Radical Reaction: The Persford Series, #5

By Dawn Marsanne

The potential treatment for cancer originating from the laboratories at the University is progressing well and is soon to enter clinical trials. This discovery, along with the efforts of the three business consultants, means that the spin-off company PersCure has received backing from city investors and local businessmen and is about to be launched to much acclaim. However, the future of the clinical trial unit, ClinTry, looks in doubt unless it receives a financial lifeline. When a benefactor steps in to save the business everyone is reassured but the road ahead may be still be troublesome. The formidable Ron Radford is rebuilding his life after tragic personal events. When characters attempt to add excitement to their lives they do not anticipate the consequences. Can the momentum be halted before irreversible damage is caused? At the same time, the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Persford is under threat from factions whose aim is to spread hatred and intolerance. Can they be stopped or will the town be shaken by their actions?

Emotions run high on many levels in this complex story of beliefs, desires, relationships and of course a hint of science.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Marsanne
• Release date: May 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386610496

Dawn Marsanne

Having worked in the pharmaceutical industry for almost twenty-five years I wanted to write a novel which explored some of the serious issues in the field. The reproducibility of scientific data is a common problem which has recently been highlighted in the news and this forms the basis of my first book Adverse Reaction. I particularly enjoy reading thrillers and suspense novels and I have tried to create a fast paced story which holds the reader's attention. Many of the themes of the book occur in everyday life and I have used the backdrop of research to illustrate them. There are relatively few novels which are set in the laboratory environment so I saw this as an undeveloped area but at the same time scientific details are kept to a minimum to allow the work to be accessible to readers of a non-technical background. As I finished the novel I became sufficiently interested in the characters I had created to develop them further and the six book Persford Reaction Series was born. Since then I have written to standalone novels, A Form of Justice and Relative Error. Waves of Guilt is the first in a new series and is now joined by a sequel, Layers of Deceit.  Follow me on twitter @dawn_marsanne

Book preview

Prologue

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‘How reliable is he?’

‘He’s solid. He’s passed all the tests.’

‘You trust him?’

‘I do. We’ve been on the lookout for someone in that location. He fits the bill perfectly.’

‘Excellent. Good work.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘The usual training programme. Then we make a decision based on that. Too early to say at the moment.’

‘You aren’t worried he will be too keen, take too many risks?’

‘Stop worrying. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘OK, keep in touch. Another disciple. We need a name for him.’

‘Leave it to me. I’ve got one in mind.’

Chapter 1

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The young girl known in the profession as Sylvie climbed off Ron Radford and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Ron lay on his back, satisfied and spent. A faint sheen of sweat was visible on his flushed face. He was using one of the smaller rooms reserved for his own personal use, in his hotel, The Cedars. He was in the intermediate world between sleep and consciousness where time blurred at the edges and his thoughts and senses felt subdued after being pushed to the limit by the recent intense sexual encounter.

Sylvie emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.

‘Will you be requiring me again this evening, Mr Radford?’ she asked, dropping the towel from her voluptuous figure.

‘Take your money, it’s on the side and piss off,’ he replied without turning to look at her. 

Despite owning a large seven bedroom house, Brensford Manor on the outskirts of Persford, there were certain activities which were confined to a location remote from his own hallowed domain. He didn’t want the likes of Sylvie to contaminate his possessions or surroundings which he’d spent a lifetime accumulating. Now in his sixties, Ron availed himself of Sylvie’s company on a weekly or sometimes twice-weekly basis. Perhaps if he met someone in the future for a longer term relationship he would be able to dispense with Sylvie or one of her colleagues. On this occasion as frequently happened his animal desires managed to overcome his feelings of shame and embarrassment.

Sylvie dressed in silence, unperturbed by his brusque manner which she had become accustomed to. Had other clients spoken to her in the same way she would have responded in the same vein but she knew better than to upset Ron. On the whole, the job was bearable, she serviced the higher end of the market and some of her customers gave her gifts in addition to the agreed payment.

‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Radford,’ she asked.

‘Just fuck off and leave me alone,’ he replied cruelly.

