Final Venture

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 capitalist.'

'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.

'So how come you were staring into space all afternoon? Net Cop getting to you?' Daniel asked.

I took a long draught of the cool beer. 'That tastes good,' I said. 'No, it's not that.' I glanced at Daniel. 'Lisa's left me.'

'Oh, no! I'm sorry. Why did she do that? Did she find a one-eyed leper who was better looking?'

'Thanks, Daniel.'

'If she's free, so am I. I'd like to make some new friends. I've always liked her, you know. Have you got her new number?'

I ignored his comment, but I didn't mind Daniel's kidding, however offensive it was, and it could get pretty offensive. It eased the gloom a bit.

'She thinks I killed Frank.'

Daniel winced. 'Oooh. That could take some forgiving. I do hope she's wrong.'

'Yes, she's all wrong.'

'Oh, well that's all right then.'

'But the police seem to agree with her.'

'What, that nice Sergeant Malone who asked all those questions?'

'Mahoney. That's right. He says I had the opportunity and the motive. I was at Marsh House the afternoon Frank was murdered, and I inherit half his fortune. Or rather Lisa does.'

Daniel frowned. 'That all sounds a bit circumstantial, doesn't it? Did they find the gun?'

'No,' I said, keeping my promise to myself not to tell anyone about Lisa's discovery.

'Pity.'

'Why do you say that?'

'If they found the gun in the middle of South Boston or somewhere, it would suggest that you weren't the guy who used it.'

'That's true.' For a moment I wished that Lisa hadn't thrown it away. Then I could have hidden it conveniently in Art's garage. But the moment passed. That would probably just have got me in deeper trouble.

There was one question I needed to ask Daniel. 'Did you tell Mahoney we were talking about how wealthy Frank was just before he died?'

Daniel winced. 'Yeah, I did. Sorry. But he did ask whether we'd had a conversation like that, and I had to tell him the truth. Did it get you in trouble?'

I sighed. 'Not really. I think Mahoney was pretty convinced anyway. It'll just give him some more ammunition.'

'Sorry, Simon. I didn't realize. He was asking all these bullshit questions, and I never imagined you as a suspect. At least not then.'

'Don't worry.' I sipped my beer. 'But what interests me is, if I didn't kill Frank, who did?'

'Good question,' said Daniel. 'All I know is it wasn't me. I was in New York.'

'No need to be so smug about it. What's the office gossip? I don't seem to hear any of it any more.'

'People usually steer clear of the subject. It's like it was in bad taste or something. And Gil did say he didn't want us suspecting each other.'

'And when they don't steer clear of the subject?'

Daniel gulped his beer. 'There's one name that comes up quite consistently.'

'Mine?'

Daniel nodded.

'But people can't really think I murdered Frank?'

'I don't think they do. Which leaves us kind of stuck.'

'What about Art?'

Daniel thought for a moment. 'Not a bad choice for second favourite. He hated Frank, although he was always polite to him. But where was he when Frank was killed?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'Mahoney won't tell me anything. And I could scarcely ask Art himself.'

'You could ask his wife. You know how much she likes you. You charmed the panties off her at last year's Christmas party.'

'Oh yes. I just ring her up and say, "Hello, Mrs Altschule. I just want to check whether your husband murdered my father-in-law. Do you know where he was on Saturday the whatever-it-was of October?"'

'Hm,' said Daniel. 'I see your problem.'

'You've worked with Art more than I have. Do you know much about his background?' Daniel was curious to the point of being nosy. I was sure he had picked up much more about the people at Revere than I had, even though we had both been in the firm the same length of time.

'He's known Gil a long time. I think they were at school together.'

'Harvard?'

'Yeah. After that they both went to Vietnam. Gil was in a regular army unit, and Art was in the Marines. I think Art saw some pretty hairy action, and Gil had a relatively quiet time of it.'

'I've heard about the Marines,' I said. Art loved to refer to the service.

'Yes. But he never talks specifically about what happened there. Even when I asked him.'

'I can understand that,' I said. There were one or two things in my own short military career I would rather not discuss.

'I guess so,' said Daniel. 'But it was still kind of strange. You know how Art likes to brag about stuff. I'd have expected a couple of stories about how he took out three gook villages single-handed.'

'I see what you mean.'

Anyway, after Vietnam he got an MBA, and then worked for Digital Equipment in Maynard. Eventually he left there and started some company selling mini-computers. According to him, it did brilliantly well. Although I'm not so sure.'

'Really, why not? Whenever I've heard him talk about it, it sounded like it was the biggest thing since Compaq.'

'He sold the company for something like twelve million bucks to ICX Computers. But once ICX got in there they found they had bought a can of worms. The accounts were rotten. ICX hit Art and his partner for ten million under the warranties they had given to ICX when they had sold out. Art's partner killed himself. Dark days.'

'Jesus.'

'The story is that Art didn't know anything about it. And I can kind of believe that. There's quite a lot Art doesn't know. Then Art's old buddy Gil started up a VC firm, and asked Art to join him. Art arrived a few months before Frank, I think. Then he had several years mediocre investing until he lucked out on BioOne.'

'Sounds like he and Frank were destined to clash.'

'I'd say it was unavoidable,' said Daniel.

We drank our beer. I thought through other possibilities. 'Gil?' I suggested.

'I don't think so,' said Daniel. 'He's so straight. And they were friends.'

'Besides, why would he do it?'

