An attempt at humor? Sherlock didn't think so. His voice was flat, almost without expression. Those eyes of his when he looked at her, she couldn't begin to understand what was behind his beautiful eyes.
At that moment, Bowie would swear he heard Agent Dolores Cliff sigh. He nearly sighed himself, reminded that her brain was temporarily off the planet. He rose and walked over to Agent Kesselring. "I'm assigning Agent Graham Painter to work with you whenever you are in need of assistance. Agent Painter will get you settled at our local B-and-B." Bowie heard Dolores make a small distressed sound, but didn't acknowledge the sound or Dolores. He was going to keep Dolores and Kesselring as far apart as he could. As for Graham, he was a perfect foil, a good old boy from Little Rock, so easy in his manner and speech you'd think his IQ was about as high as that of the hamburger he was eating. But Graham was sharp and steady and wouldn't get taken in, like Dolores. He could get along with Godzilla, if he had to, and might even get a kick out of Kesselring. Better still, he would keep Kesselring out of their hair.
Bowie said to the group, "I'll be back shortly, after I introduce Agent Kesselring to Agent Painter. He can tell Agent Painter how he wishes to proceed finding this psychopathic mugger. Agent Cliff, you will remain here."
Dolores looked like she was going to say something, but under Bowie's cold eye, she slowly nodded.
When the conference room door closed behind the two men, Sherlock said quietly, "This isn't good, Dillon, not good at all. Do you think it's possible Kesselring is in Schiffer Hartwin's pocket? Here to sweep whatever he can under the rug?"
"Oh, no," Agent Cliff said, sitting forward. "Andreas feels so badly about all this. I know he wouldn't-"
Sherlock said, "Get it together, Agent Cliff, or I'll have to deck you."
Dolores jerked back. "I don't think you have any right to say that to me." Her surprise gave way to insult and then to sheer mean. "You don't look all that tough. I don't think you could do it."
Sherlock couldn't help it, she laughed. "Keep that attitude, Agent Cliff, really, you need to, particularly around Kesselring."
"Easy for you to say, married to him."
Sherlock had to agree. "You got me on that one."
Savich, who'd been on MAX again, looked up. "There's a French pharmaceutical house, Laboratoires Ancondor, that owns the patent on an oral chemotherapy drug called Eloxium. It appears to have different side effects from the usual 5-FU with Culovort. Some of the side effects of Eloxium can remain with the cancer patient for life.
"Here's the kicker-if an oncologist has to switch the patient to the new oral medication, even if Culovort were to subsequently become available, there's no switching the patient back, at least from what I've read. And the oral drug is very expensive since it's not off patent like Culovort."
"Hmm," Sherlock said. "Makes you wonder if there might be some sort of collusion going on between Schiffer Hartwin and Laboratoires Ancondor? Shutting down Culovort production so patients are forced to Eloxium? Remember Carla Alvarez talked about a windfall profit. You don't think-"
Savich said, "I don't know but I'll call Mr. Maitland, have him contact Dice, see what she can dig up."
Dolores Cliff said, "I know drug companies do crappy things, but to stop producing a drug for people with life-threatening cancer to force them to another, very expensive drug? That would be disgusting."
Savich said, "Yeah, it sure would. So please take your blinders off, Dolores. We need to know how to play this. I've got to say from what I've heard this morning, and what I've read on MAX, this doesn't look good to me."
Dolores Cliff didn't say a word. She popped her gum and began chewing viciously.
21
Tuesday afternoon
Erin looked down at her orange Day-Glo watch, a gift from her nephew. She had another hour before she picked Georgie up from school. Then it was back here to straighten the apartment and make sure both she and Georgie looked decent, since Bowie was coming over with take-out Chinese for dinner and bringing along two visiting Washington, D.C., FBI agents. Three FBI agents in her apartment. Three. And here she was, a freshly minted criminal. What had she done in life to bring three FBI agents to her dining table?
You took in Georgie, that's what, idiot. When life gives you lemons, add vodka. No, no, make lemonade.
She'd deal, no choice. If she was smart, they could be three major-league sources for her.
She also had to decide what she was going to say to Dr. Kender at lunch tomorrow. He had to be in agreement with whatever she planned to do with the files from Caskie Royal's computer. He was, after all, the client, and she couldn't be certain she could keep his name buried deep if the files went public. The feds would be all over her about Helmut Blauvelt's murder.