Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

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.

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?'