Chapter Twenty-Seven Margo Angelhart
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Margo Angelhart
Mildred Maddox answered the door herself. I recognized her from her photo, though she looked a decade older. Short, neat dark
hair with tasteful gray highlights—a really good dye job—and clear pale blue eyes.
“May I help you?” she said.
“I’m Margo Angelhart, and this is my partner Jack. We’re private investigators.”
“Oh. Yes. I had a message that you called. Angelhart.”
“You may know our father.”
“Not personally, but of course, I know of him. How can I help you?”
A little cold, but not completely frigid.
I handed her my business card. “May we come in for a few minutes? We have some questions regarding a drug trial you oversaw
at the VA.”
“I’m retired now. We have lawyers. I can’t share details, you understand.” She smiled sadly, as if she wanted to help but
legal rules prevented her from doing so.
“This is not solely about the drug trial.” How could I get her to talk to us? How did I bring up our investigation into Klein’s death?
Jack said bluntly, “Our father, as you know, confessed to killing Dr. Devin Klein. New evidence suggests that he may be innocent,
and now we’re asking questions that the police didn’t ask three and a half years ago. An anonymous source sent us information
that Dr. Klein planned to blow the whistle on a specific drug trial right before he was killed. We asked our father about
it, and he came clean. He said yes, it was true, and he confessed because he was threatened. All we need is a few minutes
of your time to understand the process. Please, for our dad, can you help us?”
Jack surprised me. He laid out some truths and some fiction. My brother does not lie easily, but he sounded completely honest.
Mildred stared at Jack for a long ten seconds. Then she said, “As much as I can. There are some things I am simply not allowed
to divulge, but if I can help, I will.”
“Thank you,” Jack said with a small smile. “We really appreciate it.”
Mildred led us into her well-appointed home, bright with natural light coming from ample windows. She motioned for us to sit
in the living room, which was right off the tile foyer.
Everything was very white and modern. I was almost afraid to sit down.
But I sat on the white leather couch, Jack next to me. Mildred took a chair across from us. The only color in the room were
two towering green ficus trees in terra-cotta pots on either side of the plate glass window, and a contemporary green-and-blue
seascape that took up the bulk of the opposite wall.
I couldn’t tell if the trees were real or fake.
“What do you think I can help you with?” Mildred asked with mild curiosity.
“You were the director of research when Dr. Klein was killed, correct?” Jack asked, pulling out a small notepad. He looked all cop, even though he was dressed in khakis and a navy polo shirt.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did you work closely with Dr. Klein?”
“No. I didn’t work directly with any of the doctors. I was an administrator, which essentially meant glorified paper pusher.”
She smiled in a self-deprecating way. “I’m not minimizing my position, I had several roles, the primary one being to bring
in research projects to the VA medical center here in Phoenix. More research meant more grants meant more overall funding
into our program.”
“Did you approve the research projects?”
“Yes, when one of my staff members brought a project to me they would create a specific report and I would review it. I’d
call them in, ask questions, and either approve or reject the project. Sometimes I would send them back to gather more information.
It was important that any project have a direct benefit to the veterans’ community.”
While Jack questioned, I watched. Mildred Maddox seemed forthcoming. I was looking for any reason to disbelieve what she said,
but didn’t see anything.
Jack said, “If a doctor or researcher felt there was a problem with any of the research projects, would they come to you directly?”
She hesitated, shook her head. “Probably not,” she said. “I had a half dozen staff members who handled the day-to-day details
for their specific projects.”
“Do you know who managed the—” Jack looked at his notes “—the BN-432 Phase 1 trial with Neurovantix?”
She said, “I don’t know off the top of my head, it’s been a few years, and even if I did, I wouldn’t share that information. You can request specifics through the Freedom of Information Act.”
“Do you remember Peter Stockman?” I asked.
“Of course. He took over my position when I retired.”
“Was he involved in the Neurovantix trial?”
