Fatal Error

by Michael Ridpath

  ‘Neither might any of us.’

  ‘I don’t want to let it go, David. When we’re so close.’ She must have seen the surprise on my face. ‘What is it? You looked shocked.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to be so focused on the cash.’

  ‘Aren’t you? Isn’t Guy?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘But I know about Guy. And about me. I suppose I always assumed that this was just a more exciting job for you. I thought you didn’t have to worry about money.’

  ‘Oh, because I have wealthy parents, you mean?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said.

  ‘Rich parents do not solve all your problems. Just ask Guy.’

  ‘I think I’m beginning to understand that.’

  ‘This job is fun, I’ll grant you that. And it’s true I’m not going to starve. But my father is never going to give me anything much more than pocket money. Nor should he. I don’t expect it. I’m going to have to make my own way in the world, and I’m cool with that.

  ‘I’ve done all right so far. I have a good reputation in the business. I could have walked into any of the top magazine publishers in the UK, or anywhere else for that matter. Good salary, good prospects. A woman can do well in magazine publishing. It’s just that a rich woman can do even better.’

  ‘So what will you do if you do make your three million out of Ninetyminutes? Retire to the South of France?’

  ‘No way. I’d stick with Ninetyminutes for as long as was necessary. But then I’d probably start my own magazine. Or maybe website. With my own money instead of somebody else’s.’

  It made sense, of course. Ingrid had never seemed to me to take life very seriously, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t want to make her millions just as much as Guy and I did. And her reasons were more down to earth than ours. For Ingrid, joining Ninetyminutes had been a rational, if risky, career choice, a route to somewhere she wanted to go. She knew who she was. Both Guy and I were still trying to find out.

  ‘Let’s hope you get your chance,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, all we can do is keep our cool and pray.’

  ‘And try to get Guy to do the same thing.’

  A week of austerity. Budgets slashed, office heads briefed, Amy placated. I did most of it. Guy’s enthusiasm seemed to have left him completely. His energy reached a new low. He showed up every day, but he was of little use. And this sudden lethargy made a big difference. We had all come to rely on his confidence and encouragement, urging us on to do those seemingly impossible tasks. Without it, the hill seemed higher to climb for all of us.

  Frankly, this irritated me. Now wasn’t the time to give up. I wasn’t going to roll over and die, sulking as I did so. I had put a year of my life, fifty thousand pounds and my father’s retirement savings into the venture and I wasn’t about to give up on all that. I tried to replace Guy’s energy with my own. It wasn’t quite the same, but the team appreciated it.

  And then, the following Tuesday, I got a call from Henry.

  ‘Henry, how are you?’ I said. Unlike Guy I didn’t hold Orchestra’s lack of support against him personally. I believed him when he said he had fought for us against his partners. Plus I still liked the guy.

  ‘I have something to say to you,’ he said, his voice cold, colder than I had ever heard it.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘One. Orchestra Ventures is prepared to invest a further ten million pounds into Ninetyminutes. Terms to be discussed.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ I said, a little hesitantly. His tone wasn’t that of someone bearing wonderful news.

  He ignored me. ‘Two. As from today, responsibility for the investment in ninetyminutes.com within Orchestra has been passed to Clare Douglas. She will be in touch with you shortly. I will resign from your board and she will take my place.’

  ‘Don’t we get any say in this?’ I asked. ‘We’ll miss you.’

  ‘No,’ said Henry. ‘And three. I and my family are taking a two-week holiday, beginning tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’ Wishing him a good trip didn’t seem to be what he wanted to hear. Why he wanted to tell me at all was a mystery. ‘Why the change of heart?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ said Henry, his voice bitter.

  ‘No,’ I said, my suspicions rising. ‘No, I don’t.’

  Henry sighed. ‘I hoped as much. Just ask your partner. He’ll tell you. Now, if you want to know anything else, talk to Clare.’

