'What?' said Gil, frowning. 'I didn't know we had a problem here. I don't like this kind of surprise, John.'
John glanced at Art. Art was looking at the yellow pad in front of him. He had avoided my eye throughout the whole meeting.
'I think it kind of took the management by surprise,' John replied.
'But you're on the board aren't you? Couldn't you see this coming?'
John shrugged. 'I guess I missed it.'
Gil turned to Art. 'This was your deal originally, Art. What went wrong?'
'It's difficult to tell,' said Art. 'Three months ago the company seemed very stable. Unexciting, but stable. So I handed it to John. Since then the management seem to have gone off on some crazy strategy to put naked women on their bed covers. I guess that's what the trouble is.'
'What?' said Gil, turning to John. 'Is that true?'
'Uh. Yes,' said John. 'Or, at least, no. I mean . . . '
'Are they putting nude women on their bed covers or not?'
'Er, yeah, they are.'
Gil's patience was wearing very thin. 'And you let them do it?'
'Er, yes.'
'Why, for God's sake?'
John panicked. He could have said that the build up of inventory had been caused by purchasing decisions that were taken when Art was on the board. He could have said that the 'Go Naked' strategy hadn't started yet. He could have said that he had tried to talk to Art about the company, but Art hadn't wanted to know. But he didn't.
'Sorry.'
Gil glowered at him. 'This is just the sort of company we cannot afford to lose. Especially now when we know that the Bieber Foundation is looking at what we do so closely.'
John cowered. These were strong words from Gil.
Gil turned to Art. 'I'd like you to see what you can salvage from this one.'
'Sure,' said Art. 'It sounds like it might be too late, but I'll see what I can do.'
'Well, I think that just about wraps it up,' said Gil, picking up his agenda.
'One thing, Gil.' It was Diane.
Gil paused. 'Yes?'
'I agree with you. Losing National Quilt is the last thing we need. And I think it's not entirely clear what went wrong. It's extremely important we take the time to learn from our mistakes.'
There was silence round the table. I watched, fascinated. There was trouble ahead.
Gil frowned. 'I think John explained the problem. Management was allowed to embark on an entirely inappropriate strategy.'
Art butted in. 'And I should take my share of the blame. I shouldn't have handed over this deal to such a junior member of the team.'
Gil nodded his approval. John sat still, his ears turning slowly red, whether from shame or anger or a combination of the two, I couldn't tell.
'I wonder whether there were any early warning signs we should have spotted,' Diane went on. 'Management, for example. Should we have backed them? And the original turnaround strategy for the company. Was it the right one?'
Silence again. Then Gil spoke. 'Yes, I think those are useful questions to ask. Art?'
Now it was Art's turn to redden. He took a moment to compose his reply. 'Those are absolutely the right questions,' he said in a forceful voice, full of confidence. 'But in this case I can safely say that until three months ago the company was doing great, the management seemed fine, and the strategy was working.'
'And then it all suddenly went off the rails?' Diane asked. 'Without any warning?'
You could almost hear the intake of breath around the room. Partners at Revere just didn't question each other like that. At least not in the Monday morning meeting.
Art leaned his large frame on to the table, and stared at Diane.
'Yes. That's about what happened. I've seen stranger things in venture capital.'
Gil was frowning now, the tension between his lieutenants was obvious, and he disapproved. 'All right, now we've had the discussion, I think the meeting's over.'
Diane smiled quickly at Gil, and gathered up her own papers. But the tension hung on in the room, like the air after one squall has passed but another is about to hit.
'Why didn't you stand up for yourself in there?' I said to John as soon as we were back in our office. Daniel had gone to see Gil about something. 'Art dropped you in it, and if Diane hadn't stepped in, he would have got away with it completely.'
John shrugged. 'There's no point in me picking a fight with Art. That would only make it worse. As soon as National Quilt started going wrong, Art made sure it had my name on it. There was nothing I could do.'
