The Trial (4 page)

9

Luke and Samantha left Houston just ahead of the moving van. As was usual when they rode together now, nothing was said, and the silence hung in the air even after they pulled into the driveway in San Marcos.

Luke was proud of the work that he and the contractor had done on the house. The last of the painters had finished only the day before. The exterior was a dark green that matched the leaves on the two giant front-yard oaks. Two rockers were already in place on the porch to the right of the door.

“Not bad,” Samantha finally said.

“Come on.” Luke grinned. “I’ll show you around. You’re gonna like it.”

Luke bounded up the steps and threw open the heavy wooden door. He gestured for Samantha to go ahead of him. The floors were a freshly varnished oak. The ceilings were twelve feet tall, and wood paneling covered the first four feet of the walls.

“This is my office. My desk will go here by the front window. The fireplace was already here. I just modernized it. There’s another one in the upstairs living room. This is my conference room. Used to be the dining room. The room across the hall at the front is for my assistant, which I don’t have at the moment. And there’s one more room over there, suitable for another lawyer, not that I expect to have an associate. You can have it for your office if you like.”

Samantha let her guard down just a little. “Very nice, Father. You did a good job.”

“Come on upstairs. It gets even better.”

The stairway led to the residence. The living room was twenty by twenty and carpeted in a plush brown. The kitchen was at the back, separated from the living area by a breakfast bar. Luke had added an alcove to the side of the house, above the porte cochere. Suitable for a small dining table, it had floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides. The feeling was that of a tree house on a summer day. Samantha walked to the alcove and glanced out at the trees, saying, “That’s cool, Father.”

Luke smiled as he realized that she was thawing just a little. Good—particularly since he was about to surprise her. “The front bedroom is yours. Go ahead. Open the door.”

Samantha opened the door to a room painted eggshell blue, only she wasn’t looking at the walls. In the center of the room was a dog kennel. In the kennel was a ten-week-old golden retriever who barked a greeting as Samantha neared her.

“Go ahead. You can let her out. Her name’s Cocoa. She’s yours. Well, she’s mine, too. I figured we could share her.”

Samantha sat in front of the kennel, unlatched the door, and was met by a five-pound bundle of fur.

10

Samantha awakened early on the following Sunday morning, the day she would leave for Camp Longhorn, where she would be a junior counselor. She looked at the clock every fifteen minutes until it was eleven o’clock. Then she practically dragged her father down the stairs and out to the car, begging him to hurry.

Luke dropped Samantha at camp and turned the Sequoia back to San Marcos. He breathed a sigh of relief that Samantha would be happy for twelve weeks anyway. Luke had already planned how he would use those twelve weeks.

The next morning he printed the names and addresses of all the lawyers in Hays County. He studied the locations over coffee and decided to start at the courthouse. He put Cocoa in her kennel, grabbed his briefcase, and walked up the street. When he entered the courthouse he visited every desk, introducing himself, passing out his business cards, and leaving résumés. A couple of the clerks remembered him from high school. He made his way to the second floor to a door that announced
CHESTER A. NIMITZ, DISTRICT JUDGE.
He opened the door to the outer office and found a plump middle-aged woman with a radiant smile.

“Good morning”—Luke looked at the nameplate on her desk—“Ms. Higginbotham. I’m Lucas Vaughan. Would Judge Nimitz have a few minutes this morning?”

“Well, you just call me Susie. Everyone else does,” she said, smiling. “Besides, I don’t like my last name. Too long. Should have changed it when I divorced the man that stuck me with it. What do you want to see the judge about?”

“Nothing important. I don’t even have a case in his court. I’m new to town. Well, actually that’s not right. I grew up here and practiced for nearly twenty years in Houston. Got fed up with the rat race and moved back.”

“Oh, you bought the old Cramer place, didn’t you? Nice job. Hold on. I’ll tell Judge Nimitz you’re here.”