Ron’s reply had been uttered without making eye contact. She would return when summoned probably in a week’s time. She had noticed that the twice-weekly requests were becoming less frequent. Her client was definitely losing some of his potency which was only to be expected for someone of his age. She had heard through the grapevine that he’d had some slight heart problem a few years ago so, in view of that, he was in quite a reasonable shape for his age. He still had an adequate head of dark hair with a sprinkling of grey most noticeable at the temples. He couldn’t be described exactly as handsome but far from repulsive like some of her customers. Even though he had always been pleasant with her she knew that he had a cold, callous streak and rumours abounded about the fate of people who had foolishly dared to challenge him. At times, just like now, he seemed to have drifted off into another world, totally consumed by his thoughts. Was she imagining it but could she detect a hint of evil lurking beneath the surface?

Sylvie left the room and Ron felt relieved that he was once more on his own. The familiar feelings of depression and disgust began to encompass him. It was six months since the death of his second wife Shirley and now that a respectable period had elapsed perhaps he could start to socialise a little more. He was a wealthy man and that would certainly attract the ladies but he would make sure to weed out any gold-diggers, he wasn’t a charity. Hopefully, he could meet someone of a similar social standing to himself and with some financial independence.

Shirley had been a trophy bride with little money to her name when they first met although she had served as a useful tax vehicle and director in name of some of his enterprises.  At the time he’d needed a wife who would care for his only daughter who was still grieving for the loss of her birth mother. Sadly he no longer needed anyone to be a step-mother to Natasha. Now it was time to find a partner who would be a perfect fit for himself and might be mutually advantageous in growing the Radford empire even more. He had more money than he would ever need but acquiring more wealth and employing it in new ventures became a drug to feed a habit. As with all habits, a tolerance developed and more and more was needed to achieve the same satisfaction. So it was with money and power.

Ron sat up and swung his legs off the bed, stopping in front of the full length mirror to study his reflection. He was under no illusion that age was taking its toll on his physique but as he turned sideways he was pleased that his stomach was carrying only a few pounds more than it ideally should. He walked slowly into the bathroom stretching his arms above his head and rotating his back from side to side. He set the shower to hot and left it to run a few minutes. He leaned against the basin and peered into the mirror. His face was looking rugged as the seven o’clock shadow, as it used to be known, was quite apparent. Nowadays the youngsters had permanent designer stubble, an excuse for laziness in his opinion. He stepped into the shower and allowed the comforting jet of the power shower ease away any aches and pains. After ten minutes he emerged and donned the white towelling robe which was provided as standard for guests to his upmarket hotel.

Returning to the bedroom, he saw that whilst he’d been in the shower he’d missed a call from his accountant, Sidney Failsworth. He listened to the voicemail.

‘Ron, I’m just letting you know that I’m emailing you through the documents for you to look through. We should be able to tie up the sale in the very near future. Give me a call back if there’s anything you need to discuss. Bye.’

The documents concerned the sale of The Flamingo lap dancing club. Following recent events, Ron had decided that it was time to offload that particular avenue of his business empire. He’d decided on a shift in emphasis. Besides, he was bored with it and sick of sorting out the hopeless staff and problems with troublesome punters. The manager Clive had started to let things slide and a poor choice of doormen and security staff had resulted in accusations of brutality on several occasions.

Now that Ron had decided to branch out into venture capital and support research at the university he felt this no longer fitted his portfolio. Several acquaintances had hinted that the site towards the edge of Persford would be an attractive plot for a property developer. There should be no problem gaining planning permission and the land could easily accommodate a block of eight or more flats. Ron didn’t care what the future held for The Flamingo as long as it was off his books and that was looking almost a done deal. This encouraging news was helping to dispel Ron’s post-coital air of despondency, he felt a sudden lightening of his mood. Carefully scanning the room, he was about ready to leave when his mobile rang again.

‘Hello, Gerald,’ he said. ‘How are things? How’s the world of drugs?’

‘Ha, very funny. Oh, fine, fine. Actually, it’s a social call. We’re having a dinner party on Wednesday evening, just a few friends at the house. We wondered if you’d like to come along?’

