pleasant chat about the weather.”
Peters’s tight lips and angry eyes confirmed that supposition.
“Anything I can do to help?” Seth asked.
“It’s missing,” Peters said flatly.
“What’s missing?” Seth asked.
“Al’s laptop computer, the one he used to chart the progress of his research.”
“It can’t just be missing,” Seth said. “There’s got to be a simple answer.”
“You know the computer I’m referring to,” Peters said. “I understand that Al shared some of the material on it with you.”
“Ayuh, he did. I got to read some of the entries.”
“That’s more than he did for me,” Peters said.
“Mr. Peters,” I said, “I obviously have no knowledge of what transpired between you and Dr. Vasquez, but I have to ask a question that’s been on my mind ever since I got here. Dr. Vasquez joked once that he kept progress reports from you. I can’t help but wonder why you, as the source of Dr. Vasquez’s funding, would be kept so much in the dark about his progress—and, I suppose, why you would put up with it.”
Peters’s smile was rueful. “Want a straight answer, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Whatever answer you wish to give.”
“I let Al get away with it because, frankly, I had no choice. His research was vitally important to me and to K-Dex. I’d known for years about his research in Cuba into the impact of sugar on the brain, and the role it might play in promoting the growth of beta-amyloids, a chief component of the plaques that are a definite hallmark of brain abnormalities in Alzheimer’s patients. The same holds true of how glucose, and insulin resistance, could influence the unusual growth of tau proteins, another provable aspect of the disease. To be honest, I was taken in by Al’s faith in his research. But who wouldn’t have been? Every report that leaked out of Cuba said he was on the brink of a truly major medical breakthrough.”
“And you believed those leaks?”
“I did. You might also have noticed that Alvaro Vasquez was a charming, manipulative man.”
“Charming? Yes,” I said. “Manipulative? I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Take my word for it,” Peters said angrily. He made a fist and rammed it into the palm of his other hand. “I trusted him,” he growled. “I had to. So much depended upon his research providing a leap forward. If he’d found a definite link between how glucose influenced brain cells and Alzheimer’s, and had come up with a way to reverse it, it could have led to a cure, with K-Dex leading the way. Think about what that would mean to millions of people, Mrs. Fletcher. I never
stopped
thinking about it.”
I thought for a moment that Peters might break into tears.
“Let’s get back to his laptop,” Seth said. “Surely it wasn’t the only documentation of his research and the progress he’d made.”
“I’ve been led to believe that it was,” Peters said ruefully.
“What about Dr. Sardina?” I asked. “Would he know where it is?”
Peters’s sad expression turned angry again. “I trust Dr. Sardina as far as I can throw him, the little weasel.”
His harsh statement lingered in the air, and neither Seth nor I responded.
“I was questioning Sardina when you arrived. He’s an arrogant young man, that’s for sure. He claims that Vasquez kept him uninformed about how his work contributed to the big picture and that Al kept the overall progress reports to himself. Sardina would work on a specific project, give the results to Al, and that’s the last he’d hear about it. When I asked him about the laptop, he told me that Al kept it under lock and key and took it home with him every night.”
“Then that’s probably where it is,” I said.
“I can only hope, but I’m not sure I believe him. Of course, it might all be a moot point, depending upon how far along Al was. If he hadn’t achieved the sort of results he was always promising, his progress reports won’t be worth diddly.”
There were
Peters’s tight lips and angry eyes confirmed that supposition.
“Anything I can do to help?” Seth asked.
“It’s missing,” Peters said flatly.
“What’s missing?” Seth asked.
“Al’s laptop computer, the one he used to chart the progress of his research.”
“It can’t just be missing,” Seth said. “There’s got to be a simple answer.”
“You know the computer I’m referring to,” Peters said. “I understand that Al shared some of the material on it with you.”
“Ayuh, he did. I got to read some of the entries.”
“That’s more than he did for me,” Peters said.
“Mr. Peters,” I said, “I obviously have no knowledge of what transpired between you and Dr. Vasquez, but I have to ask a question that’s been on my mind ever since I got here. Dr. Vasquez joked once that he kept progress reports from you. I can’t help but wonder why you, as the source of Dr. Vasquez’s funding, would be kept so much in the dark about his progress—and, I suppose, why you would put up with it.”
Peters’s smile was rueful. “Want a straight answer, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Whatever answer you wish to give.”
“I let Al get away with it because, frankly, I had no choice. His research was vitally important to me and to K-Dex. I’d known for years about his research in Cuba into the impact of sugar on the brain, and the role it might play in promoting the growth of beta-amyloids, a chief component of the plaques that are a definite hallmark of brain abnormalities in Alzheimer’s patients. The same holds true of how glucose, and insulin resistance, could influence the unusual growth of tau proteins, another provable aspect of the disease. To be honest, I was taken in by Al’s faith in his research. But who wouldn’t have been? Every report that leaked out of Cuba said he was on the brink of a truly major medical breakthrough.”
“And you believed those leaks?”
“I did. You might also have noticed that Alvaro Vasquez was a charming, manipulative man.”
“Charming? Yes,” I said. “Manipulative? I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Take my word for it,” Peters said angrily. He made a fist and rammed it into the palm of his other hand. “I trusted him,” he growled. “I had to. So much depended upon his research providing a leap forward. If he’d found a definite link between how glucose influenced brain cells and Alzheimer’s, and had come up with a way to reverse it, it could have led to a cure, with K-Dex leading the way. Think about what that would mean to millions of people, Mrs. Fletcher. I never
stopped
thinking about it.”
I thought for a moment that Peters might break into tears.
“Let’s get back to his laptop,” Seth said. “Surely it wasn’t the only documentation of his research and the progress he’d made.”
“I’ve been led to believe that it was,” Peters said ruefully.
“What about Dr. Sardina?” I asked. “Would he know where it is?”
Peters’s sad expression turned angry again. “I trust Dr. Sardina as far as I can throw him, the little weasel.”
His harsh statement lingered in the air, and neither Seth nor I responded.
“I was questioning Sardina when you arrived. He’s an arrogant young man, that’s for sure. He claims that Vasquez kept him uninformed about how his work contributed to the big picture and that Al kept the overall progress reports to himself. Sardina would work on a specific project, give the results to Al, and that’s the last he’d hear about it. When I asked him about the laptop, he told me that Al kept it under lock and key and took it home with him every night.”
“Then that’s probably where it is,” I said.
“I can only hope, but I’m not sure I believe him. Of course, it might all be a moot point, depending upon how far along Al was. If he hadn’t achieved the sort of results he was always promising, his progress reports won’t be worth diddly.”
There were
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