Final Venture

by Michael Ridpath

  Mahoney gave a half-smile. I bet he thought that was funny. 'And did he have any ideas?'

  'No. At least not then. But he did leave a message on my answering machine yesterday night that he had found out something interesting about BioOne. He wanted to see me at eight o'clock tonight to talk about it. That's why I went to see him.'

  'I see. Can you let us have the tape from the machine?'

  I shrugged. 'OK.'

  'Thank you. Have you any idea what he might have found out?'

  'No.'

  'None at all?'

  I shrugged. 'No.'

  'As you know, John Chalfont was shot in the back. There was no sign that anyone broke into the apartment. We think it's likely the murderer was someone he knew. Just like it was with Frank Cook.' Mahoney paused. 'Mr Ayot, did you shoot John Chalfont?'

  I looked Mahoney straight in the eye. 'No, I didn't.' I thought for a moment. 'Anyway, if I did kill him, what did I do with the gun?'

  Cole answered. 'You could have disposed of it when you ran outside to wait for the police to arrive.'

  'Have you found it?' I asked.

  'We're looking,' said Cole.

  'What about the man I saw leave the building?'

  'He lives there. He was just going out for the evening. When he got home he told us all about you.'

  Mahoney spoke again. 'Did John Chalfont suggest that he had found something that could implicate you in the murder of Frank Cook?'

  'No!' I replied. I turned to Cole. I'd let this go far enough. 'I want to speak to my lawyer.'

  Cole nodded.

  A spark of irritation flared in Mahoney's eyes. 'We'll talk later,' he said, and left the room.

  It took a while to track down Gardner Phillips. He was at his weekend house somewhere or other. I finally got through to him. As expected, he told me to keep quiet until he got there.

  Which took two hours, spent alone in the poxy interview room. At least it wasn't a cell.

  As I waited for Phillips, my optimism that they would let me go slipped away. I began to panic that I would never see freedom again. I had been afraid I would end up behind bars for Frank's murder; now it looked like it would be for John's. If they didn't get me for one, they'd get me for the other. My luck was constantly running against me. And now Mahoney was involved, he would do his best to keep me in here.

  Phillips had said there was no chance of bail in a murder investigation. At least I was alone in this interview room. But jail, real jail with murderers, drugs, violence, rape, AIDS, seemed much much closer.

  Phillips arrived at last, wearing a jacket and tie and looking as cool as if this were a regularly scheduled meeting on a Monday morning. I was hugely relieved to see him.

  I quickly explained what had happened. 'Are they going to let me out?' I asked when I had finished.

  'You bet they are.' He looked angry. 'They haven't arrested you yet. There's nothing to stop you from leaving right away. I'll go and talk to them.'

  He was back twenty minutes later.

  'OK, let's go.'

  'They don't want to keep me here?'

  'They can't. They don't have enough evidence. They're as suspicious as hell, but they haven't got enough to charge you.'

  'It sounded to me as though they were getting close.'

  'That's the way they like to make it sound,' said Phillips. 'But they couldn't find the gun anywhere in or around the building. The gallery owner confirmed that you had tried to get in as he was closing up last night at eight o'clock. And one of the residents thinks they heard something that sounded like it might have been a shot at about seven forty. It just made no sense that you would have shot John Chalfont, run downstairs, made the gun disappear, tried to get into the gallery, run back upstairs to look at him, and then waited for the cops.'

  I smiled. 'Thanks.'

  'We're not out of the woods yet. I'd say you're still very much on the suspect list.'

  'Great,' I said. 'I've heard that somewhere before.'

  Phillips's voice became stern. 'You know you shouldn't have spoken to them at all. They can't make you go anywhere or do anything unless they're willing to arrest you.'

  'But I thought if I told them what had happened they'd forget about me and go after whoever did kill John.'

  'It didn't work out like that, did it?'

  I sighed. 'I suppose not. Sorry.'

  He drove me back to my apartment, dropped me off, and took the tape from my answering machine away with him to give to the police. I went straight for the shower, trying to wash off the evening in the police station.

