Part biographies of billionaires Barry and Honey Sherman, part true double murder mystery story with no definitive conclusion and part insight into the interesting world of Toronto Jewish wealth and philanthropy, this is a fascinating read. The couple were brutally murdered in their mansion in a posh area of North York, on December 13th, 2017.
The author is a Toronto Star investigative reporter. As such, one would expect him to be critical of the police investigations, and he does not disappoint. But in this case, the deficiencies of the police attempts to solve the crime seem to be glaring lapses as they, from the start, developed tunnel vision and only after six weeks admitted that their initial conclusion about the nature of the crime was wrong. That admission was forced by the findings of the private investigators hired by the family.
Barry Sherman was an interesting character, a 77 year old self-assured workaholic, atheist, philanthropist, and risk-taker who parlayed a modest start into a multibillionaire dollar empire, with the generic drug company Apotex responsible for much of his wealth. The vast fortune available to those willing to cut corners in the pharmaceutical industry is well documented in Katherine Eban’s Bottle of Lies and in Gerald Posner’s Pharma. But Sherman also funded many other risky enterprises, won and lost millions in hundreds of court battles, and eschewed conspicuous wealth, driving old cars, travelling in economy class, preferring fast food outlets to fancy dining, and wearing tattered old clothes. Although he is sympathetically portrayed as a highly moral philanthropist, he apparently had no qualms about starting up a Florida plant to produce tons of fentanyl during the opioid addiction epidemic.
Honey was an equally interesting contradictory character. The daughter of Holocaust survivors, she drove a ten year old battered SUV, preferred old clothes to the new designer outfits that she bought and hoarded, pushed herself to physical limits in spite of severe arthritis, and enthusiastically supported many Jewish philanthropies. Their marriage seemed to be a happy one, although Barry at one point joked about hiring a hit man to knock her off. In contrast, the lives of their four children, and Honey’s sister and her children have been marred by addictions and endless conflicts among themselves and between them and the victims.
There is no definitive finger-pointing by the conclusion of this book, published in mid 2019, but it is clear that the author believes that the killer(s) were known to the victims. Conspiracy theorists have weighed in with many unlikely scenarios. Although the Toronto police continue to be tight-lipped about the case, they have acknowledged that they have a theory about the killer(s), but there have been no arrests. I suspect they just haven’t enough evidence to convict. But if you really need to believe in a conspiracy theory, you could do worse than propose that some corrupt senior politician standing to gain financially- there are lots to choose from- has bribed an equally corrupt senior police official to not pursue the investigation or lay any charges. Stay tuned.
Thanks, Floyd.
The Passionate Reader 