Final Venture

by Michael Ridpath

  'He knows about Frank and John Chalfont. John told me.'

  'Shit. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I heard some more about this guy. He was an active contributor to NORAID. Still is, for all my uncle knows.'

  I frowned, but I wasn't surprised. NORAID had been raising funds for the IRA for years. A supporter was unlikely to have warm feelings towards a British soldier who had served in Northern Ireland.

  'Good luck,' I said.

  'Thanks. You'd better go get yourself a cup of coffee.'

  I left Craig's office to find Mahoney resting his bulk on a chair outside. His bright blue eyes shot up when he saw me.

  'I'm surprised to see you here, Mr Ayot,' he said in a half-friendly, half-ironic tone.

  'Net Cop is one of my companies, you know.'

  'Ah, yeah, that's right. You and Frank Cook had some kind of disagreement about that, didn't you?'

  I didn't answer.

  I ignored him and stalked off to find someone to play table-tennis with. The Net Cop company facilities included a bare room earmarked for future expansion, which housed a table-tennis table and a competition ladder prominently displayed on a whiteboard. Craig dreamed of a weights room, but the company would need to get a lot bigger before he could justify it.

  Mahoney was in a long time. I lost three straight games of table-tennis. These coders were bloody good. And my concentration was poor. I wondered what Craig and Mahoney were talking about in there. Mahoney and his men had been doing a lot of leg work. Had they found anything else that would incriminate me? It wouldn't take much more to get me arrested. I hoped Craig wouldn't give them anything.

  Eventually I heard the sounds of Mahoney leaving. Craig came looking for me, and led me back to his office, via the kitchen, where he grabbed a large cup of decaf cappuccino. I had a cup of tea.

  'What happened?' I asked.

  'Well, you were right. When he saw me he did ask if I was the person with the camera seen down by the marsh. I told him I was. I figured there was no point lying about something he could easily check on.'

  I nodded my agreement. 'So what did he ask you?'

  'What I was doing there with a camera.'

  'And what did you say?'

  'I told him the truth. I said I was following Frank because he'd turned down Net Cop and I hoped I might find something to use as leverage. I said it was a long shot, but I was so mad it was the only thing I could think of.'

  'Did he buy that?'

  'Not at first. He tried to tell me I'd murdered Frank. Not directly, but he implied it. He made me go through my story backwards and forwards. I told him the same thing every time. And I explained that it would be dumb to kill Frank. What I needed to do was to change his mind. If he died, then the "no" would still stand. Which is what happened, right?'

  'Did you say you saw me?'

  'Yes. He liked that bit.'

  I smiled grimly. 'And John Chalfont?'

  'Yep. I figured if he knew about him and Frank anyway, it was best to tell the truth.'

  'Did he ask for the photos?'

  'Yep. I gave them to him. And the negatives.'

  'Was there one of me?'

  'Of course. I got a picture of you arriving.'

  'But not leaving?'

  'As I said, I left right after you arrived.'

  'Great.'

  'Sorry, Simon.'

  I waited for Diane with trepidation. The bar at Sonsie's was full of young professionals and wealthy students limbering up for a Friday night on the town. Rather them than me. I had considered cancelling, but there was no point. Diane had to be faced some time.

  She arrived only a couple of minutes after me.

  'Hi,' she said, as she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Her scent overwhelmed me, reminding me of her apartment, the music, the whisky, her.

  'Hi.' My throat was tight.

  I ordered her a beer to go with mine. She seemed relaxed and confident in a bright blue suit with a tight short skirt. I didn't feel relaxed and confident at all.

  'How have you been?' she asked.

  'Busy. Running around trying to find out who killed Frank.'

  'Have you got anywhere?'

  'It's a case of the more I find out the more questions there are unanswered.'

  'What about the police?'

  'Oh, they're getting somewhere. Closer and closer towards arresting me.'

  Diane smiled sympathetically and touched my hand. It was just a gentle pressure, but it sent a shock through my whole body. 'You've had a tough time.'

