The Clock is Ticking

By Joel Feiss

The Clock is Ticking is a contemporary, character-driven murder mystery that takes place in the heart of the biotech industry in Cambridge, Massachusetts during the Covid-19 Pandemic. Police Detectives Danny Quinn and Joy Seiden are called to investigate the death of Dr. Arthur Rosen, a geneticist who was found under the M.I.T. Boathouse ramp on the Charles River.  Dr. Rosen worked for DNA Therapeutics, a biotech company on the cutting edge of CRISPR technology which is used to find cures for diseases utilizing gene editing.  At the time of his death, the company was waiting for approval to start their human clinical trial designed to treat Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s Disease. 

William Martindale, a wealthy entrepreneur living in Aspen, Colorado has the hereditary form of ALS. He has just begun to have symptoms and knows how long he has before the end stages of the disease ravage his body and cognitive abilities. His only chance is to get into the upcoming DNA Therapeutics clinical trial. He had recently divorced his wife for fear that she would leave him like his mother had left his father. He is in love and presently living with Marni Bloom a psychologist who is presently researching methods to treat PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety Disorders. 

Dr. Rosen’s wife, Anna is a beautiful and somewhat mysterious woman who was clearly not above suspicion. There were too many details about her past relationships and background to clear her as a suspect.  

The investigators are led through a web of legal and biotechnical intrigue in the backdrop of the Covid-19 Pandemic and political unrest not only in the United States but globally as well. By digging deep into the case and recruiting the assistance of the FBI and an unlikely private investigator, Detectives Quinn and Seiden believe they have finally found justice for Dr. Rosen’s death. The outcome of their efforts is not what they expected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Aug 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977267641

Joel Feiss

Joel Feiss, the author of Retribution for Acts of Terrorism, The Formula, In the Name of Honor, Desert Pawn, Pickup Murder, The Watchlist, and Cable News in the Time of Covid-19, is a practicing gastroenterologist and internist in Plantation, Florida. He graduated from the University of Florida with a BS and an MD degree from the University of Miami Medical School. He currently lives with his wife, Pearl, in Fort Lauderdale. The Clock Is Ticking is a contemporary murder mystery that also explores the potential role of CRISPR technology in the treatment of genetic diseases and its place in the ever-changing biotech industry. 

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It was the middle of June, 2021, and it finally appeared that the Covid-19 pandemic was on its way to being defeated in the United States. There were still a significant number of cases occurring, and the critical number of those who needed to be vaccinated had not yet been reached, but the public was finally feeling that the worse was behind them. Masks were still required. People were coming back to work in their offices, public transportation was again operational, and schools were scheduled to open for in-person learning in September. President Biden was in the process of reuniting the United States with its former allies and taking a leadership role on the world stage. The administration had decided to adhere to the deal that former President Trump had made with the Taliban to pull out of Afghanistan, but he extended the deadline from May to August 31, 2021. Since that deal was made, the U.S. had not lost any lives, but many observers warned that by leaving, we would not have solved the problem of Afghanistan’s role as a safe harbor for terrorism. Right or wrong, a pullout was what the American public wanted. Those were the good things. But there was also a dramatic increase of crime and gun violence in most major cities. The border crossings from Mexico and Central America were increasing at alarming rates and contained not only asylum seekers from Mexico, Central America, and South America but also those from Haiti and Eastern Europe. Trumpism and false conspiracy theories were still flourishing in what appeared to be most people who identified themselves as Maga Republicans. This was causing an increased divide, not only among Republicans, but the general population as well. The Republican Evangelicals have continued to back Donald Trump, and in so doing, have chosen political power over moralism and the teachings of Jesus. There have been discussions taking place in the House of Representatives to begin a select committee to investigate the January 6th attack on the Capitol which was the culmination of then President Donald J. Trump’s attempts to overturn the 2020 U.S. presidential election. Tribalism was flourishing and some historians were fearful that Democracy was on the brink of destruction similar to the pre-civil war days. Political gridlock continued to plague Congress in Washington DC. Domestic terrorism, Anti-Semitism, and cyberattacks have risen to the top of the Homeland Security threat list. It was becoming obvious that there was a movement toward the extremes of the political spectrum not only in the U.S. but in Europe as well. The Russo-Ukrainian conflict over the Donbas and Crimea has continued since 2014 and most observers see no resolution in sight. If the conflict expands, then shortages of grain and oil will present an inflationary problem not only in Europe, but worldwide. China was celebrating 100 years of the Communist Party with an emphasis on its successes even though their handling of the Covid-19 crisis has been dismal. China has threatened the West to stay out of its internal affairs. There was also concern that the Chinese may invade Taiwan. In addition, North Korea’s Kim Jong-un was still an unsettling loose cannon. Lastly, the battle against Global Warming and its detrimental effects have not been universally accepted. China, India, and a significant portion of the Republican Party in the U.S. have been deniers, and they have not been willing to make the sacrifices needed to win the fight.

