Hard To Breathe, page 29
part #2 of Drake Cody Series
“Don't worry about that,” Kline said.
Rizz felt steam building—the corrupt bastard. In less than five minutes, Lloyd had Kline unequivocally identify his role in a plan to pirate D-44 while playing middle man to both the university and the Swiss pharmaceutical firm.
The plan made sense but ignored the fact that by all justice, the intellectual property rights belonged to Drake.
“Do you know Afton Tait, the lead university attorney on the lab and research seizure?” Lloyd said.
“Afton is not the lead. Actually, he's more of a gopher for the board and lead attorneys,” Kline said. “I've been in regular communication with the lead counsel and key administrative people.”
“I doubt you are aware, but in discussions with Afton, he shared with me the opinion that the D-44 legal claims of Dr. Rizzini,” Lloyd nodded toward Rizz, “and Dr. Jon Malar are not enforceable.”
“Exactly.” Kline brightened and sat forward. “That was discussed in some detail. No one is worried about them.”
“But Drake Cody, in contrast, has a very solid claim. In fact, Afton acknowledged that everything Drake Cody had done identified him as the lead investigator, that he took all good faith efforts to maintain the research as private, and that his claim was legitimate. Isn't that true?”
“There was talk of that.”
“So it was understood that Drake had developed the drug and had not engaged in any effort to sell the drug? True?” Lloyd said. He picked up his scotch and sipped it.
“Yes,” Kline said.
“And isn’t it true that you and the university legal team investigated the legal documentation and found that, due to fraudulent actions by attorney Faith Reinhorst Malar, there was a possibility of successfully challenging Dr. Cody’s ownership? Further, didn't they identify that if the university had the drug in their possession, regardless of true ownership, they would benefit?”
“It's a legal world. The truth is whatever the law says it is,” Kline said. “You know that. Whoever’s attorneys argue best decides what the truth is.”
“I think you and the university lawyers know that the intellectual property rights to D-44 should stay with Drake,” Lloyd said.
“Should? You mean like fair?” Kline sniffed and shook his head. “The university legal team thinks they can win in court. That's all that matters.” Kline paused. “If you want to help these doctors, let them know they can't fight an organization this big and win. It could drag on for years and cost millions.” He shrugged. “Maybe make a quick deal. Your clients agree to give up any claim. They get a few thousand dollars, and the university will help its citizens. You get some money. It’s the best you can hope for. A court fight will be long and expensive, and you won’t win.”
“Maybe you're right,” Lloyd said. He removed an envelope from his pocket. “If you bring the proposal in this envelope to the university personnel who have the authority to make a deal happen, this could be over in twenty-four hours. Can you assure me you are in contact with executive level administrators with the authority to make such a deal?”
“I assure you this will go to the very top. I’ll present this personally to...” Kline named several administrators that were known publicly and pocketed the envelope.
Rizz had known Lloyd was good, but witnessing this was like seeing an All-Star athlete at the top of their game. He slipped another peek at the cell phone on his lap below the table top. The indicator on the phone’s digital recorder continued to signal. Rizz had captured it all.
Kline had got to his feet and was primping at his sleeves and collar. The man did not have a clue that he'd just had his ass kicked.
“Geez, CEO Kline,” Rizz loved emphasizing the undeserved title with Kline, who had no idea how many megatons of sarcasm were loaded in his words, “I'm still curious about that great suit. Macy's? It was probably Macy's, right?”
Kline looked at Rizz like he was a dolt and, without a word, spun on his heel and left.
Chapter 72
The crime scene was as blood-tracked and contaminated a mess as any Aki had worked.
His first shooting in an RV. Blood had mixed with the tracked-in snow, making it looked like a giant grisly snow cone had been dumped on the floor.
The Dayton and Maple Grove volunteer Fire/Rescue and police squads had been on site for a while by the time Aki had arrived. The road conditions made everything slow.