Ron knew Gerald Shipton through the golf club and he’d also met him at various business dinners and fundraising events. Shirley hadn’t got on very well with Gerald’s wife Felicity so they’d not socialised very much but Ron liked the couple and Felicity was an excellent cook. Gerald owned a chain of independent pharmacies in the county having qualified as a pharmacist many years ago. More recently he had swapped dispensing for a life of leisure on the golf course, allowing his managers to spend their days standing in the shop dealing with the general public coughing all over the place and moaning about prescriptions not being ready immediately.

‘Er, well, that’s kind of you. I’ll just have to check my diary and get back to you,’ lied Ron.

‘Well, we hope you will be free. Felicity wants to catch up with you as well, it’s been too long. It’s 7 p.m. for 7.30 pm, nothing fancy so no need to dress up. Text me if you can make it.’

‘Thanks, Gerald, I’ll get back to you soon. I’m just sorting out some problems here at the hotel. Usual staff problems giving me grief. You know how it is,’ laughed Ron.

‘Oh, tell me about it,’ sighed Gerald. ‘Hope to see you. Also, it’s time I showed you how to play golf properly,’ he joked.

‘In your dreams, mate,’ said Ron. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Ron ended the call. He felt he would definitely take them up on the invitation. It was time to get back into circulation.

Chapter 2

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Matt Pearson, Brett Chandler and Nick Thomas were in a small meeting room at the University of Persford. The three partners of PerzSolve were discussing the next action points along the pathway to set up the University spin-off company PersCure. Their initial six-month contract had proved so beneficial that it had been extended for another term of the same length and as the drug discovery process inched along their input was still invaluable. The multi-faceted nature of the project relied on the disparate talents of the three scientists.

‘It’s times like this when I really miss Erin,’ said Brett, pressing the keys on his laptop and trying to get it to connect to the projector on the ceiling. ‘She was always so helpful getting it to work, she used to know exactly which keys to press!’ He smiled at the others and winked.

‘You wished she’d pressed your keys, you mean,’ added Matt. ‘She scared me, though.’

‘It brightened the day when she had to lean over and sort out the projector,’ laughed Brett.

‘Did you ever find out what happened to Erin?’ asked Nick.

Brett shrugged. ‘It’s assumed she fled the area after her boyfriend got killed. I don’t think we will ever know. Apparently she wasn’t close to her family who were a bunch of criminals, allegedly,’ he added. ‘She’s not been reported missing by them, so she must be in hiding somewhere. We will never know, I guess. That’s what happens to a certain percentage of people, they just disappear.’

‘Well, I don’t think we have time for an episode of Crimewatch, today,’ said Matt. ‘I hope you can bring your minds back to chemistry and away from memories of Erin’s how shall we say, hourglass figure.’

‘You must be getting old, mate,’ said Brett. ‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have been tempted, given half a chance.’

‘That’s right, I wouldn’t, I would have been afraid of being eaten alive!’

The three men laughed.

‘Right, let’s make a start,’ said Matt Pearson. ‘Firstly we need to discuss the final details for equity in the company. Brett, perhaps you can update us with the ongoing financial support we can be assured of?’

Brett nodded and shuffled his papers in front of him.

‘Secondly, we need to ensure that we give the clinicians a gentle reminder to send us a protocol for Phase I and Phase II trials. I’ve contacted Rebecca in oncology to impress on her that we need to watch the timelines. It’s a bit frustrating sometimes with these academics, they aren’t business oriented.

Professor Plumpton’s original discovery of this particular class of tyrosine kinase inhibitors for the treatment of glioblastoma brain cancers was still years away from a licence but so far it was looking extremely promising.

‘Well it’s a good thing they have us to advise them,’ added Brett. ‘At times they seem to take their eye off the ball.’

‘Yes, well, I’ll let you tell them that,’ smiled Matt.

Dr Rebecca Levinson was the oncologist at the Persford Medical School and was the adviser in the field of cancer therapy for the project along with senior pharmacologist Dr Steve Carter. Rebecca had a reputation for being direct and intolerant of any criticism.