  I put the phone down. Was this good news? It should have been very good news. It just didn’t feel like it, that was all.

  I looked across my desk to where Guy was checking the latest news stories on the site. ‘That was Henry.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Orchestra want to put in ten million quid.’

  Guy sat up in his chair, his face suddenly alight. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I’m not. But he’s resigning from the board. Clare Douglas is taking over.’

  ‘I don’t care who we’ve got on the bloody board as long as we’ve got ten million in the bank.’ He let out a whoop. ‘Hey, guys, we’re back in business.’

  They all crowded round. Guy told them the news. As they filtered back to their desks he noticed my expression. ‘What’s up? Upset that you don’t get to cut any more costs?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t smell right. Henry seemed very cold. Eager to get off the phone. And why has he passed us on to Clare Douglas?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Guy. ‘He’s your friend.’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me why he’s changed his mind. He said you’d know.’

  ‘He changed his mind because he’s finally realized what a great business this is,’ said Guy. ‘Not before time, either.’

  ‘It’s almost as though someone has been putting pressure on him. Or Orchestra. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘No, Davo, I have no idea what you’re talking about. How could I put any pressure on Orchestra? Cheer up. We’ve got the cash. We’re motoring again.’

  But as Guy left his desk to revive the troops, I called Henry back. ‘Henry, I don’t understand. Something’s going on here.’

  Henry sighed down the line. ‘Did you talk to Guy?’

  ‘Yes. He said he didn’t know anything. He told me not to worry about it.’

  ‘He’s probably right.’

  ‘Do you want to have a quiet drink somewhere? Just the two of us, so you can tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Listen to Guy. There is nothing going on. And I don’t want a drink with you or anyone else from Ninetyminutes. I’m going on holiday tomorrow morning and I hope I will have nothing to do with any of you when I get back.’

  We took our foot off the brake and pressed down on the accelerator. Hard. I had some misgivings about this: what if we couldn’t get an IPO away in the summer? Then we’d be out of cash again. I voiced these to Guy. His answer was predictable. If we didn’t move fast, we wouldn’t get to where we wanted to go. If that meant we had to take risks, so be it. I knew he was right.

  In an internet start-up, you are always looking ahead. Things are going so fast that there isn’t time to look back, consider past mistakes, regret missed opportunities. If you make a mistake you correct it as best you can and move on to the next thing. This was especially true of Ninetyminutes.

  But I couldn’t help thinking. Thinking how handy it was for us that Tony Jourdan had died exactly when he had. How fortunate we were that Henry had suddenly changed his mind about investing in us. And for that matter, how lucky we were that our biggest rival had mysteriously been struck by a computer virus.

  Once again, it was all too convenient.

  Someone was going to great lengths to make sure Ninetyminutes survived. There was one obvious candidate. Owen.

  True, it was difficult to see how he could possibly have killed Tony. But even after he had left Ninetyminutes I could imagine him still doing all he could to ensure its survival, if not for his own still substantial equity stake, then f
or his brother.

  Henry might not want to talk to me, but I was going to talk to him.

  I knew he was on holiday, so I rang his secretary asking for his address, saying I had some urgent documents to courier to him. She was having none of it, insisting that I should send the documents to her for forwarding. It was clear he had told her not to divulge anything.

  When I had met Henry at First Tuesday he had told me he was in the process of buying a house in Gloucestershire. Chances were that was where he had gone. But how to find the address?

  I called Fiona Hartington, a woman we had both trained with, who was still working for our old firm of accountants. She and Henry had moved in the same social circle. As I had suspected, they still did. I explained that I was going through Gloucestershire myself that weekend and I thought I might drop by. Did she by any chance have the address?

  She did.

  Henry’s house was on the far side of the Severn, towards Ledbury. It was a dilapidated place on the edge of a quiet village. I drove past slowly and saw a Land Rover Discovery parked outside. Just the kind of car Henry would need to navigate his children through the wilds of South London. I turned around a few yards further along the narrow lane and drove back into the small driveway, feeling like a trespasser. I noticed there was a dent in the back of the Land Rover.