The first policeman on the scene had called Aki when Beth Ogren had informed him of the domestic violence case and shown Aki’s card. The scene was in the Hennepin County Sheriff’s jurisdiction but Aki and Farley had beaten them to the scene. A county deputy had just arrived and after Aki updated him on the history and pending action against Dan Ogren, the deputy had joined Farley in the other room attempting to get a statement from Beth Ogren.
When the lead crime scene investigator arrived, he'd looked at the snow- and blood-tracked mess and had just shaken his head.
They'd cleared out everyone except Beth Ogren, who remained in the bedroom with Farley and the deputy. She'd refused the offer of an ambulance transport to the ER.
She'd repeated the same thing several times between sobs.
“I had to. He was going to kill me.”
Aki had known that Beth Ogren had been staying in the RV. Her attorney had filed for a restraining order on Dan Ogren, though it had yet to be served. It didn't look like it would be needed now.
The scene, contaminated as it was, told a story. A four-wheel drive vehicle registered to Ogren Automotive was parked outside the RV. From the location of the pool of blood it looked like he'd collapsed about ten feet from where he'd made his entry. The first responders had bagged the .38 caliber pistol they'd found next to Dan Ogren's body.
A nine-millimeter pistol had been found on the floor next to where first responders found Beth standing sobbing and hysterical when they arrived by snowmobile in response to her 911 call.
It looked pretty clear-cut.
But there was always a wrinkle. A metal tank had been found in a leather athletic bag next to Dan. It was labeled as containing nitrogen and had plastic tubing and a breathing mask attached to it. The crime scene investigator said breathing nitrogen would kill.
Dan Ogren carrying a nitrogen tank. What the hell?
Aki didn't have all the answers, but the big question looked to be answered without doubt. Beth Ogren had acted in self-defense.
Two of the other questions involved Dr. Drake Cody. One—had Dan Ogren been the one who tried to kill Drake? That question mattered.
Question two—and this one didn't much matter to Aki—would Drake be able to keep Ogren alive, making Beth's actions justifiable assault rather than justifiable homicide?
Aki really didn't give a shit if Ogren made it. He certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.
Was he cynical? Maybe.
One thing he was sure of—if Ogren died it meant no trial and one less asshole out there hurting people.
Chapter 73
ER
Drake stripped off his surgical gown and collapsed into a chair at the counter outside the Crash Room.
“Geez, Doc. Did you jump in the shower with your scrubs on?” An ER orderly carrying a stack of white towels stopped in front of him.
“What?” Drake asked.
“You're soaked.” The young woman smiled. “Catch.” She flipped him a towel.
“Thanks.” Out in the blizzard and in the helicopter he'd been freezing. Now after his resuscitation efforts under the Crash Room lights, his hair and scrubs were drenched with sweat.
He buried his face in the soft, dry fabric. The fresh laundered scent was like perfume in contrast to the odor of blood and booze that still hung in the Crash room. There was no doubt Ogren had been drinking.
Drake toweled the perspiration off his neck and arms.
The surgeons had Ogren in the OR. His injuries were more than serious enough to have killed him by now.
Ogren demonstrated what police, rescue workers, and hospital staff knew to be a perverse natural law. The bigger the jerk, the more reprehensible the criminal, the more likely they were to stay alive. Even though everything in his care had gone flawlessly, the fact that he had not yet died defied all probability.
The bullet had passed through Dan's mouth and jaw and then entered his neck. It tore through his trachea and lodged deep in his spine.
When Drake had arrived at the RV, Dan Ogren had essentially been dead. As limp as a piece of meat—likely his spinal cord damaged. Cold to the touch. No pulse.
Kneeling on the blood- and snow-tracked carpet of the RV, Drake had passed an airway through the ravaged mouth and bloody tissues. He'd slipped an airway tube between the slack vocal cords and into the trachea. He'd advanced it beyond the hole the bullet had torn in the windpipe, establishing a path for air and a chance for life. He'd placed IVs and delivered blood and fluids while they transported the grievously wounded body via snowmobile sled and then helicopter.
The wife-abusing, attempted murderer had arrived in the ER alive.
