridge that fed into the gas station driveway. The tires shrieked at each turn, the beams twisted this way and that behind the trees as the car raced along the two-lane highway that wound through the woods amid sharp outcroppings of schist and shale.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medince” Page (2)

The attendant dropped the front legs of his chair to the concrete and stood. Another drunk bastard, he thought. No good goddamned kids. He carried his flashlight to the perimeter of the filling station and waited at the edge of the grass near the bridge. He'd signal that stupid son of a bitch to slow down. Crazy bastard was sure to kill someone. He'll have to slow down if he wants to make the turn onto the bridge. The black Mercedes sprung from the darkness, its rear sliding sideways as the tires clawed and burned on the turn to the bridge. It wove murderously toward the station. Eyes wide with dread, the attendant backed away from the road into the tall grass as the Mercedes slammed into the rise at the far end of the bridge, then leaped six feet into the night air, took out several wooden bridge supports, and dove into darkness. The black machine plunged into the embankment of the river. The front end folded in on itself and the back wheels of the car dropped with a splash into the shallows. The crushed gas line pressed against the engine's red-hot manifold, and within seconds yellow flames were dancing eight feet in the air. The attendant sprang toward the wrecked Mercedes. He shielded his face against the heat with one arm as he opened the door and with the other, pulled the bloody driver from the car. "You stupid son of a bitch, I told you!" he shouted, his own heart pounding from fear and exertion. He had dragged the driver perhaps five yards from the car when the wreck exploded. The heat slapped into them like shrapnel, and the attendant screamed and swore as glowing cinders seared his arms and face. The young man from the Mercedes made no sound. The attendant laid the limp body on the riverbank, and shrank back from the driver's hollow eyes. He reached out tentatively and found no pulse in the bloodied neck. The attendant ran to the garage and used the phone, and did not go near the dead man again until the police arrived. There was little of the car left for the police to examine except a wet, smoldering heap that hissed. One cop approached the pile of twisted metal and kicked through the rubble at the water's edge, fanning his flashlight before him. A splash of color caught his eye. He lifted a charred rag of canvas from the mud, examined it, and walked to his partner. "What the hell do you make of this?" He handed him the rag.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medince” Page (3)

The sergeant put the beam of his flashlight on the canvas. "Jeez," he said, bringing it close to his face. "Will you look at that?" The pink mug of Mao stared at him. Then he poked at the signature. "Warhol." "Lemme see." His partner bent close. "Christ. You think it's real?" "How the hell would I know?" the sergeant said, stuffing the rag into a plastic baggie. He walked to the car and kicked at the wreckage, stooping to push aside burnt pieces of wood, leather upholstery, and twisted metal. He waded into the shallows and picked through the smoking canvases rolled up in the trunk, depositing his finds in additional plastic bags. The sergeant called out to his partner to get the dead man's wallet. The cop retrieved the wallet and thumbed through it. Not much. Three credit cards. A driver's license. No pictures. Not much cash. A thin wallet. But he recognized the name. The kid came from money. His father was a big-wig in town, a major corporate executive. The cop returned to the wreck. When the sergeant saw the license, he frowned. Hot potato. The men traded glances. The sergeant took a quarter from his pocket and tossed it into the air. His partner called out heads, and the two men looked at the coin shining in the mud of the riverbank. Tails. The sergeant pushed his hat up with his thumb and smiled. His partner had lost the toss. He would have to tell the father that his son was dead.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (4)

CHAPTER 1

"Goddammit! I won't put it in the press release because no one in his right mind would believe that bullshit." The director of public relations sounded as if he were strangling with rage. Outside the office, Claire lifted her head. The outburst startled her. She didn't understand what was going on and didn't want to, but her attention was drawn to the arguing voices. In the four years she had been Howard Burgland's secretary, she had never heard such shouting. She shuddered and resumed typing. "I'm telling you for the last time, Wendell, put it in," Burgland said. "I'll be damned if I will," Wendell Coates shouted. Whatever Burgland replied was lost to the thick walls, but it silenced Wendell, and Claire was relieved. She looked up when Ted Lasting approached. "Am I glad you're here," she said as he swept through the glass doors for his 10:30 appointment. He had a knack with people and would know what to do. "Why is that?" "Just listen," she said, cocking her head toward the wall. They were at it again. Not quite so belligerently, but enough hostility in their voices to trigger an arched brow.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (5)

"I won't do it Howard. It's that simple. It will embarrass the company ...and it will embarrass me." Ted smiled ironically. She liked the way he did that, how he tilted his head, smiled lopsidedly, raised one brow. Ted was handsome, almost flawless, except for a slight bump on the bridge of his nose, earned in a street fight ages ago, that marred his patrician face, strong jaw, and glistening well-behaved hair, as shinny and black as Arctic oil. His dark eyes, easy smile, and bachelor status had made him the subject of ongoing speculation among the company’s women. The door opened, and Wendell stamped out. His face was flushed and beads of sweat dampened his forehead. Without acknowledging either Claire or Ted, Wendell brushed through the anteroom. The intercom on Claire's desk buzzed abruptly. "Send Ted in," the voice commanded. Clair smiled weakly and, in return, he winked at her, conveying all the confidence of a knighted barrister, and entered Burgland’s office. Skillfully masking his anger, Burgland rose from his polished oak desk and casually buttoned his wool suit jacket. Educated by wealth and an exacting father, Burgland dressed smartly, patrician-like, in mostly in dark shades of solid blue or gray that complimented a thick mat of auburn hair the color of fox, but never in pin-stripes. As a child, he had visited the circus with his father, and still remembered the striped jackets of the carnival barkers. His aversion had lasted 58 years. "Sit down, will you Ted." Burgland offered Ted the long leather sofa under the painting of the harvesters by Romanticist Jean Francois Millet. Burgland liked to explain to his visitors the choice of this particular painting. On bad days, he said, it helped remind him how really easy his own job was. But visitors often knew the other motive. Steering Industries' policy of investing a percentage of it profits in artworks had yielded a handsome gain for the company. Time Magazine two years earlier devoted a cover story to the company's prestigious art collection. Burgland took a chair opposite Ted, and he did not speak for some seconds. Obviously still angry from his encounter with Wendell Coates, Burlgand chose not to allow his emotions to color his meeting with Ted. He admired Ted's confidence, agile mind and piercing insights; Ted swiftly cut through to the heart of a problem, and, at this moment,

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (6)

Burgland was especially glad to have such a deceptively steely weapon at hand as his VP of legal affairs. To the uniformed, Ted was handsome raconteur, devoid of guile and ready with a laugh. Burgland, however, knew the fanged side of Lasting the lawyer, the side he paid dearly for and admired, the side that opponents feared. "Reinhardt sent us another one of his letters," Burgland said. "He's dropped his conciliatory tone and is flatly accusing us of stealing his idea, and demands that we either pay him a full royalty or stop developing Syndorphine." Burgland dropped the letter on the coffee table between them. Ted retrieved the single sheet of beige stationery and read it. His eyebrows arched. "He's ready to play hardball." Derrek Reinhardt, Ted knew, was a threat to Steering Industries, its reputation and treasury. Reinhardt maintained that he, not Steering, had the right to patent a synthetic version of dynorphin, one of the three classes of opiate-like compounds found naturally in the brain. Steering was preparing to market their synthetic dynorphin, Syndorphine, for stroke victims. Other products were in development, including painkillers that exploited dynorphin's morphine-like properties, with none of morphine's side effects. "I believe we're at a disadvantage, Howard," Ted said. Burgland placed his hands on the knees of his sharply pressed pants. "I don't think so. Reinhardt is just not credible. Why would anyone take his word over Whit's? The idea for the Syndorphine came from him, not from Reinhardt. Reinhardt is erratic, unreliable. He hasn't been able to hold down a solid research position for years." Ted knew that Reinhardt was considered unstable. He was independent, illmannered, and not well liked by his colleagues. Stirring their resentment was childishly easy if need be. Finding associates willing to undermine Reihhardt’s reputation would require little effort, Ted realized. After Reinhardt had been fired from his research positions at two not so well-respected institutions, he had experimented in his extensive home laboratory with cat brains and had written extensively on the subject for scientific journals and popular magazines. Working without institutional funding, Reinhard had labored on a tight budget and taken to stealing stray animals. A few neighborhood pets

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (7)

turned up missing, and the local community was in an uproar. Nevertheless, his peers grudgingly admitted his insights sometimes bore the mark of genius. "What about Reinhardt's original letter, the one you received and Whit initialed?" Ted asked. "What about it?" "Did you speak with Whit about the letter? Did he remember ever seeing such a letter?" "Of course I asked him." Burgland did little to disguise his impatience. "Why would Whit recall an unsolicited letter?" Why indeed, thought Ted. This was critical. Just how much Whit Chapin, VP of research for Steering Industries, knew about Reinhardt's research would be decisive in this dispute. "Howard, I don't believe we can dismiss the issue so easily. I'd like to see the file, please." Burgland offered Ted an accommodating smile, but Ted noticed something flicker across his employer’s coal-gray eyes -- a hint, perhaps, of malice. Burgland reached for the telephone at his side, pressed the buzzer, and asked Claire to bring in the Reinhardt file. When Claire entered, she took the file to Burgland. He didn't rise to accept it, but with a nod indicated he wanted Ted to take the file. Claire obliged and turned to leave without a word or, to Ted's disappointment, even a glance at him. Burgland's eyes followed her out. Claire had been Burgland's mistress for almost a year. She had broken it off, it was generally believed, several months ago. While he had not been particularly happy about it, Burgland was in no position to force matters, and he was a smart enough executive not to fire her. Ted was aware of the force of the man's stare on her back. Refocusing, Burgland tapped the file folder on Ted's lap. "It's all there." Ted opened the folder and extracted a sheet of beige stationery like the one on the coffee table. "This is the crux of the problem," Ted said, tapping the several pages of executive summary included by Reinhardt, which fully outlined his work on neurotransmitters. At the

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (8)

end of the report, Ted found initials scrawled across the date stamp. The initials were Whit Chapin's, with the notation, "received." "These are Whit's initials, and they could sink us." Ted said sharply. Burgland was unruffled. "Let me point out that if those are Whit's initials, and they may not be, Whit only wrote 'received,' not 'reviewed.' I have full confidence in Whit. If he says he didn't read the summary, then he didn't." "Willing to stake millions on that, Howard?" Ted asked archly. Burgland didn't answer immediately. He lifted a miniature elephant of flawless amethyst from the glass table top between them. He examined it closely against the sunlight streaming through the window. "I wonder what the consequences would be if that letter didn't exist?" he asked. "It seems to me there's no other proof of Reinhardt's claims." "But the letter does exist," Ted countered flatly. Burgland's implication was clear. "Sobering isn't it," Burgland said. He patted Ted on the knee and sighed wearily. "But of course the letter exists. It's just hard to imagine that a single sheet of paper could mean so much to us." Around a hundred million or more, thought Ted. "Sorry," Burgland said simply. "Just wondering, regretting mostly, I suppose." He struggled to his feet, smiling as if apologizing for a temporary lapse in judgement. Yet his eyes remained fastened on the paper in Ted's hand. He sighed again and reached for the paper. Reflexively, Ted pulled back his hand. "I think I'd better keep these documents in a safe place," he said. Burgland's eyes flared. "Let me have them, Ted." "Howard, you are better off with these files in my hands. It's the only way you can be safe from suspicion." Burgland hesitated, then smiled an empty smile. "I see your point," he said easily. "Now just see that those damned documents aren't misplaced. Or my ass will be on the line." "Howard, your ass is one of my prime responsibilities," Ted said with a casual smile.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (9)

Burgland stood, and a concentrated frown settled on his face. He returned to his desk, and was already thinking of something else as Ted left. Burgland withdrew an envelope from his middle drawer. He opened the folded legal-size yellow paper and reread words which had been constructed from letters cut from the detested New York Post. trust No one. reInHARDt has An ear inside the Company Burgland stared at the message for some time, unraveling the implications. Then he concealed the note in his desk among papers marked "PRIVATE."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (10)

CHAPTER 2

As he stepped from Burgland's office, Ted spied Claire leaning over her desk. Her creamcolored dress stretched tightly over her hips and Ted whistled. "My, how the gods have tempted me today," he said as he sauntered out of the anteroom without looking back to see the pleased expression on her face. Ted returned to his office and moved to his computer to check his schedule. He blanked the screen and with a keystroke retrieved his messages. Wendell Coates, 10:38, about five minutes after he had stormed out of Burgland's office. He pressed the "return call" button and the computer dialed Wendell Coates' extension. "Coates here." Wendell's voice trembled slightly. He was having a bad day. "You called before?" Wendell said "I'll be right over." He didn't ask if it was all right or if Ted had the time. The two men had shared secrets and had become a bit more than mere colleagues through the years. Ted sensed that Wendell was about to exploit their friendship. Wendell was through Ted's door in less than a minute. He threw his lanky frame into a chair and got right to the point. "What did you think of today's little drama?" Ted raised his eyebrows. He left his chair, walked to the table in front of his sofas, and poured a steaming cup of specially imported Costa Rican coffee from the carafe that

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (11)

his secretary Glenda refilled several times a day. "Like some?" he asked as he lifted his cup. "Forget the coffee and just answer the question." Wendell ran his fingers nervously through his thinning hair. His worried expression accentuated the many folds and wrinkles in his face, making him look even more like a basset hound than usual. Ted would not be swept up in Wendell's sense of urgency. Wendell obviously hoped to recruit him as an ally against Burgland. Instead of responding immediately, Ted selected a donut from the tray, placed it on a linen napkin, and returned to his desk. "Okay. What's the problem?" "What's the problem?" Wendell fumed. "Jesus, Ted. Weren't you there today? Were you asleep? You heard what went on. Do you know what Howard was asking me to do?" "No, and I don't want to know," Ted said with finality. Then he relented. "Look, Wendell, wasn't it you who used to tell me that you never get anywhere with Howard by going up against him directly, that you have to jolly him along, make him look smart? I don't know what that fight was about, but frankly, you sounded like you were way out of line. You know as well as I do that with Howard you either find a way to bring him around, do what he says, or quit." Wendell didn't respond immediately. Instead of meeting Ted's dark eyes, he peered beyond Ted's shoulder and squinted. His watery eyes studied the pastoral scene that hung above Ted's credenza, an original oil of the Hudson Valley painted by Church in 1885. Wendell weighed Ted's apparent indifference against his own need to talk. Now did not seem a good time to unburden himself. "Maybe we should have a drink later. What do you say, Ted?" "Whatever has to be said can be said here." Ted's tone was colder than he meant it to be, and it obviously registered. Wendell regained his professional voice. "Let me put it this way: I’ve decided to cut bait." "You'd actually quit over a press release?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (12)

"It's either that or wring that son of a bitch's neck. I've had it with him. He's intolerable." "You can't be serious." "But I am." "Come on, Wendell. You've threatened to quit a dozen times before. You know you don't mean it." Wendell had threatened to quit a few months ago, but backed down when he realized that he had less than a year to early retirement. If he left now, he'd receive a modest pension. Only a fool or a very desperate man would throw away a full pension from Steering. "What makes you so sure, Ted? Think I haven't got the balls?" "Look Wendell, we don't need a repeat of this morning. Just sit back and relax. Stop torturing yourself. You're concocting options you don't have. Accept that you've got less than a year to go. Do the best possible job you can, and make the necessary compromises. We've all got jobs to do here, some we like, some we don't. But we're pros, and we do what's best for the company." "You mean for the money." Ted ignored the remark. Money was not the issue, not for him. Success was. Ambition was. He wanted to be the president of the world's largest pharmaceutical company within five years, to be the youngest CEO of any Fortune 500 company. "It's different this time, Ted. I mean it about quitting," Wendell said earnestly. "Yeah? What's different this time?" "Because I hate that man." Wendell looked at the floor, and his voice was softer now. "Because I'm dying of cancer." Ted was stunned. He examined Wendell, searching for signs, for changes in his skin or his demeanor. He had noticed nothing. Had he ever looked at Wendell closely before this moment? "Sorry to drop it on you this way, Ted." "God, Wendell, what can I say? Can I help?" Wendell shrugged. "Nothing much anyone can do." He smiled weakly. "Somehow, just telling you helps. No one else knows, not even Jean. I've got to spare

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (13)

her that for as long as possible. You know how Jean handled my heart attack eighteen months ago. Absolutely wrecked her. I can't do that to her again." No, he couldn't. Despite all his histrionics, Wendell was not a bad guy. "When did you find out?" "Saturday." The door opened and Glenda popped her head in just as Wendell sank tiredly into his chair. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but Claire is on line two for you, Mr. Coates. She says it's urgent." "Do you want to take it?" Ted asked. "Might as well," Wendell said recovering. Ted handed him the phone; Wendell listened intently and then hung up. "She says that Burgland just got a call from Seth Hornish, the science reporter at the New York Times. Claire ran interference as best she could, but she says Hornish wants to know if the secret report being circulated inside the company about increased incidence of cancer among our herbicide workers is accurate." Ted had only recently seen the preliminary report. It concluded that workers in the pesticide division had a 235 percent higher incidence of lung diseases and a 340 percent greater chance of dying of all types of cancer. He already had calls in to the researchers. He prayed there were mitigating factors. Steering Industries was proud of its safety protocols, which were supposedly among the best in the industry. "Just what we needed. Now how in hell...?" "I know," Wendell said. "I'm asking myself the same question. Who leaked that report, and why?" Ted frowned. He looked up and saw that Wendell's face had paled. Ted wondered if Wendell would make it. "I'll handle the call if you want," Ted offered. "Hell no. The media are my problem. I can handle it, counselor." Wendell licked his lips and ran his fingers again and again through his sandy hair. The day had already taken its toll on him. "Wendell, who even knows about the report besides us? Burgland, research, my legal staff, and the secretaries who typed it. Anyone else?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (14)

Wendell grabbed his hair into a knot. "It's one of those fucking secretaries," he hissed. "Some sob sister out to save the world. Dammit. I'd like to get my hands on the bitch who ratted on us." His fury was cut short by the buzzer. "I'm sorry to disturb you," Glenda said over the intercom, "but Claire says the Times reporter is still holding. He says he's on deadline and wants an immediate answer. She doesn't know what to do." "Just hang on a second!" Wendell shouted into the intercom; to Ted he said, "The goddamned Times is going to say that the president of Steering Industries couldn't be reached for comment," Wendell growled to Ted. "The public reads that as an admission of guilt. We don't have a choice but to respond," he said to Ted after some thought. Ted gave him a doubtful frown. Ted was concerned only with the legal angles, and his instinct was to say nothing, what you don't say can't come back to hurt you in court. Wendell's concern, however, was public opinion, and the public convicts on hearsay. "What do you say, counselor? Get Hornish on the line?" "Why do we have to respond at all?" "Because somebody's already pissing in Hornish's ear. If we don't give our side of the story, they'll just print a bunch of sinister speculation, and I can guarantee it won't make us look good." Wendell, however, did not pick up the phone immediately. Over the last ten years, he had many run-ins with the Times' star science reporter. "But what do I say to Hornish? Yes, our medical records show an increase in reported illnesses among our people working with toxic herbicides? After several years of investigation, in which I might add no notice was given to the FDA or OSHA, Steering has confirmed that more people are getting cancer? Come on Ted, help me with this." "Can we deny that such a report exists?" Ted was calm, matter of fact. "Yeah, we can deny it. Just like you can deny that we have a signed receipt of Reinhardt's letter. But how will that play in court?" That revelation caught Ted like a punch to the gut. "How the hell did you know about that?" "Burgland tried that out on me before hitting you with it." Wendell turned to face Ted. "You're young, inexperienced," he said. Wendell often ribbed Ted about his youth,

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (15)

making much of the nearly twenty years difference in their ages. "You've still got a lot to learn about office politics and about Burgland." Ted usually parried Wendell's condescension, but there were larger matters at hand. "Wendell, I strongly recommend that you do not talk to him until we've worked out our position on this. Can't we simply say that we won’t comment on any investigations until they are complete and the findings have been analyzed and evaluated?" "Sure. Sure, we can say that and then read it in tomorrow's paper. All we've done is confirm everyone's worst suspicions about us. First, the hazard exists and second, we're trying to soft-pedal it." "So you're saying we have no choice but to talk to him." "At least we can find out what Hornish knows and maybe what he plans to write. This will give us a chance to formulate our own response. We'll tell him we'll get back to him with a quote. OK?" "I don't like it, and I don't think you should talk to him. But it's your call; you're the one in charge of media relations and you're the expert at handling the press." Wendell gave Ted a worried look and reached for the phone. Sweat stained his underarms and chest. His knuckles were yellow as he punched the Hold button and activated the speakerphone for Ted's benefit. "Hornish, this is Wendell Coates at Steering." "Yeah." "I've got my colleague, Ted Lasting, the VP of our legal department with me." "Okay." Hornish said nothing else. Wendell admired the man's cool. For the moment it was a battle of wills. For a few moments Wendell said nothing, but his discomfort finally led him to break the silence. "You wanted to know about the accuracy of those figures, I understand." "Can you confirm them?" the reporter asked. "Well, as you know, the report offers many statistics in support of its conclusions. Which of these are you particularly interested in?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (16)

Another long pause. Clearly Hornish was formulating his question with great care. Both Wendell and Ted wondered why. They had expected Hornish to fire away in rapid succession with a host of questions and to cut short any evasive replies. "Why don't we start from the beginning, Coates. Tell me when this report was begun." "Do you mean when it was written, or when the problem was first uncovered?" "The latter." "Well Hornish as you know, we routinely check the medical records of all our employees." "You mean you have access to their medical records from private physicians?" "No. On the contrary, we provide free annual check-ups to all to those involved with toxic chemicals. We think that is an enlightened policy, not instituted, I might add, at many other chemical or pharmaceutical companies." "And during this routine study, you noticed what?" Hornish asked brusquely, cutting off Wendell's self-serving monologue. "Why is he asking that?" Ted whispered to Wendell. Wendell only smiled, slyly. Into the phone he said, "I think the report is fairly selfexplanatory." "Yes, but what would you say it means, in your own words?" Wendell was on his feet now, pacing, and his face showed pure relief. "As you can see from the report, the conclusions are quite specific, but they indicate that great care should be exercised in interpreting the statistics." "Yes, yes." the Times reporter shouted impatiently into the phone. "But what does it conclude? Who is most affected? And what symptoms do they display?" Hornish growled. "What's the bottom line?" "Okay. Give me a minute. I want to get the document," Wendell said as he punched the Hold button. Immediately he turned to Ted and said excitedly, "That bastard doesn't have the report! He's fishing! He's got nothing but a rumor, and he's trying to pry more information from us. We'll, fuck him sideways." "I don’t know," Ted said. "Are you sure?" "Let's make certain. Give me your copy of the report."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (17)

Ted reached into his credenza and pulled a numbered copy from the open safe into which he had earlier deposited the Reinhardt file. His face was grave as he handed the document to Wendell. "Are you sure know you how to play it from here?" Wendell winked at Ted and pulled the document out of his hand. "Do I ever." He punched the Hold button on the telephone. "Hornish, you there?" "I took a leak and ate lunch but I'm back now," the reporter snapped. "Yeah I'm here." "I've got the document in hand now," Wendell answered, ignoring Hornish's attempt to bait him. "Why don't you turn to page 235, last paragraph, where the explanation of the conclusions begins." The silence on the other end of the phone set Ted's eardrums ringing. Wendell repeated himself. "Page 235. Have you turned to the page?" "I don't have to turn to the page," Hornish shouted. "Just read me the conclusions." "You don't have a copy to refer to?" Wendell asked sweetly. Silence. Then Hornish answered. "Why don't you messenger one over immediately?" "You don't have a copy then?" Ted interjected. "Don't play games with me," Hornish demanded. "We're not playing games, Mr. Hornish." Ted replied calmly. "We are simply attempting to determine the facts here. Do you have a problem with that?" Ted could sense the strain on Hornish's end. The reporter was trying to find a way to wiggle out from under these direct questions. "Are you there, Mr. Hornish?" "I'm here. So listen, Coates, are you going to give me your side of this or not?" Ted held up his hand to Wendell, and answered, "Under the circumstances, I don't think we have anything to say to one another." "Like hell we don't. You tipped your fucking hand and now you want to pull back. That's bullshit. There's trouble at Steering, and I want a comment from a responsible company officer. You flacks better come across, or there's going to be one hell of a scandal."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (18)

"I don't think scandal is quite the appropriate word, Mr. Hornish. At this point whatever you say is purely speculation. And as general counsel to Steering, I advise you not to deal in speculations." "Speculations my ass." Hornish was furious. "You just confirmed the existence of a report that says you have a health problem at Steering, and now you say there's no evidence? Don't fuck with me. I want a copy of that report. If you don't send one over, as soon as I hang up with you flacks I'm calling the FDA and OSHA, and we'll see how fast you turn copies of that report over to us. Don't think you can hide the fact that people are dying at Steering. You can't cover it up like a little shit on the sidewalk." "Again, as counsel to Steering, I advise you not to speculate." Ted played back in his mind the conversation between Wendell and Hornish. Wendell had confirmed the existence of the report, but had said absolutely nothing about its contents. No, Hornish didn't have anything to go to press with. "Save the advice," Hornish said. "We've got our own legal people, and I don't need you to tell me my job. You've got people dying over there, and you're playing games." "We're not playing games and nobody's dying!" Wendell shot back, his hands again at his hair. Ted gave him an icy stare and put his finger to his lips. Grim-faced, Wendell sank into his chair. "Then you're admitting people are sick?" "Look Hornish, we're not confirming or denying anything at this time," Ted answered. "We simply refuse to engage in speculation. I think the best thing to do is to get back to you shortly." Ted was preparing to disconnect the speakerphone but Hornish's voice stopped him. "You goddamned better get back to me or our attorneys will be investigating the suppression of a damaging document. Let me remind you, counselor, that now your ass is on the line on this." With that the line went dead. Wendell groaned. "Jesus, are we in the bag on this one." His tongue flicked feverishly over his lips. Ted slumped in his chair, thinking hard. He had to admire the craft of whoever had set this trap. It had been accomplished deftly and without fingerprints.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (19)

"Someone is out to break you with this." Ted rose and came around the desk. "Someone inside the company wants your nuts. You were set up." "What do you mean I was set up? Where the fuck were you during all this, Ted, in another room? Damn! You sure jump ship fast." "That's not my point," Ted said. "I'm just saying that this leak may have been aimed at hurting you as well as the company. You were ambushed." Wendell would hear none of it. "Fuck you, Quisling!" Wendell jumped to his feet and stormed out of the office. He was doing that a lot today, Ted thought, and this was an especially bad time for Wendell to lose his grip. The reputation of Steering Industries was on the line, and the burden would fall on both of them to ward off the attack by the Times. As Ted was puzzling over the next move, his private line rang. Burgland was on the other end. "What the hell is going on down there? Did you talk to Hornish?" "We did." "And?" "We were set up." "What do you mean?" "Someone maneuvered us into disclosing the existence of the health report." "Damn." Burgland's breath sounded hot around the word. What a miserable morning this had been. First Reinhardt; now the Times. "Well, what do you suggest counselor?" "Hold a bonfire."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (20)

CHAPTER 3

Hidden from the other executives in the dining room by a wall of potted trees, the two men sat facing the duck pond. Sleek mallards with green iridescent necks fluttered to a halt before the 14-foot-high glass window. Ted viewed them indifferently; they were invisible to Burgland. A waitress in company colors, gray dress, maroon hat and apron, approached the two men with a pot of coffee. She left an inch for cream in Burgland's cup and filled Ted's to the brim. As soon as she had poured the coffee, she withdrew. Ted half-expected Burgland to turn to him with an accusation. Burgland, however, simply wanted the details. "The damages. What are they, Ted?" Ted had not yet assessed them, but he knew they could be considerable. He was about to tell that to Burgland when a sweet, almost lilting, voice interrupted. "Hi daddy." Hope Burgland appeared from behind the potted trees. Heavy cords of gold hung from her neck. She purposely dressed the part of the rich bitch to ensure the envy of her friends. The ebony color of her dress brought out the sheen of her strawberry hair and displayed her jewelry with fine effect, as she well knew.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (21)

She bent to kiss her father and chucked the general counsel under the chin as if he were a teenager. "Hi Teddy," she said. The familiarity was meant to remind her father that she objected to someone so young in so important a position, even though, as she told him, she liked Teddy just fine. She seated herself beside Ted and rested her hand on his arm. While Burgland did not return his daughter's smile, Ted did. He enjoyed her youthful beauty, her spirit. No matter what the fashion, her skirts were always too short, and that was also fine with Ted. Her legs were graceful, slender columns, which he had more than once fantasized about. "Don't let me stop you two men from talking business," she said sweetly. Hope had no intention, however, of letting the "men" discuss business. When she entered a room she demanded attention. Burgland started to speak, but Hope preempted him. "Tell me daddy, how are the negotiations going with those Japanese?" She leaned closer to Ted and said in a stage whisper. "Those dreadful little men are trying to steal daddy blind," she laughed. "But of course you know all about that, Teddy." She patted his arm. Burgland again attempted to speak, and Hope once more interrupted. "Sebastian says you should stonewall them." At that, Burgland winced. He did not want another family squabble to erupt in front of his staff. Soothingly she said to her father, "I know, I know. You don't want me to discuss any of Steering's business with Sebastian. But daddy that's so unfair. Sebastian's my husband, and he's a lot smarter than you give him credit for." Sebastian was indeed her husband, against Burgland's wishes. He had never consented to the marriage. Hope had married quietly in Nassau, at Sebastian's home. Only Burgland's son Jerry and Sebastian's family and friends had attended. Burgland maintained that his objections to the marriage were based on evidence his private investigators had dredged up about Sebastian, and in private, Burgland had shared his fears about Sebastian with Ted. Although Sebastian's father was a respected Judge, Sebastian's business dealings had come under the scrutiny of government regulators. Only his father's influence had saved him from a prison sentence for a scam involving

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (22)

millions of dollars in real estate investments. Hope maintained what he really disapproved of was Sebastian's color. He was black as the African night. "But I wanted to tell him daddy," she continued, as if a silent conversation had transpired between them. Burgland continued his stony silence. "Just because you refuse to make him an officer of Steering doesn't mean he doesn't have a right to know about the company's business," Hope went on, her hand involuntarily clawing Ted's arm. "That's quite enough Hope," Burgland fumed. With his free hand, Ted raised his napkin and wiped his lips. Hope released his arm. With icy calmness, she rose. "Daddy's obviously in a bad mood today. I think I'll have lunch," she put her finger to her cheek, "let's see, Bloomingdale's? No, I don't think so. Daddy says I spend too much money. Oh, anyway I'll leave you two alone so you can have your man-to-man talk about the fabulous company," she said, and marched out. Burgland froze. He looked as if he might strangle her. Controlling his voice, he said, "I'd better speak to her." Yes, you'd better, Ted said to himself. Hope liked nothing better than to stir up trouble. In the hallway, Burgland caught up with Hope and grabbed her wrist. He spun her around. A waitress entering the hallway from the kitchen made an abrupt about face, the dishes on her tray clattering precariously. "What did you mean by that little display?" Burgland raged. "Let go of me," she said defiantly, wrenching free. "What the hell do you think you're doing, bringing up family disputes in the presence of my company officers?" Though a foot shorter than her father, Hope seemed for a moment to rear up over him. "What do you mean? You're a fine one to talk about family matters!" "What the hell are you talking about? Why all this heat?" He grabbed her wrist again.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (23)

"I'm mad, daddy," she shouted, "damned mad! My brother didn't have to die. Or have you forgotten him already?" she cried. She spun around and stormed down the hall, her high heels rattling on the parquet. Ted had never cared for what he'd seen of the relationship between Burgland and his daughter, but he spent no time analyzing it now. When he heard Burgland follow Hope down the hall, he finished his coffee and wandered into the executive dining room. The main room held perhaps fifty of the company's officers. In one corner sat Whit Chapin, the VP of research, and Ted had questions for him. Whit stood as Ted approached. As usual, he was impeccably dressed, no one at Steering was more aristocratic than Whit. He was tall, stately, always well groomed, and his mane of silver hair was long in back and covered his ears. His clothes were expensive and well tailored. His skin glowed with a healthy tan from his twice-weekly tennis games, and his grip on Ted's hand was well beyond firm. "Do I detect an absence of spring in the old step today, old man?" "It's only one o'clock, and the day is too long already," Ted answered, dropping into a chair. "The call from the Times, you mean?" Whit's eyes were bright. Ted looked at him with surprise. "Now how did you know about that? "Oh, I have my spies, you know." Putting his hand on Ted's arm he added, "Don't take it so hard, old man. But I tell you what. I'd keep my distance from Wendell if I were you. Everything he touches seems to turn to shit these days. Just keep your distance..." "And it won't rub off?" "Precisely. He has the smell of death about him," Whit said, wrinkling his nose. He obviously doesn't know, thought Ted. Whit's words sounded callous, but in fact he'd given himself the same advice, and had not followed it. Sad to say, Wendell was indeed trouble. "How did Wendell handle it?" "Well enough," Ted answered. "Too bad." "What do you mean?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (24)

"I'm afraid old Wendell's time has come. He has 'outlived his usefulness,' as Joe Stalin used to say, don't you think?" Whit was merry, Ted thought. Whit was a merciless gossip, and happily entered into office intrigues and alliances when it served his purposes. For Ted, this marred an otherwise charming personality. It also raised a red flag, and Ted was determined to keep his own counsel on this new crisis, especially in light of the rivalry between them. Both wanted to succeed Burgland in the presidency, and Ted knew that Whit felt assured of the post. He would show no weakness, which Whit could and surely would, use against him. "Come on, Ted, don't go silent on me. Wendell should go, for all our sakes. He just doesn't have the instincts for the job any more." It bothered Ted that you lasted at Steering only as long as you were useful, but it was probably no better anywhere else. For an instant he recalled his old high school basketball coach, who taught him to find a place on the team for each player. Sweet bird of youth. "I think it's time for lunch," Ted said, and buried his nose in the menu.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (25)

CHAPTER 4

The sleek Mercedes limousine jerked to a halt before the two-story atrium of Steering Industries. A berry-colored chauffeur darted out of the driver's seat and raced around the rear of the limo to open the door for his employer, but he wasn't fast enough. An irritated Burgland yanked the door open and dove into the car. Ted and a nervous Wendell Coates followed. "What the hell do you mean you were tricked?" Burgland growled. Wendell crouched in the limo's jump seat, his knees crushed against his chest. With his eyes moist from fear, he looked more than ever like a pitiful basset hound. His jowls appeared fuller, and he was not in control. "We were led to believe that Hornish had inquired about the health report, that he had a copy of it. But he didn't. Someone inside the company wanted the Times to know about our problem. Not just to cause a scandal, but to embarrass me personally by forcing me to disclose our problems." Wendell's eyes searched out Ted's. He was seeking support. "I was there too, Howard," Ted said. "I should have been more alert to a setup." Burgland stared only at Wendell Coates. "Wendell, you are in charge of media relations, are you not? You took the call, did you not?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (26)

"Look Howard, it wasn't my fault. Really it wasn't. I was tricked." He said this with his head down. He was embarrassed by his own plea. "Whoever plotted this did it so we'd cut our own throats," he said with mild assertiveness. Only now did Wendell glance up at Burgland. His discomfort was incomprehensible to Ted. Why, faced as he was with the reality of his own death, couldn't Wendell recapture some of his old spirit, the flair and inventiveness that had marked his years with the company? But lately, in a crisis, Wendell seemed to waiver between bitter anger, as in this morning's outburst, and abject surrender. Ted wished Wendell would finally show some spine, but the day and the illness had taken their toll, perhaps. When Wendell finally looked up and saw the disgust on Burgland's face, he again fell to examining his knees. With nothing more to be said, silence encompassed the riders. Burgland shifted slowly in his seat and reached past Wendell to open the bar that was tucked into the partition. He took a tumbler, dropped three cubes into it and poured himself a substantial shot of scotch. He turned to Ted. "The usual?" "Please." Burgland filled Ted's glass with two ounces of neat bourbon and handed it to him. Burgland leaned back in his cushioned seat and took a long pull on his drink. He said nothing to Wendell, who was doing his best not to fidget in his seat. Burgland finally nodded to Wendell. "Help yourself," he said without kindness, more a command than an invitation. "God knows you're going to need it." The limousine whispered along the expressway toward New York City. Burgland said nothing as he savored his drink; Wendell and Ted took their cue from him. Ted took the opportunity to inspect Burgland's profile as he viewed the passing scenery. His face was stern, but not taut. Anxiety left no traces on his cheeks. Finally Burgland broke the silence. "Handle this damned New York Times matter before it hemorrhages." Burgland waited for a reply. "Well, Wendell, what do you think?" "Sir?" Wendell said, betraying his preoccupation. Burgland's eyes fluttered ominously. Maybe Whit was right, Ted thought, and Wendell was beyond saving. But he would not abandon his friend.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (27)

"It's not a certainty," Ted interjected, "but I expect it will be a day or two before Hornish has enough to take to his editor. This was a fishing trip; now he's going to have to do some checking." "Can it be stopped, or at least postponed?" Burgland asked. "How?" Wendell asked. That was precisely the wrong question, and Burgland exploded. "Dammit, don't ask me! That's why I pay you that fat salary. You tell me how." For an instant anger flashed behind Wendell's tired eyes. The man with dreams was fighting to emerge. Wendell nervously rubbed his hands across his lips. Maybe he would live. Hang in there for a year. Then the pension would lock in, securing Jean’s future, and then he could tell Burgland to go die. "Let's take a different tack," Ted said. "The person who leaked this never sent a copy to the Times. Why?" He paused. "Because I suspect he never had access to it for any length of time, or time enough to copy it. Also, the way it was done, the person guaranteed himself anonymity. He didn't have to depend on Hornish's pleading confidentiality if it ever went to court. He kept himself out of the picture." Wendell nodded his complete approval. He was thankful to be momentarily off the hook and that Ted had become his ally. "So really, Hornish has nothing?" Burgland was wary. Ted shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Look how it was done, look at the whistle-blower's problem. He doesn't have the report, and he doesn't want to reveal his identity. If he calls Hornish directly, Hornish would demand the report, which he didn't have. He has no credibility, and Hornish just blows him off. So he does the only thing he can. He gets us to verify that a report exists. Now we're knee deep in shit." Ted didn't know how deep, but he knew what this could mean to Burgland: It could cut him off from the White House. Three weeks earlier, the President's chief of staff had called to ask Burgland if he would consider becoming the President's Science and Technology Advisor. Burgland was delighted, and had already begun the preliminary round of questions and disclosures. What were his finances like? Were there any problems the President should know about? Health problems at Steering, Ted knew, would certainly qualify.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (28)

In disgust, Burgland addressed Wendell. "You took the call. How exactly did we tip our hand to the Times?" Wendell was flustered, without anchor. He peered through the tinted window of the limousine and considered his reply. "Come, come Wendell. We haven't all day." Wendell straightened his back, if only momentarily. "What precisely did Hornish say?” Burgland pressed. “Did he ask you about the report?" "No." "Then how did he verify its existence?" "I told him I was returning the call about the report." "He didn't ask you about the report then?" "No," Wendell said in a flush of anger. "I've admitted that already. What more can I say?" "So, in effect, you broke the story to him. That's what it comes down to." "Come on, Howard, how the hell was I supposed to know it was a setup? Ted's secretary comes in and says Claire's gotten a call from the Times and wants me to handle it. It sounded to me as if Hornish was on top of it. At least that's what I assumed." "You're paid to think and not assume," Burgland snapped, "and to keep us out of the papers when we want out, or get us in when we want in. You're not supposed to be pulling the walls down around our ears." Burgland dusted some imaginary lint from his suit and spoke not another word until the limousine pulled to the curb in front of the 21 Club. Burgland slid out, the driver having succeeded in leaping to the door in time. For an instant, Burgland's energy sagged. The lines around his mouth deepened. "The situation requires careful handling," he said as the three men stood before entrance to the club. "Ted, I will see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning, say 8:45." He paused. "Wendell you needn't come to the meeting. However, I expect your resignation to be on my desk by that time." Without another word or backward glance, he entered the restaurant.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (29)

Wendell was stunned. Tears welled in his eyes. He rushed after Burgland. "I only need a little more time. Don't fire me, Howard," he shouted as the unhearing president went inside. Embarrassed by the display, Ted walked east on 52nd Street, unable to face Wendell and the emotional scene that would surely follow. He would go to dinner alone. For a while, at least, he wanted to shut out the world.

At precisely 8:45, Burgland called Ted into his office. None of the previous day's stress showed. The two men again sat on the sofas near the window; on the table were morning pastries and a rich, dark brew of coffee. Claire poured and left. Ted slipped his hand into his breast pocket and withdrew an envelope that he deposited on the table. It was Wendell's resignation. Burgland opened the envelope, glanced at the letter quickly, then threw it on the table. "Didn't have the balls to deliver it himself." "He asked me to give it to you last night." Wendell had come pounding on Ted's door at 2:30 in the morning. When Ted answered the door, Wendell angrily thrust the letter into his hand. "That's for the cocksucker. I don't give a shit anymore. I'm off to my home in Florida," he said, and strode off into the dark. Burgland only nodded. "How deep are we in Ted?" "Very." Burgland clasped his hands together in a knot and placed them under his nose. "You realize this could upset a number of my plans?" Ted nodded. He knew of several, including the White House invitation. He wondered if Whit knew about that. Probably. Burgland slowly unknotted his hands and rose by pressing his palms against his knees. He was like a small mountain. A solid figure towering above Ted. "All right," he said evenly, "then you know what to do." The calm tone belied the threat implicit in the message. Ted felt a vague uneasiness. "Do I?" he said.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (30)

"Of course you do," Burgland answered evenly. "Just take care of it." Weighing each word carefully, Burgland continued. "I don't care how. Furthermore, from this moment on I don't want to know how. Do whatever is necessary." Each word caught Ted like a cuff to the ear. "You make it all sound so sinister," Ted said. He didn't like what he was hearing, or feeling, yet he knew he'd do it. Burgland had hired him to represent the company, and his duty to his CEO was clear. On the other hand, Ted had always prided himself in discharging his duties with absolute integrity. Just how far he could go to cover up any wrongdoing on the part of Steering Industries he was not yet sure, but he knew his limits were about to be put to the test. Burgland arched his brows. The two stared intently into one another's eyes. Burgland's would brook no challenge and no disloyalty. "Just report back to me when the matter is settled." "Assuming this fire can be brought under control," Ted added. "It had better be Ted -- that is if you have hopes of becoming president of anything but an empty warehouse."

A pair of angry eyes watched Ted leave Burgland's office, and a pair of busy hands closed an inter-office envelope. The eyes followed Ted down the hall from a safe distance. When Ted turned the corner, the envelope was inconspicuously dropped into the mail cart as the mail room clerk passed Wendell's empty office.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (31)

CHAPTER 5

The immediate task was to find out if anything could be done about the report, and that meant a visit to the author, Parabandur Vishni. The Indian scientist was half hidden behind racks of test tubes and flasks filled with a cherry-colored nutrient for culturing microbes. By the standards of Steering Industries, Vishni's lab was not extravagant. The scientist constructed most of his own equipment. Wires dangled from his self-concocted electrophoresis system. He was investigating natural painkillers, and the results of his work were not only important to Steering's bottom line but also, ultimately, in contesting Reinhardt's patent claims. When Ted approached Vishni, the scientist was intently threading DNA. His attention was fixed on the beakers and flasks before him. He poured fresh brain extract into a 95 percent solution of denatured alcohol and stirred. As he swirled a glass rod in the fluid, a milky white mass of DNA congealed on the rod. Two hundred and fifty mice had given their lives for less than a half ounce of pure genetic material. Ted coughed unexpectedly and startled Vishni, who muttered, "Oh my dear goodness." The scientist turned to see who had wandered into his normally silent lab.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (32)

"Oh it is you Ted. You must be careful not to frighten a distracted scientist half to death. What can I do for you this morning?" "I want to discuss the health report with you." "You mean the one the irritable little man from the Times called about." "That son of a bitch. Got to you, did he?" "Yes. But not to worry. I had nothing to tell him." "Did he know it was you who put the statistics together?" Vishni slowly swung his head from side to side. "No." "Good. Well, I've got to know if you agree with the results of the report. The conclusions." Vishni looked hurt. "Of course. I would not put my name to a document if I believed it incorrect." "No, no, I was asking something else. I only wondered if a report this complex might have grey areas, areas where there is uncertainty." "Quite right. There are places of some uncertainty." "Could you point them out." "But they have been," Vishni said in exasperation, "in the report itself. The appendix includes several paragraphs of most important explanation." Ted showed his disappointment. He had hoped Vishni could open an escape hatch. He apparently could not. "Let me ask another question. The manufacturing plant in question is in Rutherford isn't it?" Vishni nodded. "Do you have the addresses of the workers who participated in the study?" Again Vishni nodded. "Can you get me a list?" "Of course." "I think this may have bearing on the report. I'd also like to have a count of the number of people living in New Jersey, by community. A list of those people in the study who have made improvements to their homes within the last ten years. Okay?" "With your authorization, certainly. It will take time." "We haven't got time."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (33)

"When will you need such a list?" "Within the week." Vishni bobbed his head. "Yes. Priority computer time will be quite expensive, of course." "So? Haven't we been extravagant in the past? Look at your salary for example." Vishni smiled, then said uncertainly, "My dear Ted, I know you are an honest and a good man. But there are unkind words being spoken about you." "The grapevine is already humming, is it? What's the ugly word?" "That you are not a good friend to Wendell Coates, that you stood by while he was, someone said, hung out to dry. That you should have saved this poor soul." "That's about par for the course." "Par?" "Never mind. What else." "I have heard it said that it was you who were the real object of this attack, not Wendell Coates, not Howard Burgland." "That sounds like something Whit might have dreamed up." "One never knows the source. Words are like seeds in the wind, and one sees only the direction they are blown." Ted pulled up a tall lab stool, perched on it, and leaned closer to Vishni. "Look, my faithful Indian scout, it looks like somebody is out to destroy this company, and I'm damned if I'm going to let it happen. Now, I know that you don't want to see this company to go down either, so I want you to let me know if you hear anything that sounds like bad news, anything that sounds like the beginning of trouble." "I can tell you of more than the beginning of trouble, my friend. Someone has contaminated my experiments." "Good Christ, what next? What in hell are you talking about?" "I am talking about six months of work, ruined. Someone has infected the genetically engineered mice which we were using to test Reinhardt's speculations. A new strain was introduced, and I no longer have confidence in the results." "Perfect. Now we have a saboteur to contend with -- probably the same dildo who pissed in Hornish's ear."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (34)

"Whoever he is, this dildo is clever. You must be careful yourself, my friend. The devil's boots do not creak. If you move against him, you may be his next target." "The devils boots -- that's a good one, Vish. I'll remember. Listen, get me that survey information, and don't tell anyone about the mice for now. And keep your eyes peeled, old scout." "Eyes peeled, my goodness," Vishni chuckled happily, and made a note on his clipboard. "A most excellent expression. I will watch and I will listen. But this survey -you have me quite perplexed, my dear Ted. What are you looking for?" "Truth, Vishni. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." "Ah. This, I can assure you, you will not find." The Indian smiled. "But I can most certainly provide information. For truth you must consult the Bhagavadgita."

