Final Venture

Final Venture Page 15

by Michael Ridpath

  Whatever the final verdict, the next year would be hell.

  Gardner Phillips's office was in a modern building close to the Court House. It was only a small detour for me on my way to work.

  Phillips himself was a decade or so younger than Gil, with a neatly trimmed beard and an air of confidence that I found very comforting. He listened carefully to my story, taking notes. I told him everything, including how Lisa had discovered the gun in the closet, and how she had disposed of it. He asked some pointed questions of detail, but never came right out and asked me whether I had shot Frank and hidden the gun in the closet myself. Somehow this disconcerted me.

  When I had finished, he took a moment to scan the scribbles in front of him, before telling me his conclusion.

  'There's no doubt they're trying to build a case against you. But they have a ways to go yet. They need to find the weapon, or a witness, or something else to tie you in.'

  'I can't believe no one saw me at the beach. Someone must at least have seen my car.'

  'We can do our own checks if necessary. But Mr Cook could have been killed any time before ten p.m. Just because he didn't answer the phone doesn't mean he was dead. He could have gone for a walk, gone to the store, been in the tub, anything. Mahoney was just trying to scare you.'

  'He succeeded,' I muttered.

  'The important thing is from now on not to talk to them unless I'm present, and even then say nothing.'

  'Even if I can straighten them out on something?'

  'Say nothing. I'll straighten them out if they need straightening out. I'll talk to Sergeant Mahoney this morning and tell him you won't answer any more questions. Don't worry, he won't be surprised. And let's just hope they don't make any more progress.'

  I left Phillips's office, and walked the rest of the way to Revere very worried indeed.

  It was a difficult weekend. I spent most of it in the apartment. I tidied up first, stuffing Lisa's small piles of possessions that were dotted around the apartment into her closets. I took the wilting irises out of the tall vase on her desk, and threw them in the bin. But then, when the place finally looked as tidy as I would have liked it, I missed her mess. It was so much part of her, part of our life together. So, I took a couple of her things out again, a coat, a book she'd just finished, some back-copies of Atlantic Monthly. I refilled the vase with water, and stuffed the drooping irises back in. Then I stopped myself. This was ridiculous.

  It wasn't just that I missed her so badly. I was also worried about her. I couldn't help believing that the pressure of the last couple of weeks had been too much for her. She needed help, and I desperately wanted to give it, instead of being shut out like this.

  I tried to call her, of course. But Kelly was an efficient guardian, and I got nowhere. Eventually they stopped picking up the phone. I considered staking out Kelly's apartment in Cambridge in the hope of physically forcing Lisa to talk to me, but I restrained myself. It might just make things worse. There would come a moment when I might do that: perhaps later when she had had a chance to rethink leaving me. Or when I had found out something more about Frank's death.

  I felt I was making small progress there. I had been totally unaware of Gil's retirement, and the succession issue at Revere was much more important than I had realized. But I still had a lot more to find out. Once again, I wished I knew what the police had discovered.

  My sister phoned. She commiserated with me about Frank, and about Lisa. I didn't tell her about Sergeant Mahoney. She didn't even ask me about the money for the appeal; but I still felt bad about not being able to come up with it. The way things were going, I wasn't inclined to count on Frank's legacy.

  Not a great weekend.

  15

  After a businesslike Monday morning meeting, in which Art told us that BioOne was already into Boston Peptides, 'taking names and kicking ass', Diane and I headed off to the airport.

  Tetracom was actually located in a suburb a few miles to the south of Cincinnati, over the Ohio River in Northern Kentucky. The company had bought and refurbished some old red-brick industrial buildings. From the outside the premises looked nothing like the gleaming high-tech ventures I was used to on Boston's Route 128.

  Diane introduced me to the management team, and we were ushered into a shabby office. Diane had been given the tour the week before. The purpose of this session was just to nail down answers to some questions.

