Knockout Mouse Page 15

  “What makes it ‘monoclonal’?”

  “Mouse and rabbit populations are induced to produce the particular antibody you want. The antibody is fused with a myeloma cell. This allows you to reproduce it in what are called immortal cell lines. The antibodies are all clones. From these you derive therapeutics, such as MC124, to inject in patients. The antibody does its tagging work and recruits the immune system to attack the cancer cells. This kind of monoclonal is called a naked MAb. Others are conjugated with toxins or radioisotopes to kill the pathogens. MAbs to treat breast cancer, non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and transplant rejection, among other things, are already on the market.”

  “It sounds like they do the same kind of thing to cancer cells that an allergic immune system does to a pollen or shellfish protein.”

  “In certain ways. I always felt Sheila had her own personal reasons for getting into this field. You saw her mother at the funeral? She has lupus, which is a different kind of immune disease—autoimmune. Her system mistakes her body’s own cells for antigens. MAbs are being developed for autoimmune diseases, too.”

  “I think Sheila was afraid she’d inherit it from her mother.”

  “It’s certainly possible. Sheila didn’t like to talk about it, though. Maybe she opened up about it more to her diary.”

  I affirmed with a nod. Karen stared into her empty coffee cup. “She had these depths of—I don’t know, pain. I tried to reach her, to be a friend. She was one of the best, the most inquiring, the most genuine people I’ve met. But she kept so much bottled inside.” Karen touched a finger to the wet corner of her eye and averted her gaze.

  “I only knew her a little,” I said. “But I saw that, too.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments. “Anyway,” Karen said, “monoclonals have been around for a while. They were big in the eighties: someone called them ‘magic bullets.’ Two scientists in Cambridge won a Nobel. But the drugs didn’t work the way they were supposed to in humans. Frederick McKinnon was a young dynamo at the time, poised to make a name with a small company. He had to go back to the bench before new techniques made the treatment feasible again. This is an incredible comeback for him.”

  “And he wouldn’t want anyone getting in the way of it.”

  “Yes, but—well, if there’s a snag, it’s going to come out sooner or later. Better sooner. The earlier problem they had with MAbs was that they were essentially mouse antibodies. Humans in turn developed their own antibodies against the murine ones. The therapy could only be used once before the patient became ‘immune’ to it. These new monoclonals are better targeted and more highly humanized—a few of them are fully human.”

  “So humanized just means the antibody is made partly of human genes.”

  “Yes. You take whatever antigen you want to attack and inject it into a transgenic mouse whose immune genes are either partially or wholly human. The mouse produces the antibody, which you isolate from its spleen cells. You then fuse the antibody with human bone cancer cells, which tend to proliferate like mad. This allows the hybridoma, as it’s called, to divide and multiply. You select the most effective hybridoma culture, propagate it in the lab or in mice, and then purify your MAb from them to use as a drug.”

  “So where in that process did Sheila think MC124 went wrong?”

  “That’s the big question. McKinnon is truly convinced it works and is safe. But Sheila had such a thorough mind, she insisted on getting to the bottom of whether it killed this mouse. I still don’t know why she left the group. I don’t think McKinnon forced her.”

  I remembered my tape. “So what exactly did Sheila bring to you? Was she carrying a big leather bag?”

  Karen blinked a few times, taking herself back to that day. “I guess she was. All her data on the mouse. Samples, ELISAs, amino acid sequences, immunoassays, notebooks, printouts. Maybe—well, probably she didn’t have permission to take them from the lab.”

  “I have a feeling that’s why those two guys were trying to trap you and me like rabbits. Neil Dugan wants that stuff.”

  “Yeah, it could be someone reported her. It’s all at my house right now. You don’t think they’d go after it, do you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Karen jumped up and went to a phone in the back of the cafe. She returned with a relieved look. “You were right. They came. Tried to push their way in. My roommate called the police, and they backed off.”

  “It’s good to know they’ll stop at something.”

  “Well, they’ll have to stop some more. I’m going to get a restraining order slapped on those guys. You’ve got their names?”