“I don’t know for certain. You can ask him, but he’ll tell you the same thing—he can’t discuss individual trials. All information
that is required to be public would likely have been made public when the trial concluded, but I couldn’t even tell you what
happened with that one. You know, I was directly involved with a very successful drug development project early on at the VA. It almost completely eliminated phantom
limb pain for our amputees. A huge success.”
Complete non sequitur. I looked closely at Mildred. She was smiling sweetly. Was she all there? She spoke clearly, intelligently,
but that comment seemed out of left field.
Jack glanced at me. He noticed it as well. He said, “New evidence has come to light that Dr. Klein consulted with another
doctor within the VA system about the Neurovantix trial. That doctor has brought up concerns about the original trial, stating
that Dr. Klein was going to expose inconsistencies in the program.”
Mildred frowned, her brows furrowed. She looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
“He was going to be a whistleblower,” Jack repeated.
She blinked slowly twice. “Okay. Did he?”
“He was killed before he was able to expose whatever he found. All his data is missing.”
“If that is the case, I’m sorry. I wasn’t privy to any problems with the Neurovantix trial. It wasn’t something I closely
followed, but if there were issues, I’m sure I would have been told.”
“So Dr. Klein didn’t come to you.”
She hesitated then said, “Honestly, I shouldn’t discuss any of the research programs with you. However, I can say I didn’t talk to Dr. Klein about any concerns he had about anything. I barely knew him. Maybe he brought them up with
my assistant director.”
“Peter Stockman?”
She looked confused, then smiled. “Yes, Peter is the current director.”
“And he was your assistant director three years ago?” I pressed.
She nodded. “He earned the promotion.”
A woman walked in, wearing slacks and a white blouse. “Mrs. Maddox, you have a five p.m. calendar appointment you need to
get ready for.”
“Oh. Yes. At the clubhouse?”
The woman nodded.
Mildred looked from Jack to Margo with a wide smile. “Is there anything else you need?”
“You’re on the board of Honor House, correct?” I asked.
She seemed surprised by the question, glanced at the woman in the doorway, then said, “Yes, I believe I still am, at least
until the end of the year. Why?”
“Just part of our research,” I said as I stood. “Thank you for your time.”
Jack and I walked out.
Back at Jack’s truck I said, “Did she seem too nice?”
“She seemed like a slightly forgetful seventy-year-old. Why don’t you trust her?”
“I do, I guess, well, no, I don’t.”
Jack laughed and started the engine. “Wow, thanks for clearing that up.”
“You know me, I don’t trust anyone until I get to know them. You’re probably right, she seemed genuine, maybe too forthcoming.”
“She didn’t really tell us much of anything, other than she was a figurehead and her staff did all the work. Maybe not in
so many words, but . . .” He let his thought trail off.
Jack might be right. I didn’t know. I needed to mull over the conversation. And I really wanted to talk to Peter Stockman,
but couldn’t figure out how to approach him. Yet.
“Let’s dig around a bit into her past. Make sure there aren’t any skeletons.”
“So where to now?”
“Honor House. I want to ask Grace Poling about Mildred, get her take.”
Twenty minutes later, I was back at Honor House. It was after five in the afternoon, but the facility was busy. I realized
most of the activity was around the kitchen.
I found Grace there, helping set up for the evening meal.
“Margo, good to see you again.”
“This is my brother Jack. You look busy, we can wait.”
“One of our regular volunteers had to leave early because her daughter went into labor, we’re just a little shorthanded so
I’m pitching in.”
“Tell us what to do,” I said.
“I never turn down free help,” Grace said. “Jack, would you mind helping Carl in the back room?” She gestured down the hall.
“He’s bringing in extra chairs. Margo, Frank is in charge of the kitchen, if you don’t mind asking what he needs?”
“I’m on it,” I said.
We had never volunteered at Honor House, but they hadn’t been this big when we were teenagers.
Mom and Dad had insisted that we find one community organization to help at least one day a month.
My cousin Josie and I spent most of our community service time helping coach kids in whatever sport was in season through a local nonprofit.