"Will you buzz Howard for me?" Ted asked Claire. "I've got to see him for a minute." "He's in with Whit. Do you want me to interrupt?" "Yes, please. Ask him when he'll be free." She lifted the receiver and pressed the intercom button. "It's Ted. He'd like to see you as soon as possible." She nodded twice and said, "Certainly," then gently replaced the receiver in its cradle. "He asked that you wait a few minutes. He and Whit are nearly done." Ted sat on a couch near Claire. She fidgeted. Ted's intensity made her uncomfortable. She withdrew a compact from her purse and dabbed at some imaginary imperfection, then flicked the compact closed. Ted noted her unease, and tried to relax her with a compliment. "That's a new blouse, isn't it? It's lovely," he said. While Claire wore conservative office dress, nothing could ever disguise her seductive figure. "Oh, its nothing," she said, pleased. "I wish," he said with a smile. "Ted Lasting! You are awful."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (35)

He smiled. "We men are dogs, you know that, Claire. Guilty as charged." He knew he was on thin ice, but something about her, some new response in her called forth his recklessness. Claire looked at him seriously. "Ted, I want to say something that perhaps I ought not to. I know you liked Wendell Coates, but you shouldn't take responsibility for his problems. It wasn't your fault he was fired, despite the washroom talk to the contrary. He'll make out. I hope you're not going to do something foolish." The door to Burgland's office opened. Claire straightened immediately, as if she had been caught in an indiscretion -- which perhaps she had. She felt as if she were being somehow disloyal to Burgland. Whit came through the door. He registered no surprise at seeing Ted there. Whit winked. "Don't forget about our meeting this afternoon." Ted nodded and entered Burgland's office. Claire followed him with her eyes. She hoped he would take her advice. When Ted entered, Burgland was at his desk marking a sheet of paper. He put it aside, face down and stood. "What can I do for you, Ted?" Burgland always asked this question. It put him in the role of bestower of favors; you weren't doing for him as much as he was doing for you. "I believe we should reconsider Wendell's circumstances," he said without preamble. Burgland's face grew only slightly more rigid. "I thought that matter entirely resolved." "Yes, I did too. But I think we ought to consider some additional factors before we put it to bed." Burgland moved his hand in front of him, as if wiping a window. "Wendell's through." Wendell had made a serious mistake antagonizing Burgland over the last year with his petty fights, his opposition to Burgland's decisions, and his flagrant arguments over policy. He had soured a friendship. At one time Wendell had been a frequent visitor to Burgland's home. That ended about a year ago, as the bitterness grew between them.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (36)

"Howard I wasn't implying that he should be retained," Ted said, "only that we might be able to find a way to help him out financially. He has less than a year before he can get his pension." Burgland sucked his lips. "There's no reason to cut Wendell off at the knees," Ted continued. "Yes, he's a fool. Yes, he didn't take the advice we gave him, didn't straighten out. All true. But Wendell is only eight or nine months away from twenty years of service and his fiftieth birthday. At that time, he gets full medical coverage and a full pension. That means a lot to him, very little to us, to Steering that is. Why not keep him on the payroll until his pension comes into effect?" Ted knew that this appeal to sentiment would mean nothing to Burgland. He simply wanted to give Burgland a chance to deny him now, so that he could accede to Ted's second, stronger line of argument without losing face. "Why are you taking Wendell's side?" Ted began to answer, but Burgland would not wait. "Conscience?" He came around from his desk. "You know you're not responsible for what happened to Wendell. He brought it on himself. He's been begging to have his ass kicked for a long time, and I have let him slide until now. I even liked the man once myself. There's a lot to Wendell." Burgland remembered the man he once liked and shook his head. "There's no room for Wendell here anymore. He's a liability now." Ted appeared to consider this point, then said, "You know, Howard, I think you may have hit on something we've both missed until now. We don't want Wendell as an enemy." "Who the hell cares if he's an enemy," Burgland snapped. "I've had worse." "So you have. But you've seen how he's been acting in the last few months. He's losing it. We don't need him as a loose cannon. He can make additional problems for us at a time when we need them least. We don't need a disgruntled ex-company officer with a grudge." This seemed to make an impression. "Let me ask you, Ted, if this matter of Wendell will influence your decision regarding what we need to do next?" Ted said levelly, "I'm not a blackmailer, Howard."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (37)

"Now, Ted, I certainly wasn't implying that." Burgland backpeddled immediately. "I was concerned about your enthusiasm." Ted knew Burgland was really concerned only about his loyalty. "Look Howard, my loyalties are here with the company. You can count on that." "Then about the Times matter, there's no doubt it will be resolved?" "None. I'll handle it." "Excellent. Hornish can very quickly become more of a ... " "More of a burr up the ass than Wendell is?" Burgland laughed. "You have a gift for expressing yourself Ted. Be careful, or I may appoint you VP of public relations, too." Again he laughed. "What can I tell Wendell?" Burgland spread his hands magnanimously. "We won't accept his resignation until after his birthday." "Great. I think that's the smart move." Burgland raised his finger. "There's one thing. I'd like to be the one to tell him." Ted understood and made no objection. "I'm really glad you made that choice Howard." There was obviously more that Ted wanted to say, Burgland thought. "Why is that?" Ted looked Burgland straight in the eyes. "Because Wendell is dying." Burgland then said something Ted would never forget. It was an object lesson in self possession; it said never fall prey to guilt. Burgland stared into Ted's eyes and said: "So?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (38)

CHAPTER 6

The next morning, Ted rode the elevator down to Whit's lab. There wasn't much chance he'd be able to tease much out of the man, assuming he knew anything at all about the leak to the Times. Hornish had been ringing phones all day, throughout the company, and Ted only prayed the reporter had not found a disloyal employee with an axe to grind. The door to Whit's lab was open. Several researchers were busy mixing chemicals and setting up glassware in complicated configurations. Scott Cooke, the tall ivy-leaguer who ran Whit's lab, stood to greet Ted. "Come to watch us minor functionaries polish test tubes?" he asked, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief. "Cut the crap, Scotty. Just because you're not the chief of research yet is no reason to get cheeky. At least wait 'til you graduate." Scott was one of Whit's golden boys. They had met at a conference in Boston where Scott, a Harvard undergrad, had presented an astute paper on plasmids. Impressed, Whit suggested on the spot that Scott transfer to Princeton the following semester, with the promise that Steering would pay for his schooling right through to his doctorate. In return, Scott would work 20 hours a

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (39)

week in Whit's lab. Without a moment's hesitation, Scott accepted, and the two had become close friends since. "What can I do for you?" Scott asked, sniffing again. "Catch a cold?" Ted asked. "Nah, an allergy." Scott dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief. "Well, get busy and invent a cure. Where's the boss? We were supposed to get together yesterday afternoon, but I got hung up." "I'm afraid you missed him. He's been in Atlanta since yesterday evening. A conference on neuropharmacology." "Know when he'll be back?" "Monday," Scott said, taking the hanky to his nose once again. "Well, tell him I came by to make up for our missed meeting yesterday, okay?" Ted turned to go. "Hey, it's Friday. What about joining me and a couple of the guys for poker tonight?" Gambling was Scott's and, to some extent, Whit's passion. Ted was not much of a gambler, but he realized that Scott was extending his friendship, not really asking about poker. "I'd love to sometime, but I can't make it tonight. Keep me posted on your game." Scott smiled shyly, and Ted left the lab.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (40)

CHAPTER 7

Ted woke to hissing and howling, to find himself in tangled sheets. Two of his cats were snarling at one another, whacking at the air between them. Ted sat up, hungry and in a foul mood. "Cut it out," he yelled. He threw a pillow at the Russian Blue, who attacked his fellows daily to maintain his dominance. Tsar turned and leapt away with dignity. Unwinding himself from the sheets, Ted opened the bedroom door and wandered toward the familiar aroma in the kitchen. At least Mr. Coffee hadn't let him down. He rarely remembered his dreams, yet that didn't keep the bad ones from tainting his day. Maybe Hornish hadn't called last night. Maybe he hadn't cajoled, then threatened, then turned positively nasty. Maybe, but Ted doubted it. It hadn't all been a dream. Wrapped in his flannel robe, he settled himself on the rattan couch in the sun room and breathed in the April light. It had an uncommon brilliance this morning. The light danced on the drooping leaves of his ficus, the plant Tsar had selected as a scratch post and occasional litter box. Outside, the rows of green in his garden would soon be

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (41)

adorned with deep pastel blooms of blue starlites, pink azaleas, and white mountain laurel. The morning chill lingered, and Ted warmed his hands on the cup as he brought the coffee to his lips. The anger of his dreams was leaving him. Pleasant, he thought. Peaceful even. Nature turning, the seasons slipping one into another. He would have gone on, half awake, half dreaming, if the shrill ring of the phone had not pierced his thoughts. Annoyed he let it ring, hoping it would soon stop. But it rang for a full minute. Finally, he lunged for it. "Yes," he said impatiently. "It's Wendell." The voice faltered. "Wendell, how the hell are you? I've been worried about you. You okay?" "No." Wendell's breathing was heavy. "I've got to see you. Right away." "What's wrong?" "I can't tell you over the phone." "Did you go down to your Florida place?" "Yes. But you've got to come here immediately. It's urgent." "I don't understand. Can't you tell me what's so important over the phone?" "No, I can't." The tension in Wendell's voice increased. "You've got to come." "Tell me what it is." "I can't." Wendell pleaded. "But it could mean a lot to Steering Industries." "Wendell!" Ted knew Wendell was pushing his buttons. "I absolutely will not come down there unless you give me some idea of what's so damned important." "Murder," he said, and hung up.

By noon Ted was on Continental flight 691 to Miami. He chose the airline because its record keeping was the worst in the industry, so tracing his route would be difficult. He used an alias and paid in cash for his ticket. To further minimize the possibility of having his movements later tracked, Ted chose another disorganized organization for his car -- Rent-A-Wreck, a company that surely would be out of business by the time anyone became interested in his activities. On this

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (42)

sunny clear weekend the only car available was a red '67 Chevy with a dented front left fender and torn grille. Ted asked the attractive agent if she was certain the thing would run. With her prettiest smile, she assured him she had no way of knowing, but guaranteed if he had any trouble, Rent-A-Wreck would reimburse him for "alternate" means of transportation. He surely would breathe easier, he told her and pocketed the keys. He got in the car and gunned the engine. Two hours later he was rocking over the bridge onto Sugar Loaf Key. Perspiration clung to Ted like moisture on a cool glass. The pretty Rent-A-Wreck agent had failed to tell him about the air conditioner that wouldn't cool below 79 degrees. The asphalt simmered. Heat rose from it in waves that blurred and shifted the landscape behind it. Ted sped along the shoreline on the isolated ribbon of road. The mangroves perched above the light green water like a flock of wading storks. The desolate seascape reminded him of crusty bread with mold, relieved only occasionally by a lone palm with lacquered leaves spread toward the relentless sun. Ted had not yet seen a home or any sign of life on the key other than a few birds. Twice he swerved to avoid a snake wriggling across the road. "All we need now is an alligator," he muttered. He did not much care for such absolute solitude. Even the Atlantic seemed uninhabited. No boats fluttered bright sails in the breeze. Impatient with the isolation, he raced along the roads at 60 miles an hour, doing his best to recall the location of Wendell's vacation home, which he had visited only once before. His tires screeched in protest on an unexpectedly sharp turn, and from the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of white and the orange of a Spanish tile roof. He hit his brakes, backed up, and thumped the car over a shaky wooden bridge, then turned right to follow the road over a lagoon that connected the Atlantic and the Gulf. Just beyond an opening, Ted saw a white chicken coop, and twenty feet beyond it Wendell's tan Buick LeSabre. It was parked next to a trailer straining under the weight of a 32-foot yawl Wendell had bought 12 years earlier, in expectation of his sunset days. The one-story white portico house with orange tiled roof rested on level coral. One side of the house was not 40 feet from the Atlantic, protected from the calm ocean by a seawall. Ted

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (43)

recalled Wendell and Jean, both early risers, sitting on the patio in the mornings eating breakfast under the broad trees and watching the sun burst upon the horizon. As Ted drove toward the house, a scruffy bull mastiff silently rushed at the red Triumph. Aware of the breed's reputation for crushing jaw power, Ted remained in his car and honked the horn. "They're great animals these bulls," Wendell said as he appeared from one of the copses of tall pine trees that dotted the key. "They're bred for silence," he said without apology. "A good-sized bull can take a large man to the ground in seconds and drag him a mile." "Delightful," Ted said. "Is there any way to get out of my car without being torn to pieces?" Wendell pulled the dog to his side and patted its rump until it sat obediently. Ted edged out of the car, eyeing the dog carefully. Wendell looked terrible. In the last several days, he had aged noticeably. His translucent skin mottled with purplish patches, which his faint tan had only darkened. Ted was dripping from the heat, but Wendell was wrapped in a sweater and light jacket. He appeared puffy, particularly around the mouth and eyes, and there was an unnatural bulge on the left side of his rib cage. When Wendell took Ted's hand in greeting, the mastiff shook its huge head and white spittle flecked Ted's pants and the car door. Ted stepped away, but Wendell gripped his hand, and an eerie warning registered in his eyes. "Don't you have any cute pets?" Ted asked, recovering his composure and retrieving his hand. Wendell's grip was unusually powerful. "Jes' chickens, but they ain't much to look at neither," he said with a trumped-up drawl. "You know, Wendell, I always thought you were full of shit when you told me you'd like to give it all up and live the quiet life. But this isn't the quiet life," Ted said, looking around. "Chickens, mosquitos, snakes... Shit, this isn't just quiet, it's total silence. Where's Jean?" "She'll be down in a week or two." The man who said this was nothing like the Wendell who had called that morning. The hesitation and fear were gone, and now he seemed aloof, wary.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (44)

Ted shrugged as if unconcerned, though he was busy getting a slant on things. He felt slightly put off by Wendell, and wondered why he wasn't getting straight to the point. For the moment he'd let Wendell lead and see where he went. "Well, come on in, counselor." Wendell moved toward the front door. "Can't have you standing here without a drink. Let's go in and get a scotch." As he walked away, the wind whipped at Wendell's jacket. It flapped high enough in the hot breeze for Ted to get a glimpse of the bulge. It was a holster. Ted ignored it. "I don't drink much scotch." "You do here. It's all I got." "In that case, pour away." Wendell opened the lop-sided green screen door, and the two men stepped into the bedraggled living room. One of the couches had been shredded by a cat, and Wendell had thrown a small floral rug over the arm to cover it. The evidence of a cat sparked Ted's memory. "Wendell, what the hell are you doing with a dog? You didn't have one in New Jersey. You always said you were a cat person, couldn't stand dogs, called them sycophantic." Wendell simply smiled and drew a bottle and two glasses from a cabinet. "You want water? Soda?" "Just rocks is fine." He rattled some ice into the glasses and filled them both with three fingers. Wendell swirled the scotch in his glass, staring into it. When he'd seen whatever it was he was looking for, he downed the alcohol in two large gulps and refilled his glass. He raised the glass toward Ted, indicating he didn't understand what was keeping him behind. Ted saluted Wendell and brought the glass to his lips for a sip. Wendell drank off half his glass. He's stiffening himself for something, Ted thought. Wendell motioned him onto the long sofa. The two end tables were cluttered with pictures of Wendell's two daughters. Both men leaned back and let the alcohol take its effect. Memories of good times flashed through Ted's mind, and he again felt closer to Wendell. "Okay, let's cut to the chase. What's this about murder?" Wendell leaned forward and placed his hand on Ted's knee. Ted drew closer. "Do you like to fish?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (45)

"Wendell, don't get weird on me. I can take the fish or leave them just now. Now what's this about a murder?" "Groupers are running good now," Wendell said calmly. "You can catch some not more than a mile out, run to twenty pounds or more." He spread his hands to translate pounds into feet. Ted ran his hands across his eyes in exasperation. "Won't take but a few minutes to get us out there," Wendell continued. "You can use my best fiberglass rod and Berkeley spinner. Casts a damned mile -- if you're good." Ted surrendered. He rose when Wendell rose and followed him into the yard. "Grab that can of gasoline by the car and bring it down, would you?" Wendell waked off toward a second boat, one Ted had not seen from the driveway, which lay tied to the dock off the west side of the house. It was a 16-foot Boston Whaler with a canvas Bimini top. "Wendell, I didn't come down here to go fishing." Ted carried the can down onto the dock. "Get with the program, Ted. That's all there is to do down here." Wendell hopped into the boat. He primed the 75 horsepower Evinrude and yanked hard on the starter cord. The engine roared instantly. Ted looked down at his expensive pants and loafers. "Fuck it." He handed the can over the side, and jumped in. Wendell revved the engine, and the boat sped away from the dock. Ted was not ready for the acceleration, and he sat down hard on a floatation cushion. "Prick." "What's that you say?" "Prick. You're being a prick, Wendell." Wendell put his hand to his ear and played deaf. He gunned up the engine and planed the Whaler at 15 knots. Wendell handled the boat expertly, maneuvering through the shallow channels and narrow inlets that branched like blood vessels through the key. The breeze whipped at his hair, and Ted leaned back to enjoy the salt spray. The water was a painter's palette of pale green in the shallows, azure nearby, deep blue and slate gray at the depths, billowing

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (46)

brown and white behind the boat. Everywhere darted sun-bright schools of fish that changed direction in unison, creating instant flashes of silver. After ten minutes of what seemed like aimless meandering to Ted, the boat still threaded through mangrove and underbrush, aimed neither at deep Atlantic nor Gulfstream waters. "I thought you said something about deep water fishing," Ted shouted. Again Wendell made no response. Ted dug into the tackle box and rummaged through the lures. "You ought to buy some silver spinners if you're after grouper." Wendell ignored him. Ted leaned against a life preserver, using it as a cushion, and turned his face to the sun. Shadows danced behind his lids. They were back in the mangroves. With his eyes closed, he decided to wait Wendell out. When he was ready to talk, he'd talk. The engine died suddenly, the Whaler dropped its nose back into the the water, and the two men coasted toward a hidden inlet not six feet wide. Wendell grabbed an oar and used it as a tiller. "How's your stomach Ted?" "Not hungry, thanks." "That's not what I meant. If you don't have a strong stomach, you'd better not look." Ted turned to see what Wendell was pointing to. "Oh my God." His stomach boiled, his sides heaved, and he emptied himself in waves over the side of the boat. "You're luckier than me. When I saw it I had a heart attack." Ted didn't look up. Wendell's voice droned on. "The pain struck on my left side. Then it spread to my arm. I knew then I was in deep shit. It took me thirty minutes to get back to the house and then thirty more for the ambulance to arrive." "Who is it?" Ted whispered, all color drained from his face. "Derrek Reinhardt." The bloated body lay face up in the water. One ankle was bound with a black extension cord to the root of a mangrove tree. The body had fallen away from the tree and now dangled half upside-down in the water. The flesh was mottled, and pieces were missing

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (47)

where the fish had fed. Ted retched again, but only a trickle of bitter fluid rose in his throat. "How can you be certain it's him?" "Thursday it wasn't so bad. He didn't look so much like leftovers then." "Jesus. You're a cold-blooded son-of-a-bitch, aren't you. Doesn't this bother you slightly?" "Sure it does." Wendell's face was solemn. "I told you, the first time I saw this I had a heart attack." He was reluctant to say more. Both men looked at the corpse as fish pulled at it. Ted turned away as his stomach rolled once again. "Okay, Wendell, let's hear it. First of all, why haven't you called the police?" "I wanted to," he admitted. "I would have, too. But when the ambulance arrived, I was too weak to even speak. I tried to, but the attendants strapped an oxygen mask to my face and told me to rest. By the time I was strong enough to talk, I didn't want to. I had a lot of time in the emergency room to think. I thought about my life, about Jean. And I decided I wanted to live. Somebody murdered Reinhardt, and I didn't want to be the next victim. I decided I wouldn't say anything." Ted took another look at the corpse, and saw that Reinhardt's chest was gaping open, and that fish fed lustily near the heart. He gazed with morbid fascination at the wrecked remains. His stomach was at last calm. "That's why I called you," Wendell said. "What the hell can I do for you?" "Provide protection." "Protection? How?" "Look, Reinhardt came here to tell me something. Whoever killed him didn't want me to know whatever that was. I don't know, and I won't act like I know." Wendell hesitated. "Frankly, I'm scared shitless. I think the killer is watching me." "That explains the gun." "And the dog." "But not why you called me."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (48)

Wendell looked away. "The murder is somehow connected to the patent claim, it's got to be. You're the expert there. So I thought you should know. Besides, I don't want to be alone in this." "Thanks one fuckin' hell of a lot." "Besides, you owe me something." "And what would that be." "You got me fired. You owe me help." "Look, Wendell. I'm your friend, and I was there. But you took the call even though my advice was that we have no comment. Not to mention the fact that you've been rubbing Howard the wrong way for the last few years, and you know it." As exasperated as Ted was, he would not tell Wendell he'd finessed Burgland into saving his pension. "You could have stopped it," Wendell protested. "You saw how I was set up. You could have defended me against that fascist Burgland." "None of that makes any difference now. Look, Wendell. I'm here, and I'm in this with you. So just tell me what you know, and stop with the self-serving bullshit. I couldn't have saved you, and Burgland is not the hardass you think he is." "Oh yeah? Well what you don't know is that Reinhardt warned me about Burgland! Your buddy. Your patron saint. He said Burgland's a killer and that he had proof of it. He warned me to watch out. Evidently he didn't watch out himself." "Bullshit." "Oh, bullshit? Just wait until the knife is in your back."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (49)

CHAPTER 8

Ted stared at his reflection in the window of the plane and wondered about the man who stared back. What had happened to him? A week ago he was an ambitious corporate attorney with a spotless record and a good shot at the presidency of Steering Industries. Now he was questioning Burgland's honesty, suppressing a damaging health report, and committing a misdemeanor by failing to report a crime. He was risking everything, everything he had been building toward. For what? For the last ten years he had groomed himself for his job, developed all the proper assets; he was quick-minded, tough, loyal, tight-lipped, did what was asked of him, never complained, and showed the world a professional face no matter what his feelings. Yet suddenly the code of professional behavior was not enough, and ambition was no longer an adequate compass. His loyalty to Burgland was especially problematic. What should his position be if it turned out Burgland was behind Reinhardt's killing? His job was to represent the company's interests. Did that mean he should automatically defend Burgland from a charge of murder, even do what he could to block a prosecution, to preserve the company? Or would it be in the company's interest -- it would obviously be in his own -- to let Burgland go down? How should he manage his own interests in the matter?

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (50)

As he disembarked from the plane, Ted realized that for the first time in his life, he did not know if he was up to the challenges arising from his position of trust. He had lost touch with himself, had kept his head down and rammed along the corporate track for so long that he no longer knew himself. Nor, he realized, did he really know Wendell or Burgland. These men were not as they appeared, and Reinhardt's murder meant he had to get behind their masks. Ted strode quickly through Newark airport and made his way to the telephones. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he was looking forward to his next move. Wendell's accusation had opened a door for him; it gave him a reason to get closer to Claire. He had to see the other side of Burgland to learn whatever he could about the man, and she could help. She knew him, she saw sides of him that were kept hidden from Ted, and she might have answers to some of the questions forming in his mind. He deposited his quarter and dialed Claire's number. Whit tapped Ted on the shoulder outside Burgland's office. Whit was relaxed, as always. His moods were all in cool pastel colors. "How did the conference go?" Ted asked. Whit shrugged. "As expected. Nothing special. And, you? How was your weekend?" "Great. Couldn't have been better," Ted lied. Another weekend like that he never wanted again. "You got a moment? I'd like to ask you a few questions about Reinhardt." Whit showed no concern. "Sure. My office okay?" They walked down to Whit's neat-as-a-pin office. Every object was in its place. Charts hung neatly on one wall, while two other walls were reserved for framed photographs of Whit posing with world figures. Curiously, the picture Whit treasured most was of him receiving an award as an amateur magician from Doug Henning. "I'd like to discuss Reinhardt. He's really a problem," Ted said. A shiver ran down his spine. "I know," Whit answered. "What are we going to do about him? That letter Howard got is downright offensive."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (51)

How like Burgland, Ted thought, to give the impression that their conversation about Reinhardt had been exclusive, and then show the letter to Whit. "Good. Then I won't have to bring you up to speed," Ted replied. "Can you gather whatever correspondence you have from Reinhardt?" Whit agreed with a shrug. "Do you keep a diary?" "Of course." "Excellent. Then it won't be difficult for you to summarize your conversations with Reinhardt -- time, place, particulars." "I'm afraid it would. It's not that sort of diary. Here take a look," he said, handing Ted his current one. Steering issued to each of its scientists hardcover lab books in which to record all observations and experiments, including pasted-in records from instruments, all duly marked with dates and times. Ted couldn't read it. "Not only do you write like a mad scientist, but you're a southpaw. This is indecipherable," he said, returning the diary. Whit's handwriting was tight and strongly slanted to the left. The writing looked as much like Arabic as English. "I'll read it to you if you want. I record all my data and observations in it." "No, that's okay. Do you keep a personal diary?" "Afraid not." "Hmm." "Come now; it's not all that bad. Look on the bright side. The lab notebook that I do keep proves I was onto Reinhardt's ideas months before he wrote the letter to Steering -which," he emphasized, "I do not recall having read or initialed." "We still have a problem. You realize that Reinhardt reported some of his observations in an article he wrote a little more than a year earlier than the letter submitted to us?" "Of course. And that's all to the better. It strengthens our case. If he didn't file a patent claim within a year of publication of his ideas, then he has no patent claim. Our claim is already on file." "That may or may not help when it comes to a lawsuit."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (52)

"Listen carefully Ted. I don't steal ideas. I don't have to. I'm too brilliant for that. Understood?" "Yes, yes, it will be no problem to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that you're a genius. I'm just looking for a way to save your ass from the wolves, buddy. To prove you didn't pick Reinhardt's brain." "I don't need to prove that," Whit snapped. "You might not, but Steering does. You know perfectly well that we have to prove that a) Reinhardt did not substantially contribute to the research to test these ideas, and b) that his ideas, in themselves, couldn't translate into workable processes. Then maybe, just maybe, we can wangle our way out of a patent infringement case." Whit nodded. He also knew that just the bringing of such a case could tarnish his own reputation. "How many times did you actually meet with Reinhardt?" Whit eased himself back into his chair. "I'd say not more than four or five times. He came to me through Wendell. He was writing a review article for Science Magazine on neurotransmitters." "Did you ever meet him alone?" "Never. Always with Wendell." "Never outside of Steering?" "No. Why should I? He wasn't a colleague or a friend." "Of course. I'm just covering bases," Ted explained. I don't want Reinhardt's attorney saying information was conveyed informally -- you know, passed off as speculation, pie-in-the-sky thinking -- over dinner, that's all." "All our conversations took place on Steering premises. In every case someone from the company was present." "Did he phone you?" Whit nodded. "Yes, but always Wendell was conferenced in." "You never deviated from that protocol?" "Never." Whit hesitated. "You know Ted, I think, now that you've jogged my memory, that Reinhardt could easily have gotten some of his thinking from me, from the interviews, and forgotten his source -- and then fed it back to me, believing he had

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (53)

extended my thinking, or originated the ideas himself. He's a very strange bird, and I personally have my doubts both about his motives and mental stability." Ted liked what he heard. It was plausible. It reversed the tables nicely. "Do you have any written proof of this, or tape recordings that would substantiate what you say?" Whit shook his head. "No. Maybe Wendell could recall the conversations; but he's not a credible witness. He doesn't understand the first thing about science. Any attorney would gut him quickly." Ted nodded his agreement. "How about your notebooks? Would they support your case?" "Yes, but only to a degree. The line of reasoning was highly speculative at the time. And I kept it that way. Meaning I didn't commit it all to my notebook." This, Ted knew, was quite common. Most scientists kept one book with numbered pages for what they considered solid work, another for more speculative ideas, ones that might seem foolish with time. Only when they were fairly certain of their thoughts did they commit them to their "on-the-record" notebooks. "Could any of what Reinhardt published be interpreted as correct?" "If you follow Reinhardt's suggestions blindly, that is, if you follow them to the letter, you wind up with a biological soup that's great for growing E. coli and potatoes, but nothing else. You certainly would not generate the highly specific enzymes required for the protein work we did, and any expert in the field would back me up on that." Whit said with some heat. Ted saw the change and pulled back. "Sounds reasonable to me. Do me a favor. Put these thoughts into a memo. In considerable detail, show me the failings in Reinhardt's thinking, okay?" Whit shrugged. "Sure." The phone rang. Whit listened, then handed the phone to Ted. "For you. Glenda." Ted listened a moment. "Damn him. I'll be right there," he said, and hung up. "Hornish is pestering Glenda. He said she would be a party to a coverup if she didn't get me to call back immediately. The little shit is really pushing it. I've got to go." Ted excused himself and left. When Ted was gone, Whit removed from his pocket a folded yellow sheet of legalsized paper. The pasted-on words read:

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (54)

WATCH out For ted. HowArD favorS him.

Ted stormed into his office. Glenda rose instantly and followed in his wake. She was visibly upset. Her skin was clammy and she couldn't keep from wringing her hands. "Mister Lasting," she said, her formality another sign of her tension, "Mister Hornish called again. He's demanding a quote. I was afraid to say anything, because I was afraid he'd quote me in the newspaper. I told him I'd get you. Was that all right?" she pleaded. "Just fine. Don't worry about that little snake," he said, and reached for the telephone. A controlled rage welled in him. He looked up at pathetic Glenda, her hands clasped together, worried sick that she had made a mistake. Glenda was a good woman. There was no reason for Hornish to bully her, and blasting Hornish over the phone would feel good. When the last digit was pressed and the distant phone rang, an alarm went off in Ted's head. Impulsive behavior is dangerous behavior. His internal monitors clicked into place, and he carefully replaced the receiver just as he heard Hornish pick up at the other end. A still anxious Glenda stood at his side. "Aren't you going to talk to him?" Ted shook his head and began quietly stuffing his briefcase with the papers he would wade through at home. "What should I do if he calls again?" she asked nervously. "Tell him --" Ted searched the proper words. "Tell him to dip his hand in honey and get a hold of himself." Glenda giggled nervously. "Is there something more civil you might want me to say?" Ted patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Glen, he can't do anything to you or to me. Just polite him to death." Ted's confidence restored her own. "Tell him I'll be back to him as soon as I have something to say." He thought a moment. "If he asks you if that means I have no comment, tell him you don't presume to talk for me." The briefcase was filled.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (55)

Ted walked out the door, Glenda trailing. "Where are you going?" she asked dutifully. "To fix his wagon," he said, and disappeared.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (56)

CHAPTER 9

Ted swung his car into the garage on West 10th street in Greenwich Village, near Sal's apartment. His watch showed 5:28. Not much time to see Sal, Ted thought as he walked to the nearest pay phone, deposited a quarter, and dialed the number from memory. "Hello," rasped a harried voice. "Sal there?" "One second." The line went limp for more than a minute. Ted whistled to himself and stared at a man lurking in the corner of the garage. The man peered at Ted through the corner of his eye. The attendant had disappeared, probably returning to his men's magazine. The garage was silent. Feeling uneasy under the man's gaze, Ted considered hanging up the phone and redialing from somewhere else when Sal's nasal voice crackled over the line. "Yeah." The word wasn't so much belligerent as disgruntled. It said, this was a person who didn't like to be disturbed. It also said, if you called, you had a reason, so let's hear it. "Is this The National Organization for Women?" "Fuck off, Ted." The voice smiled. "What do you want, you hopeless bastard?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (57)

"Sal, is that nice? Why do you always assume I want something from you?" "Because you always do. So is this just an obscene phone call, or are you comin' up to see me?" "I thought you'd never ask. I'm in the Village. I didn't know if I'd catch you in the office or at home, so I parked downtown. I'll catch a cab." "Hey, do I give a fuck where you are? Just tell me when you'll be here." "You know, I'd forgotten just how charming you could be, Sally. So you want to meet in your office?" "Yeah my office. I'm not ashamed of you." "You're not ashamed of anything. Your taste in women proves that." Ted walked into the street to hail a cab, and hail another cab, and hail another cab. Several passed with their vacancy lights on. Finally one cut across two lanes of traffic and jerked to a stop. The driver rolled down his window and asked Ted if he was going north. Ted said yes, the latches shot up, and Ted entered the cab. "Where to buddy?" the driver asked as they shot away from the curb. "Two-seventy Broadway." The driver slammed on the brakes and twisted in his seat so he faced Ted. "Mister, that's fuckin' south." "Oh is it?" "Goddamn right it is. Get out." "Not on your life," Ted snapped. "You got two choices, friend. You can either take your beef to that policeman on the corner, or you can tell it to the cab commission." He pulled out his notepad and pen and started copying the information from the driver ID card on the back of the seat. "Son-of-a-bitch," the driver muttered under his breath. The cab, the driver, Ted, and the running meter sat idling. The driver was fuming but still undecided. Ted leaned forward and whispered into the driver's ear. "Don't just sit here and run up a fare that I won't pay -- you won't get home any sooner." The driver muttered several additional curses, gunned the engine, and four minutes later deposited Ted in front of the State Office Building. Ted paid the fare with a thirty cent

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (58)

tip and exited the cab. The driver could be heard yelling "cocksucker" as he burned rubber and turned north. Ted entered the decaying lobby. Around the elevators stood three elevator operators, all state employees. None of them showed the least interest in taking Ted to the 11th floor. Ted waited patiently while the supervisor finished his conversation with the floor guard and stepped into an elevator. Almost every other building in the city had automatic elevators, but in the State Office Building, where patronage was power, people with less brain power than a pushbotton panel were kept on the payroll. On the 11th floor Ted ambled along the empty corridor. On the stroke of 4:30, he recalled, the building would empty as if set afire; the complete silence of the building at 5:45 was mute testament to the work ethic of the State employees. Ted thought of the Steering offices, where people remained hunched over desks or behind test tubes well into the evening. Ted followed the dingy signs to Sal's office, a repository for old newspapers, stale cigars, miscellaneous campaign paraphernalia, and a 250-pound advance man. Ted had once worked for Sal at the behest of Ted's father, a generous contributor to the Westchester Republican Party. Ted's father thought an aspiring lawyer ought to have a dose of the real world before entering law school. Sal said putting the kid through a New York gubernatorial campaign would give him a dose of the clap and nothing else. Ted had liked Sal instantly. Sal wasn't so sure of Ted, but his father was a man who couldn't be refused. To his surprise, Sal began to like this clean-cut college kid. He never complained about a job, no matter how menial, how dirty, how hard, or how late it kept him. He blew up balloons, hand-painted signs, ran messages between one office and another. He never said give me something important to do, never sniffed at the people who worked with him, no matter which side of the tracks they came from. And he was good at everything he did. He could get people to a rally like ants to a picnic. He was a goodlooking boy who got along well and kept his eyes open and his mouth shut. All things considered, Sal thought, Ted might make a good politician himself. When Ted entered, Sal made a big show of opening a casement window. "When you come to see me, I always make sure there's a back way out."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (59)

"Don't worry Sal, the state paved the sidewalk, so I can guarantee you it's not real concrete." "No shit." Sal chuckled. "You remember that contract we made with Zenith Construction?" "Only too well." Ted had helped Sal push through an environmental bond issue. The commissioner needed money to promote a state-wide bicycle tour to publicize the bond issue, so Sal, with Ted in tow, visited the office of Zenith, the state's largest construction company, a company which was already in court fighting a faulty construction suit. Sal explained the situation to the immaculately-dressed company president: Eighteen percent of the $1.1 billion dollars in bond revenues was earmarked for building sewage treatment plants and other facilities. That represented a lot of work for somebody, Sal suggested. The company president nodded and said that the environment was very important. That we should all have clean water. That we should all be willing to do the right thing. "What will the right thing cost me, Sal?" the president asked as he walked to his safe. "I think five thousand would go a long way to getting the bond issue passed." The thick-fisted president withdrew a number of $100 bills. "Will this help?" he asked as he dropped ten of the bills on the desk. "It's a helluva start," Sal said, beaming. Ted had been stunned at how openly all this was done. Sal told him that he would see a lot stranger things than this if he stayed in politics. That was a long time ago, yet Ted still came around for advice and help. Sal was pleased that he did; he liked being accepted by this well-heeled WASP. Truth to be told, he liked the kid quite a bit, even bragged about their friendship. Sal stepped away from the window, grabbed his shapeless felt hat from his desk, and plopped it carelessly on his head. His unruly red hair flew out from under it on all sides. It gave Sal a comical look that he cultivated. "Let's go, kid," he said. "I'm in the mood for dim sum." "I can't tonight." Ted said. "I'm up to my eyeballs in work."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (60)

"Teddy, you know I can't listen on an empty stomach." Sal complained. But he moved behind his desk and deposited his huge body in a plush leather chair. "Okay, so talk." "I need a big favor," Ted said, looking earnestly at Sal. "A really big favor." "It'll cost ya'," Sal said with a wink. "How many testicles you got left?" "Not enough to share any." "Same as always. Day late and a testicle short. So what's the problem?" "The Times is on my ass. They found out that we have an in-house health report which shows that some of our workers have an increased incidence of cancer. The Times science reporter, Fred Hornish, doesn't have the report, but he knows about it and he wants a copy. It's only a matter of time before he gets hold of one. The guy is relentless." "Sounds like deep shit, baby." "I knew I could count on you for penetrating analysis." "You don't need analysis," Sal said, "you need a miracle." "That's why I came to my fairy godfather," Ted said. Sal rolled his eyes. "Spare me. So what do you want old uncle Sally to do about this?" "I'd like you to put a cork in Hornish." Sal didn't ask how. It was his job to figure out how. "Don't worry ol' buddy," he assured Ted. "It's as good as done." "No fingerprints!" "Rubber gloves all the way. Hornish will get a visit from the Midnight Proctologist. He'll never know what hit him." "What will it cost me?" Sal jiggled his stomach. "Dinner, at a restaurant of my choosing." His eyes searched Ted's. "Okay, baby. What's really the problem? You wouldn't come to me if it was just some eager beaver at the Times giving you grief. There's something else bothering you, am I right?" Ted had come intending to tell Sal about Reinhardt's corpse, but he reconsidered. There was no need to drag Sal into the really sticky part of this mess unless it got out of control.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (61)

"Hey, you take care of that prick down at the Times, and I'll hold off the rest of the army." "Okay, kid, whatever you say. But if you get anyone else pulling your dick, you just call your old fairy godfather. Understood?"

At 8:00 a.m. the next morning, reliable Ralph was stationed before the urinal, staring down intently as if believing, despite the old saying, that a watched pot will finally boil. Ted walked past him and took up his own post. You could set your clock by Ralph's hourly visits to the john. He suffered from an enlarged prostate, and it was not unusual to find Ralph fixed at the urinal for five or ten minutes at a stretch. If Ralph had not been such an unbearable jerk, he probably would have been left alone. But Ralph was the Comptroller, and as such he had his nose in everyone's business. He seemed to regard it as his mission to make life as difficult as possible for all his co-workers. A few of the office wags revenged themselves by kidding him unmercifully about his problem. Once he had received a Valentine's card saying "I love the many hours we spend together," signed, "John." Another time Ralph had found a dozen rubber gloves and a tube of KY Jelly in his desk. Ted zipped his fly and said as he passed. "Don't rush. I'll pick you up around lunch time." Ralph showed Ted his sourest face, freed his right hand, and gave Ted the finger. When Ted got to his desk two things awaited him: a phone message from Hope Burgland and a folded sheet from a yellow legal pad. On the sheet was a single line made from snippets of newspaper headlines. Only A foOL would foLLow burgLAND OVER a cliff

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (62)

CHAPTER 10

Ted stepped into the rowboat after Hope. She had taken the seat between the oars, evidently intending to command not only the conversation but the vessel as well. "Thanks for coming on such short notice Ted," she said. She had had no doubt he would appear when summoned. "Not at all," he answered neutrally. He wondered which of the various Hopes he would see today. Last week it was the bitchy daughter giving daddy heartburn. With Ted she usually played the whimsical seductress. On social occasions she was the cool, wellbred sophisticate. Wondering which Hope he would see today, he watched her blankly. "I didn't behave very well last week, did I?" She rowed them toward the center of the lake. "Frankly, you can be an awful bitch when you want to. But you're smart enough not to have to do that." She smiled her approval of his candor. Hope liked strong men. In bed, she would never give a weak man what he wanted. She preferred to be taken, told what to do, commanded. She appraised Ted differently. Perhaps, he could be such a man.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (63)

"I can see this is going to be one of those refreshingly honest conversations," she said. "Straight from the shoulder, man to man, so to speak." "So to speak." Hope seemed to gather her resources. "Then we can cut right through the nonsense and get to the heart of the matter." "By all means." He waited, listening to the returning birds of the Central Park sanctuary, and watched two yellow finches flutter by with exaggerated strokes of their wings. "Don't be so guarded, Ted. I'm not going to hijack you and give you the third degree." She looked prettily at her knees. "I want to talk about my father." Ted said nothing. "He's been under a great deal of pressure. I'm concerned for him. I want to help him." Ted suppressed a smile. "Yes, I've noticed how careful you are with his feelings." Hope's face flushed. "I admitted that I was being awful the other day. But daddy and I are closer than you think. He confided in me, and he told me about the problem with the reporter at the Times, and about the potential suit by Reinhardt against the company." Ted wondered how Burgland would react when Reinhardt's murder was discovered. He hadn't told yet him, and debated whether he should. But there was still plenty of line to play. After all, Burgland had the most to gain from Reinhardt's death, and until everything was settled in his own mind, Ted was determined to play a lone hand. "I'm surprised that he confided so much in you. I thought he didn't burden his family with business problems." "Normally he doesn't. Particularly now -- that is, now that I'm married to Sebastian. You know of course he doesn't approve." Ted did not comment. Hope continued. "Circumstances have, to say the least, changed. He needs to reach out to someone." "Hope, it's my job to make sure that your father and his interests are protected." "That is precisely the point, that's just why I wanted to talk to you. Now, I tell you this in strictest confidence." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. "My father says he thinks there is something like an Albany plot against him."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (64)

Ted was mildly impressed that Hope would know enough about American history to refer to the attempt by Lincoln's cabinet to wrest the presidency from him. They had hoped to put the power of government into the hands of the Secretaries of State and Treasury, leaving Lincoln a figurehead. "He seriously believes his vice presidents are plotting against him?" Ted asked. Hope nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, and at first I tried to convince him he was just being paranoid. But then I looked at it from daddy's point of view. Only members of his inner circle know about the health report, and even fewer people know about the Reinhardt problem. Together they weaken the company and daddy's hold on it. If these problems become public, he'll have presided over the biggest debacle in the company's history. Maybe some of the people next in line want to force him out." "Hope, I know you're worried about your father," Ted said, though he suspected she was more worried about the continued cash flow to herself. "Your analysis of the problem is good as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. First of all, why would any of the vice presidents want to hurt their own company?" "I don't know. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it. You're inside the company. I thought maybe you could figure it out." She gave him a smile half of admiration, half of supplication. Ted was impressed by her female skills. He'd definitely have to watch himself with this woman, or he'd find himself talking to her just to show off. Hope was quite an attractive package, and Ted had been tempted more than once, had even entertained the notion of marrying the boss's daughter. But his instincts had always warned him against it. Over the last few days he had thought a good deal about the other VPs at Steering. There was himself in legal, Whit in R&D, James in finance, Deering in production, Phelps in marketing and sales, and Wendell Coates, recently departed from public relations. Had a cabal formed? Who would gain most from unseating Burgland? Who was that ambitious? Whit and himself were the heirs-apparent for the presidency. Whit wouldn't want to hasten Burgland's departure if it meant inheriting a company plagued with crippling problems. Still, he seemed to be the only person, besides himself, who might

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (65)

profit from Burgland's discomfiture. Wendell, too, had a motive: hate. Hate for Burgland, for the way he'd been humiliated by him. Perhaps Wendell wasn't a victim after all. On the other hand, perhaps Burgland was not the target. Any problem in research would reflect badly on Whit. Was there an ambitious research scientist skulking among the rat cages? But where did that leave the health report leak? Were the two problems even related? "Look, Hope, I'm flattered that you've come to me," Ted said, "but there's just no good reason for any of the VPs to scuttle their own ship. And if Howard were right about this, why in the world would you tell me? How do you know I'm not leading the revolt?" "Because I know what kind of a man you are," Hope said, and her eyes were soft. "If anyone can get to the bottom if this, if anyone can save the company, it's you." All the alarm systems sounded at once in Ted's brain. Danger. Red alert. Incoming ordinance. Trespassers will be violated. Rather than reply, Ted turned his mind to the problem, and tried to fathom the reasoning of whoever it was that was trying to ruin Steering Industries.

