The Art of Forgetting (38 page)

              He broke through the window of the basement apartment, stepped around and opened the front door. Todd English was on the stairs peering down at him.

              “I need your help. Please,” Lloyd said.

              They loaded Kaz into the car. Lloyd pushed down on the gas pedal but the car seemed to hover just above the pavement, the wheels unable to gain traction. Cars darted around them, honking. Lloyd pumped the gas pedal and the car picked up a little speed.

              “Don’t worry, Kaz,” Lloyd said. “We’ll make it this time.”

              He glanced over. It wasn’t Kaz in the passenger seat. It was his father. Andrew Copeland, in his Chicago P.D. uniform, was hunched on his side. His hair was matted, dark and wet. A burgundy stream trickled off the tip of his nose. He moved his lips trying to speak.

              “Don’t say anything, Dad. I already know. Roy told me everything.”

              Andrew Copeland closed his eyes, swallowed and raised his heavy lids. He again moved his parched lips and managed to emit a feeble sound.

              “It’s okay, Dad. I already know.”

              Andrew’s eyes opened wide, he reached and grabbed Lloyd by the shirt collar, pulled him close. His mouth opened wide and he shouted, “MABEL!”

              Lloyd awoke with a start, breathing hard and fast. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was five-thirty. He lay in bed for the next hour, reflecting on his dream. Just after six-thirty he called Nick De Luca and told him, “I have some hunches.”

              When he hung up the phone, Lloyd got out of bed. He fed Frederic and went for a jog around Mills Park. This time, on the way home he stopped across the street from Erin’s house. He gazed at the window of her living room, leaning on a parking meter as he stretched his quads.

              A scratchy voice to his side said, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

              Lloyd jerked. A tiny woman in a gray raincoat stood on the sidewalk next to him, looking up with pale eyes, her knotted hand holding a fish-net shopping bag, a pink handkerchief tied over her blue-white hair. She started laughing. “You’re surprised an old lady can still recognize that look in a young man’s eyes?”

              Lloyd smiled at her and shook his head.

              The old woman stepped around him, said, “Ah, to be young again!” and shuffled down the sidewalk. Lloyd followed her with his eyes until she turned a corner. He looked back at Erin’s window and thought he saw a shadow. He flinched, took a side-long step, turned and broke into a run.

              At home he took a shower, put on jeans and a fresh shirt. His hair still wet, he dialed Uncle Marty’s phone number. When Bender answered, Lloyd said, “I made my decision. I’m not going to take any deal.”

              Chapter 42

              “
I
need to speak to your brother,” Lloyd told Erin when he phoned her that evening.

              “Are you asking me for his phone number?” Erin asked.

              “Oh, I already talked to him on the phone. No, I need to see him in person,” Lloyd said.

              “Okay.”

              “But I kinda wanted you to come with me. Are you doing anything Saturday?”

              “I don’t know. I was thinking of driving to Lincoln Park to see some old friends.” Erin said.

              “Don’t,” Lloyd said.

              “You’re telling me I can’t go see a couple of old girlfriends?”

              “What I mean is, can’t you do it another day? I really need to see you Saturday.”

              There was a light shower Friday night, but by the morning the clouds cleared to unveil a deep blue sky. The warmth of the sun would soon dry the streets and the city came to life with the eager anticipation of a Midwest summer day.

              Erin answered the door wearing a sleeveless knit blouse, Capri pants and Espadrilles. She gaped at Lloyd in his sleek, dark, silk Italian suit and whistled.

              “Nice threads. You’re making me feel a little under-dressed,” she said.

              “You look ravishing,” Lloyd said.

              “Yeah, right.” Her cheeks flushed as she smiled. “What, are you trying to impress my brother? Or do you have a job interview later?”

              Lloyd shook his head. “I just wanted to, you know, look good for you,” Lloyd said.

              “Oh, hush. Come in, will you? I have to get my purse.”

              Lloyd stepped into the living room and Erin shut the door behind him. She marched to the kitchen and called out, “You want a glass of water or something?”

              “No thanks.” Lloyd looked at the moving boxes still stacked in a corner of the room. Erin returned with her purse. “You still haven’t unpacked,” Lloyd said. “Aren’t you planning on staying?”

              “I don’t know Lloyd,” Erin said. “Should I?” Lloyd said nothing. The two looked at each other until Erin said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

              They spoke little on the twenty minute drive to Naperville. The few, cautious words they uttered bounced back and forth with a courtesy bordering on obsequiousness which served only to load the air with a nervous tension.

              “Turn left at the next street,” Erin said as they drove through a lush, tree-lined avenue past the country club. “There it is. At the end of a cul-de-sac.”

              “Wow! Looks like a museum of modern art,” Lloyd said. The house was an imposing structure with clean straight lines and an immense window that shot up the entire height of the home on one corner. “Who’d have ever thought?”

              Sean Kennedy answered the door in some sort of designer track suit, a huge grin on his face. “So, you kids are hanging together these days?” He tapped his outstretched index fingers together a couple of times.”

              “Something like that,” Lloyd said.

              Erin lowered her head.

              Sean gave Lloyd a hug then stepped back and ironed away non-existent creases on Lloyd’s suit jacket with the back of his hand. “Sorry brother. I don’t want to mess up your look,” he said with a wink. “We’re sitting in the kitchen. You kids want some pancakes, orange juice?”

              “I’m fine,” Lloyd said.

              “Good, because my wife’s at the hair salon and the housekeeper took the weekend off.”