The Charles River in Massachusetts has a significant number of boathouses on its banks from its mouth at Boston Harbor to its source at Echo Lake in Hopkinton, Massachusetts. The boathouses are mostly situated along the Boston and Cambridge banks of the Charles River Basin, upstream as far as the Arsenal Street Bridge, and downstream as far as the Charles River Dam. Many of the boathouses belong to universities, including Boston University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Harvard University, and Northeastern University. Other boathouses belong to private clubs, some of which date back to the 19th century. The Harold W. Pierce Boathouse was dedicated on September 9, 1966 to serve as the new home for the MIT rowing team. It boasts sixty-four ergometers, and a fleet of over fifty shells housed in four boat bays.

The sky was pale blue and clear. The streets of Boston and Cambridge were quiet as the sun was beginning to rise. The two-man sculling team from MIT entered their designated section of the boathouse, removed their racing shell from the hooks on the wall, and slowly walked down the ramp toward the Charles River.

Stuart Margot, a twenty-one-year-old senior engineering student was six-foot, two inches tall with short blond hair. He had broad shoulders, a large barrel chest, minimal body fat, and extreme muscular development of both his upper and lower body. He was in the front of the shell and stopped dead in his tracks as he approached the water.

Peter Harold was carrying the shell from the rear. He also had blond hair cut short, was a few inches shorter than Stuart, and had a similar body-build. He asked, Why are you stopping?

Backup slowly. Peter’s voice had a forced calmness.

What’s up, partner?

Just slowly back the fuck up. He paused for a few seconds and added, There’s a dead body stuck under the ramp. We just walked into a crime scene. Let’s replace the boat, and I’ll get my cell phone out of my locker.

Stuart Margot made the 911 call. It was answered after the second ring.

"What’s your emergency?" The dispatcher’s voice was calm and she spoke clearly.

I’m at the MIT Boathouse on the Charles River. There is a dead body stuck under the ramp. Stuart answered.

"Are you alone?"

No. I’m with my teammate.

"What are your names?"

Peter Harold and Stuart Margot.

"Are you sure that the person is dead?"

Yes Ma’am, I’m sure.

"Do you know the victim?"

Not that I recall.

"What is the victim’s approximate age?"

Late forties to early fifties, I think.

"Are there any other people in the area?"

No.

"You’ve been great. The police are already on their way and are less than two minutes away. Stay calm and wait in the boathouse."

Ninety seconds later, two Cambridge police cars with their LED lights on and sirens blaring pulled up to the boathouse. Two pairs of masked and uniformed police officers exited their vehicles and approached the boathouse where the two boys were pacing back-and-forth. As the officers approached the entrance, they split up. Three of them circled around the boathouse to the rear which faced the river. They began cordoning off the area with yellow tape and made a quick search of the ramp and adjoining property looking for other bodies, weapons, foot prints, or significant clues.

The fourth officer approached Peter and Stuart who had put on their N-95 masks. He was in his mid-fifties, clearly seasoned, and had sergeant stripes on his short-sleeved, starched, white shirt. He was rather short, stocky, balding, and Caucasian. He sized the boys up quickly, realized that they were not a threat, and spoke softly through his mask. My name is Sergeant Robert Nordinger. Which one of you made the 911 call? His accent established that he was probably born and raised in South Boston.

I did. I’m Stuart Margot and this is my sculling partner, Peter Harold.

Did either of you know the victim?

I didn’t. Stuart answered quickly. He looked over at Peter.

I may have seen him on campus. I’m not sure. Peter said.

Have you actually met him or just may have seen him at M.I.T.

I never spoke to him. I may have just seen him on campus.

Sergeant Nordinger looked Peter directly in the eye for a prolonged time, Think about where and when you may have seen him. Any clue may be of some help. He looked through the boathouse to where the other officers were working and added, I’ll be right back. There will be a pair of detectives that will want to speak to you. Please wait here. It won’t be long. You guys have been very helpful. He walked through the boathouse and down the ramp. He and his partner pulled the body out of the water, assured himself that the victim was indeed dead, and slowly assessed the area. His eyes turned back toward the boathouse when he heard a car pull up on the graveled entranceway.