Sal's stomach jiggled as he slipped behind the table at Feng Lin. "Twice in less than a week?" he said to Ted. "I didn't know you cared, Teddy." "Well, Sal, how goes our investigation?" Ted asked with what he hoped was a carefree smile. Sal gave him a hurt look. "What, no foreplay? No 'What would you like to eat, Sal? How's the girlfriend, Sal?' Nothin'? Not even a little kiss? Just, 'How's the investigation going'?" Ted spread his hands repentantly. "You got no class, kid," Sal admonished. "You use to have class." "Well, now all I've got is troubles." "No excuse, baby. We all got troubles." "So how's the girlfriend?" "Exhausted," said Sal with a leer.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (66)

"Right. Now you know why I don't ask. As for foreplay, how about we start with a pu pu platter for four." Sal's smile was huge. "Now you're talkin'. Hey waiter!" All around the room, heads turned. "Pu pu platter for four! And make it quick please. This is a very busy man I'm eatin' with." A few minutes later a waiter rushed forward and deposited a platter piled high with rich fried morsels and spare ribs. Without ceremony, Sal reached over and started loading his plate. "Pardon the fingers," he said, heaping on the food. "If you want some of this, help yourself." "Your generosity is overwhelming. Now then, Sally, what did you learn about Hornish?" His mouth already smeared with red and yellow sauces, Sal said brightly, "You ain't got much to worry about. Hornish is an ordinary schmuck." "Shit. Then there's no way to get to him." "I didn't say that. I said he's an ordinary schmuck." "I heard." "Yeah, but you didn't understand. He's ordinary. That makes him vulnerable. He's got a wife, typical WASP bitch. Two kids, a boy fourteen and a girl eleven. He bought a new home last year. No assumable, a mortgage of two hundred grand at eleven and a half points that's squeezing his nuts, big time. He owns a boat. Not huge, but big enough to cost him a couple-three grand a year in upkeep and fees. Had a gall bladder operation three years ago. Sometimes has a spastic colon. His bank account goes up and down more often than your dick, which probably ain't sayin' much. And, like most reporters, he hits the bottle pretty good. In other words, he's feelin' his age, I'd say. And right now he has about twelve thou life savings, total. Makes typical reporter shit wages." "Sal, you're unbelievable. I won't ask how you got all this information. But what good does it do us?" "Look at the picture, dummy. The guy is on the brink, about two paychecks from the soup kitchens, like the rest of us working stiffs. So he's got to be scared, afraid of losing everything he's got. He's no kid, pushin' fifty. So he's no boy wonder anymore, and the young studs in the office are pushin' him from below. He ain't in that great with the

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (67)

head office, either -- his stories get none of the play like Altman's or Royce's do. No wonder the poor son-of-a-bitch is giving you grief. The guy is worried, probably hoping that blowing the lid off of Steering will make him King for a Day." Sal sucked the meat from another spare rib, threw the bone onto an empty plate, and shot an egg roll into his mouth. "The point is, buddy boy, he can't afford no catastrophes. Am I right? So the point is, you could be one of his catastrophes." "Me? What can I do to him?" "Hey, maybe you don't want to know. Ever think of that?" " Now, Sal, I want nothing-- " Sal laughed and held up his hand. "Okay, okay, don't worry about it. I'm just jerkin' your chain. I won't hurt the guy or nothin'. Just leave him to me, baby, leave him to me." Sal popped two crisp meatballs into his mouth and crushed them, grinning, in his teeth.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (68)

CHAPTER 11

Ted found the item he'd been dreading in the Wednesday morning edition of the Miami Herald. A badly decayed, unidentified body had been discovered in the waters off Sugar Loaf Key. Wendell was referred to only as a retired executive. Ted lifted the telephone handset and began punching in Wendell's number. Midway, he stopped, dropped the receiver into its cradle, and pushed himself away from the desk with disgust. He walked past Glenda, waving off her questioning. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he said, and strode to the employee cafeteria. Tucked in the phone booth there, Ted dialed Wendell's number. He answered after the second dozen rings. Ted suspected he was trying to put his life back in order, or whatever semblance of order was possible after an unidentified body had been found in the swamp next to your home. When Wendell finally answered, his voice was vacant, as if he felt no emotion other than ennui. "Coates here." "It's me" was all Ted said. Wendell recognized the voice and the need for discretion. "Yes?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (69)

"Any trouble?" "No more than expected." "We haven't received any calls at this end." "Why should you? They don't know who it is yet." "What did you tell them when they asked?" "Why the hell should I be able to tell them anything? I could hardly look at the body without barfing. The body was unrecognizable. Christ, it was barely human." Wendell had covered his deception nicely, but this would not be the first time, nor the last, that he would be called on to keep a poker face. And each time represented a danger. "When they find out it's Reinhardt, you'll be their prime suspect. You know that, don't you. And they'll wonder why you lied." "They can't prove I lied. His body is a mess. I honestly wouldn't know it was him now if I hadn't seen him a week ago." "That won't change the fact that he obviously came to see you." "Yeah. But I've got no motive for killing him. Hey, Ted, I'm innocent. I'm not worried about the cops. It's the killer that's got me scared. So long as I show I'm not adding one and one together for the police, I think the killer will consider me irrelevant. Or so I hope." Wendell could be right, but Ted still had doubts. "Why did they come to you?" "They said it was routine. Everyone in the area is being shown the photo. Mine was the nearest house, so they came here first to see if I could identify the body." This was thin ice. Legally, Wendell was obligated to report the body, as was Ted. Since they both knew the identity of the victim, both were withholding material evidence. This concerned Ted, but the anonymity of the corpse bought him time to think and to pursue his own avenues of inquiry. But he did not like being partners in this adventure with Wendell. "Are you certain you didn't see Reinhardt?" Wendell exploded. "What do you think, he came to my house for lunch and we talked over old times? I told you already, he never made it to see me!" "Look Wendell, we just can't afford to bullshit one another."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (70)

"Get off my back. If you don't believe me, you tell the cops you were here on Saturday and saw the body for yourself. Then there's no need to worry if I'm telling you the truth." "Relax, will you. It's just important that we don't jerk each other off." "I know that." Wendell paused. "Under the circumstances, I don't think you should call me here -- or me call you there. If I have any information, I'll have my daughter get in touch with you. You can use the same pipeline." "Take care of yourself," Ted said. Times would not be easy for Wendell once that body was identified. Nor for himself, for that matter.

When Ted saw the hubbub through the open door, he stepped in to assess the situation, thinking, Good Christ, now what? Scott and an assistant were standing beside a part-time lab technician who was slumped in a chair. The young girl seemed semi-conscious. Her eyes were open and rolling in her head. "I'll call medical," Ted said. "Don't bother. She'll be okay," Scott said. He seemed very cool and in control. He pressed water to her mouth. "She accidentally injected herself while she was preparing the mice." "How long has she been like this?" Ted was very concerned. Perhaps he ought not listen to Scott. The girl's lids twitched and her head stopped swaying. "I think we should get some medical help here." "Really it's all right," Scott assured Ted. "It happened to me once too. I got over it in a half hour." The girl did seem to be coming around. She sat a bit straighter in the chair. Scott pulled Ted aside while the other workers stayed huddled around the girl. "She was injecting the mice with the new neurotransmitter -- you know, the one we're writing about for Science." "Yes, I heard about it," Ted said as he eyed the girl nervously. "What affect will it have on her?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (71)

"None. Really. It's not dangerous stuff." Scott said brightly, but Ted was still undecided about medical attention. Accidents like this happened more often than labs liked to admit. Most substances handled in the Steering labs actually were harmless, but one could never tell. "Let's bring her to medical anyway," Ted decided. "Okay. But it's nothing. One of the mice squirmed just as she jabbed at it, and she gave herself about five milligrams of the stuff before she felt the needle." "She looks out of it." "She is -- will be for about half an hour." "What will it do to her?" "Nothing. Except give her a rush," Scott admitted with a grin. "That stuff acts like a strong analgesic, almost like a sedative. But no after-effects. No grogginess, no headache, no aftertaste or dryness in the mouth. She'll be floating for a while, but she'll be okay, I guarantee it." "Sounds like good stuff." "It is. That's why it'll make Steering millions." Scott said with pride. "Well it's not been tested," Ted reminded him. "So before we begin counting our chickens, I suggest we make certain there are no dangerous side effects that you haven't anticipated." "That's why we're here," Scott said amiably. They walked over to the girl, Ted on one side, Scott on the other. They helped her stand. "Are you okay?" Ted asked. "Oh yeah," she said happily. Scott winked. "Told you so." Together, they walked her to medical. The girl sang a camping song for most of the way.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (72)

CHAPTER 12

At 8:45 Glenda was at her desk, her china teacup already refilled, the plate for her dry toast already drying in the rack. She was happiest when everything was going according to plan, when everything was on schedule. When Ted strolled into the office at 9:15, she raised an eyebrow in mock rebuke. When he ignored her and walked over to the coffee pot, she pointedly stared over the top of her glasses at the brass clock opposite her desk and mumbled "humph" with sufficient volume that he could not pretend not to hear her. Ted brought his head slowly around to look at her. "I know, I know. We can't all be paragons like you, Glenda dearest." Ted brought his coffee cup over and sat on the side of her desk. She quickly moved her teacup out of his way. This intrusion on her territory, she knew, was designed to fluster her, and she would not be flustered. "We've been over this before, Glenda" he said with mock gravity. "I don't get paid by the hour -- only by the idea." "In that case, you owe Steering a colossal refund." "Thanks a lot. Any messages?" "On your desk."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (73)

Ted walked into his own office, sat at his desk, flipped through the inter-office envelopes, and then picked up his phone slips. One was from Sharon Blakely, Wendell's daughter, checkmarked Urgent. Ted picked up the receiver and dialed the New Jersey number, wondering what had set Wendell's hair on fire this time. He pressed the cool receiver against his ear and let the phone ring as he watched Glenda march into his office with a sheaf of documents. The other extension rang and halted Glenda mid-step as she stopped to answer it. Glenda looked alarmed. She whispered, "It's Mr. Burgland. He says he must speak with you, now." "Dammit all," he said, punching the lit button. Whatever Wendell wanted to say would have to wait. "What seems to be the problem, Howard?" "A detective from the Florida homicide squad will be arriving with a detective from New Jersey in about ten minutes." Burgland's voice was taut. "Florida homicide?" Ted hoped he sounded genuinely surprised. "A man was murdered a week ago in Florida." "Why are they coming here to Steering?" "The man was Reinhardt." "Reinhardt!? Good God, what next?" Well, now it begins, Ted thought. "Would you like me to come over to plan our stance?" "Not necessary, but do be here promptly in ten minutes. This could be important." Burgland's voice was frosty. For the next several minutes, Ted fidgeted at his desk, turning the events of the last few weeks over in his mind, looking for some thread that would make sense of it all, and wondering about his own part in the drama. Nervously he rearranged the papers on his desk, making it tidy enough even for Glenda. At two minutes to the appointed time, he picked up a notebook and marched off to Burgland's office. Claire sat glumly at her desk. As Ted approached, she flashed him a smile that acknowledged his phone call, and the promise of a Friday night date. "How goes it?" Ted asked with a smile. She simply arched her eyebrows. "The detectives arrived a minute ago and they're in with Howard now."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (74)

For a moment Ted looked intently at this woman, with his mind divided. He knew he had better get his priorities straight and understand his motives for pursuing her. Were these new feelings genuine? If they were, how could he square them with his need to find out as much as he could about Burgland? "Is Howard waiting for me?" "I'll say he is." "Don't announce me. I want to get the lay of the land, if I can." Without resolving his thoughts about Claire, Ted put on his business face and stepped inside the door to Burgland's office. The two detectives were standing at the window, talking quietly. Burgland remained seated behind his desk, his fortress, studying papers with feigned concentration. The near man wore a casual summer suit hung on a relaxed frame. He was handsome enough, but his barrel-shaped body and rugged face were mismatched, as if he'd been built by committee. His brown hair was sun-bleached to blond, his dark tan was proof that he spent far more time outdoors than at his desk. His careless dress and relaxed stance suggested to Ted that the detective, obviously the visitor from Florida, had risen as high in the ranks as he ever would, or ever wished to, perhaps. The ash from his unfiltered cigarette tumbled lightly to the carpet. The other man was solidly built and athletic looking -- stomach flat, shoulders broad, thighs thick, and Ted was willing to bet he did not smoke. His erect posture and intense gaze bespoke a deep ambition. The local lawman had obviously been sent because questioning the president of Steering Industries was deemed to be a delicate matter by the New Jersey power structure, and could not be trusted to a bumpkin from Florida. Taking in the man's conservative suit, manicured nails, and expensive shoes, Ted decided that this detective was likely to have friends in Trenton. The New Jersey detective's eyes were icy blue, intelligent, and humorless. We may not have an easy time of this, Ted thought, particularly if this one has political ambitions. Burgland might be the biggest fish he would ever land. The papers would be filled with his picture. Ted had the sickening thought that this man would someday be running for attorney general. Maybe not this year, or next, but some year. To

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (75)

him, Burgland and Lasting might look like trophies, no matter what his superiors in Trenton had told him. Ted decided on the offensive. Before Burgland could introduce them, Ted walked up to the first man and took his hand. "Gentlemen," he said, "I'm Ted Lasting, Steering's vice president of legal affairs. Pleased to meet you," he said, releasing the first man's hand and taking up the other's. "What can we do for you?" "Mr. Burgland asked us to wait for you," the second man said. "Donald Bournerite, New Jersey Special Branch." He turned to his companion with the slightest hint of professional distaste. "This is Jim Ashland, Key West Homicide." "I believe you know why we're here," Ashland said with a relaxed drawl. Without a pause, Ted answered: "Of course. Mr. Burgland and I will help you in any way we can." Bournerite gave the slightest hint of a polite smile. "The commissioner asked me to assure you that this investigation is being conducted informally and in the strictest confidence, and that the press has not been notified of our investigation at this end. With that assurance, I feel certain that you can be candid with us." Sure, Ted thought. The commissioner understands our needs. But you are out to bag trophies, if I'm not mistaken. Ashland bounced from foot to foot during this preamble. He didn't like his smoothtalking colleague any better than his partner liked him. "Well, I'm from Florida Mr. Lasting, and I've come a long way to get some answers. I know you two gentlemen will tell us the truth, because telling the truth is always the best policy. There's no reason why we wouldn't get the truth, is there?" Ashland asked with obvious irony. Frick and Frack. Good Guy, Bad Guy, Ted thought. The oldest cop game in the book, which Ted was certain would fail to shake an old pro like Burgland. Burgland's smile was amiable but thin. "Honesty is the only currency traded in this room, Mr. Ashland. Will you gentlemen have a seat?" Ted and the two detectives took the three chairs arranged around Burgland's desk. When all were seated, Burgland continued, "You are here to investigate Derrek Reinhardt's death, I believe." "Murder," Ashland said with emphasis.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (76)

Burgland smiled helpfully. "And what can we do for you?" "Tell us about Reinhardt." Ashland would be taking the lead, it seemed, with Bournerite keeping an eye out for problems. "There is very little to tell. I did not personally know Mr. Reinhardt. His business here was mostly through our former director of communications, Wendell Coates." Ashland's eyes tried not to register the impact of the name. "I met him only once. Mr. Lasting," he added with a nod toward Ted, "never." "What precisely were your dealings with Reinhardt?" Ashland asked. "The entire affair, the circumstances, if you will, are somewhat unusual ... perhaps even odd would better characterize them. Mr. Reinhardt was a scientist and writer. Writers are very important to our business. They communicate what we do here to the outside world. They do a great deal for our stature," he explained. "We, that is Mr. Coates, cultivated Mr. Reinhardt. Perhaps too much. In any event that's all I know." "Is that the extent of it?" Bournerite asked. Burgland had already decided to take a calculated risk, and tell them about the patent battle. If they already knew about it then withholding it would be disastrous. In effect, he would have been caught lying. Untenable. If they did not know about it, Burgland understood, he was complicating his life unnecessarily, but it was an unavoidable risk, as far as he could see. As he had run over the matter in his mind this morning, he had gained a new appreciation of the dilemma Wendell had faced with Hornish and the health report. "No. There is a bit more, but I don't quite know in what perspective to put it," Burgland said. "At some point in the exchange of information, Reinhardt learned of our research on neurotransmitters, the chemicals which distribute electrical impulses from one nerve cell to another. Well, Reinhardt was conducting, shall we say, original research -at his home." He paused for emphasis, hoping that these detectives would understand the doubtful quality any "home" experimentation would have by comparison to the work of the Steering scientists. "From his work -- at home -- he concluded that he had discovered an as yet unreported neurotransmitter. He described a means for isolating it, but not, I must emphasize, a means by which it might be manufactured. According to Reinhardt, his work was communicated to one of our scientists. That scientist, one well respected worldwide,

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (77)

was independently pursuing work very similar to the work suggested by Reinhardt. Reinhardt contended he had beat us to the punch, so to speak, and is, or rather was demanding compensation. "Now, grant you, this is mostly speculation on my part as to what he believed he had discovered," Burgland said. "Reinhardt had access to our scientists. We discussed many developments openly with him. In particular, he was preparing an article on one of our scientists and his pre-eminence in his field. It is quite possible, in fact likely, that Reinhardt obtained his ideas from the scientist -- not, I stress, the other way around." "Y'all saying Reinhardt stole the ideas from you? Are you sure of that?" Ashland asked. Burgland peered at the disheveled detective with what he hoped was a look of beleaguered patience, sighed, and responded with enough casualness to seem polite. "I suppose you must ask that." He paused to permit the reprimand to take effect. "We know for a fact that our scientists did not have any knowledge of Reinhardt's home research while they were conducting their own." "How can you be certain?" Bournerite asked, glancing quickly from Burgland to his own manicured nails, as if to dismiss the hard edge of the question. "First of all," Burgland said, "There is nothing any of our people would gain by it. Our scientists are on salary. Each one of them signs an agreement upon commencement of employment stating that all discoveries will be the property of the company, and ideas generated here cannot be exported to other companies. It is a standard agreement. So there is no motive for any of our scientists to steal someone else's idea." "Mr. Burgland, if the scientists don't gain from it, surely your company does." Bournerite said. "It's no secret that a patent on a new drug can be worth millions to the inventor." "Yes, of course Steering Industries would benefit, " Burgland agreed. "And the company is privately owned," Bournerite stated. "No, although I do own a substantial share, actually the majority share of outstanding stock, the company is publicly owned." "Then for all intents and purposes," Bournerite insisted, "Steering is privately owned."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (78)

Ted interjected at this point. "Mr. Burgland has adequately explained that the company is publicly owned. It is traded on the New York Stock Exchange. I believe that should be sufficient proof that the benefits to the company are distributed to many, not a single individual." "Thank you for clarifying that point, Mr. Lasting." Looking directly at Ted, Bournerite asked, "How much are your shares worth today, Mr. Burgland?" "About nine hundred million," Burgland answered sanguinely. Ashland whistled. "That's a mighty lot of money," he said. Bournerite pressed on. "Mr. Burgland, how much would the stock drop, rather, how much would you lose if Reinhardt had pressed his case?" "That would be pure speculation," Ted said. "There's no reason to answer that, Howard." "That's fine, Ted." To Bournerite, Burgland explained: "In ballpark figures, my best guess is that, initially, a patent claim dispute might cause the stock to decline anywhere from one to five dollars -- which would mean somewhere in the order of one-hundredtwenty million dollars to me personally, but only if I sold without waiting for the stock to rebound, as it surely would." Now Burgland dropped his smile and bore down on the detective. "However, if you are suggesting that for that amount of money -- or indeed any amount of money -- Steering Industries would act improperly, you are seriously mistaken." Bournerite puffed his mouth in conciliation. "We never meant to imply that." Burgland capped his argument. "All these supposed losses are predicated on one assumption, and it is a poor one." Bournerite raised his eyebrows in question. "You assume Reinhardt's patent claim would stand," Burgland continued. "In that case the figures I quoted may be representative. However, if Reinhardt lost the case, as he most certainly would, the stock would soar. And, if you insist on addressing only my interests and not the company's nor the stockholders, then I could gain as much as one hundred and twenty million dollars. That is, if I sold my stock, which of course I would not. So these speculations essentially lead to no conclusion, except that it would not necessarily be to my benefit. Besides, quite apart from the impropriety of it, I couldn't have murdered Reinhardt last week." "How's that?" Ashland asked with interest.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (79)

"I haven't been out of the state in months." "I didn't mean how could you be sure you didn't murder Reinhardt," Ashland said, "I meant, how could you be so certain that it didn't happen earlier than last week?" For the first time this morning, Ted saw Burgland uncomfortable. "Well I assumed your call saying you found the body last week meant that the murder, if it was murder, occurred sometime last week," Burgland said unsteadily. "Mr. Burgland, we didn't tell you on the telephone that the body was severely decomposed by the time we found it." "Oh. I see." "Furthermore, our preliminary tissue tests have shown that a large dose of sodium pentathol had been administered. We don't know yet if it was a lethal dose. Pretty interesting, wouldn't you say, Mr. Burgland, that Reinhardt died of a drug overdose?" Ashland asked mildly. Burgland sat rigid at his desk. "I have absolutely no idea what that might mean." "No? Well, we find that to be mighty suggestive. I don't believe we told you that your former employee, Mr. Wendell Coates, found the body, did we?" Ashland added. The detective looked at Ted. Instantly, Ted understood the urgency of Sharon Blakely's call and now listened carefully as Ashland continued. "Is there any reason you'd expect Reinhardt would want to talk to Mr. Coates?" "I can't imagine," Burgland answered. Then he seemed to recant. "I dislike speculating like this; however, one only gets to my position by anticipating the possible." His face darkened. "In business, it doesn't pay to have personal likes and dislikes. You work with whomever you must. However, when it comes to staff, I do reserve the right to be selective, and to allow feelings to influence my decisions. Recently, I fired Coates. The dismissal was not ugly, but it was not pleasant." Burgland's body was rigid behind his desk. "Why was he fired?" Bournerite asked. "He botched a terribly delicate assignment. I finally lost confidence in him." "For one act of poor judgement he was dismissed?" "No. For a year-long show of distemper as well." "You admit to disliking him. How much so?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (80)

Burgland saw no way of measuring the amount of his displeasure and so ignored the question. Ashland stepped in. "How long has Coates worked for you?" "Nearly twenty years." "You must have liked him once?" "Once." "Well, what happened?" Ted said, "That, I suggest, is an irrelevant question and need not be answered." Ashland let it pass. "We interrupted you while you were speculating about Reinhardt's motives. Please continue," Bournerite prompted. "Simply put and without elaboration, I could imagine that Coates and Reinhardt could come to some consideration about how to press Mr. Reinhardt's case against us. After all, Coates was privy to all our deliberations in this matter." And uncertainties, he thought. "And what were those?" Again Ted interceded. "Those deliberations would have little bearing on the case. They were legal considerations such as the amount of time an inventor has to file a patent claim from the date of disclosure of the patent idea. We feel it unnecessary to share these considerations at this time." "What would happen if I demanded to know?" Bournerite asked. "As I have indicated, our desire is cooperation," Burgland replied. "But cooperation must be a two-way street. We have openly and candidly answered your questions. But this requires that you not engage our time wastefully by pursuing matters outside the area of interest." "Mr. Burgland is absolutely correct," Ted inserted. "We have agreed to help; however some of your questions imply culpability on the company's part which are not germane to the matter at hand, and which we do not regard with favor." Bournerite's face stiffened. "No problem, Mr. Burgland. This is an informal investigation." Pitting himself against Burgland at this early stage of the investigation would not please the commissioner, he knew. If they had more evidence then he could press harder. "We certainly do understand that you are cooperating to your fullest."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (81)

Bournerite's conciliatory gesture was lost on Ashland, who pushed ahead. "Can we talk to the fella who supposedly stole Reinhardt's secret?" Bournerite's eyes dimmed. Ashland was going to be trouble. Bournerite raised his hand in protest. "Let's take another tack for the moment, shall we? Can you give us an idea of the significance of this patent?" "It involves the mass production of synthetic endorphins by E. coli." "In English?" "Endorphins are the brain's natural opiates. Our company has found a means of producing a precursor of one of these, which we call Syndorphine, by means of genetic engineering. We feed some genetically tailored bacteria some very inexpensive chemicals and they, in turn, manufacture a very expensive chemical." "Which does what, in this case?" "In this case it is a pain-killer that looks and acts like morphine, but without the side effects or addiction." "Morphine? Holy Jesus," said Ashland, slapping his knee. "Let's not make too great a leap here," Burgland cautioned. "Our discovery suggests that one neurotransmitter can serve a dual purpose -- as a promoter of the chemical signals between some nerve cells and as a highly selective blocker against other types of signals." He waited for the thought to sink in. "You see, when viewed this way, the drug doesn't seem so highly charged. Syndorphine is only one pain-killer among many, albeit a sophisticated one." "You can explain it any way you like, Mr. Burgland, but it sounds to me like you got yourself one helluva street drug here." For a moment, Ashland was uncharacteristically thoughtful. "A non-addictive morphine? Yes, I'd say that'd do pretty well on the street. The health-conscious yuppies'd eat that up like candy." Burgland's face was a mask of dread. "Designer drugs," Ashland continued. "The streets are lousy with them now. We bust our nuts cutting off the supply of organic drugs coming in over the border, and the black market scientists start manufacturing new brands of poison right here in town. A few years ago the hot high was Ecstasy, which was a synthetic analogue of mescaline. Right now it's fentanyl, street name is China White, which is about forty times stronger than

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (82)

heroin, and addictive as hell. Up in these parts you got a bunch of anesthesiologists who are hooked to the eyeballs on the stuff. Now y'all have come up with a cheap, nonadictive morphine?" With lustrous eyes, Burgland nodded his head sadly. It hadn't occurred to him, until this moment, that he might have a street drug on his hands. He had considered only the medical use of the substance, which he now realized was a rather naive view. He knew of other companies that had run into street problems. In one case, a company had been required to spend millions of dollars to alter its analgesic mixtures to include naloxone -- a suppressant that cheated addicts out of their high. Everyone in the room pondered this new dimension in silence. Ted saw the two detectives look at Burgland, then exchange glances. They seemed to decide that there was nothing more to ask for the moment, and simultaneously stood. "Mr. Burgland, Mr. Lasting," Ashland said with elaborate courtesy, "this here is my card. I do hope you'll give me a call if you learn anything further about this matter."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (83)

CHAPTER 13

Exhausted, Ted dropped into his seat and called through the door to Glenda: "please dear, get me two aspirin ... and fast." After the meeting with the detectives, the tendons in his neck felt like piano wires. Glenda swiftly opened her drawer, sorted through the assorted pill bottles, emptied two aspirin onto a napkin, and delivered them to Ted. She poured him a glass of ice water from the decanter and watched as he threw the tablets down his throat. So the sorry son-of-a-bitch had broken down and told the police that he had earlier found Reinhardt's body. Ted shook his head ruefully. That's what the urgent call from his daughter had been about. Ted wondered what bomb Wendell would drop next. "Bad meeting?" Glenda asked softly. Ted merely groaned for an answer, and turned his attention to his desk. "What's this?" he said, picking up an unmarked white envelope. "I don't know. It arrived by messenger about five minutes ago." "Let me see the receipt." "There was none. It wasn't a messenger service, just somebody who was asked to drop this off."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (84)

"Thanks," Ted said, dismissing Glenda. Unmarked letters were almost never good news. He tore open the envelope and found a second envelope, also unmarked. It's a Chinese box, he thought as he opened the second envelope and unfolded two sheets of plain white paper. Ted quickly scanned the two pages of single-spaced type. When he had finished, he understood what Sal had been driving at: He could indeed be one of Hornish's catastrophes.

Ted watched the people riding up the steep five-story escalator; it looked as if they were disappearing into heaven itself. He turned his attention back to the crowd, and soon picked out the unmistakable heap of humanity that was Sal waddling toward him. The two men stepped onto the escalator and were deposited at the entrance to the penthouse restaurant at the Meadowlands racetrack. Sal removed his hat and sighed. "Ah the wonderful things money can buy," he said, taking in the restaurant. It sparkled with crystal and silverware. Stunning women were everywhere, and the young waitresses in strapless tops and short skirts set Sal's hands clenching and unclenching. "Ain't no crop failure in these parts," Sal said with a wink. The maitre d' led the two men to a table against one of the high windows that overlooked the track on all sides. Sal peered down onto the smooth turf and watched the horses stamping nervously as they were loaded into the starting gate. A waitress arrived just as the bell sounded and the horses sprang from the gate. She asked for their drink orders. Sal oogled her body unashamedly as he fumbled in his jacket pockets for his betting calculator. Ted told her to forgive Sal's manners and ordered cognacs for them both. Sal made a gagging noise and changed his order to rye. "My kind of guy," she said. "And what kind of guy is that?" Sal said with a leer. Ted cut in: "Old and harmless." The waitress smiled as she left, and Sal began entering numbers from a tip sheet into the calculator. "You like that little report on Hornish? Does old uncle Sally deliver, or what?" He spoke without looking Ted and continued poking at his calculator.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (85)

"Look at that will you," he said before Ted could reply. "It just told me to bet on Sorry State. Fuckin' nag finished fourth in the first race." He rattled the calculator as if to shake some sense into it and tossed it on the table. "Ahhh, betting's an art, not a science anyway." He looked at Ted. "So why the hangdog expression, kid? I thought you'd be all smiles today." Ted was thoughtful. "The report was incredible, Sal. But I don't feel right about squeezing Hornish, at least not yet. I don't want to use it unless I absolutely have to. I've never believed that the end justifies the means. But lately I'm not so sure. I'm being pulled in a lot of different directions." "Teddy, don't make it so fuckin' complicated. You got a job to do, you do what's necessary. Bang zoom. Am I right? You take care of the man who signs the paychecks, and you watch your own ass. Don't make it harder than it really is." Ted laughed without humor. "Yeah, simple." He sat wordlessly staring at his placemat. "Okay, tell uncle Sally all about it. You have a way to squeeze Hornish whenever you like, so what's the problem?" "I don't know, Sal. I just feel like I'm out of my depth. For one thing, I've never had to do so much lying in my life. It makes me very nervous to -- I'm just not used to it. I'm not straight with anyone, with Burgland, with Wendell, with Hornish, with Claire. I didn't tell you about her yet. You know Claire, Burgland's secretary? Used to be his mistress for a while?" "Yeah, I think you mentioned her. Said you couldn't figure out why a class act like her would be dumb enough to sleep with her boss." "That's the one. Well, we're having dinner this Friday, and there's definitely an attraction between us. I know I really do feel something for her, but I also know damn well that if I didn't have to find out more about Burgland, I probably never would have asked her out. That's kind of shitty." "Burgland? You don't think he had anything to do with the leak to the Times, do you?" "No, it has to do with another, even worse problem. I'll get into it with you, but not here, not now."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (86)

"Look, Teddy, I know you always worry about the ethical ramifications and the code of honor and all that crap. But there's no law says you shouldn't be good to your pecker once in a while." Sal held up the calculator. "Not everything works by numbers. You like her, go with it. No relationship is pure and simple. I mean, who knows why she took up with her boss. Who knows why she's giving you the green light now. When it comes to women, it's always complicated, so in a way it's always simple. Go with your gut. We all use each other." Sal fumbled to complete his thought. "Just don't bullshit yourself, and make sure you give her something in return." Sal gave a short laugh. "Listen to me, the Old Man on the Mountain." He pushed away from the table. "Hey, I came here to play the ponies, and it's almost time for the fourth race. You coming?" They walked to the betting windows. Ted scanned the lines to find the shortest and, to his surprise, noticed Scott Cooke at the back of the nearest one. He was talking with a well-dressed couple, and holding a fat roll of bills casually in one hand. Ted and Sal got in line behind them. Ted tapped Scott on the shoulder. "Hey, look at the big winner. Mind if I rub your head for luck? Tell us how you're betting so we can do the same." "I'm betting on all five of us having a hell of a night at the track," Scott laughed. "We're with you, kid" Sal said, and the group shook hands all around.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (87)

CHAPTER 14

Whit Chapin was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on his desk, his eyes locked on the white tile ceiling, when Ted tapped on his door and stepped into his office. Whit dropped his feet. "Welcome," he said without standing. "Howard told you about our little visit from the men in blue yesterday?" Ted asked from the doorway. "Yes, and I advised Howard to stop pussy-footing around and tell them everything. The way Howard told it, it seemed as if the two of you were playing cat and mouse. That won't work. Take the offensive. Tell them how concerned you are about the patent claim, show them the file, and let them snoop to their heart's content." "Frankly, Whit, I thought you might take a different tack." "Why? Because I'm supposedly in the hot seat for plagiarizing Reinhardt's work? Because my initials are on the document. So what? I'm not guilty of any illegal activities, and neither is Howard." Whit swivelled in his chair to face Ted. "The trouble with you lawyers is that you're trained as advocates; you look only at one side of an argument. You're so worried about shielding your client that you sometimes do more harm than good. Ted, don't let your legal instincts get in the way of your good sense. Tell the police everything they want to know, show them anything they want to see. Instead of damaging

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (88)

our case, the documents will prove that Reinhardt had no case, therefore we had nothing to gain by his death. On the contrary, it only makes us look bad. "Reinhardt was out of it. He couldn't handle authority, which was why he could never hold a position at a real lab. It wasn't because of his independent nature or the idiosyncrasy of genius. Ask around. Ask his peers. Reinhardt was a flake." "Well, I'm glad you're confident that we have nothing to fear from a patent suit," Ted said neutrally. "So, if we have nothing to fear from him, how would you explain his murder?" "Easy -- he was in cahoots with someone, probably Wendell, to make as much trouble as possible for Steering Industries. And his plan blew up in his face." "Wendell? Simple as that, case closed?" "Sure! Who else knows so much about Steering, its inner workings, the politics of the inner circle, to do so much damage in so short a time except for an insider? And who else has an axe to grind? It makes perfect sense. Wendell has been chewing on Howard's foot for more than a year. He saw Reinhardt as his opportunity to blackmail Howard or, if greed wasn't his motive, then he saw Reinhardt as his chance to revenge himself against Howard. It backfired, that's all. Maybe Wendell wanted to go too far, and Reinhardt said no. Or maybe it was the other way around, and Wendell got nervous, wanted to withdraw, and Reinhardt wouldn't quit. Maybe Reinhardt threatened to expose Wendell if he didn't continue." Ted looked at Whit with a new appreciation. Sure, he had his finger in everyone's soup, but he was a shrewd political animal, and Steering was his turf to protect. But Steering was also his to inherit, and perhaps he was simply protecting his own maneuvers with a smokescreen. Ted wanted to draw him out. "I tried the same idea out, myself," he said. "But I don't understand why, if Wendell was behind this, he admitted to the police that he knew who the body was?" "Hell, it's the old ploy of showing them you have nothing to fear. He knew the police would eventually identify Reinhardt's body and connect Wendell with him. To postpone telling the police would only lead to suspicion. He had no other intelligent choice. I give him credit for that."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (89)

Ted knew he had to be cautious here. "It does appear," he said carefully, "that Wendell is involved -- in some way. But I don't believe he killed Reinhardt. Your explanation is too pat. It also happens to be my explanation, and so I distrust it on principle. In fact, because the pieces fall so neatly in place, I wonder if it isn't a frame." "Well there's some logic for you. Because it's obvious he did it, therefore he didn't do it?" "I'll put it this way. I think Wendell is quite capable of being devious, even of being involved in a plot to destroy Howard and Steering -- which, incidentally, Howard is convinced is true. You know that Howard strongly suspects that there is a cabal bent on destroying him, and that you or I might be part of it." "I know," Whit said sadly, shaking his head. "And it's making him rather hard to deal with. But go on. Finish what you were saying." "There's really nothing more. I don't think Wendell killed Reinhardt. Parts of your reasoning I accept, provisionally. But the total picture does not jibe with the Wendell that I know. You seem pretty convinced that Wendell is guilty. Do you feel it's your obligation to go to the police and share your suspicions?" "Not at this time, no. I don't feel any need to figure this thing out for them." "I'm glad we agree on that at least. Neither of us wants to stir up any more of a mess than we're already in." Whit shrugged. Then, as if an afterthought, he thrust a folded sheet of legal-sized yellow paper into Ted's hand. "Well what do you make of this, counselor?" he asked. Ted opened the paper and read: "WATCH out For ted. HowArD favorS him."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (90)

CHAPTER 15

Claire answered the door to her apartment in a loose-fitting terrycloth robe. Her wet hair clung to her forehead in dark curls. She toweled her hair briskly as she let Ted in. "I'm sorry I'm not ready, but Howard kept me late." "No problem." He also had worked late, and rather than call to say he'd be delayed, he chose not to go home first to shower and change. He still wore his suit and tie and felt out of step with the evening. "Please excuse how I look," Claire said, continuing to dry her hair. The vigorous action fleetingly exposed her breasts. "You look absolutely delicious to me," Ted said. She pulled the robe tighter with a demure smile. "Would you like a drink?" she asked as she padded across the living room toward the kitchen. Ted followed. "I'm really sorry I'm late. I don't usually invite men in looking like this. Can I get you a drink?" "Bourbon on the rocks, please." "Jack Daniels okay?" "Just fine."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (91)

Claire splashed a little liquor over a lot of ice in two glasses and handed one to Ted. He raised his glass to her. "To beginnings," he said, and the two of them sipped their drinks. Claire was close enough for Ted to feel the heat of her body and smell her moist, freshly-scrubbed skin. "I'll go put some clothes on." "Hey, you don't have to dress for me," he said with a smile. Things were going fast, Claire knew, but somehow she was already at ease with this man. "Down, big boy. I'll be right back." She set down her drink and disappeared into the bedroom. Ted took another nip of bourbon and surveyed the apartment. The small living room/dining room was tastefully decorated with contemporary furniture, lush plants, macrame hangings, and framed fabrics. Two elaborately-carved teak Tibetan demons flanked her couch, and were more expensive looking than anything else in the room -gifts, Ted suspected, from Burgland. "You have a cozy apartment." "It's okay. A bit cramped, but it's all mine. Have a look around -- put on some music if you like." The stereo was beside the bookshelves. He examined her collection of albums. He preferred classical music. Claire's taste ran toward -- well he wasn't quite sure; most of the performer's names were unknown to him. He pulled an album at random from the shelf. The lead singer pictured on the jacket looked like an Iraqi general after a food fight. Ted's first reaction to the music was that the record was playing at the wrong speed. "Great choice," Claire shouted. "Freshen my drink, would you?" Ted took her glass from the counter, poured a little more bourbon into both their glasses, and brought them to the doorway of her bedroom. "Here it is." "Coming." Claire stepped out of the bedroom, took the drink in both hands, and sipped at it thoughtfully in three-quarter profile. Ted watched her for a few moments, then put his finger under her chin, lifted her face toward his, and looked into her eyes. He gently kissed

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (92)

each eyelid and the tip of her nose. She turned her body to face his and stood up on her toes, a dreamy expression in her eyes. Ted bent and pressed his mouth to hers. They kissed quietly for a few minutes, but when Ted began to explore her neck and shoulder with his lips, Claire squirmed away. "Uh, uh. Not yet," she whispered. Standing back from her, Ted took her in. He pointed to the floor and spun his finger, and she did a slow turn before him. Her loose-fitting multi-colored blouse fell off one shoulder, the extra fabric knotted at the hip. Her pants billowed about her legs and were snapped at the ankles. They were snug at the hips and creased provocatively around her backside. A single bracelet dangled from each wrist, two elaborate shell earings dangled from her ears, and a simple braided ebony necklace adorned her throat. "A vision of transcendental, Far Eastern loveliness, Claire. And where would Milady care to dine? How does Lutece sound to you?" Claire wrinkled her nose. "Too stuffy. Let's not be corporate tonight." "All right. Suggestions, please?" "I know just the place, if you don't mind the neighborhood. "Lead on, beautiful." It turned out to be a small Italian restaurant on Avenue C, where they talked books and movies until their pasta arrived. Then Ted assumed an air of mock gravity. "Well, Claire, I think you're a perfectly lovely person. But, due to the sensitive nature of my position in the FBI, I'm afraid that we cannot proceed any further until you answer a few background questions. It's essential, for national security purposes." Claire rolled her eyes. "Well that's a new one. What do you need to know, Mr. Gman?" "Just the standard questionnaire. Question number one: What was your first passion?" "Hmm. Interesting question. My first passion--" Claire rubbed the corner of her jaw thoughtfully. "Well, my family wasn't exactly poor," she explained, "but things were a bit tight when I was growing up. We didn't have a lot, so I learned to improvise. I made my own dolls from fabric left over from my mother's dresses. I collected flowers and pasted

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (93)

them on cardboard and hung them on my wall. I brought all the little girls in the neighborhood together and we'd put on plays, and I'd make the costumes out of whatever I could scrounge up. I sketched dress designs with color pencils at school. Later, in high school, I got into the theater club, and I did more costume work and helped design and build the sets. My mother kept all of it, all the childhood costumes, the theater programs, Polaroids of the set designs and me on stage. I was talented-- " she sighed, "-- once." "So why didn't you become an artist or set designer?" "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get an Italian father to believe his daughter can be anything but a mother to five children and a wife to the first working man who asks?" she laughed. "When I told my father that I was taking my own apartment, he smacked me -- hit me right across the face with his hand. To him, you were a whore if you were single and had your own apartment. He told me if I left home, I couldn't ever come back." "Pretty rough. What did you do?" "I left." "Have you ever been back?" "Yes. He's not angry anymore. But for a while my mother had to call me from a phone booth. He just didn't understand that I wanted to do something else. But -- after all that, I never did. I played it safe. I did what all the other girls in the neighborhood did -got myself a job as a secretary. But now that I'm the secretary to the president of a major corporation, my parents can hold their heads up again. In my neighborhood that's something special. Even my father thinks so." "And how do you like working for Howard, being at the seat of power, privy to earthshaking secrets?" Ted was uneasy with this question, but he was anxious to get it behind him. "What secrets?" She sniffed. "You're the company lawyer, for heaven's sakes. I certainly don't know anything you don't. Unless you are referring to my past with Howard." "No, of course not," Ted said, feeling more awful by the second. "I was just being a smart aleck." "No you weren't." She squeezed his hand. "But now that we've come to the subject, I think we'd better deal with it. Howard is an extraordinary man, a decent man, but

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (94)

as you know he is very proud. Our being together ... I think it could be hard on him if he knew. He didn't want to break it off...." "I know. I understand. And if you want to keep our seeing each other strictly sub rosa, I have no problem with that, at least for the time being." "Thanks." Her eyes were warm. "You wouldn't guess it, but he's so easily hurt...." He sensed her concern and liked her for it. "Is he really that sensitive?" Ted asked, recalling Burgland's response when he'd learned of Wendell's cancer. She put her hands together and stared hard at her folded fingers. "His family causes him a lot of grief." "Hope, you mean." She nodded. "Yes, and more." "His son's death?" Again she nodded. "Seems to me he took it fairly well," Ted said. Burgland had attended his son's funeral in the morning and by afternoon was back at a Steering board meeting. "Yes, I know everyone thinks he didn't care about Jerry," Claire said angrily. "Even Hope thinks he didn't care. But he did. He just didn't show it. He didn't know how." "They didn't seem to get along like father and son." "No, not after Jerry ... " She caught herself and said no more. "After Jerry what? What happened?" "I can't say. I shouldn't have said anything. Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she spoke into the distance, as if apologizing to Burgland. "Why can't you say? Is it so terrible?" "I really can't say any more." "Why, Claire?" "Because ... because it's part of the reason why Jerry is dead," she said. Ted decided not to push it for now, and turned the conversation to the hopeless state of New York politics, about which Claire had her own strong opinions. Finally, over coffee, he asked, "What do you feel like next? Drinks? Dancing? A moonlit stroll? A couple of laps around the block? Heavy petting in a Hansom cab? What?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (95)

"How about Hades?" she asked, by way of a small test. He raised an eyebrow. "You certainly won't find any tourists there." "You know the place? Then you aren't just a stodgy corporate lawyer after all." "Oh but I am," he said, "and I've dressed the part to prove it. I've only read about the place in the Village Voice. Quite the hip dance club, I understand. That's fine with me." "Hades it is then," she said, pleased. They walked the half-block to the club. The entrance to Hades was jammed with a colorful array of New York night-lifers. One rail-thin woman, one half of her hair and face powdered purple, the other flat white, shimmered past them in a sequined top and matching pants, with heart-shaped holes cut out to show her flexing buttocks. When they had finally made their way inside, they found the place filled to bursting with heavily decorated humanity. Chains and studs were the rule, as were leather, war paint, exposed breasts, and codpieces. With no tables available, Ted and Claire stood pressed against one another at the bar. He ordered two bourbons and paid ten dollars. Search lights swept through smoky air in multi-colored columns. "These kids must trade stocks on Wall Street during the day to afford these prices," he shouted to Claire, who signaled that she could hear nothing over the din. To Ted the music sounded like the demolition of a bottle factory, but Claire found a beat and swayed to it. Two toughs in leather put the make on her in rapid succession, despite Ted's presence, his business suit acting as a cloak of invisibility, apparently. Claire politely dismissed them. Ted and Claire grinned happily at one another, shouted an occasional comment over the music, and tried a dance or two on the crowded floor, but for the most part they were content to watch the costumed parade. Finally, after a few more drinks, Ted let his fingers wander along the inside of Claire's thigh. Her expression was untroubled, so he brought his lips close to her ear and said, "What does a guy have to do to get a desirable, adorable, delectable woman like you into bed?" "I'm very difficult," she half-shouted into his ear. "He has to ask me." She giggled girlishly, took his hand, and pulled him toward the door. Once outside, they strolled hand-

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (96)

in-hand back to his car, climbed in, and embraced. They kissed hungrily, their hands running wild over and under each other's clothing. Finally they came up for air. "Let's get home," Clair said with emotion. Ted ran four red lights on the way back to her apartment.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (97)

CHAPTER 16

At eleven-thirty Saturday morning, Ted unlocked the door to his apartment. He could still smell Claire's scent on him, still feel the afterglow of her caresses. He stretched out on his in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about her. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Finally, he stopped trying, dressed, and drove to Bloomingdale's, overcome by the desire to buy her a gift, something to make her smile. At the toy department, Ted pointed to a six-foot long Chinese fish kite and told the clerk he would take it. He started back to his car, and as he passed through the jewelry boutique he saw Hope Burgland standing in the aisle examining brightly painted enamel earrings. He considered passing her unnoticed, but as his eyes swung away they caught hers, which widened almost imperceptibly. Ted realized that she was as indisposed to meeting him as he was to see her. But her reaction puzzled him, since normally she missed no opportunity to flirt with him. Ted walked over to Hope and accepted her outstretched hand. "How nice to see you," he said.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (98)

"Nice to see you too," she said, clearly ill at ease. She glanced at the gaily-colored kite package in his hand. "Shopping?" she said with some amusement. "Yes. Odds and ends," he said. She smiled stiffly, as if to say how nice, now just run along, please. Ted was about to politely excuse himself when a voice called out to Hope. "Darling, I think I found exactly what you were searching for," said a man with a long, bony face and full mustache. Hope tried to be casually inattentive. She smiled but it was evident that she did not want to introduce the two men. "I'll be there in a moment darling," she said, half turning to him. The man's smile froze on his face. Ted recognized the man. He was the Czar of Wall Street, Ivan the Terrible. Ivan Aronsky, the arbitrageur who was at the heart of the Street's recent merger mania. Ted recognized him, not from a newspaper photo, of which there were notoriously few, but from a gala dinner which Aronsky had attended. The man reportedly was worth nearly a billion dollars. Ted took the hint, and did not acknowledge that he had recognized Aronsky. He took her hand. It felt clammy. "Well, nice seeing you again Hope," he said pleasantly, dropped her hand, and left.