‘By the way, have you heard how Derek is?’ asked Brett.

‘I spoke to his wife a couple of days ago. It’s not good,’ said Matt. ‘He’s not well enough now to contribute anything to the project, he’s too ill. They are making plans for him to be admitted to a hospice.’

‘Poor bugger, it’s such a shame,’ said Brett becoming serious after his earlier levity.

It was a cruel twist of fate that the professor would most likely not even see the prototype drug UP-627-TK make it into a clinical trial involving patients. Derek had left the university with an ill-health retirement package a couple of months ago and had been forced to follow developments at a distance. Now he wasn’t able to even maintain the smallest connection with the department where he’d spent the majority of his research career.

Matt continued, ‘Nick, there are a few related issues in your field which we need to thrash out, OK?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

‘OK, Brett, you kick off,’ said Matt.

‘Well, I spoke to the lovely Hilary and it’s more or less agreed that there will be a fifty-fifty split of equity between private investors and the University. Everyone seems happy about it so we can get that incorporated into the business documents. Within those percentages then we need to allocate the equity and that’s not quite finalised yet. That’s the tricky part.’

‘Timelines?’ asked Matt.

‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Brett, raising his hand. ‘Let me carry on. Professor Plum will be allocated around five percent of the university equity in recognition of his initial concept. That seems standard.’ Brett could never resist shortening the professor’s name to Plum as in the board game Cluedo. ‘Our friend Phil Sweetman is pushing for some equity but Hilary is arguing against it. He’s not really made a huge contribution although he likes to make out he has. But in my opinion if he gets some shares then Pat should get some as well as he’s been managing the chemistry input just as much, that’s why his name is on the patent.’

Pat Dunford was the senior post-doctoral research chemist on the project and had been responsible for supervising most of the work in Derek’s absence. They’d managed to secure another twelve-month contract for him and to their relief, he had accepted.

‘This is always a problem,’ said Matt, ‘people making out they’ve been instrumental when they’ve merely been passengers trying to capitalise on the success of others.’

‘Well, I’ve told Hilary to speak to him and she’s going to run it by Ian, as well.’

Hilary Worksop was head of Innovation and Technology at the university with specific responsibility for finance in the area of start-up companies. Professor Ian French was head of the Science Faculty and thus Phil Sweetman’s boss. It was a well-known fact that Hilary had a bit of a crush on Brett and at times behaved like a coy schoolgirl in his presence. It was true that Brett was indeed handsome but as Hilary was now in her mid-forties her behaviour was rather embarrassing. Brett, of course, enjoyed the attention and was quick to capitalise on it at every opportunity. He’d managed to offload several tasks to Hilary as she was only too pleased to oblige, particularly when Brett suggested they should discuss progress over lunch or even a drink after work.

‘So, as for the remainder of the non-university funding. The venture capital side of things is going well. Subscriptions far exceeded our original expectations. There are a few weeks to go before we get notification of the final amounts but it’s looking very healthy. Also, there are some business angels willing to invest. Jake Marsfield being the one we’ve known about the longest. I’ve been keeping in regular contact with him since my trip to London.’

‘Great, stuff,’ added Matt, encouragingly.

‘Wait a minute, I’ve not finished,’ said Brett. ‘We’ve had a couple of local business men who are thinking of investing six-figure sums and hot off the press, I was contacted only this morning by the secretary of Mr Radford who is funding the refurbishment of one of the labs.’

‘Oh, really? Well, that’s great. Poor guy though. It was tragic his daughter dying like that, then his wife taking her own life. I feel so sorry for him,’ added Matt.

‘Yes, well, it seems he’s been taking stock of his finances now after his two recent tragedies. His wife’s estate is finalised and so he wants to commit more to brain cancer research. It’s good of him in view of the fact that it could have been just what his daughter needed but she died before she could take part in a clinical trial. I’m not sure others would feel the same way.’

‘Any idea of what he’s thinking of investing?’

‘Well, it’s not decided but I was given the impression that we might be talking about half a million.’