  I nodded stiffly.

  'Has Lisa come back?'

  'No,' I said, pulling my hand away. 'But I really wish she would. I miss her.'

  Diane withdrew her own hand and watched me.

  I took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry about the other night. I almost did something I didn't want to do. No, no, that's not right, I wanted to do it at the time.' I paused to get the words right. 'I mean, something I shouldn't have even started. I want Lisa back very badly. And I'm not going to make the same mistake again.'

  I watched Diane for a reaction. For a long moment she remained still. Then she spoke in a low, reasonable voice. 'I guess that says it. But if she's stupid enough to let you go, then she has only herself to blame. I like you, Simon. I think we could be good together. Just remember that.'

  'Sorry,' I said. I didn't know whether Diane was putting a brave face on her rejection, whether she didn't care one way or the other, whether she was trying to show her interest without scaring me off, or whether, in fact, she just meant what she said. That was the trouble with Diane. You never really knew.

  'So, what are we going to do about Revere?' she asked.

  'We?'

  'Yes. You and me.'

  'I don't think I have much of a future there, Diane.'

  'That's baloney. They'll find Frank's murderer eventually, and you'll be in the clear. Gil will retire, Art will be out of it, which leaves me.'

  Diane's confidence was good to hear, although I wasn't even sure I'd be out of jail when Gil retired, let alone back at Revere.

  'Lynette Mauer has told me she'll continue to invest in Revere, as long as I'm in charge.'

  'Well done,' I said.

  'Has Gil spoken to you?' she asked.

  'Yes. He took me for a drink at his club last night,' I said.

  She smiled. 'I know. What did he say?'

  'Don't you know that too?'

  'I'm well informed, but not that well informed.'

  'He wanted me to promise I would back whoever took over, whether it's you or someone else. He seemed to have discounted Art.'

  Diane's eyebrows shot up. 'Someone else?'

  'Yes. He's talking about perhaps getting in an experienced venture capitalist from outside to take over the firm.'

  Diane frowned. 'Hmm.'

  'You'd better move quickly.'

  'Maybe I should.'

  We finished our beers in silence as Diane's brain whirred. I was thinking about how much I could trust her. I really didn't know.

  We left the bar, and Diane set off on foot back to her apartment, while I grabbed a passing cab. It was still only eight o'clock when I arrived home.

  I knew that I should appreciate my liberty, since it was looking ever more likely that I would soon lose it. But I was finding the waiting very hard.

  I surveyed the apartment, empty without Lisa and her things. I hadn't heard from her since she had left for California. I didn't even know where she was staying: Kelly wouldn't tell me, and neither would her mother, whom I had called twice. I'd even tried her brother's number, only to be told I had dialled incorrectly. He must have moved. I had called Information, but they didn't seem to know anything about him.

  I couldn't face the rest of the evening alone in my own apartment, wrestling with Frank, the police, Lisa and Diane. So I went out to the Red Hat. Kieran was there with a couple of the boys. The beer, friendship and laughter helped.

  I came home late, and a little drunk. The answering
machine was winking. One message.

  'Hi, Simon, it's John. It's about eight thirty. I think I've got something on BioOne you might find interesting. Can you come round to my place tomorrow evening, and we can talk about it? Say about eight? Give me a call. 'Bye.'

  It was too late to call him back, so I tumbled into bed, and fell asleep.

  24

  I arrived at John's building in the South End at ten to eight, very curious about what he had to tell me about BioOne. I buzzed his apartment number at the entrance to the building, but there was no reply. I was a little early. He had said eight o'clock, and I had called his machine back earlier in the day to confirm I'd be there, so he shouldn't be long. I decided to wait for him on the street.

  It was cold, and I cursed John under my breath. Pictures of Provence shone brightly out of the gallery next door. I tried to go in, but they were just locking up, and the woman inside shook her head at me. A couple of rain drops began to fall.