Five minutes later the door to his chambers opened, and a short, muscular man with gray hair, blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion stepped out. “Mr. Vaughan, come in. I’m Chuck Nimitz. Susie, bring coffee. How do you take yours?”

“Black, sir, if you please.”

The walls and shelves in Judge Nimitz’s chambers were overflowing with photos, plaques, and memorabilia. “Let me give you a quick tour. Everyone is always interested in this stuff I’ve been collecting for forty-odd years. Start with this photo. That’s me graduating from the Naval Academy. I’m named after my uncle Chester, the World War II admiral who grew up over in Fredericksburg. Wasn’t very hard to get in the academy after he put in a word. That’s me and one of my classmates, John McCain, a real hell-raiser. Our careers kind of paralleled each other for a lot of years. We even flew from the same carrier for a while during the Vietnam War. I got shot down once, too, but was able to get my fighter over water and was rescued by our guys. Broke my hip. Still bothers me when the weather changes.”

Luke saw an honorable discharge certificate that appeared to be from when Judge Nimitz was in his early forties. “Why did you get out of the navy, Judge?”

“After Vietnam there wasn’t any prospect of another real fight. They eventually made me a squadron commander, mainly a desk job. After twenty I’d had enough. This wall here is my UT wall. Went to law school there after the navy. Best law school in the country as far as I’m concerned.”

“You won’t hear me disagree with that. Judging from your diploma, I was just a few years behind you. Of course, I hadn’t put in twenty years serving my country.”

“Have a seat, Luke. Tell me about yourself.”

Luke spent the next fifteen minutes outlining his career, some of his verdicts, his ulcer, and his decision to move back to San Marcos. After giving the judge his résumé and business card, Luke thanked him for his time and left the courthouse.

Over the next several days Luke introduced himself to most of the lawyers in the area. Next, he went to San Marcos High School and found his old English teacher. She kept up with most of the graduates and was eager to give him information about the members of his class and their whereabouts. Armed with a new list of potential clients, Luke started the same drill.

One day he was leaving the Comal Cleaners, which was owned by a classmate, when he heard a voice. “Luke, Luke Vaughan, is that you?”

He turned to see an attractive brunette, probably in her late thirties, smiling at him. Luke noted that her gray business suit hid what appeared to be an athletic body. Her blue dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing just a hint of cleavage. With her high heels, she was almost as tall as Luke. She removed her sunglasses, revealing sparkling green eyes as she continued. “It is you, Luke. You don’t remember me, do you?”

A little chagrined that he didn’t remember such a good-looking woman, he could only say, “I’m sorry, I don’t. Maybe you can jog my memory.” He smiled.

“I’m Sue Ellen Taggert. I was in the ninth grade when you were a senior. I was always trying to get your attention then, but you were more interested in the cheerleaders. I heard you were a big-time trial lawyer in Houston. What’re you doing coming out of Jim’s cleaners?”

“I don’t know about being a big-time lawyer there. Anyway, I’m just reacquainting myself with everyone. I live over on Live Oak Street. Bought the old Cramer place. My daughter and I live upstairs, and my office is on the first floor. What about you?”

“I’m a lawyer, too. Graduated from St. Mary’s in San Antonio and took a job with the Hays County district attorney. I’m the chief felony prosecutor. I live in one of those old houses not far from you, and my only roommate is my ten-year-old son,” she said with just the hint of a twinkle in her eye. “So we need to get together. Got to run. Judge Nimitz is calling his criminal docket at one. Oh, here’s my card. I’ll write my home number on the back.”

11

Ryan Sinclair had a house that very few employees of CDER could afford, in an upscale neighborhood fifteen minutes from their office. He invited the other members of his team there for a Saturday night barbecue. While they were expected to relax and unwind, the real reason for the get-together was to have a place and time where they could discuss their opinions about Exxacia without interference.