  That Mahoney had tried to tie me into John's murder didn't surprise me at all. And I knew Gardner Phillips was right: he wouldn't give up.

  Would the police ask Lisa about Frank and John? I had no idea how she would handle that except that somehow, I felt sure, she would hold me responsible.

  Inevitably, the press got hold of the story. John's father was a well-known figure, John's murder a big story. It hadn't taken them long to link this murder with Frank's, and my apartment was soon besieged by reporters wielding notebooks and mikes. I braved them, giving them terse comments that said nothing. The newspapers and the TV bulletins were rife with speculation, but the police were staying tight-lipped about any connection between the two murders. Fortunately, they also said nothing about me.

  It was only when the press had gone that the full significance of John's murder really sank in. Until then I had been more worried about the police and Gardner Phillips and the questions I was being asked. Now I thought about John. It seemed so unfair. He was the archetypal nice guy, friendly to anyone and everyone. Only now that he was gone did I realize how much I'd liked him. His relationship with Frank didn't change the way I felt about him. If anything, the knowledge that he had meant so much to Frank confirmed that he must have been a good person. I would miss him.

  I saw again those dull blue eyes, the pale face, the trickle of blood, the absolute stillness of death.

  A cold feeling of revulsion and fear crept over me. People around me were being killed. Seemingly normal, harmless human beings.

  Like Mahoney, I was sure that the two murders were connected. And also like Mahoney, I suspected I might be close to the connection. But I didn't know how. For the first time since Frank had died, I sensed that my own life was in danger.

  If Frank and John both knew something and had died for it, then I was in danger of stumbling on the same thing. But I couldn't turn back. Not if I wanted Lisa back. And I now had somewhere new to look.

  BioOne.

  25

  Monday morning was horrible. The meeting was short. Gil, looking exhausted, said a few words about John's death. Everyone was stunned, even Art. Gil spoke about the difficult time we could expect from the press over the coming days, and urged everyone to direct all comment through him. Despite having read all the newspaper speculation, no one at the meeting mentioned me, for which I was grateful.

  There were some desultory remarks about BioOne's stock price, which had slid back down to forty-one dollars. Diane reported on her checks with the venture capitalists, which had confirmed Tetracom's story. Gil said the Bieber Foundation were in the middle of their review of venture capital investments, and so far there was no news from Lynette Mauer on how Revere was faring. Then it was all over.

  No one yet knew the full story of John and Frank's relationship, and I didn't want to be around when they found out. I left the office as soon as I could, barely exchanging a couple of words with the shocked Daniel.

  I had work to do.

  I took the ' T ' to Central in Cambridge, and walked the few blocks to Boston Peptides. Despite its august new owner, the building looked as scruffy as ever.

  I smiled at the receptionist, who recognized me, and asked for Henry Chan. He was with me in a moment.

  'Hello, Simon. How are you? What can I do for you?'

  He had a huge moon face with very large square glasses, and eyes that always seemed surprised. He
had been born in Korea, brought up in Brooklyn, and educated at the best universities the East Coast had to offer. His huge head seemed to be literally stuffed with brains, giving him the aura of almost extra-terrestrial intelligence. He had tempted Lisa out of Stanford to join him at Boston Peptides, and since then had acted as a kindly, but quietly demanding, mentor. He was dressed in a white coat as always, and underneath it a shirt and tie.

  'Can you spare me a few minutes, Henry?'

  'It's about Lisa, I take it,' he said. His accent had lost any traces it might once have had of Korea or New York, and was flawlessly East Coast academic.

  I nodded.

  'Come through.'

  He led me rapidly down the corridor towards his office at the end, looking quickly from side to side, as if he was scared that someone would see us. We passed the door to Lisa's lab, and I hesitated in front of it.

  'This way,' urged Henry, and I followed him.

  Henry's office was a box of paper and computer equipment with a small desk and two chairs. I sat in one and he sat in the other.

  Henry blinked at me. 'I hear Lisa's left you. I'm sorry.'