'You've got to stand up for yourself,' I said. 'I was mauled on Net Cop. I survived.'
John shook his head. 'National Quilt is going down the tube.' He slumped back in his chair. 'Diane was just making a political point. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to.' He shook his head. 'I swear, I've got to get out of this job.'
'Hey, come on, John,' I said. 'You can't give up just because one deal goes bad.'
'It's not just that,' said John. 'I've lost my taste for this place. I'm just not turned on by money like the rest of them.'
'What do you mean, not turned on by money? You've been to business school. You know it's the only thing that matters.'
John ignored my irony. 'That's what someone like Daniel might think. But not me.'
'Nobody's quite like Daniel,' I said.
John looked at me. 'You know he's a jerk. He's sometimes funny about it, but basically, underneath it all, he's an asshole. Sure he's amusing, sure he's smart, but he's always looking after number one. Plus, he thinks making someone else look stupid is funny. I don't know, I guess I don't work like that.'
This tirade was so uncharacteristic of John that I found it hard to answer.
John sighed. 'My father's exactly the same. He has his grand plan for me. Business school, venture capital experience, then I can make my own millions.'
'Is that a grand plan you're going to follow?'
John looked at me sharply, and then relaxed. 'The secret with my father is to do just enough to let him think I'm listening to him, and then stay well clear. I got into Dartmouth, business school, here. And for what? To be bawled out because I didn't take a bunch of Hugh Hefner wannabes seriously.'
'There are always jerks around whatever you do.'
'Maybe, but since Frank . . .' John paused, suddenly finding it difficult to control his emotion. 'Since Frank was killed, I just wonder what's the point. I guess there comes a time when I'm just going to have to tell my father who I really am, and lead my own life. Maybe that time is pretty soon.'
I smiled with sympathy. A death can mean different things to different people. It was natural, I supposed, that Frank's sudden departure from this world should make John wonder what it was all for.
I called Craig to give him the good news about Net Cop. But I found it hard to share his enthusiasm that morning. The divers worried me. If they found the gun I would be in big trouble. But there was nothing I could do about it, save collect my passport and head to the airport. It was a tempting idea, but I knew I had to beat this threat, not run away from it.
I struggled through till lunch. I was just finishing a bagel at my desk when I heard heavy footsteps down the corridor. I glanced up, and in marched Mahoney, accompanied by two other detectives, and Gil, looking stern.
'Afternoon,' I said, as I chewed my last mouthful of bagel.
Mahoney didn't return my greeting. 'I'd like you to come with me to the DA's office and answer a few questions.'
19
'Have you ever seen this before?'
Mahoney was holding a silver-grey revolver. I had never seen it before. But I said nothing.
We were in the DA's office in Salem. Mahoney had given me a formal warning this time, and I had exercised my right to have Gardner Phillips present. Mahoney had brought in reinforcements as well in the shape of an Assistant District Attorney named Pamela Leyser. She was a well-groomed blonde-haired woman in her late thirties, very crisp and busines
slike. I shook her hand and smiled at her. She didn't smile back.
Gardner Phillips had absolutely insisted that I say nothing. He was watching Mahoney like a hawk, looking for a slip-up in his questioning. He seemed competent and in control, although during our hurried discussions before the interview, he seemed totally uninterested in my attempt to convince him that I was innocent. He just wanted to know what evidence the police had and how they had got it.
'It's a Smith and Wesson three fifty-seven Magnum. It was used to murder Frank Cook.'
No response.
'Do you know where we found it?'
Of course I did. I'd seen them looking. But no response.
'It was in this plastic bag.' Mahoney held up a bedraggled Boots bag. 'Do you recognize it? I believe it comes from a British store.'
No answer.
'We found the bag with the gun in it in the Basin by the Esplanade. On the route your wife takes when she goes running. How do you think it got there?'
Once again, no reply.
'She threw it there, didn't she?'
Nothing.