  Then the door to John's building swung open, and a man came out. He was thin with close-cropped dyed blond hair. A diamond stud gleamed in his ear. I walked past him, attracting a suspicious glance, and climbed the stairs to John's apartment, to wait for him there. There were two doors leading off the hallway on the second floor. A crack of light seeped out of one of them into the dark hallway. It was John's, and it was ajar.

  Wondering why he hadn't answered the buzzer, I pushed the door open.

  'John?'

  I walked in. 'John!'

  He was lying face down on the floor in the middle of his living room, a blood-soaked hole high in his back.

  'John!'

  I rushed over to him. His face, always pale, was pressed against the floor, a pool of blood near his mouth. His eyes were open, staring dully at nothing.

  Stupidly, I felt his neck for a pulse, desperately asking myself whether I should try mouth-to-mouth or CPR. There was no point. His neck was still warm, but he was very dead.

  I couldn't take my eyes off the body. I felt weak. Time seemed to stand still as my brain struggled to take in what I was seeing. I dropped to my knees next to him, closed my eyes, and put my face in my hands. An image of that other body I had discovered only four weeks before leaped in front of me.

  What a horrible way to die.

  I heard a noise behind me, and spun round, fearful that perhaps the murderer had been in the apartment all along. A black woman in heels and a tight dress showing through her open coat stood in the doorway. She saw me, and screamed.

  'He's dead,' I said. 'Call the police.'

  She nodded and rushed from the apartment. I heard the door opposite slam shut.

  I looked around the living room. There was no sign that anything was out of place. No gun, nothing tipped over or scattered on the floor. But John hadn't been dead for long. Perhaps the murderer was still in the apartment. I didn't want to hang around to find out; I knew he had a gun, and I didn't. Besides, I didn't want to disturb anything at the scene of the crime.

  I left the apartment and rapped on the door opposite.

  No reply.

  I rapped harder.

  'Yes?' The voice sounded scared.

  She obviously wasn't going to open the door. 'It's me. The guy who found John. Have you called the police?'

  'Yes! They'll be here in a moment!'

  'Good,' I said, and hurried downstairs to wait for them outside the front of the building.

  They were only a couple of minutes. A squad car with flashing lights pulled up, swiftly followed by another. I showed them up the stairs, and waited in the hallway while they checked the apartment, and crouched over John's body.

  Over the next few minutes a stream of other people arrived. One of them, a detective named Sergeant Cole, asked me questions about how I'd found the body, and then asked me to wait in the tiny hallway of the building. A uniformed policeman stood next to me as I watched people tramp up and down the stairs.

  After a while, Cole came down the stairs again. He was small, with a young face, but greying hair. He asked me to come to the station with him so he could take a full statement.

  I agreed, and we drove off together in an unmarked car. Within a couple of minutes we reached a police station, and I was led to an interview room. Half an hour later, Cole joined me with another detective. They were both businesslike but friendly.

  'Mr Ayot, do you mind answering a few questions?'

  'Not at all,' I said.

  Cole smiled. 'Good.' He reached for a card from his wallet and began to read from it in a hurried monotone. 'You have the absolute right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney, and to have an attorney present both before and during questioning. If you cannot afford to hire an attorney, one will be appointed by the court, free of charge, to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand these rights I have just explained to you?'

  This took me aback. 'Hey, you don't suspect me, do you?' I was angry. I'd had enough hassle from the police.

  'You were seen right next to the body,' said Cole. 'We don't know what happened until you tell us. We just have to warn you before you talk to us, that's all.'

  'But I can explain what happened,' I protested. 'I found him there.'

  Cole raised his hand in a placating gesture. 'That's great. But before you do, I need you to tell me you understand what I just said to you.'

  'I do,' I replied.

  'And are you willing to talk to me now?'

  I took a deep breath. I knew Gardner Phillips would advise me to say nothing. But I was sick of being the cops' favourite suspect. It seemed to me best to tell them what had really happened so they could leave me alone, and go and look for whoever had killed John.

