In Indianapolis, Indiana, on the night Pamela Tate died, a small blond woman with hair caught back in kewpie-doll ponytails stood up with an audible snort of disgust and marched out of the press conference, leaving the man from Sealey Labs droning on and on behind her. Once outside the conference room she unhooked the press pass from her blouse and gave it one final look before dropping it in the trash can. In addition to PRESS, the badge said: SALLY GRINSTONE — PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER in large red letters.
And so much for casting your bread upon the water, Sally thought sourly. All that plane fare blown, a day’s work blown, a perfectly good dinner date blown — well, crappio! You should have known better than to bother with a Sealey Labs press conference anyway. Should have known that anything Sealey produced would be sleazy in some way — but you never learn, do you, Sal? Especially when you think you smell blood …
Another reporter followed on her heels, finally caught up. “Heard all you could stand?” he asked her, with a wry grin.
“You’d better guess. All they’ve got to promote is one more garden variety of arthritis drug, and they’re hyping it up to the moon. And not one word about the Australian studies, even though they sponsored them and paid for them.”
“Australian studies?”
Sally Grinstone glanced up at the man, her green eyes suddenly penetrating. “Haven’t done your homework, eh, Saul? Well, I should make you do it, but I’m too kindhearted. Anyway, this is too small for me to get excited about. You want a story? You can have it free. Just check out Heinz and Faber’s work in the Acta Scandinavica back in 1979, and the Australian team’s report in our own Immunology in late ‘84 and ‘85. See what those people turned up about this ‘safe’ little arthritis drug that Sealey Labs is hyping now — press conference with the great Mancini himself, their top production man. And when you get finished, remember that you owe Sally Grinstone a stroke sometime when she needs it …”