Access Denied, page 15
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
"Sam's here," Turing said. "Maybe we shouldn't tell her about the burglary. Maybe we should just say that Claudia found the file while working at PRS."
"I think we should at least suggest that Claudia did not find it while performing her assigned duties at PRS,"
Maude said. "That she might get in trouble if too many people found out precisely how she got the file."
"As long as we leave it indefinite," Turing said.
"I'll be subtle," Maude said, standing up to greet Sam.
Maude was good at subtle, Tim thought, as he listened to her revealing their new find to Sam. She managed to dance over exactly how Claudia had gotten the various printouts now littering Maude's conference table, but without actually lying. And without concealing her own feelings about the matter, a mixture of disapproval and grudging admiration.
"So we have a suspect," Sam said. "This is good. Can we turn him over to the police?"
"Well, even if we had any legitimately obtained evidence against him, we don't know where he is," Maude said. "He hasn't shown up at work again today, according to Claudia."
"We should check out where he lives," Tim said. "And probably stake it out."
"By we you mean you," Maude said. "And what if the police or some of Dan Norris's troops are keeping an eye on you? Bad idea."
"Maybe not," Sam said, slowly. "Let's think this through. If the police call Tim in and ask why he was looking for this kid, what does Tim say?"
"Urn . . . that I want my attorney?"
"Well, yes," Sam said. "I do want to keep paying my mortgage and my student loans. But after I get there, what's wrong with my telling them why you're looking for Kyle Evans?"
Tim shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
"I say we think Rose's card information was stolen through a collection agency," Sam said. "And PRS being the most likely suspect, we're checking it out. And one of my investigators working at PRS grew suspicious when Evans stopped showing up the day after the murder. So I sent you to check out Evans. We don't mention the spreadsheet if
Claudia didn't find it legitimately. But the rest is perfectly legal and plausible, and better yet, true."
"And the cops won't object?" Tim asked.
"Worst case, they'll warn you away and take over the investigation themselves," Sam said. "If they think what we came up with is plausible. Hell, for all we know, one of Claudia's coworkers could be an undercover cop. When you come right down to it, maybe it would be a good thing if we sicced them on Evans. They've got the resources to find him and protect him."
"So it's okay for me to start looking for Evans?" Tim said.
"Go for it," Sam said. Maude nodded.
"Great," Tim said. "Shoot me the info you've got, Tur."
"Why don't you use the guest office?" Maude said. "I want to ask Sam some questions about how she's coming along with Rose Lafferty's case."
"No problem," Tim said.
He was glad to get out from under Maude's gaze while she was still mad about the burglary. And away from Sam before he accidentally spilled the beans. He relocated to the guest office he used when he worked at the Alan Grace headquarters and logged in.
"So what have we got on Kyle Evans?" he asked.
"Here's a map to his apartment," Turing said, as the laser printer at his elbow began spitting out papers. "It's in a large, relatively new development in Sterling. Not fancy, but probably more than he can afford on his PRS salary."
"Unless he has a roommate," Tim said.
"I can't find anyone else listed at that address."
"Yeah, and Kyle's famous for following the rules, right? He could have any number of roommates management doesn't know about. How big is his place?"
"An efficiency. Approximately 450 square feet."
"Okay, scratch the roommate idea," Tim said. "He's just living above his means."
"Which wouldn't be hard to do, considering how small his means are," Turing said. "PRS doesn't pay anyone much more than minimum wage, not even the skip tracers. How do people live on that here?"
'They go into debt," Tim said. "Is Kyle in debt?"
"Not now," Turing said. "By the time he took the job at PRS, he had maxed out on all his credit cards and began skipping payments on some of his bills. He came to PRS nine months ago, but he worked as a collector at first. And then after three months they promoted him to skip tracing. Doesn't that seem a little hasty for PRS to move him into a position with so much access to confidential information?"
"Considering what he did with the confidential information, definitely," Tim said. "But then look at what they had to work with. From what Claudia has seen, three months probably makes him an old-timer around there."
"Still not particularly logical," Turing said. "And considering PRS's potential legal liability when victims discover what Evans has been up to, very short-sighted. I can't understand why humans haven't set up some way to monitor people who have access to financial information that could be used for illegal purposes."
"They do," Tim said. "According to Claudia, PRS tracks every keystroke she makes, and can look at what's on her screen at any time, and run a credit check on an employee whenever they like."