A yawl pulled free of its moorings and drifted with the current along the Hudson River. The owner, a middle-aged man hidden behind black sunglasses, climbed to reset the anchor. He glanced toward the New Jersey skyline, surprised to see life onshore this early on a Sunday morning. He tipped his hat. Claire and Ted waved back. The sun had only just burst on the horizon, and an unusual summer-like heat rose in swells from Manhattan. Claire looked up at the sky. Her skin was flawless. She shook her hair out in the mild breeze and snuggled against Ted as they watched the city from the stone cliffs of the Jersey Palisades, almost in the shadow of the George Washington Bridge. The evening before, she had accepted his Chinese kite and invitation to dinner and a movie. They drove nearly a half hour to a small college town to see Dr. Zhivago, one of Claire's favorite films. Afterward, they wandered about the turn-of-the-century town

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (99)

admiring the stone structures, finally dropping into a tavern for drinks. She invited him back to her apartment where they made love twice before falling asleep. At five thirty in the morning, she woke him to make love, and then asked to be taken to the Palisades to watch the sunrise. She said: "I feel wonderful this morning." Claire had surprised Ted with the depth of her feeling, and he was surprised at his own response. The reserve and natural caution that usually braked his emotions was absent. He couldn't explain it, didn't want to, but the relationship also brought problems. The recognizable patterns of his life were being pulled apart. He wasn't yet sure how to accommodate this wonderful woman. "You're very thoughtful this morning," Claire said, poking at his ribs. "It's spring fever," he explained. "We're having it a bit early." "Listen, Ted, I won't feel comfortable until I tell you something. I wasn't sure if you and I would hit it off, so I didn't want to mention it if there was no reason to." "What do you mean?" "I had a husband," she whispered. "When?" The question came out more sharply than he intended. Claire walked toward the trees that were just beginning to turn green, stepped over some broken branches, and settled into an alcove of bushes soft with crushed leaves. Ted sat beside her. She wanted to explain; yet it was evident she feared Ted wouldn't understand. Just how much could Ted accept? First there was Burgland, and now a husband for him to contend with. "When I told you my father couldn't accept my leaving home except to become a wife, I left out one tiny detail. Actually, I did get married. But I learned you can't marry to make your father happy. The marriage lasted about a year." "You're divorced then." She laughed ruefully. "A good Italian Catholic, divorced? We've been separated for nearly four years." "You were married when you were twenty, twenty one?" "Nineteen and a half, to be exact." Ted whistled. "Why did it end?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (100)

"Well believe it or not," she said with irony, "he told my father I was frigid." Ted laughed. "The man must have been an idiot." "Well, it was true," Claire said. "To him, I was frigid. After about three months, I knew I didn't love him. Actually, I hated him. I married him for my father. He was the kind of man my father liked. He worked with my father. He was the son of my father's friend. So it was really terrible that I didn't sleep with him. Everyone knew. I slept in the living room -- on the sofa. He'd come home late at night after drinking beer with the guys and want to make love. I wouldn't and he'd beat me. Called me a slut. Couldn't believe I wasn't sleeping with anyone else. How else could I stand not having sex?" Claire nervously peeled the bark off a piece of dead birch. When she finished she looked up at Ted imploringly. Does it matter, her eyes asked. To reassure her, Ted lowered himself to the ground and put his arm around her. Together, they sat silent in the alcove, protected from the world. The sun was rising higher, people were out jogging. The sounds of the waking city surrounded them. "I wish life was as simple as this moment," Ted said. "What's bothering you?" "It's us. It's Reinhardt's death. Burgland. Wendell. Hornish. You. Nothing is simple. Nothing is clean, clear. My life, these days, is an awful tangle. But I guess I've just got to keep pulling on the threads until the knot comes loose." "I'm sorry this all makes you so sad," Claire said. "What can I do?" "Tell me about Burgland -- about Burgland's son. Claire, Steering Industries has a number of serious problems right now, problems that could ruin the company. It's my job to make sure that we come through them in one piece. And to do that, I've got to know about any and all pressures that are being brought to bear on Howard. Because he's not confiding in me, not fully. And I can't help him if I don't have all the facts." He thought of Reinhardt's body rotting in the swamp. For what? Life's zero-sum game. "Tell me about Jerry, please." Ted finally said. "I ... I don't know," Claire stammered. "I never met him. By the time Howard and I were ... together ... they didn't get along." "Why?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (101)

Claire folded her arms around herself. She knew why and it made her shudder. Money. It had robbed Jerry of his independence. Just as the seduction of Howard's money could have robbed her of hers. "Howard bought his own son out." "How?" "It's a long story." "I've got time." "Well, you can imagine, of course, that Jerry never had to earn a living. All he had to do was live off of his father's fortune. He didn't care about anything but himself. In essence, he was a parasite. "Howard saw that, of course. It pained him to see what his son had become. So he was hard on the kid, extra hard, doing whatever he could to try to make a man of him. But Jerry saw Howard as unfeeling. Demanding. Unreasonable. Eventually he turned his anger around and said Howard didn't deserve to be rich. He said that Steering's pharmaceutical profits were exorbitant -- that Howard was an evil man, profiting from sickness and suffering. "So he rejected his father completely, and eventually he ran way. He lived in New Mexico and worked as a carpenter. Then he moved to Massachusetts, to a commune called the Brotherhood. He was happy there, his sister said. He was part of a large family; they farmed together, ate together, and, from what Hope told me, slept together. For the first time in his life, Jerry felt accepted, loved for who he was, not for being the free-spending son of Howard Burgland. "Hope said for a year Howard didn't know where Jerry was. Hope did, though. They stayed in touch. Howard was very hurt when he discovered that Hope and Jerry were communicating and that Hope had never told him where Jerry was. Howard convinced Hope that he wanted to make amends with Jerry and convinced her to tell him where he could find Jerry. It was a terrible mistake," she drew a deep breath and stopped. "Go on." Ted squeezed her hand. "Well, Howard went to see Jerry at the Brotherhood and asked him to come home. Jerry refused, and they fought viciously. Howard got angry -- in the way Howard does. He got even. He told Jerry that these people were phonies, that they were as interested in money as everyone else, and Jerry just hadn't looked deep enough to see that.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (102)

"Jerry didn't believe a word of it, of course. So he told Jerry he would prove it. You know how Howard hates to lose. Well he left and came back a week later, and asked to see the commune's spiritual leader. The spiritual leader, his advisor, Howard, and Jerry sat down together. Now that's about as far as Howard went in explaining what happened." "Do you know what happened?" "Howard wouldn't tell me. He just says, he got the leader to send Jerry home. But Hope found out from Jerry what happened. According to her, Howard told the guru he had a proposal to make, opened his briefcase, and dumped fifty thousand dollars on the table. He turned to the leader and said that the money would be his if he threw Jerry out of the commune immediately, that day. Jerry was right beside him when he did it. Jerry went crazy, and the guru and his advisor had to step in and stop Jerry from physically attacking Howard. But according to Hope, Howard didn't flinch, didn't blink. "When Jerry had calmed down, Howard said 'last chance' to the leader and began scooping the money back into the attache case. He had less than a minute to make up his mind -- throw Jerry out or kiss fifty thousand good bye. The holy smile on the guru's face began to fade. He looked at Jerry. Then he looked at the money. The guru just stared at the money. Howard got up, opened the door, and started walking out. And then this so-called spiritual leader jumps up and says okay. "He turned to Jerry and, without a word of explanation or apology, ordered him out of the commune. Jerry was so sick with shame that he curled up on the floor in a ball. Then Howard lifted Jerry to his feet and told the phony swami that he was a leech and that he hoped his son could now see that. Jerry pushed Howard away and ran out of the room. They drove back to the city without a word between them, and I don't think Howard and Jerry ever spoke again." Claire's eyes were bright with tears. "Jesus. That's awful, Claire. I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry for you, for Howard, for Jerry, for everybody. The whole thing is just sad as can be." "I know. After I'd heard the whole story from Hope" she said, "I could never see Howard the same way again. That was what poisoned our relationship, and that's when I broke it off." Claire stood. "Take me home, would you? Make love to me."

Samuel Bleecker

They drove back to her apartment in silence.

“Deadly Medicine” Page (103)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (104)

CHAPTER 17

Ralph was at his post, trying to empty his bladder with his usual success. He slouched forward and read the tiny writing in the grout between the tiles above the urinal -- Hello to all my readers. His tired blue eyes swung over to Ted as he came through the men's room door. Ted took a position adjacent to Ralph. He no longer had the heart to bait Ralph, so he ignored him. Ralph did not ignore Ted. "You're in deep shit," he said, not so much to Ted as to the urinal. "Really? Thank you for sharing, Ralph" What a great way to start my Monday, Ted thought, listening to prophesies of doom at a urinal at 8:30 in the morning. When Ted arrived at his office, Glenda was already there. "Good morning," she said brightly. "You wouldn't say that if your day started with Ralph shaking his penis at you," he said, and went in to his desk. Glenda let that image of Ralph float into her mind, then chased it away with a shudder. She took coffee and sweet rolls to Ted, who glared at the stack of unpublished articles on his desk. Glenda had placed them there on Thursday for his review on Friday.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (105)

"I suppose my scientist colleagues will raise hell if I don't get through these today." "I should think so," Glenda said with finality. Every scientist was required to submit his articles for review and approval by legal, to excise any passages that could either reveal proprietary information or cause trouble for the company in court. On average, twenty papers a week were reviewed. "Henry will be angriest if you don't get to them. He needs your approval on a speech he's delivering tomorrow," she explained. Ted hefted Henry's speech in his hand. "About eight ounces of bullshit." He set the speech aside, then pushed the stack of articles towards Glenda. "Give the top half of the pile to Jack Sickels. He may not be the brightest guy on staff, but at least he can read," Ted explained. "Give the bottom half to Fred. He loves this crap." "Yes, but the scientists don't like what he does. They say he doesn't let them say anything. He's paranoid, takes the meat out of everything." "True. But we can't be hurt by what we don't say." He lifted the pile and passed it to Glenda, then turned to the speech and began reading. The phone rang. Glenda picked up the phone with her free hand and listened. "Do you need to speak with him?" She listened again and hung up. "Another five alarmer," she said. "Mr. Burgland said come right over. The detectives are back." "Lovely. Fantastic. Delightful. God is in his heaven and all's right with the world." Ted picked up his notepad and pen and strode out of the office and down the hall to Burgland's office. He gave Claire a wink in passing and opened the interior door. The two detectives flanked Burgland at the window. Ted coughed to announce himself. Ted greeted Burgland and reached for Detective Ashland's meaty hand and, in turn, the limp paw of detective Bournerite. "I didn't think you gentlemen would take us up on our invitation to return so soon," Ted said. "I never got nowhere by waiting," Ashland answered. Burgland spoke. "Ted, I asked you here because the detectives wish to see the file on Reinhardt."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (106)

"I hope you objected, Howard." He pursed his lips. "No, I haven't." Whit had obviously advised Burgland, as he had Ted, about the need for candor. Ted actually agreed, but he wanted these lawmen to earn each and every concession. "As your counsel, I suggest we don't give up the files." "Look here, counselor, we been polite up 'til now. We get the files one way or the other. You make it hard on us, we'll make it harder on y'all." "I'm afraid we are prepared to make certain aspects of this inquiry public if you don't cooperate," Bournerite said directly to Burgland. The threat jolted Burgland. Ted was not alarmed. He knew Bournerite was bluffing. "Ted, please give these gentlemen the files -- and whatever else they need." Burgland faced the detectives. "We intend to cooperate fully, I want you to understand." Detective Bournerite turned his gaze to Ted. "The files please." "They're in my safe. If you will excuse me, I'll get them." Ted turned and left the room. Ted entered his office and quietly closed the door. He moved swiftly to his credenza, knelt down, and twisted two tumblers on the safe. They clicked and the safe swung open. Ted rifled through the documents inside and then rushed back to Burgland's office. Burgland's eyes narrowed when he saw Ted was empty handed. "Where are the files?" "They've been stolen," Ted said flatly. Ted fielded blank stares from Burgland and Bournerite and a look of obvious suspicion from Ashland. "The files are kept in my safe," Ted said. "I have no explanation for their disappearance, but I assure you I am not attempting to hide them from you." Bournerite did not appear to be impressed. "Was the safe open when you looked?" "No, it was locked." "Anything else unusual -- or missing?" Bournerite asked.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (107)

"I don't think so. I didn't take the time for a complete inventory." The safe hadn't been ransacked, Ted recalled. Whoever took the files knew precisely what he wanted and exactly where to find it. "You telling us the papers just up and vanished?" Ashland asked. Bournerite clasped his hands together as he rose. From his expression it was obvious that he thought the two executives were stalling for time. "You will get us those files, won't you Mr. Lasting?" "I sincerely hope, mister corporation lawyer, that we do not find out later that you accidentally 'misplaced' those files," Ashland said, and the two detectives left. Burgland took a step closer to Ted and said gravely, "Ted, I hope you know what you're doing. This is a very risky course of action, and as you know, I wish to cooperate fully with the authorities. But I have faith in your judgement and that you are doing what is best for the company." Ted felt the blood rush to his face. "Howard, what you just saw was not a mini-play performed for the benefit of those junior G-men. The papers really are missing. Pardon me for saying this, Howard, but I hope for all our sakes that you are taking me fully into your confidence. If those files are being hidden by someone in this company, it could be disastrous for us. I'm sure you realize how bad it would look in any court case that might arise, especially in light of the fact that no one would benefit more from the disappearance of those files than you."

Ted burst through his office door. "Glenda, who was in my office while I was gone?" Glenda looked up with alarm. "I want a full accounting. I want every name. Every name. Do you hear me?" Glenda tried to follow Ted as he swept past her on his way to his office. He closed the door in her face. Just as suddenly as it closed, it swung open again, and Ted asked her, calmly, to start putting together a list of every person who had entered his office since Thursday, beginning with his appointments and including people who had visited when he was not

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (108)

there. "Don't leave out anyone -- secretaries who came in to deposit anything on my desk, a scientist who just happened to drop by, someone who asked to use my phone." Glenda trembled. "Has something happened?" "Something very serious has happened. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what. Please just get that list together for me, okay?" "Of course. I'm sorry you're having so much trouble." "The barbarians are at the gate, Glenda, and it's only you and me in the fort," he said, "but we won't break, will we? Please remember to ask the other secretaries if they've seen anyone come from my office while you were away from your desk. Be discreet, okay?" Ted knew the list would probably be useless, but at this point he couldn't afford to discard any possibility. He turned back to his desk and dialed Joe Hopkins, Steering's director of security. "What's the problem, Mr. Lasting?" he asked in a voice as rough as crushed gravel. "You keep a list of company outsiders who visit the labs each day." "Sure we do." "Could I have copies of the list from, say, last Thursday through this morning?" On Thursday, Ted had opened the safe to deposit some papers and remembered seeing the Reinhardt file then. "May I ask why, counselor?" "Not yet Joe. Soon though, I promise." "I don't think I can let those records out without authorization." "Am I not authorization, Joe? Or must you talk to Burgland first?" Ted asked irritably. Joe stiffened. "No problem, sir. I'll send that list right over -- after I've notified Mr. Burgland." At 4:30, two lists arrived on Ted's desk -- xeroxed copies of the visitor sign-in sheets from the main reception desk. After some thought, Ted realized the theft probably occurred at night or during the weekend, and examined the weekend sheets with particular interest.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (109)

He propped his feet on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair. The first interesting entry was by H. Burgland, 11:45 Saturday morning. While Ted flagged the name, he knew it was not uncommon for Burgland to drop in to catch up on some work. Saturday was a day for the overworked, and the ambitious. True to form, on this Saturday Scott Cooke and Whit had both been in. Vishni had not, Ted noticed. Further examination of the list suggested an explanation for Burgland's presence: Hope and her husband, Sebastian, signed in at 1:05. Perhaps they were meeting for lunch to discuss family business. As he had expected, the list was of little use. It supplied him with the names of people he already suspected. He gathered the weekday list, placed it on top of the weekend list, and was about to stuff them into his desk when a single name jumped out at him. Wendell Coates had signed into Steering Industries at six p.m. Friday night.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (110)

CHAPTER 18

Ted climbed the six flights of stairs to be greeted at the top landing by a very tall man with a fair complexion and a face that spoke of kidney pie and English pudding. The eyes were sky blue and intelligent, and seemed to take Ted in completely in a single pass, to weigh him, and find him wanting. Ted held out the apartment keys that had been thrown down to him from a loft window by Andrew Courtlandt, the man who faced him. "I'm Ted Lasting," he said somewhat out of breath from the steep walk up. "You're Andrew Courtlandt?" "Correct," Courtlandt said. Ted took his extended hand; Courtlandt's grip was firm but mild, as if he were holding himself in reserve. The fingers were long and delicate, the skin fine-grained -- the hands of an artist. Courtlandt listened to Ted's accelerated breathing. "You look in much better shape ..." "Than I'm in," Ted finished. "Well, it's been a long day, and I haven't made it to the gym in weeks."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (111)

"The price you pay for corporate living. Come in." Courtlandt let Ted through the thick metal doorway into an immense loft with twenty-foot ceilings. The door slammed closed, and Courtlandt threw two heavy locks and dropped a metal bar into place. The spacious loft was immaculate except for a work area where Courtlandt's easel, paints, and canvases were set up. The walls were crowded with his works, some hanging, others leaning against the white backdrop. Ted surveyed the art. Several of the paintings presented perspectives of wheat fields against foreboding skies. The near wheat stalks were fat lines of acrylic squeezed directly from the tube, the kernels were swift strokes of a palette knife, the sky was rich colors laid down roughly with a wide brush. "Very nice," Ted commented. "You combine the impressionism of Van Gogh with the perspective of Cezanne. Quite a trick." A tiny hint of surprise flashed in Courtlandt's eyes, but he replied with faint irony, "How nice of you to notice." In one corner Ted found several highly polished and lacquered walnut wood shapes. "Vern's work," Courtlandt said, and led the way through the clutter of painting supplies and household items of the work area. Above them was a curtained deck-space which hung over fully half the space. They walked to a living area, and Ted dropped his overcoat on a low, pastel sofa. "Vern, come down and meet Mr. Lasting." The floor above clattered with the sound of footsteps approaching the spiral staircase. A handsome apparition descended the steps -- dark-haired, wide-shouldered, in jeans and a plaid shirt. Vern's Sephardic features were delicate, his eyes lightly accented with liner. Extending his hand, Ted introduced himself. "Ted Lasting. And you're Vern Wicker?" Vern offered a tepid smile. "Ted works for Jerry's father," Courtlandt said, and Vern's smile disappeared. "Now then, why are you here, Mr. Lasting?" Courtlandt asked.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (112)

"I'm afraid I can't be too specific. I need to know more about Jerry Burgland. He may have some bearing on financial matters at Steering. Anything you tell me about Jerry will be held in strict confidence." Vern gave a contemptuous snort. "Why should we trust you? You're hired help, the corporate attorney who protects a company that sells unsafe drugs to Mexico and experiments on animals. Help you? You're out of your fucking mind." "Whoa. Hold on a minute. That's an awful lot to dump on a man you don't even know." "Your company pushes powdered formula to Third World mothers, and ..." Ted turned to Courtlandt. "Did I by chance miss the sign directing me to the Socialist Worker Party headquarters?" Then to Vern: "I hate to say this to an avant garde artist, but you're behind the times, and you obviously don't know a damned thing about Steering Industries." Courtlandt interceded. "Mr. Lasting, we oppose the war machine in this country and the companies that exploit the Third World. We don't really mean to lay the whole trip on you, but Vern is particularly angry with drug companies and the effect of their products on the environment and on Third World health. He also saw first hand what having a capitalist father did to Jerry. Vern was especially fond of Jerry," he said, smiling sardonically. "He's understandably resentful. Jerry was a very decent guy who was destroyed by his own father." Ted turned from Courtlandt to Vern. "Well, until you know whereof you speak, I'd appreciate it if you'd tone down the rhetoric." Vern flung himself around and marched away from Ted. "Listen to that glib shit," he said over his shoulder. "We're talking about a ruined life, and he wants to play smartass attorney." He turned and walked up close to Ted. "You're only here because it involves money. You're here because Jerry's old man put you up to it. And we know why. You bet we do," he said, his eyes blazing. "If money and self-interest bother you so goddamned much," Ted said, keeping a lid on his anger, "who the hell pays for this huge studio in this hip neighborhood? Why

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (113)

don't you live on a little less and contribute your money to the poor? You seem to be quite willing to benefit from the system." "No way!" Vern shouted. "I'm out to bust the system. I'm an artist. I seek truth. I tell the truth through my work." "I'm sure your gaily-colored carvings are saving baby's lives right this second -almost as many lives as a shipload of smallpox vaccine," Ted said. Vern's selfrighteousness sickened him. "Go fuck yourself, mister rich attorney," Vern shouted. "Go dig your dirt on Jerry and report back to his shithead dad. We won't help you." His fists were clenched. Ted was certain that if he stayed any longer they would exchange blows. Courtlandt stepped forward. "What more can you possibly discover than what Burgland already found out?" "He conducted his own investigation?" Ted was shocked. Courtlandt nodded. "He came here himself." "When did he do this?" "Just before Jerry died." Vern broke into tears, his shoulders shaking. Courtlandt withdrew a tissue from his pocket and wiped Vern's eyes. Embracing Vern, he explained to Ted. "Burgland wanted to know how Jerry lived. I was honest then -- and I'm sorry I was. I won't make that mistake again. I think you should go." Ted picked up his overcoat. "All right, I'll go. I'm sorry this turned out to be such an emotional experience for you." Courtlandt's eyes flashed anger. "Well, what in hell did you expect?" Vern began to wail. "Expect? I don't follow you." "You don't know?" "Know what?" "Jerry and Vern were married."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (114)

CHAPTER 19

A large polar bear warmed himself in the noon sunshine. Occasionally, he stretched his 1200-pound frame and yawned wide. Looking at him, it was impossible to tell that six months ago, the huge white beast mangled and killed a drunk who had climbed into the cage. The bear seemed tame, overfed, under-exercised. Ted had asked Hornish to meet him at the zoo rather than a restaurant. What Ted had to say would take little time. Restaurants are too confining, the two men would sit opposite one another much longer than the business at hand warranted. Also, Ted wanted to avoid a scene. He approached a gray-bearded figure who paced back and forth at the cage's railing. "Mr. Hornish, I presume," Ted said. Hornish did not extend his hand. "Your paper frowns on reporters being taken to lunch," Ted added, "so I thought you might consider this a convenient compromise. Would you like to talk here or while we walk around the zoo?" "Makes no difference to me," said Hornish.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (115)

"Good. Lets take in the sights then." Ted strolled toward the monkey house. The smell and heat were overpowering, the screeching was ear piercing. Monkeys scrambled around their cages, shouting at the two men and at one another. "Don't jerk me around," Hornish said impatiently. "I want to know about the report and what the fuck is happening at your company?" They stopped before the orangutan's cage. In a quiet, taut voice, Ted warned Hornish, "You are making accusations founded on nothing but speculations." "Speculation my ass." "Hold it. Have you seen the report?" "Come off it Lasting. You know I haven't seen the report because you're blocking my efforts to get a copy. You pricks even fired Wendell Coates because of it," Hornish bellowed. Several passers-by turned their heads. Ted grabbed Hornish by the elbow and guided him further along the monkey house. "Let's move on. Shall we?" "I'll tell you something," Hornish said, jerking his elbow from Ted's grasp, "You have been clever. I contacted the FDA and demanded a copy of the report under the Freedom of Information Act. It seems you haven't yet filed the report. The agency knows nothing of it." "And they wouldn't act on your hunch, would they?" Ted said. Hornish glared at him. "Without that report, any allegations you make about Steering will be treated as so much hot air. You've got nothing. You can't play ball." "Oh yes I can. I've talked to people inside and out of your company. And a picture is beginning to emerge -- a picture of greed and negligence. And despite what you might think, some people are willing to stand up for their ethical principles." "Hornish, let's cut to the chase. You are here because someone alleged that there was a damaging health report circulating at Steering Industries. Now, even if such a report existed -- and you understand I am neither confirming nor denying its existence -- it would be subject to many interpretations. If such a report existed, it first would be used as the basis for further, more refined testing, to see if the investigation itself had influenced the results, and to determine if the original interpretation of the data was valid."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (116)

"Frankly, Lasting, it sounds like you're just hoping to pass off some well rehearsed bullshit on me. If such a report exists, it is your ethical duty to release it, to inform the community at large. Once and for all, do I get this report or not?" Well, I gave it a shot, Ted thought Now it was time to take off the gloves. "Hornish, you have been a science writer all your life. A pretty good one, I might add." Hornish remained tight-lipped. "It takes a special kind person to be an investigative reporter. A person who can make critical moral distinctions. A person above reproach." Hornish's eyes narrowed. "Are you above reproach, Hornish? You've made quite a bit of your concern for ethical values. Bullshit. "Tell me, did you think about your wife when you started fucking your secretary? Did you tell the Times that you got free junkets to Freeport and a thousand dollars in gambling money from Bally when you wrote that article on probability and gambling? Where was your concern for ethics when you sent your twenty-year-old girlfriend up the steps behind the Chinese restaurant for an abortion? Where was your concern for ethics when she died?" "You son-of-a-bitch," Hornish growled as he clutched Ted's lapels. The monkeys shrieked. About a dozen people stopped to stare. Ted waited for Hornish to release his grip. He opened his briefcase and withdrew the file he had on Hornish and handed it to him. Hornish read Sals' report. He leaned against the rail. As he turned the pages, his body slumped. "You dirty fucking bastard," he whispered hoarsely. The report spoke of rather typical indiscretions: an experimentation with homosexuality when he was sixteen, pot smoking in college, some recreational cocaine use even now, the affair with his secretary and a few one night stands, minor distortions in articles to benefit a friend here and there. No item was extraordinary in itself, but when tallied with the others, the list gave an unsavory impression. Only the death of his college sweetheart in the dirty kitchen of the abortionist stood out shamefully. Except for that, Hornish's life was much like everyone else's, ambiguous, filled with shortcuts.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (117)

Ted was simply showing him the dirty corners of his existence. Hornish was beaten. "I want you to back off Steering. But not for the reasons you think," Ted said. "Oh, of course," Hornish said tightly. "You want me to walk away from this because what's good for Steering is good for the nation. Right?" "No." Ted walked into the sunshine. "You think I'm doing this because I'm the company thug. You think I'm bought and paid for. Not at all. I'm doing this because I think the company is right and you are wrong. Now I'm going to admit, for the record, that the report exists." Hornish examined Ted in disbelief. "Where's the catch?" "No catch. The report that you learned about, that we were tricked into revealing to you, was filled with unexamined premises and assumptions. It assumed that all the illnesses reflected in the report were the consequence of employment at Steering. They are not. I asked a very competent researcher to compile information about employee lifestyles -- where they lived, if they had their house insulated recently, and with what. "That report was extremely enlightening. The results, incidentally, were placed in my hands only yesterday. They showed that twelve of the employees who showed early signs of cellular damage also happen to live in Rutherford, where the cancer rate is higher than the national average. The had all lived in their homes for longer than ten years, in five cases longer than they had been employed at Steering. Another two dozen employees live in highly industrialized areas of the state -- oil refineries, smelting, light manufacturing. Again, these areas demonstrated higher incidences of cancer. Finally, several of the employees with medical problems owned homes insulated with asbestos. Many more smoke or drink excessively or had childhood lung problems. All these factors must be accounted for. Our scientists were uncertain of the accuracy of the original report, and therefore did not want to submit it to the appropriate government agencies until they were able to do further analysis. With these latest results, I think you will see that Steering's workers do not have a significantly higher rate of health problems -- cancer in particular." "Then why the hell didn't you let me see it?" Hornish fumed.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (118)

"Because you would have been obligated to report our tentative conclusions. Your accusations, well-founded or not, would have affected many people. That's why I blocked you. And let me tell you one last thing. If the report turns out to prove that our labs are unsafe, we'll do everything possible to correct that problem." Hornish regarded him suspiciously. "You think I'm full of shit don't you?" "Why wouldn't I? You go digging into my past to try to prevent me from coming after your company, and now you say there's no problem after all. Why should I believe a word you say?" Ted opened his briefcase and handed Hornish a copy of the original report and a copy of the report that Vishni had turned in late last night. "Here, I'll trade you. You can keep these if you want." Ted exchanged the two health reports for the dossier that Hornish clutched in his hand. Hornish readily surrendered it. He wanted no part of it. He should have held onto it, thought Ted. If he had kept it, he would have evidence of Steering's ill intent toward him. Hornish was a babe in the woods. Ted was a wolf -- or perhaps an overfed, under-exercised polar bear, he thought regretfully.

Yes, he was worth every penny of the quarter million they paid him. He was smart. He could do whatever was necessary to get the job done. And, he did get it done. That didn't mean he had to like what he did or like himself for doing it. Ted placed his call from the booth at the zoo. Claire answered. Ted asked for Burgland distractedly. Unable to read his mood, Claire put Ted through to Burgland without comment. "Your little problem has been solved," Ted announced without introduction. "I've pulled Hornish's teeth." Burgland hadn't expected the Hornish issue to be resolved so quickly. "How?" he asked, delight evident in his voice. "You don't want to know. " Ted heard nothing for a few seconds, as Burgland absorbed his statement.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (119)

"Assessment?" Burgland asked finally. "The Times either will not run a story, or if they do, it will be a favorable one." "Excellent. Excellent. I'm sure you know how much this means to the company. I'm very pleased, Ted." "Yes, I know. I'll see you this afternoon." Ted took a long stroll down Fifth Avenue. He was sorry he wasn't young again, playing sandlot baseball in the open field behind his home in Westchester County. He missed his dad, who died when Ted was nineteen. He removed the Hornish folder from his briefcase and tossed it down the sewer on the corner of Fifty-First and Fifth, opposite St. Patrick's Cathedral. He looked up at the steeple and wondered if he had made a mistake. If he had, he would pay for it. He shuddered and continued his lonely walk downtown.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (120)

CHAPTER 20

Traffic had been lighter than he expected, and Ted arrived early for his theater date with Claire. He pulled into a garage on Forty-Seventh Street off Eighth Avenue. The attendant gave him his ticket, threw the car into gear and burned rubber all the way up the ramp. "Remind me not to tip him," Ted said to the other attendant. The Puerto Rican kid smiled, several gold teeth gleaming at Ted. "It's okay. No hurt your car." "He damned well better not." The gleaming smile never left the kid's face as he ticketed the next car, slid into the driver's seat, shifted the clutch on the Mercedes 450SL, revved the engine loudly, and burned rubber all the way up the ramp. The owner of the Mercedes, a balding man in a camel-haired coat, pulled his head into his neck and cringed. "Goddamned pricks," he muttered. "Treat a forty-five thousand dollar car like a piece a shit." Another car pulled into the garage, a nondescript Chevy. As Ted passed the driver he said, "I'd park it myself if I were you." Without replying, without acknowledging Ted's

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (121)

remark in any way, the driver shifted into reverse, backed out, and drove away. I guess I'll mind my own business, Ted thought, and walked out onto the sidewalk. At that moment, the street lamps switched on. Ted read his watch -- seven-ten. Claire wasn't due to meet him at the theater until around quarter to eight. Ted chose a leisurely walk instead of a drink at a bar, and walked toward Broadway, then along Broadway to Forty-Third Street. The New York Times was headquartered there. The incident with Hornish still stung his conscience. Ted stopped at the intersection, deciding whether to go north or south. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a man in a brown suit looking in a shop window behind him. He recognized him as the driver of the Chevy in the parking garage. Ted moved south. The man followed. Ted crossed the street. The man crossed the street. A mist of sweat formed on Ted's lip and he felt the hairs on his neck bristle. The hot crime stories of the week flashed into his mind. Two days ago a man had been murdered for refusing to hand over his wristwatch. A prostitute had stabbed a john to death three blocks from where Ted now stood. Ted looked back. The man in brown browsed idly near a trashcan. Ted crossed Forty-Third Street and trotted toward Eighth. The man following him was taking no care to do it unnoticed, Ted realized, and this was a bad sign. Keep moving, keep thinking. The man in brown was apparently hanging back, waiting until he could get Ted alone. At the corner of Forty-Second and Eighth, a once-famous theater advertised live sex acts on stage. Theaters have multiple exits. He'd enter, wait to see if his pursuer would follow him in, then slip out one of the emergency exits. He trotted under the marquee and stood in the bright lights. The man at the turnstile wore faded jeans and a flashy silk shirt. "Five dollars," he said. Ted thrust a bill into the man's hand, and the man slapped twenty tokens into Ted's. Inside were rows of small video booths in which X-rated films were projected. The pictures on the outside of the booth advertised the brand of sex being shown inside -heterosexual sex, both kinds of homosexual sex, sex in threes and sex in groups, in the orifice of your choice.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (122)

Ted raced up the staircase. On the mezzanine, men clustered around a dozen glass Live Nude booths in which scantily-clad women posed. Curtains were drawn on some of them -- these women were engaged. Through the glass of the front side of the booths the women worked the crowd, teasing the potential customers. On the back side of the booths were doors for the johns. The woman would direct him into the private portion of the booth, and the curtain would close. Ted looked down from the mezzanine into the video area. The man in brown entered and walked along the row of video booths. Ted decided his best bet was to hide -perhaps the man in brown would think he'd left by a back way. Ted stepped into one of the Live Nude booths and quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned against the warm wall and rested. He stood like that for -- he didn't know how long. A pounding noise on the glass from the woman's side brought him out of his reverie. "Hey you gotta put money in. You unnerstan'?" said a woman's voice from a speaker in the wall. Next to the speaker was a coin slot. Ted stuffed in all his tokens, and the curtain whirred and lifted. A tall Latina with black hair and dark eyes looked back at Ted as the curtain rose. She wore a black bra that showed the tops of her nipples and tiny panties around which her dark pubic hair spilled. "Hey big boy, look over here at mama. This your first time?" Ted nodded. "Well don't be bashful." She smiled. "What you wan' me to do?" Ted shrugged. "The usual will be fine." "You must be married," she said, and slid into automatic pilot. She licked her lips and ground her pelvis into the glass that separated them. She slid her bra off her shoulders, hiding each breast in turn with her arms. She tugged one side of her panties down, then the other, teasing and taunting. Her tongue flicked between her lips. "Show me your cock," she pleaded. "Show me your big dick." Her face was now a mask of desire and her voice became breathy. "Come, show mama you nice big dick. Don't make mama wait. I want to see you beautiful big cock." Ted looked on impassively. "You no like mama?" she asked plaintively. "Let me suck you cock. Pretty please?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (123)

She walked closer to the glass partition. "You queer, man?" "No." "A cop?" She eyed him suspiciously. "You look like a cop." "No, I'm not a cop." "Then what gives?" He shrugged. "Nothing." He realized he had better offer a more gratifying answer, lest she start complaining more loudly. "I just like to watch. Okay?" "Okay with me," she said. "Anything in particular?" "Surprise me." She leaned back on her stool and slowly pulled her panties down to her ankles, then kicked them away. She spread her legs wide, licked her lips, and moaned. Ted opened the door to the booth a few inches, and looked down the hall. It was empty. The Latina stood and walked to the glass. "Are you a weirdo or something like that?" she asked. Ted closed the door. "Something like that." She furrowed her brow. "Look," he said, "why don't you take a break. All I want is to stay in here as long as those tokens last." "Okay with me," she said, pulling on her panties, fluffing her hair, and refastening her bra. She extracted a paperback from her makeup bag, sat down on her stool, and read, ignoring Ted completely. After perhaps a minute the curtain whirred closed and Ted left. "My, my, we've been a long time in there." It was the man who had driven the Chevy into the garage, who had left without looking at Ted. "Not very considerate. You in there, with her. Me out here, alone. Not very considerate." The man's eyes were brown. His suit was brown. His shoes were brown. His hair, socks, and tie were black. "It must be the city that makes a man this inconsiderate," he said. His eyes were malevolent, his pupils large in the dimly lit theater. "It breeds inconsideration, even violence. For instance," the man continued, "I hate when people use the public phones as

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (124)

offices, you know what I mean? A man makes a call, then when his time is up, he has the other fella call him back. Now they talk for as long as they like. Makes no difference if one, or two, or ten people are waiting for the phone. I call that inconsideration, plain and simple. Makes me mad enough to kill, inconsideration. I hate inconsideration." Uncertain what to do, Ted stood and listened transfixed. The man continued to speak softly, his words were barely audible. "Makes me extremely angry. I think the city brings out the worst in people, you know what I mean? Mostly because there are too many people. Makes people crazy. You understand, I'm sure. You look intelligent to me." One of the theater's huge bouncers passed by. "Can't stand there," he said. "Can't block the booths." The man in the brown suit turned on the black bouncer. "I don't like being told what to do, boy." The bouncer's eyes narrowed. "You got to move on, my man. I won't tell you twice," he said, his voice low and mean. The man in brown smiled. "You're absolutely right. How very inconsiderate of us." He gripped Ted by the elbow, and together the men left the theater. Back under the glare of the marquee, the man in brown dropped Ted's arm and faced him. As long as they were on the street, in public view, Ted thought, he might as well listen to the man and learn what he could. The man in brown put on a worried look. "I wouldn't come into the city if I were the type of person to worry about my safety, you know what I mean? You, for instance, you come from the suburbs. I can tell. You look clean, well-scrubbed, comfortable. You don't have the attitude of a New Yorker -- frenzied -- y'know? You look like mowed lawns and barbecues. Now if I were you, which I'm glad I'm not, I wouldn't come into the city. I can tell it will have a bad effect on you. Makes you the kind of person you're not. For instance," he said patting Ted's shoulder, "you don't seem to be the type of person who would snoop into other people's business. You seem more like a live and let live kind of guy. I can tell. I'm a great judge of character." He jabbed his thumb toward his tie. "I can tell all sorts of things about people just from looking at 'em. Like you, you look like you recently suffered from an accident -- " The man reconsidered. "No, you didn't. But you could easily have one, you know what I

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (125)

mean? You think you're being careful, but you're not, and wham! An accident. And all of a sudden you're dead, just like that." He poked his finger at Ted. "You don't want to be careless, friend. You don't want to stick your nose where it might get stepped on." He gave Ted's arm a friendly pat and slipped quickly into the flow of pedestrians.

