Final Venture

'OK, but just let me tell you. The reason Lisa was fired from BioOne was that she suspected a drug they are developing is dangerous. I've been doing my own investigating, and I think she might be right. I've collected a mass of information about this drug that I don't understand. Only she will know what it means. I'd like her to look at it.'

'That's not all you'd like, is it?'

'No,' I admitted. 'But it could prove Lisa right. And more importantly, we could save lives. Did you hear about Aunt Zoe?'

'No,' said Ann. 'What happened?'

I wasn't really surprised that Carl hadn't contacted Ann. After Frank's divorce, there had been little linking Zoe and her ex-sister-in-law, apart from the funeral.

'She had a stroke. Carl thinks she won't make it.'

'Oh, no!'

'She was taking neuroxil-5. She suffered from the side-effects. There will be others. You know Lisa. You know how important this would be to her.'

Ann poured the coffee and then sat down. We sipped the hot liquid in silence. Then she seemed to make up her mind. 'What do you want to know?'

'Where she's living.'

She glanced quickly at me. 'With her brother.'

'I thought so! Do you have his new address?'

Eddie had always lived in Haight-Ashbury, since his days at the nearby UCSF Medical School. His new apartment was only a couple of blocks away from his old one, where Lisa and I had visited him the year before. I wanted to give Lisa time to return from her lab in Stanford, so I spent several hours wandering around the area, drinking coffee, eating a sandwich, browsing in shops, walking. The Haight had been the centre of the 1967 Summer of Love, and nostalgia for that time was everywhere, from Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane memorabilia shops to places to buy quaint drug accessories.

I was not looking forward to meeting Eddie. It was clear that he had decided I had murdered Frank, and the guilt and anger that he had felt at his father's death had been channelled into hatred of me. I was sure he had been a strong influence in Lisa's decision to leave me, and her staying with him could hardly have warmed her feelings towards me.

I pressed the buzzer at the entrance to his building, a pink Victorian row house. There was a camera. He could see me. There was no hope of bluffing my way in.

'What do you want?' his voice was harsh.

'To see you,' I said.

There was a pause. 'Come on up,' the buzzer said with a kind of vicious eagerness.

His apartment was on the second floor. He opened the door, wearing a red T-shirt and jeans. He flashed a broad ironic smile. 'Come in, come in, old chap.'

I followed him into the living area. It was a mess of magazines, mugs, glasses and some low furniture. I recognized Lisa's bag in a corner, and some of her clothes stuffed next to it. She was probably sleeping in here.

'Let me get you a beer.' He turned his back on me and headed towards the kitchen area and the refrigerator. I followed a couple of steps behind. Suddenly he spun round. I was too surprised to do anything, and he landed a blow on the side of my head.

It knocked me to one side. My first impulse was to fly back at him, but I resisted it, and stood up straight. He hit me again on the chin. It hurt, and left my brain muzzy, but I held my head upright and my eyes on his.

If he tried to hit me again, I would have to defend myself, but he didn't. He smiled, rubbing his fist. 'I've been wanting to do that for so long.'

'Good. Well, now we've got that over with, I take it Lisa isn't back from Stanford yet?'

'No. And she won't want to see you.' He took one bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, opened it, and drank. 'So fuck off.'

'I'd like to wait for her.'

'She doesn't want to see you. Fuck off.' He took a couple of steps towards me. He was about my size, but I was confident I could handle him. I had intended to avoid it if I could, but at that moment, beating the living daylights out of Eddie Cook didn't seem such a bad idea.

'Eddie! Simon! Stop it!'

I turned round. Lisa stood in the doorway. She looked very small. Her eyes were tired, her shoulders weary. I wanted to pull her to me and hold her tight, tight until she felt safe under my protection.

'Simon, get out,' she said, matter-of-factly.

'That's what I was just telling him to do,' said Eddie.

I knew there was no chance of talking her round now, and I hadn't planned to. I handed her an envelope with the note I had written at Marsh House that morning. 'Read this.'

I held the envelope out to her. She stared at it, and then reached out slowly to take it from my hand. Our skin didn't touch. Then, deliberately, she ripped it once, and threw it into the wastepaper bin.

I kept my cool. 'That letter contains instructions for how to get access to BioOne's files on the neuroxil-5 trials. You were right, Lisa, there is something wrong with the drug. Aunt Zoe had a stroke a couple of days ago as a result of taking it. I can't analyse the information. You can. It's all there.'

Her eyes widened. 'Aunt Zoe? No. Really?'

I nodded slowly.

'Is she going to be all right?'

'Carl doesn't think so.'

'Oh, no!' She glanced down at the bin, and then, with an effort, composed herself. 'I won't read your letters, Simon. I won't listen to what you have to say. I want you out of my life. Now go back to Boston.'

It was painful to hear these words from someone I loved so much, and someone who needed me so much. But I had expected them.

'All right, I'm leaving now. But read the letter. And meet me in the coffee shop round the corner at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.'

'I won't be there, Simon.'

' 'Bye,' I said, and without waiting for a reply that would not have come, I left the apartment.

32

I arrived at the coffee shop half an hour early, after an appalling night's sleep in a cheap hotel worrying about whether Lisa would come. The cafe walls were orange, adorned with posters of dolphins and whales gliding through shimmering seas. The food was vegetarian and organic, and the coffee came in the standard forty different combinations. The place was almost empty. There was a cool banker type with a fancy briefcase and a raincoat and hair slightly longer than the market average, two young women with metal-studded faces and short white-blonde hair, and an old man dressed in a beaten-up overcoat pretending to be a bum. The double latte he had ordered and the Scientific American he was reading gave him away as something else.

I asked for a simple cup of coffee and opened the Wall Street Journal. BioOne stock was down four to fifty-nine. Daniel had probably sold by now. In fact, knowing him, he had probably shorted the stock. I wondered if I could be implicated if he had dabbled in some insider trading. But that was the least of my worries.

I finished the coffee and ordered another. Ten to ten. Would she come? It wasn't even ten yet, and I was beginning to panic.

Ten o'clock came and went, then ten thirty, then eleven. I drank cups of coffee nervously, and my nerves jangled at the result. I tried to read and reread the same pages of the. Journal. She wasn't coming. Lisa could sometimes be a bit late, but not that late. She obviously wasn't coming. But I couldn't