The RX Factor Page 4

  Back outside, he dialed his secretary on his cell phone as he ducked into the cab.

  "Fisher Singer Worldwide, this is Angela Marks," a woman answered. "May I help you?"

  "Hey, Angie," Craven said.

  "Oh, hello, Mr. Craven," she said cheerfully. "How's everything going at the convention?"

  "Swimmingly so far," Craven said. "Listen, I need you to postpone my flight to Puerto Vallarta."

  "But aren't you scheduled to meet with the clinic director tomorrow?"

  "Yes, but things have changed. And the director can wait."

  Chapter 4

  Everett Pritchard was a third generation law enforcement official: his grandfather served in the Royal Bahamian Police Force for over thirty-five years, and his father was warden at the Carmi-chael Penitentiary in Nassau where, seventeen years ago, he was stabbed and killed by several Haitian inmates during a full-scale prison riot.

  At the time of the riot, Everett was a rising star in the Nassau police force, having been promoted to the rank of inspector after being the lead investigator in a task force that had broken up a sizeable international drug-smuggling operation. Following the death of his father, he requested, and was eventually granted, a transfer back to his home island of Exuma. Despite his love of the law and the excitement that came with working big cases, his devotion to family and the need to care for his widowed mother were greater than the rush of stalking the shady characters that made Nassau their base of operations. Since returning to Exuma, he had been promoted to assistant super intendent and, with the retirement of Superintendent Burrows a few years back, he was handed the top cop position.

  In his fifteen years as a law enforcement official in Exuma, there had been only a handful of serious crimes and one murder, which turned out to be an open-and-shut case. Except for the occasional petty crime or domestic squabble, Everett's day-to-day routine was more as a goodwill ambassador to the visiting tourists. His body had produced less adrenaline in the fifteen years since returning to Exuma than it had in a good month in Nassau. . . . until now.

  The woman who had introduced herself as Dr. Jordan Carver sat on the hard wooden chair in front of Pritchard's desk. Pritchard watched her take in the array of family snapshots, the two potted palms flanking his desk, and the vase of fresh azaleas lingering on a small adjoining table. She nodded toward the official portraits on the wall. The woman didn't miss much.

  "I thought the Queen was passe in the islands nowadays," she said.

  Pritchard poured them both a cup of coffee, then glanced up at the framed portrait hanging beside the flag of the Bahamas. "I am a sentimental man. I'm proud of our independence, but I am still a stickler for tradition." He leaned back in his chair and eyed her carefully before continuing. "Franklin notified me of the discovery of your aunt and uncle's remains this morning. I am sorry for your tragic loss, and grateful for your cooperation, Dr. Carver."

  "Why wouldn't I cooperate?" Notes of surprise, indignation, and even a little wariness intermingled in her voice.

  Pritchard paused, not rushing, watching her reaction with a Zen-like patience. "I realize this is a difficult time for you, but we must move forward with the investigation and I am afraid I may have a few unpleasant questions to ask."

  "I understand. I'm sorry. How can I help?"

  "Three strangers got friendly with one of the waitresses at Rosey's shortly after she finished serving your aunt and uncle lunch. The waitress remarked that these strangers seemed impressed with your aunt and uncle's yacht. Has anyone approached you recently with questions regarding the vessel?"

  "No. I only arrived yesterday morning. My aunt and uncle picked me up at the airport and we went straight to their yacht. I came ashore yesterday evening to pick up a few items, but I haven't had contact with anyone on the island other than small talk at the stores and at Rosey's. But it doesn't surprise me that those people were asking questions about the yacht—everybody is always impressed with her." She paused, then corrected herself. "Well, they were, anyway."

  "These fellows asked questions that went beyond simple admiration."

  "Like what? Have you spoken to them?"

  "Not yet, but I have my best man out looking for them. They were asking about the owners and the guests, and they seemed curious about arrival and departure information. They said they were looking to buy one for themselves and the waitress didn't think anything of it until, of course, the boat exploded. Then she searched us out."

