Chapter One
A Feeling of Dread
Kyle Tolliver was worried about Abe. For a man who would soon pocket a bonus and sail off into the sunset with his new bride he looked and acted like a condemned man.
Abe Roth was the brightest rising star of the legal department. As project manager for Springer Pharmaceutical’s savior product he should be pumped to take charge of the big launch meeting on Monday. Instead, as Abe dug into the production files preparing for senior management and the stockholders, he became morose and distant.
Kyle sensed a red flag when Abe asked him to test the new GPS on his boat for him. He was happy to help—any chance to sail Veritas was fine with him—but this time was different. Despite a cloudless afternoon and a steady breeze he couldn’t stop thinking about his best friend. Why did they put the youngest guy in the legal department in charge of a new drug? Springer needed Oxynade to hit big if it was to survive. It made no sense.
When the alarm went off at quarter to six on Monday Kyle had been awake for two hours worrying. How was Abe going to handle the most important day of his career? He presumed he still needed a ride to work but hadn’t heard from him since last Thursday—the day that he went into hibernation to prepare for the meeting. He gulped the last of his coffee and jammed the boat keys into his pocket still troubled over Abe’s last words—Don’t call me.
Chapter Two
It All Goes Upside Down
Kyle was surprised Abe wasn’t standing at the curb with briefcase in one hand, travel mug in the other. As the Oxynade project manager, the launch meeting was Abe’s Super Bowl. Even though General Counsel Deborah Petty would be up front grabbing all the glory, everyone knew that taking the new vaccine from concept to product was all Abe Roth’s doing.
Kyle hoped that when they got past this day that his friend could climb out of his shell and get back to normal. He had tried to lighten his mood by mentioning the prospect of a bonus, but Abe said he wasn’t counting on a dime because Deborah Petty kept him so buried in contract negotiations and other crap that he never had time to be involved with this crucial project. Oxynade was developed and tested in rural Russia by consultants working in labs he couldn’t even pronounce let alone visit.
“Come on buddy, where are you?” he said to himself as he checked his watch. It was ten till seven. “That’s it, I’m calling.”
He picked up his phone and punched in Abe’s number. The call went straight into voicemail. He wondered about leaving a message. But Abe had a watch and knew the schedule. Just to bust his chops he said, “Hey pal, this is your big day, not mine. I don’t want to be blamed for your ass being late.”
Kyle couldn’t imagine anything getting in Abe’s way this morning. Maybe he was on the phone with Cindy, whose shift at the hospital ended at 6:00 a.m. She knew this was important. Maybe she called to wish him luck and he’s stuck on the phone.
At 7:00 Kyle called again. Rather than leave a message he stuck the phone in his pocket and headed into Abe’s building.
Standing outside Abe’s door he called out, “Hey rock star, it’s me. Let’s go,” He turned his ear toward the door and listened. There was nothing—no footsteps, no frantic shout to hang on for a sec. He rapped on the door again, louder this time. “Abe! It’s Kyle!”
He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out Abe’s boat key ring. It held three keys—thankfully, one was to the apartment. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Maybe Abe had spent the night at Cindy’s and hadn’t let him know. He called out again. There was no reply. The only sound was the humming from the aquarium pump in the living room.
He checked the kitchen. There were no signs of breakfast, no aroma of coffee. He walked back through the living room. “Abe, are you here?”
The bedroom was dark. He felt for the light switch and flipped it on.
“Hey buddy boy, get up!” Abe, who was fully dressed, lay on the bed with his legs splayed wide apart. His right arm was folded over his eyes. He didn’t move.
Kyle called out again, louder this time. “Abe we’re running late!” This looked and felt wrong. Frozen with fear he struggled to reach his arm full length to shake the man he prayed was sleeping. “Oh my God, Abe!”
He jumped back and took a few deep breaths and frantically looked around the room as though there might be something helpful he could use to arouse his friend. His knees felt weak when he saw the pill bottle and empty glass on the nightstand.
