The Trial (10 page)

31

Kingsbury leaned back in his executive chair, his hands behind his head. Rudy Kowalski sat across from him. “I need a status report on our clinical trial, Rudy.”

“Yes, sir,” Kowalski replied as he handed his boss a one-page summary.

Kingsbury skimmed it and tossed it on his desk. “Any major problems?”

“A few issues,” Kowalski replied as he tried to downplay his worries about the trial, “but nothing that I would call major. We’ve spot-checked some of the investigation sites. We’ve got some doctors who appear to have been cutting corners and others who have gone way beyond our limit of fifty patients. Seems like the money must be too good. We’ve got that one doc in Louisiana who is guilty of both, but he swears everything is on the up-and-up.”

“What about adverse events? Hold on a minute. I’ve got to get my cell phone.”

Kingsbury glanced at the caller ID and smiled. “Is this the president of the United States? No. Then it must be the king of England. No. Well, it’s the quarterback of the New York Giants. Oh, it’s Teddy.” Kingsbury laughed. “What’s my favorite grandson doing using his mother’s cell phone? Yes, I remember that I’m meeting you guys for dinner tonight. I’ll see you then. Love you.”

He hung up the phone. “Grandkids, Rudy, I recommend you have several. Now, back to the adverse events.”

“Same kind as we’ve had reported in Europe—liver problems, cardiac, some vision. Frankly, sir, quite a bit higher than I would like to see. If the FDA drills down past our summary when it’s done and analyzes the individual patient charts, we can expect to face some hard questions.”

Kingsbury rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and sat on the corner, facing Kowalski. “Dammit, that’s just what I don’t want. How many subjects do we have enrolled?”

“We’re right at twenty thousand.”

“I told Boatwright we would have twenty-five thousand. I want at least that many. The more we have, the less likely CDER will have the manpower to study every one of the patient charts. Go get me five thousand more, and be quick about it. I want this clinical trial done in another three months. Clear?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly clear. We’ll have personal letters going out to some family docs no later than next week.”

32

Samantha scheduled her classes at eight and nine every morning and from four to six in the afternoon. She liked working with her dad and rejected his suggestions that she could cut back on her hours. One afternoon while she was in class, Luke heard the back door open.

“Bring me a beer, too,” he hollered.

The refrigerator door opened and closed. There were footsteps in the hall, and Whizmo appeared in the office door.

“Come on in, Whiz.”

Whizmo handed him a beer and settled into an easy chair by the front window.

“Beautiful day, huh, Whiz? Maybe we ought to be planning a long ride next summer, maybe to Tombstone. I hear a lot of bikers make that trek.”

Whizmo nodded. “Good idea, but that’s not why I came over. I really just want to brag on your daughter. She’s one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. Seems as if she’s memorized my damn textbook. She sits right in the middle of the front row, and if I get a date or fact wrong, she raises her hand and says, ‘Whizmo, you know that’s not right.’ She breaks up the whole class when she does it. I’m trying to talk her into majoring in history. Truth be told, though, she’s going to top whatever major she chooses.”

Luke beamed. “Whiz, you know a boy named Brad McCoy?”

“Bradford McCoy, sure do. He’s one of my seniors and a teaching assistant. Smart youngster. Good kid besides. I talked him into a double major of history and computer science. Why?”

“Sam’s been talking about him a lot. They meet every afternoon after her last class at that pub across the street from the campus.”

Whizmo nodded. “Yeah, he’s my assistant in Sam’s class. Now that you mention it, I do see them hanging around after class. You’ll like him when Sam’s ready to bring him for an introduction. Now, I’m going to the kitchen to get us a second beer. Shut off that computer and let’s sit out on the porch. Spring is here, and we need to enjoy it.”

33

Luke heard the door close and footsteps in the downstairs hall.

“Dad, you there? I’m bringing someone up.”

“Come on. Cocoa and I are reading one of Whizmo’s history books.”

Samantha and Brad got to the top of the stairs. “Dad, this is Brad. Brad, this is my dad, Luke, and our faithful companion, Cocoa.”

Cocoa wagged her tail at her name, and Luke got to his feet. Brad was close to six feet tall with trim black hair and green eyes behind stylish glasses, dressed in a Texas State T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vaughan.”

“My pleasure, Brad, and call me Luke. If you can call your professor Whizmo, Luke will do just fine. Have a seat.” Luke took an instant liking to the young man.