Nick whistled through his teeth. ‘Wow, that’s amazing. Wish I had that sort of money to invest.’

‘Well, his secretary didn’t say definitely but it could be even more, it depends on some sale or other. One of his businesses, she didn’t say which.’

‘So, if that were the case, he would be the next biggest shareholder after the university. But we need to ensure his stake is below twenty-five percent or we will get into hot water and we can’t be classed as an SME.’ To be classed as an SME, a small or medium enterprise, certain rules had to be obeyed and thus the company could access grants and tax breaks which would otherwise not be available.

‘I’ll write all this up and email you a copy. Obviously, it’s all a bit fluid at the moment but all looking very encouraging.’ Brett smiled and drank some of his coffee.

Chapter 3

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Liam Bolton worked in the dispensary at Shipton’s pharmacy near the Lensfield estate in Persford. As it was in one of the less affluent areas, he parked his car about a quarter of a mile away in a road where he felt it was less likely to be vandalised. He had worked there since leaving school, starting as a shop assistant and had then received on the job training to assist the pharmacist by assembling the items to fulfil the prescription requests.

The problem with this particular branch as Liam saw it, was that the customers were increasingly likely to be from the immigrant community. The adjacent medical centre was the nearest to the old Ministry of Defence (MOD) site which had become housing for a number of refugees from Syria. He’d taken a drive through it and had looked with envy at the housing. He would so love to be able to afford his own place but despite working he was still sharing a house with other people. The alternative was staying with his parents but they had made it quite clear it was time he stood on his own two feet.

Also, the cheaper housing in the area surrounding the pharmacy was taken by a significant proportion of people moving to the UK. In Liam’s view, most of them seemed to be in receipt of free prescriptions whereas he and his family had to pay for theirs.

That morning he was working in the shop instead of the dispensary as one of the girls had phoned in sick.

‘Who’s next, can I help anyone?’ asked Liam.

A woman stepped forward. ‘A prescription for Aisha Kouri, please.’

‘How do you spell that?’

The woman hesitated. ‘K-O-U-R-I,’ she said slowly as Liam began to tap his fingers on the counter.

‘And your Christian name?’ he smiled. ‘Oh, sorry, your first name?’ he asked, chuckling to himself.

The customer proceeded to spell her first name.

‘I’ll go and check,’ said Liam.

He made a show of searching the packaged prescriptions in the dispensary but in truth, he wasn’t really looking.

‘No, sorry, it’s not been done. When did you bring it in?’

‘I take it to medical centre, they send it here.’

‘But when?’

‘I think a few days ago.’

‘You need to leave at least three days for it to be prepared,’ he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

‘But I have come on the bus. It should be ready now.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Liam sternly.

‘Please can you check and I will wait,’ she said.

‘We are very busy, it’s best you come back tomorrow.’

‘Who’s next?’ asked Liam, deciding he had finished with the customer before him. He recognised one of his regulars. ‘Ah, Mrs Weston, how are you today?’

‘Oh, not too bad Liam, mustn’t grumble.’

‘Your hair is looking lovely today,’ he added.

‘Oh, thank you. I like to look smart, I think it’s important.’ She looked critically at the young man next to her dressed in a tracksuit and trainers. Liam’s gazed strayed to the customer who was clearly overweight and unhealthy looking. Liam took pride in his appearance to the point of vanity. He had his hair trimmed every few weeks and enjoyed wearing smart clothes at all times. He felt they set him apart from the masses and boosted his confidence. He’d once overheard one of the assistants whispering about his clothes but it didn’t worry him. If anything, he was pleased that people were clearly jealous.

‘I wonder whether my prescription is ready?’ She leaned over to whisper. ‘I only put it in two days ago but I was passing so I wondered whether you could make it up for me?’

‘No problem,’ winked Liam. ‘Take a seat.’

He went into the dispensary and looked up her details on the computer terminal. He could see that in fact her prescription had only come into the shop that morning but he took a plastic tray and set about collecting the necessary packets of pills and he placed it right at the front of the queue for checking. He went over to the seated Mrs Weston, ‘It will just be a couple of minutes,’ he said, then lowering his voice he added, ‘providing our friend pulls his finger out and checks it,’ he said, indicating with his head towards the pharmacist.

