Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

'But it's never locked.'

I shrugged.

Art grunted, and pulled out his keys. He fiddled with one of them, trying to detach it. Damn. I needed the whole lot.

'I'll bring them right back,' I said.

'All right.' Art threw me the whole bunch.

I caught them, nipped out and checked the supplies closet. It was indeed unlocked. Then I took the elevator down to the street, and hurried round the corner to a small hardware store. There were three keys on Art's ring that looked like they might open filing cabinets or desk drawers. I had all three of them copied.

It seemed to take the man for ever, but eventually I was back up in Revere's offices. I knocked on Art's door, and handed him his keys back. He was on the phone.

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'Where have you been? You said you'd bring them right back.'

'Gil wanted to speak to me,' I lied again. 'Sorry'

Art grunted and went back to his phone conversation.

I spent a lot of time in the corridor that morning. At about a quarter to ten I saw Art enter the elevator, jacket on. I waited five minutes, and then slipped into his office, closing the door behind me.

The first thing I did was check his diary, open on top of his desk. He had an appointment at eleven at Revere's offices. That meant he would be back within an hour. I would have to be quick. But I should have at least fifteen minutes. There was little that you could do outside the office that would take less than that.

I pulled out the keys I had had cut and tried them on the BioOne filing cabinet. The second one fitted. There were five large drawers. I started looking through them. There was so much information. The early papers on Revere's initial investment, a whole drawer full of documents related to the IPO, Annual Reports, monthly management accounts, forecasts, resumes, a thick file on the acquisition of Boston Peptides.

I leafed through these. It was taking too long, and I wasn't getting anywhere. If BioOne had secret misgivings about neuroxil-5, it wouldn't appear in these publicly available documents. Where would it be? Either in a copy of clinical trial results or in correspondence, and relatively recent correspondence at that.

I searched, but I couldn't find any clinical trial data. It wasn't surprising really. From what I knew of Enever he probably didn't let that information leave his office, let alone the building. But in the bottom drawer was the BioOne correspondence file.

I opened it. This was more interesting. Most of the correspondence was between Art and his old friend Jerry Peterson. As Daniel had suggested, it was mostly about numbers, in particular one number, the stock price. Art seemed to hold Jerry responsible for every swing in BioOne's stock price. His more recent letters had become quite upset about the downward lurch in the stock. Of course there was nothing Jerry Peterson could do about it, although Art urged him to make upbeat forecasts about the results of Phase Three trials for neuroxil-5. This, Jerry explained, BioOne could not do. The trials were supposed to be double blind, so that no one, not the doctors, nor the patients, nor BioOne, knew which patients were being given neuroxil-5 and which were being given a placebo. So it was impossible to make any comment until the code was broken at the end of the trial, and the data was analysed. That wouldn't be until March the following year. But Jerry did agree to giving analysts nods and winks that BioOne was optimistic about the results.

Nothing there to suggest that there were any concerns about neuroxil-5. I looked for any correspondence from Enever. There was very little, save for some cryptic notes to Jerry, which he had then copied to Art, and which were of little interest.

I put the file back, locked the cabinet and checked my watch. Ten o'clock. I should really leave now But it wouldn't take a moment to check Art's desk.

I tried the remaining two keys. One of them worked. I slid open the bottom drawer, and my nostrils were hit by the sharp sweet smell of whisky. Three bottles of Jack Daniel's: one empty, one half empty, and one full. Maybe that was why the drawers were locked. A pitiful attempt to hide a sad secret. I hadn't felt any guilt poring through Art's filing system; after all, the information in it belonged to Revere. But when confronted with this, I did feel bad. It was like rummaging through someone else's dirty linen; it made me feel dirty too.

I slammed that drawer shut and opened the next one up. I would have to be quick now. It contained stationery and old diaries.

I picked up the most recent diary and then froze. I could hear footsteps in the corridor outside. Daniel? Diane? No, these were heavy purposeful footsteps. Oh, shit.

Art swung open the door to his office, and stopped dead when he saw me. My mind darted through a thousand excuses, and instantly rejected them all. I had been caught. This wasn't the time to lie.

Eventually he spoke. 'What the fuck are you doing?'

I sat up straight in his chair. 'Looking for information on BioOne,' I replied.

His heavy face reddened in front of me. The short grey hair seemed to bristle. 'Well what are you doing looking for it in my office?'

'I asked you about it. You wouldn't tell me.'

'So you thought you'd poke around among my personal belongings to see what you could find? How did you get into my desk?'

His eyes were on the bottom drawer. At least part of his anger came from the fear and now the knowledge that I would stumble on his whisky collection.

I looked down at the copied key still in the lock.

He felt for his keys in his pocket. 'You son-of-a-bitch.'

He lunged towards me hands outstretched. I leaped out of the chair, but he crashed down on top of me and pulled me to the floor. I hit my head on the side of the desk on the way down. I was dazed for a moment, which was long enough for him to pin me to the ground. He pulled back his fist and I just had time to move my face as he brought it crashing down on the side of my head.

Art was a big man, and strong. I bucked and wriggled, but I couldn't throw him off. He hit me again, this time on the mouth. I writhed, and as he moved his hand to pin down my shoulder, I lunged and bit it hard.

'Shit!' he screamed, and pulled his hand away. I bucked, he lost his balance, and I pushed myself out from under him. He climbed to his feet, and stood between me and the door, breathing heavily and clutching his injured hand.

'Calm down, Art,' I said, spitting some of my blood and his skin out of my mouth. 'Sorry I broke into your stuff, OK? Just let me leave and I'll forget everything I've seen.'

Art grunted, and reached for the top drawer of his desk, the only one I hadn't checked. He pulled out a small pistol, and pointed it at me.

Jesus! 'Art… don't use that thing. It's not worth it. If you shoot me, you'll be in jail for-'

'Shut the fuck up!'

'OK,' I said, holding my hands in front of me in a calming gesture. 'OK-'

'I said shut up!' he screamed.

I shut up. I didn't know what Art was going to do. Neither did he. With the gun waving towards me, he bent down, and pulled out the half-empty bottle of whisky. Wincing from the pain of his injured hand, he managed to undo the cap and took a long slug.

I backed towards the window, where a Lucite BioOne tombstone seemed my best chance for a weapon.

'Stand still!' Art barked. He took another swig of the whisky. 'What's wrong with you? Are you trying to destroy this firm? We should have gotten rid of you months ago. I should get rid of you now-'

'What the hell is going on here?'

It was Gil. He stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. Art, put that gun down! And the whisky.'

Art turned slowly, looked at Gil, and put the gun down on the desk. He examined the bottle, as if deciding whether to take another pull, and then placed it next to the gun.