  I nodded. “What about Gregory? And your job?”

  A sudden laugh erupted from Karen. “At that company? The axe is about to fall anyway. BioVerge is going nowhere.”

  I gave her Pratt’s card. “How did you get hooked up with Gregory in the first place? You seem like—”

  “I should have known better?” She let out a mock wail. “Don’t remind me! At the time, bioinformatics was the hottest pot boiling on the stove. I came in with Ron, Gregory’s partner. Ron’s a top-notch guy, but he didn’t know the IT side. Gregory acted like he had it licked. He totally evangelized us. We signed on the dotted line.”

  I gave a wry smile. “I know the feeling. I got drawn into all this doing film work for Kumar Biotechnics. Gregory tried to make me believe they were stealing some software of yours, and I should hand over Kumar’s footage.”

  “What a joke. Kumar’s got BioVerge licked from here to Toledo. I’m sure they’ll get the LifeScience contract. Then Gregory’s little shell game will be kaput.”

  “Certain things are starting to fall into place.”

  “That little rat. I knew something was up. He told me to come down for some mysterious meeting today. Then he stuck me in a side room and disappeared into the conference. When I heard him railing at Rikki, I got worried. He was out of control. I went for the exit.”

  “We can go rescue your car later tonight.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get a few friends together to do it.”

  I sat back. Karen had that ready look on her face again. She had trusted me. It was time to trust her. “I have a copy of Sheila’s diary. I also found some disks in her apartment. If we put them together with what you know about her research, we might come up with some answers to how she was killed. What do you say?”

  We were alone in the cafe now. The handful of people who’d been lingering from lunch had left. Karen’s mouth curved into a small Mona Lisa smile. I took it for agreement, and smiled back. Then her eyes wandered over to the glass case by the cash register. “God, wouldn’t you just love a piece of chocolate cake right now?”

  22

  There was only one way Gregory could have gotten Jenny’s address: Neil Dugan. The same connection, I figured, that had resulted in Pratt busting into the parking lot to get me and Karen. Gregory had set me up completely. Yet I’d played a part, too: I was the one who’d told Dugan and Harros to call Gregory to validate my reason for being in that parking lot on the night Sheila was killed.

  And I knew it had to be Gregory. I knew it before I saw the boot print. After leaving Karen, I’d come to Jenny’s. I rang the bell and pounded on the door. No answer. I used my key to get in. There was a strong alcohol smell. I went straight to the kitchen. The back door had been kicked in. Crockery and glass were in shards all over the floor.

  I called for Jenny, knowing I wouldn’t get a response. The dining room was untouched, but the white curtains in the living room were torn down. The rods were in pieces in front of the window. Lamps were broken and lolling on the floor. For a moment I wondered if Jenny had had a massive tantrum.

  Then the huge stain jumped out from the cream white carpet and sofa. Blood, I thought. I knelt to touch it. No, it was too purple, too aromatic. I noticed the jagged shards of a wine bottle. It had been smashed against the coffee table. The liquid was splattered everywhere. The diagonals of a boot print confirmed
my intuition of who’d done it.

  I checked in the bedroom and bathroom. They’d been similarly wrecked. The shower curtain was ripped from its rings. Toiletries littered the tile. But there was no sign of Jenny.

  I rushed to the Scout. It never occurred to me to call the police. My only thought was to find him. He wouldn’t have taken her to the office, I was sure of that. But I’d force Rikki to give me his home address. And then I’d find Gregory and wring his neck like a dishcloth.

  Rikki just about jumped out of her chair when I barged into the BioVerge lobby. She opened her mouth without speaking. “Where is he?” I yelled. I slapped my hands on the counter and leaned toward her without lowering my voice. “Give me his address!”

  “He’s—he’s—in his office?”

  The direction of her glance told me which way to go. I marched down the corridor. If any of the employees I passed had any sense, they’d have tried to stop me.

