sigh.
“Is it standard practice to develop the same drugs as a competitor? Isn’t it easier to make a knock-off after the original hits the market?”
“Not since the government imposed what is referred to as the Cloning Act. It states the company that develops any new drug has an automatic 10 year patent on it.”
“Meaning . . . if Mantis gets approval first, Litchfield would be left out in the cold.”
“That’s not the main reason in this case, however.”
“Then what—money?”
“I don’t think you realize the overall potential of Memoradium, Miss Malone. It is not another form of aspirin. This is a revolutionary drug that, from all indications, may reverse the effects of memory loss brought on by old age, Alzheimer’s, strokes, as well as certain brain damage caused in auto accidents or falls.”
The impact of the multiple uses of Memoradium began to flood Jennifer’s mind.
“This thing is going to be bigger than a cure for cancer, isn’t it?” she asked.
“When it comes to the brain and its capacity for memory, there are what is known as the three R’s: Registration, Retention and Recall,” McIntyre said. “With the advent of Memoradium, we are confident a fourth ‘R’ will be added—Reconfiguration.
“As I understand it, reasoning and intellectual ability depend upon pathways or routes among the cells of the brain. When a pathway becomes blocked, information from that cell cannot connect with other cells. So, for instance, you may be able to identify an object and explain its use, but aren’t able to come up with the object’s name,” McIntyre paused, then added, “This is because the name is contained in a cell assembly which for whatever reason, is functionally disconnected from other assemblies. In animal lab tests with Memoradium, we’ve been able to unblock those pathways that no longer send information to other cells.”
It took Jennifer several seconds for the drug’s ramifications to register.
“And if Memoradium works on humans, Mantis would presumably have a monopoly on the memory drug market forever.”
“And make billions of dollars of profit along the way.”
They sat and passively watched each other, no longer the adversaries they had been a short time ago.
“What are the odds of getting approval from Senator Adams’ ethics committee?” Jennifer inquired, breaking the silence.
“We assume our application will be rubber-stamped.”
“Don’t be too sure about that, Mr. McIntyre. The politics of pharmaceuticals became much more volatile this morning.”
“How so?” McIntyre asked intently.
After what he’d given up, Jennifer was tempted to tell McIntyre the boss was dead and his public relations job was about to become a lot more interesting. There would be no time to lounge around talking to pretty female students about the drug industry.
“I have a reporter’s instincts for these things, nothing more.” She could tell he wasn’t buying it for a second, yet gave him credit for not pursuing her statement further. “One final thing, Mr. McIntyre. Who owns this company?”
“Robert Barker. President and C.E.O. He’s the son of the founder and owns 90% of the stock.”
“And if he were to leave the company for some reason, who would take over control?”
“If you mean if he were to die today, I’m really not sure. I presume his wife might—Lynn Barker.”
“Does she own any stock?”
“I’m not sure. I’m guessing Robert would will his stocks to her. Again, I don’t know any specifics.”
A frown came over Jennifer’s face.
“Is there something wrong?” McIntyre asked nervously.
Jennifer ignored his question and glanced at her watch: 10:45.
“One last thing. Do you have a year-end company report I can take with me? You know—one the company hands out to the public.”
McIntyre hesitated.
“Why do you need one of those?”
“Reporter’s instincts. I just want to have a current copy that has factual figures in it. Nothing more, honest,” she lied again.
McIntyre reluctantly took a glossy report from the top drawer of a filing cabinet and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a brief smile.
Jennifer grabbed her coat off her chair, hoping against hope her recorder didn’t drop to the floor.
“I really do have to leave now, Mr. McIntyre.”
The look of foreboding manifested itself afresh on McIntyre’s face, as he grabbed Jennifer’s arm and turned her toward him. She could see perspiration beginning to form at his temples.
“You promise that the Memoradium project will not appear in any of your articles?” he implored.
“You have my word, Mr. McIntyre. I will hold this conversation in the strictest confidence,” Jennifer replied, gently pulling her arm out of his grip. “The only time you’ll see any mention of Memoradium is when it becomes public knowledge. However,” she added, “if I hear about it on the street and believe another news organization is going to print or televise some aspect of the project, I will go public with what I know. Does that sound fair?”
McIntyre still had a look of a man buying a used car from a shady salesman.
“I guess it will have to do, won’t it?”
Jennifer left McIntyre alone and made her way to the lobby where Kimberly met her warmly.
“Was Mr. McIntyre able to answer your questions?”
“All of them and then some,” Jennifer replied. “Thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
She exited the building and used her cell phone to call the paper.
“You’re late, Malone!” Mitch advised her.
“Have they ID’d the dead guy yet?”
“Not yet. Girard is running down a lead we picked off a police scanner. It seems there’s a lot of police activity on Whitecastle Boulevard in New Liston.”
“Get hold of him and say I’ll meet him there, okay?”
Jennifer terminated the connection as Carson excitedly asked, “What about your big lead?”
Driving to New Liston, Jennifer had a gut feeling that when the police arrived at Robert Barker’s house, Mrs. Barker wouldn’t be home. It was only a feeling but some days, especially days like this, instincts were