'No reason I can think of.' Daniel sipped his beer thoughtfully. 'But what about Diane?'

'Diane?' I said. 'Why would she want to kill Frank?'

'I don't know. She seems charming on the surface. But she's cunning. Devious. A skilful political animal.'

'Where did you get that idea?'

'Charlie Dyzart from B-school went to Barnes McLintock. He told me a bit about her.'

'Like what?'

'She was a very good management consultant. She became one of the youngest partners at Barnes McLintock. Certainly the youngest female partner. But she left some collateral damage in her wake.'

'What happened?'

'It seems her boss advised Pan United Airlines to change their image to appear more international and less American. They lost a quarter of their passengers within six months. They tried to sue Barnes McLintock. Diane somehow persuaded Pan United that she had always thought it was a bad idea, and she came up with some smart ways to fix the problem. Barnes McLintock didn't get sued, they kept the client, her boss got fired, and she got promoted. Charlie said the guy didn't stand a chance once Diane had him in her sights.'

'I see.' I remembered Frank had said something about how Diane had broken up a marriage at Barnes McLintock. It was something I had tried to forget. 'She didn't have an affair with him, did she?'

Daniel laughed. 'No, but there was something with an associate,' Charlie said. 'A young guy. Married. He walked out on his wife and left the firm. Then she dropped him a few months later. Everyone knew about it.'

'Hmm.'

Daniel looked at me curiously. 'You'd better watch yourself with Diane, Simon.'

'Oh, come on, Daniel. There's nothing between us. I like her. I respect her. She's a good venture capitalist.'

'She's after you.'

The trouble with Daniel was you could never tell whether he was joking or being serious. But either way I knew he was right.

'I still don't think Diane would kill anyone,' I said. 'That goes way beyond political scheming. No, I think Art is our best bet.'

Daniel allowed the subject to be changed. 'There is one interesting thing about Art,' he said.

'What's that?'

'I think he used to be an alcoholic'

'I've never seen him drink,' I said.

'Precisely,' said Daniel. 'And he doesn't act like the temperance type. In fact he seems more like the hard-drinking type to me.'

'You mean he must have given up?'

'Absolutely. Maybe Vietnam had something to do with it.'

'It must have been horrible.' Nothing in my military experience came close, certainly not Northern Ireland. 'But Art being a former alcoholic doesn't prove anything'

'Except I think he might be back on the booze.'

'Have you seen him drunk?'

'No, but he's called in sick unexpectedly three times in the last three weeks. I know because I had to cover for him. And on Tuesday morning I could swear he smelled of whisky.'

'That's not good. Do you think some recent event might have started him off again?'

'It's a theory,' said Daniel. 'But it's nowhere near as convincing as the theory that you did it.'

'Great,' I said, and drained my beer.

An hour or so later, we left Pete's, mellow but not drunk. The nights were beginning to get cold. Daniel had his raincoat, but I was wearing just my suit. I hunched my shoulders and pushed my hands deep into my pockets. It was late, and it was quiet in the heart of the Financial District.

Two big men in jeans approached us along the narrow sidewalk. We paused to let them pass by. But they didn't pass by. Their eyes locked on Daniel and me.

I heard rapid footsteps behind us. Too late I pulled my hands out of my pockets, too late to prevent a heavy blow to my stomach. The air burst out of my diaphragm, and I doubled up, gasping. Two more punches followed, and I slumped backwards against the wall.

They bundled Daniel into an alleyway. In front of me stood a big hard man, his fists clenched. Daniel was suffering, I heard the blows coming thick and fast. He cried out. My head slowly cleared. The man in front of me was watching me closely, his fists ready to strike again. I closed my eyes, and allowed myself to slump downwards, letting my weight fall on to my right leg. Then I spun round, and thrust my fist upwards with all my strength into the man's face. The blow caught him on the side of the head, and sent him stumbling. I hit him a couple more times, and he staggered backwards into the street.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other two leave Daniel, and move towards me. I turned to face them.

Then one of them muttered something in a foreign language that sounded like Russian, and they backed off.

'Jesus, Daniel, are you OK?' I crouched over him. He was conscious but groaning.

'No,' he muttered between his teeth.

'Here, I'll call an ambulance.'

Daniel sat up. 'No, don't do that. I think I am OK. It just hurts.'

'Where?'

'Everywhere. But I don't think anything's broken. My arm hurts like hell. Get me a taxi, Simon. I'll go home.'

His face was a mess. His nose was bleeding, and so was his lip, and he had a huge red mark on one cheek. I picked him up and half-carried him to a busier street. We waited a couple of minutes for a taxi, and after I had assured the driver there was no chance of us getting any blood on the upholstery, I gently placed Daniel in the back seat.

'Here, I'll go with you,' I said, climbing in with him.

'You're a great guy to be out in Boston at night with,' said Daniel, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose with his hand.

'They didn't know who we were, did they?'

'Didn't they?' said Daniel. 'Did they steal anything? I've still got my wallet, I think.' He patted his pocket to make sure.

I checked mine. It was still there.

The thought that people I didn't know might want to beat me up bothered me. But Daniel was right. They hadn't taken anything.

'Did you hear them at the end?' I said. 'One of them was speaking a foreign language. Russian I think.'

'No,' Daniel said. 'I was out of it.' He groaned and rubbed his ribs. 'This hurts.'

'What would a bunch of Russians want with me?' I said.

'Face it,' said Daniel. 'Nobody likes you.'