  The door to Gregory’s office was closed. I paused just a moment, then burst in. I had no intention of stopping at the threshold to talk. I plunged straight for his desk. But his chair was empty.

  The telephone was buzzing. That would be Rikki, announcing my arrival. The sound of running water came from behind a closed door across the room. I rushed through the door and into a large bathroom. The carpeting was plush, even more cushy than in the office. I never did like people who carpeted their bathrooms. Gregory stood in front of a sink, reaching for a towel.

  He caught sight of me charging him in a mirror framed like a big painting that hung above the sink. He turned, holding up the towel in defense or surrender—I didn’t care which. I took his left wrist in both hands and wrenched it up behind his back. He bellowed. I used my body to shove his hips hard against the sink. Now I had a good enough hold on his arm with my left hand to use my right to grab his hair. But it was too short to grip, so I twisted his right ear. In the mirror I could see his forehead, corrugated in pain.

  “Where is she, Gregory? Where’s Jenny?”

  “Fuuuuck!” he screamed.

  “Speak softly, please.” I wrenched his arm harder behind his back. He screamed again. I looked around. The glass-enclosed shower was empty. The treadmill was quiet. She wasn’t here.

  I jerked his ear up so I could see his face full in the mirror. Relaxing my hold on his left arm a tad, I said in a calmer voice, “Just tell me where Jenny is, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  His eyes widened. Not with fear, nor anger, but with puzzlement. This had been Gregory’s shortcoming all along: he was too easy to read. It was written like a headline across his face. He didn’t have Jenny. She hadn’t been there when he trashed her apartment, either.

  My eyes fell to a familiar shape on the counter. I had a weird flash of Jenny’s bathroom, and didn’t understand why—until I focused on the small bottle of expensive hand lotion next to the soap. It was Jenny’s.

  “You idiot,” I said.

  I was saved from having to decide what to do with him by three guys who burst through the door. Gregory screamed for help. They were on me fast. They weren’t exactly athletic, but there were three of them. I had to let Gregory go to fend them off. The room was all elbows and knees for about thirty seconds. Then they got control of my limbs. Gregory slapped me in the head, someone else kicked me in the shins, and a knee to the groin left me gasping. They pinned me hard against the wall next to the towel rack. I couldn’t even bend over. All I could do was suck in big howling gulps of air. The knee had not been a direct hit, but close enough.

  Gregory quivered before me, bent at the waist. His fists closed into tight knots. When my vision cleared enough to make out his face, I saw that it was red, all the way down to the roots of his bleached hair.

  “You shithead, you double-crossed me!” His eyes bulged at me until he was sure my attention was back with him. “The tapes you gave me are worthless.”

  “It’s not like you came through on your end of the bargain.” My words were punctuated by small gasps. “Anyway, I can’t help it if you don’t know how to interpret the data.”

  “The audio level is too low to hear anything, and the video is nothing but a bunch of test shots at Kumar’s.”

  “Plus you in the parking lot. Telling me how great your penny-ante company is. That’s a bonus.”

  My breath was returning to normal—as normal as it could be with three guys bolting me to wall. Gregory’s face was fading from red back to bright pink, but his eyes still burned. He shook his right fist.

  “Hold him good.” He zeroed in on me. “I just want one shot. This is going to feel so good, buddy.”

  He cocked the fist. He didn’t really know what he was doing. The idiot went for my face. I watched his eyes carefully and jerked my head away at the last moment. His fist smashed into drywall.

  Gregory howled in pain again and hopped to the other side of the bathroom, hand clutched in his armpit. The guys pinning me were startled enough to loosen their grip. I broke free, though not before one of them stomped on my foot. I got to the door, threw it open, and found a crowd waiting in Gregory’s office. They retreated a few feet as I stumbled out.

  Rikki stared at me with an incredulous face. “Like—?”

  Two of the guys spilled out after me. They slowed at the sight of the crowd and their wide eyes. I hobbled to the edge of Gregory’s desk. He appeared a moment later, leaning on the third guy. Gregory’s face was wet. His right fingers hung in front of him like gnarled clothespins. “Jesus, I think they’re broken.”