Mary Hawkins, Henry Schmidt, and Robert Walls, along with their spouses, arrived around seven. Mary was an infectious disease specialist, Henry was a pharmacologist, and Robert was a statistician. It was late fall, but Ryan cut the chill on the patio with a couple of heat lamps. His wife, Sara, had set appetizers on the patio table. Ryan escorted each couple on arrival through the house to the kitchen, where he offered drinks. The choices were Bud Light or red wine.

Football dominated the men’s conversation. All of them had become Baltimore fans, and after a dismal start the Ravens were now making a playoff run; their young quarterback was the talk of the league. Then there was college ball. Texas, Florida, LSU, and USC were all in the hunt for the national championship. Ryan kidded that his alma mater, Harvard, should be in the BCS title game. After all, they, too, were undefeated. Finally Sara invited all of the women inside, where they made dinner preparations and found something more interesting than football to talk about. After two rounds of drinks, Ryan fired up the grill and took steak orders. In thirty minutes they were seated inside, where the guests congratulated Ryan and Sara on a fantastic barbecue dinner. After dinner, Sara cleared the table and served coffee. Ryan took over the discussion.

“If you spouses don’t mind, we need to talk a little business.”

“Thanks a lot, Ryan,” Henry said, grinning. “You fill us full of barbecue and beer and expect us to sound coherent. Just kidding. We knew this was coming.”

“Ryan’s been talking about this Exxacia for months,” Sara responded. “I feel like I’m a part of the team.”

“You are, dear,” Ryan said. “Only you don’t get a vote. Mary, you go first.”

“Tonsillitis is out as far as I’m concerned, but I may get overruled. And I’m old-fashioned enough that if it was my call, I’d eliminate sinusitis, too. Ninety percent of sinus problems will resolve themselves without medication. For the other ten percent we’ve got a bunch of antibiotics out there that have fifteen or twenty years of history. There aren’t any more surprises with those drugs.”

“Still, you know the problem, Mary,” Henry replied. “We can’t block a new drug application just because there are other drugs that do the same thing. I agree with you on the tonsillitis, though.”

“Robert?” Ryan asked. “Your turn.”

“I’ve still got safety issues. On the basis of less than a thousand patients in the Phase I, II, and III trials, I wouldn’t feel comfortable putting this drug out there. Why take a drug for a sinus problem if you may lose your liver or have a heart attack? Sure, the chance may be only one in fifty thousand or a hundred thousand. Personally, I’d rather just run through a couple of boxes of Kleenex.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ryan added. “My friend in London sent me the European after-market data. Besides liver and cardiac problems, some vision problems are on the radar screen, along with vasculitis. That last one doesn’t make much sense and may be a coincidence, but it’s out there. Let’s take a vote. Thumbs up or thumbs down.”

They all looked at Mary, who slowly turned her thumb down. She was followed by Henry and Robert, who looked at each other for confirmation they were doing the right thing and also turned thumbs down. Then all three turned to Ryan, who smiled and turned his thumb down as well.

“When are you going to tell Boatwright?” Emma asked.

“Monday morning. No use waiting. The advisory committee meeting is in four weeks, and we might as well start getting ready for it.”

“Boatwright’s going to be pissed, Ryan,” Henry cautioned. “For some reason he’s personally interested in this one.”

“Yeah, I know. He can override me if he wants, but I don’t think he has the stones to do it.”

“What if he recommends a big clinical trial to the advisory committee? You go along with that?”

“Nope, not on this drug. As far as I’m concerned, the more patients taking Exxacia, the more adverse events. Only problem is that it may not be my call.”

12

Ryan stopped by Dr. Boatwright’s assistant’s desk on the way to his office on Monday. “Lucille, can I see Dr. Boatwright sometime today for, say, fifteen minutes?”

Lucille looked up from her computer. “Dr. Sinclair, you know how busy Dr. Boatwright is, don’t you? It’s probably out of the question. I’ll do my best to get you in to see him sometime this week.”

“Whatever you say, Lucille. I would think that Roger would like to see me sooner rather than later.”

Exasperation filled Lucille’s face. “Dr. Sinclair, you know that Dr. Boatwright does not permit first names. I’ll try to tell him you dropped by. Have a good day.”