  "And if your best man cannot find these people, what's next? Are you suggesting that these people may have had something to do with the death of my aunt and uncle?"

  Noting that Dr. Carver was beginning to control the direction of the questioning, Pritchard diverted the momentum to get the ball back in his court. "Let's not jump the gun just yet. I have no idea if these people had anything to do with the explosion and until we have evidence to the contrary, the explosion is being investigated as an accident. A very tragic accident. I'm not equipped to pursue the exact cause of the explosion, so I ordered some experts to come down from Nassau."

  "So you're suspicious enough to check this out."

  "Yes, that's true." He glanced at the notes before him. "You told Franklin earlier that your aunt and uncle were the only ones aboard at the time of the explosion, is that correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how do you explain the presence of a third body at the site?"

  Jordan jerked upright but did not respond.

  "Were your aunt and uncle planning on going to sail in the morning?"

  "Yes. First light."

  "Then it is odd that someone else would be aboard that you didn't know about."

  Jordan swallowed hard. Regaining her voice with considerable effort, she choked out, "I'll say it's odd. I know nothing about that." She halted, recovering as her face flushed with anger. "Who was it?"

  "At this point, we do not know, but we'll find out soon enough. I'm hoping you might help in that regard."

  The calm in his voice seemed to relax her. She settled back into her chair and brushed back the dark hair that had fallen over her eyes during her outburst. "I don't have any idea who it is."

  Pritchard shifted in his chair. "Tell me about your aunt and uncle."

  "Do you follow American financial news, Wall Street stuff?"

  "I read the regular papers from time to time.

  Why?"

  "Then you might remember that my uncle, Henry Carver, was involved in a scandal."

  "Yes, I do recall. That must be why his name sounded familiar."

  "He was the CEO of a major Wall Street firm when a company pension scandal broke out. It was muddled, but in the end my uncle was handed a golden parachute and forced to retire."

  "I see. And when was that?"

  "About three years ago. Shortly after that, he purchased the Bulls and Bears. Ever since, he and my aunt have been traveling the world."

  "I see," he said, jotting the details onto his notepad. "I understand that your uncle was helping to fund your new project in, uh, where was it?"

  "Sayulita, Mexico. It's near Puerto Vallarta. How did you know that?"

  "This is a small island, Dr. Carver. Secrets do not stay concealed long in George Town."

  "Well it was certainly no secret, but—"

  Before Jordan could finish her thought, Pritchard tossed out his next question.

  "And would you mind telling me how much he contributed?"

  "He and a few other investors contributed close to twenty million, but my uncle was responsible for the bulk of it."

  "What about your parents?"

  "They are both deceased."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Thank you. That was a long time ago. Uncle Henry and Aunt Jenny practically raised me. I began living with them when I was still in middle school."

  "And where was that?"

  "New York."

  "I see. Did your aunt and uncle have any children of their own?"

  "No
, it was just me."

  "Any idea on the value of their estate?"

  "I'm not sure. A lot. Had to be at least one hundred million, could be a lot more."

  "And you're the only heir to their estate?"

  "I have no idea. I am their only living relative, but I was not privy to the specific details of their will. As far as I know, they may have left everything to charity." Jordan paused, squinted her eyes, tightened her lips, and then tilted her head a fraction before continuing. "And I do not appreciate the insinuation that comes with that question."

  "There is no insinuation in my question, Dr. Carver. I am just gathering facts right now. Please do not confuse the two."

  Pritchard finished up with his notes and slid his chair back. "Thank you for coming in, Dr. Carver. Will you be available if I should need you again?"

  "Yes, of course. I want the facts as much as you do. And I'm not going anywhere until I have them."

  Chapter 5

  Their table out on the deck at Rosey's offered a splendid view of the assembled boats in the harbor, a forest of masts and a spiderweb of rigging. Jordan, who seemed to have little appetite, nibbled on conch fritters and nursed a daiquiri.