Light-headed, he steadied himself enough to lean over the bed. He watched Abe’s chest for signs of even faint breathing. To his horror, there was no movement. Gripped with panic, he felt for a pulse. There was none.
He grabbed his phone and called 911. “Hello, please help me! I need an ambulance. My friend isn’t breathing! The address is 2185 Raymond Boulevard, apartment two ninety-five. Please hurry!” He tried to remain in control as the dispatcher popped off one question after the next about the nature of the emergency, how many people were involved and on and on. “My name? It’s Kyle Tolliver. For God’s sake, get here! I think my friend is dead!”
Chapter Three
At What Cost?
Kyle looked out the window to the parking lot. He pounded the wall and shouted, “Jesus Christ where’s the fucking ambulance?”
He felt warm and dizzy and bolted to the bathroom, vomiting his breakfast. When he felt the retching was over he stood and held onto the doorjamb, gasping.
Back in the bedroom he noticed Abe’s laptop. He tapped the space bar. The screen lit up immediately. The monitor wallpaper was a shot of Cindy at the helm of Veritas. She was smiling—her cheeks reddened by the wind.
A pad lay next to the laptop. He picked it up. His hand shook as he read a note addressed to him. Kyle, I can’t stop this. If I’d been over there I would have known what was happening. I have blood on my hands. Everything’s in the Oxynade file on the external drive. Take it and go through it all. Deborah’s presentation is Viktor Bukharov’s work—all lies. He’s a murderer. The files are for your eyes only. Don’t trust them with anyone—not even the cops. I’m so sorry. Abe.
As tears flooded his eyes he tore off the note, and tucked it in his shirt pocket. He disconnected the external drive and slipped it into his jacket.
“Why Abe? What does this solve?” he shouted into the silence.
His phone rang. It was Deborah Petty. No way was he picking that up. He walked through the living room and looked out the window again—still no sign of the ambulance. Anxiety and anger racked his body. He had to do something, anything; so he clicked into voicemail.
“This is Deborah Petty. Where in the hell are you? You know goddamned well I want to see you before the meeting. There’ve been some changes to our program and you need to know about them before you send out those press releases. Now get your ass in here!”
The collision of the general counsel’s rants with the arrival of the ambulance below caused him to hyperventilate. For a few seconds his mind went blank. Who was he and what was he doing in this apartment? The knock on the door brought him out of it.
“Are you Mister Tolliver?” asked a gray haired man in a black suit.
“Yes.”
“I’m inspector Travis of the Newark Police Department.” The plainclothes detective showed his badge to Kyle. “You placed an emergency call with the 911 dispatcher?”
Without speaking, two EMTs hurried past them. One carried a black case, the other a portable oxygen unit.
“Yes I did.” Kyle said, swallowing hard. “I called about Abe Roth. He’s is in the back bedroom.”
“Mr. Tolliver, are you related to Mr. Roth?”
“No, we work together. We’re friends. I stopped by to give him a ride to work.”
“I see. I’d like for you to wait here for me while I examine the bedroom. Get yourself a drink of water. You don’t look too good.”
Kyle’s heart pounded as he tried to visualize the scene in the bedroom. What did he do with the note? To his relief, it was in his shirt pocket. What was it Abe wanted him to take—oh yeah, the external drive—jacket pocket, right. His thoughts were racing as he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. God Abe—we’ve got cops—questions—why did you do this? Out of the corner of his eye he saw the detective standing in the doorway.
“You up for a few questions?”
Kyle nodded.
“Does Mr. Roth have any immediate family living nearby?”
“Not that I’m aware of. His parents live in Florida. His fiancée goes to NYU med school. Her name is Cindy—Cindy Hansford.” His voice cracked at the mention of her name.
“I see.” He jotted in his notebook. “Since you were the one to discover Mr. Roth, did you notice the overturned vodka bottle next to the bed?”
“I didn’t notice it. I did see a glass on the nightstand.”
“Right—did you see the opened bottle of diazepam?”