  'So am I,' I said. 'I also hear she's left you. Or rather you dumped her.'

  'It's true, we have gone our separate ways,' Henry said coolly.

  'Why did you do that? Didn't she do the important work on BP 56?'

  Henry sighed. 'Your wife is a very intelligent woman. She made a tremendous contribution here. We will miss her greatly.' He hesitated. 'I will miss her greatly.'

  'Then why did you fire her?'

  'I didn't fire her, Simon. BioOne is a very different company from Boston Peptides. She wasn't going to fit in. That became obvious.'

  'But why didn't you stand up for her?'

  'There was nothing I could do.'

  'Henry! You were her boss. You could have gone too. But I suppose you didn't want to lose those stock options.'

  Henry Chan's bewildered eyes suddenly focused on me. For a moment I thought he was going to throw me out before I had had a chance to ask my questions. Then he took off his glasses and slowly rubbed his eyes.

  'You're right, I do have stock options. But I did seriously consider resigning. The thing is, Boston Peptides is everything to me. I've devoted my academic career to it. My house is mortgaged to the rafters for it. And with BioOne's support, I believe I can make something of it in a couple of years.'

  'Boston Peptides meant a lot to Lisa too,' I protested.

  'Oh yes. I know it did. But when BioOne took us over we both had a choice: we could either fight them and lose, or stick with them and make something out of our technology. Lisa decided to fight. I decided to stick it out. Believe me, I don't like the way they do things any more than Lisa does.'

  'What is it Lisa didn't like?' I asked. 'She didn't tell me precisely. She just said something about how the company stinks. She wasn't specific.'

  'I'm sorry, I can't be either, Simon. Remember I work for BioOne now.'

  'You've heard about Lisa's father's murder?'

  Henry nodded, a slow downward movement of his huge head.

  'I'm sure you also know that I'm the principal suspect?'

  Another nod.

  'Well, now someone else at Revere has been killed. And I think the connection between the two murders might have something to do with BioOne. I'm trying to find out what that is.'

  'You're trying to prove your innocence?'

  'Yes. But not just to the police. To Lisa. I need to get her back.'

  Henry looked at me thoughtfully. 'OK. But what I tell you doesn't go any further than this room, and you mustn't name me as your source, whoever you talk to.'

  'All right. Tell me a bit about BioOne.'

  'What do you want to know?'

  'What's wrong with it? I've heard some of what Lisa has had to say about it, but I'd like your opinion.'

  Henry paused. 'I think what we both find most difficult is the secrecy. You see in an ideal world scientists would share their discoveries with their peers as and when they make them. That way the scientific world as a whole can progress much faster than any one scientist working in isolation. But this isn't an ideal world, especially in biochemistry. Even in academic institutions scientists are jealous of their research. They're constantly afraid that someone else will steal their ideas, publish a paper first, attract research funding that should be theirs.'

  'I can imagine,' I said. Lisa had frequently talked about the politics of academia.

  'Now, once you start talking about companies with stockholders and stock prices and patents, then openness of information becomes even more difficult to achieve. To successfully file for a patent, a company must show that its process or drug is not "prior art". The best way of ensuring that is to tell no one anything about it until the patent is safely granted.'

  'But all biotech companies must be secretive,' I said.

  'That's true to some extent. Although at a place like Boston Peptides we don't make a big issue of it. We're not going to do anything stupid to jeopardize our patents, but we're all here to find a treatment for Parkinson's disease, and if we can help other scientists without harming the prospects for our own projects, we will.'

  'So what's the problem?'

  'BioOne is different. Their whole culture is permeated with secrecy. It's extraordinary. There are dozens of scientists working in different groups who are allowed no contact with one another. All their research results are passed to the centre, and they are only made available to others in the company on a need-to-know basis. And it's set up so most people don't need to know.'

  'Why?'

  'Divide and rule. Create an atmosphere of competition and insecurity that will produce results. But most of all, it concentrates all the power in the centre. With Thomas Enever.'