Ted was ten minutes late when he met Claire in the theater lobby. His hair was damp and his skin ashen. "God, you look like hell," she said. "Are you all right?" "That's some way to greet a man on your second date. Do you often get asked out again?" His hand trembled slightly as he took hers. His palms were wet. "Are you sure you're not ill?" He shook his head. "Everything's fine. Let's get in there." He handed the tickets to the usher, and they took their seats just as the house lights dimmed. The darkness engulfed them and saved Ted from a lengthy explanation. Claire gripped his hand and leaned closer. "Tell me about it later, will you?" she whispered. Ted saw almost nothing of the play. Afterward they drove home in silence. When they arrived at the door to Claire's apartment building, Ted kissed her gently on the lips. "Sweetheart, I can't stay." "Don't you want to come in?" She pressed against him. "I want you to," she whispered. "I can't Claire," he said, pulling away. "There's some things I've got to work out. I'm really sorry." Her eyes followed his shoulders as they disappeared down the steps. Ted went home, poured himself a stiff bourbon, and mulled things over for the twentieth time that night. Then he pulled out his wallet and withdrew Detective Ashland's card. He dialed the telephone number of the Summit Hotel in Murray Hill, New Jersey. After a half-dozen rings a sleepy voice answered the phone. "Lord in heaven, what time is it?" Ashland demanded, his voice heavy with sleep. "Twelve-thirty." "And who is this, please?" "Ted Lasting."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (126)

"And what in the world can I do for you at this hour, Mr. Lasting?" Ashland growled. "Somebody followed me tonight, and told me if I don't stop snooping around I could get hurt." The thought made Ted nervous. He was encountering a world he had done his best to avoid, a shadowy, dangerous world. When he got no reply, Ted said, "The man threatened my life, Ashland." "That all?" "Is that all? Isn't that enough?" "Nope," Ashland said and hung up. Ted stared dumfounded at the phone. That son-of-a-bitch. Ted pressed the redial button. "Yeah?" Ashland asked. "It's Lasting. What the hell do you mean hanging up on me like that?" Ted fumed. "I'm sorry. I shoulda been more solicitous. Take two aspirin and call me in the morning." "Listen here," Ted said. "I told you that someone threatened me tonight. Don't you give a shit?" "Lookee here, Mr. Lasting. I asked you to open up to me. You didn't. Now you're scared and want my help. Well, that's a whole lot of too bad, friend. Call Bournerite. He's your Jersey dick. Don't bother a Florida cop on a Jersey matter." "Look Ashland, I admit I wasn't a hundred percent cooperative. But I've told you only the truth. The fact that the files are missing is not my fault. I would think you'd want to know about this man and why he threatened me. I think it's directly related to the murder. Now tell me what to do." "Hey, don't go givin' me grief. You ain't told me the truth yet, and until you do, don't expect any favors from me." "What do you mean I haven't told you the truth yet? What are you talking about?" "Ask Wendell Coates," Ashland said, and he hung up a second time.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (127)

CHAPTER 21

Claire's face registered concern the moment she saw Ted. He walked into her office with head bent, holding his temples between the fingers of his right hand. "Can I help?" "Yeah. Got any aspirin?" Claire pulled open her center drawer, withdrew a bottle of aspirin, and shook out two. He picked them up one at a time from her palm and chewed them without water. The bitterness squared his face. That made four aspirin within a half hour and still no relief from the pain. "Thanks," he said. He kissed her palm. "Now let me see the boss." Claire rang Burgland. He came to the door to greet Ted. They walked to the sofas by the window and sat. Burgland was pleased. "Great job," he beamed. "I appreciate your having solved our little public relations problem. Now what can I do for you?" He expected Ted had come for his reward. Ted did not beat about the bush. "Unless you object, I'm going to spread some of my work around my office. I'm considering putting Bobby in charge of most of the day-today work." Burgland nodded. A vacation, he thought, was an excellent idea. Ted deserved a rest. "I want to spend more time following leads," Ted said unexpectedly.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (128)

"I thought the problem was solved." "The Hornish matter is finished. There is, unfortunately, the Reinhardt matter and ... some other things," Ted finished vaguely. "The police are handling Reinhardt. Let them have it." Burgland was happy to let things stand. Reinhardt was dead and, without the file, there was no basis for a lawsuit. And unless there was an executor to Reinhardt's estate, which Burgland considered unlikely, no one would have the slightest interest in going through Reinhardt's files to see if he kept copies of the letters he submitted to Steering. "Leave it be," Burgland repeated. "At this point I believe the best course is to suck in our guts and tough it out." "I can't. It's gone further than that." "Ted, I'm asking you to drop it." Burgland was solemn. "Take two weeks or even a month's leave, and go to the Bahamas. You deserve it." "I can't. I'm sorry." "I see," Burgland said. The two men stood up. The interview was over. "There's one thing I would like to caution you about, Ted," Burgland said with steel in his voice. "What's that?" Ted asked. "Keep my family out of this." Ted was rocked. Who was this man's pipeline, that he already had learned of Ted's visit to Courtlandt and Vern? Could Burgland be behind the threat from the man in brown? The throbbing in his head was like waves thundering onto the beach as he walked from the room. When Ted was gone, Burgland angrily tore and tore again the note of pasted newsprint on legal-sized yellow paper that warned: ted KNOWs. Your seCREt IS no longER SAFE. Burgland tossed the pieces into his desk drawer and slammed it shut.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (129)

CHAPTER 22

Wendell was outside his daughter's house when Ted arrived. The house was a conventional split-level with brick entrance and shingled siding, pale blue with white trim. Wendell waved a greeting as Ted pulled his car into the driveway. In this part of New Jersey, near the Pennsylvania border, the slam of the car door sent a hollow echo through the surrounding woods. A dog barked inside the house. The side door opened and an attractive woman with Wendell's coloring popped her head out of the doorway. "Everything all right, dad?" "Yes dear, it's an old friend." Ted wondered. The affection he felt for the man was now layered over in feelings of betrayal and mistrust. He wondered if their friendship had been irreparably damaged. But he had answered Wendell's summons and driven out, in hopes they could salvage the situation. "Wendell, every time I've heard from you lately, it's been trouble." "We stepped in a lot of shit, haven't we?" "I'm still cleaning my heels from our last meeting."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (130)

Wendell had aged. The cancer was at work. He was thinner, paler. Wendell rubbed the gray stubble on his chin. "I came here to warn you that I spilled the whole can of beans to the Florida police," he said without elaboration. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Hell, I'm telling you now." "I meant, dammit, why didn't you tell me in time to do me some good? I suppose you also told them you took me to see the body?" "Had to." "When?" "Yesterday -- no, day before. Ashland came here, walked up to me in the back yard. Threatened to lock me up unless I started telling the truth. Said that Burgland said I was in league with Reinhardt. Ashland said he would put me in jail on blackmail charges. I had to tell him the truth Ted. You understand." Ted stared at him gloomily. There was nothing for him to say. Wendell threw up his hands in surrender. He gave an apologetic smile, turned, and started walking toward the house. "Hey," Ted called after him, "there's still one thing I want explained." Wendell kept walking. "Wendell, dammit." Finally his suppressed anger, his feelings of betrayal boiled up inside him, burst over the wall of restraint he had maintained for the recent long days and nights. Ted ran a few steps after Wendell, grabbed his arm, and spun him around hard. Wendell lost his balance and fell to the grass. Ted stood over Wendell, fuming. There was crash inside the house, and Wendell's daughter was at the door. "Dad," she shrieked. Wendell shouted savagely. "Get away, Sharon. I'm fine. This is none of your business." She stepped onto the porch, uncertain. "Go away!" Wendell yelled. She turned and went back into the house.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (131)

Wendell didn't bother to get up off the lawn. "Well, Ted, what is it you want to know?" "Why were you at Steering last Friday? What was it you wanted?" Folding his legs under him and looking down, Wendell said softly. "It was private business. That's all." "Private business my eye. Where are my Reinhardt files?" Ted shouted. He hadn't been this angry in years. He stepped closer to Wendell. The older man sat motionless. "What did you do with my files?" Wendell looked up at last. "You're off base, old buddy. I haven't got your files. I didn't even know they were missing. Now if you don't mind..." He tried to stand, but Ted pushed him back down. Ted's head began to pound again. "Those files turned up missing the day after you were at Steering, and no one had a better reason for stealing those files than you. They would give you and Reinhardt all the evidence you needed to cement his claim on the patent." "You're nuts," Wendell said weakly. "You think I was in cahoots with Reinhardt? Are you out of your mind? Why would I have called you, shown you the body?" "Because you're smart, smarter than a lot of people think. You thought that leading me and the police to Reinhardt's body would take the heat off of you. But not me. I'm wise to you, Wendell. I know you stole those files. And, I'll get them back." The threat frightened Wendell. "Now look Ted, Burgland had a better reason than me to get rid of those files. Even Whit did. Those guys are in deep. Up to their eyeballs. I absolutely did not take those files." "Bullshit. If you helped Reinhardt win his case, you could clean up, and watch Howard squirm to the bargain." "Then why would I kill him?" "I didn't say you killed him, only that you two conspired to ruin Howard." A small fire flared in Wendell's eyes. "I would love to ruin Howard. Nothing would please me more," he declared proudly. In his mind, he saw again the vision of his triumph. It was an illusion. "The fact of the matter is, I can't. Hell, I wish Reinhardt were

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (132)

alive. I wish I did have your files. Then I might be able to do something. I can't do anything now." He shrugged sadly. "You're lying," Ted said. "Reinhardt was on his way to see you, and you two were playing games together. And I'm going to find out what they were." He felt no pity, no mercy for Wendell. He got into his car and drove away.

It was after eleven when Ted crawled into bed beside Claire. She was asleep. She had given Ted the key to her apartment that morning. For reasons he did not understand, she would not stay with him in his house. Maybe she wanted control or security, which she felt in her own apartment. Maybe she felt staying in Ted's house was a commitment. He didn't know. Yet he would have preferred their staying in his house, because this was where Burgland had slept with Claire. Claire twitched and turned slightly in bed when Ted slipped into bed beside her. Her lips were slightly parted, as if waiting for a kiss. Ted nestled close and took in her smell. She was like lilacs. Raising himself on his elbow, he kissed each eyelid and the tip of her nose. She stirred again, wetting her lips, and he kissed her gently on the mouth. Her arm came around his neck. "Mmmmmm," she moaned. Eyes still closed, she pulled Ted on top of her and brought her other arm around him. She lifted her legs and encircled him, her heels locked on his buttocks. Ted ran his hands down to her buttocks, and slid inside her easily. And he was home, he was safe, in a place where there were no lies, no masks, no betrayal. Afterward, she lit a cigarette and shared it with Ted. "What time is it?" she asked. "Around eleven thirty." "I fell asleep. I wanted to wait up for you but I was too tired." "Busy day?" "And how. And guess what happened today. You won't believe it." "More bad news?" "Nope." "I don't believe it."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (133)

She punched him gently in the chest. "Don't be silly. Howard got a call from Sweden," she said, and waited. "Well, that's just incredible. He must be very proud." "No, come on. Guess. What's in Sweden that would be good news?" "Sexy blondes." She pouted. "Guess again, jerk." "Let's see. We don't have any deals pending in Sweden so it's not that. Right?" "Right." "Oh, of course. The permit finally came through for my sex-change operation." She punched him again. "Almost that exciting," she said. "A good friend of Howard's, with connections to the Nobel committee, called him." "It's early for the prizes." "Yeah, but in the strictest confidence Howard was told that Whit is being considered for the chemistry prize. Isn't that great." "Excellent," Ted said, genuinely impressed. Whit probably deserved it. He had been a leader in his field for more than two decades, had made several breakthroughs in the understanding of brain chemistry, and continued to produce first-class research. His consideration did not surprise Ted, but the timing of the call did. "Was that all there was to the call? The tip-off?" "Howard didn't say anything more. He just seemed ecstatic." "Well I am, too. It will be nice to have another Nobel Prize winner at Steering come October. Let's celebrate Whit's good fortune," he said, and pulled Claire on top of him.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (134)

CHAPTER 23

Ted slipped into a phone booth outside the Ninth Precinct. The booth was stuffy. The fan wasn't working, but Ted preferred to keep the door closed while he spoke to Sal. "Look I've got another favor to ask you." Ted jerked the phone away from his ear and listened to Sal's reply. "Because you do such good work.... I know you don't like to mess with the phone company, but my ass is in a sling.... Yes, as usual. Cool the wisecracks a second and listen, will you? In five minutes I've got a meeting with a detective who wants to hang me by the nuts, and I've got to get some answers fast. You still have your contacts at Ma Bell, don't you?.... Everyone owes you a favor.... Yes, including me, and I won't forget it. What I'd like to do is give you a list of phone numbers.... No, not to wire tap. Just get me a list of all the calls made from those numbers the day we tipped our hand to Hornish. Easy enough... Okay, it's not easy. I apologize. Now there's just one more thing...." Again Ted held the phone away from his ear. "It's not a big thing. Your buddies down on the Stock Market floor can help with this one. Put out your feelers and find out why Ivan Avronsky might be hanging around with Burgland's daughter.... Right, Hope Burgland.... Yes, I know she has world-class legs, but

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (135)

I don't think the answer is that obvious. He can get that anywhere -- and, knowing Hope, with a lot less trouble.... You're right, it could be nothing more than that.... Okay, good.... Whenever you can, as long as it's immediately.... Okay, okay, relax.... When I get done here... " he looked at his watch "...I'll pick you up and take you to lunch.... No, that's not how I thank you. You'll find a red Porsche under your pillow tomorrow morning.... Okay, I'll see you for lunch.... Yes, my Visa is paid up.... Right." Ted hung up the phone.

The desk sergeant directed Ted to detective Ashland's temporary office in the Ninth Precinct. Ted followed the municipal-green halls to room 127 and stepped into Ashland's office. Ashland sat at a desk in the corner, away from the window. He did not look up. He pinched his nose as he flipped through the sheets in a battered manila folder. Ted stood at the foot of Ashland's desk and waited for the detective to acknowledge him. "It's your dime," Ashland finally said without looking up. Ted had decided to cooperate fully. Ashland already had him by the nuts if that's what he wanted, and there was no longer anything to be gained by deception. "I made a major mistake," Ted admitted. "I met Wendell in Florida. He showed me a dead body, which he identified as Reinhardt. I should have called the police then." "Why didn't you?" Ted shrugged. He was no longer sure.

"Guilt. Stupidity. Confusion. Arrogance.

I don't know. I thought I could solve the mystery, save Wendell's job. People felt I was responsible for Wendell's getting fired from Steering. Maybe I was trying to make amends for something I wasn't responsible for. Anyway, it seemed like the thing to do ... at the time." Ted expected approval. He had confessed. Instead, Ashland lifted his buttocks slightly and farted. "Want a Co'cola, Mr. Lasting?" Ashland asked. "No, thanks." Ashland stepped outside into the hallway, dropped quarters into a vending machine, and pressed buttons. He came back with two bottles and placed one in front of Ted.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (136)

"Case you change your mind." Ashland seated himself and took a pull. Then: "Who killed Reinhardt? Was it Wendell Coates?" "Not Wendell," Ted said with certainty. "He doesn't have it in him." "Then who?" "I honestly don't know." "Tell me what you do know." Ted did. He explained it all, the call to Hornish, the notes constructed from block letters pasted on yellow legal paper, his conversations with Hope, and the meeting with Courtlandt and Vance, Jerry's lover. He told Ashland about Burgland, his doubts about him, also about Whit, Scott, and Vishni and the roles they had played. He didn't tell him about Sal, or the pressure he'd put on Hornish. He said only that he finally provided Hornish with a copy of the original report along with Vishni's more thorough analysis of the data. Detective Ashland listened patiently, asking a question here and there. Most of his questions concerned Wendell, and Ted surmised that Wendell was the prime suspect. Ted explained Wendell's possible motives for colluding with Reinhardt, either to blackmail Burgland or to topple him as president. He was almost certain Wendell had stolen the files, but he had no way to prove it. "Who, next to Wendell, had the best motive for killing Reinhardt?" Ashland asked. Ted was reluctant to speak his next words, but the logic was unavoidable. "Next to Wendell, Howard Burgland had the best motive. Reinhardt could cost the company millions, and a patent suit would tarnish the image of the company." "Do you think he's capable of murder?" Ted considered this at some length. Until recently, he would have said no. but he had learned a lot about Howard in the last few days, had seen things he'd been blind to before: the callousness of Burgland's treatment of Wendell, his coolness when he learned the files were stolen, and the cruel way Burgland had humiliated his son. "To answer your question in its narrowest sense, yes, it's possible. But I don't think Howard is that stupid. He would never resort to murder to gain his ends. The risk is too high, and the stakes, even at millions of dollars, are not high enough. Not for a man in Howard's position." Ted

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (137)

was not sure he really believed this, but he knew he owed it to Burgland to put forward the best case possible. Ashland stood and circled the desk. He sat on the edge near Ted and stroked his chin. "You believe what you said, I know. But you ain't got a shred of evidence to prove what you think." "Maybe I ought to tell you something else," Ted added cautiously. He had already admitted that he was investigating Burgland, but now he confessed to his relationship with Claire. He told Ashland it had begun with a cold-blooded need for information, but it was more now, a lot more. Ashland listened, occasionally shifting his weight. When Ted finished, Ashland reached for the single phone in the interrogation room and dialed. "Let me speak to Mr. Burgland," Ashland said. "It's detective Ashland." Burgland got on the phone immediately. "I'd like to ask you some more questions. Would late this afternoon be okay?.... Well, yes, you do have the right to counsel bein' present, but I want to meet alone with you if you don't mind. Any time you want to call in your lawyer, you can just stop talking.... But I haven't accused you of anything yet, Mr. Burgland.... All right, then, three o'clock." He replaced the phone in the receiver and stared thoughtfully at Ted. "You ain't off the hook yet, son," he said. Ted understood. He did feel, however, that his confession went a long way toward absolving him. Ashland tossed his empty bottle in a trashcan and picked up the one in front of Ted. He took a pull, then gave Ted his first smile of the day. "I like the fact that someone threatened you. It says you're close. That's mighty fine." He stroked his chin. "Now I want you to do something for me." "What's that?" Ted asked warily. "I want you to keep up with your investigation. I think you could do us a whole lot of good." "How's that?" "By bein' the partridge at the hunt." "You mean the decoy?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (138)

"No I don't. I mean the target."

Ted hadn't been back five minutes when Burgland called him into his office. "Ashland wants to meet with me alone this afternoon," Burgland said when Ted was seated. "Any idea what it's about?" "What was your response?" Ted asked, avoiding Burgland's question. "What could I say? I said yes, of course. But I don't like it." "There's not much to like," Ted agreed. "All you can do is answer Ashland's questions honestly, as narrowly as possible. You said yourself that we should hide nothing." Burgland shifted uneasily, and paused to shift gears. "Any line on the missing files yet?" Ted shook his head. "Any ideas?" Burgland asked. He did, but he was not ready to share them. Burgland had not admitted that Wendell had visited him secretly last Friday. Ted could understand why Wendell might hide that fact, but not Burgland. Not yet, at least. "Nothing solid. Still sniffing around, following trails." "Well, not everything is bleak." Burgland smiled. "I received a call from an old friend of mine at the Oslo Institute, who told me Whit was a shoo-in for the Nobel Prize in chemistry." "That is good news. Great news, really, for Steering." "Yes, it is," Burgland beamed, "and we were due for some good news, for a change. There was some concern, however, that this claim of Reinhardt's might be an embarrassment to Whit, and, by extension, to them." "What did you say?" "That there's absolutely nothing to the rumor. I told them that Reinhardt got the idea from Whit and then fed it back to us as a way of extorting money." This was revisionist history, Ted knew, but Burgland might as well choose the version that put Steering in the best light.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (139)

"Convenient that Reinhardt isn't around to dispute it," Ted remarked. "We must be thankful for our blessings," Burgland smiled. "Tell me, do you think Whit had any idea that he was up for a Nobel?" "Oh, in the abstract, yes -- we all did. It was never a question of would he, only when. But there was no way he could have suspected this was the year. My friend says his name was proposed about a month ago. He wrestled with the probity of calling me. Then he said, but who else could give him better assurances? I set his mind at ease." Burgland slapped his hands together, indicating the matter was resolved. "Does Whit know?" Burgland laughed. "Yes, I've told him. He was both pleased and furious. You know what he said? 'It's a good thing that bastard Reinhardt is dead, otherwise I would have killed him myself.' " "Somebody did him a favor." To himself Ted said, Whit probably has you to thank. Burgland, he knew, had been grooming Whit to take over the company while Burgland prepared himself for his government post. If his own or Whit's reputation were marred by scandal, it would ruin his plans. "Yes someone did us all a favor," Burgland agreed. "A man like Whit, with a Nobel prize, can do a lot for all of us. I'm delighted." "So am I," Ted said. "Well, I'll get back to my work." "You know Ted, I still think you should take that vacation to the Bahamas. It would do you a world of good." Not as much for me as for you, Ted thought. You'd love to have me out of the way.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (140)

CHAPTER 24

A year ago, the row of five-story brownstones across the street had been burned out ruins, one row among many in Hoboken. A few months ago crushed rubble and brick had lain scattered about. Today the lintels were crisp and finely chiselled. These apartments were among the first to herald the large-scale changes underway in Hoboken. Ted stood in a darkened doorway and watched the apartment buildings darken in the twilight. He checked his watch. Seven-twenty. Jerry's friend had flatly refused to see him. She had nothing to say, hadn't even let Ted finish his appeal before she hung up on him. Claire discovered she worked at the Hoboken Clam Broth House and got off from work around seven. So Ted was waiting. As she turned the corner, Ted fell into step behind her. He picked up his pace and stepped alongside her. The woman looked up at him sharply, and took a step away. "There's nothing to be afraid of. My name is Ted Lasting. I called." "Asshole," she said. "You scared the hell out of me." "I'm sorry Mona. But I need your help." "What makes you think I'd want to help you?" "I know you were the last person with Jerry the night he died." At Ted's insistence, Claire had gone over the story of Jerry's death in more detail. Mona figured prominently in the picture. Mona was an artist who met Jerry at the

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (141)

Brotherhood commune in Northampton. She'd settled in Hoboken because of the cheap rent and the growing number of artists who came to work there. After she'd moved in she saw a lot of Jerry and became a fag hag to Jerry and his gay friends. "So?" "So maybe you can tell me how he died?" He took her arm to stop her from racing ahead. She stopped but shrugged free of his grip. "Hey, just don't touch. Okay? Don't touch." Ted put up his hands. "Okay." Mona wore her black and white waitress uniform. Her hair was cut short, almost butch, and her waist was nearly as wide as her hips. Her narrow shoulders and small head gave her an almost pyramidal appearance. "I just need information." "I don't have time for information." She was an artist-turned-working girl; she looked haggard and not very happy. He took a gamble. He pulled a money-clip out of his pocket, counted off two hundred dollars, and poked it into her purse. "Don't be offended, please," he said. "I'm not," she said without embarrassment. "I could use more." Ted counted out another hundred and handed it to her. "How did Jerry die?" "In a car accident." "That much we know. Was it an accident?" "No." Mona turned to go. "Whoa," Ted said, steadying her. "Three hundred bucks buys a lot more than that." Mona appraised Ted for a minute, her eyes fixed on his. "Make it an even five hundred and I'll tell you the whole story." The soul of a barracuda, Ted thought. Ted counted out another two hundred dollars and slapped them into her hand to let her know this was the limit. "No more. Just tell me the truth -- and don't leave anything out." She looked up and down the street, and pulled him into a doorway. "You can't be too cautious," she said. "Besides this is a lot of money and I don't want to have some shit-faced kid snatch my purse while we're standing on the sidewalk shooting the breeze."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (142)

She pushed the money into her purse and brought out a cigarette and lit it. She inhaled the smoke deeply. Ted was becoming impatient. "So?" "Yeah, he died in the car accident all right, but it wasn't an accident. He committed suicide." "How do you know that?" Ted asked skeptically. "Hey man, he told me. He said he was going to kill himself. He tried before." "When?" "Only a couple of months before. When he was in Bellevue on a heroine cure." "He was an addict?" She was surprised at Ted's ignorance. "Man, you don't know much, do you?" "No, not much." "After his father got the poor son-of-a-bitch thrown out of the commune, he came back to Manhattan and got himself into every kind of shit imaginable. I mean everything. He hustled on the East Side and in gay bars. Then he sold dope. Started shooting it up. Finally ..." "Finally ...?" "Finally nothing." "Cut the bullshit," Ted said. He moved closer to her. She remained silent. "Do you know Andrew Courtlandt." "Yeah." "And Vern Wicker?" "Jerry's lover." "How did Jerry get hooked up with those two?" "They were party pals of his sister's. She must have introduced them when Jerry came back to the city after the commune thing." "You're saying Hope Burgland introduced Jerry to them?" "Yeah. She was quite the little rich bitch star of the Soho scene for a while. She was at all the openings, all the parties." "All right, she introduced them. So what kind of stuff were they into?" "The art scene. Drugs. The usual."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (143)

"And?" "And nothing." "Mona, so far this is not spell-binding stuff. You said I'd get the whole story. Let's hear it." Mona lunged forward, shoved Ted back with one hand, and ran out onto the sidewalk. "Stupid bitch," Ted muttered, and took off after her. Within half a block he had her arm gripped in his hand, and pulled her to a stop. She fought with him, punching at his face and chest. He warded off the blows, grabbed her purse, and pushed her away. He pulled out the money and threw her purse on the ground. "You have to earn it," he said, and walked away, only to feel her jump onto his back and begin pulling his hair. Ted flung her off, and she scrambled after him, clawing at the pants pocket where he'd put the money. He grabbed her two hands in each of his and bent them back at the wrist. She yelped and dropped to her knees. He held on to one hand, keeping pressure on her wrist. "Now tell me what the fuck your friends were into." "Okay. Ow! Okay! Just let go. Please." He eased the pressure slightly, pulled her up, and walked her into another doorway. "What were they into?" "You gonna give me back my money?" "For the last time, what -- were -- they -- into?" Ted said between clenched teeth. "You know that Jerry was into some radical politics?" "Yes," Ted lied. "Well, he was into it pretty heavy. Heavier than anyone but Andrew and Vern knew. They were into it too." "What politics?" "Fringe stuff. Black September stuff. Arab terrorist groups." "So?" "So that's why I don't want to tell you any more. Please let me go," she pleaded.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (144)

"No way, sweetheart," he said. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, held up the bills, and poked them back into her purse again. "There's your five hundred. Finish the story." She was terrified. Whatever the secret was, it really scared her. "They figured Jerry was perfect. He could do a lot for them." "Such as?" "Drugs. Not just coke and heroin, but you know -- medical drugs, penicillin, antibiotics. They thought Jerry could get it for them, which he did for a while. But he couldn't really get any quantity, so they didn't make much money with it. Then they figured out about the art." "What art?" "The company's art. That's when they really hit the jackpot. Okay, you want the whole story? Vern and Courtlandt would forge paintings, or paid one or two other artists to do it, depending on the style." "I don't understand?" "You sure are thick as shit. The company art, man. Jerry had some arrangement with a guy inside the company. This guy would buy an original for the company, and then substitute the stuff Vern and Courtlandt had forged. Then they would sell the original on the black market to some collector who would keep it in his own private gallery. Black September got half the money. The rest was split between Courtlandt and Jerry and the guy at Steering." "You mean the paintings hanging at Steering are forgeries?" "Yeah. Mostly the newer stuff. Contemporaries. That sort of thing." Ted could barely absorb what he had just learned. It seemed that, whatever direction he pushed, new vistas of corruption and depravity would open up. The thought made him bone weary. "Why did Jerry kill himself." Mona gave him a furtive look. "At some point, he knew his father would find out. You know how it is. He hated him, but he loved him. I don't think he could live with himself." "Spare me the two-bit analysis. Give me another reason."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (145)

Mona shrugged her shoulders. Ted grabbed her with both hands. "Give me the real reason." Perspiration formed on Mona's upper lip. "This, man, you gotta keep to yourself. I could get hurt for this." "What is it?" "What I said was true. Jerry figured his father would find out. He started to get cold feet. Wanted to pull out. So did Courtlandt and Vern -- they didn't want to push their luck any more. But the guys from Black September, or whoever they are, started putting pressure on them. Insisted that they continue. Jerry didn't want to." She stopped. Ted tried to fill in the missing pieces. He couldn't. "Look," Mona said in exasperation. "Put it together. Black September did something to Jerry's Mercedes. Fucked around with his steering cable maybe. I don't know. I just know he was the weak link. They were afraid he would crack and blow a really cool source of money for the organization. Getting rid of Jerry did two things. They got rid of the weak link, and they warned Courtlandt and Vern. Let them know they couldn't just up and walk away." "How do you know?" "How do I know, you asshole? 'Cause they told me. Jerry's car was loaded with real art the night he got killed. Vern and Courtlandt got stung for plenty. They were scared shitless. They didn't know what to do." "What did they do?" She turned from Ted. "No way. I ain't telling you another thing. What I just told you, you could've found out some other way. A couple of people know. But now you're asking me stuff that's got a signature. No way. You find out yourself." Ted reached for her, but she leapt away and ran like hell up the street. Ted considered going after her. She probably was one of the artists involved in painting the forgeries. Let her go, he decided. He already had enough to think about.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (146)

CHAPTER 25

Ashland collected Wendell and Ted at the front desk, and the three men walked down to an interrogation room with a single gray table and three chairs. Ashland shook neither man's hand. "Sit," he said. Wendell and Ted sat together at the table. Wendell folded his hands and licked his lips nervously. Ashland pulled the third chair away from the table, swung it around, and straddled it. He rested his crossed arms over its back. No one spoke for five minutes. The door swung open, and a man in his late forties with peppered gray hair backed into the room. He dragged behind him a chair with a briefcase on it, settled in a corner, and pulled from the briefcase a court stenographer's machine. He seated himself quietly with the machine on his knees. Another few minutes passed, and the door suddenly swung open and slammed against the wall. Wendell jumped in his chair. Detective Bournerite entered, surveyed the room, and nodded to Ashland.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (147)

"Move, Mr. Lasting," he said. "I want you on the other side of the table, facing Mr. Coates." Bournerite wanted every expression on Wendell's face visible to Ted. Ted stood, pulled his chair to the other side, and sat opposite Wendell. "Detective Ashland and I had a nice chat with Mr. Burgland yesterday afternoon," Bournerite said. "We discovered some very interesting things. Didn't we?" Ashland's smile implied unspoken mysteries. "Mr. Coates, can you guess what we learned?" Wendell shook his head. "I did not hear you Mr. Coates. Neither did the stenographer." "No." "No?" "No, sir. I can't imagine what you learned," Wendell said miserably. Sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead, gathered in streamlets in the creases of his pale jowls. Fear boiled in the pit of his stomach. "Well, let me enlighten you," Bournerite said. "Burgland said you visited him on Friday, April 13, at six p.m. Not your lucky day, Mr. Coates." He smiled mischievously. He turned to Ted. "Do you know why Wendell visited Mr. Burgland?" "No, I don't," Ted answered. "Will you tell him, Mr. Coates?" "It was a personal matter." "Very personal indeed. You went there, in fact, to beg. You hoped to convince Burgland to extend your severance pay, and to make sure you got your pension and medical coverage. Am I correct?" Wendell pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. Tears of shame hung in his eyes. But he wouldn't cry. That's what they wanted. "Don't take it so hard, Mr. Coates." Bournerite stepped around the table and stood behind Wendell so that his voice boomed ominously. "Look at Ted, Mr. Coates." Bournerite lifted Wendell's moist face. "Did you know you didn't have to beg? Mr. Lasting there already did it for you." Wendell looked up. "What do you mean?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (148)

"Two days after you were fired, Mr. Lasting stood up for you and got Burgland to agree to continue your salary until you reached retirement age. The pension was already yours." Wendell stared at Ted in disbelief. "You did that?" Ted nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I promised Howard I wouldn't. He wanted to tell you himself." "That bastard," Wendell hissed. He looked at everyone in the room in turn. "That bastard never told me. He wanted me to beg. That rotten bastard. He didn't even tell me that Friday when I pleaded with him. I told him I was a sick man." Wendell's rage seemed to put new life into him. He sat up straight in his chair. He was ready for any questions now. Ashland spoke for the first time. "Mr. Coates, you ain't really sick." "I am," Wendell said with perverse pride. Ashland threw a file on the desk. "Here's your medical history. It says different." "According to this report," Bournerite said, "you had a scare. Your doctor diagnosed liver cancer and ordered some tests. But two weeks ago he told you that the biopsy proved negative. You do have a liver problem, but it's treatable." Ted gave Wendell a look of contempt, and made sure he saw it. "My heart," Wendell said defensively. "Yes, your heart. That heart attack you told Mr. Lasting you had when you found Reinhardt's body?" Bournerite turned to Ted and said, "An anxiety attack. He had an anxiety attack. They thought it was a heart attack at first, but the EKG and a blood sample were negative." Ted looked at Bournerite with new understanding. "I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. How could he have a heart attack, then recover enough to take me to the body in a boat two days later?" "'Cause he didn't have an attack," Ashland said. "You been lyin' to a lot of people, Mr. Coates. That ain't nice." Bournerite's open hand came down on the table with a thunderous slap. "Let's cut the shit, Coates."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (149)

Wendell jumped. Everyone's eyes were on him. Ashland, Bournerite, Ted, the stenographer. The room was alive with menace. "Now tell us why you were trying to blackmail Burgland!" Wendell's expression shattered. Shame, fear, fury, hatred, uncertainty played across his features. Fear won out, and he stooped again, slumped in his chair. "Without a pension, what was I going to do?" He put the handkerchief to his nose and blew. His eyes were moist pools, but he kept back the tears. Bournerite was tender now. They had him. "Go on." "I put it to him. Give me my pension or I'll tell everyone about Jerry. I should have let that reporter run the story about Jerry. It would have served Howard right. It would have ruined him socially if people found out his son was hustling on the streets. That would have clinched it, after the scandal of his daughter marrying a thief from the Bahamas. That would have ruined his chances in Washington. That's what I should have done." "What story are you talking about?" Bournerite asked quietly. "About a year ago, a reporter friend of mine at the Post called. I'd kicked around with him when we worked together at the Trenton Times. He said he had a hell of a lead. He was doing a story on how the mayor was cracking down hard on prostitution. He was interviewing prostitutes, pimps, cops, everyone, to give his readers the full picture of what it was like on the streets. Well, he ran across this kid hustling on the streets. The kid had a hell of story, he said. Real human interest on why he turned to hustling. That dumb kid told him everything -- about his rich father, about how he got him kicked out of a commune, about the family's differences. All the laundry. As a favor, my friend called me. Said he wanted me to know before it hit the street, so that I'd have some time to prepare a response. "Until then I didn't know anything about his family -- how contemptible Howard was. Anyway, I told him about the reporter. He went berserk. There's no other word for it. He started screaming about the ungrateful little bastard that had been nothing but trouble since birth. How his wife died from grief over his kid. He said he hated his son and hoped he'd die." Wendell looked at the silent men.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (150)

"I'm not exaggerating," he said. "His face was purple. He picked up a statue and threw it at the wall, kicked over the table. Howard went on like that for ten minutes. Then he stopped, and he turned to me and said -- cool and calm -- that I'd better keep this mess out of the papers if I wanted my job. He said he didn't care how I did it. He didn't want to know, only keep it out of the papers. He said I had unlimited resources at my disposal, and if I didn't do it, he'd find a way to ruin me. "I was worried, I can tell you," Wendell said, drawing the handkerchief out again to mop his face. "I knew I would lose my job if I fouled this up. And, then, I had no alternatives." Ted understood. Like Wendell, he had felt the weight of the man on his back. In spite of all he'd suffered on his account, he felt sorry for Wendell. He was, finally, a victim. "What did you do?" Bournerite asked. "I did what I had to." Wendell's voice was almost a whisper. "I met my friend for dinner and asked him to drop Jerry from the story. He said he couldn't. I pleaded with him as a friend. And he pleaded journalistic integrity and all that crap. How much difference would it make, I argued. None! Finally, I told him I would lose my job. It was humiliating, but he agreed. He would have let it go at that. But I wanted Howard to pay for this. So I took out the five thousand dollars cash that Howard had given me to bribe him -- even though I didn't have to. I pushed it across the table. You'd have thought it was a dead fish. He pushed it away, said he couldn't take it. I told him he was nuts. He was throwing away five grand. He wasn't taking the money to drop Jerry from the story -he already agreed to that, so it certainly wasn't bribery. Finally he took the money. And I lost a friend. "Of course, after that things were never the same between me and Howard. He was ashamed of what I knew about him. That's when he began goading me. Telling me I was ineffectual. Can you beat that? I save his reputation, and he tells me I'm ineffectual. But, I was satisfied. I had my job and I had ..." "Burgland," Bournerite finished the sentence for him. Wendell nodded. "Yes, I had Burgland by the balls -- or so I thought." "What do you mean?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (151)

"When I met with Howard on Friday, he told me it no longer made any difference. He said no one would believe such a story now, that it would sound like the fabrication of a disgruntled ex-employee. He threw me out of the office." Wendell looked around the room. "I guess I'd waited too long," he said sheepishly. "That means you lost twice." "How do you mean?" Wendell asked. "Your scam with Reinhardt didn't work either, did it?" Wendell looked sharply at the detective, his face pale. He pulled his coat closer around him, as if chilled. Bournerite turned to Ashland, who placed an appointment book in Bournerite's outstretched hand. "We found this in Reinhardt's rooms. His appointment book. He's got you marked down on April four, 'W. Coates called re Burgland.' Then on April fifth, 'W. Coates, Sugar Loaf a.m.'" Bournerite dropped the appointment book in front of Wendell. Wendell cupped his face in his hands and did not look at the book. "You had a deal going with Reinhardt, didn't you?" Bournerite pressed. Without taking his hands from his face, Wendell nodded. "Yes." The word was muffled by his hands and sounded hollow. Bournerite came to Wendell and gently pulled his hands away from his face. "After he fired me, I wanted to ruin him. I told Reinhardt I would help him. When I found him dead I was terrified. I called Ted out of panic. I didn't know who killed him. But somebody knew that I was making a deal with Reinhardt. I thought I'd better cover my tracks by calling Ted." "Did you kill Reinhardt?" "No! Are you crazy? He was my only chance at revenge." "Did you set the whole thing up with Hornish, and get Mr. Lasting to make the call with you to the Times?" "No." "Did you steal the files from Mr. Lasting's safe?" "No. I'm sorry they're missing. Without them Reinhardt ... or his estate ... hasn't got a chance against Howard. I hope somebody uses those files to nail the bastard."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (152)

The detective stared thoughtfully at Wendell, who did not drop his eyes from Bournerite's. Bournerite turned to Ashland, nodded once, and patted Wendell on the shoulder. They believed him. "Who do you think killed Reinhardt?" Bournerite asked. "Howard. Who else?" Bournerite nodded. Ashland stood and swung the chair around. The stenographer collected the paper. Wendell stared blankly from one detective to the other. "You can go now." "That's it?" "For now. Only for now," Bournerite said with emphasis. Wendell looked around nervously, dried his eyes, and hurried from the room. Ted rose too. "No you stay for a minute. We have things to talk about. Tell us about last night. Tell us about Mona." Ted told the story, and the three men threw the known facts around for another hour. Then they worked out their next move.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (153)

CHAPTER 26

Detective Bournerite had sent Ted two invitations to a gallery opening in Soho. It was something he wouldn't want to miss, Bournerite said in an accompanying note. The invitations were original four-by-five inch watercolors signed by the artist whose work was being debuted in the Markham Galleries. The party was very select, Bournerite noted. He regretted he couldn't go himself. Claire and Ted were to be his eyes and ears. Claire was delighted, and her anticipation carried through the lazy Sunday afternoon that she and Ted spent together, mostly in bed. They got tipsy on mimosas made with oranges from his greenhouse. She watched an old movie while he watched weekend sports, side-by-side on two TVs. They completed the Times Sunday Crossword together, and played Scrabble and shot down enemy planes on his Nintendo. At four o'clock they reluctantly left the bed and began getting ready for the opening. The gallery was on Broadway and Mercer in a landmark building, and was attached to a huge loft apartment. Claire and Ted entered through a wide archway decorated with modern icons and bold painted colors, and found the place buzzing with elegantly dressed

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (154)

guests. The night was mild, and the party spilled into the garden behind the gallery, where bronze, marble, and steel sculptures posed amid spring foliage. Ted maneuvered Claire through the crowd into the garden to where the bartender was pouring. "Why did you say Bournerite sent us?" Claire asked. "When I called him, he was pretty tight-lipped about it. He just said there would be some people here we ought to see." Ted thought they were there as much to be seen as to see, but he wasn't certain. His only question to Bournerite concerned Claire's safety. There was no danger to her, Bournerite had assured him. With drink glasses in hand, they wandered through the gallery. After they'd taken in the show proper, they climbed a wooden staircase into an open space that served as both gallery and living room. It was more a part of the apartment than the gallery, decorated with works by a variety of artists and furnished with fluffy sofas and pillows. People sat in clusters and talked in low tones. To one side of the living space were bedrooms and, Ted hoped, a bathroom. "I'll be right back," he said, and went off to explore. He left Claire with a group of actors and actresses from off-Broadway and the soaps. Claire inched closer to eavesdrop. Ted followed the hallway around. There were four doors. Unable to distinguish bathroom from bedroom, Ted opened each door in succession. The first opened on a bedroom, with coats flung over all the furniture in it. The next two were also bedrooms, also filled with elegant furniture and numerous artworks. He opened the last door and found the bathroom. "Hey! The least you can do is knock," a man shouted in surprise. He was leaning against the sink. A woman was on her knees in front of him, busy at his opened fly. Ted pulled the door closed. "The least you could do is lock the door," he called back. "Fuck off," the voice behind the door said. Ted waited down the hall, turning over in his mind the image of the woman's lips working on the man, until the door opened. The man shot Ted an angry glare as he walked past. Ted maintained a placid grin. The woman followed a few seconds later,

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (155)

calmly, and gave Ted the hint of a wink over the hint of a smile. She was young, no more than eighteen. Ted went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He was still smiling to himself as he stepped back into the hallway when movement caught his eye. Two men looked at him and immediately drew back into the first bedroom where the coats were kept. Ted strode along the hall and, when he was at the open door, stopped briefly to fake a sneeze. He glimpsed Andrew Courtlandt and Vern Wicker standing deep in the darkened room in a vain attempt to hide from Ted. Ted pretended not to see them. He withdrew a handkerchief, dabbed at his nose, and walked on. He found Claire still on the fringes of the theater crowd, taking in the scene with sparkling eyes. One of the actors was entertaining the group with a comic portrayal of a conversation with his own avaricious agent. Ted pressed his lips against Claire's ear. "I think I know why Bournerite invited us," he said. Claire turned to look. Ted leaned his face against hers to prevent her from turning. "No, don't look," he said. He kept the two men positioned in the corner of his eye as they attempted an inconspicuous exit. They were approached by another man. Courtlandt quickly turned the man around, as if to hide his face from Ted. The three of them hurriedly descended the spiral staircase and disappeared. "What is it?" Claire asked distractedly, still rapt in the actor's performance. "Fun and games." Ted wondered if he should follow them, and decided not to. Bournerite had sent him there to be seen by the other players. The partridge was now a sitting duck, Ted realized, and the thought made him uneasy. Despite the gloomy thoughts, Ted decided to stay and enjoy the rest of the evening. Claire seemed to be having a good time. As he looked around the room he saw the eighteen-year-old girl again. She had lost her previous companion and was now being escorted to the bathroom by another one. She gave Ted a wicked smile, and arched an eyebrow in question. He wondered how much she made in a night. One last surprise awaited them. As they left the party, they stumbled into Scott Cooke, who had just arrived with a group of well-heeled friends. Ted and Scott exchanged

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (156)

handshakes, but Scott did not introduce him to his friends. Ted knew that his relationship with Claire would probably become known at Steering. And he could see that Claire was not concerned by the prospect. She was certain of her feelings, confident in them. Scott seemed disconcerted. Perhaps he was uncomfortable at having discovered Ted's and Claire's secret, but Ted's instincts told him otherwise. He was beginning to listen to his instincts again. "He runs with quite the high-class crowd, doesn't he," Ted said to Claire when they were out of earshot. "He certainly does," Claire said. "I'm impressed. Why don't you know anybody famous?" "Because I'm a stuffy corporate lawyer, remember? Now let's get home and engage in sexual practices including but not limited to intercourse. I'm on a tight schedule."