“How about instead, Dad, we grab a bite to eat. I figure you can spring for a cheeseburger for two starving college students.”

“You’re on. Let me get my keys and wallet. Cocoa, you stay here. You’ll get a cheeseburger when we get back.”

“While you’re doing that, Dad,” Samantha said, “I’m going to snag a couple of Tylenol. I seem to be having more headaches lately. Maybe I’m not used to having to stay up late and study.”

As they left the front door, Luke noted a Ford pickup with a lot of years on it but in immaculate condition. “That yours, Brad?”

“Yes, sir. I bought her with money from summer jobs in high school. She’s got two hundred thousand miles so far.”

Luke nodded his approval as they climbed into the Sequoia. “About the same as this one. I’m aiming for half a million.”

Five minutes later they parked in front of Jackson’s, a restaurant on the Comal River, which meandered through town, and found a table. Luke and Samantha ordered Bud Lights. Brad chose a Coke.

“Tell me about yourself, Brad. I’ve heard a little from Sam and Whizmo.”

“I grew up in San Marcos. Went to San Marcos High School. I’m a senior this year. Whizmo probably told you I’m one of his teaching assistants. I’m really into computers, but Whizmo convinced me that I need to broaden my thinking and talked me into a double major. That’ll add another year before I start on a master’s.”

A waitress brought their drinks. Luke sipped his. “Yeah, I can see why you got lured into history. I’m reading Whizmo’s treatise about the years from 1900 to 1940. He makes history sound like a novel.”

“Dad, you ought to go to one of his classes. He teaches the same way. History, as told by Professor Whizmo, is never boring. When we studied the Spanish-American War, he came into class dressed as Teddy Roosevelt in a Rough Rider uniform and asked for volunteers to join him in taking San Juan Hill. Everyone in class raised their hand.”

“She’s right, sir, I mean Luke. His classes have almost perfect attendance. Nobody wants to miss the stories he tells. I’ve already taken all of his courses, but I’ll still find a seat and listen to his lectures just for fun.”

Their cheeseburger baskets came, and there was silence as they chewed for a while. Then Luke spoke. “I hear you guys are a twosome. Any truth to that rumor?”

Samantha looked over at Brad and nodded as she squeezed Brad’s hand. “Yes, sir. We’ve both agreed that we’re not seeing anyone else. Who knows, Dad, this could last for a long time.”

Luke ordered two more beers. “Brad, you want one?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink. Another Coke will be just fine.”

Luke looked at his daughter and the new young man in her life and thought that it had taken quite a while, but now all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. “Well, all I can say is it looks to me like you’ve both made good choices. Brad, you’re welcome at our house anytime.”

Samantha beamed as she realized her dad liked her new boyfriend. Deep down she breathed a sigh of relief.

34

The street on the south side of Texas State curved around the university to the west and up into the hills. A small strip center squatted on it across from the campus. A liquor store occupied one end of the center, a place where there was a constant battle between college students with fake identification and Alcoholic Beverage Commission officers determined to separate the students and demon rum, generally a thankless task. At the other end was a convenience store where students could stock up on ice, chips, and other essentials for a day or a weekend back in the Hill Country. Between the two was a small office with a sign on the door that read
VIJAY CHALLA, M.D., FAMILY PRACTICE.

Dr. Challa had been born in India and immigrated to the United States after completing a combined six-year medical school program in Mumbai. He found his way to Central Texas because he had an uncle who owned a liquor store and the office adjoining it. It took him two tries to pass the test that permitted foreign medical graduates to practice in the United States. He had hopes of becoming a surgeon but was never accepted in any surgical residency, so he moved next door to his uncle, where the rent was free. When the practice was slow, he placed a sign on the door that read
BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES
, locked the office, and assisted with the sale of liquor. The doorbell at the front of his office rang in the liquor store. When it did, he hurried out the back of the liquor store and through the back door of his office, grabbed a white coat, checked himself in the mirror, and unlocked the front door to find a potential patient, all the while apologizing that he had to step out momentarily to pick up a shipment of medical instruments.

Dr. Challa was a slight man, only five feet six inches and weighing perhaps one hundred and twenty pounds. He spoke English well but with a decided Indian accent. The students who knocked on his door liked him, particularly since he not only took care of colds, flu, and other minor ailments, but also because he was willing to prescribe “uppers” to his regular patients for the all-nighters that came with final exams and term papers.