Further stretching those odds, Dan Ogren had now made it to the OR.
Drake took a deep breath. Exhaustion pulled at him. He rubbed his face and looked around. The ER occupancy board showed a few empty beds—a rarity on evenings at this time. An overhead hospital-wide announcement sounded, advising personnel to avoid nonemergency travel. The storm continued.
Earlier, Drake had called Tracy in the ICU and got an update on Rachelle—she had not declined. He needed to dictate his Air Care and Crash Room report then get to the ICU to be with her. The helplessness and desperation he felt were not unique. He'd seen many people fight to hold themselves together as the lives of a loved one dangled out of control.
***
“Dr. Cody.”
Drake raised his head, feeling lost.
“Dr. Cody,” the station secretary repeated from behind the adjacent counter.
Unreal. He'd zoned out after completing his Crash Room dictation. He looked at the clock. It had only been a few minutes. No sleep and still recovering from his allergic reaction—fatigue so great he ached.
“Detective Yamada is calling from the Surgery waiting room wondering if he can come talk with you.”
“Sure. Fine.” Drake rubbed his face. “Please ask him to come right over.” His fuzzy-headedness began to clear.
Aki's work and the ER oftentimes went together—violent crime and medical care. Lately the link too often involved Drake and those he loved.
Had Aki been to the scene of the shooting? Must have.
Beth Ogren. Drake had not had time to talk with her. She'd look dazed. Her words, “I had to. He was going to kill me,” raw with anguish.
Thank God she'd stopped her husband.
Drake was exposed to a lot of death, and he knew a lot about how to keep people alive. Beyond that, he didn't have special access to any of life's mysteries. But he wondered.
He wanted to fully believe in a just God, but his spiritual teeter-totter went from abject doubt to a belief linked to an expectation of damnation. Scant comfort arose from anywhere on that spectrum.
An old saying claimed, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” Drake wondered how many who came to believe also feared they carried a ticket to hell?
He was too fatigued and emotionally stretched for theological pondering. He was ready to believe in anything that might help Rachelle.
Luck, science, divine intervention—fingers crossed, promises of good works, knocking on wood, praying—he'd embrace them all if they improved her chance of recovery.
He thought with appreciation of Kaye and her caring for the kids. Knowing the kids were with her made Drake certain that Shane and little Kristin were okay. That was one of few things he did not have to worry about.
His fear for Rachelle could overwhelm him.
The State Medical Board planned to strip him of his career.
The university and the giant pharmaceutical corporation were working to take his research.
Someone had tried to kill him.
Despite everything, he had to keep it together. All that could be done for Rachelle was being done. He needed to think about their future and what he could do to make it secure.
If Rachelle could get well, Drake knew that the family would get by. Things might be very different, but whatever else happened, if they were together and healthy they'd make it. Together and healthy were special gifts.
He hadn’t given up on his career or D-44, but his battle plans were risky and the odds were against him.
Had Lloyd and Rizz reached out to the university yet? A drug with the promise of D-44 was worth millions. If it proved to be safe and effective in humans, it could be billions. Did that leave him hope? Or did the size of the prize guarantee the maximum in cutthroat corporate and organizational greed?
In many forms of fighting, one could use an opponent's momentum against them. Drake knew how to fight. His and Rachelle's dreams were not lost yet.
Detectives Yamada and Farley rounded the secretary's station, their coats folded over their arms.
Drake turned toward them.
“You look tired, Doc,” Aki said as they reached him. Farley nodded. They dumped their coats on the counter and took chairs facing him.
“We weren't able to talk to anyone from surgery. They moved Ogren to the ICU. We're not allowed in there yet. That RV looked like a slaughterhouse. What are his chances?” Aki said.
“Almost zero,” Drake said. “Huge blood loss. A long time with no blood pressure. His carotid artery was hit. It's one of the main suppliers of blood to the brain, so he may have stroked out. In addition, the bullet probably nailed his spinal cord. He shouldn't have survived this long.”