              The kitchen was one of those overdone affairs with lacquered cabinets and professional grade twin stoves that one only sees in architectural magazines. It opened onto a breakfast nook that was larger than most formal dining rooms. Standing next to an ultra-modern stainless steel table was a man, perhaps in his late fifties, with wispy blond hair, sparkling eyes and a pleasant smile. He wore a sensible sports coat and a crisp silk tie with a matching breast pocket handkerchief. The gentleman emitted an aura of relaxed comfort (and not a hint of conceit) with the uncommon ease of an aristocrat. There could not have been a starker contrast between his appearance and that of Sean Kennedy if it had been set up deliberately.

              “This is Stewart Bennett,” Sean said. “Stu, this is my old friend Lloyd and my sister Erin.”

              “Enchanted,” Bennett said with an English accent that exuded refinement. He shook hands cordially and waited for the rest of the party to take their seats before sitting himself.

              “Like I told you over the phone, Lloyd, my expertise is strictly commodities,” Sean said. “Stu, on the other hand is the guru of bio-tech. And he insisted on meeting you in person.”

              “Forgive me for saying so, but some things are best not discussed over the telephone,” Bennett said.

              “Thanks for coming,” Lloyd said.

              “If you want to know what’s shaking in the bio-technical and pharmaceutical companies, you gotta talk to Stu Bennett. If he doesn’t know about it, not only has it not happened – it’s not gonna happen,” Sean said.

              Bennett smiled, turned to Erin and said, “Your brother takes particular pleasure in inflating my ego. And I take pleasure in indulging this curious affectation of his.” He turned to Lloyd, furrowed his brow and said, “Sean tells me you have a consummate interest in a specific company.”

              “Cardio-Prime Technologies,” Lloyd said.

              “Oh yes, the global leaders in cardiac monitoring technology,” Bennett said in a near mocking tone.

              “I got that much from their web site,” Lloyd said.

              “Of course. What sort of information were you looking for?”

              “I want to know if they’re developing a treatment for dementia,” Lloyd said.

              “I see,” Bennett said. He picked up a tiny silver spoon and began stirring a cup of tea. “There are different levels of information that I manage, you must understand. There is information that is a matter of public record and then there’s information of a more sensitive nature.”

              “Yeah, and past performance is no guarantee of future success,” Sean said. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”

              “One can’t be too careful in the current political climate,” Bennett said. “Washington is trying to lay the blame for all the nation’s ills at the front door of Wall Street whilst conducting, shall we say, less than transparent transactions through the back door. Individuals in my position are sanctified by law-makers in smoke filled rooms and crucified by the very same people on the telly before the turn of the news cycle. One knows not who to trust anymore.” He took a sip from his cup and dabbed his lips on a folded paper napkin.

              “Damn Brits!” Sean said. “We always have to go through the same song and dance. Just lay it on us already, Stu.”

              Bennett leaned slightly towards Lloyd. “May I be so bold as to inquire what the nature of your interest in this company is? Or should I just
lay it on you
? Are you planning to invest in Cardio-Prime Technologies?”

              “Hell no,” Lloyd said. “I think someone affiliated with the company is trying to benefit financially by blocking my research.”

              Bennett raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well that’s quite a different kettle of fish. And do you have any idea who this someone might be?”

              “His name is George Lasko, Dr. George Lasko.”

              “I must confess the name is unfamiliar,” Bennett said. “But I might be able to provide some assistance, now that I’m satisfied that your pursuit is free of ignoble intentions.”

              “Is Cardio-Prime developing a dementia treatment?” Lloyd asked.

              “Not at all. The company is exclusively engaged in cardiac monitoring and pacing,” Bennett said.

              “Then I’m at a dead end,” Lloyd said.

              “Don’t lose heart just yet, my boy,” Bennett said. “There is still much to talk about that might be of some interest to you.”

                Sean looked at Lloyd and said, “What did I tell you about the damn song and dance?”

              Bennett continued. “You see, from a marketing stand-point, it makes little sense for certain companies to branch out into other pursuits. Just imagine if Bentley started manufacturing mopeds.”

              “They’d be pretty expensive mopeds,” Sean said. He turned to Lloyd. “I’d probably buy one just for the hell of it.”

              “I can almost see that,” Bennett said. “You, Warren Buffett and a couple of oil sheiks putt-putting down a highway with the wind in your hair. But the bigger point is that it would affect the status of their brand. So it’s not uncommon for corporations to create subsidiaries under a different name or to put their financial weight behind ventures in which they see the potential for profit.”

              “Are you telling me that Cardio-Prime has a stake in a pharmaceutical company?” Lloyd asked.

              “They do not,” Bennett said.

              “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Bennett, but it sounds like we’re just going around in circles,” Lloyd said.

              “There’s a small outfit north of San Diego named DynaStim Therapeutics. Have you heard of them?” asked Bennett.

              “No.”

              “I suspect you shall, in the very near future. It was started a few years ago by a fairly odd couple: Carter and Hallman. Tony Carter is one of these child prodigy computer engineers who seem to spawn under the California sun, while Lars Hallman is a medical doctor.”

              “A neurologist,” Lloyd said. “Lars Hallman is a neurologist.”

              “You know him?” Erin asked.

              “I met him once. He was presenting a poster at a national conference a couple of years ago.” Lloyd paused. He raised his head, narrowed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

              “What is it Lloyd?” Erin asked.

              “Hippocampal stimulation,” Lloyd said.