Ted roused himself from sleep with difficulty. His eyes were puffy and his mouth was the floor of a stable. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he surveyed his bedroom. Claire's dress was on the floor; his pants and shirt lay beside it. Their undergarments were still in the bed with them. Claire's panty hose were draped over the headboard. Assessing the carnage, Ted thought it must have been a remarkable evening, although he remembered very little of it after they returned home beyond the pop of a champagne cork. Claire was beside him, her hair scattered about her face. Her lower lip jutted out and she snored lightly. Ted lifted the clock -- 9:30. "Shit," he said to himself, "late for work." He touched Claire's shoulder gently to awaken her. No response. Ted pushed harder. She snorted and turned her head. Four more pushes, each more vigorous than the last, got her eyes open. "Oh, God. What time is it?" she said, sitting wearily. In all the years she worked for Steering she had never been late, never called in sick, even hated taking her vacations. Instinctively, she knew. She had blown her perfect record.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (157)

Her hand went to her forehead. "Oh, I feel terrible." "Better get up and shower." "After you." Ted sat motionless, comatose. Claire swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat hunched next to Ted. "Oh, Ted, I feel just awful. What excuse should I give Howard?" Ted considered the question. "Might as well tell him." "Tell him what?" "That you were at an art opening last night. You were chaperoned by me, but you still overdid it, and that you're sick as a dog and want the day off." "I can't do that. I can't tell him about us." "Too late. Scott saw us, remember?" "Oh, right." Claire chewed her lip. She knew the efficiency of the grapevine at Steering all too well. "Relax, sweetheart, will you?" Ted steeled himself, and stood. "Look, I absolutely must go in and talk to Howard today. Glenda is an expert at covering for me, so no one knows when I come in anyway. Do you have anything vital to do today?" "No." "Then just call in sick. Tell Howard you're having some problems, say nothing about me, and leave it at that." He tousled her hair as he stood and walked to the shower. "Let's not anticipate too much. Maybe Scott won't say anything. Let's see what happens."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (158)

CHAPTER 27

Ted leaned back at his desk and propped his feet up on his credenza. Locking his hands behind his head, he stared at the Church painting. When Jerry's counterfeiting scam was finally discovered, it would wreak havoc at Steering. The papers would gobble up the story, and the scandal would wound Burgland deeply. The financial damage would be significant, but nothing they couldn't recover from. But Steering's art collection was a source of tremendous pride for Burgland. Jerry had known that and had struck at Burgland's self-esteem. Burgland liked to think of himself as a Renaissance man, one who could manage a corporation and still show an interest in the finer things. He took his art collecting seriously, oversaw the acquisition process personally, and he would now suffer the humiliation of having many of his finest pieces pronounced worthless. Even Jerry's personal problems, his drug abuse and homosexuality, as difficult as they were for Burgland to handle, paled in comparison to the ruin of Steering's prized collection. The ringing of the phone interrupted Ted's thoughts. Glenda was away from her desk. Today, since Claire was out, Glenda was shuttling between Ted's and Burgland's office. Ted picked up the phone.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (159)

"Do you know if Burgland got any of them yellow notes?" Ashland asked without preamble. "No, I don't know." "Any way for you to find out?" Both men knew that, had Burgland received such a note, he should have shown it to Ted. If he had not, it might mean something. "Why don't I just ask him?" "'Cause ...'cause ... damned if I know," Ashland finally admitted. "Might as well kick the dog and see if it bites." Ted hung up and opened his safe. He hoped that he would discover nothing else missing. Most of his valuable papers were now at home, even though the combination to the safe had been changed. The heavy steel door of the safe swung open reluctantly. Ted reached in and withdrew the rumpled note that Whit had thrust into his hand. He placed it in his pocket and went to Burgland's outer office. Glenda ushered him into Burgland's office. "Howard have you seen this before?" He slid the note along the desk top toward Burgland who remained seated. Burgland pulled the note to him and read it carefully, perhaps two or three times. The note warned Whit that Howard favored Ted. His face betrayed nothing. No surprise. No recognition. "No." "Have you received any notes like that -- with letters cut from newspapers and pasted on unlined legal-sized yellow paper?" Burgland merely shook his head. "Why?" Ted knew instantly he was lying. In a courtroom, he would object that Burgland hadn't answered the question. He had shaken his head, meaning he had not, but the only verbal response was "Why?" "It's not the sort of note one would expect at Steering," Ted answered vaguely. "Yes, I see what you mean," he said, returning the note to Ted. "Anything else?" As far as he was concerned, Burgland seemed to say, the investigation was over. With Reinhardt and Hornish out of the way, Steering could get on with its business of making money. Ted ought to drop all this foolishness and get back to work.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (160)

"I'd better go," Ted said. He knew now what he had been trying not to believe, that he did not have Burgland's complete confidence, that Burgland was playing his own game, and Ted was no longer on the inside. Ted returned to his office, packed his briefcase with the few things that required his attention, and went home to Claire. At this instant, he wasn't sure if it was out of affection for Claire or vengeance against Burgland that he did so. One thing was certain: he wanted Whit to tell Burgland that Claire was seeing him. Ted was sorry he wouldn't be there to see the pain on the old man's face. He shook his head sadly. He knew precisely how Jerry must have felt. Claire knew something was wrong the instant Ted came through the door. He kissed her brusquely, went to the couch, and buried his nose in his company work. She tried to coax him out of his mood. Ted resisted every attempt she made to get him to open up. Finally he set the papers aside and, for about an hour,he lay on his back with his hands behind his head deep in thought. Then he drifted off to sleep. Dressed in Ted's shirt, Claire watched the television news, then read listlessly in a chair opposite the sofa. Around 2:30 Ted woke up. He was still brooding, reluctant to talk. She had never seen him like this, but of course, she hadn't really been with him that long. Maybe this was a side of him she hadn't seen. "Are you like this often ... moody ... and all that? Come on Ted, talk to me." Ted turned to her and made a decision. He rose, and pulled Whit's crumpled note from his pocket. "Have you seen this, or any note like it?" Claire accepted the note and read it. "No." "I think Howard has, has received a note like this. He lied to me today. I'm sure of it. He said he never received a note like this one." "Is that so terrible?" "Claire, you don't understand." Ted turned. He had to tell her. "You see, I think Howard murdered Reinhardt or had him murdered." "You can't be serious." "Dead serious."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (161)

"Howard couldn't do that. Howard wouldn't kill Reinhardt." "Actually, if he wanted Reinhardt dead, Howard couldn't afford to have anyone else do it. He'd be in that person's power for the rest of his life." "Why do you think he did it?" "Claire, if I tell you, you're going to be in this thing almost as deeply as I am. And if I tell you, then I'm going to ask you to rely on my judgement, and to do something of a highly questionable nature. Are you prepared for that?" "Can I say no, if I don't want to do it, even after you tell me?" "Yes, you can say no." "Then tell me. I want to know. I want to be with you all the way." Ted told her everything, from the start, elaborating on what she already knew, and omitting none of what he had previously withheld. He shared his facts as well as his speculations with her. He told her about Ashland's and Bournerite's investigation of Reinhardt's murder, about Jerry's art scam, and about the interrogation of Wendell and his admission of guilt. As he went from one piece of evidence to another, her face shifted from disbelief to revulsion. She began to see the incident with Jerry at the commune not as an isolated instance of Howard's thoughtlessness, but as an essential part of a fundamentally cruel, domineering personality. She shuddered at the thought of having once slept with such a man. She and Ted had sat apart during his explanation, he on the sofa, she in her chair. He now came to her, knelt by her chair, and took her hands in his. "Will you help me?" "Yes. I'll help. How?" "I want to see Howard's personal files tonight. I want to check his calendar and see where he was Thursday and Friday, April fifth and sixth." Claire had the keys to Burgland's desk and file drawers. She kept his calendar. "Tonight?" she asked. He nodded. "All right." Ted leaned over and kissed her trembling lips.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (162)

Claire explained off-handedly to the security guard as she signed in that she had been out that day and had some work she had to catch up on. She was going to pick up the work to take home. Ted arrived fifteen minutes later. His presence late at night was less of an occasion. Often over the years he had come in at odd hours to work. In the guard's mind, Ted was as erratic as the scientists. He met Claire in Burgland's office. Claire was ready for him. Burgland's appointment book was open to the week of April 2. Ted ran his finger down every appointment, searching for a clue. Originally, Burgland was scheduled to fly out with Whit the night of April 4th to attend a conference in Atlanta. A red line had been drawn through the fourth, fifth and sixth, reserving these dates for the conference. Subsequent appointments were written in in black ink over the red lines, obliterating them. Something changed his mind. "Do you know why Howard cancelled at the last minute?" Claire shook her head. "Let's see what he has in his files." Claire walked warily as a cat. Her forehead was damp and her blouse sweatstained. "Take it easy, Claire." "I'll be all right," she said feebly. Sneaking through Burgland's office late at night made her feel ill, as if she were coming down with a cold. "Open the desk, please," Ted said gently. Claire removed the key from her pocket and unlocked Burgland's desk. She stood back as Ted went through the drawers, doing his best to leave everything undisturbed. That wasn't difficult -- the drawers in Burgland's desk were almost empty. All the files were kept by Claire. Ted pursed his lips in disappointment. "Certainly isn't much here," he mumbled to himself. His eyes flashed when he opened the center drawer. It held Burgland's personal checkbook, his calendar, and a notebook with numbered pages. In it, Burgland kept a running summary of his phone conversations.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (163)

"Pay dirt." He held the notebook up. He opened it and scanned a few of the entries. Just straightforward business dealings. But pressed between pages 143 and 144 were the torn shreds of a note on yellow legal-sized paper. Ted reassembled it on the desk top, and was absorbed by its message. The note warned about Ted. He reread it several times trying to fathom its significance. "Damn," Ted whispered hotly. "I've been a goddamned fool." He turned to Claire, who was about to ask what he meant, when the footsteps of the security guard could be heard coming nearer from around the corner. Ted dropped the notebook back into the center drawer and hastily pushed the desk drawers closed. He hoped the guard had not heard the noise. He quickly stepped away from the desk, leaving Claire standing by it alone. "Hello," the guard shouted. "Everything okay in here, ma'am?" the guard asked, turning the corner. "Oh yes," she said quickly, "just getting a few last things." The guard sensed he had interrupted something. By the looks of it, he assumed it was romantic. Lasting didn't miss a trick, did he, the guard thought. "Well I thought I'd just stop by to make sure everything was okay," he said. He tipped his hat and moved along. Better not get in the way of a vice president he told himself. It's their business if they want to screw in Burgland's office. Lasting was a lucky man. Claire was shaking. "I've got to go," she said. Ted guided her through the offices and closed the lights behind them. "There's one more thing I must check." Ted drew her toward Whit's office. "I want to confirm that Whit went to the conference. Maybe he can tell me why Burgland didn't go." They entered Whit's office. All his "corporate" papers were here. His unofficial office was in his lab. He set up a desk there where he could conduct his business without interruption. His secretary shuttled between offices when necessary. Ted went to the secretary's desk and opened the calendar. The fourth, fifth and sixth were crossed off and marked "Atlanta Conference." No appointments appeared on those days. So Whit had gone and Burgland had not. "Okay, let's go," he said.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (164)

Ted and Claire signed out together. No need any longer to pretend they hadn't seen one another.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (165)

CHAPTER 28

The phone woke Ted from a sound sleep. "Y'all ready for your next assignment?" Ted thought he could hear the detective smiling at the other end. The clock read 12:30. "What's up, Ashland?" Ted whispered. He didn't want to wake Claire. She was sleeping peacefully now after taking two tranquilizers to calm herself. She had finally fallen asleep after much tossing and turning. "We just got a tip from one of our boys. There's gonna be some action early tomorrow morning. Courtlandt's gonna move, and I need you at the stakeout." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Lookee here, Lasting, you're doin' real well for us. You're shakin' people up. Nobody can figure out what you know or how you come to know it. You're helping us to stay out of sight, and you're keeping them guessing. I want you to follow Courtlandt and his boyfriend tomorrow morning -- six a.m. sharp. Wait for us by the bakery across from Courtlandt's place. Okay?" "Okay." Ted finally said.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (166)

"By the by, you might want to wear your dungarees," Ashland said, and hung up.

Ted stood in the bakery doorway opposite the entrance to Courtlandt's apartment and tamped his feet gently to ward off the unusual late-April cold snap. He was unprepared for the briskness of the dawn. Ted was on time, arriving a few minutes before six a.m., and Ashland was nowhere to be seen. The early hour put him in the shadow of Courtlandt's building. Ted stood by the bakery and, for lack of anything better to do, studied the tall Ionic pillars of the sixstory building across the street. At this hour, hardly anyone walked the streets in Soho. Six a.m. was a blue collar hour, and Soho's high-rent apartments no longer housed day laborers. A man with a newspaper under his arm turned the corner, his head tucked into his jacket to avoid the cold. Ted jogged in place as the man approached. The man started toward the bakery door. Only when he closed in did Ted notice an ear plug. As the man opened the door, he whispered to Ted: "Follow Courtlandt when he comes out. Stay on the opposite side of the street, half a block back. I'm inside as backup." The man walked into the bakery, bought a buttered kaiser roll and cup of coffee, and stood at the back wall counter top. All along Broadway the city was waking up. Workers and drones stirred in their cells, scurried from their doorways, and headed off to begin the care and feeding of the hive. Taxis crowed at the rising sun. A garbage truck with two men aboard lurched into view. The mechanical whirr of steel jaws crushing the city's trash temporarily muffled the other street noises. Among the purposefully striding pedestrians Ted spotted one man slowly walking up Courtlandt's side of the street. His hands were thrust into a navy peajacket. He stopped to pull out a cigarette and light it, cupping his hands to protect the lighted match. When this failed he moved into a doorway and stayed standing on the stoop. A woman jogged up Mercer Street. As she approached Broadway, she slowed. Her hands were on her hips, as if winded, but no steamy air billowed from her mouth. She sat on the curb and leaned back on her hands. The other pedestrians came and went. None stopped or lingered. Ted dismissed them. They weren't police. Another man

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (167)

walked into view. He leaned against a car and stared up at one of the windows with its shades drawn. He seemed to be waiting for someone. In all, Ted counted four, but realized there must be many more of Ashland's and Bournerite's backup team around. The two detectives were themselves out of sight. Ted was to be the star of this show. The man from the bakery came out. He clapped his hands together, put them to his mouth, and blew into them. With his hands still to his mouth he said, "Courtlandt will probably walk to this deal. Don't get too far from from him." Ted turned and looked at the rows of rolls in the bakery window. "Do you want me to show myself?" "Yes, but not right away," the man said. He moved a little further down the block and stood as if waiting to be picked up for work. The green metal door to Courtlandt's building swung open and Courtlandt and Vern stepped out. They were talking, gesturing, paying no attention to the people on the street. But the street people paid attention to them. None of the stake-outs made a move, but Ted could feel the force of their attention. They were aware of themselves as a team, and of the two men as their quarry. The man from the bakery put his hand to his mouth and spoke into his glove, and his thumb went to the ear plug to press it tighter. Ted watched Courtlandt and Vern on the opposite sidewalk. The man from the bakery nodded, and Ted started walking. Courtland and Vern stood at a corner, waiting for traffic to clear, and Ted hung back, pausing at a newsstand. The two men dashed across the street a half a block away, and Ted followed after. He heard the screeching of tires behind him as a battered pickup truck with a sanded finish and orange primer came roaring up the street. It swerved through traffic, its tires burning, a haze of white smoke pouring from all four oversized wheels. Another car moved to cut the orange pickup off, but the truck swerved into the oncoming lane and avoided a collision, then dashed back across the street and bore down directly at Ted. Ted had turned and watched, rooted to the spot, as the truck wove toward him. Now he jerked awake and began running up the sidewalk, running for his life, hoping to jump onto a car twenty paces ahead of him. But he had moved too late. The truck jumped the curb and ran up the sidewalk after him. Ted stepped up onto a fire

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (168)

hydrant, hoping to vault onto the parked car some six feet away, just as the orange truck overtook him. He heard the loud bang of the hydrant smashing into the truck's heavy bumper, beneath him, then felt his feet knocked from under him in midair. He went over backwards into the passenger side of the windshield, smacking his head hard on the roof as the truck lurched to a halt. As Ted slid down the shattered safety glass, he rolled to his left to look at the driver. The man in brown was in the driver's seat, looking down at the shift lever. Ted rolled off the front of hood onto the street, into a flood of rushing water. The truck slammed into reverse and backed up, releasing the geyser high into the air, and screeched down the street. The last thing Ted remembered was the water cascading down on him. Everyone came running as Ted lost consciousness.

The doctor placed his arm on Ted's shoulder. Ted was lying in bed. "You're a very lucky man," the doctor said, smiling. Bournerite stood behind the doctor looking thoughtful, but said nothing. "Other than the lump on the back of your head, some miscellaneous scratches, and a few dozen bruised ribs, you're in excellent shape. Really nothing to worry about." The doctor held up the X-rays. "No concussions or contusions," he added. "Now that we've pulled all the glass out of you, I expect you would like to leave?" "Yeah." "Here let me help you," the nurse said as Ted tried to sit upright. "I'll manage," he said. He winced as he changed position. Those not-to-worryabout bruises meant wracking pain from the small of his back to his shoulder blades, a knee and elbow stiff with fresh scabs, and a lump that felt like a throbbing baseball on the back of his head. He put his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "Considering that you went up against a truck with just your bare hands," the doctor said, "you came away pretty clean." He offered Ted his warm, reassuring doctor smile again, and held out a vial of tablets. "Take these for the pain. Two as needed, but no more than two every four hours." Ted accepted the pills. "Thanks. Where are my clothes?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (169)

"I'll get them," the nurse said. The doctor shook Ted's hand and left while the nurse helped him dress. "Well, did you get the bastards?" Ted finally asked Bournerite. "Ashland's on their asses right now," Bournerite said. Ted understood from this that the police hadn't caught them. "We found the truck abandoned five blocks away in an alley off Canal Street near Chinatown. The vehicle was stolen." "Well, in that case you hotshots should have no trouble at all in closing in on my friend in the brown suit," Ted said without humor. "I agreed to help you, to be your stalking horse, and I put my ass on the line for you. If you'll pardon my saying so, you're doing one hell of a lousy job protecting it." Bournerite did not flinch. "Our follow car tried to cut your truck off, and we missed. We frankly weren't expecting Courtlandt to have a follow car of his own. All we wanted was Courtland to see that you were onto them, to panic him into his next move. "Ted, on behalf of the department and the team we had behind you, I want you to know that we are all very sorry about this, and we are all very glad that you came through this in one piece. The whole team and I got a serious ass-chewing from my Captain before I came over here, which we deserved." Ted was not impressed. There was something in Bournerite's tone that gave him the impression the detective was just going through the motions, taking care of public relations. He continued, painfully, to get dressed. "But it wasn't a total loss," Bournerite went on. "In fact, we accomplished what we wanted. We made them jump." "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You made them blink? Who cares? I'm the one with the fender up my ass!" The nurse hurried help Ted into his clothes, so she could leave. She wanted no part of this. "Ted, I understand how you might feel that way," Bournerite said. "The point is, we've forced their hand, and they still don't know we, that is, the police, are onto them. As far as they know, you're in this alone, trying to protect Steering from a scandal." "How the hell would you know that?" Ted was skeptical. "We're monitoring their conversations."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (170)

"Courtlandt's phone is tapped?" Bournerite nodded. "Courtlandt is desperate to set up some kind of drugs-for-art deal. He's trying to set up one last score and make enough money to get out of the business and get out of town. You got them very nervous, Ted. They're going to move in the next few days. This case will be in the bag within the week." "That's great," Ted said. "As long as it's not a body bag, and me in with it." "No way." "Good. Your assurances are a great comfort to me." The nurse rolled a wheelchair up behind Ted. "What's this for? I can walk." "Hospital regulations, sir. Just until you are out-- " "Until I'm out of the building and no longer your legal responsibility, I know," Ted said, and sat down stiffly. "OK, gun it." "Ted?" Bournerite scratched his ear uneasily. "We're going to need you one more time." Ted glared up at the detective in disbelief. "Do you mind if I go home and heal my wounds for half an hour, or do you want to roll my wheelchair into the line of fire right now?" "Hey, take your time."

Ted fumbled for the keys to his house. His body ached and he was groggy from the painkillers. Claire steadied him with her arm around his waist. When he bent to open the door, she took the keys. "Let me do it." She fitted the first key into the top deadbolt lock, the second into the bottom Yale lock, and swung the door in. She gasped. The living room was a heap of strewn furniture, curtains, books, pillows, plates, pictures, glasses, tables, lamps, shelves, cushions, rugs, paper, and drawers. Claire stepped back as if the intruder were still present, cupping her face in both her hands.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (171)

Ted stood behind her and surveyed the wreckage of his living room. Everything was in shambles -- either torn or broken. In the center of the room was a pile of shit. One of the thugs had defecated. Animals, Ted thought. He moved Claire out of his way. "Insurance'll cover it," he said tiredly, and pulled the door closed behind them. "Let's go someplace we can rest." The imminent possibility of your own death concentrates the mind wonderfully, Ted thought, paraphrasing somebody or other, he couldn't remember who. Being hit by a car had apparently given a good shake to the pieces of the puzzle, and a few of them had fallen into place. It was eleven o'clock. With any kind of luck, Ashland would be in bed, asleep, and Ted could return the favor of a late night call. Ted dialed his hotel. Four rings, five, ten, and on the twelfth, an answer. "Ashland here." The voice was groggy. Ashland was apparently an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy. "Ashland, I need you to check a record for me. Find out if Andrew Courtlandt or Vern went to Andover." Ashland's mind was grinding slowly. "Do you mind if I ask why?" "That's where Scott Cooke went to school." "Meaning?" "Probably nothing. But Scott was at the gallery showing in Soho on Sunday." From the silence on the other end of the phone, Ted knew Ashland was turning this over. "Courtlandt and Vern were at that same party," Ted added. "Yes, I remember. Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Lasting?" "Yes. I don't know what to make of this, but on the day that I found the files stolen, I noticed something odd, not terribly odd, but just enough for it to register. I thought I ought to tell you about it." "Tell away." "Everything in my office was as usual, except that the trash basket was moved to the other side of the safe."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (172)

Ashland let Ted's words hang for a few seconds, then: "Now, I don't want to be impolite. After all, you did pick up some cuts and bruises for us today, and we're thankful for your cooperation. But would you mind telling me, Sherlock, what we are supposed to deduce from the location of your wastebasket?" "I'm just saying I think it could be important. The cleaning woman always puts the basket to the left of the safe. That's where the basket goes, that's where it stays. But this time it was way to the right, so the thief obviously moved the basket." "He probably scratched his ass when he woke up, too," Ashland said, "but what's that supposed to tell you about him?" "Or her," Ted interjected. "I don't know." Everything is done for a reason. Everything has meaning. The world is filled with signs if only we are bright enough to read them. The traces of our passing -- the cigarette smoke in an empty room, the smell of perfume lingering in an elevator -- are everywhere, speaking the silent language of our existence. The movement of the trash basket ... what was it trying to say?

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (173)

CHAPTER 29

Sal popped his hat on his head as he and Ted took the elevator down. He looked like a clown with his massive head and body and small hat. The sign said no smoking, but Sal kept the stogie twisting in his mouth. The young elevator operator, who was a civil servant , said nothing to Sal, but told the man who entered on the next floor to put out his cigarette. Sal beamed. Four passengers were on the elevator with Sal and Ted. They all gave Sal wide berth, which he needed. The elevator settled at the lobby. Everyone exited after Sal and Ted. Sal now took the stogie from his mouth and dropped it in the sand-filled tray beside the elevator. "I can't tell you what Ivan Avronsky was doing with Hope," Sal said. "But I can tell you what he's doing in general." Sal guided Ted to the revolving brass and glass doors leading from the state building. Ted went through first. They walked down Broadway to the PATH station. "He's collecting a position. He's buying Steering stock, but in moderate amounts. Not enough yet so he'd have to register with the SEC. But from the info I get, he's coming close." Ted stopped in his tracks. "Damn," he grunted under his breath. "Gold?" Sal asked with a smile.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (174)

"Twenty-four carat." "Now about the calls from those phone numbers you gave me. I'm havin' trouble. My pal at Ma Bell is squawking. Things are getting too hot for him." "You won't be able to get it then?" "Nah. Just take a bit more time, that's all." The two men arrived at the entrance to the underground PATH station to New Jersey near the World Trade Center. "Now go on, beat it. Get to your next date," Sal said with a light push on Ted's back. "Hey it's not like I'm standing you up," he said apologetically. "You couldn't take me to dinner with you?" "It's not dinner. You won't lose out on a meal. I promise." Ted shook Sal's hand and disappeared underground.

He tied his movements to hers, and went in the front door of the restaurant just as Mona went through the swinging kitchen door. Ted took a seat at one of Mona's stations. She reappeared through the door a moment later, weighed down with with dinner plates, hurried to a table, and started offloading the food. The plates were piled high. At the Clam Broth House, the customers care more about quantity than quality. The patrons were delighted with mounds of food and the endless beers. She cleaned up the empty bottles and then, withdrawing her order pad from her white apron smudged with potatoes, grease and other oddments, turned to face her new customer. Ted smiled up at her. She was not as pleased. She shifted her weight to her other foot and rested her hand on her hip. "What the hell do you want?" "Just a little more information." "No way, Jose. Beat it." "Sorry. I can't leave until I have my coffee and apple pie." Mona turned, marched to the kitchen, and almost immediately returned with coffee and apple pie, which she unceremoniously plunked down on his table.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (175)

"Thank you," he said politely. One of the men at the other table wanted her attention. "Waitress," he shouted. "In a minute," she said over her shoulder dismissing him and focusing on Ted. "I don't want you in here. I have nothing to say, so just beat it." "All I want is an answer to a simple question and then I'll go. Promise." "What's the simple question?" "Does the name Scott Cooke mean anything to you?" "Why do you want to know?" "What difference does it make? Either the name means something or it doesn't." The fat man at the other table was getting impatient. "Waitress. I need a fork." His meal was getting cold. "I can't eat without a fork," he shouted. The manager lifted his face from his reservation book to see what was going on. Mona shot away and returned with a fork. She stabbed his mashed potatoes with it. "Here," she said. She turned to Ted again. "If I tell you will you leave me alone?" "Hey what about a knife," the man shouted angrily. "You didn't ask for a goddamned knife," Mona shot back. "Hang on a minute, will you?" she said. "Hold your horses, mister," Ted shouted at the man. "She's taking my order." The man turned back to his dinner, and the manager went back to his reservation list. "Yes. After this I won't bother you," Ted said. "I've seen him once or twice at Andrew's place. That's all. Okay? Now will you get off my back?" Ted nodded. "Thanks." He rose from his seat and dropped a twenty on the table. Mona scooped it off the table and watched him leave. She got the fat man a knife, a napkin, a glass of water and a spoon and dumped it all on his table. She pushed the ketchup, mustard, A1 sauce and salt and pepper in front of him. "Can you think of anything else you might need?" she asked, and stalked off to the kitchen.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (176)

CHAPTER 30

When Ted awoke at 6:30 a.m., Claire already was dressed and ready to go. "What are you doing up so early?" Ted asked. He rubbed his eyes. "I couldn't sleep," she said. Ted rearranged himself with difficulty in the large bed. His side still ached. Claire thought he didn't look well. "You stay in bed today," she said coming to the bed and kissing him lightly. She nibbled at his soft lips, decided to linger just a bit, and nuzzled her face in his neck. "How do you feel darling?" She stepped back to survey him. His hair was matted. He must have sweated profusely during the night. "I feel as if I've been run over." "You have." They laughed, Ted holding his ribs. Claire noticed and went to the bathroom for some water. Ted felt the lump on the back of his head. It had shrunk from the size of a baseball to the size of an egg, but it was still plenty tender. Claire returned with a glass and two of the prescription pain killers. Ted popped them in his mouth and washed them down with the water. "I wish I had some of that stuff Scott's got in his lab. I wouldn't feel a thing by now."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (177)

"Think I should get some of it for you?" she asked. "Why not. It's street tested." "What do you mean?" "Only that Scott's probably selling it by the carload." Claire was shocked. "You're kidding." "I wish. You remember that wad of money I told you he flashed at the race track? And you saw the crowd he runs with." Claire squinted. She wondered if it could be possible. "He can't afford that kind of high living on the fifty K he gets at Steering, I can tell you," Ted added. "There could be another reason." Claire was skeptical. "Maybe he plays the stock market? Or maybe he was lucky at the track." "Maybe. But it doesn't fit. He never talks about investments. Not that I know of at least. Besides things look just too fishy." Ted paused. The case was loose. Yet it was compelling. "You remember I told you how unconcerned Scott was when the lab technician injected herself with the stuff?" Claire nodded. "Well I wondered why. It bothered me that Scott could be so blas‚ about it. Now I realize, if he's been selling that stuff to his silk-hat crowd, he knew it wouldn't harm her. In fact, he knew she'd like it. And, boy, did she." "That's pretty thin, Ted." . "You're right. But hear this and see if it doesn't change your mind. I asked Mona yesterday if Scott knew Courtlandt. And damned if he didn't. I think Scott has taken Jerry's place. I think he's Courtlandt's new drug source." "My God," Claire whispered. "If that's true... How do you suppose they got together?" "Well, I'm not certain yet. Jerry, Scott and Courtlandt all seem about the same age. That led me to believe that maybe they met at school. The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Besides, I don't think it's an accident that Jerry found himself up in Northampton, near a fancy prep school." "What school was that?" Claire asked.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (178)

"The Mount Hermon School. Now listen to this. I read through Scott's personnel files. Guess where he went to school?" Claire raised an eyebrow. "Right. Mount Hermon -- which is about ten miles from Northampton. Seems an odd coincidence doesn't it." "This is beginning to sound more solid." "Yes ma'am it is. I also suspect that Courtlandt went to the Mount Hermon School. Anyway, I've asked Ashland to check on it. My guess is that Scott had been conducting his own market research with the stuff he's been brewing for Steering. And, getting rich on it. Not quite the ethical behavior we like to encourage." "Have you told Ashland about any of this?" Claire asked anxiously. "He'll know by tonight or tomorrow." Claire was worried. "If this is what's going on, it's no wonder someone is trying to kill you," she said. "Please be careful. I couldn't stand it if you got hurt again." Ted held her as tightly as he could. "Don't worry. As of this morning, Ashland and Bournerite have three men assigned to my personal safety." "All those cops didn't help much yesterday, Ted. Do you have to do this, to be the bait?" "What choice do I have?" he shrugged. "Why do you have to be in the middle of all this? Why can't you turn it over to the police now?" "Because it's my job to protect Steering Industries and, even though my opinion of Howard has changed quite a bit in the last few weeks, to protect him, too. If I can unravel this thing before the police do, I can minimize the damage. And believe me, damage control on this mess is going to be a nightmare." "I can understand that you want to protect the company, but is Steering Industries worth risking your life for?" "Hey, if it comes down to my ass or Steering, I'll jump out of the way, have no fear. But I'm not going to just crawl away and watch the building burn. A lot of people depend on Steering -- workers, stockholders, people I know and work with -- and it's my job to protect them as best I can." Ted paused. "No. That's not it. I'm not in this because of the

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (179)

little people, or the big people for that matter. It has to do mostly with me. If I back away from this fight, then I'm not worth much, to Steering or to myself. "I used to look at my job, at my so-called career, in terms of getting ahead, pure and simple. It was all about me, my life. I'd made my early moves from company to company to advance myself. I worked my way up the corporate chain of command, and finally I chose Steering as the place to stay and make my mark. Steering was to be the big plum, and I'd be the boy wonder, CEO at thirty-something, assuming Howard chose me over Whit. The point is, until now I've been in it for myself, and I've had my game plan all worked out. But I'm finding that a game plan doesn't make for much of a life." Ted stopped, and his attention turned inward for a moment. "And you know what? I'm in this because I like it. That's really at the bottom of all this. I like the danger. I like the risk -- I'm actually drawn to it. The blood is moving in my veins in a new way. I'm more alert, more alive. I feel like this is what I was waiting for, this was what I was meant to do. "You know, when I saw Reinhardt's body in the swamp, I lost my cookies. I broke out in a cold sweat, and I wanted to get out of there. But something else in me wanted to stay, wanted to look at that horrible decomposing hunk of meat, to feast on the sight of it. Something in me loved it, loved being there, loved getting in touch with real, actual, tangible death. "When I went up against Hornish, my brain was saying 'Keep it cool, deal from integrity, no low blows.' But my gut was saying, 'Kill him. Crush him. Rip out his throat.' I didn't, of course. I walked out of the zoo without drinking his blood. But I think that's what's really underneath my involvement in this. "I know perfectly well that the smart thing to do, the stuffy corporate attorney thing to do, is to handle the strictly legal problems. I should stack as many rocks onto the wall as I can, and then go back inside the fort and stay as far as possible from the bloodshed. Just play the game and keep my own nose out of the shit. But I can't do that. It's me against the invading hordes. This is the fight I was born for." Ted shifted his gaze from some point beyond the end of the bed to take in Claire's look of worry. "Listen to me," he said with a small laugh. "Conan the Librarian. Let's just say, 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do,' and leave it at that."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (180)

Claire gave him a half-hearted smile. "Well, what can a man's woman do to help?" For a moment, Ted did not answer. How could he ask her to do more? She had already jeopardized her own career by getting him into Burgland's desk, had violated a personal confidence and told him about Burgland's son, and now she was asking to be drawn in further, into a game that had already proven deadly. "Please tell me what I can do," she said. "I want to be in this with you, all the way. Don't protect me from it. I want to be at your side." Ted wanted to protect her, to keep her from harm. But he wanted to let her into his life, all the way, as well. And that meant allowing her to accept risks on his behalf. "All right," he said at last, "here's something you can do. I want you to make an excuse to see Hope. Tell her that you're very confused. That you don't want to hurt her father, but you've fallen in love with me." "I can't do that," Claire said, face flushed. "I'd feel such a fool." "Okay, okay -- that's just the first thing that popped into my head. I don't care what you tell her, just figure out an excuse for a woman-to-woman talk. The point is, see her, and let it drop that I know that Ivan Avronsky is buying up Steering stock. Say it like you're worried about the company, about Howard's position." He smiled thinly. "I want her to know that she's being used." Ted took both Claire's hands in his. "I want her to know she can come to me for help."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (181)

CHAPTER 31

Forest Hills, Queens, was built as a planned residential community -- stately Spanishstyled homes once nestled in rolling hills and deep ravines. Now the neighborhood was bloated with small clothing stores, shoe boutiques, jewelry stores, and European-style cafes. With the years, the people too had changed. As the wealthier residents died, poorer families replaced them. People who couldn't afford Manhattan migrated to Forest Hills, drawn by the cheaper rents and the European flavor. That was why Reinhardt had made his home there, in the house of a widow who rented out her basement apartment to help with her mortgage. Ted and Claire parked in the circular drive and knocked on the dark oak door of the widow's home. It was opened by a large woman who could have weighed, Ted estimated, 300 pounds. She wore an orange house dress stretched over her mammoth breasts and stomach, topped with a yellow cardigan sweater. Her dull reddish hair peeked from under a blue kerchief speckled with little white doves. Her eyes were small, pinched by the fat of her face. Several chins rested on her chest, her neck no longer visible. She was also an obvious tippler; her nose was red and bulbous. In her hand she held a dust rag.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (182)

The woman said nothing to Ted or Claire. She placed her bulk in the doorway like a guard dog. "Would you please tell Mrs. Wing that Ted Lasting is here." The woman's eyes were half open. Ted knew she heard what he had said, but she gave no indication of it. Her mouth remained a thin line between her broad cheeks. "I have an appointment with her tonight," he looked at his watch, "at eight o'clock." She was trying to remember something. Her eyes opened and closed slowly. Ted decided she was smashed. "Would you tell Mrs. Wing we're here," Ted repeated. The mouth widened. It opened to reveal crooked teeth, like a picket fence knocked over by unruly children. "Yeah? Well you told her," she said belligerently. "Oh, so sorry," Ted mumbled. "I called." "Yeah. I remember." She didn't, but she said she did. She had developed a drunk's defenses. "Can we come in?" "Whaddaya want?" she answered without budging. "We have a few questions about Reinhardt." "Who don't?" "I see what you mean," he said. Apparently Ashland or Bournerite had been here. Ted and Claire stood at the doorway, resigned to conducting their interview outdoors. "Did Reinhardt have any friends?" Ted asked. "Friends?" she huffed. "Does anybody have 'em?" She shrugged. It launched a seismic ripple under her dress. Her bulk pulsed like an ocean wave as she moved aside. "Have a drink," she commanded, and flagged them in, underarms flapping. Claire and Ted entered the hallway to a huge, once beautiful home. The place was filthy. The walls were spotted, balls of dust hid in the corners, beer cans and paper bags littered the area near the battered couch. Cigarette holes dotted the arm and back where Mrs. Wing often rested in a stupor. The ashtray hadn't been emptied in days. "Whaddaya drink?" she asked Ted first. He told her bourbon. Claire, finicky about cleanliness, declined. The mountain of flesh heaved and sighed toward a cluttered oak

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (183)

cabinet. She poured Ted and herself drinks. Tall ones. Scotch, no ice. Mrs. Wing sipped her own as she handed Ted his glass. "Take a seat." Ted guided Claire toward the chair. It was cleaner than the sofa. He pulled up a chair for himself and sat beside Claire. Mrs. Wing dropped onto the couch, which complained noisily as it took her weight. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of the cardigan and stuck one between her lips. It hung from the pulpy lips and glowed red as she inhaled to ignite it. "Things haven't been the same since my husband died twelve years ago," she began. Ted looked at his watch. They should have had dinner before they came. He didn't look forward to a long-winded confession of a lonely widowed drunk. "He made a lot of money. We lived good. But the son-of-a-bitch gambled and drank," she said bitterly. She apparently didn't approve of gamblers or drunks. "Couldn't stop. They killed him." Ted wasn't certain whether she was referring to gambling or drinking or someone to whom her husband had owed money. He wasn't about to ask. "Ran out of money fast. I had to take in boarders to help with the mortgage. Reinhardt was my last boarder." She swept the air away in front of her with her hand. "The last one. Absolutely. Can't take all this trouble for one lousy boarder." She apparently meant the police and Ted. She squinted at him as she sucked on the cigarette. A quarter of an inch of paper burned away in a bright glow. She let the ash drop to the floor and gulped her scotch. Ted took advantage of the pause to distract her from her life's story. "Did Reinhardt have many visitors?" "Nah. He was a writer and scientist." She said with a proud smile. It probably added to her stature with her neighbors. "He kept mostly to himself. Didn't mostly have people over." "Not even women?" Mrs. Wing didn't like the implications of that. "Hey, I don't allow women here, at least not overnight. I don't take in that kind of boarder." "What kind of boarder was Reinhardt?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (184)

"Quiet. Nice." She seemed fond of him. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression of him," she said. She finished her drink and was about to lift herself off the couch for a refill. Instead Ted rose, reached for her glass. "May I?" She nodded. "Sure." Ted walked to the oak cabinet and refilled her glass. On his way back he said: "I don't have any impression ... one way or the other ... of Reinhardt." Ted handed her the drink. She accepted it and placed it at her side on the couch while she took another drag, then ground the filter into the ashtray and immediately lit up again. "He had some visitors. Mostly during the last coupla weeks." She was feeling better. She lifted her glass to Ted, ignoring Claire completely, and drained half her glass of scotch. Her eyes closed momentarily in pleasure. "Any visitors in particular stand out?" "Hell I don't remember," she said slurring her words slightly. Her lids clicked open and closed. She finished her drink and shook the empty glass at Ted. He rose to refill it. He didn't want to lose her. He brought her another scotch. "Try to remember, please. This is important," he said. "Ain't it always," she muttered. "Did anything unusual happen in the last month or so?" "Month? Hell I can't remember days and you ask me about months." She snickered and pulled on her drink again. "Did he have any fights with anyone? Do you know over what?" Ted insisted. Her eyes clicked more rapidly. She was trying to remember. Something was coming to her. The lids of her eyes began to droop. Ted and Claire watched her mind work. She was putting things together and swayed as the pieces accumulated. "Yeah," she said with some certainty. "I remember him fighting with someone." "With whom?" "How the hell should I know," she said sleepily. She twisted in her seat. The flesh rolled from one side of her to the other as she settled down in a new position with her arm

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (185)

draped over the back of the couch. She put the drink to her mouth. Ted hoped she would slow down. "Was it a man?" "I told ya. I don't allow women." "Right. Did you see the man?" "Yeah." "Did you hear what they were fighting about?" "Yeah." "What did the man look like?" She fought the alcohol and her addled brain. "Tall." She rested her head on her meaty hand. "Good looking man. Gray like my husband. God rest the bastard's soul. Lovely long fingers." Her eyes closed. "He looked like the Prince of Wales. Beautiful suit. He wore a beautiful suit," she said, her lids snapping open suddenly. She stared directly at Ted. Claire still did not exist for Mrs. Wing. "What did they fight about?" The face puckered in on itself as she fought to organize her brain, to gather all the proteins to a single site and let them form a memory. "I don't know," she said finally. "Please try again," Ted asked. She shook her head in frustration. "I don't remember," she slurred. "I just don't. All I know it was 'bout work." "Anything in particular about work?" Ted pressed. "...just that it was his ..." Mrs. Wing's head slowly fell jerkily, as if ratcheted, towards her shoulder. Her lids were tightly closed and she was sound asleep.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (186)

CHAPTER 32

Ted drummed his fingers on his table at the Sign of the Dove restaurant. Claire was overdue from her visit to Hope's duplex penthouse on Fifth Avenue. He had expected her an hour ago, and was anxious to hear her report. He fidgeted as the waiter brought his third drink. He was having too many bourbons this early in the evening, but he felt obligated to order if he was going to occupy a table. Ted glanced at his watch: 6:30 p.m. He had arrived at five. Claire came through the elaborately etched glass door of the restaurant. She was smartly dressed in a multi-colored wool dress with padded shoulders, and boots. The skirt whirled about her legs as she walked. Claire stood at the doorway, looking for Ted. Ted swiftly moved to her. "Darling are you okay?" He kissed her quickly. "I was concerned." She held his hands and smiled broadly. "Have I got a surprise for you. Let's sit down first." She squeezed his hand hard. Ted led her to the table. As soon as they sat, the waiter appeared, ready to take their order. Claire suddenly stood.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (187)

"Ted, I'm too excited. I just can't sit." She tugged at his arm. "Can we go? Take a walk?" Ted stood. "Just the check, waiter." The waiter drew the check from his pocket and laid it in Ted's hand. Ted glanced at it, covered it with a twenty, and left. Outside, Claire still tugged at his arm. She skipped ahead, pulling Ted along with her. "What happened?" he asked as he ran alongside her. Claire stopped and pirouetted. Her skirt flew out in a wide hoop. Ted stopped. "Tell me what happened," he insisted. He couldn't imagine what would generate such excitement. "What did Hope say?" Claire spun around one more time and stopped. "It wasn't so much what she said that's important, but what I found." From her dress pocket she extracted a piece of paper. She waved it in front of Ted's nose. "Look at this." Ted grabbed the paper from her hand. Yellow paper, legal size. "She's gotten a note too?" Ted unfolded the paper. It had a few words pasted on it: WATCH scotT. he's Claire went on, "More cut out words and letters were on her desk. She had a jar of paste and a pad of this paper on the table," she said pointing to the note. "She's writing the notes!" Claire exclaimed. She had solved the puzzle, and she showed a girlish pride. Ted stood, thinking. How could he have been so far off the mark, he wondered. Hope was the author of the notes. All along, he had held to the suspicion that Whit had been sending them to improve his position at Steering, that Whit had shown his own note to Ted as a red herring. But Hope was the culprit. Suddenly it all made sense to him. "What does it mean?" Claire asked, her excitement ebbing as she looked at Ted's serious expression. "A lot. A hell of a lot," he said. He pulled her toward his car. Maybe, if they were lucky, Hope wouldn't notice that that this piece of notepaper was missing. There was nothing he could do about that now. The first thing to do was to get to Ashland or Bournerite, and fast.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (188)

Ted was with Scott and Whit, as arranged, when Bournerite and Ashland entered the lab. The detectives were solemn as they approached. Ted studied Scott's face from the corner of his eye. It betrayed nothing. Ted wondered how he could be that cool. Ted himself felt nervous. Even Whit's face betrayed a slight edge of tension. Scott alone seemed unruffled. The detectives stopped in front of Scott and Whit. "We'd like to ask you some questions," Bournerite said in a smooth monotone. "Me?" Whit asked, now visibly agitated. "No. I meant Cooke, here," Bournerite said without amusement. "Y'all got some things to explain," Ashland growled. For the first time, Scott's composure dissolved. "What do you want with me?" "You're a friend of Andrew Courtlandt's. Right?" Scott half shook his head. He was undecided about telling the truth. "Don't try to deny it. We talked with Mona. Y'all know Mona, don't you?" Ashland asked threateningly. "...Yes." "And Andrew Courtlandt?" Bournerite shot in. "...Yes." Bournerite said nothing. He drilled Scott with his eyes. "We arrested him this morning," he finally announced. "What?" Scott's face glistened. "Why?" "We got him selling drugs to an undercover agent." Bournerite withdrew a tiny test tube, about three-quarters of an inch long and a quarter of an inch in diameter. It was stoppered with a rust-colored rubber plug. The top of the tube was shrouded in saran wrap. A rubber band held the saran wrap in place. Inside the test tube was a pale amber liquid, like the liquid in the rack of test tubes behind Scott. It was the extract of mice brains, the purified neurotransmitter that Scott and Whit had isolated. Bournerite held the tube up in front of Scott. He pushed it close to his face. "Recognize this?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (189)

"No," Scott said. "It's got the same shit in it as those test tubes," Bournerite said, pointing to the row of test tubes behind Scott. "Syndorphine as you call it. On the street they call it Pop. You've started quite a craze among the trend setters. Your rich customers love it because they don't have to shoot it, they sniff it as a nasal spray. We're finding the little squeeze bottles everywhere. Pretty expensive shit too, a lot more expensive than coke -- nearly two thousand dollars for an ounce of the pure stuff." He turned to Ted. "The dealers cut it with saline solution, dilute it down anywhere from twenty to a hundred times, get about a quart from an ounce, usually. On the street it's been going for twenty five dollars a hit -- a pop, I should say -- which is just a few drops of the stuff. That is some serious profit potential." "I don't know what you're talking about," Scott insisted. "Forget it, sweetheart." Bournerite countered. "Your friend Courtlandt told us all about it. We nailed him last night when he passed the drug to an undercover cop." Courtlandt had refused to disclose his source, and it was Bournerite's and Ashland's job to get an admission from Scott. "Come on boy," Ashland said, reaching for Scott. "We know all about your drop at the fire hose cabinet down the hall. It's got your prints all over it. I reckon we'll find your little Pop factory somewhere right here in the lab. Let's go Scotty, we're takin' you in." Bournerite read him his rights. Whit Chapin watched the entire scene without saying a word. His hands were tightly clasped in his lap. Only when Scott appealed to him with his eyes did Whit finally speak. "Well what's the charge, if I may ask?" he said almost apologetically. Whit turned to Ted for backup, expecting him to protect Scott. Ted said to him quietly, "There's nothing I can do." He turned to Bournerite. "Let's just get this done with a minimum of fuss. If you're wrong, I don't want Scott's -- or Steering's -- reputation adversely affected in any way by your actions today." So much for his obligatory speech in front of Whit and Scott. Bournerite nudged Scott. Scott's eyes pleaded, but neither Ted nor Whit moved to help him, and he was closely escorted from the lab.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (190)

When the detectives were finally out of sight, Whit turned to Ted. "I've always dreaded something like this, Ted. How bad do you think this incident will be for the company?" Ted knew Whit was worried about how this scandal in research would affect his own chances at the presidency. "I wouldn't be too concerned about it, Whit. Pop is not going to be a widespread street drug, because you need genetically engineered E. coli to produce it, and that's not something the street chemists are going to be able to cook up, no matter how many manuals they read. "This kind of problem comes with the territory -- the same thing's going on in every drug company in the country. Scott's little drug operation is the least of our troubles, believe me." "Well, I'm not sure if I feel relieved, when you put it that way. But thanks for handling it, Ted. God, I will be so glad when we can get back to 'business as usual.' The Reinhardt murder, now this drug dealing, and that health report leak..." "That last fire has been put out, at least." "Yeah, right. Thank goodness for small favors. I hope we can put all of this mess behind us soon." "I'm working on it, Whit, believe me." Ted rose. He was on his way to Burgland's office. He wanted to make sure news of this got back to Hope.