  'OK,' I said. 'Go ahead.'

  Cole asked me once again to go through how I had entered the building, why I was there, how I had found the door of John's apartment open, whether I had noticed anything else in the apartment other than John's body. He took down details of my description of the man who had let me into the building. With a shiver, I realized this could have been John's murderer.

  'What did you do after you found the body?' he asked.

  'I left the apartment and knocked on the neighbour's door opposite, to check she'd called you. Then I went downstairs to wait for you.'

  'Why did you do that?'

  I looked at him blankly. 'I didn't want to disturb the scene of the crime.' Cole raised his eyebrows. 'And I could see John hadn't been dead long. If there was someone else with a gun in the apartment, I didn't want to be there.'

  'So how long were you waiting outside?'

  'Not very long. A couple of minutes, maybe.'

  'I see.' Cole looked at me long and hard. 'Can you tell me how you knew Mr Chalfont?'

  'We worked together. At a venture capital firm. Revere Partners.'

  'And you were going to meet him for what? A drink? Dinner?'

  'No. He called me yesterday. He said he wanted to talk to me about something to do with work. He asked me to meet him at eight at his apartment. So that's what I did.'

  Cole had caught something in what I had said. A slight hesitation, perhaps. 'Something to do with work? What exactly?'

  I took a deep breath. This wasn't going the way I had hoped. But they would find out sooner or later, so I explained to Cole about Frank's murder, and John's phone call. Cole's interest was quickened. His colleague was scribbling furiously.

  When I'd finished, Cole smiled. 'Thank you very much, Mr Ayot. We'll just type this up, and then you can sign it.'

  They left me in the interview room. Badly lit, bare walls, bare table, uncomfortable chair, and a smell of urine and disinfectant and cigarette smoke. There were two plastic coffee cups on the floor by a wall, one empty, and one containing a cigarette butt bobbing about in a grey-green scum.

 
I waited.

  I wondered who had killed John. It must have happened shortly before I had arrived. Perhaps it was the blond-haired man whom I had seen leaving John's building. I wondered who he was. I was no expert, but to me he looked gay. Perhaps he was the link between Frank's death and John's.

  An hour went by. I began to get impatient. I imagined typing a statement verbatim would take some time, but I hadn't said that much. The guy must type at five words a minute! I asked a couple of cops in the corridor outside what was happening, and they promised to get back to me. Having seemingly satisfied Cole, I just wanted to sign the statement and get out of there.

  Finally, the door opened. Cole came in with the detective clutching some neatly typed sheets of paper. Following him was a shambling form I recognized instantly.

  'Great to see you again, Mr Ayot,' Mahoney said, his eyes twinkling.

  'Yeah,' I mumbled, my voice rough.

  Mahoney sat down opposite me. 'I know you've already spoken to Sergeant Cole about what happened this evening. But we'd like to ask you some more about your relationship with John Chalfont.'

  I wondered whether to call Gardner Phillips. But I was tired, and I wanted to get out of there. I decided to answer Mahoney's questions. If things got difficult, then I'd call my lawyer.

  'OK,' I said.

  'Did you know that Frank Cook and John Chalfont had a homosexual relationship?'

  'Yes.'

  'How long have you known that?'

  'Three days.'

  'How did you find out about it?'

  'Craig Docherty told me. He'd taken some photographs of the two of them.'

  'What was your reaction?'

  'Complete surprise. I never expected it.'

  'I see.' Mahoney paused. 'Did you discuss this knowledge with John Chalfont?'

  'Yes. On Thursday evening. At his apartment.'

  'What did you talk about?'

  'I told him I knew about Frank and him. I asked him whether he had killed Frank. He said he hadn't, and that you had proof that he couldn't have been at Marsh House when Frank was killed.' I looked inquiringly at Mahoney as I said this, but he gave no reaction. 'He talked about what he felt for Frank. I asked him whether he had any clue as to who might have murdered him.'