  Diane asked detailed, difficult questions. She focused on the competition in a much more thorough way than Frank and I had done with Net Cop. The management coped well. The CEO, Bob Hecht, seemed to know both his product and his market inside out. He lacked some of Craig's energy, he was more of a 'corporate man', but he gave an air of supreme competence.

  We had dinner with Hecht and his colleagues back at the Cincinnatian Hotel where we were staying. It was a credo of venture capital that you should get to know the management team thoroughly before making an investment. We usually stopped short of interviewing spouses, but it was important to understand the personalities involved.

  Hecht had assembled a good team. They all believed in their product, an improved microwave filter that was used in cellular networks, and seemed determined to make it work. As cellular telephony spread around the globe, so did demand for these filters, and Tetracom's appeared to be better and cheaper than what was out there at the moment. And their technology was patented.

  Hecht and his team left just before eleven. I was about to go to bed when Diane suggested a drink. We headed for the bar, and I ordered a single malt, Diane a brandy.

  'So what do you think of them?' Diane asked.

  'The management or the product?'

  'Both.'

  I gave Diane my analysis, which was that I was impressed, but that I was worried existing companies in the sector might come out with their own new technologies that could match Tetracom's. And, given similar products, customers would always tend to go with the more established supplier. We talked about that for a while, and then Diane asked me the four point seven million dollar question. 'Do you think we should invest?'

  No deal was ever perfect, but this was closer than most.

  I nodded. 'Provided we can get comfortable with the competition, yes.'

  'Good. So do I. We'll do some more research on the competition as soon as we get back. And we can begin putting together an Investment Memorandum.'

  Venture capitalists spend so much time saying 'no', it's always satisfying when there is a chance to say 'yes'.

  I smiled and raised my glass. 'To Tetracom.'

  'To Tetracom.' Diane sipped her brandy. Even though she had been up since six that morning and hadn't had a chance to change, she looked cool and poised in a simple but well-cut black suit. I suspected I looked knackered.

  'What do you think about Revere, Simon?' she asked.

  I glanced at her, wondering how much to confide in her. I decided to trust her. And I hoped I might find out something about Frank and Art and who was to succeed Gil as head of Revere.

  'I'm worried.'

  'By what Lynette Mauer said last week?'

  'Yes. But I'm not just worried about us losing an investor in our funds. I'm more concerned she might be right.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, now Frank's gone we've lost the partner with the most consistent track record.'

  'What about Gil?'

  'Hm.' Once again I glanced at Diane. She was sitting back, relaxed in the comfortable armchair, watching me closely over her brandy. I decided to be open with her. 'I suspect Gil won't be around Revere much longer either.'

  She raised her eyebrows. 'How do you know about that?'

  I shrugged.

  'Do the other associates know?'

  'I don't think so. But Lynette Mauer is obviously worried, and I don't blame her. Without both Frank and Gil, Art would run the show. I think I would be concerned about that if I were an investor.'

  'What about the other partners?' asked Diane.

/>   'I'm sure you and Ravi will be very successful,' I said. 'And I think we associates aren't too bad either. But Art is going to dominate things. I just don't trust his judgement.'

  Diane frowned, thinking over what I had just said.

  'Do you think I'm wrong?' I asked.

  Diane took a deep breath. 'No, I don't,' she said. 'In fact it's exactly what I've been thinking about a lot recently.'

  We were silent for a moment. By saying what she had just said, Diane had implicitly criticized one of her partners in front of an associate, something Gil would definitely have disapproved of. I felt in a strange way honoured by her confidence.

  'Tell me, what were relations like between Frank and Art?' I asked her.

  She thought for a moment before answering. 'They were always polite to each other. Or at least Frank was always polite to Art. And I never heard him say anything bad about Art behind his back. That's just not the sort of thing he did.'

  'And Art?'

  'Art was always polite about Frank, as well. But I think that's because Frank obviously knew what he was talking about, and Art would have gotten nowhere with Gil trying to undermine Frank's judgement. What he did try to do was to ease Frank out of the loop. He would schedule important meetings of the partnership for when Frank couldn't make it, he'd spend a lot of time with the investors, he'd get involved in policy issues and so on.'