"Yup," Sal told Ted. He pushed his beer mug across the bar, and the bartender squirted in a refill from the draft tap. "You were right. Avronsky has stepped up his purchases of Steering stock. He'll have to report it soon. My sources expect he'll own enough to give Burgland a run for his money -- literally." Ted clinked his mug against Sal's. "There's more than one horse in this race, buddy."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (191)

CHAPTER 33

Ted knocked on Mrs. Wing's door at 10 a.m. After a wait of over a minute, she answered the door, stepped aside, and gestured for Ted to enter. He carried his briefcase and a large paper bag. Ted had hoped that by calling for an early appointment he might catch Mrs. Wing sober. "Good morning," he said cheerily. "Yeah?" The steaming black coffee she carried splashed as she tried to keep her hands still. Her puckered skin appeared slightly yellow, as if she'd been soaked in vinegar, and red veins ran across the tarnished whites of her eyes. Ted handed Mrs. Wing the paper bag. "I thought, since you were so generous with your hospitality on my last visit, I'd try to return the favor," he said. Mrs. Wing took the bag without comment and trundled toward the living room, where she dropped like a sack of cement onto her couch. She opened the bag and lifted out a quart bottle of twelve-year-old Chivas Regal.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (192)

"Ohhhh." Her moan was almost sexual. She unscrewed the cap and sniffed at the neck. "Mighty fine," she said. Mrs. Wing retrieved her coffee cup, poured in a generous shot of the Chivas, and gulped greedily at the mixture. Coffee and scotch worked their way through her system like warm oil through a cold engine. Mrs. Wing imperceptibly quivered as the liquids took effect. She smacked her lips and drank down the rest of the coffee, then poured another two fingers into the cup and took a sip. She shook her head. "Ah, that's good scotch. Get yourself a glass from the cabinet, why don't you?" "Thanks." Ted brought back a glass and held it out for her to pour. He took a courtesy sip, smiled, and seated himself again in one of the ragged stuffed chairs opposite the couch. "Mrs. Wing," Ted said, "I'm sorry I had to run last time. I thought if I might trouble you for a little more of your time today... " "No trouble at all. Happy to help." Her smile was beatific. "Great. Well, I brought some photographs along. I wonder if you'd mind looking at them." Ted rose and handed her the pictures he collected from personnel. There were photos of Howard Burgland, Wendell Coates, Whit Chapin, Scott Cooke and Vishni. He also included a wallet-sized wedding photo of Hope and Sebastian. Mrs. Wing squinted as she studied them. Ted could tell she was having difficulty. "Could you get me my glasses from the kitchen," she asked. "On the table, probably." She didn't like to wear her glasses. She thought they made her face look fat. Ted went through the dining room into the kitchen. He pawed through the mess on the kitchen table and found her glasses under yesterday's newspaper. He returned with the glasses. Mrs. Wing placed them on the end of her nose and reexamined the photographs. "Can you tell me if you recognize anyone?" "Sure," she said. "Let's start with these," he said, indicating the eight by ten glossies. Ted moved next to her on the couch, took the photos from her, and spread them out on the coffee table. "First let's eliminate the people you don't recognize." With difficulty, Mrs. Wing leaned forward, spreading her legs to make room for her massive belly.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (193)

"Now then," Ted said, "who don't you recognize?" She peered over the tops of the glasses and poked at the photo of Vishni. "Never saw him here." She was positive. "Who else?" Without hesitation, Mrs. Wing also set aside Scott's picture. Now, however, she paused and studied the photos more carefully. Howard, Wendell and Whit were gray haired. They offered her memory more of a challenge. Mrs. Wing looked up at Ted apologetically. He was a nice guy. He brought her Chivas. She hadn't had such fine scotch in a long time. She wanted to help. "You know my memory ain't too good." Ted nodded. "That's fine. Take your time." Mrs. Wing studied the pictures for another thirty seconds or so. She poked at Howard Burgland's photo. "That man," she said, "doesn't look familiar." "Are you sure?" "Sure as I can be." Then she poked at Wendell's picture. "He's been here. That's for sure." "When was he here?" Mrs. Wing shrugged. "Don't know exactly. A week or two before he went away." Her cup was empty, so she poured more scotch. "You ready for a refill?" "Not just yet, thanks. So, you're saying that this man visited a week before Reinhardt went away." "Tha's right." "Did he come here often?" "Only two, maybe three times." Ted nodded. "Good. What about this man?" Ted said pushing Whit's photo in front of her. "Yeah." Ted waited. "Yeah?" "Yeah. He's been here. Though I get confused between him and the other fella," she said pointing to Wendell's picture. "Yeah. But he's been here. Coupla nights before Reinhardt left for good."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (194)

"You mean this man," he said laying his finger on Whit's photo, "was here a few nights before Reinhardt disappeared?" "Yeah, tha's right." Ted was momentarily baffled. He had added the photos of Greg, Vishni, and Whit as controls. He had expected Mrs. Wing to identify Wendell, perhaps Scott, and certainly Burgland. Mrs. Wing was turning his theories upside down. "Are you sure?" Ted wished he had more faith in her answers. Just how much could he trust what this lush said? "Sure I'm sure," Mrs. Wing said. "He's the one he had a fight with the night before he left." "You mean the fight over business?" "Yeah." "Are you sure it was the night before Reinhardt disappeared?" "Course. Derrek was yellin' it wouldn't make a difference after tomorrow 'cause he was goin' to Florida." "Florida? You're sure about that?" "Hey, I know what I heard," she insisted. Ted nodded. He believed her. He drew the wallet-sized photo of Hope and Sebastian closer on the coffee table. Ted pointed to Hope. "Seen her?" Mrs. Wing brought the photo up close. "Pretty woman. Your girlfriend?" she asked with a giggle. "No, no such luck," Ted said with what he hoped was a winning smile. "Do you recognize her?" Mrs. Wing shook her head. "Nope." "What about the man with her? Has he been here?" "Nah. I never let them kind in my house unless it's to fix something."

Ted took his leave of Mrs. Wing and dashed to his car. He found a public phone in a nearby restaurant and dialed Claire.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (195)

"Who was it in Stockholm that called Howard last week?" "I don't know," she said. "Damn," Ted muttered. "But I can find out." "Atta girl!" Ted said. "Can you do it now?" "Not right now. He's on the phone. He should be through in a few minutes. I can try then." "Look. Here's my phone number," he said, reading the number off the phone. "Call me back as soon as you know. I'll wait in the phone booth for you." He paused, wondering if there was anything else he should say. "By the way Claire, in case you don't know, I'm crazy about you." "I love you too Ted." "Okay, enough mush. Get me the information." "I will." "Claire, Howard mustn't know you're asking for me." "I understand." She blew him a kiss and hung up. Ted dropped quarter into the phone and dialed Sal. A somnambulistic soul answered the phone. Ted asked for Sal. The woman said he was busy. "Tell him it's an emergency. This is Ted Lasting from the Governor's Office." The receiver dropped on the other end and Ted could hear the sound of high heels clicking as the woman raced into Sal's office. "Well, kid, you sure know how to motivate the civil servants. Now what's got your trousers on fire this time?" "I've got to know about those phone calls. Were you able to get me the information?" "Did you quit your job or something?" "What do you mean?" "Look, putz, a messenger dropped the information on your secretary's desk two hours ago. You already got the fuckin' answer -- that is, if you'd show up at work." The line clicked, dead.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (196)

Fucking Sal, Ted said to himself as he redialed. The phone rang once and Sal picked it up chuckling. "Am I breaking your balls or what?" "Sal don't do this to me. I'm aging fast and you definitely aren't helping." "I'm trying to teach you there's a price for everything." "As if you'd ever let me forget. Now what did the phone log say?" "You guessed right. Hope made the call from her apartment that morning." "Great," Ted sighed, relieved at least some things were as he imagined. "Thanks Sal. I don't know what I'd do without you." "You'd walk around in smelly diapers, that's what. Now, I know you probably have a power lunch to get to, but some of us have to work for a living." He hung up. As soon as Ted deposited the phone in its cradle, it rang. He picked it up. "Ted, I've got the answer," Claire whispered. "He was on his way, so I had to ask him directly." "Christ," Ted muttered. "It's okay. He doesn't know why. I gave him an excuse." "Thank goodness for small favors. Who was it?" "Lars Bentson." She gave Ted his direct office and home numbers. "He's probably at work now," Claire added. Ted looked at his watch. About six hours separated them. It was almost five in the afternoon in Stockholm. He decided it wasn't too late to call. "Thanks, babe. I love you," he said and hung up. He gave the operator his credit card number and she connected him with Lars Bentson who was not pleased to be called out of a meeting to be asked a lot of questions. After he answered them, Bentson swore he'd never confide in Howard Burgland ever again.

Ted screeched to a halt in his private parking space and hurried to the elevator. He knew Williams left for lunch at twelve noon on the dot, which gave him a minute or two. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor and walked as quickly and casually as he could to Williams' office. George Williams was the director of communications. His department maintained all telephone and communications charges and records.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (197)

Ted walked into Williams' office just as he was standing up to leave for lunch. Williams looked at Ted with surprise; he had always admired Ted's coolness under fire and had never, to his memory, seen Ted flustered. Until now. "Pleasant surprise, Ted," Williams said, shaking Ted's hand. "Can I help you?" "You sure can," Ted said. "But I've got to ask you to keep this between us. No one else. Understood?" Williams was a successful corporate animal, and office politics was second nature to him. So he equivocated. "If I can, Ted." "You can," Ted said confidently. "It's a legal matter. Divulging this information would constitute a breach of law." "In that case," Williams conceded, "it's as good as done." "I need the telephone records of the following people for the last two weeks of March and the first three weeks of April." Ted handed him a list of names and extensions he had scribbled on a piece of paper when he was sorting things out in the restaurant in Forest Hills. Williams glanced at the list. His brows went up. "These are some pretty big guns," he said, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "I assume you take full responsibility?" "Of course. I'm asking in my capacity as chief legal officer of Steering, and I'll follow up my request with written authorization later today, I promise. But I need to see these logs immediately." "Fair enough." Williams left his office and spoke to his assistant. The assistant punched the extensions and dates into the computer. A minute later the printer spit out two dozen pages of records, which the assistant delivered into Ted's hands. Ted glanced at the printout and tucked it under his arm. "Thanks, George," he said. "Any time, Ted." "Any time but lunch time," Ted said with a wink. In the elevator, Ted flipped through the printout. There was a record of a call to Stockholm well over a month ago, placed from the phone in Vishni's lab. "I knew it," he said, and hurried to his office. Glenda was at lunch; the call-forward button was lit on Glenda's phone, so all his calls were being forwarded to another office. Relieved to be alone, Ted picked up the phone and dialed Bournerite.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (198)

"Detective Bournerite," the policeman answered crisply. Ted listened to the voice. For the first time since he met the man, Ted took comfort in his existence. He had feared for his life, he had placed Claire in jeopardy, had resorted to highly questionable tactics with Hornish, and had all but abandoned Wendell. He had a lot to be sorry about. But until recently he had never seen people's lives this close up. He had been content to play his narrowly-defined role, to do the expected. But now he was pushing his limits, finding the boundaries of his personality, and in the process, laying bare the ugliness that lay just beneath the surface of the lives around him. Tomorrow was going to be a bloody day. He hoped he could get the genie back in the bottle, soon, before any more damage was done, any more lives were ruined. "Bournerite, this is Ted Lasting. I need you and Ashland to meet me in Burgland's office tomorrow at ten sharp." "What have you got for us?" "Among other things, I've got Reinhardt's killer."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (199)

CHAPTER 34

When Ted walked in the office he found Burgland seated at his massive desk, looking like a condemned man. "Where are the police?" he asked. "For the moment, there's no need for them." Ted sat opposite Burgland and waited. Soon there was a knock at Burgland's door, and Hope entered. For once she made no attempt at a grand entrance. Seeing the glum faces of Ted and her father, she sensed the mood of doom. Ted had not told her why she had been summoned there today. Ted stood and offered her a chair alongside him. Ted and Hope now faced Burgland. Hope opened her purse and pulled a cigarette from a gold case. She lit up and began smoking nervously. "I know who called Hornish and why," Ted told Burgland. Hope coughed convulsively, the smoke catching in her throat. Ted turned to her. "Do you want to tell us about it?" Hope recovered and sat upright. "Me?" she asked. "Whatever for?"

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (200)

Ted turned back to Burgland. "Howard, I know about Jerry." Burgland's features tightened visibly. He narrowed his eyes. "What you may not know was that he probably was killed." "My God," Hope blurted, putting her hand to her mouth. Burgland remained still as a statue. "Howard, Jerry hated you after the episode in Northampton. From that moment on, he was out to get you." Ted studied Burgland, searching for some emotion, some sign that the man felt guilt, anger, regret. Nothing registered. "Jerry fell in with a bad crowd," Ted explained. "He used them to get to you. And they used him to get drugs and, with a counterfeit art scam they cooked up, money. "Jerry made an arrangement with your art acquisitions director. He knowingly bought fakes from your son. Jerry then sold the originals to some unscrupulous collectors around the country and in the Middle East. He personally made very little money on these deals. He did this to hurt you." Ted paused to give Burgland a chance to absorb the facts. "He knew how proud you were of Steering's art collection, and saw this as a way of indirectly attacking you. But, for some reason, he got cold feet. Or maybe felt a pang of conscience. In any case, when he tried to back out, I believe his partners killed him. The police report was never conclusive because of the damage to the car, but there was some question about the accelerator, some indication that the throttle had been tampered with. Jerry would be too dangerous if he walked away, so his partners took him out." "Those bastards," Hope hissed. "Oh yes, Hope, those nasty evil people." Ted said. To Burgland he said, "As you know, Howard, Hope always blamed you. She took over trying to ruin you where Jerry left off. Of course, your treatment of Sebastian helped fuel her hatred." Ted withdrew the notes pasted on unlined legal-sized yellow paper. He separated one note from the others. "She was going to make you pay for Jerry's death ... and for all the other real and imagined ills you inflicted on her." Ted tossed the notes on Burgland's desk. "These are from her. This was her way to stir up the waters."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (201)

Burgland leaned forward, retrieved the notes and read through them. He had never once looked at Hope. When he finished, he tossed them back to Ted. "How do you know they're from her?" Ted slid the last note -- the unfinished note that Claire had swiped -- toward Burgland. "This one comes from her apartment. She's the author..." "That bitch!" Hope spat. "...there's no question," Ted finished. Burgland looked at her for the first time, stonily. "That's not the worst of it," Ted said. "Those notes were Hope's attempt to pit you, me and Whit against one another. But she had a more complex plot brewing. She wants you out of the company. My guess is she'd like to see herself and Sebastian running it. She felt you never gave Sebastian a fair deal, didn't take him into the company. Hope found a way around that. Didn't you Hope?" Burgland flinched. "She called Hornish's office that morning to make sure he was in. Then she got someone, probably Sebastian, to call your office claiming to be Hornish." Ted reached into his pocket once again and withdrew Sal's list of the phone calls made from Hope's New York apartment that day. Four significant calls were marked: two to Burgland's office in New Jersey and two to the New York Times. The calls were made within minutes of one another. The first call was placed at 10:47 a.m., about ten minutes before Wendell and Ted talked to the newspaper. Ted added the copy of the telephone record to the growing pile of evidence before Burgland. "Did you do that?" Burgland shouted at Hope. "You goddamned bitch." Burgland stood and strode menacingly toward her. She jumped out of her chair, knocking it to the ground as she backed away. Ted stepped between the two of them. He placed his hands on Burgland's chest and pushed him into the seat that Ted had been sitting in. "Hold on," he said to Burgland, and to Hope, "I should let him have a go at you. He hasn't heard the worst of it yet, has he? Not by a long shot." Hope was terrified -- of Burgland's rage, of his revenge, of going to jail. "Daddy," she cried. "It's not true! Don't believe him. He's just trying to get your job. He's the one that's been behind the plot to get you." But her heart was not in it. Even she knew this line was futile.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (202)

Burgland stared hatefully at her, rigid with fury. "Hope's been talking to Ivan Avronsky," Ted said. "He's been buying up Steering stock. I think he now owns at least fifteen or twenty percent of the outstanding shares." Burgland's head snapped around to look at Ted. "Hope expected the health report story to break and Steering's stock to plummet. Then Avronsky could buy it up at bargain prices. She also knew she could help drive the price down by leaking to the press the story that Steering's art was fake, and the scandal would drive you from the company. Then she could have it all. Your disgrace... and possession of the company." Burgland sat back at last, rocked by the blows. "I've told all this to Ashland and Bournerite. They're notifying the SEC." Ted's eyes held Burgland's. "At this point, Howard, I'm not sure, but I think you can easily ward off a hostile acquisition. I don't think Avronsky will put up a fight once he knows that you know what he's been up to. A scandal like that won't be any better for him than it would be for you. You can expect him to sell back his shares. "Of course, there will almost certainly be criminal investigations by the SEC. I don't know where this puts you, Hope." He turned to her. "You probably won't go to jail. But I can tell you, Hope, personally I wish they'd put you away. But not for your two-bit palace coup attempt. "There's one last thing you should know, Howard. Little Hope here has been doing everything she could think of to punish you for Jerry's death. What you don't know is that it was Hope who introduced Jerry to those larcenous scum, Andrew Courtlandt and Vern Wicker. Burgland gazed hopelessly from Hope, to Ted, to Hope, and back to Ted again, still incapable of speech. Ted continued, relentless. "They were old party pals, apparently, which nowadays means they used to pass the mirror around together. I don't know who thought up the art scam, whether it was Hope or one of the dynamic duo. But one thing is clear as a bell. If Hope hadn't introduced Jerry into that crowd, he'd be alive today." "I'm sorry, Howard. You cared only about the company, and that's how your children hoped to get back at you -- by destroying the thing you loved most."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (203)

Ted stared at the two of them, Hope standing in silent panic by the window and Howard bent double in despair. Bournerite and Ashland entered without knocking. "I'm finished here," Ted said as he surveyed the wreckage of the Burgland family. He was relieved to be rescued by the detectives. He led the detectives out and drew the door closed behind him. Ted and the detectives walked to Whit's lab. When Whit saw them enter he rose and stepped away from his desk. His eyes darted to the second door of his lab. "Mr. Chapin..." Ashland began, but Whit had turned and dashed to the other door. "Nail him!" Bournerite shouted. Ashland leaped forward, but Whit was through the door before Ashland could reach him. The detective was out the door an instant later, with Ted and Bournerite after him. The four men sped down the hall toward the stairwell door. Heads popped out of doorways only to be pulled back as Whit shot past. A secretary stepped out of an office with several reams of newly xeroxed reports in her arms. Whit caught her full force, and papers exploded into the air. Whit transferred all his momentum to her, and she shot backward, sliding several feet along the floor. She lay on the tiles perfectly still, her arms hugged close to her sides. The force of the collision had stopped Whit cold. He was shaking as Ashland slammed into his back, and the two men pitched forward onto the floor. Whit tried to struggle free, scrambling wildly under Ashland's grip. Bournerite arrived next, added his weight to Ashland's, and together the two men worked Whit's hands around behind his back and cuffed him. When he heard the cuffs click closed, Whit gave up all struggle. Ashland and Bournerite lifted him to his feet by locking their hands under his cuffed arms. Whit stood, aching, vanquished. The two detectives led him through the halls to the elevators. The hall was now lined with workers who watched in shock the arrest of Steering's most brilliant scientist. Roused from his own painful meditation by the commotion in the halls, Burgland stepped into the hall just as Ted passed his door. "What's going on?" he asked.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (204)

"Take a look at him, Howard. There's your heir apparent, and this year's first choice for the Nobel Prize in chemistry." Ted smiled tightly. "Take a look at Reinhardt's murderer." "What?" Burgland turned to Whit Chapin. "You didn't ... you weren't so stupid as to ..." The words "Say it ain't so, Joe" popped into Ted's mind, and his grim smile pulled a notch tighter. Whit made no answer, and the five men stepped onto the elevator. They rode down in silence. In front of the building was a waiting patrol car. Bournerite lead his prisoner to the car, pushed his head down, and forced Whit into back seat of the police car. He turned to Ted. "We'll be talking to you real soon, Mr. Lasting. On behalf of the department, I want to thank you for your help. You put your ass on the line for us, and we appreciate it." He got into the back seat next to Whit. From the other side of the car Ashland said only, "Mr. Lasting, Mr. Burgland," and got in on the other side. His face was flushed, his breathing still labored from his chase down the hall. "Okay," he said tiredly to the policeman up front when the doors were closed, and the car pulled away. Ted looked after the car. "He killed Reinhardt because Reinhardt really did anticipate the discovery of the new neurotransmitter. I think Whit could have lived with that if he hadn't gotten a phone call from your friend in Stockholm." "I don't understand," Burgland said. "I called Lars Bentson, who confirmed that he'd called Whit a month or so before he called you, to begin the usual screening process for Nobel nominees. He asked Whit if there was anything to the rumor about Reinhardt. Of course, Whit denied it, and claimed that Reinhardt had gotten the idea from him. Knowing that we log all outgoing calls, Whit called Bentson back from Vishni's lab. I got Williams to print out a list of all the calls made during the last month, and the call to Bentson was on the list. Bentson only called you later to confirm Whit's story, which you did.

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (205)

"Whit received Reinhardt's letter all right, and he did initial it -- there's no doubt they're his initials. Whit simply lied when he denied reading the Reinhardt letter. When the letter started looking like a serious problem, it disappeared." "And Whit was behind that, too?" Burgland asked. "Almost certainly. It's conjecture I admit ... nevertheless," he said trailing off. "One point eluded me for the longest time," Ted told Burgland. "My wastebasket is always on the right side of my safe; but after the papers were missing, it was on the left. It finally dawned on me that a right-handed safe-cracker would put his left ear to the safe's dial and turn it with his right hand. A basket on the right side would not be an impediment. But for a lefty like Whit, the basket was in the way, so he moved it." "Whit's not the only lefty at Steering," Burgland said. "Of course not. But remember the picture on his wall accepting an award from Doug Henning? Whit was an amateur magician and escape artist. I don't think that safe gave him any trouble at all." "Maybe so," Burgland protested, "but he wasn't in Florida at the time Reinhardt was killed. He was at that conference in Atlanta. He even delivered a paper there, which got quite a write-up in the proceedings." "Oh, he went to the conference all right. He flew to Atlanta Wednesday night, leaving around nine or so. He registered at the Atlanta Holiday Inn that evening, but he didn't appear at the conference until after dinner on Thursday. He had a whole day in between. I called the hotel last night and talked to the manager, who remembered a lot of phone messages accumulating in Whit's box that day. The way I read that, Whit had enough time to fly to Florida, kill Reinhardt and fly back." Burgland was about to object. "Don't bother. Ashland's checking the airlines and car rental places to trace his steps." "Well how did he know that Reinhardt would even be in Florida?" "That's an excellent question. The answer to that one also came yesterday. Whit visited Reinhardt at his rented room. I talked to his landlady. Reinhardt and he fought. She didn't know about what precisely, except that it was about work and that she heard one of them say 'It was mine!' meaning it was Reinhardt's idea -- they were fighting over whose idea it was. Reinhardt left the next day to meet with Wendell. Wendell and

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (206)

Reinhardt might have been scheming simply to extort money from you, or Wendell was going to help Reinhardt prove that Whit was lying as part of a plan to ruin you and Steering Industries. In any case, Reinhardt made the mistake of throwing such a threat in Whit's face during their argument. That's when Whit knew that the situation could no longer be saved, that Reinhardt had to go. "Whit made one serious mistake. When he caught up with Reinhardt, he tied him up and shot him full of sodium pentathol. Whether he did this to get the details of Wendell's and Reinhardt's extortion plans, or to get the final details of Reinhardt's ideas about the neurotransmitters, I don't know. But the traces of the drug were, as Ashland put it, mighty suggestive. Whoever killed Reinhardt was after information. And Whit was one person who had a lot to gain from picking Reinhardt's brain. "Incidentally, Howard, why didn't you go to the conference?" Burgland searched his memory. "Whit. Whit said I would be wasting my time if I went to the conference. The usual nonsense, he said.. So I cancelled." "You see?" "So at bottom, this whole thing happened because Whit wanted to ensure himself the Nobel Prize?" "Precisely. The irony, of course, is that he was already in line for the prize, would probably have eventually gotten it even without this latest discovery. His previous work on brain chemistry was groundbreaking stuff, absolutely fundamental work in the field, as we all know. He thought he could add another feather by stealing Reinhardt's ideas, because he was confident no one would believe the claims of a renegade scientist against his own. But he soon realized that Reinhardt's complaints alone could jeopardize his Nobel ... and ultimately his future position at Steering." "No, not that," Burgland said. "Come on, Howard. If it was discovered that Whit had plagiarized Reinhardt's idea, could you have made him president?" "That's not what I meant. He wasn't going to be president, Ted. You were." Ted was silent. "Whit was an excellent researcher," Burgland explained. "As a Nobel winner, he could be no better asset to the company. On the other hand, you had the legal mind and

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (207)

the administrative skills to build Steering even larger. Whit was not such an administrator. I knew that." "I guess I should feel flattered," Ted said, "or feel a fool. In any case, Whit expected to be your successor. And, in the long run, Whit had to do something about Reinhardt. You showed Whit the Reinhardt files. You told him how we were planning to handle the patent issue. He knew it was hopeless. That's why he went to see Reinhardt. The rest, unfortunately, is history." Ted studied Burgland. "And I'm history, too. You'll find my letter of resignation on my desk" Ted smiled sadly. "I wish it had worked out differently -- for both our sakes. But if Steering is going to have a hope in hell of not collapsing under this scandal, you're going to have to stay on as president. There's probably not much chance of your government post any more, anyway, not after all this. You're stuck here, Howard. You're going to have to 'suck in your gut and tough it out,' if you don't mind me quoting you to yourself. The people at Steering deserve that much." Ted walked away. He turned to Burgland one last time. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you about Hope. There's only one thing you can do that will mean a damn now, Howard. You're going to have to find a way to forgive her."

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (208)

CHAPTER 35

Sal stepped into the Peking Duck House on Mott Street. It was his favorite restaurant. Ted and Claire followed him in. The owner of the restaurant, a tall oriental as thin as a reed, bowed to them as they entered, and escorted them upstairs. At the center of the large dining room stood a U-shaped buffet, decorated as if for a banquet. Spread artfully across the table were steaming dishes, open platters, ice molds, flowers, carved vegetables and oriental statues. "Who's getting married?" Sal asked. Four smiling waiters stood at attention behind the buffet. The table was draped in red silken fabric embroidered with white dragons with fierce eyes, and in the middle was an enormous sea bass floating in black bean sauce on a silver tray. Flanking the huge fish were two five-pound steamed lobsters atop a bed of razor clams soaking in a spicy brown sauce. Two smaller plates lay on either side of the silver tray. These contained sweet and sour yellow-tail. The symmetry ended here. On the left was an assortment of appetizers, dim sum and main courses -- egg rolls, fried shrimp, shrimp toast, spare ribs, roast pork, shark's fin soup and bird's nest soup. On the right were additional platters of moo shoo pork, sea cucumber, chicken with cashews and desserts -- fried bananas,

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (209)

brandied kumquats, sugar sprinkled pastries, black bean, lotus bean and sesame fried buns and ice cream. Sal was ecstatic. "This is fantastic," he yelped. He rubbed his hands together and surveyed the table with unadorned greed. It was 6:30, the height of the dinner hour, but except for Sal, Ted, Claire, and the waiters, the upstairs was empty of customers. "Let's start," Ted said. "Where are the rest of the guests?" Sal asked. "Are we waiting for anyone?" Ted slapped Sal on the back. "This dinner's for you ol' buddy." -- THE END --

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (210)

ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ€210210210— 21021021 0w210˜210210210r210Õ 21 0n21 0ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ210@µ210@µ@210@µ€2 1021021 0š210210210i210œ210210210g210ž210210210g210 21 021021 0g210¢21 021021 0g210¤21 0210210g210¦210210210g210¨210210210g210210210210210210210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ << -210210210210210210210ð210210210210210¨210210210ª210210210y210 ´21 021021 0y210¶210210210y210¸210210210y210º210210210y210¼210210210y210“21 0210y210ý210210y210/210210y210Ù210210y210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210 €Cð210210€Cð210210€Cð210210€Cð210210€Cð210210 < Ù210210‰210210y210¼ 210210y210ý

210210y210Ü

Samuel Bleecker

211211y211g

“Deadly Medicine” Page (211)

Samuel Bleecker

212212y212¨

“Deadly Medicine” Page (212)

Samuel Bleecker

213213y213ç

“Deadly Medicine” Page (213)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (214)

21421 4y214Z¤21 4214 y214¢¤21 4214y214214214y214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214€Cð214214 €Cð214214€Cð214214 < 21421 4†214214y214)µ214214y214,µ214214y214.µ214214y2140µ214214y2142µ214214y 2144µ214214y2146µ214214y2148µ214214y214:µ214214y214214€Cð214214€Cð21 4214214214214214214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 < :µ214214<µ214214y214Gµ214214y214Iµ214214y214Kµ214214y214Mµ214214y21 4Oµ214214y214¤§214214y214L214214y214–214214y2146214214y214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214 €Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214 €Cð214214€Cð214214 < 6 214214 þ214214y214¤21 4214 y214±21 4214y214214214y214œ214214y214[214214y214"214214y214f214214y214—214214y214-!214214y214214€Cð214214 €Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð214214€Cð 214214€Cð214214 < -! 214214U "21421 4y214Í"21 4214

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (215)

y215ß$21 5215 y215%21 5215 y215R&215215y215Ö(21 5215 y2156)21 5215 y215I)21 5215y215£)215215y215*215215y215215€Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215 €Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215 €Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215 < *215215Ñ*215215y2154+215215y215/,215215y215#215215 y215Õ.21 5215 y215ë.21 5215 y215Q/21 5215 y215‰021 5215 y215Ó021 5215 y215À1215215y215215€Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215 €Cð215215€Cð215215€Cð215215 €Cð215215€Cð215215 < À121 5215ñ 121521 5y215¾221 5215

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (216)

y216Q321 6216 y216©321 6216 y216t421 6216 y216§4216216y216ä5216216y216*6216216y216`6216216y216Ð6216216y216216 €Cð216216€Cð216216€Cð216216€Cð216216€Cð216216 €Cð216216€Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216€Cð216216 < Ð6216216… 721 6216 y216Ý721 6216y216o8216216y21639216216y21669216216y216s9216216y216v9216216y216 : 216216 y216:216216y216µ:216216y216216€Cð216216€Cð216216€Cð216216€Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216€Cð216216216216216216216216 €Cð216216 < µ:216216:216216y216:216216y216:216216y216:216216y216-:216216y216 :216216y216":216216y216-:216216y216/:216216y2161:216216y216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 €Cð216216 < 1:21 62163 :21621 6y2165:216216y216Ñ:216216y216i;216216y216V<216216y216ý<216216y216

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (217)

=217217y217>217217y217º>217217y217Ÿ?217217y217217 €Cð217217 €Cð217217€Cð217217€Cð217217€Cð217217€Cð217217 €Cð217217€Cð217217€Cð217217€Cð217217 < Ÿ?21 7217˜ @217217y217µA217217y217^B217217y217
Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (218)

y218h]218218y218±]218218y218:^218218y218™^218218y218Ø_218218y218218€ Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218€Cð218218€Cð218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218€ Cð218218€Cð218218€Cð218218 < Ø_218218%a218218y218òa218218y218b218218y218ób218218y218¢c218218y218qd218218y218¢d218218y218¨d218218y 218üd218218y218e218218y218218€Cð218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218€Cð218218€ Cð218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218 < e218218“e218218y218f218218y218Jf218218y218Öf218218y218 g218218y218"h21 8218y218ph218218y218€h218218y218Ûh218218y218*i218218y218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218€Cð218218€Cð218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218 €Cð218218€Cð218218 €Cð218218 < *i218218

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (219)

j219219y219Šj219219y219Áj219219y219+k219219y219ik219219y219Nl219219y21 9m219219y219Qn219219y219ƒn219219y219½n219219y219219€Cð219219€Cð219 219 €Cð219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219 €Cð219219 < ½n219219°o219219y219Dp219219y219žp219219y219cq219219y219òq219219y21 9Jr219219y219ˆr219219y219Ür219219y219 s219219y219=s219219y219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð21 9219€Cð219219 €Cð219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219 €Cð219219 < =s219219×s219219y219}t219219y219“t219219y219Vu219219y219bv219219y219.w 219219y219:y219219y219~y219219y219iz219219y219{21921 9y219219€Cð219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219 < {219219Ú{219219y219|219219y219Ç|219219y219ù}219219y219b~219219y219 219219y219–219219y219€219219y219€219219y219§‚219219y219219€Cð219219 €Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð219219€Cð 219219€Cð219219 < §‚21 9219¸ ‚21921 9y219ƒ‚21 9219 y219Í‚21 9219y219á‚219219y219˜‚219219y219Eƒ219219y219ñƒ219219y219„219219y219 „219219y219

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (220)

„220220y220220€Cð220220 €Cð220220 €Cð220220 €Cð220220 €Cð220220 €Cð220220€Cð220220 €Cð220220220220220220220220 €Cð220220 <

Samuel Bleecker

„221221

“Deadly Medicine” Page (221)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (222)

„ 222222 y222„22 2222 y222„22 2222 y222µ„22 2222 y222„22 2222y222„222222y222„222222y222„222222y222-„222222y222)„222222y222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 < )„222222+„222222y222-„222222y222/„222222y2221„222222y222P… 222222 y222D†222222y222Ù†222222y222}‡222222y222 ˆ222222y2225Š222222y222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222 < 5Š222222[‹222222y222 Œ222222y222eç222222y222Ùç222222y222*è222222y222g’22 2222y222Ö’222222y222ÿ’222222y222ƒ“222222y222õ“222222y222222€Cð222222€ Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222 €Cð222222€Cð222222 €Cð222222€Cð222222 €Cð222222 < õ“222222°•222222y222*–222222y222Š–222222y222ç–222222y222e— 222222y222£—222222y222Ù— 222222y222J˜222222y222æ˜222222y222>™222222y222222€Cð222222€Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222€Cð222222 €Cð222222 €Cð222222€Cð222222€Cð222222€ Cð222222 < >™222222š222222y222š222222y222¤›22 2222

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (223)

y223 ›22 3223 y2232 ﾝ 223223y223w ﾝ 223223y223Ø ﾝ 223223y223ž223223y223^ž223223y223iŸ22 3223y223223€Cð223223 €Cð223223€Cð223223€Cð223223€Cð223223 €Cð223223€Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223€Cð223223 < iŸ223223ƒŸ223223y223ן223223y223’ 22 3223 y223± 22 3223 y223Ð 22 3223 y223Ý 223223y223ó 223223y223‹°223223y223}£223223y223¤223223y223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223€Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223€Cð223223€Cð223223€Cð223223 < ¤ 223223 •22 3223 y223b•22 3223 y223e•22 3223 y223g•22 3223 y223i•22 3223 y223k•22 3223y223m•223223y223o•223223y223q•223223y223s•223223y223223€Cð223223 €Cð223223223223223223223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 €Cð223223 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (224)

s•22 4224u •22422 4y224€•22 4224 y224‚•22 4224 y224„•22 4224 y224†•22 4224y224ˆ•224224y224ù¦224224y224;§224224y224¨224224y224}©224224y224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224 < }©224224Ñ©224224y224Zª224224y224F´224224y224B224224y224ä®224224y224ð®224224y224| °224224y224¾±224224y224j²224224y224ž²224224y224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224 < ž²2242240³224224y224ù³224224y2247´224224y224O´224224y224á ´22 4224 y224öµ224224y224˜·224224y224¸224224y224I¸224224y224º224224y224224€Cð22 4224€Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224 < º224224¼224224y224‚¼224224y224û¼224224y224Š½224224y224’½224224y22 4¼½224224y224ö½224224y224#¾224224y224‚¾224224y224о224224y224224€ Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224 €Cð224224€Cð224224 €Cð224224 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (225)

о225225п225225y225‘À225225y225 Á225225y225ƒÁ225225y225ÙÂ225225y225:Ã225225y225õÃ225225y225Óƒ22 5225y225Öƒ225225y225؃225225y225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð2 25225€Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 < ؃225225ýÅ225225y225†®225225y225Ç225225y225AÇ225225y225VÈ225225y2 25ŠÈ225225y225–È225225y225É225225y225— É225225y225l 225225y225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 < l 225225× 225225y225¿Ë225225y225ÌÍ225225y225‰Î225225y225ÉÎ225225y225;Ï2 25225y225=Ï225225y225?Ï225225y225~Ð225225y225ﾁ Ð225225y225225€Cð2252 25€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225225225225225225225 < ﾁ Ð225225ƒÐ225225y225… Ð225225y225‡Ð225225y225‰Ð225225y225‹Ð225225y225ﾍ Ð225225y225ﾏ Ð22 5225y225‘Ð225225y225“Ð225225y225•Ð225225y225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 < •Ð225225 Ð225225y225¢Ð225225y225¤Ð225225y225¦Ð225225y225¨Ð225225y22 53Ñ225225y2259Ó225225y225ÜÔ225225y225Ö225225y2254Ö225225y225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225 < 4Ö225225Ö225225y225Ö225225y225åÖ225225y225!×225225y225Z×225225y225»×225225y225"Ø22 5225y225¯Ø225225y225çØ225225y225Ù225225y225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225€Cð225225 €Cð225225 €Cð225225 < Ù225225›Ù225225y225gÚ225225y225xÚ225225y225ƒÚ225225y225ÛÚ225225y22 5öÚ225225y225Û225225y225Ü225225y225>Ü225225y225WÜ225225y225225€Cð

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (226)

226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 < WÜ226226{Ü226226y226ﾐ Ü226226y226îÜ226226y226BÝ226226y226ÖÝ226226y2 26Þ226226y226»Þ226226y226àÞ226226y226éÞ226226y226ß226226y226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 < ß226226€ß226226y226»ß226226y226.à226226y226}à226226y226Ïá226226y226=â 226226y226~â226226y226kã226226y226Øã226226y226‚ä226226y226226€Cð2262 26 €Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 < ‚ä226226Aå226226y2264æ226226y226æ226226y226%ç226226y226'ç226226y22 6)ç226226y226€ç226226y226µç226226y226åç226226y226Xè226226y226226€Cð2 26226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 < Xè226226úè226226y226ê226226y226¤ê226226y226Ìê226226y226îê226226y226¤ë 226226y226Éë226226y226í226226y226äí226226y226rî226226y226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 < rî226226çî226226y226ð226226y226Zð226226y226·ð226226y226-ñ226226y226vñ2 26226y226Ðò226226y226“ó226226y226¯ó226226y226‹õ226226y226226€Cð22622 6€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 < ‹õ226226iö226226y226ﾐ ö226226y226ƒö226226y226o¿226226y226-ù226226y22 6lù226226y226~ú226226y226§û226226y226Jû226226y226Éû226226y226226€Cð22 6226 €Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226€Cð226226 €Cð226226€Cð226226 < Éû226226 ü226226y226[ü226226y226¢ü226226y226¿ü226226y226ÿü226226y226/ý226226y2 26Åý226226y226âý226226y226Jþ226226y226uþ226226y226226 €Cð226226

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (227)

€Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227€Cð227227 €Cð227227€Cð227227 €Cð227227 < uþ227227õþ227227y227(ÿ227227y227oÿ227227y227€ÿ227227y227Éÿ227227y22 7€227 227y227ƒ227 227y227…227 227y227‡227 227y227‰227 227y227227€Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227€Cð227227227227227227227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 < ‰227 227‹227 227y227ﾍ 227 227y227ﾏ 227 227y227‘227 227y227“227 227y227•227 227y227 227 227y227¢227 227y227¤227 227y227¦227 227y227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 < ¦227 227¨227 227y227 227y227Û 227y227G 227y227À 227y227¿ 227y227§ 227y227Z 227y227Ý 227y227O 227y227227 €Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227 < O 227l 227y227 227y227 227y227

227y227q

227y227¢

227y227227 €Cð227227

227y227¤

227y227¦

227y227ﾝ

227y227

€Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227€Cð227227 €Cð227227227227227227227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 < ¦

227¨ 227y227ª

227y227´

227y227¿

227y227¨

227y227® 227y227°

227y227Á

227y227Ã

227y227²

227y227227 €Cð227227

€Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 €Cð227227 < Ã

227Å 227y227Ç

227y227, 227y227h 227y227Õ

227y227]

Samuel Bleecker

228y228ﾍ

“Deadly Medicine” Page (228)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (229)

229y229` 229y229~ 229y229§ 229y229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 < § 229ó 229y229@ 229y229R 229y229w 229y229¢ 229y229ã 229y2291 229y229‚ 229y229š 229y229ë 229y229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 < ë 229‡ 229y229ª 229y229¨ 229y229® 229y229ﾏ µ 229y229G 229y229Î 229y229 229y229O 229y229Q 229y229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229

€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229

< Q 229¸ 229y229z 229y229Š! 229y229ì! 229y229ó# 229y229Õ$ 229y229]% 229y229¹% 229y229Ù& 229y229‘' 229 y229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð22 9229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 < ‘' 229}( 229y229±) 229y229á) 229y229* 229y229ý* 229y229Ø+ 229y229<, 229y229T, 229y229K. 229y229V/ 229y229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 < V/ 229“/ 229y229ù/ 229y229i0 229y229"1 229y229W1 229y2292 229y229R2 229y229^3 229y229»3 229y229‡4 229y229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 < ‡4 229ú4 229y229”5 229y229Ÿ5 229y229¸5 229y229S6 229y229J8 229y229ã9 229y229ú9 229y229¿: 229y229»; 229y229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 < »; 229×; 229y229ï; 229y229H< 229y229ê< 229y229+= 229y229#> 229y229b> 229y229x> 229y229z> 229y229á? 229y229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229 €Cð229229€Cð229229 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (230)

á? 230@ 230y230R@ 230y230³@ 230y230¦A 230y230úA 230y230çC 230y230ÁD 230y230ìD 230y230E 230y230(E 230y230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230€Cð230230€Cð230230 €Cð230230€Cð230230€Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 < (E 230>E 230y2307F 230y230RF 230y230cF 230y230‚F 230y230FG 230y230lG 230y230ﾏ G 230y230´G 230y230ÔG 230y230230 €Cð230230€Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230€Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 < ÔG 230*I 230y230µI 230y230©J 230y230œK 230y230ªK 230y230èK 230y230ëK 230y230íK 230y230ïK 230y230ñK 230y230230€Cð230230€Cð230230€Cð230230€Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230230230230230230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 €Cð230230 < ñK 230óK 230y230õK 230y230˜K 230y230ùK 230y230ûK 230y230L 230y230L 230y230 L 230y230

Samuel Bleecker

L 231y231

“Deadly Medicine” Page (231)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (232)

L 232y232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 €Cð232232 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (233)

L 233íM 233y233_O 233y233WQ 233y233*S 233y233,U 233y233dU 233y233fU 233y233ëU 233y233§V 233y233jV 233y233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233 < jV 233W 233y233LW 233y233’X 233y233õX 233y233fY 233y233ýY 233y233„Z 233y233 Z 233y233¹Z 233y233ÉZ 233y233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 < ÉZ 233H[ 233y233€\ 233y233‰] 233y233Þ] 233y233^ 233y233#^ 233y233,^ 233y233"_ 233y233Ö_ 233y233¦` 233y233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 < ¦` 233ß` 233y233Ka 233y233b 233y233Kb 233y233›c 233y233 d 233y233:d 233y233ýd 233y233-e 233y233?e 233y233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 < ?e 233^e 233y233™e 233y233|f 233y233ìf 233y233g 233y233@g 233y233kg 233y233i 233y233¶i 233y233j 233y233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€ Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 < j 233Øj 233y233|k 233y233²l 233y233˜l 233y233’n 233y233-o 233y233Go 233y233œo 233y233½p 233y2336q 233y233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 €Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233€Cð233233 < 6q 2338q 233y233_q 233y233aq 233y233cq 233y233

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (234)

r 234y234s 234y234€t 234y234ﾏ u 234y234ßu 234y234Lv 234y234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 < Lv 234‰v 234y234ùv 234y234Ow 234y234æw 234y234»x 234y234§y 234y234Ey 234y234Hy 234y234Jy 234y234Ly 234y234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234234234234234234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 < Ly 234Ny 234y234Py 234y234Ry 234y234Ty 234y234Vy 234y234Xy 234y234Zy 234y234ey 234y234gy 234y234iy 234y234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 < iy 234ky 234y234my 234y234nz 234y234’z 234y234°z 234y234a| 234y234} 234y234P} 234y234°} 234y234ì} 234y234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234 < ì} 234O~ 234y234æ~ 234y2342 234y234š 234y234Ç 234y234 € 234y234^ﾁ 234y234¤ﾁ 234y234¾ ﾁ 234y234+‚ 234y234234€Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 < +‚ 2349‚ 234y234\‚ 234y234ﾁ ƒ 234y234$„ 234y234º„ 234y234à… 234y234܇ 234y234I‰ 234y234ë‰ 234y234´‹ 234y234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð 234234€Cð234234 < ´‹ 234NŽ 234y234ÛŽ 234y234=ﾏ 234y234—ﾏ 234y234¨ﾏ 234y234¶’ 234y234“ 234y234`“ 234y234æ“ 234y234” 234y234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234€Cð234234 €Cð234234 < ” 234•” 234y234–• 234y234{– 234y234·– 234y234ú– 234y234˜— 234y234¨— 234y234ÿ— 234y234M˜ 234y234j˜ 234y234234€Cð234234€Cð234234€Cð234234

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (235)

€Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 < j˜ 235¶˜ 235y235š 235y2355š 235y235oš 235y235¨š 235y235ãš 235y235>› 235y235i› 235y235¢› 235y235æ› 235y235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 < æ› 235û› 235y235sœ 235y235ﾍ œ 235y235¤ﾝ 235y235`ž 235y235ž 235y235FŸ 235y235HŸ 235y235JŸ 235y2350 235y235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 < 0 235 ¢ 235y235,£ 235y235Œ£ 235y235࣠235y235®¤ 235y235°¤ 235y235ठ235y235㤠235y235å¤ 235y235ç¤ 235y235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235235235235235235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 < ç¤ 235é¤ 235y235ë¤ 235y235í¤ 235y235ï¤ 235y235ñ¤ 235y235ó¤ 235y235õ¤ 235y235 • 235y235• 235y235• 235y235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235 < • 235• 235y235

• 235y235®• 235y235¦ 235y235w§ 235y235Ö§ 235y235A¨

235y2355© 235y235 © 235y235Û© 235y235235 €Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð 235235 €Cð235235 < Û© 235Tª 235y235´ 235y235•´ 235y235¹´ 235y235µ¨ 235y235j¨ 235y235u 235y235®® 235y2358¯ 235y2357° 235y235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235 < 7° 235Œ° 235y235‰± 235y235´² 235y235þ² 235y235˜´ 235y2354¶ 235y235û¶ 235y235Y¸ 235y235b» 235y235r¼ 235y235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235 €Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235€Cð235235

