The Suicide Effect (24 page)

He hated sports, such a colossal bore. After ten minutes, the guy closest to the phone got up and headed for the bathroom. Moments later, a player scored a three-pointer and tied the game. The second guy at the table jumped up, along with a dozen other guys, and began to cheer. In a flash, Rudker grabbed the phone, spun around, and plowed toward the front door. He half expected to hear one of the guys run up behind him, but they didn’t.

Out in his car, he used the stolen phone to call in a couple of pizzas for pick up. Rudker got a charge out of being anonymous. It made him feel invisible, as if he could do anything and get away with it.

His next stop was Papa Murphy’s, where he picked up two sausage-and-mushroom pies. From there he headed up to Friendly Street. Jimmy’s blue sedan was parked three houses from Sula’s. Rudker eased in across the street from the sedan and walked over with the pizzas. He caught Jimmy snoozing and rapped loudly on the window. Jimmy bolted upright, grabbing for the gun under his jacket. Rudker laughed. He’d forgotten Jimmy carried a weapon.

“Jesus. Don’t ever fucking do that.” Jimmy yelled as he rolled down the window.

“Don’t sleep on the fucking job.”

“I wasn’t. Yeah, I close my eyes every once in a while. But only for a minute or two a time. I’m trained at this. I don’t sleep on stakeouts.”

“Hungry?” Rudker pushed one of the red-and-white boxes at him.

Jimmy set it on the seat beside him. “Am I done here?”

“I need you back at midnight. I have some things to do this evening, but I’ll be back before daylight, before she makes any moves tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jimmy sighed. “I’m still on double pay.”

“Of course.” Rudker retuned to his piece of shit rental, watched Jimmy drive off, then dug into his pizza.

The last light in Sula’s house went off at 11:06. She hadn’t shown her face outside even once. Rudker looked around the neighborhood for a place to urinate, but nothing looked promising. Jimmy would be back in less than an hour, but he didn’t know if he could hold out that long.

Sitting in the car for five hours had been its own special brand of hell. He didn’t know how cops and government agents did it. Rudker had gotten out and walked around twice. He’d kept one eye on Sula’s house and worn a baseball cap to block his face from view. The second time, he’d seen a woman watching him from her front window, so he’d gotten back in the Taurus and driven off, only to circle the block and park out of her line of sight.

The hour passed slowly, and Rudker grew more anxious by the minute. It occurred to him he hadn’t taken his Zyprexa in days. He loved the unbridled energy he was experiencing even though it was dangerous. He would have to settle himself back down eventually, but for now he wasn’t ready. He wanted to stay sharp. And aggressive.

He had important things to accomplish. This morning, after dozing for only an hour or so, he’d woken up to a terrifying realization. Even though he’d arranged to have the files removed from the Puerto Rico clinic, he’d forgotten to track down and destroy the Rios cousins’ paperwork that was still filed somewhere in the bowels of Prolabs. The thought that the paperwork was still there, just waiting to be discovered, freaked him out. That was the reason he was sitting here now. If Sula would steal from Warner’s office and fly to Puerto Rico for her crusade, then she might also try to enter Prolabs in search of the files. She could have a key and might have done it already, before he started watching her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You are your own worst enemy.
Rudker agreed with his internal critic this time. Tara’s slutty treachery had temporarily weakened him, and it was difficult to do battle with a bruised heart and ego. Now he was determined to ignore his emotions and put an end to Sula’s campaign to ruin him. She was a self-involved reactionary, a do-gooder who had no idea of the scientific expertise and dedication that had gone into developing Nexapra. It was a miracle drug that would help thousands more people than it would harm.

Jimmy pulled up behind him at 12:07. Rudker took off without getting out of the car and speaking to the PI. People were paranoid about strangers these days. There was no point in attracting attention.

Chapter 29

Saturday, April 24, 8:17 a.m

“I’ve got your stash, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Jason yawned as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. His roommate had bed hair and was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Robbie abandoned his search under the table.

“I need to know how many I took.”

“There’s about five pills left in the bottle.”

“That means I only took about half.”

