“I don’t get it.” Oliver opened the door to the unmarked. “Fisher/Tyne is a multibillion dollar company. You’re telling me that they don’t honestly know whether or not a drug is going to work before they invest millions of bucks in it?”

“I don’t know, Scott.”

“Margie, it ain’t all a crapshoot.”

“No, of course not.” Marge leaned against the car. “Maybe Curedon looked good in Azor’s lab, but not in Fisher/Tyne’s lab.”

Oliver frowned. “C’mon, Marge. Curedon must have passed some test for them to buy up its rights and pay Sparks an enormous chunk of change.”

Marge shrugged. “Maybe it was effective with animal data, but not with human beings.”

“Not according to Decameron, Fulton or Berger. It was a miracle drug with their patients.”

“Except that it had problems lately. Besides none of the doctors is an objective party, Scott. If any of them were promised a percentage of profits…” Marge stopped midsentence, staring at a brunette in a black suit speed-walking toward them. She saw Marge staring at her, and waved. Marge waved back.

“Who?” Oliver asked.

“Don’t know.”

The brunette reached the car, breathless, her large chest heaving with each intake of oxygen. She seemed scared. She looked around, talking to them with head turned, blue eyes scanning over her shoulder. “Are you the police?”

Oliver nodded.

“May I see some identification?”

They took out their shields. The brunette rubbed her hands as she examined their badges. “Does your visit have anything to do with Kenneth Leonard? Has he talked to you at all?”

No one spoke.

Marge said, “Are you friends with Dr. Leonard?”

Again, the woman kneaded her hands. “Maybe I should take a ride with you.”

Oliver opened the door for her. She slid in the back of the unmarked, and so did Marge. Oliver started up the car and drove off the parking lot. He parked a few blocks down from Fisher/Tyne.

Nobody spoke, then the brunette asked, “Is Kenny all right?”

Marge and Oliver exchanged looks.

The brunette’s eyes moistened. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Marge said. “Do you have a name?”

The woman’s lower lip quivered. “Belinda Sands.”

“You were his girlfriend?” Oliver asked.

The woman didn’t answer. It was then that Marge noticed a wedding band on her finger. She said, “You were having an affair with him.”

Belinda jerked her head toward Marge, eyeing her in wonderment.

“Your ring,” Marge said. “Leonard wasn’t married.”

“Oh.” Belinda studied her nails. “It’s been over for a while. But we remained friends.”

“Do you also work in Research Design?” Oliver asked.

“Accounting.” Belinda hid her face in her hands, pulled them away, and wiped tears from her cheeks. “Something was going on with him.”

Marge said, “Tell me.”