One morning he parked his Volkswagen in the back of the center and walked to the office, shivering as the last winter breeze of the season blew through Central Texas. By any standards the clinic was small and run-down. Beside the back door was a unisex restroom. Across the hall from it was his office, outfitted with a metal desk, a swivel chair, and two metal chairs. His medical school diploma hung on the cinder-block wall behind his desk. Toward the front were three small treatment rooms that were rarely fully occupied. The reception area was ten feet square, with more metal chairs and whatever old magazines he’d retrieved from the convenience store owner before they were tossed into the Dumpster.

When he entered the office, he went to the front door, unlocked it, and turned the sign over to announce that the clinic was open. Returning to his desk, he hoped to find that the phone had a blinking light, announcing a call from a patient. There were no calls, so he took the coffeepot and filled it in the bathroom and soon had a strong black brew in front of him as he flipped through the mail from the previous day.

There were the usual bills from vendors, free magazines with a couple of articles to justify selling ads from the drug companies, and various statements from insurance companies, explaining why his bill of, say, $125 was being reduced to $37. Then he got to a professionally done envelope, thicker than most of his mail, with Ceventa in Maryland as the return address. He tore it open and found an announcement of a new drug called Exxacia and an invitation to be a clinical investigator. Dr. Challa had never filled such a role in his career. Still, he had heard that the money was good. He took a sip of his coffee and began to study what Ceventa had to offer.

When he got to the section on payment and read that he could earn $500 with $350 for him and $150 to the patient, he’d read enough. Challa put down the announcement and logged on to the Ceventa Web site. As he completed the application, he got to the section on board certification and checked that he was certified as a family physician even though he knew it was false. For good measure, he checked that he had been in practice for twenty years when it was only ten. If Ceventa did a background check on him and asked for proof, he would withdraw his request. A few days later he received a packet of materials and bottles of pills from Ceventa with a letter congratulating him on his selection. The packet also included detailed instructions and forms to be completed with each patient—a maximum of fifty, the instructions said. Well, he mused, since they clearly didn’t do a background on him, who’s to say that they would count? He’d worry about that after he enrolled the first fifty patients. Now his job was to start recruiting subjects for the study, and what better place than the campus across the street?

35

Samantha did it. She made a 4.0 GPA. She found a two-bedroom apartment a couple of blocks from campus that she could share with three other girls. Wanting to make up for the disastrous semester at A&M, she enrolled in summer school. Luke told her that she could quit working at his office. Again she refused. She enjoyed spending a few hours with her dad every day and also enjoyed talking with his clients. She left her Camaro parked at the house and found a secondhand bicycle to get around campus and to go back and forth to work with Luke. Most weekends she went back home for at least one night. It gave her a chance to get in a good run with her dad. She invited Brad to join them, but he declined, understanding that she needed the time with Luke.

One Friday afternoon, they stopped at Jackson’s for a hamburger. She was about to order a Bud Light when Brad stopped her.

“Waiter, can you come back in five minutes?”

“Sure, man. Give me the high sign when you’re ready to order.”

“Sam, we need to talk.”

A puzzled look crossed her face. “Okay, about what?”

“Your drinking, Samantha. You drink way too much, way too often—practically every night, and I’m worried about you.”

“Brad, what’s the problem? I enjoy a few beers. You ought to try one once in a while.”

“Look, Samantha. I don’t think drinking is a sin or anything like that. I actually drank until my freshman year. Then one night I was on my way home after a party and almost didn’t see an old man crossing the street. I swerved and missed him.” Brad buried his head in his hands and looked up. “I could have killed him. I quit drinking that night. I want you to stop, too.”

Samantha leaned over and looked into Brad’s eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“Samantha, I like you a lot. I may even love you, and I’m not one to throw down ultimatums, but I can’t change on this one. If you want to keep drinking, then we need to go our separate ways. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Samantha rose from the table. Brad thought she was walking out on him. Instead, she walked over to the rail, where she gazed down at the river as it boiled and churned over a small waterfall. Then she returned to the table, sat down, and took Brad’s hand. “Why don’t you order me a Coke?”

Tears filled Brad’s eyes. He leaned over to kiss her and then motioned to the waiter.