last couple of days, I've wondered. You were there, you did have an argument with Dad, you do know how to use a gun, I'm going to inherit a lot of money. And the last person to see a murder victim alive is often the murderer.'
'Who says?'
'Eddie.'
Once again, I resisted telling Lisa what I thought of Eddie's idiotic theories. She didn't want to believe Eddie, she wanted to believe me. She was asking me for a reason.
'Lisa, you saw me when I came back from seeing Frank. Did I look like I'd just killed him?'
'No. No, of course not.' She smiled. 'Don't worry, Simon. I know you had nothing to do with it. Eddie's wrong, and I'm sorry I doubted you.'
Bloody Eddie. No doubt he felt guilty that he had got on with his father so badly in the years before he died. No doubt this self-recrimination had encouraged that basic human instinct to blame someone for his father's death, someone real, someone he knew and mistrusted. Me. Since the police seemed to be considering the possibility, and since I fitted into his half-baked ideas of criminology, I was the perfect candidate.
Lisa's closeness to her brother wasn't really surprising. He had always looked after her, and helped her through difficult times. I was grateful to him for having supported the woman I loved, but what I couldn't tolerate was him trying to turn Lisa against me.
The food came, and the conversation moved on. We didn't talk about Frank or Boston Peptides or BioOne for the rest of the evening. For a couple of hours we were as we had been before Frank's death. Eventually, they threw us out, and we decided to walk up the hill behind the restaurant to the Bunker Hill monument.
It was a warm evening for October, and we sat down under the tall obelisk, neatly hemmed in by black railings and crisply mown grass. We looked out over the Charles to the lights of Boston.
'I like it here,' I said.
'That's strange, considering it's where so many of the evil redcoats met their final destiny'
'At the hands of a bunch of violent tax-dodgers.'
'Not paying taxes is a fine American tradition,' Lisa said, 'and one that our wealthiest citizens are proud to follow.'
Anyway, wasn't the battle fought a few hundred yards from here?'
'Smart-ass.'
I smiled. I lay on my back, and looked up at the obelisk, tapering upwards into the night. 'No, seriously, things happened here hundreds of years ago. Wherever you walk in Boston you feel that. You can imagine the townspeople grazing their cows on the Common, or the clippers sailing into Boston Harbor. So many places in America have no history. Whatever was there before the latest strip mall was put up is obliterated, forgotten. But not here. As I said, I like it.'
Lisa kissed me. 'So do I'.
11
Lynette Mauer sat next to Gil, watching him through her large glasses with an expression close to awe, lapping up everything he was saying. This was a Monday morning meeting with a difference. The firm's largest investor was present.
It was also the first Monday morning meeting since Frank had died – the previous week's had been cancelled. The chair opposite Gil, Frank's chair, was empty. I could almost see him now, relaxed, cracking a joke, one long leg crooked over the other. His tenseness over the week before he died was forgotten. The old Frank, the relaxed, amiable but remarkably shrewd venture capitalist, would be the person we would all remember.
The meeting wasn't exactly rigged, and to be fair to Gil he had never told us to behave differently when an investor was present. But troubled investments were skated over rather than dissected, any disagreement was polite and swiftly resolved, and we talked a lot about BioOne.
This was good news for me, because I didn't have to talk much about Net Cop. It was good news for Art because he was allowed to expound upon his favourite subject. As usual, an open can of Diet Dr Pepper rested on the table in front of him, the dark purple liquid bubbling mysteriously in a glass. I had tasted Diet Dr Pepper once. It brought back memories of a particularly unpleasant chemical cherryade from my childhood. Art guzzled it all day.
'The Street can't get enough of BioOne stock,' he was saying. 'The price is up to forty-five. Now that's not quite the sixty dollars we were at a couple of months ago, but the whole sector's been trashed.'
'OK, and at forty-five dollars a share, what's the value of Revere's holdings?' asked Gil, for Mauer's benefit.
Art paused as though he hadn't really thought about the question before. 'I'd say just shy of three hundred million.'
'Good. And we hold, right?'
Art smiled. 'We hold. Harrison Brothers is confident that the stock will be back up to sixty by year end. And we haven't gone wrong holding BioOne stock yet.'
'Good. Now I think you'll all agree that we had a very interesting meeting with Jerry and Dr Enever last week. The Boston Peptides acquisition will be a useful addition to the BioOne drugs portfolio. Can I take it we support the deal?'
There were nods around the table. It was pointless me protesting. This was just a formality, and anyway I wasn't a partner. I didn't get a vote.
'Excellent,' said Gil. 'Do you have any questions for Art, Lynette?'
Lynette Mauer glanced quickly up at Gil, fluttered a little, and then spoke. 'I enjoyed the meeting as well. It does seem to be a very successful investment, Art. Well done. I see you have been looking after our money well.'
Art beamed.
'I do have one question. It's something I saw in the paper at the weekend about Alzheimer's. After the meeting, it kind of jumped out of the page at me.' She smiled sweetly at Gil, who returned her smile encouragingly. 'Where is it?' She shuffled through her papers, and pulled out a piece of torn-out newspaper bearing the
'Yes. It's something about galantamine,' she pronounced this word awkwardly, 'which is some kind of drug extracted from narcissi bulbs. It's supposed to be a more effective treatment for Alzheimer's than what's on the market at the moment. Do you think this might be a threat to neuroxil-5?'
Ah, no, not at all,' replied Art quickly.
'Why not?'
Art replied slowly, as if addressing a child. 'Neuroxil-5 prevents the build up of beta-amyloid in the brain of an Alzheimer's affected patient. It is this beta-amyloid that eventually kills the brain cells. No other treatment has succeeded in attacking this beta-amyloid in the way neuroxil-5 does.'
'I understand that,' said Mauer. 'But it says here that this drug galantamine inhibits cholinesterase, which is what kills brain cells. So which is it?'
'Which is what?' asked Art carefully.
'Which is it that kills the brain cells? The beta-amyloid stuff or the cholinesterase stuff?' Mauer looked at Art ever so sweetly, as though she was completely confident he would be able to answer.
Art was stumped. He didn't have a clue. He was just about to open his mouth, when Ravi jumped in.
'As you know Ms Mauer, Art is our BioOne expert,' he began. 'But I did happen to catch that article about galantamine too.' He had all our attention. Ravi's approach to these meetings was usually to keep quiet until he was spoken to. But now, as he addressed Mauer over his half-moon glasses, he spoke quietly and with authority. 'I think the truth is that Alzheimer's involves a complex tangle of different biochemical reactions in the brain. It is difficult to separate cause from effect. It seems likely that drugs like galantamine delay the onset of Alzheimer's. But, as Dr Enever explained last week, BioOne believes that neuroxil-5 neutralizes a gene that is behind all these