‘Oh, Liam, don’t be a naughty boy. These Indian chappies have to get work somewhere you know. I just wish it was somewhere else,’ she whispered, sniffing slightly at her last comment.

Liam smiled, he liked Mrs Weston, they were on the same wavelength. She reminded him of his nan who had died a couple of years ago. He missed his chats with his nan, putting the world to rights.

Whilst he had been busy in the back of the dispensary, Aisha Kouri had accosted the pharmacist, Harjit Agarwal as he emerged to hand out a prescription to a customer. Harjit had moved to Persford five years ago after qualifying at University College in London. His parents had moved to the UK from India in the seventies and he had been born here in 1992. He remembered this particular prescription as it was for a slow release version of a medicine to help with stomach and bowel cramps and he had to order further supplies as they didn’t have enough.

‘Liam?’ he called. ‘Mrs Kouri’s prescription. It’s definitely here. Can you check again please?’

Liam was furious. He’d told her to come back the next day and she had refused to accept what he said. Now he was going to look a fool in front of the pharmacist. He went over to the boxes where he knew her prescription would be. Then he looked in the adjacent one.

‘Oh, here it is! Someone put it in the wrong place. I wish people would be more careful.’

The pharmacist took it from him and personally took it out to Mrs Kouri. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘and for the wait.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she replied and left the shop.

‘Is Mrs Weston’s prescription ready yet?’ asked Liam brusquely.

‘I need to do the rest before that one,’ replied Harjit. ‘There is a queue.’

Liam returned to the front of the shop and once more went over to Mrs Weston. ‘It won’t be long. So sorry that things are slow this morning.’ He leaned over to her. ‘I think he has trouble with the English language,’ and he rolled his eyes.

Mrs Weston tutted and nodded. ‘It’s the same everywhere. I remember the days when Mr Somerville was the pharmacist. He was so nice. And efficient,’ she said pointedly looking over towards the dispensary. ‘But what can you do?’

Liam shook his head in sympathy. Mrs Weston recognised there was a problem but had rolled over and accepted the downward spiral in society as he saw it. It was understandable, she was elderly and probably didn’t have the energy to fight the situation. However, he could and he intended to do something about it. It was time to stand up and be counted.

Chapter 4

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‘Right, over to me,’ said Nick, ‘I’ll just connect up my laptop as I’ve a few slides to help me.’ Nick pressed one of the keys repeatedly, ‘Ah, that should be it now,’ he said. He quickly rubbed his hand over his close cropped hair which was an involuntary sign of slight nervousness.

‘What did I tell you? Erin would have had that connected up in no time. She could always get things up!’

‘You are beginning to sound like a Carry on Film,’ said Matt.

‘I just mean that Erin was good with her hands and I’m sure a lot of men in the area could testify to that.’ Brett got up to swivel around the whiteboard so that the projection screen was facing the room and Nick’s first slide appeared.

‘Excellent. Firstly, the patent write-up is going well. The experimental details are almost completed. As you know, we did the initial filing a couple of months ago, we have another ten months to add any further examples to strengthen our claims. ’

‘Wow, that looks really encouraging,’ said Brett.

‘How many examples have we included so far?’

‘About a hundred and twenty, give or take.’

‘That’s brilliant. Of course we are making compounds all the time so it’s an ongoing job to add the write-ups for each one,’ commented Brett.

‘Yes but it much easier adding them as they are made rather than doing a whole load in one go.’

Matt and Brett made some notes as Nick was speaking.

‘I’ve quite enjoyed it really. It’s been satisfying.’

‘Project manning?’ asked Matt.

‘Yes, we’ve now got five full-time chemists and our new recruit Adam Newman started last week, making six. It will take him a little while to get up to speed of course and the rest of the laboratory effort will be a bit diluted as they help him settle in.’

‘What about additional manning? asked Matt.

‘I think we should be able to finance two more positions at