"That didn't help them spot Kyle Evans. I was thinking more of a system that would match his expenditures against his declared income. If they'd done that, they could easily see that he was spending much more than his salary."
"A system like that would violate people's privacy," Tim said.
"And prevent a lot of crime," Turing said. "It would certainly have flagged the fact that shortly after moving to skip tracing, Evans began paying his bills on time, whittling down
his credit card balances, and buying expensive luxuries— new car, stereo, and TV. Which doesn't add up. His fixed expenses—rent, utilities, car payments and insurance, student loans—are more than his monthly take-home pay, and that's before you even start adding in things like food and gas and such. There's no way he could be doing this without some source of income outside his salary."
"So it's pretty clear why he started the scam," Tim said. "To get out of debt."
He felt a twinge of sympathy for Evans. He'd never gotten quite so far behind with his debts, but he could have. Turing could be describing how he'd have ended up by now if he hadn't swallowed his pride and taken a job as a copy-machine operator at Universal Library. Moved into a dump of an apartment that he could afford; an apartment near a Metro stop so he could sell his car. Scaling back his lifestyle to match his income. And maybe he'd still be living that way if he hadn't met Turing. Or maybe he'd have taken the same path Kyle Evans had chosen if he'd had the chance. He liked to think not, but you never knew.
"Weird that he's preying on people in the same boat he was six months ago," he said, aloud.
"I wonder if he ever had the same thing happen to him," Turing said. "Someone using his charge cards when he was already over his head in debt."
"Maybe," Tim said. "Of course, it's just as likely he got the idea from listening to people give him excuses when he called them up."
He winced inwardly, remembering some of the tall tales he'd spun for bill collectors, during those few stretches when he'd been more broke than usual.
"So what does he drive?" Tim asked aloud.
"A Corvette," Turing said.
"Please tell me it's used," Tim said.
"No, it's brand new. He bought it two months ago."
She flashed a picture of the car on the screen. Tim studied the sleek silver vehicle enviously.
"Okay, I was feeling a little sorry for him with the debt thing, but he just lost my sympathy."
"That's not the right color, though," Turing said. "If you're going to use it for identification purposes. Ah, here we go."
The silver Corvette suddenly turned bright red, and a copy of the photo began to emerge from the printer.
"That's an approximation," Turing said. "But it should be reasonably accurate. They didn't have a picture of the red one on their site, so I used the paint swatch and extrapolated. While I was at it, I put his number on the plates. He hasn't bought any special plate style, so that's also reasonably accurate, but not necessarily exact."
"How about some pictures of Kyle, while you're at it?" Tim said. "In case I have to show them around."
"Coming up," Turing said, as the printer continued to hum. "And also of Tayloe Blake. And while I'm at it, I'll give you a random selection of young men of approximately the same age, in case you want to see if someone can pick any of them out from a photo lineup."
"Sounds more like something the police would do," Tim said, but he stuffed the various maps, photos, and other printouts into his briefcase, along with the spare cell phone Maude had arranged that morning.
"All set," he said.
"One more thing," Turing said. "Sam's been asking more and more questions. And Maude thinks it would be smart to answer them."
Tim's stomach tightened. He thought he could see where this was leading.
"Questions about what?"
"About me. Maude thinks we should tell Sam the truth about me. What do you think?"
Tim swallowed. What did he think? Turing wasn't leaving
Access Denied mT
this decision to him, was she? Well, no, she was asking Maude, too. Half a dozen conflicting thoughts darted through his mind. A sudden flash of resentment—Turing was their secret, his and Maude's—did he really want to share? And a flash of relief—having Sam in on the secret would mean another person to help. Not just another set of hands and eyes, but another mind, and one with skills neither of them possessed—skills Turing might need. Why Sam and not Claudia, he thought? And then, why not Claudia, too? But one thing at a time; if telling Sam went well, he could suggest Claudia.
"Yeah," he said. "Probably a good idea. Right now, we're asking her to do a good job for us, and she doesn't really know everything the job involves. We should tell her."
"Thanks," Turing said. "I think so, too. And maybe now's as good a time as any. You want to stay and help?"
Tim felt torn. He wanted to see how Sam would react to the news. But he also felt a sense of urgency about finding Kyle Evans.
"I'm sure you and Maude can handle it," he said, finally. "But I'd like to see how she reacts. Save the video to show me later, okay?"
"Will do," Turing said.
"Tim's off to look for Kyle Evansi" I
said.