  A fair-haired two-year-old boy appeared from nowhere, turned and ran round the side of the house screaming ‘Daddy!’ A moment later I saw Henry in old checked shirt and jeans. He was sweaty and grimy: he had obviously been working in the garden. He didn’t look pleased to see me.

  ‘Hello, Henry,’ I said optimistically.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you, so bugger off.’ He looked nervously over his shoulder to where his child had disappeared to. I guessed he didn’t want to explain my presence to his wife.

  ‘Walk, Henry?’

  ‘No. I said, bugger off.’

  ‘Henry. I’ve driven a hundred and fifty miles to see you. I’m not just going to turn round and go back. Talk to me and I’ll go.’

  ‘I’ve done what you asked.’

  ‘I haven’t asked you to do anything,’ I said. ‘You know that. Someone has. I want to know who it is and what they asked you to do.’

  Henry looked at me, glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘OK. But let’s make it quick.’

  He led me out on to the lane and after a few yards we crossed a stile into a field.

  ‘Someone has scared the hell out of you,’ I said. ‘Who is it?’

  Henry walked in silence for a moment, considering his response. We were making our way diagonally across a field grazed by sheep towards the brow of a low hill. It was mildly strenuous and in the spring sunshine I quickly warmed up. Apart from intermittent birdsong and Henry’s heavy breathing as we climbed the hill, there was silence.

  ‘It started a couple of days after I told you and Guy Orchestra wouldn’t put any more money into Ninetyminutes. My wife came back from the supermarket with the kids in the car. She let them out first and they ran to the front door. They found my daughter’s ginger cat lying dead on the front doorstep. It had been … dismembered. The two kids started screaming. My wife had to clear it up and calm them down. She called me at work and I told her to report it to the police, which she did. They came round to take a statement. They didn’t seem to know anything about it: there hadn’t been any similar attacks in the area.

  ‘As you can imagine, the whole family was pretty upset. The next day, my wife was taking the kids somewhere when her car was rammed from behind by a large van. She had stopped at a T-junction and the impact sent her out into the road in front of on-coming traffic. Fortunately, no one hit her, but it could have been different. They could have been killed. All of them.’

  Henry’s mouth was locked in a grim line. He was walking faster, it was hard to keep up.

  ‘What happened to the van?’

  ‘It reversed fast and disappeared round a bend.’

  ‘Did your wife see who was driving it?’

  ‘She only saw it in her rear-view mirror. She said it was driven by a man. Quite a big man. She didn’t really see his face.’

  ‘Young? Old? Dark hair? White hair?’

  ‘She didn’t see. She was a wreck. I came home from work early and tried to comfort her. Then, the next morning, there was a plain envelope on the mat with my name on it. I opened it and there was a note. All it said was “Give them the money. No police”.’

  ‘Was it handwritten?’

  ‘No, it was a standard computer font. I took it to work with me and thought about it. There seemed to be only one option. I was sure it referred to Ninetyminutes. I knew whoever wrote it was serious because they had nearly killed my family the day before. And I remembered what had happened to Tony Jourdan. I also knew I should report it to my partners at Orchestra and to the police, but that would increase the risk to my family and that was something I wasn’t prepared to do. After all, it’s Orchestra’s money, not mine. And it’s only a job; a good job, but I can always get another one. Not like my family.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Henry, I swear I didn’t know anything about this.’

  He glanced at me. ‘I believe you. But I decided I wasn’t going to have anything more to do with Ninetyminutes. Or with you. That seemed the safest.’

  ‘How did you swing it within Orchestra?’