“I saw a medicine bottle but I didn’t see what it was.” Kyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Very good. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes, it’s just that I can’t believe that Abe…”
“I understand, Mr. Tolliver. But I do need some more information.”
“Please, go ahead.”
He explained why he had a key to Abe’s apartment. He picked his words carefully as he responded to questions about his friend’s recent state of mind, saying only that he’d been under a lot of pressure at work. He added that Abe always said that pressure came with the job. The detective looked at him dismissively like a lot of jobs have pressure, his for example. He vouched for Abe’s excellent health, and overall positive outlook toward life. Kyle struggled to keep his cool while dreading a direct question about any suicide note that might have been left in the room.
“Mr. Roth left his computer on. It’s not unusual for people who are severely depressed, to the point of taking their own lives, to send out email to friends and loved ones, sometimes even posting on Facebook.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“So Mr. Roth did not send you any such communication?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“We’ll impound the laptop. His estate can collect it when we’re finished.”
“Estate…oh my God!”
“I know this is difficult.” He glanced at his open notebook. “You said that Mr. Roth was expecting you—that you were going to give him a ride to work this morning.”
“That’s correct.”
“You also said that he has a fiancé. Did his fiancé live with him? I don’t see evidence of a woman living here.”
“No, she doesn’t live here. She works at Tisch Hospital, and has an apartment near the university. Abe’s address book is on the kitchen counter next to the phone.”
“Thanks.” The detective jotted in his book. “So it’s likely Mr. Roth intended for you to discover him this morning.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Kyle began to shiver.
“Had Mr. Roth given you any indication that he was severely depressed? Did you ever worry that he might be contemplating suicide?”
“No—to the contrary, he was getting married in a few months. He and Cindy were looking for a place to live—after the wedding.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Roth?”
“Last Thursday. He stopped by my office to give me the key to his boat. He wanted me to test some new equipment he had installed—said the yard was waiting on his feedback to get paid.”
“What was his state of mind then?”
“He was overworked, needed sleep, and wished that he could go sailing.”
“Then something must have disturbed him in a big way since you last saw him. He didn’t call you over the weekend—email or text you?”
“No he didn’t. When he left me the key he said he was in for some all-nighters and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
He wished to hell Travis would close his book and let him go. Email and texts aren’t handwritten notes. So far, he hadn’t lied, but he knew a direct question about a suicide note was next. Was attempting to deceive a detective a crime?
His knees were shaking as Travis’s phone rang. The detective glanced at the ID window, excused himself, and left for the privacy of the living room. Kyle’s chest was heaving. He needed air. He wanted to run. He strained to hear what Travis was saying but all he could make out was “Right. Right. Got it. Five minutes. I’m on my way.”
Travis reentered the room clearly in a rush. Kyle began to perspire—dreading the next question.
Abe feared that if the cops took the external drive the case against Springer might be lost. As much as he wanted to uphold his wishes Kyle knew himself to be a terrible liar. If Travis asked him a direct question about a suicide note he’ll know the truth regardless of what answer he gave. Kyle prayed for a break.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Tolliver. We’ll be in touch if we need any additional information. This is my card. Please don’t hesitate to call if you can think of anything that might assist our investigation.”
Kyle could think of plenty but his allegiance was with man who couldn’t live with his torment.
Chapter Four
When It Hit the Fan
Kyle nodded hello to the receptionist and barreled down the corridor, hoping he could talk to his boss before meeting with Deborah Petty. It was an odd fit for Kyle, a communications guy reporting to Dan Driscoll the head of R&D, but Dan was all business and had the empathy of a mentor—something he needed more than ever.
“Come in!”
“Dan, can we talk?”
“Yeah, sure, but where in the hell have you been? You look awful!”
“I’m sure I do.”
“Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a sec.” The silver-haired scientist picked up his phone and extended a welcoming hand for Kyle to relax on the sofa in the corner of his spacious office. “I’m sure it’s no surprise that Deborah Petty’s looking for you. Everyone’s under strict orders to let her know the moment you’re in the office, so I’ve got to do this.”
Kyle gestured for Dan not to call, but to no avail.