CHAPTER 1

The Cambridge Police Homicide Unit serves as the lead investigative group for homicides, suspicious deaths, fatal collisions, cases in which the victim may have died as a result of a criminal act, as well as the sudden death of infants and those apparently stillborn. The Unit works with the Middlesex County District Attorney’s Office, who by statute is in charge of all death investigations conducted in Middlesex County.

Detective Danny Quinn shut off the engine of his black, late model Ford Mustang. He stayed seated for a few extra seconds as he perused the area. He grew up in Cambridge in a small house on Magazine Street and was familiar with all of the boathouses on the Charles River. He was the youngest of five brothers and knew how to take harassment, both mental and physical. He also had two sisters, a stay-at-home mom, and a father who taught physics at MIT. Danny was the only sibling that dropped out of college, enlisted in the Army, and made a career out of serving his country. After several tours in the Middle East and attaining the rank of Sergeant Major, he decided to come home and serve his Cambridge community. He completed the police academy at the top of his class, started out as a street cop, and it didn’t take him long to become a homicide detective. At fifty-six years old, he is six feet tall, well built, fair-skinned, and has a full head of red hair. He is unhappily married for the second time.

Danny put on a surgical mask, exited his car, straightened his tie, and slipped into his sports jacket which hid his holstered Glock-19. He could see two young men pacing in front of the open door to one of the boathouse sections. As he entered, he pulled his jacket back to show his badge that was attached to the belt loop of his jeans. Thanks for waiting, gentlemen. My name is Danny Quinn from the Cambridge Police Department. My partner and I will oversee the investigation. If you don’t mind, I just have a few questions before I let you guys leave?

No problem, Sir. Peter said. He looked over at Stuart, who nodded in agreement.

Was the deceased on your rowing team, and if not, do you recognize him from any of the other teams?

He appeared older than a college student and from his body-build, I doubt he has participated in the sport. Stuart said.

Are you aware of any connection between your team, this particular boathouse, and the deceased?

Like what kind of connection are you referring to? Peter asked.

Like drug use, as an example. Danny answered.

No, sir. None of our team members use drugs. I am positive. And in addition, I can vouch for the staff here as well. Stuart said without hesitation.

Have you seen him hanging around the boathouse?

No. Stuart said, then added, I told the other officer that I may have seen him on campus, but I’ve not met him personally.

Danny handed each of them his card, Please don’t hesitate to call if there is anything else you guys can think of that could be helpful.

Just as Stuart and Peter headed back to the M.I.T. campus across the street, Danny spotted his partner’s Subaru coming down Memorial Drive.

Joy Seiden was partnered up with Danny three years ago after his partner of five years took a non-lethal bullet to the chest. His injury affected him more psychologically than it did physically. After several failed attempts to return to work, he went on permanent disability. Detective Seiden was working in narcotics at the time, and when offered the chance to work homicide, she didn’t hesitate. She was only forty-two years old, short, slender, and had curly blond hair. She looked physically vulnerable, but had a black belt in karate and taught martial arts in her spare time to the female recruits at the academy. She was happily married to Jonathan, a biomedical engineer, who worked for one of the major biomedical companies in Boston. Their son, Nathaniel, was ten years old. Because both Joy and Jonathan worked long and irregular hours, he was basically raised by Jonathan’s widowed mother, Adi. Joy was a non-practicing Catholic and Jonathan was a Reformed Jew. Nathaniel was being raised Jewish.

Danny and Joy approached Sergeant Nordinger who was standing beside the victim. What have you got for us Sarge? Danny asked.

Middle-aged male, no wallet or identification, fully dressed, clean-shaven, and definitely not homeless. The M.E. hasn’t arrived yet, but I’d guess he’s been in the water about eight hours. I don’t think this was a simple robbery.

Why not? Joy asked.

Look at that. He pointed to the victim’s left wrist.

Joy put on surgical gloves, bent down, and examined the victim’s wrist. She removed a watch, stood, and said, Holy shit, it’s a Rolex Yacht-Master II, 18 Karat gold men’s luxury watch. It’s worth about fifty grand.

No thief would leave that behind. Danny said.

Next, Joy examined the victim’s head. Looks like he was hit hard over the occipital area of his head. She palpated the area and added, Feels like a fracture under this bruise. She examined the rest of the body, stood, and said, No apparent GSW and no knife wounds.

Nordinger shook his head in disgust. We’ve examined the area and nothing seems out of place. I already called the marine units of the Cambridge Police and State Police. There have been no reports of any incidents occurring in the River Basin or Harbor in the last 24 hours.