Both of us much preferred being active. However, I’d often worked at our church for several days before Thanksgiving when they prepped hundreds of precooked meals for needy families, so I knew my way around industrial kitchens.
I introduced myself to Frank and he tasked me with packing box lunches. There were a hundred premade turkey sandwiches, a
barrel of apples, and what smelled like homemade cookies. I asked him what they were for, considering he was prepping the
food line.
“Food to go, if they want it. I don’t force it on anyone, don’t want it to go to waste. Don’t need litter out there. Some
of the guys who come in for a hot meal are perfectly capable of providing for themselves, but they’re lonely, want the company.
Many of the guys have jobs and take the lunch bag for tomorrow’s work.”
“Good program.”
“Wish more of our men and women took advantage of the other services Honor House offers, but you can’t force people to do
what they don’t want to do. You serve?”
“Yes, sir. Army.”
He grinned. “Same here. I was a cook, made thousands of meals a day with my team. Good times.”
We chatted while I bagged, and by the time I was done, the first people were let into the dining hall and waited in line.
“Need help serving?”
“Naw, Carl’s back, he and I can take care of it. Thanks.”
I left and found Jack and Grace talking outside. It was a beautiful evening. As the sun set, it became chilly, at least by
Phoenix standards.
“I asked Grace about the board,” Jack said.
Grace nodded. “Mildred Maddox is on the board primarily because she’s one of our top donors, and she is instrumental in helping us raise more money.
Other than fundraising, she’s pretty much hands-off.
She’ll be cycling off next year, though she assured me she will continue to financially support our mission. ”
“What does the board do?” I asked.
“Primarily, help us raise money. Having successful business members on the board entices other successful people to donate.
It’s a sign that we’re a competent nonprofit. When so many nonprofits ask for money, any way we can rise above them, I’ll
take. I’m sure there are other good programs, but I feel like we’re doing God’s work by helping homeless and struggling veterans.”
“You are,” Jack told her. “Do you know Mildred personally?”
“Not well, she came on the board five years ago. We have one annual meeting in person a year, but the board only approves
the annual budget and any major expenditures, such as adding a wing to a building or major purchase. The CFO and I are full-time
staff as well as board members and we can make most decisions between meetings. If something comes up that we need board approval,
we call a virtual meeting.”
She looked from Jack to me. “Why all these questions about Mildred?”
“Just curious,” I said. It sounded lame, but I didn’t want to lie to her more than I already had.
“Is it about Jim Novak? Did you find him?”
“We haven’t, but we think we know where he’ll be tonight. Our colleague is going to reach out to him.”
“Please let me know, I would love to get him into the program.”
“Would Mildred have reason to know Jim?” I asked.
“I suppose any board member who is regularly involved might know any number of our clients, but Mildred has never been a volunteer. I don’t see how she would.”
“Thank you for your time,” Jack said.
“Thank you for helping,” Grace said, and returned to the dining hall.
“That was a bust,” I said as we walked across the parking lot to Jack’s truck.
“Maybe,” he said.
“You learn something I didn’t?”
“Not from Grace, but I talked to Carl for a while. He said he met you earlier.”
“I remember,” I said.
“I felt him out a bit, and then shared why we’re looking for Jim. Carl knew about the drug trial, and he gave me two more
names. We have no way of knowing if they were included in the forty reported patients, or were among the ten Klein said were
excluded, but I sent the names to Tess to see what she could learn. Carl said he was skeptical about the ‘wonder drug,’ as
that was how it was pitched to them. The last time someone talked about a wonder drug, it was oxycodone and it caused a lot
of problems for a lot of people.”
“You’re fabulous,” I told him as we walked back to his truck. I’d get the names from Tess, then forward them to Luisa so she
could check in the medical records if they were missing a year in their files as well.
We climbed into the cab and I said, “We need to pick up Luisa at the office.”
“When’s Nate coming back with your Jeep?”
“Hell if I know. I might borrow Mom’s SUV for a couple days.”
I looked at my phone. Nate hadn’t responded to any of my text messages. I hoped he’d had more success than we did.