The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

It was almost 4:30 in the afternoon, and I was restless to get going and see Ray, when my cell phone rang. I raised my eyebrows at the incoming number. It was Bill Ayers. I hadn’t heard from him except a note or two on Facebook since I left Texas in December. I answered, quickly.

“Bill, hey! How are you?”

“Carrie, we need to talk.”

I was taken aback. His tone was ... almost frantic. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Be honest with me. I know I screwed up asking you out to dinner before you graduated. And I’ve apologized for that. I was wrong. But ... I didn’t expect this. Why? I thought we ... I thought we were okay.”

What was he talking about? “Why, what?”

“I was suspended today pending an investigation, Carrie.”

“What?”

“They’re going to do the whole fucking academic witch hunt. All my research is federally funded, Carrie.”

“Bill ... I didn’t file a complaint. I never said anything to anyone.”

“Well, someone sure as hell did. They’re accusing me of falsifying research, and of letting you take primary authorship on papers I wrote.”

I gasped, feeling as if someone had closed their hand around my throat. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’ve been suspended because I’m accused of sleeping with you and falsifying your PhD research. The RCR is involved.”

RCR was Rice University’s office of the Responsible Conduct of Research. They handled complaints of academic integrity, falsifying research, that sort of thing. And it was a federally funded office that handled investigations for NIH and the National Science Foundation. Which meant, if what Bill was telling me was true, I was going to be hearing about this soon too.

I couldn’t breathe. This was a nightmare.

“Bill, what did they tell you?”

“Only that the complaint was made, and that the University took this sort of thing seriously, blah fucking blah, and that I was suspended from all research and academic supervision until the investigation is complete. Of course they take it seriously, they could lose federal funding if they don’t. They’ll throw me right under the fucking bus before they’ll disturb the federal gravy train.”

The spray of words out of the normally soft-spoken, polite Bill was so out of character I couldn’t help but wonder if he was drunk. That was when my phone rang. Doctor Moore. Shit.

“Bill, I’ll call you later. My boss is calling.”

“Sure, fine,” he responded, his voice curt.

I hung up my cell. My heart was pounding as I reached out and slowly picked up the receiver on my desk phone. “Hello?”

“Doctor Thompson. Can you stop by my office?”

“I’ll be right there,” I responded.

He hung up without a word.

It had to be Nikki. I thought about my last day in Texas, and the photo Nikki had posted on my Facebook page. Had that vindictive bitch put mine and Bill’s careers in jeopardy?

I felt like I had a lead ball in my stomach as I walked down the hall to Doctor Moore’s office. I knocked, and he called, “Come in.”

He wasn’t alone. Another guy in his fifties sat in one of the chairs facing Doctor Moore’s desk. He stood as I came in, and Doctor Moore said, “Doctor Thompson, this is Gerald Smart, from the Office of Research Integrity at Health and Human Services.”

My lips felt like rubber as I said, “Hello,” and shook hands with Smart.

“Have a seat,” Moore said.

I did, and so did Smart.

Moore tented his fingers together, just covering his mouth, studying me. My skin crawled. Finally, he said, “Mr. Smart, if you could explain the purpose of your visit?”

Smart leaned forward and said, “Yes, of course. Doctor Thompson, are you aware of the ORI and our mission?”

I shook my head. “Only in the vaguest of terms.”

He nodded. “ORI is responsible for ensuring the integrity of research funded by the Department of Health and Human Services, including any research at public and private universities we fund, as well as all of the activities of the NIH. As I’m sure you can imagine, research funded by public dollars must be of the highest integrity. We supervise investigations by academic institutions to ensure that appropriate action is taken whenever there is suspicion of fraudulent research.”

I nodded. “Okay ... so what can I do to help you?”

My heart was pounding at this point, and I could feel my neck and cheeks flushing. I already knew the answer to this question, because of the call with Ayers. But I wanted to hear him say it. What exactly was I accused of here?

“Doctor Thompson, I’m afraid ORI has received a complaint with very specific allegations against you.”

I swallowed. “What sort of allegations?”

“Specifically, that you falsified research which is due to be published in the Journal of Infectious Diseases. Additionally, the report indicated ... ahem…” He looked away from me and said, “The reporter indicated that a significant portion of your PhD work was falsified, and that this was aided by your thesis advisor in return for sexual favors. Unfortunately, we have to take it seriously. Among other things, a picture of you and your dissertation advisor kissing was sent in with the report.”

I jerked in my seat, and my hands involuntarily gripped the arms of the chair until my knuckles nearly screamed in pain.

My jaw rigid, I spat out the words. “There is absolutely no truth to that at all. Who made these accusations?”

He shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we can’t tell you that. It’s to protect whistleblowers from potential retaliation.”

“And give false accusers a shield of anonymity? If I’m right, the picture you’re talking about is the day I left Rice. Bill kissed me goodbye, but that’s all there was to it.”

Smart grimaced. “Doctor Thompson, our goal is to ensure scientific integrity. I assure you, no adverse action will be taken against you without the fullest of investigation.” He said the words with a straight face. But it didn’t give me confidence. He continued, “Doctor Moore here, as your supervisor, will lead the investigation here at