Thanks, Sarge. Great job as usual. We’ll take it from here. Could you please have a couple of your guys keep any other sculling team members or random onlookers away from the crime scene. Danny said.

No problem.

Danny smiled as he saw his favorite Medical Examiner make her way down the ramp toward them.

Dr. Barbara Seager, a Harvard-trained pathologist, was dressed casually in jeans, a black Jersey, and wore a brightly colored surgical mask. Her straightened hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her cocoa-colored skin and hazel-colored eyes accented her high cheekbones. She smiled at Danny as she approached. It was the type of smile that let Danny know that she knew how attractive he found her. It wasn’t a mean smile, but more of a playful smile.

Joy stepped in front of Danny, gave Dr. Seager a hug, and said, How have you been Doc? We’re happy you’re on the case.

Dr. Seager looked at Danny and said, What do you know about the victim?

Not much. We just got here ourselves, so as usual we’re depending on you to give us time of death, length of time in the water, identification, and cause of death. He does have a pretty severe fracture of his skull. We saw no evidence of any knife or gunshot wounds.

So, he’s either a drunk that fell into the river and then struck his head, or his head was struck by an assailant and then dumped into the water system. She thought for a moment and added, "Are you guys familiar with the Smiley Face Murders?"

Sure, I thought I caught a case four years ago. Turned out it was a suicide. We found a suicide note, and the victim’s medical records indicated that he had severe bipolar disease. Danny said.

I’ve never heard of those cases. Joy said.

Dr. Seager looked out over the Charles River and said, We’ve had at least ten cases in the Boston Harbor and the Charles River. In addition, there have been a series of at least fifty cases in New York and several Midwest college towns since the 1990’s. All of the victims were college-aged males with high GPA’S or they were popular athletes whose bodies were found in a local waterway. They were originally thought to be drowning victims, either accidental or by suicide. Some detectives and college professors working in criminal justice hypothesized that these deaths were the result of a group of serial killers or were gang related. They pointed to the existence of bizarre smiley faces found near the bodies in most of the cases.

Have any of the cases been solved? Joy asked.

Not that I’m aware of, and it is notable that the FBI and other law enforcement agencies are not convinced that the cases are linked.

Okay, enough talk. Let’s solve this fucking case. Danny said

Barbara looked at Joy, smiled, and didn’t respond.

CHAPTER 2

The United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA or USFDA) is a federal agency in the Department of Health and Human Services. It is responsible for protecting and promoting public health through the control and supervision of food safety, tobacco products, dietary supplements, prescription and over-the-counter drugs, vaccines, biopharmaceuticals, blood transfusions, biomedical devices, cosmetics, electromagnetic and radiation emitting devices, animal foods and feed, and veterinary products. The FDA also enforces laws that regulate lasers, cellular phones, household pets, and even sperm donation. The acting commissioner of the FDA was Janet Woodcock and she has her headquarters in unincorporated White Oak, Maryland. In addition, there are 223 field offices and 13 laboratories scattered throughout the U.S., Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, China, India, Costa Rica, Chile, Belgium, and the United Kingdom.

The atmosphere in the conference room was quietly jubilant as the research team waited for the CEO of DNA Therapeutics to join them. These young scientists had experienced this feeling of accomplishment before only to be disappointed by some unrealized glitch in their research or a regulation by the FDA that would stop their research in its tracks. Would this time be different?

The team was masked and made up of two geneticists, Dr. Zachary Richardson who was present and Dr. Arthur Rosen who was not in the room. Both had PhDs from Boston College. They have a team of biomedical engineers and several graduate students studying genetics working with them. Dr. Rachel Martinetti, a virologist with a PhD from Northeastern University was working on the virus that would serve as a vector. Dr. Simon Brite, a microbiologist from Harvard, joined the team shortly after its inception. Dr. Tova Cohen, an Israeli neurologist and her neurology fellow, Dr. Ahmed Bashir, a Palestinian, rounded out the team.

Zachary looked at his iPhone, then at the door, and said, It’s nine o’clock, where the hell is that partner of mine? He’s always late, but I would never have expected him to be late today, of all days, when we find out if our research is a go, or a no-go.

Arthur will be here. He would never let you get all the credit. Rachel Martinetti said sarcastically. She looked over at Tova and said, You guys were partying pretty hard last night when I left the bar. Was Arthur okay?