  “Likely,” I agreed.

  He snarled in my direction. “Has someone called the cops?”

  “Um, I can?” Rikki said in a small voice.

  “You’re finished, Bill. You’re finished!”

  I was too busy deciding which part of my body hurt the most to reply. My ear, my foot, my shin, and my ribs all throbbed. My white shirt was streaked with dirt and wine, and I could feel something wet on my face. I must have looked like I’d just come in from an especially exciting hunting trip.

  Rikki had gone behind the desk. “Put down the phone, Rikki,” I said over my shoulder. “Unless your boss is ready to be arrested for breaking and entering. Twice. You left prints all over my flat, Gregory. The police have them, plus you’re stupid enough to keep Jenny’s lotion in your bathroom. There’s plenty of evidence you broke into her apartment today.”

  I watched him closely. If we’d been alone, he might have given in. But not in front of all these people. “You’re full of it,” he said. “Make the call, Rikki.”

  “Let’s see the bottom of your boot, Gregory. Let’s see the red wine on it. If it’s not there, you’ve got a whole room of people to back you up.”

  “You’re finished,” Gregory repeated. But his voice lacked conviction. His face had turned a sort of moldy yellow, and he was forcing down swallows. He’d be rushing to the toilet any minute.

  I pushed up from the desk, wobbled, and got my feet under me. “I’m sorry about your hand,” I said. I moved slowly toward the door. Gregory retreated to the bathroom. “You’ll have to learn how to sign checks with the other one. The bill for Jenny’s apartment will come next week.”

  No one moved to stop me as I reached the open door. The receiver in Rikki’s hand started to honk its off-hook signal. I caught sight of Ron—Karen’s friend who was also Gregory’s partner. His expression was suspended somewhere between disbelief and understanding. “Give Karen Harper a call at home,” I suggested. “She’ll tell you what this is all about.”

  23

  In Silicon Valley, when the nucleus of a new company was being formed, when it was abuzz with the infinite potential of dense code, sticky interface, and parturient markets, only a glimmer of which could be allowed to escape into the light of day, the company was said to be in stealth mode. That meant the startup was assembling resources, gathering capital, developing technology. No one outside the nucleus knew yet what it did: concepts were too easily lifted. Outsiders saw a spiffy logo
, a history-making yet vague promise, and a lot of feverish activity, cloaked in darkness. The unveiling would occur the day the site went online, at which point the idea was to break on the world like a new virus, the kind that sucked money out of bank accounts.

  It was time for me to come out of stealth mode and go public. I was tired of doing all the work on my own. Some other people needed to contribute now.

  I returned to Jenny’s place and cleaned up the best I could, pouring a whole box of salt over the wine stains in the living room. The look on Gregory’s face before I left had told me I didn’t need to get the police involved. He wasn’t going to bother me anymore. I didn’t need the headache of filing charges, and besides, there were too many things for which I could still get nailed. I didn’t want to call the police just yet.

  When I called to check my answering machine in San Francisco, I found out that I could have saved myself a few bruises. Jenny had left a message around noon saying she was going to her mother’s in Sacramento and taking the cat with her. I didn’t mind, though. My accounts with Gregory would have needed to be settled sooner or later.

  My next steps were to tell Kumar about Gregory’s scheme and to control the damage at LifeScience. Gregory no doubt had defamed my character to Dugan, but zero from zero left zero. It was the others at LifeScience who counted. The people handling the bioinformatics bid, for instance, ought to hear about Gregory. But that was a small point. I wanted to get to Marion Roos, Frederick McKinnon, Doug Englehart, and Carl Steiner, the peculiar man at the funeral. I wanted answers from them about MC124 and the knockout mouse. I also wanted them to know that Dugan and his hired hands were stalking me, threatening me, and generally lurking with intent to loom. So far they hadn’t actually laid a hand on me—either to keep their record clean or because I hadn’t given them a clear shot—but if the worst happened, I wanted people to know who to blame.