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (236)

€Cð236236€Cð236236 < r¼ 236y½ 236y236!¾ 236y236;¿ 236y236=¿ 236y236?¿ 236y236Ó¿ 236y2362À 236y236òÀ 236y236Á 236y236[Á 236y236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236 < [Á 236ƒÁ 236y236®Á 236y236ËÁ 236y236ðÁ 236y236^ 236y236-à 236y236;ƒ 236y236•ƒ 236y236'Å 236y236UÅ 236y236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236 €Cð236236 < UÅ 236ŽÅ 236y236›Å 236y236³È 236y236-É 236y236{Ë 236y236sÌ 236y236’Ì 236y236ÎÌ 236y236ïÌ 236y236ÿÍ 236y236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236€Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236 €Cð236236€Cð236236 < ÿÍ 236Î 236y236Î 236y236Î 236y236Î 236y236 Î 236y236

Samuel Bleecker

Î 237y237

“Deadly Medicine” Page (237)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (238)

Î 238y238Î 238y238Î 238y238µÎ 238y238238238238238238238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 < µÎ 238 Î 238y238"Î 238y238$Î 238y238&Î 238y238(Î 238y238Ï 238y238SÐ 238y238pÑ 238y238âÑ 238y238;“ 238y238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 < ;“ 238D“ 238y238U“ 238y238p“ 238y238Ÿ“ 238y238Ó“ 238y238ÿ“ 238y238¦Ó 238y238ÞÔ 238y238ZÕ 238y238œÕ 238y238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238 < œÕ 238µÖ 238y238× 238y238× 238y238Ù 238y238GÙ 238y238ßÙ 238y238Ú 238y238ÕÚ 238y238"Û 238y238Ü 238y238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 < Ü 238“Ü 238y238•Ü 238y238—Ü 238y238¤Ý 238y238ÉÝ 238y238êÝ 238y238¦Þ 238y238rß 238y238Þß 238y238ðà 238y238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 < ðà 238Xá 238y238tâ 238y238¨â 238y238Mã 238y238fã 238y238”ã 238y238°ã 238y238Öä 238y238òä 238y238>å 238y238238€Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 < >å 238˜å 238y238&æ 238y238Ÿæ 238y238Àæ 238y238àæ 238y238;ç 238y238>ç 238y238@ç 238y238Bç 238y238Dç 238y238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238€Cð238238238238238238238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 < Dç 238Fç 238y238Hç 238y238Jç 238y238Lç 238y238Nç 238y238Zç 238y238\ç 238y238^ç 238y238`ç 238y238bç 238y238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238 €Cð238238

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (239)

€Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 < bç 239>è 239y239ué 239y239¨é 239y239Ïê 239y239Gë 239y239}ë 239y239Ÿë 239y239±ë 239y2394ì 239y2392î 239y239239€Cð239239€Cð239239 €Cð239239€Cð239239€Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239€Cð239239€Cð239239 < 2î 239Âî 239y239Vï 239y239—ï 239y239Åï 239y239ïï 239y239 ð 239y239ˆð 239y239ûð 239y239”ò 239y239+ó 239y239239€Cð239239€Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239 €Cð239239€Cð239239€Cð239239€Cð239239€Cð239239 < +ó 239Tó 239y239½ó 239y239îÙ 239y239

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (240)

õ 240y240 õ 240y240dõ 240y240‹ö 240y240¿ 240y240pú 240y240Tû 240y240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 < Tû 240ý 240y240Zþ 240y240Eÿ 240y240ﾏ ÿ 240y240óÿ 240y240= 240y240² 240y240Z240y240~240y240@240y240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 < @240h240y240¤240y240 240y240É240y240240y240X240y240ﾝ 240y240L 240y240• 240y240¿ 240y240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 < ¿ 240Ñ ¤240 y240Š240y240å240y240b240y240û240y240•§240y240]24 0y240•24 0y240à240y240`240y240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð24 0240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240 < `240»24 0y240Õ240y240l240y240ª240y240è240y240u240y240Ð240y240824 0y240ˆ240y240+-240y240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240 < +-240¹ 240y240ç 240 y240!24 0y240¾!24 0y240°"240y240#240y240ðy240;$240y240ﾐ$240y240&240y240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 €Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240€Cð240240 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (241)

&2414(24 1y241\(24 1y241®(24 1y241â(24 1y241§)241y241C)241y241Ý)241y241˜)241y241*241y241#*241y241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 < #*241<*241y241ﾏ*241y241¦*241y241+241y241&,241y241?,241y241k-241y241¨241y241Å.241y241²/241y241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241€Cð241241 < ²/2411241y241–1241y241n2241y241¶2241y241®2241y241 4241y241$4241y241— 4241y241Ó4241y241Ÿ6241y241241€Cð241241€Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241 €Cð241241€Cð241241 < Ÿ6241â7241y241 8241y241„:241y241t<241y241]=241y241

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (242)

>242y242¤>242y242>242y242>242y242§>242y242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242242242242242242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 < §>242>242y242>242y242>242y242>242y242>242y242!>242y242>242y242/>242y2421>242y2423>242y242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 < 3>2425>242y242 ? 242y242@242y242ÿ@242y242%A242y242oA242y242°A242y242óA242y242¤B242y 242qB242y242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242 < qB242C242y242/D242y2421D242y2423D242y242ÛE242y242ÝF242y242G242y242H242y242lI242y242‹I242y242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242 < ‹I242ƒI242y242èI242y242êJ242y242ÙK242y242mL242y242¦M242y242˜N242y24 2ñN242y242gO242y242ãP242y242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð 242242€Cð242242 < ãP242lQ242y242šR242y242óR242y242]S242y242ûU242y242ÂV242y242èW242y24 2 ﾁ X242y242ÚX242y242"Y242y242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð24224 2€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 < "Y242%Y242y242'Y242y242)Y242y242+Y242y242Y242y242/Y242y2421Y242y2423Y242y2425Y242y242AY242y24 2242242242242242242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 < AY242CY242y242EY242y242GY242y242IY242y242˜Y242y2427Z242y242žZ242y24 2ç[242y242&\242y242+_242y242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242€Cð242242€Cð242242 €Cð242242

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (243)

€Cð243243 < +_243$`243y243Û`243y243ya243y243¤a243y243ud243y243´e243y243Pf243y243sg 243y243Ñh243y2432i243y243243€Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243 €Cð243243 €Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243 < 2i243rj243y243ûj243y243>l243y243’l243y243m243y243°m243y243ùm243y243üm24 3y243þm243y243243n243y243243€Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243 €Cð243243€Cð243243€Cð243243 €Cð243243243243243243243243 €Cð243243 €Cð243243 < 243n243n243y243n243y243n243y243n243y243 n243y243

Samuel Bleecker

n244y244

“Deadly Medicine” Page (244)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (245)

n245y245n245y245n245y245-n245y245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 €Cð245245 < -n245 n245y245"n245y245Õn245y245

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (246)

o246y246Xp246y246‹p246y246,q246y246•q246y246·q246y246Îq246y246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 < Îq246Ýq246y246s246y246#s246y246bs246y246¾s246y246 t246y246ﾐ u246y246°u246y246v246y246“w246y246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 < “w246µx246y246£x246y246´x246y246Àx246y246˜z246y246{246y246 } 246y246•}246y246ó}246y246~246y246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 < ~246V~246y246n~246y246ê~246y246€24 6y246t€246y246Í€246y246H„246y246ﾁ„246y246B†246y246f†246y246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 < f†246r†246y246ﾏ†246y246}ˆ246y2462‰24 6y246ã‰246y246IŠ246y246z‹246y246Œ246y246•Œ246y246ﾍ 246y246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð 246246€Cð246246 < ﾍ 246s ﾍ 246y246‡ﾍ 246y246§ﾍ 246y246¼ ﾍ 246y246Ð ﾍ 246y246qŽ246y246!ﾏ 246y24 6X ﾏ 246y246œ ﾏ 246y246 ﾏ 246y246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 <  ﾏ 246K ﾐ 246y246v ﾐ 246y246— ﾐ 246y246¨ﾐ 246y246õ ﾐ 246y246@’24 6y246z’246y246Â’246y246§“246y246Í“246y246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246 €Cð246246€Cð246246 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (247)

Í“247ö“247y247G•247y247å–247y247°˜247y247— š247y247Ù›247y247!œ247y247]œ247y247`œ247y247bœ247y247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247247247247247247247 €Cð247247 < bœ247dœ247y247fœ247y247hœ247y247jœ247y247lœ247y247nœ247y247pœ247y 247rœ247y247tœ247y247€œ247y247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 < €œ247‚œ247y247„œ247y247†œ247y247ˆœ247y247.ž247y247Ÿž247y247° 24 7y247à 247y247a°247y247ƒ°247y247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 < ƒ°247¢24 7y247o£24 7y247Ù¤247y247K•247y247°•247y247£•247y247••247y247ò¦247y247Y¨247y247 ª247y247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247 < ª247ª247y2471¨247y247{¨247y247À¨247y247n247y247„247y247©247y247è247y247`¯247y247M°247y247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247€Cð247247 < M°247g°247y247“°247y247 ±247y247/±247y247R±247y247§±247y247Ú±247y247Û´247y247Õµ247y247 ¶247y247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 < ¶247)¶247y247!·247y247k·247y247t¹247y247¨¹247y247º247y2476º247y247"»247y247+»247y247B»247y247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247€Cð247247 €Cð247247 €Cð247247 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (248)

B»24 8U»24 8y248%¼248y248ê½248y248¿248y248dÁ248y248†Á248y248ÚÂ248y248>ƒ248y2 48]ƒ248y248·®248y248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248 < ·®248ŸÈ248y248˜ 248y2480Ë248y248êË248y248(Ì248y248WÌ248y248[Ì248y248]Ì2 48y248_Ì248y248aÌ248y248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248248248248248248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 < aÌ248cÌ248y248eÌ248y248gÌ248y248iÌ248y248kÌ248y248mÌ248y248oÌ248y248{Ì248y 248}Ì248y248Ì248y248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248 < Ì248ﾁ Ì248y248ƒÌ248y248`Î248y248 Ï248y248aÏ248y248ÚÐ248y2484Ñ248y248c“248y248å“248y248:Ô248y248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð 248248€Cð248248 < :Ô248ÍÔ248y248^Õ248y248ðÕ248y248TÖ248y248×248y248(Ø248y248‹Ø248y24 8ÁØ248y248&Ù248y248GÙ248y248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð2482 48€Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248 < GÙ248Ú248y248NÚ248y248äÚ248y248pÛ248y248ﾏ Û248y248ÉÛ248y248sÜ248y2 48¸Ü248y248Ý248y248Þ248y248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248 €Cð248248€Cð248248€Cð248248 < Þ248rÞ248y248œÞ248y248ß248y248ﾝ ß248y248ðß248y248à248y248Bà248y248

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (249)

á249y249Oá249y249â249y249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249 < â249ƒâ249y249çã249y249æ249y249!æ249y249#æ249y249ææ249y249Sç249y249249é249y249.é249y249°é24 9y249249€Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249 < °é249éé249y249Ùê249y249dë249y249ºë249y249ì249y249Vì249y249fì249y249$í24 9y249Bí249y249lí249y249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249 €Cð249249€Cð249249 €Cð249249 €Cð249249 < lí249±í249y249

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (250)

î250y250wî250y250‰ï250y250îñ250y250Có250y250Fó250y250Hó250y250Jó250y2 50Ló250y250250 €Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð25 0250250250250250250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 < Ló250Nó250y250Pó250y250Ró250y250Tó250y250Vó250y250Xó250y250Zó250y25 0gó250y250ió250y250kó250y250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250 < kó250mó250y250oó250y250ŸÙ250y250‹õ250y250°ö250y250Èö250y2502˜250y25 0ù250y250·ú250y250.û250y250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250 €Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250 < .û250ƒû250y250¢ü250y250Íü250y250ßý250y2506þ250y250Tþ250y250¦þ250y250çþ2 50y250¼ÿ250y250¨250250y250250€Cð250250€Cð250250 €Cð250250€Cð250250€Cð250250 €Cð250250 €Cð250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250 < ¨250250 250y250K 250y250e250y250‹250y250250y250Ì250y250˜250y250Å250y250A250y250 250y25 025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025 025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025025 0250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250250 < 250õ 250y250a 250y250› 250y250 250y250ä 250y250 250y250y 250y2502

Samuel Bleecker

251y251¯

“Deadly Medicine” Page (251)

Samuel Bleecker

252y252

“Deadly Medicine” Page (252)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (253)

253 y25 325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325 325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325325 3253253253253253253253253253253253253253253253253253 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (254)

254. 254y254B 254y254R 254y254t 254y254w 254y254y 254y254{ 254y254} 254y254 254y254ﾁ 254 y25 425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425 425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425425 4254254254254254254254254254254254254254254254254254 < ﾁ 254ƒ 254y254… 254y254‡ 254y254‰ 254y254• 254y254— 254y254™ 254y254› 254y254 254y254Ú

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (255)

255 y25 525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525 525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525525 5255255255255255255255255255255255255255255255255255 < Ú

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (256)

256ð¤256y256G256y256Q256y256 256y256m256y256˜256y256“256y256¨256y256Õ256y256 ´µ256y25 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 6256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256 < ´µ256$§256y2567256y256-256y256256y2565256y2561256y256‚256y256ß256y256 256 y256”25 6y25 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 6256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256 < ”256°256y256256y256Ü-256y256 256 y256¨!25 6y256æ"25 6y256=#256y256‘#256y256!$25 6y256=%25 6y25 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625 6256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256256 < =%256y%256y256,'256y256¶+256y256ö+256y256C-256y256i256y256”-25 6y256O.25 6y256®/25 6y256ª025 6y25 625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625625

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (257)

725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725 7257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257 < ª0257025 7y257¯025 7y257±025 7y257¤125 7y257[225 7y257Ç225 7y257@325 7y257^325 7y257´325 7y257Ô325 7y25 725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725 725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725 7257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257257 < Ô3257+4257y257– 425 7y257®425 7y257ž525 7y2579625 7y257Õ625 7y257Ø625 7y257Ú625 7y257Ü625 7y257Þ625 7y25 725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725725

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (258)

825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825 8258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258 < Þ625 8à625 8y258â625 8y258ä625 8y258æ625 8y258è625 8y258ê625 8y258ö625 8y258¿625 8y258ú625 8y258ü625 8y25 825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825 825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825825 8258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258258 < ü6258þ6258y258

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (259)

8 259y259ﾐ 825 9y259³825 9y259:25 9y259z:25 9y259Î;25 9y259R=259y259°>259y259J@259y25 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 9259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259 < J@259$A259y259“B259y259®B259y259C259y259$D259y259ùE259y259ìG259y25 9¹H259y259†I259y259J259y25925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 9259259259 < J259DJ259y259›K259y259€L259y259ŸL259y259˜L259y259:M259y259DM259y25 9„M259y259œM259y259²M259y2592592592592592592592592592592592592592 592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592 592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592 59259259259259 < ²M259QN259y259‰N259y259›N259y259=O259y259— O259y259ÃO259y259ýO259y259P259y259GP259y259¶P259y25 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925925 9259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259259 < ¶P259ÂQ259y259NR259y259S259y259‰U259y259åV259y259PW259y259·W259y2 590X259y259‡X259y259£Y259y2592592592592592592592592592592592592592 592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592592

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (260)

602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602602 60260260260260 < £Y260Ÿ\260y260-^260y260 _260y260¤_260y260_260y260¸_260y260V`260y260x`260y260¿a260y260nb260y26 026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026 026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026 0260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260 < nb260Œb260y260çb260y260— c260y260šd260y260*e260y260>e260y260\e260y260oe260y260Çe260y260åf260y26 026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026 026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026026 0260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260260 < åf260õf260y260g260y260@g260y260ﾝ g260y260·g260y260

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (261)

h261y261kh261y261Ñh261y261Éi261y261öj261y26 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 1261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261 < öj261ok261y261ƒk261y261l261y261 l261y261 l261y261¤l261y261l261y261l261y261§l261y261l261y26 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 1261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261 < l261l261y261l261y261l261y261)l261y261+l261y261l261y261/l261y2611l261y261“l261y261äl261y26 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 1261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261 < äl261 m261y261]n261y261… o261y261Ûp261y261q261y261‡q261y261#s261y261›s261y261Çs261y261Tt261y26 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 1261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261261 < Tt261mt261y261¸t261y261-u261y261;u261y261\u261y261kv261y261mv261y261îv2 61y261ðv261y261&w261y2612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612 612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612 612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612612 61261261 < &w261(w261y261nw261y261qw261y261sw261y261uw261y261ww261y261yw261y2 61{w261y261}w261y261w261y26126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126126 1261261261261 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (262)

w262ﾁ w262y262ƒw262y262ﾏ w262y262‘w262y262“w262y262•w262y262— w262y262”y262y262 ´y262y262×y262y26 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 2262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262 < ×y262æz262y262.{262y262\{262y262”{262y262

|262y262€|262y262ﾝ|262y262½|

262y262A}26 2y262N}26 2y26 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 2262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262 < N}262X}262y262– ~262y262×~262y262Q262y262µ262y262ñ€26 2y262`ﾁ 262y262y ﾁ 262y262Ö ﾁ 262y262 ‚26 2y26 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 2262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262 < ‚262I‚262y262•‚262y262é‚262y262Wƒ262y262„262y262+„262y262… 262y262†262y262¦†262y262•‡262y26 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226226 2262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262262 < •‡262€ˆ262y262Ùˆ262y262µ‰26 2y262b‰26 2y262ëŠ262y262Ћ26 2y262“‹26

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (263)

3y263Ô‹26 3y263³ ﾍ 263y263<ﾏ 263y26 326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326 326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326 3263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263 < <ﾏ 263–ﾐ 263y263î ﾐ 263y263 ‘263 y263O‘26 3y263^‘26 3y263£‘26 3y263·‘26 3y263‘26 3y263Û‘26 3y263K’26 3y26 326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326 326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326326 3263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263263 < K’26 3†’26 3y263Ë’26 3y263Þ’26 3y263“26 3y263X“26 3y263d“26 3y263¶“26 3y263F”26 3y263f”26 3y263ë”26

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (264)

4y26 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 4264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264 < ë”2645–264y264l–264y264¨–264y264^—264y264a—264y264c—264y264e— 264y264g—264y264i—264y264k— 264y26 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 4264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264 < k—264m—264y264o—264y264q—264y264s—264y264u—264y264ﾁ—264y264ƒ— 264y264…—264y264‡—264y264‰— 264y26 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 4264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264 < ‰— 2646˜264y264מ264y264Ùž264y264Ûž264y264“Ÿ264y264” 26 4y264Ñ 264y264t°264y264¢26 4y2643¢26 4y26 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426426 4264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264264 < 3¢264 ¤ 264y264<¤26 4y264L¤26 4y264˜¤26

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (265)

5y265w•26 5y265¿•26 5y265Í•26 5y265è•26 5y265¦265y265$¨265y26 526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526 526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526526 5265265265265265265265265265265265265265265265265265 < $¨265¤©265y265¿©265y265ãª265y265

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (266)

´266y266õ266 y266µ®266y266û®266y266د266y266m°26 6y266¸°26 6y26 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 6266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266 < ¸°266M²266y266ƒ²266y266'³266y266¹³266y266V´266y266y´266y266Ú´266y266ê ´26 6y266µ266y266*µ266y26 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 6266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266 < *µ266Oµ266y266Qµ266y266Tµ266y266£µ266y266¶266y266`¶266y266£¶266y266P· 266y266®·266y266®·266y26626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 6266266266 < ®·266å·266y266Á¸266y266þ¸266y266º¹266y266Ù¹266y266ɺ266y266ߺ266y266|»2 66y266ù»26 6y266A¼266y26 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 6266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266266 < A¼266}¼266y266ż266y266j¾266y266~¾266y266B¿266y266eÀ266y266îÀ266y2 66)Á266y266™Á266y266îÁ266y26626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626626 6266266266266 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (267)

îÁ267ðÁ267y267òÁ267y267õÁ267y267˜Á267y267ùÁ267y267ûÁ267y267ýÁ267y26 7ÿÁ267y267 Â267y267Â267y26 726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726 726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726 7267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 < Â267Â267y267Â267y267µÂ267y267Â267y267Â267y267îÃ267y267ðƒ267y267˜Å267y 267âÅ267y267®267y2672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672 672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672 672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672672 67267 < ®267H®267y267x®267y267¼®267y267YÈ267y267bÈ267y267éÈ267y267É267y2 67, 267y267T 267y267HË267y267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267 < HË267‹Ë267y267ÚË267y267òË267y267Ì267y267<Ì267y267’Ì267y267¤Í267y267ìÍ267y2674Î267y267˜Î267y26 726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726 726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726 7267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 < ˜Î267ƒÏ267y267ŒÏ267y267ðÏ267y267"Ð267y267uÐ267y267€Ð267y267ÑÐ267y26 7èÐ267y2676Ñ267y267IÑ267y267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267267 267267267267 < IÑ267`“267y267r“267y267ˆ“267y267ú“267y267Ó267y267Ó267y267/Ó267y267_Ó26 7y267âÓ267y267Ô267y26726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726 726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726726

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (268)

826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 8268268 < Ô268ﾝ Ô268y268èÔ268y268¤Õ268y268Õ268y268,Õ268y268‘Õ268y268èÕ268y26 8#Ö268y268×268y268±Ø268y26 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 8268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268 < ±Ø268èØ268y268kÙ268y268„Ù268y268ªÙ268y268 Ú268y268:Ú268y268NÚ268y268½Ú268y268ÑÚ268y268µÛ268y26 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 8268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268268 < µÛ268Û268y268sÛ268y2683Ü268y268zÜ268y268¼Ü268y268 Ü268y268æÝ268y26 8õÝ268y268ÇÞ268y268àÞ268y26826826826826826826826826826826826826826 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826826 8268268268268 < àÞ268§à268y268æà268y2680á268y268íá268y268

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (269)

â269y269Åâ269y269ã269y269`ã269y269“ã269y269ãã269y26 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 9269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 < ãã269}å269y269Iç269y269_ç269y269:è269y269Qè269y269;ê269y269>ê269y26 9@ê269y269Bê269y269Dê269y26926926926926926926926926926926926926926 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 9269269269269 < Dê269Fê269y269Hê269y269Jê269y269Lê269y269Nê269y269Pê269y269]ê269y26 9_ê269y269aê269y269cê269y269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269 < cê269eê269y269"ë269y2695ë269y269@ì269y269hí269y269î269y269"ï269y269ðï269y269 ð269y269=ð269y26 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926 9269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 < =ð269€ð269y269‰ð269y269’ð269y269fñ269y269Yò269y269zò269y269žò269y26 9½ò269y269ƒó269y269Ù269y269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269269 269269269269 < Ù269;õ269y269fõ269y269ö269y269Sö269y269bö269y269ö269y269Âö269y269·˜26 9y2691¿269y269| ¿269y26 926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926926

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (270)

027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027 0270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270 < |¿270©¿270y270 ù270y270óù270y2704ú270y270]ú270y270tû270y270Sü270y270 ü270y2702ý270y27 0²ý270y270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270 270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270 270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270 < ²ý270îý270y270‘þ270y270(ÿ270y270_ÿ270y270 270y270_ 270y270–270y270270y270'27 0y270ã270y27 027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027 027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027027 0270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270270 < ã270š 270y270Â 270y270ﾏ

270y270W

Samuel Bleecker

271y271È

“Deadly Medicine” Page (271)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (272)

272 y272¤27 2y272*¤27 2y272j272y272Š272y272°27 2y27 227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227 227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227 2272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 < ° 272ë272y272[27 2y272¿272y272¸272y272þ272y272H272y272ƒ272y272Å272y272µ272y272:§272y2 722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722 722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722722 72272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 < :§272W§272y272“§272y272 272y272 272 y272@272y272î272y272°27 2y272ê272y272272y272j272y27 227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227 227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227 2272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 < j272•27 2y272º272y272 272y272272y272Ñ272y272O272y272R272y272T272y272V272y27 2X272y272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272272 < X272Z272y272\27 2y272^272y272`272y272b272y272d272y272q272y272s272y272u272y272w272y27 227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227227

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (273)

327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 3273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273 < w273y273y273!273y273.273y273-273y273¹273y273 273y273Q 273 y273”!27 3y273k#273y273!$27 3y27 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 3273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273 < !$27 3Š%27 3y2734&273y273ﾏ&273y273¾&273y273^(27 3y273]*273y273;+273y273 +273y273ú+273y273;273y27 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 3273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273 < ;-273Ž-273y273°-273y273v.273y273˜.273y273 0 273y273†227 3y273ò227 3y273K327 3y273˜327 3y273ù327 3y27 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327327 3273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273273 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (274)

ù327 4û327 4y274i427 4y274627 4y274w627 4y274˜627 4y274ˆ727 4y274x827 4y274²827 4y274Ñ827 4y274á827 4y27 427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427 427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427 4274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274 < á8274‘9274y274Ì9274y274à9274y274{:274y274: 274y274Ö:27 4y274A;27 4y2748<274y274A<274y274K=274y27 427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427 427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427 4274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274274 < K=274N=274y274P=274y274R=274y274T=274y274V=274y274X=274y274Z=274y27 4\=274y274^=274y274`=274y2742742742742742742742742742742742742742742 742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742 742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742742 74274274274 < `=274l=274y274n=274y274p=274y274r=274y274t=274y274>274y274—? 274y274‘A274y274ZB274y274¶B274y27 427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427427

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (275)

527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527 5275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 < ¶B275ÍB275y275pC275y275ﾏ C275y275D275y275YE275y275ÈE275y275ùF275y27 5G275y275ﾁ G275y275ªG275y275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275 < ªG275ÐG275y275tH275y275ÇH275y275I275y275J275y275åJ275y275¼L275y27 5¾L275y275YN275y275œO275y2752752752752752752752752752752752752752 752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752 752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752752 75275275275275 < œO275ïO275y275TP275y275‚P275y275²P275y275BQ275y275\Q275y275ãQ275y27 5ÿQ275y275R275y275QR275y275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 275275275275 < QR275éR275y275 S275y275ûS275y275?T275y275XT275y275ŸT275y275 X275y275"X275y275=X275y275ÐX275y27 527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527 527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527527 5275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275275 < ÐX275#Y275y275
Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (276)

627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627 6276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 < 9]276r]276y276ﾏ]276y276¸]276y276^276y276+^276y276Á^276y276ï^276y276 `276y276:a276y276¿b276y27 627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627 627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627627 6276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 < ¿b276þb276y276— c276y276ud276y276Üd276y276e276y276¸e276y276Çf276y276üf276y276ög276y27 6Éi276y276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 < Éi276èi276y276Kj276y276Nj276y276Pj276y276Rj276y276Tj276y276Vj276y276Xj27 6y276Zj276y276\j276y276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276 < \j276^j276y276`j276y276lj276y276nj276y276pj276y276rj276y276tj276y276žj276y27 6Éj276y276&k276y276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276276 276 < &k276þk276y276›l276y276Ål276y276@n276y276_n276y276±n276y276³n276y27 6µn276y276‚o276y276Jq276y2762762762762762762762762762762762762762762 762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762 762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762762 76276276276 < Jq276Br276y276ls276y276

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (277)

x277y277Ùx277y277Åy277y277+z277y277³z277y277½| 277y277ù277y277X„27 7y27 727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727 727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727 7277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277 < X„277Z„277y277\„277y277£„277y277Û„277y277&…277y277q†277y277| †277y277Æ277y277ˆ277y277:‰27 7y27 727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727 727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727727 7277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277 < :‰27 7w‰27 7y277ä‰27 7y277'Š277y277‹277y277LŒ277y277N ﾍ 277y277}Ž277y277Z ﾏ 277y277Ï ﾏ 277y277F ﾐ 277y2772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772 772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772772 77277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277277 < F ﾐ 277§ﾐ 277y277®‘27 7y277è‘27 7y277’27 7y2776’27 7y277{“27 7y277Γ27 7y277Û“27 7y277”27 7y277B”27 7y27

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (278)

827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 8278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278 < B”278d”278y278ž”278y278 •278y278{•278y2781–278y278J–278y278L–278y278N– 278y278—278y278+— 278y27 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 8278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278 < +—278 — 278y278±˜278y278”™278y278,š278y278.š278y278A›27 8y278œ278y278ƒœ278y278îœ278y2782 278y27 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 8278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278 < 2278`278y278n278y278ž278y278Tž278y278˜ž278y278lŸ278y278| Ÿ278y278íŸ278y278#°278y278"¢27 8y27 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827827 8278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278278 < "¢27 8›¢278 y278 ¢27 8y278F¤27 8y278I¤27 8y278K¤27 8y278M¤27 8y278O¤27

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (279)

9y279Q¤27 9y279S¤27 9y279U¤27 9y27 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 9279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279 < U¤27 9W¤27 9y279c¤27 9y279e¤27 9y279g¤27 9y279i¤27 9y279k¤27 9y279å•27 9y279ü¦279y279v§279y279¨279y27 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 9279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279 < ¨279Ô¨279y279©279y279;©279y279S©279y279ì©279y279ª279y279Eª279y279´27 9y279T´27 9y279‚´27 9y27 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927927 9279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279279 < ‚´27 9õ´27 9y279˜´27

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (280)

0y280ù´28 0y280{¨280y280˜®280y280µ¯280y2804¯280y280Y¯280y280u¯280y280¶¯280y28 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 0280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280 < ¶¯280N°28 0y280p°28 0y280ð28 0y280µ±28 0y280\±28 0y280ª±28 0y280˱28 0y280280²280y280-²280y280q²280y28 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 0280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280 < q²280^³280y280á³280y280 ´280y280C´280y280¦´280y280Nµ280y280‚µ280y280éµ280y280¶280y280… ·280y28 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 0280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280 < …·280ˆ·280y280Š·280y280Œ·280y280Ž·280y280ﾐ·280y280’·280y280”·280y280– ·280y280˜·280y280š·280y28 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028028 0280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280280 < š·280¦·280y280¨·280y280ª·280y280¨·280y280®·280y280<¸280y280_¸280y280ƒ¹28 0y280º280y280/º280y2802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802 802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802802

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (281)

812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812812 81281 < /º281)»281y281¶»281y281µ¼281y281K¼281y281n¼281y281… ¼281y281Õ¼281y281ê¼281y281f½281y281°½281y28 128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128 128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128128 1281281281281281281281281281281281281281281281281281 < °½281

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (282)

¾282y282ﾐ ¾282y282R¿282y282ºÀ282y282ÚÀ282y282ƒÁ282y282-Â282y282ZÃ28 2y282ƒÃ282y282†ƒ282y28228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 2282282 < †ƒ282²ƒ282y282¿Å282y282=®282y282e®282y282•Ç282y282È282y282,È282y28 2’È282y282ËÉ282y282? 282y2822822822822822822822822822822822822822822 822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822 822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822822 82282282282 < ? 282NÌ282y282§Î282y282äÎ282y282"Ð282y282— Ñ282y282Ø“282y282ƒÔ282y282}Õ282y282ÑÕ282y282 ×282y28 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 2282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282 < ×282œ×282y282KØ282y282'Ù282y282qÙ282y282UÛ282y282XÛ282y282ZÛ282y28 2\Û282y282^Û282y282`Û282y282282282282282282282282282282282282282282 282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282 282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282 282282282282 < `Û282bÛ282y282dÛ282y282fÛ282y282hÛ282y282jÛ282y282vÛ282y282xÛ282y28 2zÛ282y282| Û282y282~Û282y28 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228228 2282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282282 < ~Û282ÙÝ282y282Oà282y282¯à282y282íà282y282‘á282y282éá282y282Râ282y28 2‰â282y282)ã282y282Tã282y282282282282282282282282282282282282282282

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (283)

283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 283283283283 < Tã283²ã283y283®ã283y283˜ã283y283$ä283y2833ä283y283†ä283y283Þä283y283 å283y283¶å283y283 æ283y28 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 3283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 < æ283Vç283y283~è283y283‘è283y283ê283y283®ë283y283<ì283y283î283y283pî28 3y283)ï283y283=ï283y283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 283283 < =ï283Îï283y283öï283y283Úð283y283åð283y283üð283y283–ñ283y283Mò283y283ó283y283Wó283y283DÙ283y28 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 3283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 < DÙ283}Ù283y283 Ù283y283ÙÙ283y283Iõ283y283– õ283y283ﾁ ö283y283Ñö283y283áö283y283õ˜283y283¿283y28 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328328 3283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283283 < ¿283+¿283y283L¿283y283V¿283y283†¿283y283ﾐ ¿283y283°¿283y283?ú283y28 3^ú283y283

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (284)

û284y284/û284y28 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 4284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 < /û284£û284y284×û284y284{ü284y284~ü284y284€ü284y284‚ü284y284„ü284y284†ü2 84y284ˆü284y284Šü284y2842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842 842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842 842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842842 84284284 < Šü284Œü284y284Žü284y284ﾐ ü284y284œü284y284žü284y284 ü284y284¢ü284y28 4¤ü284y284uþ284y284zÿ284y284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 284284284284 < zÿ284Ûÿ284y284\284284y284Ø284284y284: 284y284à 284 y284<284y284;28 4y284"28 4y284½284y284¿284y28 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 4284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 < ¿284Ö284y284Ø284y284ä284y284@284y284©284y284Ã284y284Å284y284Ç284y2 845 284y284¹ 284 y28 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428428 4284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284284 <

Samuel Bleecker

¹ 285ä 285y285( 285y285` 285y285± 285y285æ 285y2850

“Deadly Medicine” Page (285)

Samuel Bleecker

286y286›

“Deadly Medicine” Page (286)

Samuel Bleecker

287y287¨

“Deadly Medicine” Page (287)

Samuel Bleecker

288y288Ø

“Deadly Medicine” Page (288)

Samuel Bleecker

289y289å

“Deadly Medicine” Page (289)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (290)

290 y29 029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029 029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029029 0290290290290290290290290290290290290290290290290290 < å

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (291)

291X 291y291„ 291 y291‡¤29 1y291í¤29 1y291291y291K291y291ˆ291y291®µ291y291§291y291å§291y29 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 1291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291 < å§291— 291y291"29 1y291b291y291ì291y291229 1y291°291y291291y291$29 1y291â291y291Û291y29 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 1291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291 < Û291 291y291q291y291š291y291-291y291-291y291 -291y291G291y291 291y291£291y291•291 y29 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129 1291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291291 < •291§291y291©291y291´291y291291y291¯291y291±291y291³291y291µ291y291·291y291Ã291 y29 129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129129

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (292)

229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229229 2292292292292292292292292292292292292292292292292292 < Ã292Å292y292Ç292y292É292y292Ë292y292ç 292y292

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (293)

! 293y293û!29 3y293#"29 3y293ﾝ"29 3y293x#293y29 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 3293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293 < x#293Ö%293y293ﾏ&293y293'293y293W'293y293ë(293y293‘)293y293— *293y293Å*293y293Ú*293y293®+29 3y29 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 3293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293 < ®+293*,293y293^,293y293Ó,293y293â,293y293¾293y293ƒ.29 3y293².29 3y293M/29 3y293`/29 3y293À/29 3y29 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329329 3293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293293 < À/29 3×/29 3y293r029 3y293Ù029 3y293ë029

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (294)

4y294129 4y294)129 4y294†129 4y294‘129 4y294©129 4y294q229 4y29 429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429 429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429 4294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294 < q229 4ê229 4y294329 4y294é329 4y294]429 4y294¿429 4y294æ429 4y294ñ429 4y2942529 4y294 529 4y294Ç529 4y29 429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429 429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429429 4294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294294 < Ç529 4Ù529 4y294g629 4y294Œ629

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (295)

5y295ð629 5y295Q729 5y295w729 5y295¨729 5y295˜729 5y295ù729 5y295û729 5y29 529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529 529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529 5295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295 < û729 5w829 5y295²829 5y295Ï829 5y295è829 5y295929 5y2952929 5y295“929 5y295m:29 5y295²:29 5y295Ë:29 5y29 529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529 529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529529 5295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295295 < Ë:295ü:295y295 295y295@;29 5y295t;29

;

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (296)

6y296<296y296X<296y296Û<296y296N=296y296§=296y296Ð=296y29 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 6296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296 < Ð=296ç=296y296§>296y2965?296y296†?296y296Ã?296y296 @296y296V@296y296×@296y296}A296y2960B296y29 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 6296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296 < 0B296KB296y296ˆB296y296»B296y296+C296y296õC296y296öD296y296¿D296y29 6úD296y296ŸF296y296‡G296y29629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 6296296296296 < ‡G296ÚG296y296EH296y296ÈH296y296BI296y296ﾁ I296y296– J296y296LK296y296L296y296hM296y296| M296y29 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 6296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296 < |M296°M296y296NN296y296JO296y296… O296y296’R296y296S296y296&S296y296[S296y296^S296y296`S296y29 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629 6296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296296 < `S296bS296y296dS296y296fS296y296hS296y296jS296y296lS296y296nS296y29 6pS296y296| S296y296~S296y29 629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629629

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (297)

729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 7297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297 < ~S297€S297y297‚S297y297„S297y297ñS297y297§T297y297ET297y297gU297y29 7%V297y297±V297y297ÖV297y29729729729729729729729729729729729729729 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 7297297297297 < ÖV297W297y297“W297y2971X297y297Y297y297ÁY297y297éZ297y2974]29 7y297W]29 7y297Œ]29 7y297¶^297y29 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 7297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297 < ¶^297œ_297y297Y`297y297ï`297y297 a297y2974a297y297ja297y297õb297y297ﾏ e297y297àf297y297xg297y29 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 7297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297 < xg297œh297y297Ñh297y297i297y297°i297y297*k297y297\k297y297ÿl297y297n297y297.o297y297˜o297y29 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729729 7297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297297 < ˜o297åp297y297€q297y297ðq297y297#r297y297ër297y297Žs297y297ás297y297t2 97y2976u297y2972x297y2972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972 972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972 972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972972 97297297 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (298)

2x298`y298y298æy298y298z298y298Àz298y298-{298y298„{298y298|298y298Ÿ| 298y298z}29 8y298¢~298y29 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 8298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298 < ¢~298’298y298¹298y298‚298y298ú‚298y298-ƒ298y298:…298y298t… 298y2989†298y298‡298y298ýˆ298y29 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 8298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298 < ýˆ298y‰29 8y298»‰29 8y298ÙŒ298y298éŽ298y298(ﾏ 298y298ƒ ﾏ 298y298Ñ ﾏ 298y2985 ﾐ 298y298‚’29 8y298£’29 8y29 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 8298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298 < £’298“298y298l“298y298~“298y298•”298y298µ– 298y298`˜298y298L™298y298O™298y298Q™298y298S™298y29 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 8298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298298 < S™298U™298y298W™298y298Y™298y298[™298y298]™298y298_™298y298a™2 98y298m™298y298o™298y298q™298y29829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829829 8298298298298298298 <

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (299)

q™299s™299y299u™299y299lš299y299S›29 9y299|›29 9y299ûž299y299{Ÿ299y299 29 9y299i 29 9y299¨ 29 9y29 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 9299299299299299299299299299299299299299299299299299 < ¨ 29 9® 29 9y299“ 29 9y299Ô 29 9y299Õ 29 9y299Ö 29 9ÿÿ29 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929929 9299299 < “ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜܺ299 299299299299299}

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (300)

300300ª300300300300ñ-300300‹9300300`D300300ýP300300X_300300—l300300– z300300ˆƒ300300ªŽ300300˜œ300300ã¤30 0300ž°300300P¾3003007Ì300300ÿÏ300300DÚ300300©æ3003004Ù300300 300 300-

300* 300À" 300×0 300¦> 300iK 300˜V 300ºc 300áp 300®x 300{‚ 3006’ 300 ž

300a¤ 300F® 300°½ 300û 300€Í 300“× 300¾ä 300¼æ 300(ñ 300300300Q¤300N-300¦+300 ;300ﾍ=300‘G300BV300£X300’d300zm300Rw300Â… 300•’300Þ›300Е300[´300ZÂ300ØË300—Ö300gã300Vð300ƒò300ñü300_ý300ﾐ 300ù 300õ

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (301)

301i301>301\-301ë%301Ï-301´3301V6301—9301¤@3019H301N301— T301º[301gb301Œg301‰k301zn301Üt301ïv301îy301Ù301&†3013ç301Ø’301ß– 301jš301Ÿ°301C¨301í¯301àµ301E¼301sÁ301bÅ301¼Ë301iÑ301FÖ301úÛ301‚â30 1¼é301èì301ó301´ù301ß301301

301k301n301Ð3015301é$301

+301r2301a8301Ì<301¨@301 G301ÙM301T301ÎY301º`301µh301Ìi301él301‡s301r{301؃301–Š301“‘301 — 301˜301Ç£301™§301”301ç ³301·301¯¹301:À301%Ç301dÎ301ëÕ301ÖÚ301©Þ301ä301Çê301ñ301‡˜301üû301[ÿ 301d301° 301:301!301!301"301¨)301W/301²43019301C?301zE301èL301ÜR301•U301´\301 d301Üj301£q301àx301×301؇301µè3019—301͘301“œ301U 301 301301301 301j 301301301301301 301301301301– 301301301301² 301301301301301 301301301301 301301301301ž301 301301301301þ301 301301301 301: 301301301 301-301 301301301 301301 301301301

Samuel Bleecker

302ï 302302302 302a302 302302302

“Deadly Medicine” Page (302)

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (303)

303303 303303303¤303 303 303303303303²303 303303303303§ 303303303303303 303303303303303 303303303µ303W303 303303303§303×303 303303303303303 303303303303303 303303303303303 303303303303³303 303303303303303 303303303303»303 303303303303303 3033033033034303 303303303-303m303 303303303303303 303303303 303303 303303303!303†303 303303303"303Z303 303303303#303æ303 303303303$303303 303303303% 303r303 303303303&303Í303 303303303'303¿303 303303303(303303 303303303) 303Ç303 303303303*303¹303 303303303+303303 303303303,303ì303 303303303-303ž303 303303303.303g 303303303/303ë 3033033030303303 3033033031303ó303 3033033032303303 3033033033303 3033033034303Õ303 3033033035303303 3033033036303™303 3033033037303303 3033033038303B303 3033033039303$303 303303303:303¸303 303303303; 303303 303303303<303¢303 303303303=303R303 303303303>303

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (304)

304304304?304304 304304304@304 304304304A3048 304304304B304 304304304C304304 304304304D304n304 304 304304304E304304304 304304304Å304¼304

304304304‚304o304

304304304ƒ304304

304304304„304h304

304304304…304û304

304304304ˆ304% 304304304‰

304³ 304304304Š304_ 304304304‹304k304 304304304ç304c304 304Z304

304304304Œ304304

304304304é304# 304304304è304Í304

304304304‘304r304

304304304ê

304304304’304e304

304304304“304°304

304304304”304304

304304304•304304

304304304–304‹304

304304304—304Á304

304304304˜304304

304304304™304x304

304304304š304˜304

304304304›304ÿ304

304304304œ304‰

304304304304

Samuel Bleecker

305

“Deadly Medicine” Page (305)

305305305ž305305

305305305°305á305 305305305¤305•

305305305Ÿ305í 305305305 305µ305

305305305¢305K305

305305305•305305

305305305£305C305

305305305¦305:305

305305305§305V305

305305305¨305w305

305305305©305g305

305305305ª305B305

305305305´305^305

305305305¨305305

305305305305Å305

305305305®305˜305

305305305¯305)305

305305305°3057

305305305±305(305

305305305²305#305

305305305³305t305

305305305´305305

305305305¶305|305

305305305·305

305305305µ305d305

Samuel Bleecker

306

“Deadly Medicine” Page (306)

306306306¸306Y306

306306306»306e306 306306306¾306

306306306¹306°306

306306306¼306)306

306306306¿306.306

306306306º306306

306306306½306C

306306306À306…

306306306Á3065 306306306Â306306

306306306Ã306×306

306306306ƒ306

306306306®306306

306306306Å306Ë306

306306306Ç306å306

306306306È306#306

306306306É306

306306306 306<306

306306306Ë306306

306306306Ì306p306

306306306Í306„306

306306306Î3066306

306306306Ï306306

306306306Ð306]306

306306306Ñ306 306

306306306“306

306

306306306Ó306>

306306306Ô306Ÿ306

306306306Õ306306

306306306Ö306& 306306306×306 306

306306306Ø306g306

306306306Ù306k306

306306306Ú306$306

306306306Û306306

306306306Ü306Å306

306306306Ý306

306306306Þ306306

306306306ß306‘306

306306306à306$306

306306306á306306

306306306â306Û306

306306306ã306k306

306306306ä306R306

306306306å306n306

306306306æ3066306

306306306ç306F306

306306306è306•306

306306306é306µ306

306306306ê306306

306306306ë306E306

306306306ì306#306

306306306í306

306306306î306U 306306306ï306(306

306306306ð306?306

306306306ñ306´ 306306306ò306•306

306306306ó306M 306306306Ù306§306

306306306õ306306

306306306ö306è 30630 6306 ˜30 6306306ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ 30630 630630

Samuel Bleecker

“Deadly Medicine” Page (307)

730730 7U 30 730730 7 ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜ307307U 30730 7307 130 7V 30 7 ÿÿÿÿÿÿÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ30 7307µ307§307307307307 307 (30 730730 730730 730730 702/22/9106/07/90U 30 7 ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