Out of control (10 page)

The only other thing I could think of was a trip out to France to visit de Clermont but I didn’t fancy that too much. Anyway, it wasn’t urgent until I found out the attitude of Albion.

When I got back home I found Mike and Liam sharing beers and in the middle of a seemingly intense argument about the respective qualities of the English and Australian cricket teams. Mike welcomed me with the news that Heather and Oliver had invited the three of us over for supper.

“Bloody hell. I’ve just come back from Stirling.”

I explained that I had made a detour to have lunch with Helen Mackie and gave a short explanation of the reason.

“Well, I’m not driving all the way back there.” I said and chucked the car keys to Liam.

“Here, you can drive. That way your grandfather and godfather can have a decent drink. And, by the way, there are no kangaroos between here and Doune – unless any have escaped from the Safari Park!”

*

Supper was a friendly family affair. We caught up on the latest health reports on Heather’s horses and Oliver’s views on meat prices. Mike regaled us with his exploits on the golf course. He and Liam had done three of the courses on the Fife coast.

Over coffee and dessert Mike wanted to hear my version of our interview with Inspector Ross which led to a general discussion about Europe’s open frontiers, the Common Market and organised crime.

“So all’s done and dusted,” said Mike “and you can now go off happily on your cruise.”

Heather looked up sharply from her apple tart. “What cruise? Who’s going on a cruise?”

“Bob’s taking Maggie off for a cruise to Norway for ten days. He reckons he wants to find out what it’s like having female company twenty four hours a day again,” said Mike with a grin.

I should have told him to keep his mouth shut. Heather made a disapproving “Huh!” and went back to her eating.

I had no way of knowing if the disapproval had to do with Maggie or my apparent light approach to the relationship. I suspect it was the latter.

Then she suddenly looked across at Oliver.”Why don’t you ever take me on a cruise? Or a trip away somewhere like Rome or Venice or Vienna? Now there’s a good idea. We could get someone to look after the animals and have a holiday for once. We haven’t been away for years.”

Oliver, taken by surprise, was fumbling around in his mind for an answer.

I thought it best to change the subject so I answered Mike’s question by recounting the review of my thoughts from earlier in the day.

“Sounds to me that you’ve got a problem with this de Clermont bloke,” he said. “He’s that friend of Pierre’s that you met six months ago isn’t he?”

I made a sign to Mike to steer off that one and indicated silently that I‘d something to tell him afterwards. For once he interpreted my look correctly.

Afterwards while Liam was helping Oliver and Heather to clear up I took Mike into the sitting room. I’d decided to explore my thoughts with him and see what his opinion was.

Mike tends to have radical opinions on courses of action which can 
sometimes be useful in helping me to decide 
not 
what to do.

I 
didn’t mention anything about Pierre and Madeleine. That wasn’t my place. Pierre would tell him in good time if he wanted him to know. But I did explain the reasons for my worries and he could understand perfectly well that, because Antoine was such a good friend of Pierre, we would have to tread very carefully. What did make him wonder, however, was the postmark on the letter.

Also, I suppose because of his army experience, he was more interested in the murder of Irina and what I had learned from the police about her background. I think he secretly fancied calling up Mac and Doug, his two old sidekicks, and waging war against the Romanians.

Liam drove us home afterwards and we didn’t meet a single kangaroo. At least now I could have a few days of calm. Mike took Liam back to Forfar with him and I promised to let him know as soon as I had any more news.

A few days later Steven called me up with some information about LyonPharma’s Edinburgh operations. He sent me a brief profile and a few newspaper articles which had appeared over the last couple of years. Amongst the information were the names of the main directors. Should I do any more or just leave it? As the patent story was not wrapped up one hundred per cent I thought ‘Why not?’

The Sales and Marketing director was a man called Brian Dawson and I had the idea that he might be the best person to start with. I figured that he would be the most likely source of information about the new press release and it would be interesting to find out how much he knew about the research.

I thought about it on and off throughout the afternoon. Eventually I decided I’d go and see the company and, if he was available, try to get to speak to this Mr. Dawson. It could be a wasted journey but I preferred that to getting a potential telephone brush-off. I had a couple of things to do in Edinburgh anyway.