“Can't say I'm too broken up,” Aki said. They were all silent for a moment.
“We have some good news for you, Doc,” Aki said. “And also some questions we’re hoping you can help us with.”
“I'm with you,” Drake said.
“First, the good news. Ogren had an athletic bag at the scene with him. Did you see it?”
“I saw a leather bag. On the couch, I think,” Drake said.
“That's the one. Inside was a nitrogen tank and a breathing mask.” Aki flipped a thumb towards Farley. “My partner remembered seeing the bag before.”
“Okay,” Drake said.
“It’s leather, has handles and a strap. Our crime scene people just identified it as a,” he read off his notepad, “Vaqueta Leather Duffel Weekender, and it sells for over four hundred bucks. Very unusual.”
“Why does the bag matter?” Drake said.
“It matches the bag that was carried by the guy who dumped penicillin into your car's fan intake. We have it on a parking ramp security video from a couple of hours before your reaction. Everything fits—Ogren’s size, movement, and now the bag. It wouldn’t have been enough to convict, but it was him. Ogren is the one who tried to kill you.”
Drake’s still aching throat clenched as he flashbacked to being unable to breathe, certain he was going to die—a nightmare while fully awake.
Dan Ogren had done that to him.
“I don't think I'll have to worry about him anymore,” Drake said.
“A good thing,” Aki said. “I wanted to ask you about the tank. Our crime scene guy said breathing nitrogen could kill. Farley thinks Ogren planned to use it to kill his wife. Make sense to you?”
Drake thought for a moment. He sighed.
His instincts that first day in the ER had been right. Ogren was evil.
“Breathing nitrogen would kill,” Drake said.
“Could it pass as a natural death?” Farley spoke for the first time. “Could he have got away with it?”
Farley seemed about Drake's age. What he'd done at the riverside shoot-out weeks back proved his fleshy, soft guy appearance did not reflect the inner man.
“I think it might,” Drake said. “If it's important we need to ask Kip. Does it matter? He didn't pull it off.”
“That's just it,” Farley said. “I interviewed Ogren's right-hand man after the shooting. An attorney named Mesh. He was totally shocked. When I told him Ogren had showed up at his wife's with a gun, the guy went white and almost passed out. I mentioned the nitrogen. Turns out it's used for inflating car tires and is at all the dealerships. When I suggested it might be used to kill someone, he got real quiet.” Farley paused.
“Tell him,” Aki said.
“The attorney told me Ogren's father died at the nursing home yesterday. Supposedly the old guy just stopped breathing,” Farley said. “Ogren was alone with him when it happened.
“We need to call Kip,” Drake said. “He'll make it a ME case and be all over it.” He imagined the twisted forensic pathologist's inappropriate glee at having such a diabolical death to investigate. “If anyone can find out if nitrogen killed Ogren's father, it's Kip.”
“I figured we'd need him.” Aki did not sound enthused.
Drake sat still while trying to process all that had gone on.
“What set Ogren off?” Drake said. “If we're right, within a five-day period, he beat his wife, tried to murder me, killed his father, then attempted to kill his wife.”
Farley fidgeted and looked away.
“What?” Drake said.
“Ogren had a prenuptial agreement.”
“How does that matter?” Drake said.
Farley seemed hesitant. “An element of the prenup said if he were convicted of domestic violence, the agreement would be void. Everything he owned would be in play in a divorce judgment. His attorney said the dealerships alone are worth over thirty million.” Farley shrugged.
“Beating his wife was probably not rare for this asshole,” Aki said. “But when you filed your report and got him arrested, it set him up to take a huge hit financially. He couldn't afford to be convicted of abuse and divorced. He probably tried to kill you to beat the conviction. When that failed and he learned his wife planned to divorce, he went after her directly.” He shrugged. “Think about it. If he'd gotten away with killing you, it would’ve been very unlikely he’d get convicted on the domestic violence charge. If he’d gotten away with killing her—no divorce. Killing his father—inheritance. In a sick way it all makes sense—if you’re totally twisted.”
