Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

We were in a sombre mood as we returned to our apartment after the funeral. I poured us both a glass of wine, and we sat down together in the dimly lit living room. We shared each other's silence, wrapped up in thoughts of our own, but grateful to be together in our introspection.

Finally, Lisa spoke. 'You know, Simon. We still don't know how the gun came to be in the closet. Enever can't have put it there.'

The thought had occurred to me, too. 'Because there was no break-in, you mean?'

'That. And also he didn't know either of us, then. I mean why pick on you? Or me? He wouldn't have known our address.'

'He could have found it, with a bit of research.'

'Possibly. But he would have had to know a lot about you and me, and our relationship to Dad, to pick on us as likely suspects and our closet as the place to hide his gun.'

'You're right,' I said, thoughtfully.

We sat in silence for a minute or so. Footsteps approached along the quiet street outside, tapping louder and louder, and then receding into the evening. Through the undrawn curtains a small tree on the other side of the road glimmered in the gaslight. I felt a tremor run through Lisa, and she pressed herself against me.

'Simon?'

'Yes?'

'I'm scared.'

It was Thursday evening. I rubbed my eyes, saved my file, and turned off my machine. I'd done enough work for one day. I was just putting on my coat, when I realized I didn't have my house-keys with me. Henry Chan had offered Lisa her old job back, and it was her first day. I knew there was little chance that she would be home when I got back. I was supposed to be meeting Kieran and the boys at the Red Hat later on that evening, and I wanted to go home to get changed. I was considering my options, the best of which seemed to be to go to the Red Hat early, when I remembered the spare set of keys I had stuffed in the corner of my desk drawer for just such an eventuality.

As I dropped them in my trouser pocket, it dawned on me. That was how the gun had been planted! Someone had let themselves into our apartment with my house-keys borrowed from my desk.

But who?

Not Thomas Enever. Someone at Revere.

It was a big night at the Red Hat. Kieran was there, of course, and half a dozen others, all ex-business school. I had asked Daniel along, but as I had expected, he had declined. He never had been a great group socializer.

I was asked lots of questions, and aided by plenty of beer rapidly drunk, talked freely. Frank and John's murder, Enever's suicide and BioOne's collapse for once made for a better story than job offers and stock options.

I remained the centre of attention for an hour or so, and then Greg Vilgren spoke up. He was an American who had been posted to London with a big investment bank, and was on a brief visit back to Boston.

'Hey. Did you guys hear about Sergei Delesov?'

Blank looks round the table.

'It was in the papers in London. He was murdered about a month ago.'

'Jesus. What happened?' Kieran asked.

'It was a contract killing,' Greg said. 'I didn't realize it, but apparently he was the youngest CEO of any bank in Russia.'

'Wow!' said Kieran. 'I always thought he was a bit of a shady character.'

Notes were compared on Sergei. Nobody knew him much. Then Kim spoke. She was a management consultant with one of the big Boston firms, and one of only two women at the table.

'Daniel Hall knew him, I think. He used to talk about his stock picks with him.'

'Really?' I said, leaning forward. I remembered that Kim had sat next to Daniel in class.

'Yeah. In fact, I think Daniel borrowed some money from Sergei, or from some people Sergei had introduced him to. To play the market.'

'Much money?'

'You know Daniel. It was more likely to be a hundred grand than ten.'

'Has he made his million, yet?' Greg asked me.

'He gets close, then he blows it all,' I said. 'But he's a bright guy.'

'Hey, did he ever hit on you, Kimmy?' someone demanded.

'Daniel! No way,' said Kim, and the conversation deteriorated to its usual late-evening level.

I watched Daniel in action. He was on the phone trying to say no to a hopeful entrepreneur.

The entrepreneur was persistent, and Daniel's patience wore out as it always did. 'I said no. No means no! N – O. No!' He slammed down the phone. 'These guys drive me crazy. What do they think we are, a fucking charity?'

'I can't think where they'd get that idea from,' I said. 'You don't exactly come across to me as the charitable type, Daniel.'

'Gee thanks.'

'Daniel?'

'Yeah.'

'Did you hear about Sergei?'

'Sergei?'

'Sergei Delesov. The bloke we were at Harvard with.'

'Oh, yeah. Sergei. What happened?'

'He was murdered. In Russia. Greg Vilgren told me last night.'

'Jesus! Not another one. It's a dangerous world out there. They're dropping like flies.' He didn't seem especially upset, but then you wouldn't expect that from Daniel.

'You knew him quite well, didn't you?'

'Nah. Crazy Rooskie. Eurotrash. Do you remember he wore those Gucci loafers all the time?'

'Didn't he lend you some money?'

Daniel looked up sharply. 'Who told you that?'

'Kim Smith.'

Daniel grunted. 'I was down a few grand on some Dell I'd bought on margin. He knew some people who could tide me over. The stock came back within a month.'

'Some people?'

'Yeah. A loan company.'

'Why didn't you just go to a bank?'

'Jeez, Simon. What is this? An IRS investigation?'

'It just seems strange to borrow a few thousand dollars from some friends of a Russian, rather than top up your loan from the bank.'

'I was up to my limit with the bank. And my parents decided I was a lousy credit risk long ago. It was no big deal. I paid them back.'

Daniel made a show of looking over the papers on his desk, and I left him to them.

'What are you up to this weekend, Simon?' he asked after a couple of minutes.

'Oh, Lisa and I are going to Marsh House to sort out Frank's stuff". There's quite a lot to do. What about you?'

'Don't know yet.' Just then his phone rang, and he snatched it up.

We drove up to Woodbridge first thing the next morning in my Morgan. I parked it beside the house, in the spot where Frank had always left his Mercedes, and we climbed out. The thin November sun burned through the last remnants of the morning fog to illuminate the browns and golds of the watery landscape. There was no wind, and the silence of the marsh lay like a heavy cloak all around us. The only movement was the occasional flapping of an egret hauling itself into the air. There weren't many left now; most of them had gone south for the winter.

It was cold inside. I wound the grandfather clock and lit the stove, and a steady warmth soon pushed its way out from the old contraption through the building. The house wasn't really built for winter habitation, but the beginning of November was unseasonably warm, and the place was quiet, and cosy, and peaceful.

I had tried to call Jeff Lieberman the previous day, whenever Daniel was out of the office, without success. He was in and out of meetings all day. I had the number of his Riverside Drive apartment, so I tried him again. This time I got through.

'Hi, Simon.' He sounded tired.

'I didn't wake you, did I?'

'Yeah, but don't worry, you just beat the alarm by a couple of minutes. I didn't get home from the office until four last night. And they want me in again at eleven. All so we can make a pitch on Monday that I know we won't win. But you've got to go through the motions.'

'Jeff. Do you remember when Daniel came to New York in October?'

'Yes.'

'You definitely saw him, did you?'

'What do you mean? Yes, I did.'

'And that was the tenth of October, right?' The day Frank was killed.