  'What was Frank's response?'

  'Frank let himself be outmanoeuvred. He knew that ultimately he could rely on Gil's support.'

  'How long have you known that Gil was planning to retire?' I asked.

  'Not long. About six weeks. I don't think Gil had told Art before he told Ravi and me. But I wouldn't have been surprised if Frank had known for a little longer.'

  'I see.' I paused before asking my next question. 'And if Frank was still alive, do you think he would have taken over from Gil?'

  'Oh, undoubtedly,' Diane said. 'I think some way would have been found for Art to save face. I don't know, some new title or position or something. But Frank would have taken the important investment decisions.'

  'Do you think that was Art's opinion as well?'

  'I don't know. He certainly hadn't given up hope. He's been lobbying Gil hard over the last month. It's almost embarrassing really. And I'm sick to death of hearing about BioOne.' Diane laughed. 'Didn't you think that was funny with Ravi on Monday? I swear I thought Art was going to kill him.'

  She drained her glass. 'Do you want another?' she asked. I nodded and she beckoned to the waiter. 'Why are you asking me all this?'

  'I wonder who killed Frank,' I answered simply.

  Diane drew in her breath. 'Isn't that for the police to decide?' she said carefully.

  'They seem to have decided it was me.'

  'That's ridiculous.'

  'I'd love to be able to point them in another direction.'

  'Toward Art, you mean?'

  'He seems a likely candidate.'

  Diane leaned forward. 'I can understand your concern. But be careful. Gil's right, if we start pointing fingers at each other over Frank's death, we'll tear the firm apart. He spoke to us about the police's suspicion of you, and said you had his total support. I don't think he meant we should support you and accuse someone else.'

  'I can understand that,' I said. 'But what about you, Diane? Do you think I killed Frank?'

  'Of course not,' she replied unhesitatingly.

  I smiled back. 'Thank you.'

  We sipped our drinks in silence. It had been a long day. The second whisky, a generous helping, was beginning to relax me.

  'How's Lisa?' Diane asked.

  I had not yet told anyone at Revere about Lisa and me. But the simple question seemed to beg a simple answer.

  'She's left me,' I said.

  'No!' Diane looked genuinely concerned. She didn't ask the question I would have had to lie to answer – Why? Instead she asked, 'When?'

  'A couple of days ago.'

  'How do you feel about it?'

  I sighed. 'Lousy.' I drained my glass.

  'I'm sorry,' Diane said.

  I didn't want to talk about Lisa any more. And just for the moment I didn't want to think about her. It was good to be away from Boston and Lisa and the mess of Frank's death. The waiter hovered near by, and I grabbed his attention. 'Two more please.'

  We talked of other things, of England, of New Jersey where Diane had grown up. I hadn't realized she was a classic example of poor girl made good. Her father was an electrician, yet she had managed to get herself into NYU and then Columbia Business School where she had graduated top of her class. She had done well. The poise, the sophisticated clothes and the accent must all have been learned. To my admittedly foreign eyes, she had learned well.

  It was nearly one o'clock when we finally called it a night. As we rode up in the lift together, Diane stood close to me. She reached up and kissed me on the lips. I was too tired, too confused to respond, but I didn't pull away either. Then, as the lift stopped at her floor, she flashed me a quick smile. 'Good night,' she said, and was gone.

  I had another terrible night's sleep brooding about Frank, Lisa and now Diane. Guilt piled on to my anger. Whisky, fatigue and semi-consciousness chased my brain into all kinds of strange corners. I woke up still tired, and with a headache.

  Diane met me at breakfast. She looked great, and apart from drinking several glasses of orange juice, acted as though nothing had happened the previous night.

  Perhaps it hadn't.

  Back in the office, the stack of papers in my in-box had grown higher, and I had several minutes of voice-mails to return. My computer informed me I had forty-six e-mails.