*

I found the LyonPharma offices in a development zone in Leith. It was a prosperous-looking building, two stories high, and looked if it wasn’t much more than ten years old. I parked in one of the slots allocated for visitors.

Most of the ground floor was in glass and as I approached the front door I could observe a meeting going on in the large room on the right of the main door – about a dozen people gathered round a large table listening attentively to a presentation which was being made by an earnest-looking young lady with the aid of a couple of flip charts and a screen which seemed to process power point slides at an alarming rate. Just seeing it briefly from outside as I walked up made me feel tired.

I pushed through the large glass doors and found myself in a large tiled reception area. On the right there was a low table and a few easy chairs. Some newspapers and magazines lay on the table. On the left there was an open curved staircase leading up to the next floor. The whole area was decorated with posters informing visitors about some of the company’s flagship products.

As I walked across to the desk I was vaguely aware of someone coming down the stairs behind me. I glanced at the man as I approached the smiling girl at the reception.

He was a large fit-looking man whom I guessed must be in his mid- thirties. Black trousers, open-necked wine coloured shirt. His hair was cut very short and he sported a large gold chain on his wrist. Either marketing or HR I said to myself. His features and skin colouring indicated foreign roots.

I introduced myself as Mr. Bob Bruce and asked if I could possibly speak to Mr. Brian Dawson, the Sales and Marketing director. The man behind me, who had been heading for the meeting room door, paused. I was conscious of the break in his stride. Before the girl could reply he stepped over and addressed me from behind.

“Can I help you, sir?”

I turned. “No. It’s alright thank you. I’m sure this young lady will manage fine.”

His eyes studied me intently. “Mr. Bruce did you say? I’m afraid we can’t help you. Mr. Dawson no longer works here.”

“Oh. In that case perhaps I could speak to whoever is his replacement?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said coldly. “He’s in a meeting at the moment and will be tied up all morning. I suggest you come back another day but I doubt if he’ll have time to see you. He’s very busy. It would be best if you made an appointment.” He walked off and disappeared through the door into the meeting room.

If that was typical of LyonPharma’s executives I wasn’t very impressed. His eyes had been cold and unfriendly, his accent foreign and, as he could have had no idea whether I was a client, a supplier or the Inland Revenue, his PR skills were zero.

I turned to the girl behind the desk and asked her who that was.

“That’s Mr. Macek, one of our directors,” she said. I thanked her and left the building, thinking that somehow Mr. Macek didn’t quite fit into my experience of the profile of a pharmaceutical executive. Maybe I was wrong. Appearances can be deceiving.

As I was unlocking the car I glanced back. Macek had come out to the front door and was apparently telephoning because he had his mobile to his ear. Somehow, however, I had the impression that it was a cover and he was in fact watching me – making sure I left the premises. He disappeared inside. I got in and drove off.

The visit had proved to be a waste of time but I might as well take it a stage further. Perhaps I could gain more information from Brian Dawson now that he’d left the company. Did he resign or was he fired? I wondered if Steven could find out so I stopped on my way home and gave him a call.

He said he’d nose around and see if he could find out.

I got a little golf in over the next couple of days but didn’t exactly burn up the course. My local club, Ladybank, has tight fairways and most of the rough is heather. On the second afternoon I quit in disgust having lost three balls in the first nine holes. I went home deciding to spend the rest of it on the further adventures of T.E Lawrence in the Middle East in search of his Seven Pillars of Wisdom.

Just after Lawrence and his wild bunch of Arab tribesman had crossed the desert and captured Aqaba, Steven called back.

“Stroke of luck, Bob. A friend of mine knows Brian Dawson. They’re both members of the same golf club. Apparently he was fired and is distinctly pissed off about it.”

“Does your friend think he would talk to me?”

“Well, I don’t know what it’s about but he gave me his phone number. You can always try.”

This time I would be more direct about what I wanted to know. If he wasn’t happy about his departure perhaps he would be willing to tell me a few things if I explained what had happened to Liam and Bioscope.