  "Did you learn anything new from Pritchard?" Ryan asked over his margarita.

  "To say the least. The superintendent informed me that besides my aunt and uncle, there was a third body on the boat."

  Ryan's jaw dropped and he straightened up in his chair. "I thought you said it was only you and your aunt and uncle who were staying on board."

  "That was the plan. At this point, no one can identify this mysterious third person. I think Pritchard suspects that the explosion was no accident."

  "Based on what evidence?" "I'm not sure of all the reasoning, but so far we know that the explosion was not typical for a fuel leak, an unknown person was discovered in the wreckage, and three people were suspiciously inquiring about Bulls and Bears a few days ago. Based on all of that, I'm about ready to sign on to his conspiracy theory."

  "Don't jump the gun, Jordan. This is a small, friendly, but poor, family island. It would not surprise anyone, including Pritchard, to find out your aunt and uncle had a late-night visitor trying to sell them an extra fish or offering service in some way and then ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "I guess that makes sense."

  "And as far as these three people asking questions about the yacht, come on. A vessel of that magnitude was worthy of carrying an A-list celebrity or even royalty. I am sure these weren't the only three people who inquired about the Bulls and Bears, just the ones identified thus far to Pritchard."

  "Sounds reasonable, but then why was Pritchard giving me the third degree?"

  "Just doing his job. A person like Pritchard is trained not to make conclusions when uncertainty still exists."

  As they finished their lunch, Ryan shifted awkwardly in his chair and asked, "Have you thought about where you're going to stay?"

  She stared at him without responding.

  He gave a short, nervous cough. "My place is comfortable, at least it will be once I tidy things up a bit, and it will take you out of the line of sight of curiosity seekers." He rushed on. "That is, if you want to. I mean, don't feel pressured."

  She hesitated a moment, then said, "Sure. First, I'll need to do some shopping. Everything I had was on the yacht besides what I picked up yesterday."

  Ryan offered to drive her wherever she needed to go. Within a few hours, they had hit most of the vendors at the open market and Jordan returned to Ryan's place with several bags filled with the latest island fashions along with personal items that she was able to purchase at the local drugstore.

  After returning to his house, they went out back onto the veranda that faced the crystal-clear expanse of Hoopers Bay. As Jordan settled into the wicker couch, she crossed her legs, revealing a tantalizing expanse of thigh in the slit of her tan cotton dress. The offshore breeze flared through her hair as her eyes scanned the tropical horizon.

  She rivals the views here, hands down, he thought.

  Ryan served up some lemonade, not wanting her to think of him as the consummate drunk. She accepted with a "Thanks," brushing his hand with hers as she took the glass. She kept her eyes on him over the rim as she sipped. She pursed her lips from the tartness and recrossed her legs. His eyes followed.

  "So, tell me," she said at last, "last night when I asked you about what area of medical research you specialized in, you said it was a long story. We've got the time now and I'm all ears if you care to elaborate."

  He was torn between answering seriously and flippantly, but decided to give it to her straight. "My company was founded on the fact that with the mapping of the human genome, it was now possible to identify the markers in genes that lead to cancer. We theorized that once these markers were identified, a cure could be developed."

  She smiled, her eyes locked on his. "That's a good theory, but hardly revolutionary."

  "Agreed, but I had already positively identified several markers, which put us one step closer to a cure than anyone else at the time."

  "Very impressive. Were you looking at all cancers or one in particular?"

  "The long-term goal was to find a cure for all cancers, but our initial focus was on ovarian cancer."

  "Any breakthroughs?"

  "At one time I thought so. We were all but certain that we had finally identified all the markers and then developed a serum to target only the cancer cells impacting the ovaries. Through much trial and error and tweaking of the serum, we finally experienced a major breakthrough when all of the infected lab rats were cured after a series of injections of the serum."