Lucille turned to read something important on her computer. Ryan saluted her and walked to his office. At four o’clock that afternoon Lucille called. “Dr. Boatwright will see you at four forty-five. You will have fifteen minutes. Be prompt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan said as this time he saluted the phone.

Ryan appeared at Lucille’s desk at four fifty. It was intentional. Lucille looked at him in disgust. “You’re late.”

“Right you are, Lucille. I’ll talk fast.”

Lucille escorted Ryan into the office and retreated, closing the door behind her. Boatwright was again poring over some document. This time Ryan took one of the two chairs across from his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and waited for him to look up. Finally he did. “Dr. Sinclair, punctuality is a virtue. You’re late.”

“I agree, Dr. Boatwright, but I knew you would be reading that document and figured I could use an extra five minutes.”

“What? How did you know what I was reading? Oh, never mind. What is it?”

“I thought you might like to know the final verdict on Exxacia, Dr. Boatwright.”

“Of course, of course. I’m sure that you found it to be both efficacious and safe for all concerned, right, Dr. Sinclair?”

Ryan unfolded his legs and leaned forward as he spoke in almost a whisper. “Afraid not, Dr. Boatwright. My team has voted unanimously to send a nonapproval letter to Ceventa.”

“You must be kidding,” Boatwright erupted. “It’s a joke, right? Your little joke. Dr. Kingsbury has assured me that the drug is a miracle in the making.”

“Sorry, but my team disagrees. You’ll be getting my formal report and recommendation tomorrow. There are too many red flags popping up for us to approve it, liver toxicity, vision, one heart attack, all from a small population.”

“But, but, but, the advisory committee hasn’t even met. They won’t for four weeks.”

“Look, Dr. Boatwright, I only do my job. So do my team members. What you do, or what our distinguished advisory committee members do, both are out of my control.”

Boatwright rose and paced behind his desk for at least a minute, head down, deep in thought. “That’ll be all, Dr. Sinclair.”

As soon as Ryan left, Boatwright locked the door behind him and placed a call to a private cell number. “Dr. Kingsbury, Roger Boatwright here.”

“Roger, my friend, delighted to hear from you. Did you forget that we’re on a first-name basis? How’s my NDA coming? About time for approval, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’m calling about, Dr.… I mean Alfred. Ryan Sinclair was just in here. He’s not approving the drug.”

“Nonsense. You told him that you wanted it approved, didn’t you? I thought that after we left Jamaica it was a done deal.”

“Yes, sir, I did tell him. He thinks there are some safety issues with Exxacia, particularly dealing with hepatitis.”

Boatwright, of course, couldn’t see Kingsbury’s face as it turned red and he fought to control his temper.

“Look, Roger, you’re the guy in charge at CDER. Young Sinclair is becoming a real pain in the ass. You can overrule a narrow-minded pencil pusher like him, can’t you now?”

Boatwright fumbled for an answer. “I have the authority, but I’m sorry to say that Sinclair is quite well thought of in the agency. If I overrule him, it’s almost certain to get back to the commissioner. He’s likely to send someone down from his staff to nose around and find out the reason for the disagreement. It would be a lot worse for you if I give you an approval letter and then have to withdraw it.” Boatwright’s voice dropped almost to a whisper as he finished.

“Dr. Boatwright, it’s highly important to me, personally, to have Exxacia marketed in the United States.” Dr. Kingsbury’s voice rose as he continued. “We’ll make sure it’s a huge success, but I can’t give it to my marketing boys until you give us the green light. It still has to go to the advisory committee, doesn’t it?”

“Right, Dr. Kingsbury. That’s in four weeks.”

There was silence on the other end as Kingsbury puffed a cigarette and thought. Boatwright was about to ask if there was anything else when Kingsbury said, “This advisory committee has eleven members, correct? I suggest that you plan to attend their meeting and persuade them that my drug is safe and efficacious.”