Final Venture

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.'

Mahoney gave a half-smile. I bet he thought that was funny. 'And did he have any ideas?'

'No. At least not then. But he did leave a message on my answering machine yesterday night that he had found out something interesting about BioOne. He wanted to see me at eight o'clock tonight to talk about it. That's why I went to see him.'

'I see. Can you let us have the tape from the machine?'

I shrugged. 'OK.'

'Thank you. Have you any idea what he might have found out?'

'No.'

'None at all?'

I shrugged. 'No.'

'As you know, John Chalfont was shot in the back. There was no sign that anyone broke into the apartment. We think it's likely the murderer was someone he knew. Just like it was with Frank Cook.' Mahoney paused. 'Mr Ayot, did you shoot John Chalfont?'

I looked Mahoney straight in the eye. 'No, I didn't.' I thought for a moment. 'Anyway, if I did kill him, what did I do with the gun?'

Cole answered. 'You could have disposed of it when you ran outside to wait for the police to arrive.'

'Have you found it?' I asked.

'We're looking,' said Cole.

'What about the man I saw leave the building?'

'He lives there. He was just going out for the evening. When he got home he told us all about you.'

Mahoney spoke again. 'Did John Chalfont suggest that he had found something that could implicate you in the murder of Frank Cook?'

'No!' I replied. I turned to Cole. I'd let this go far enough. 'I want to speak to my lawyer.'

Cole nodded.

A spark of irritation flared in Mahoney's eyes. 'We'll talk later,' he said, and left the room.

It took a while to track down Gardner Phillips. He was at his weekend house somewhere or other. I finally got through to him. As expected, he told me to keep quiet until he got there.

Which took two hours, spent alone in the poxy interview room. At least it wasn't a cell.

As I waited for Phillips, my optimism that they would let me go slipped away. I began to panic that I would never see freedom again. I had been afraid I would end up behind bars for Frank's murder; now it looked like it would be for John's. If they didn't get me for one, they'd get me for the other. My luck was constantly running against me. And now Mahoney was involved, he would do his best to keep me in here.

Phillips had said there was no chance of bail in a murder investigation. At least I was alone in this interview room. But jail, real jail with murderers, drugs, violence, rape, AIDS, seemed much much closer.

Phillips arrived at last, wearing a jacket and tie and looking as cool as if this were a regularly scheduled meeting on a Monday morning. I was hugely relieved to see him.

I quickly explained what had happened. 'Are they going to let me out?' I asked when I had finished.

'You bet they are.' He looked angry. 'They haven't arrested you yet. There's nothing to stop you from leaving right away. I'll go and talk to them.'

He was back twenty minutes later.

'OK, let's go.'

'They don't want to keep me here?'

'They can't. They don't have enough evidence. They're as suspicious as hell, but they haven't got enough to charge you.'

'It sounded to me as though they were getting close.'

'That's the way they like to make it sound,' said Phillips. 'But they couldn't find the gun anywhere in or around the building. The gallery owner confirmed that you had tried to get in as he was closing up last night at eight o'clock. And one of the residents thinks they heard something that sounded like it might have been a shot at about seven forty. It just made no sense that you would have shot John Chalfont, run downstairs, made the gun disappear, tried to get into the gallery, run back upstairs to look at him, and then waited for the cops.'

I smiled. 'Thanks.'

'We're not out of the woods yet. I'd say you're still very much on the suspect list.'

'Great,' I said. 'I've heard that somewhere before.'

Phillips's voice became stern. 'You know you shouldn't have spoken to them at all. They can't make you go anywhere or do anything unless they're willing to arrest you.'

'But I thought if I told them what had happened they'd forget about me and go after whoever did kill John.'

'It didn't work out like that, did it?'

I sighed. 'I suppose not. Sorry.'

He drove me back to my apartment, dropped me off, and took the tape from my answering machine away with him to give to the police. I went straight for the shower, trying to wash off the evening in the police station.

That Mahoney had tried to tie me into John's murder didn't surprise me at all. And I knew Gardner Phillips was right: he wouldn't give up.

Would the police ask Lisa about Frank and John? I had no idea how she would handle that except that somehow, I felt sure, she would hold me responsible.

Inevitably, the press got hold of the story. John's father was a well-known figure, John's murder a big story. It hadn't taken them long to link this murder with Frank's, and my apartment was soon besieged by reporters wielding notebooks and mikes. I braved them, giving them terse comments that said nothing. The newspapers and the TV bulletins were rife with speculation, but the police were staying tight-lipped about any connection between the two murders. Fortunately, they also said nothing about me.

It was only when the press had gone that the full significance of John's murder really sank in. Until then I had been more worried about the police and Gardner Phillips and the questions I was being asked. Now I thought about John. It seemed so unfair. He was the archetypal nice guy, friendly to anyone and everyone. Only now that he was gone did I realize how much I'd liked him. His relationship with Frank didn't change the way I felt about him. If anything, the knowledge that he had meant so much to Frank confirmed that he must have been a good person. I would miss him.

I saw again those dull blue eyes, the pale face, the trickle of blood, the absolute stillness of death.

A cold feeling of revulsion and fear crept over me. People around me were being killed. Seemingly normal, harmless human beings.

Like Mahoney, I was sure that the two murders were connected. And also like Mahoney, I suspected I might be close to the connection. But I didn't know how. For the first time since Frank had died, I sensed that my own life was in danger.

If Frank and John both knew something and had died for it, then I was in danger of stumbling on the same thing. But I couldn't turn back. Not if I wanted Lisa back. And I now had somewhere new to look.

BioOne.