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.