'We have a witness who saw her running out of your street carrying something heavy in a plastic bag. We have another who saw her running back toward your house from the direction of the river carrying nothing.'
That sounded pretty damning.
Mahoney carried on, piling up the evidence against me. It sounded convincing. There had been tension between Frank and me over the way he had treated me at work, over money and over his fear that I was cheating on his daughter. I needed money to appeal the judgement in my sister's legal case. Because of the success of BioOne, I had realized that Frank would be worth several million. I had gone to Marsh House, argued with him, and shot him. I had hidden the murder weapon, but Lisa had found it. She had gone jogging with the gun in a plastic bag, and thrown it in the river before the police had had a chance to search the apartment again. She had protected me, but because of what she had found, she decided she couldn't live with me any more. So she had left.
I wanted to tell him that he had got it all wrong. Or at least half of it. But I put my faith in Gardner Phillips and kept quiet. The Assistant District Attorney watched it all, unblinking. Although she said nothing, both Mahoney and Phillips seemed intensely aware of her presence.
Eventually the questioning ceased and I was led along a corridor. I still hadn't been arrested, and I was technically free to go, but Gardner Phillips wanted to have a few words with Pamela Leyser. I passed a small waiting area, and saw Lisa sitting there, a middle-aged man in a suit next to her.
'Lisa!'
She turned. For a moment she looked surprised to see me, but she didn't smile.
I moved towards her. 'Lisa – '
I felt some pressure on my elbow as Gardner Phillips pulled me away.
'But – '
'You don't think it's a coincidence you saw her here, do you?' he said. 'It's much the best thing if you say nothing to her, especially here. She's got a lawyer. I'll talk to him.'
I left her watching me, expressionless, as though I were someone she didn't know. It unsettled me.
I was put in a bare-walled interview room, with a table and a couple of chairs, while Phillips went off to talk to the Assistant DA.
It took a while. I was scared. Shut in this room, still free in theory to leave, I could feel my liberty slipping away from me. The process was starting. Arrest could not be far away. And with it jail, a hearing, a trial, a media feeding frenzy. Even if I was found not guilty, my life would probably be changed for ever. And what if they found me guilty?
I was glad Lisa had stood by me. But she was the one person I really needed to talk to about this, the person on whom I had learned to rely over the last couple of years. If I had felt she truly were on my side, all this would have been much more bearable. But she wasn't. Her reluctance to help the police stemmed from the last vestiges of loyalty to me, and scraps of doubt, rather than the total belief in me that I needed.
Eventually, Gardner Phillips returned.
'I've spoken with the Assistant DA,' he said. 'They don't have enough evidence to arrest you. It will be difficult to link the gun to you, provided you and Lisa say nothing. We can work on the witnesses who say they saw Lisa: one jogger looks like another in the dark. But they are close. Very close. I've agreed that you'll voluntarily give them your passport, and that I'll surrender you should they want to arrest you. That means I have to know where you are at all times.'
'Did you talk to Lisa's lawyer?'
'Yes. She's taken the Fifth Amendment, which means she has chosen to say nothing to avoid incriminating herself. Fortunately, she will also avoid incriminating you.'
'So what happens now?' I asked.
'The police will try to find more evidence against you. And believe me, they'll try hard. We just have to hope they don't find anything incriminating.'
'They won't.'
Phillips ignored my comment. I had the unpleasant feeling that he thought I had killed Frank. Or perhaps he just didn't care. His indifference was infuriating. What I wanted was for someone to believe that I was innocent. Only Gil had done that so far, and Diane.
Mahoney glowered as I followed Phillips to the entrance of the DA's office. 'You'll be back,' he said.
As I pushed out into the bright sunlight, I was surprised to see a small crowd of journalists waiting for me. Two bulky TV cameras were present.
'Simon, got a minute?'
'Mr Ayot!'
'Did you kill Frank Cook, Mr Ayot?'
'Sir Simon Ayot! Can you answer one question?'