He was pretty drunk, so Ahmed helped him get home. I didn’t get any calls from either of them, so I assume he’s just a little hung over this morning. He’ll be here. Not to worry. Her Israeli accent was minimal but noticeable. She looked across the table at Ahmed who just shrugged his shoulders and had a quizzical look on his face.

I left early as well, but I can tell you guys one thing. Simon Brite looked at each one of them and added, He was loud and about to announce to the whole fucking bar what we were working on. I had to shut him up myself.

They all looked anxiously toward the door as the masked CEO entered. In her late sixties, Dr. Lauren Fields was beginning to show her age. Her gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her lined face established that she had experienced not only many successes, but multiple failures and emotional setbacks as well. Her body was lean and she dressed casually in black jeans, an oversized white blouse, and a white lab coat. She held the answer to everyone’s question. Were they ready to enter the next phase of their research or did they need to retrace their scientific steps and start over? She had the answer and they all knew it.

Tova couldn’t stand it for another second. So, is it a go?

Without an expression on her face, Dr. Fields stood in front of her team with her hands on her hips. I see Arthur is not here yet. I know he’s infamous for being late, so should I wait or let you know without him what the FDA had to say about our project?

Are you kidding? We’re going crazy. Zachary said.

Okay then. Relax, stay seated, and listen carefully. As you’re aware, our project has been under review by the Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research or CBER at the FDA. They’re responsible for assuring the safety and effectiveness of biologic products, vaccines, blood products, and gene therapies. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for us, Peter Marks M.D. and PhD is the director. He and I trained together in the department of Hematology and Medical Oncology at the Brigham not far from here.

So, it’s a go. Tova blurted out.

Not so fast, Tova. Peter is as straight as they come. He would never let our friendship influence his decision. Lauren waited a moment and then added, But we are a go for the next phase. She waited for the self-congratulations, high-fives, and hugs to settle down. It’s Saturday, so relax over the weekend and be back Monday morning to start our next and final phase.

Lauren walked through the glass enclosed laboratories congratulating the young and eager research technicians. The building that housed their research lab was located in Cambridge where a biotech industry boom had recently taken place. There were 120 research and manufacturing companies that were located within a one-mile area of Kendall Square. The competition was fierce, but most of the time they complemented each other. The most well-known manufacturers and wholesale pharmaceutical companies were: Biogen Idec, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Johnson and Johnson, Sanofi, Pfizer, Takeda Pharmaceuticals, Novartis, Tcr Therapeutics, Minerva Neurosciences, Momenta Pharmaceutical, Gloucester Pharmaceutical, Alnylam Pharmaceuticals, to name a few. Then there were those companies whose main goal was not in manufacturing pharmaceuticals but basic science research in the life sciences. They work in neuroscience, microbiology, scientific testing products, healthcare software, and oncology therapeutics. The one company most closely related and competitive to DNA Therapeutics was Life Bioscience. They work in the field of Longevity Science, seeking to improve longevity rates for human life through pharmaceuticals. Their technologies target the long-term breakdown of body functions.

CHAPTER 3

It was late in the afternoon when a man and woman entered the small outer office on the thirty-second floor of the 100 Federal Street building. It was nicknamed the Pregnant Building because of a bulge of several stories near its base. The thirty-seven-story skyscraper, located in the Financial District of Boston, is home to Bank of America, several financial institutions, law firms, and small corporations. This particular office had no name on its glass door, just 3201 in large numbers. The outer office was dark and empty. No receptionist and no furniture.

The woman entering was in her late forties, blond, and tall. She was plain looking, dressed in jeans, a black jersey, and a light leather jacket. Her partner was an African American man in his fifties, short, and muscular. He was dressed casually and wore a dark gray tweed newsboy cap. His face was heavily lined and he had a scar that ran from his left temple to his left cheek. They stood in the outer office and waited in silence with their protective masks on.

Ten minutes later the door opened and a short, stout man wearing a dark blue suit stood in front of them. He was in his fifties, bald, and Caucasian. He was unmasked and his facial expression was non-committal. Please come in. He stepped aside and pointed to the chairs in front of his cleared desk. No folders, loose papers, photos of his family, or even a telephone. He slowly walked around his desk, stood looking out of the window, and without turning around asked, So, why didn’t you get what you were hired to get?

We’re not sure, boss.

What the fuck does that mean, Susanne?

Susanne Rossi didn’t answer. She stood glaring at the back of his head. Her partner, Jack Cross looked at her, made a hand motion for her to answer, and slowly started to step back toward the door.

Finally, the man at the window turned to face them. "You’re right, that was rude of me. Now explain