“Only?” Jason gave him angry glance.

“Hey, I’m sorry to put you through that. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Jason stopped rummaging through the cupboards and turned to face him. “I want you to get some help. Go see a counselor.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. Make an appointment today.”

“Shrinks aren’t open on weekends.”

“So call the UO hotline.”

“Okay.” Robbie moved into the kitchen and helped himself to a tall glass of water and two aspirin. Physically, he had never felt worse in his life, but emotionally he was recovering. “Hey, I’m all right. I have a plan.”

“What’s that?” Jason’s voice was thick with skepticism.

“Monday, I’m going back to Prolabs with the hope I still have a job. Then I’ll contact Food for Lane County and start volunteering.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Serving meals. Calling donors. Whatever they need me to do. I think it will be good for me to help others, to have a purpose.”

“Hmm. I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Jason poured himself a bowl of Captain Crunch. “But call the university’s crisis hotline today anyway.”

“Chill. I will.”

Jason offered him the box of cereal.

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Robbie poured himself a cup of coffee, took one of his trial meds, then went out to the deck. He dug through the junk box until he found a partial pack of cigarettes he’d stashed a few weeks back. They were stale and slightly crushed, but he didn’t care. He needed the nicotine to stimulate his brain. His life was still shit but he wasn’t ready to give it up.

Sula woke up feeling better than she had in weeks. She would see Tate this morning—that always made her world seem right again. Then she would put the envelope in the mail and be done with the Nexapra business. She had no regrets about her involvement. She would sleep better at night knowing she had done everything she could to ensure the drug was brought to market in a responsible way. It was also a huge relief to have it behind her. Rudker gave her the creeps, and she was eager to move forward with her life and away from any involvement with him. She would take the first steps tomorrow: apply for jobs in the morning, followed by coffee with Aaron.

She scooted into the kitchen, made a small pot of coffee, then stepped out to get the paper. A bright blue sky boosted her spirits even more. She and Tate could play in the park again today. May was coming, followed soon by June and July. If she got custody, they could go camping this summer. And to the water park in Springfield. And to baseball games. Sula couldn’t wait.

As she turned to go back in, a tall male figure across the street caught her attention. The guy wore a black baseball cap, which didn’t seem to go with his khakis and leather jacket. But this was Eugene; there were no dress codes. The man disappeared from view behind a van, and Sula entered the house.

She cruised though the paper in twenty minutes. Normally she devoured every word of the political stories and commentaries, but not today. The oil was still pouring into the gulf, the wars were still raging in the Middle East, and she couldn’t change any of it. She wouldn’t let it get her down.

Sula checked her watch: 7:42. She still had two and a half hours before meeting Tate. She put on Quad City DJs, danced for forty minutes, then showered and made eggs and toast.

It was still only 8:45 and she didn’t need to be at Westmoreland Center until ten. Saturday morning before nine o’clock was not the best time to call one’s lawyer, but at the moment, she had the time and the nerve.

Barbara picked up on second ring and spoke in a bright voice. “Good morning, Sula.” Her lawyer was wide awake and checking caller ID.

“I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I lost my job. I thought you should know before the hearing.”

“Oh no. What happened?” She could hear a chair scoot in the background. Barbara was sitting down for the bad news.

“It’s a strange story.” Sula decided to give her the short version. Barbara didn’t need to be distracted with all the Nexapra stuff. “A scientist at Prolabs didn’t come to work for a few days. I got worried about her, so I went to her office.” Sula began to pace. “The company’s CEO—who’s a little crazy, by the way—saw me outside Dr. Warner’s office with some papers in my hand. He yelled my name and started running at me. It freaked me out, so I ran from him. Then he accused me of stealing and fired me.”

“That’s bizarre.” Barbara hesitated. “Running from him was a little weird too. Why do you think that happened?” Her voice was gentle. She knew Sula’s history.

“I was having a stressful day. You know the scientist who was missing? She was murdered. I had to identify her body at the morgue that morning. I was feeling a little jumpy.”

“I can see why.”

“How bad do you think this will hurt my custody case?”