  'Enema?'

  Henry smiled. 'I have heard him called that. He's the only one who really knows what's going on in the firm.'

  'What about Jerry Peterson, the chairman?'

  'I dealt with him when we were selling out to BioOne. He has no idea what's really going on. Neither does your man, Art Altschule.'

  I digested this information. 'But surely some things must be made public? The company is quoted after all. And doesn't the Food and Drug Administration need data from the clinical trials?'

  'Oh yes. The FDA needs truckloads of information. But most of that comes from the Clinical Trials Unit, which is the most secretive department of the lot. They report directly to Enever and no one else.'

  'What's this Enever like? I've only met him briefly. Lisa said he got caught fiddling some experiment results a few years ago.'

  'That was never proved,' Henry replied. 'He published some research showing that neuroxil-3 might reduce the production of free radicals in the brains of patients with Alzheimer's.'

  'Neuroxil-3 was an early form of neuroxil-5?'

  'More or less,' Henry replied. 'Anyway, other scientists couldn't reproduce the results, and a year later Enever was forced to publish a retraction. It caused a bit of a stir, but Enever was never shown to have actually manipulated the data.'

  'What do you think happened?'

  'I think he succumbed to the oldest temptation for any scientist. Wanting a certain result so badly that he fails to notice contradictory data.'

  'I can see Lisa wouldn't like all this. But how did she get herself fired?'

  'You know Lisa. She asked difficult questions.'

  'About neuroxil-5 ?'

  'Yes.'

  'What was wrong with it?'

  Henry leaned back in his chair as far as he could, which wasn't very far in his cramped office.

  'I don't think there is anything wrong with neuroxil-5,' he said carefully.

  'But what about Lisa? What did she think?'

  'She badgered Enever into letting her look at some of the research data for neuroxil- 5. She wanted to see whether it could be used to treat Parkinson's. Then she had some questions about the data. You know what Lisa's like; she d
oesn't stop until she has the answers she wants.' Henry smiled to himself. 'You have to know how to handle her. I guess Enever didn't have the patience for it.'

  'So he fired her?'

  'Yes. She didn't know where to stop. I tried to tell her to give up on it, but she wouldn't listen.'

  'And what specifically was she worried about?'

  'I can't say,' said Henry, looking at me carefully.

  'What do you mean, you can't say?'

  'Look, Simon. Neuroxil-5 is at the heart of BioOne's research programme, you know that. I can't tell you anything about it that isn't publicly available. Especially if it is only unsubstantiated guesses.'

  'So you think Lisa's concerns were nothing more than that?'

  'Yes. Lisa had tremendous intuition for picking up on a possible line of research. But sometimes she forgot she was a scientist. If you test the hypothesis, and find the scientific data doesn't substantiate it, then it's nothing more than speculation.'

  I had had this lecture before, from Lisa herself, many times. It was ironic that she was the subject of the criticism this time.

  'And the data didn't support her hypothesis, whatever it was?' I asked.

  'Not in my opinion, no,' said Henry.

  I wasn't a scientist, I trusted Lisa's intuition.

  'Simon, I'd love to have Lisa here working with me now,' Henry continued. 'But things are different than they were when Boston Peptides was independent. I don't think Lisa would ever have gotten used to that. She's gone to an excellent post with Mettler in Stanford. I'm convinced she'll be much happier there. In many ways I'd like to join her. But I have to see Boston Peptides through. And with BioOne's resources I can do that.'

  I stood up to go. 'Lisa had a lot of respect for you, Henry,' I said. 'It was just another one of those little hunches of hers that turned out to be wrong. Goodbye.'

  Henry's eyes blinked behind his large glasses in surprise and dismay as I left him. I was probably being a bit harsh on him, but I didn't care. Lisa had needed all the support she could get. Henry should have given it to her.

  As I walked back past Lisa's old lab, I pushed open the door and looked in. I recognized the jumble of benches, mysterious shaped glass containers, paper and boxes of electronics, none of which I understood. Half a dozen scientists were working in there.