'I don't know who told them about this,' muttered Phillips out of the corner of his mouth. 'Don't talk to any of them.' He pushed through the crowd, repeating the words 'My client has no comment,' until we reached his car. He bundled me in, and in a moment we were away.
He glanced at me as we slowed for a light. 'You did well.'
'So did you.'
He gave me a half-smile. 'Pammy Leyser hasn't given up, neither has Mahoney. I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other.'
'Do you think they'll arrest me?'
'If they find more evidence, most certainly. I didn't convince them that you were innocent. I just convinced them they don't have the evidence to arrest you.'
'And if they do arrest me, do you think I'd get bail?'
'We'd ask for it, of course. But in this case there would be no chance that you'd get it.'
'So I'd have to wait for trial in jail?'
'That's right.'
I suddenly felt cold. Jail scared me. 'I wish I could prove I didn't do it.'
Phillips smiled. 'You don't need to. All we need to do is make sure there's a reasonable doubt that you're guilty.'
I stared out of the window at the gas stations and shopping malls. That's all you need to do, I thought. But a reasonable doubt wasn't good enough for me. I was innocent, and I needed everyone to know it. In particular, I needed Lisa to know it.
I watched myself on television that evening, along with the rest of Boston. And I saw Pamela Leyser being interviewed. She said she was confident of an arrest in the next few days. An Assistant District Attorney wouldn't say that unless she was pretty sure, I thought.
Gardner Phillips had said that if they arrested me, I would have to wait for the trial in jail. Presumably that would be a local jail with other remand prisoners. I could just about handle that, I thought, provided I was let go at the end. But what if I wasn't? What if they found me guilty and sent me to one of those high security jails for convicted murderers? American jails scared the hell out of me. I had seen the films, read the magazine articles. The privations of my Sandhurst training would be nothing compared with what I would experience there. In a community comprising gangs of murderers, where violence, drugs, rape and suicide were everyday occurrences, I would stick out as an easy target.
And if I was sent away, I'd spend what was left of my youth, and presumably the better part of my middle age, in
prison. Everything I'd aspired to, everything I'd lived for, would be gone. Lisa, my career, all those experiences that life had yet to show me. Gone.
I went to bed alone and miserable, and for the first time in my life, afraid.
Daniel acted surprised to see me the next morning. 'So you escaped. Shouldn't you be heading off to Bolivia or somewhere? The cops in this country are pretty smart, you know. They'll probably find you here.'
'They let me go,' I said.
'Why?'
'Technical problems with the evidence. They don't have enough to arrest me.'
'So you're not cleared, then?'
'Far from it,' I sighed. 'I'm beginning to think I might end up in jail.'
'So what? You'll be fine. A big guy like you. You'll make a whole bunch of nice new friends.'
'Yeah,' I said. 'I'm worried, Daniel.'
For a moment, Daniel was serious too. 'I know,' he said. 'Good luck. I guess you need it.' Then he tossed across a copy of the Globe. 'Here, have you seen this?'
There I was, on page four. They had a picture of Frank. Police are receiving assistance with their investigation into the murder of Frank Cook from a man identified as Sir Simon Ayot, 29, a British national who was Mr Cook's son-in-law and his colleague at the venture capital firm of Revere Partners. The article was very light on detail and long on speculation.
It turned out Daniel wasn't the only one who had read the paper. After about half an hour my phone rang. It was Connie, telling me Gil wanted to see me.
He was sitting behind his large desk, the buildings of the Financial District standing tall behind him. He looked grim. Spread across his desk was a copy of the Globe.
'I heard you'd been released, but I didn't expect to see you back here so soon.'
'I've got a lot of work to do,' I said. 'It'll help take my mind off things.'
'This doesn't look good, Simon,' he said, nodding down to the paper in front of him. 'Not for you or for Revere. And I understand you were on the TV news last night.'
'That's true.'
'I called Gardner Phillips. I asked him whether he thought you were innocent.'
Final Venture Page 19