“I don’t know.” Barbara hesitated again. Sula stomach knotted up. Finally, her lawyer spoke. “Last week, I wouldn’t have been worried. But on Friday, I got a call from Adam Bianchi, the attorney who represents Emily and John Chapman. He offered a settlement deal.”

“What deal? What are you talking about?”

“The Chapmans plan to bring up your family history at the hearing. Bianchi already prepared the brief. They argue that a history of mental illness could and should be a deciding factor in who raises Tate.”

“Oh God.” Sula collapsed on the couch. “That’s so unfair.”

“They’ve offered a deal. If you’ll drop your custody petition and terminate your parental rights, they’ll agree to bi-weekly, unsupervised visitation.”

Sula sucked in a sharp breath. She’d been pushing for more frequent visitation for a year. Now they were offering it to her, but she had to give up—forever—her dream of having Tate live with her. “You think I should take the deal, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily. The courts traditionally like to return children to their biological parents whenever they can. And you are a fit parent by any court standard. Even if we lose the custody hearing, we can still petition for more visitation.”

Stress flooded her system. To get Tate back, she would have to listen to lawyers discuss that tragic day when her father, mother, and sister all died. She might even have to talk about it. “They’re trying to scare me off.”

“Exactly.”

“No deal.”

“Good for you. By the way, are you okay for money? Can you collect unemployment?”

“I filed for it. They have to review the circumstances of my termination and make a decision. I haven’t heard yet.”

“Do you need some money in the meantime?”

Barbara’s generosity made Sula’s eyes tear up. “I’m fine for now. But thanks for asking. You’ve been great to me.”

“So make my job easier. Get out there and find a new job.” Barbara laughed, but Sula knew she was serious.

“I will.”

“See you in court.”

Sula ignored the anxious, negative thoughts that kept popping into her head. She couldn’t let fear paralyze her. She grabbed the classified section of the paper, went through it systematically, and made a list of places to apply. Suddenly it was 9:42 and she was running late. She grabbed her purse and the envelope addressed to the FDA and headed out to her truck.

Rudker watched Sula leave the house. He liked the way her jeans showed off her ass when she climbed into the truck. She seemed to be in a hurry, throwing the truck into reverse and backing out of the driveway before it had warmed up. That wasn’t good for a vehicle.

Then it registered. She’d had a manila envelope in her hands. It looked thick, like it had something more than paper. Rudker’s heart quickened. Did it have anything to do with her trip to Puerto Rico? Had she got to the research center before his contact made the files disappear? Were the files about to be mailed to FDA?

He couldn’t let that happen. If she stopped in front of a big blue mailbox, he would ram into her car. That was along the lines of what he had planned anyway, but a little less subtle, and ultimately, less dangerous for her. He followed the purple truck down Friendly Street toward 18th Avenue, staying a full block behind her.

The morning was quiet, no cars shared the road, and no pedestrians were on the sidewalk. Rudker considered making his move now. Slam her car, grab the envelope, and speed away. No, not yet. The risk for him was too great, and the scare factor for her, not nearly high enough. He would stick to the plan.

Sula turned left on 18th. Rudker followed two cars back. He removed the stolen cell phone from his jacket pocket, but the traffic was too thick and unpredictable for him to take his eyes off the road long enough to call. A few minutes later, the girl turned left on Chambers. Very nice. Maybe she was heading out of town without any encouragement from him.

Left again at the first feeder street. Where in the hell was she going?

The truck pulled into the Westmoreland Community Center parking lot. Rudker cruised past the entrance and took the next driveway into the adjacent middle school. He circled back and parked by the street about 200 yards from Sula’s truck. She was already out of her vehicle and walking toward a blue minivan.

Rudker watched with curiosity as a little blond boy, who looked about four, got out of the van and ran up to Sula. The boy gave her a quick hug around the legs, then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the playground. Perplexed, Rudker wondered whose kid he was. He’d checked Sula’s HR file to find her address and cell phone number—then had read her whole file just for sport—but he hadn’t seen anything about a kid. Who were the people in the minivan?