It turned out that he was quite happy for us to have a chat. He had met Helen, and when he heard my story he reacted very angrily.

“It’s that bastard Dugain and that bloody Macek. I’ll put money on it. Sure I’ll meet you. I‘ve come across Helen a few times, as one does in this industry, and if what you’re telling me is true, she doesn’t deserve that.”

We agreed to meet in a pub we both knew in Barnton. Brian would perhaps also be able to give me an insight into the reason for Dugain making his offer for the Bioscope shares. I was reminded of the advice I had once been given about firing people. Don’t run the risk of making the person too bitter. They might come back and bite.

My conversation with Dawson was about to prove that point.

Brian Dawson was already there when I arrived. At least I presumed that he was the man sitting at a table in the corner, on his own, reading the newspaper because when I entered he glanced up in a way that indicated that he was waiting for someone. I made my way over.

He seemed to be around fifty, solidly constituted, and was dressed casually. His graying hair was neat and he had glasses perched on the end of his nose. As I approached he took them off, folded them away into the top pocket of his shirt and stood up with a smile. We shook hands as I introduced myself.

After a few of the normal remarks which are exchanged when two strangers met – “nice to meet you”, “thanks for coming” etc. - we ordered ourselves a couple of solid steaks and a decent bottle of wine – a Mercurey, recommended by the waiter.

Being a salesman he was easy and outgoing and wasted no time in expressing his curiosity and asking me to explain again my interest in LyonPharma.

I went over the story briefly. He listened attentively. I recounted the events that had led up to Liam’s dismissal and the conviction we had that he had been specifically targeted to get information. As I went through it he nodded his head several times as if none of this surprised him.

When I had finished he confirmed my impression.

He put down his knife and fork for a minute and leant back, grinning ruefully.

“What you’ve told me doesn’t really surprise me somehow but I’m afraid I can’t confirm it.

“I was fired about three months ago – before the announcement of the new patent - so I honestly don’t know if they did anything like what you are suggesting. But it is certainly not outside the bounds of possibility.”

“What makes you say that?”

He then explained to me what had happened at the company. He had worked there for twenty three years, working his way up from a salesman on the road to his final position. It had been a good company when the old boss and founder had been alive. It had looked after its employees and it was run with the idea that their products would be the best and that they were making a contribution to people’s health. Certainly it wanted to make money but when he had started it was still a private company and almost all the profits were ploughed back into research. The owner didn’t need enormous dividends.

“Then I suppose he was thinking of the future and decided to go public. He had no kids that were interested in taking it over. That went fine for a few years but then he had to retire for health reasons. In fact he died only six months later.

“They appointed this new man, Dugain. When he took over it all changed.”

“In what way?”

“Not the same ethics. It became money, money, money. Cost cutting, pushing for sales to a maximum, bringing out drugs too quickly before they’ve been completely tested. They’ve even got a programme going for holidays for doctors and their wives if they hit certain prescription targets. I eventually got disgusted about the way things were going and complained. That’s why I got fired.”

He shook his head sadly. I said nothing, hoping he would continue.

“The company in Edinburgh covers the whole of the UK. It was set up here originally to be close to some research work that was going on at the time at the university and we were one of the best performers in the Group. It still performs well in terms of numbers but the atmosphere is catastrophic. I don’t know how long it will continue like that. I reckon it’s heading for trouble.”

I mused over this. It was not an unfamiliar story. There was no doubt in my mind that when a company switches from private to public ownership it very often spells trouble.
The requirements of the stock market mean that the whole way the company is run has to change. Investors wanted a return on their money and suddenly everything collapses back into short-term thinking. Management motivation changes because their remuneration becomes based on short term objectives. In an industry like pharmaceuticals, where new products can take years of research and years of testing, the effect can be lethal. Brian’s story was becoming more and more common. I had seen the evolution of business practice over the last forty years and the way things had changed – not in my view for the better. Stock market’s need for short term profits, the rapid development of IT-driven processes which, more and more, lead managers to stop thinking and using their commonsense. People being regarded more as costs or as revenue generators rather than assets. I personally found it sad.