Donovan Kevin - The billionaire murders: the mysterious deaths of Barry and Honey Sherman

IN THE YEAR LEADING UP TO HIS DEATH , Barry Sherman was consumed by one thought. What if he did not have enough time? Enough time to do everything he wanted to do in life. At seventy-five, he had already accomplished a great deal. He had built a generic drug empire, faced countless critics, and won more battles than hed lost. Hed amassed a personal fortune approaching $5 billion. Still, he drove an older car, spent more hours at work than he needed to, and was perpetually unsettled. There was no God, of that he was certain, no afterlife. Consciousness ended with the grave. And so, every day, he did the one thing that was sure to make him happy. He worked.

It had always been that way. Outsiders, even friends who knew him well, were perplexed by Barry Sherman. For most people, if you earned that kind of money, you were entitled to spend it on items that made life more fun. But that was not something Barry Sherman did well. His contemporaries in the pharmaceutical world made their millions and accumulateddeservedly, most would saythe trappings of wealth: fine cars, first-class travel, a mansion in the city, and a cottage on a lake. Jack Kay, Shermans longtime second-in-command, drove an X-class Mercedes-Benz. At their offices at the Toronto headquarters of Apotex, immediately to the right of the front door, were two named parking spots, Barry Shermans and Jack Kays. Barrys rusting convertible was a stark contrast to Kays gleaming Benz.

Jack, dont you worry about what our employees will think? Sherman asked his friend on many occasions. They work so hard, and while theyre well paid, they dont make what it would take to afford that kind of car. I worry about what they would think.

Kay would just shake his head.

What Sherman did do with many of his millions was give it away to causes he or his wife, Honey, deemed worthy. He made the money; Honey ensured it went to the right places, where the impact would be the greatest. Both were tireless fundraisers. Their four children, cousins, extended family, and close friends were also the beneficiaries of the Sherman family wealth, though it became a sore point at times when the children and other family members asked for too much. And their house was not a happy homeone parent harsh and critical, the other soft and patient.

This is a book about the murders of Honey and Barry Sherman and the twists and turns of the police and private investigations. But it is also a book about their lives, stretching back to grade school and through the successes and failures of growing an empire and raising a family. Creating a full portrait has been hampered by the secrecy surrounding the investigations into their deaths, and even more so by the belief of their family and some friends that the Sherman laundry, dirty or clean, should remain unaired. Another factor that played in the minds of many was their personal safety. With the killer or killers at large, there was real fear among family, friends, and business associates that they would strike again. Being linked to the Shermans when they were alive was something to which many aspired. In death, there was a risk.

The bizarre circumstances of their deaths would make headlines around the world. Plausible theories and wild speculations circulated in print and online, as police, private detectives, and forensic experts conducted their investigations. Was it a business deal gone wrong? International assassins, who flew in and out of Toronto after staging a macabre scene to buy time? Or was it a simpler, more commonplace killing, involving someone they knew?