  ‘It was difficult. I cashed in every Brownie point I had to get them to agree to the money. And then, once they had, I said I wanted to go off the board. They didn’t understand that. But fortunately we’ve been trying to find a good company for Clare Douglas to look after. She’s very ambitious and she’s been demanding more responsibility. She worked on the initial investment in Ninetyminutes and I knew she liked the deal, so this kept her quiet. I hated doing it, though.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘If we lose the money, and I’m pretty sure we will, I’m going to find it hard to live with myself. I owe the guys at Orchestra Ventures a lot. A ten-million hole will make a real dent in their performance. But I didn’t have any choice. Did I?’

  He was searching my face as we puffed uphill. This wasn’t a rhetorical question. He had taken the difficult decision alone, and he needed assurance that it had been the right one.

  If I had had a wife and children, what would I have done? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t tell him that.

  ‘No, Henry. You had no choice.’

  We stopped at the brow of the hill and looked over the village towards the Malvern Hills. It was a pretty spot. It seemed miles away from Ninetyminutes and its troubles.

  ‘So now you know,’ said Henry, ‘what are you going to do?’

  ‘Stop it,’ I said, without hesitation.

  Henry glanced at me doubtfully. ‘Good luck. But please don’t tell anyone I told you about this. And whatever you do, don’t tell the police. I’ve given up ten million pounds of other people’s money to make sure my family is safe. You’d better not put them in jeopardy now.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, and meant it.

  I was angry as I drove back to London. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Owen who was responsible. But I felt guilty by association. The reason Ninetyminutes had survived was because Owen had scared the wits out of a decent man’s family. If Ninetyminutes prospered I would know it was because of Owen’s brutality, not hard work from the rest of us. I had told Henry I would stop it, and stop it I would.

  Of course, what I didn’t know was whether Guy had any knowledge of what Owen had done.

  I drove straight to Owen’s place in Camden. I rang the bell to the first-floor flat with his name on it. No reply. I looked up; the curtains were drawn. Perhaps he was away. I recognized his black Japanese four-wheel drive parked further along the road. Abroad maybe?

  I brooded for the rest of the weekend.

  On Monday morning,
I took the opportunity of a period of relative calm at the office to ask Guy.

  ‘Seen much of Owen lately?’

  ‘Not recently,’ said Guy. ‘He’s gone to France.’

  ‘France?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s staying at Les Sarrasins. Since Sabina’s gone back to Germany, Owen said he’d look after the place for a bit. We may well sell it, it’s not clear.’

  ‘So he’s there now?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Guy. Then a breath of suspicion brushed his face. ‘Why?’

  ‘I never can figure Owen out,’ I said, shaking my head as though I had asked for no other reason than curiosity about what made Owen tick.

  But Guy was staring at me as I turned my attention back to the pile of papers on my desk. ‘Leave him alone, Davo,’ he said. ‘Leave him alone.’

  33

  I was supposed to be going to Munich the next day. Instead, I drove to Luton airport and from there caught a cheap flight to Nice. I hired a car at the airport, and drove through the city and along the coast road towards Monte Carlo, passing beneath Les Sarrasins. There was something I needed to find out before I spoke to Owen.

  I parked in what seemed to be a burrow in the hill, and climbed up Monte Carlo’s cramped streets to the road where Patrick Hoyle had his office. It was in a building filled with lawyers, accountants and investment firms. Hoyle was on the fifth floor. I left the lift to be met by thick carpets, blondwood-panelled walls, and an imperious young secretary with waist-length fine hair and an aquiline nose. I hadn’t made an appointment, which drew a pout of disapproval, but once she had announced my presence I was ushered through into Hoyle’s office.

  It was a large space, flooded with clear Mediterranean light from the windows overlooking the harbour. Hoyle himself was seated in a big leather swivel chair behind a massive desk. As I glanced around the office, I realized that everything was big, as though it had all been made by a tailor to fit its owner.

  Hoyle bade me sit by his desk.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine what Ninetyminutes might be doing in Monaco. Perhaps you’ve come to put your cash reserves on the red at the roulette wheel?’