  "That is truly remarkable. So your serum cured ovarian cancer in rats?"

  "A one hundred percent cure rate with no signs of remission. They lived a normal life span after a series of injections of the serum."

  "Unreal. Why is the entire medical community not following up on your research?"

  Ryan twisted in his seat and squeezed the bridge of his nose as he contemplated the best way to respond. "Excuse me," he said abruptly. He shoved back his chair as he rose and took his lemonade into the kitchen. Muttering to himself, he dumped a generous portion of Tanqueray into the glass before returning to the veranda. After a healthy swig, he said, "The entire medical community is thankfully not aware of this and no one is following up on my research because the FDA halted the human trials when my drug started killing people."

  Jordan's eyes dropped to her drink and a somber silence hung in the air for several seconds. "I'm so sorry, Ryan. I had no idea." She set down her drink and twisted her hands nervously. In a gentle voice, she said, "We can talk about something else." She couldn't seem to raise her gaze to his.

  Ryan shook his head. "I don't mind talking about it. Don't worry about me. How are you holding up?"

  "As good as can be expected, I guess. Talking with you about all this is helping me take my mind off my own sorrows. I know they each had a long and wonderful life." Jordan bowed her head before continuing. "I know they would have wanted me to celebrate their life and not mourn their death, but the way they died just seems so senseless."

  She raised her head up, gritted her teeth, and stared into Ryan's eyes. "I just can't get to the cele-bration-of-life point of view until I know exactly what happened, and why."

  "That's very understandable." Ryan's face became sullen as he dropped his head down a few notches. "I guess when someone passes away of normal causes, it is much easier to celebrate their life, but when they are suddenly taken in a tragedy, mourning feels more appropriate."

  "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

  Ryan fell silent and stared off into the distance. His heart was racing and his palms began to sweat. He wiped them on his shorts and then rubbed them through his hair. He drained his spiked lemonade, excused himself again, and went into the house. A few minutes later he returned with a fresh drink and a pack of Marl-boros. He took a swig from his glass and li
t up a smoke. As he exhaled, he shot a half-hearted smile towards Jordan. "Bad habit I know. . . ."

  Before he could finish his thought, Jordan interrupted. "Ryan, clearly something is bothering you. You have known me less than a day, yet have treated me with nothing but compassion. If you want to unload, I am here for you."

  "I appreciate that Jordan, but you have enough on your plate and don't need to get involved in my psychosis."

  With a stern yet smiling face, Jordan replied, "Nonsense. That's it. Start talking Matthews."

  Ryan sighed, took another drag of his cigarette, and then crushed it out in the overfilled ashtray sitting on the table beside his chair. "I lied to you." He paused. "Well, not exactly lied, just didn't tell you the whole story. I told you from the get-go it was a long one."

  "Yes, you did. I'm all ears."

  "It wasn't just people who died in the human trials of Tricopatin."

  "Tricopatin?"

  "Yeah, that was the registered name of my serum. Anyway, my wife, Cindy, was a participant in that trial." He dropped his head for a moment and then stared directly at Jordan. "And I made sure that she was not in the placebo group."

  "I'm so sorry, Ryan, but you cannot blame yourself. If your wife was approved to be in that trial, then . . . I don't mean to sound callous, but that had to be her last hope of long-term survival."

  "Of course I know you're right, but I have just never been able to accept my failure."

  "Tell me about Cindy. How did the two of you meet?"

  Ryan took a swig of his drink before continuing. "I met Cindy at Wake Forest. She was a freshman biology major and mistakenly walked into my organic chemistry lab. I was awestruck from the beginning. She was the most gorgeous specimen I had ever seen." Ryan smiled a knowing smile and sat in silence contemplating the moment for a few seconds before continuing.

  "From that day on we were inseparable. We dated all through college. After undergrad, I went to Duke for my MBA and we married the summer after my graduation. Two years later, our daughter, Karly, was born."