“This is Dan Driscoll,” he said. “Please tell Deborah that Kyle Tolliver is here in my office. Yes I’ll hold.” Driscoll raised his brows. “That’s one o’clock at the main entrance? Very well, I’ll let him know.”
“Jesus, Dan. What’s at one o’clock?”
“That’s when you’re meeting with Deborah.”
“Get me out of that, please.”
“No can do.” Driscoll checked his watch. “Now listen up, we’ve only got a few minutes. Deborah’s meeting was a disaster! She was blindsided by Abe who, for whatever reason, emailed his Oxynade report to everyone attending the meeting—everyone except her. We all thought it was the official handout so we made hard copies and brought them with us. When we filed into the conference room there were bound booklets in front of every chair. They weren’t what Abe sent us by a long shot.”
Kyle took a deep breath and shook his head. “Oh my God.”
“Right. So there’s Deborah up front giving her PowerPoint, expecting everyone to be following along in the materials that she provided. By the second or third image we all realized Deborah’s program and Abe’s were completely out of sync.”
“Dan, I’ve got some bad news.”
“Just let me finish. I showed her the copy of Abe’s presentation that I’d printed out. When she saw how different they were she grabbed up Abe’s report and canceled the meeting. Everyone’s hiding behind closed doors waiting for someone to explain what happened.”
“Holy fuck, and I’ve got her at one o’clock? Nice knowing you, Dan.”
“You should also know some people are calling for Abe’s neck. Others, speaking in whispers, want Deborah’s. Right now we’re trying to find out the facts. What caused the discrepancy and which data is real.”
‘We’ve got another problem—a big one.”
“Kyle, let’s just deal with the facts right now—who’s speaking the truth?”
“Who is going to be the arbiter of that?”
“I’m not really sure. My guess is Deborah. After all, she’s Abe’s boss. Bottom line is everyone’s going to feel better as soon as we talk to Abe. We’ve been trying like crazy to get him on the phone.”
Looking his boss in the eye, Kyle swallowed hard and said, “Dan, Abe’s dead.”
“What did you say? Dead? How did it happen?”
“Cops are saying overdose of alcohol and Valium.”
“No, that’s ridiculous. I don’t believe it! Not Abe—he’s too young, too bright. He’s getting married, for God’s sakes.”
“Dan, Abe told me recently that his workload in the legal department was overwhelming. He felt he was being kept away from the Oxynade project to the point where he couldn’t do the kind of oversight he should have been doing. Last week, before he cloistered himself away to write his launch report, he had a hunch that once he got into the data he’d find problems.”
“Then why in God’s name didn’t he tell all of this to Deborah? She was carrying on today as though everything had gone like clockwork, and that we’re in great shape to get Oxynade through FDA approval without a hitch. Why didn’t he ask Deborah for help?”
Kyle knew that Dan could answer his own question.
“Never mind, Kyle, we can talk about this later. You’ve got Deborah in two minutes.”
“Dan I’m begging you—get me out of this.”
“I wish I could. We’ve already got a huge mess on our hands with this data discrepancy, and now there’s Abe’s death.” The unflappable Dan Driscoll was sputtering and breathing hard. Kyle wondered if he took anything for his nerves.
After what seemed like an eternity his boss sat up straight, calmed himself and looked Kyle in the eye. “Listen, there’s a logical explanation for everything. We’ll eventually be able to understand why Abe took an overdose, if that turns out to be the case. In the meantime, my best advice is to simply tell Deborah what Abe told you. She’s trying to make sense of all this confusion. She’ll appreciate whatever light you can shed on it.”
“ Abe and I were close, but the last thing we’d ever talk about when we were together was work. So, I’m not sure what I can add.”
“Do your best. This company’s bet its future on this one product and Deborah Petty isn’t about to see it fail—not for any reason.”
“Then it’s too bad then that she didn’t let someone else manage it.”
“She had her reasons for selecting him.”
“I think he was set up.”
“I think you better forget that idea. Abe’s gone. Deborah Petty isn’t.”