BLIND TRIAL by Brian Deer (best books to read for beginners TXT) 📗

uncertain, Hoffman ordered him to sit, and slam-dunked the score three–two.

Ben scratched again. “I was wondering, you know, maybe she’s, like, looking for reassurance. You know, attention. Someone to hear her concerns. I mean, we did a pretty sucksome job in DC, don’t you think?”

Hoffman listened to the patter and watched the mannerisms. This whole other thing was confusing.

Ben tapped his knees with the tips of his fingers. “She’s definitely planning on taking this further, you know. She said last night, ‘I’m taking this further.’ Her words.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m taking this further.”

“She say how?”

“No. But, you know, I was thinking, sir, if Dr. Honda’s still rooting around on this Wilson thing, printing off lists and whatnot, maybe somebody should maybe go see her. Like, in San Fran. Hold her hand, you know? Don’t you think? Hear her concerns and keep her happy for a few days.”

Hoffman sucked a knuckle. That was good, creative thinking. That might be exactly what was needed right now. Send the kid to Frisco and get the woman so fucked she can’t remember where or why she works. That might possibly do it. He could go blink at her. The kid even thought like his father.

The angle was as subtle as dog shit on a pool table, but the strategy was credible. You couldn’t fault it.

“Okay, good idea. Yup… So, here’s the deal. A special assignment, if you will. You go out to Frisco—front of the plane—and keep that lady sweet as apple pie.”

“What me?”

“Yes, you.”

“No problem.”

“Fuck her if she’ll take it. Buy her dinner if she won’t. Do both, I’ll get you a raise.”

TUESDAY JULY 22

Fifteen

ON LEVEL 4, Building 30, of the San Francisco General Hospital, a pair of heavyweight satin-frosted safety-glass doors marked the boundary of Frank Wilson’s empire. The glass was bisected with tubular chrome handles and, six inches below them, left clear in the frosting, was etched:

WernerVac Clinical Evaluation Center

Ben pushed through the doors at 14:49, Pacific, and held them for Doc Mayr, behind him. After his meeting with Hoffman, the vaccine chief’s office phoned Displays and Presentation and broke the bad news: she was coming. She wasn’t too delighted about flying to the coast but insisted that Ben lacked “clout.”

She tottered ahead of him into a gray linoleum waiting area and dropped onto a green plastic chair. Even spared the trouble of carrying her purse, she was beat from the five-hour flight from Atlanta and kept erupting into bouts of the shakes.

A stout woman rose at the reception counter. “Oh, welcome, welcome. You must be Dr. Mayr. And welcome to you also young sir.” She said her name was Ardelia—Ardelia Chambers—and led them down a gray linoleum corridor.

Ben hung back, hauling the purse, while swiping the Tinder app on his Samsung. Today, his navy suit was paired with white New Balance sneakers that squeaked on the linoleum like mice.

Ardelia opened a window in Wilson’s office before retreating with the promise of coffee. Doc Mayr sagged onto another plastic chair: one of four at a circular table. Then Wilson scooted in, front wheels raised, gliding as silent as a cat.

The center director offered no greeting but rolled to his desk, tapped through emails, then spun, and glared at his visitors. “So, Trudy Mayr, you doubt my integrity? Ha. I take this personally. You hear me?”

“Nice to see you Frank. You need to relax. You’ve had source data verification before.”

Wilson yanked shut the window. Sweat stained his armpits. “Had it before? Ha.” He whirled in a circle: a full three-sixty. “Had it before? Doctorjee’s been here dozens of times.”

She beckoned for Ben to pass an Apple iPad she’d been studying on the plane from Atlanta. “Then you’re probably correct and there’s nothing to worry about. But we’ve got to do this business properly. Yes, properly.”

Wilson scooted to the door and bumped it shut. “Properly? Ha. That Honda woman’s nothing but malicious. Nothing more to it than that. Surly, insolent you-know-what. Bitch.”

“Please, let’s not have any more unpleasantness. That’s what started all this off in the first place.”

“Says that, does she?”

“And look, what if she spreads her nonsense around? At a time like this, the last thing we need is any kind of controversy.”

Wilson threw a snarl to scare the bugs off a windshield. “Woman wouldn’t know a randomized clinical trial from a walnut salad with cheese. Who’d ever listen to her?”

“Who’d listen?” Doc Mayr produced a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. “Let me tell you who’d listen. The press, what’s left of it, would listen. Sure, they would. Any number of those anti-vax fanatics on social media would listen.”

“Screw those clowns.”

“And if there’s anything in what she’s saying about what you’ve been telling our volunteers, we might have a lawsuit on our hands.”

She fired up the iPad and tapped Wilson wit & wisdom. “But what we need to find out first is whether there might be anything she’s simply gotten confused over. We need to assume good faith.”

“Good faith? Ha.”

“So, if you’re amenable, of course, I want us first of all to consider these volunteer retention issues she seems so focused on. It’s the least we can do and, what’s more, it’s the right thing to do.”

“The least thing, you say?”

“And the right thing.”

“Retention issues?”

“I think that’s best.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, let’s get to it. The company’s standard operating procedure in the case of an allegation of research misconduct…”

“Research misconduct? Laughable.”

“… is that we carry out a recorded interview and archive the recording. You’ll get a copy.” She fumbled with her phone.

“Laughable.”

“Perhaps. But we’ve still got to do it. You can decline to cooperate, if you wish. Or seek legal advice, if you wish.”

“Won’t be necessary. It’s all bullshit.”

“Okay then. Now, Frank, the first thing. Why not let us get this one out of the way right now. Is that alright with you?”

“What?”

“Just tell me, did you tell an MSM volunteer, who we understand you’d just informed had seroconverted positive for HIV, and I quote the allegation, that you, or rather he, ‘Should have thought about