Final Venture

My eyes scanned the walls, and I saw some reasonable depictions of scenes I recognized from the area.

'They're very good. I like them,' I said.

'Thank you,' she said. 'My name's Nancy Bowman, by the way. Now, how can I help you?'

'I wanted to ask you about the day of the murder. Whether you saw anyone strange hanging around.'

'The police asked me this,' she replied. 'Anyway, didn't I see they'd caught the murderer?'

Nancy Bowman seemed an honest, helpful woman. I liked her. I decided to take a risk and tell the truth. 'They thought they had. But it turned out they had the wrong man. I know, because it was me.'

'You?' Her eyes widened.

'Yes, I'm afraid so. That's why I want to talk to you. I want to prove that I didn't kill my father-in-law.'

The woman looked confused for a moment, as though she was considering whether to throw me out. She spent a few seconds looking me over with shrewd eyes. Then she decided to trust me.

'Oh, I understand. All right, let me see whether I can help you. My husband and I were both here that weekend. I do like to walk along the marsh, and I often walk by Marsh House. Ray likes to stay indoors more.'

'Did you see anyone?'

As I told the police, there was one strange man I saw a couple of times that weekend. He seemed to be some kind of photographer, or perhaps a bird watcher. I saw him on the road out there, and down behind Marsh House. He seemed to be waiting for a bird or something. He had an expensive-looking camera.'

'What did he look like?'

'Young. In his thirties I should think. Short, but quite big, if you see what I mean. Not fat, just broad.'

'I see. And what was he wearing?'

'A T-shirt and jeans. I remember thinking he must have been cold standing still in just a T-shirt, but he looked like a tough fellow'

'Have you seen him before or since?'

'No. Just that weekend.'

And you told all of this to the police?'

She nodded. 'Oh yes. They seemed quite interested.'

'I'm sure they were. Did you see anyone else?'

'No. Not that I can remember.'

'You didn't see me, for instance?'

'No. But come to think of it, the police asked me whether I had seen a tall fair-haired young man. And they mentioned an old convertible. That must have been you, mustn't it?'

'I expect so,' I said. I stood up. 'Thank you very much, Mrs Bowman. That's very helpful. And thanks for the coffee.'

'Not at all. I do hope you manage to persuade the police they have the wrong man.'

'Thank you,' I said. I was touched. It was encouraging to have a stranger show such faith in me, even if it was just because I had an English accent and an honest face.

I left her, and rushed through the rain to my car.

I drove round Route 128 to Wellesley. Nancy Bowman's description was unmistakable. Craig.

Craig had been in Woodbridge the day Frank died. Craig knew Frank was opposed to further investment in Net Cop. I remembered that when I saw him just before Frank was killed, he had been smiling, as though he had found a solution to his problems. Was he already planning to murder Frank? Could he have been dumb enough to have murdered Frank in the hope that Revere would change its mind about Net Cop? With a shudder I realized that it was just conceivable that Craig when very angry might kill someone.

I knew how absolutely determined Craig was to make Net Cop succeed.

For a moment I considered contacting Mahoney. But I couldn't be certain that Craig had killed Frank. I liked him, and we had supported each other. I had to give him a chance to explain himself.

I turned off 128 in Wellesley, and drove down into Hemlock Gorge. I leaped out of the Morgan, and hurried into Net Cop's building. Gina, the secretary-cum-receptionist, smiled when she saw me and told me Craig was in New York. He would be in tomorrow. Impatiently, I drove back to Boston.

I was sitting at home at the computer, idly scanning the Chelsea web-pages, when I heard the key scrape in the door.

It was Lisa, and she looked angry.

I leaped to my feet, with a rush of joy at seeing her again, immediately tempered with worry by her expression. 'Lisa!'

'Can you help me with some cartons?' she muttered, scarcely looking at me.

'OK.' I followed her outside, where a man and a small truck waited. A dozen or so collapsible cardboard cartons lay in their collapsed state on the sidewalk. I took half of them and Lisa took the other half. The man promised to return in an hour.

'I take it you're not moving back in, then?' I said, tentatively.

'No I am not, Simon. I'm going back to California. Roger has offered me a job.' Roger was Roger Mettler, her old professor. He had been trying to entice her back to Stanford for years.

'California! But that's thousands of miles away!'

'A geographic genius,' she muttered.

I felt a rush of panic. At least when Lisa was with Kelly, I knew she was only a couple of miles away. But California! She'd be really gone. Once the time was right, it would take days, not minutes, to see her, to get her back.

'What about Boston Peptides?' I asked.

'Oh, don't pretend you don't know,' she spat.

'What do you mean? What's happened?'

'I've been fired, that's what's happened,' she said as she wrestled with the first of the cartons.

'No! I don't believe it! Why would Henry do that? It makes no sense.'

'Henry didn't do it, although I would have expected him to stand up for me. No, it was Enema.'

'But they need you, don't they? I mean you're responsible for BP 56. Boston Peptides isn't worth much without you.'

'Well that's not what Enema thinks. He thinks the company can do perfectly well without me. He says I don't fit into the BioOne way of doing things. And frankly, I think he's right. Damn this thing!'

She was folding the flaps of the box together in the wrong order.

'Here, let me,' I said.

'Leave me alone!' she snapped.

I left her alone. 'What happened?'

'I asked too many questions.'

'About neuroxil-5?'

'Yep.'

'What's wrong with it?'

She threw the half-constructed box to the floor. 'Simon, the drug stinks, BioOne stinks, and Revere stinks. If you're too stupid to see that, that's not my problem. Now let me pack my stuff and get out of here.'

'Lisa,' I said, taking her arm.

She pushed my hand away.

'Lisa, sit down. Let's talk for a moment. We should at least do that. Then I'll leave you alone and you can pack up.'

Lisa hesitated, and then sat in the chair. Her face bore the stony expression of misery it had worn since just after Frank died, the corners of her mouth pulled downwards, her eyes dull. A tear ran unchecked down one cheek. She sniffed.

I took hold of her hand and crouched beside her. This could be my last chance to keep her, but I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice, to sound controlled, sensible. 'Listen, Lisa. I know things have been tough for you. Very tough. But I love you. I want to help you. You must let me.'

Lisa didn't answer. She sat still and straight, the tears now streaming down her face. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

'We work well together, Lisa. We understand each other. Your life must have been hell over the last few weeks. You need me. Let me help you.'

'I need the old you,' Lisa said, her voice trembling. 'I need the old you so bad.'

'But you've got me.'

Lisa shook her head. 'I don't know who I've got, Simon. I don't know whether you killed Dad. I don't know whether you used me to sell out my company and get me fired. I don't know whether you've been unfaithful to me. I don't know whether you've lied to me. I don't know you. I don't know you at all. And it scares me.'

'Of course you know me, Lisa. I haven't changed. Ever since we met, you've known me all the way through. We are so good for each other. I love you, and you love me.'

Lisa shook her head. 'I don't know whether I love you or I hate you. I don't know anything these days. I just want to go back to California and leave all this behind.'