  Several of the phone calls and e-mails were from Craig, so deciding that I could get rid of a number of messages in one go, I dialled his number.

  'How's it going Craig?'

  'I don't know, Simon. Good news and bad.'

  'What's the good news?'

  'Your friend Jeff Lieberman came through with the hundred fifty thousand. And he talked about some kind of fund for the Managing Directors at Bloomfield Weiss that might want to invest.'

  'That is good,' I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. The trouble was Net Cop needed more than a few private investors to build the prototype. It needed serious dollars from serious players. And that still left the bad news. 'How did it go with Ericsson?'

  'Not so good,' said Craig. 'They like the idea, but they want to see working silicon.'

  'And there's no way we can make a prototype any cheaper?'

  'Not one that works.'

  I sighed.

  'It doesn't look good, does it?' Craig sounded unusually despondent.

  'Hang on in there, Craig,' I said, trying to sound as confident as possible. 'We never said it would be easy.'

  'I guess not. Speak to you later.'

  Damn! I was not prepared to let Net Cop die. I just wasn't.

  John wasn't having a good day either. He was looking seriously worried.

  'What's up?' I asked.

  'National Quilt is screwed,' he said.

  'What's the problem?'

  'The bank's getting antsy. They don't like all this inventory buildup. They want the working capital line of credit cleaned up by the end of the month.'

  'And you're not going to make that?'

  'No way.'

  'What about the "Go Naked" strategy?'

  'The bankers are not great fans,' said John gloomily. 'In fact I think it makes them even more worried.'

  'Oh.' That sounded like a problem. 'What's Art's advice?'

  'I started talking to him about it, and then he suddenly had an urgent phone call. He said if things were looking tough I should raise it at next week's Monday morning meeting.'

  'Sounds like he doesn't want to know.'

  'That's exactly what it sounds like. How's Net Cop?'

  'I'd say it's screwed.'

  John sighed. 'I guess this is all part of becoming a grown-up venture ca
pitalist.'

  'I guess it is.'

  John headed off to Lowell to visit the ill-fated quilt company, leaving me to spend the day at my desk. I gathered together some pretty good information on Tetracom's competitors that seemed to suggest their product really was special. And I started on the Investment Memorandum, which would be the document that would, I hoped, eventually persuade the partners to invest.

  But it was difficult. I spent long periods of time staring into space, thinking of Lisa, and worrying about Sergeant Mahoney.

  Daniel was involved in some heavy-duty number-crunching. Eventually he stopped and stretched.

  'So how was Porkopolis?'

  'Porkopolis?'

  'It's what they used to call Cincinnati. Great town isn't it?'

  'I didn't see a pig anywhere. But I did see a very impressive company.'

  'So you think we might do Tetracom, huh?'

  'I think so. Or else I'm wasting my time with all this.'

  'And how was the lovely Diane?'

  'Missing you badly, Daniel.' I kept my composure. Or I thought I did.

  'Naturally.' He smiled. 'Hey, how about a drink after work?'

  'Yeah, why not? But can you get away?' I nodded at the piles of figures surrounding his computer.

  'Oh, a couple of random numbers inserted in the right place will sort those out,' Daniel said with a grin. 'Hey, don't worry, Simon. It can't possibly get worse.'

  But of course it could.

  We went to Pete's, a bar on Franklin Street, in the middle of the Financial District. By the time we got there, the crowd of big loud brokers had already downed a lot of alcohol. Daniel found us a table in the corner and a cold Sam Adams each.

  Every now and then Daniel and I had a drink after work. Despite his tendency to be obnoxious, I found him good company. He was funny and intelligent, and a good source of gossip. Once, we'd even been to Las Vegas together, crawling from casino to casino following a set of obscure gambling rules that Daniel called his system. He was a great person with which to live the tackiness of Las Vegas for a night. I had lost two hundred bucks, but enjoyed myself immensely. Daniel claimed he had come out five hundred dollars ahead. My impression was he had lost thousands, but maybe I had missed something.

 

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