Final Venture

by Michael Ridpath

  The time had come to see Lisa.

  I had held off physically tracking her down until I had something concrete to give her, evidence that I hadn't changed, that I was still the man she had married, that I hadn't killed her father. I was now pretty close to having that evidence. And I needed her help if I was to make sure that more Alzheimer's sufferers like Aunt Zoë didn't die.

  I was excited at the prospect, but also nervous. I was confident in my ability to persuade the old Lisa that I was innocent, especially with all that I had now discovered. But the Lisa who had turned her back on me, who had suffered so badly from her father's death and taken it out on me? I wasn't so sure.

  From my conversation with Kelly, I guessed that part of her behaviour was due to the effects of the BP 56 she had been taking. Perhaps the greater part. If she had stopped the drug when she'd moved to California, perhaps she'd be more amenable to reason.

  I could only hope.

  I wrote a one-page note and stuck it in an envelope, packed my bags and left. I drove to the airport and left the Ford in a car park. There were seats on the next flight to San Francisco, and two hours later I was in the air.

  31

  Lisa's mother lived in a small wooden town house on Russian Hill with her second husband, an affable banker named Arnie. Technically, the house had a view of the Bay and Alcatraz, and it was true that from one of the upstairs windows you could just see some water and one corner of the fortress-island. Lisa and I had visited them three times, the last being at Thanksgiving almost a year before. Apart from my stupid argument with Eddie about Chancellor Kohl, it had been fun, full of an American family warmth that I was surprised to find attracted me. There were probably English families like that too, but mine wasn't one of them. Lisa and I had agreed to come again for Thanksgiving this year, only two weeks away. Whether I would be there or not depended on what happened in the next twenty-four hours.

  I walked up to the freshly painted white door and rang the bell. There was no answer at first, and I wondered if she would be in. I knew she worked a couple of days a week at an expensive children's clothes store run by a friend of hers. I tried to stand as close as possible to the door, so she couldn't see me from any of the windows and pretend she wasn't there.

  Finally she answered, patting her hair in place and smoothing down her dress. The automatic smile that came to her lips disappeared when she saw me.

  'Simon! What on earth are you doing here?'

  'I'm looking for Lisa.'

  'Oh, Simon! You shouldn't have come all this way! You know I can't tell you where she is.'

  'Well, I have. Can I come in?'

  'Oh, yes, of course,' she led me into the kitchen. 'Do you want some coffee? I was just making some.'

  'Yes, please.'

  She busied herself with percolators and filters.

  'How is Lisa?' I asked.

  'Not good.'

  'I'd like to help.'

  'I don't think you can.'

  'Why not?'

  She turned to me. 'Her life has been turned upside down, Simon. Frank's death, losing her job, Frank's . . .' she paused, 'sexuality. Rightly or wrongly she holds you responsible.'

  'So she knows about Frank and John?'

  'Yes. A detective flew out here to interview her. And Eddie and me as well.'

  'That must have been so hard for her.' I looked closely at her mother. 'But you knew all the time, didn't you?'

  She nodded. 'It took a while to dawn on me. Mind you, I think it took a while to dawn on him. It was almost a relief when it did. You see, before, I thought there was something wrong with me. We stayed married for the sake of the kids for a while, but there was no point in it. So, in the end, we divorced.'

  And Lisa never suspected anything?'

  'No. In retrospect, I wish she had. She's a strong kid, she would have gotten used to the idea eventually. But Frank was adamant we shouldn't tell the kids. And now . . . ' Ann's chin shook. 'Now after Frank died in such a horrible way, it's just so difficult for her. And for Eddie, of course.'

  She sniffed, and reached for a tissue from a box on the windowsill.

  'So she holds me responsible? She can't really think I killed him, can she?'

  'I don't know whether she thinks it through that rationally. She's afraid you might have. Everything else has gone wrong in her life, so she drinks it will turn out for the worst with you too. She just wants to leave it all behind, Simon. Frank, Boston and you. Especially you.'

  These were difficult words to hear. The coffee machine began to bubble and drip. Ann glanced at it, and then let it do its stuff.

  'What about you?' I asked. 'You don't think I killed him do you?'

  She composed herself, and then slowly shook her head.

  'Then, can I tell you why I want to see her?'

  'It's not a good idea, Simon,' she said.

  '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 Zoë?'

  '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 Zoë 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 Zoë 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 Zoë? 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 café 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 leave. I was rooted to my chair; I couldn't even dash out of the café to a news-stand to get something else to read. Then I'd never know whether I'd missed her or not.

  Another coffee, decaf this time. And an organic Danish. My stomach needed something for the coffee to bite into.

  She wasn't coming, but I couldn't accept that. Everything I had done over the last month, the risks I had taken, the trouble I had caused, had all been with the intention of winning Lisa back. But what if she didn't want to be won back? Lisa was a strong-minded woman. What if I couldn't convince her? Even if I showed her that I hadn't killed her father, that she was right all along about BioOne, what if even then she didn't come back to me?

  I couldn't accept that. I stayed put, as though remaining in that café was the only thing left I could do.

  It started to rain. Big San Franciscan drops of water, that swiftly turned the street into a landscape of streams and lakes. Umbrellas rose outside, the windows fugged up, cars swished water at dancing pedestrians.

  The café was beginning to fill with the lunch crowd. The waiters looked as if they were about to throw me out, so I ordered a grilled vegetable sandwich.

  At two o'clock, I gave up. I barged out into the waterlogged street, raindrops cooling my overheated skin, and splattering my hair on my scalp. I didn't know where I was walking.

  'Simon!' I almost didn't hear it, didn't believe it. 'Simon!'

  I turned. It was Lisa running towards me, her bag swinging in the rain.

  She stopped in front of me, panting. I tried a smile. She returned it quickly, nervously. Water dripped off her nose and chin.

  'Thank God you waited. It's been hours. I thought you'd go back to Boston.'

  I shrugged. I allowed myself to smile again.

  Lisa glanced up at the rain. 'Let's go inside.' She looked back towards the café.

  'I can't go back in there,' I said. I noticed a scruffy diner further down the street. 'How about that?'

  She grimaced. 'OK. Actually, I'm starving.'

  She ordered a hamburger; I was relieved to get away with nothing.

  We sat in silence as we waited for the food. There was so much to say. So much could yet go wrong. For now I was just pleased to be with her.

  'I read those files,' she said at last.

  'And?'

  And I'm almost certain that neuroxil-5 causes strokes in some patients if used over a six month period or longer.'

  At first I felt a wave of relief. Then I remembered the thousand or so patients who were taking the drug in the Phase Three trial. Including Aunt Zoë.

  Almost sure?'

  'The statistics are difficult. I didn't have time to go through the data thoroughly, but my gut feeling is that when the analysis is done it'll show the drug is dangerous.'

  'Why hasn't BioOne discovered that yet?'

  'Good question,' she said. 'It's not that easy in an Alzheimer's trial. The patients are old, and a number of them will die anyway. It looks like the incidence of strokes doesn't increase until at least six months after the patients start to take the drug, possibly longer.'

  'Aunt Zoë had been taking it for seven months.'

  Lisa nodded. 'Poor Aunt Zoë. I'll really miss her. She was a great woman. I just wish they'd listened to me.'

  'I don't think Carl will ever forgive himself.'

  'Is there no hope?'

  I shook my head. 'Not according to Carl.'

  We were both quiet for a few moments, thinking of Zoë.

  'Didn't Enever pick any of this up?' I said.

  'Nowhere does he mention the problem directly. But from his actions, I'd say he began to notice that the stroke adverse events were getting out of line. He might have thought this was just a blip. But he persuaded some clinicians to reclassify their patients as suffering from mini strokes rather than Alzheimer's, then removed the strokes from the statistics.'

  'So he knowingly fiddled the figures?'

  'I wouldn't say that, exactly. H
e may have genuinely believed the patients were misdiagnosed, or he may have convinced himself. I can't tell.'

  'Hm. Anything from Catarro?'

  'Yes. There were some e-mails about the two stroke deaths. Enever suggested the patients might have suffered from mini strokes. There's nothing from Catarro about the autopsies.'

  'They must have spoken on the phone,' I said. 'But the autopsy records should be easy to get.'

  Lisa's hamburger arrived, and she munched on it nervously.

  'You were right,' I said.

  'Yes,' she replied. She gave me a small smile. 'Thank you for proving it.'

  'You read in my note how Dr Catarro spoke to your father just before he died,' I said quietly.

  Lisa nodded and bit her lip.

  'I didn't kill him,' I said.

  She looked down. 'I didn't want to meet you here, Simon. But you were right. This neuroxil-5 stuff is important. What I don't want to do is talk about us, OK?'

  I sighed. 'How have you been feeling since you came out here?'

  'Better,' said Lisa. 'I mean, I still feel awful about Dad. And I'm angry about Boston Peptides, and about you, and . . .' she paused. 'Sorry. We weren't going to talk about us. But the world doesn't seem quite as black as it did. Out here, I can see a new life. Some days, I almost feel human. It was the right thing to do.'

  'Don't you miss me?' I asked, and then immediately regretted it.

  She bit her lip, and ignored the question.

  'Sorry. Can I ask you something else?'

  'Maybe,' she mumbled, eyes lowered.

  'Has Kelly spoken to you about the BP 56 trials?'

  Lisa shook her head, but I had caught her interest.

  'They're going well apart from one thing. Apparently, the drug causes depression in some of the volunteers who are taking it. It can reduce the levels of serotonin in the brain.' Now I had all her attention. 'When did you start taking it?'

  'You remember. About a week after Dad died. We had all the animal data in, but we couldn't start giving the drug to volunteers until it had all been processed. We just didn't have the time to wait that long, so I started taking it myself to get an early indication of any side-effects.'

  'And when did you stop? When you came out here?'