"Good" Sam said. "And I hope by the time he finds him, I can convince you to turn him over to the cops."
"I don't see a problem with turning him over" Maude said. "But we'd like the chance to talk to him ourselves first."
"Why?" Sam said. "Vll be straight; I like the idea of letting the cops handle this. I don't understand why you people don't. Level with me. If there's something I don't know that's driving this, tell me now."
"The more you know, the better you can protect us," Maude said. "We understand that."
"So what don't I know?" Sam said. "I figured out already that its something to do with Turing. So spill. Whatever it is, I can handle it."
Maude laughed. Sam looked at her in surprise.
"Okay, Sam," I said. "You asked for it."
I saw Maude sit back, her eyes fixed on Sam's face.
"Sam," I began. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that you've never met me in person?"
"Odd's a good word for it," Sam said. "Yeah, more than a little odd. At first, I figured you were just one of those eccentric computer geniuses you always hear about. It's a stereotype, sure, but sometimes there's a grain of truth in stereotypes."
"Like the one about litigators being just a little bit aggressive," Maude said with a smile.
"Who, me?" Sam said. "I'm a pussycat at heart, but I have to put on the big, bad lawyer act for the other side. Anyway, as time went on, I began to wonder if there was something more than just eccentricity. I confess, I interrogated your PI friend, Claudia, about the whole thing."
"I'd have done the same," Maude said. She was suppressing a smile.
"She claimed not to know any more than I did," Sam said. "So if she's in on the secret, whatever it is, she's good at keeping her mouth shut. She did admit that she'd come up with the same theory I had."
"And what is Claudia's theory?" I asked. I'd wondered what Claudia thought of me. Like Sam, she'd worked with us long enough to have many unanswered questions, and while she'd never asked them, either, I suspected her curiosity would drive her to find her own answers. Wrong ones, I hoped.
Sam looked thoughtful.
" We both assume you have some good reason for not letting anyone
see you," Sam said. "Being the suspicious type, at first I figured you were someone who's wanted and on the run."
"Wanted?" I repeated. "You thought I was a criminal?"
"Hey, this was when I first met you," Sam said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Or rather, didn't meet you, just communicated through telephones, speakers, and e-mail. I toyed with the idea that maybe you were some radical from the sixties who'd mellowed and built a new life but couldn't come in from the cold because the FBI still wanted you. Or maybe someone who'd committed a crime of conscience, like a reformed ecoterrorist. And it made sense that you wouldn't want to show yourself to me, because then I could honestly say that no, your honor, I had no idea my client was the notorious so-and-so."
"A dramatic theory," Maude said.
"Okay, so I watch too much TV," Sam said. "At least I never pegged you for a common criminal."
"Nice to know that despite your suspicions you could sense Turing's basically moral and law-abiding nature," Maude said, nodding with approval.
"Well, that and her complete lack of practical knowledge about the criminal side of the legal system," Sam said.
"Complete lack of knowledge?" I said. I was hurt. Considering the number of mystery books I've studied, I like to think I'm reasonably expert in matters of crime and detection.
"Oh, I can tell you've done a lot of reading on the subject, and probably seen a few TV shows and movies," Sam said. "But even a reasonably well-informed law-abiding citizen doesn't know the same things as a career criminal."
"I see," I said. Maude chuckled.
"I rather like the notion of Turing as a dangerous fugitive," she said.
"Yeah, well that was at first," Sam said. "You'll be happy to know I've pretty much discarded that theory and come around to the same idea Claudia has — that you've gone through some kind
of accident that has left you disfigured. And perhaps with limited mobility. Maybe a car accident or a bad fire. Or possibly a medical condition — neurofibromatosis, proteus syndrome. Something like that. n
Maude nodded.
"It's the most plausible explanation/' she said. And then glanced at my camera as if to say that this was my last chance to back out.
Tempting. I could just say, "Brilliant! You guessed it! What gave it away?" and Sam would go away content.
But I was tired of pretending.
"So," Sam said, tilting her head to one side. "Have I got it?"
"Not exactly," Turing said. "Vm not a handicapped person. Or a differently abled person, if you want to be politically correct, though differently abled comes closer to the truth. Vm a person. But Vm not human."
"Are we talking visitor from another planet stuff?" Sam said, frowning.
"Now that I never thought of," Maude said.
"No," I said. "I was born — or, more accurately, created — on Earth. Vm an artificial intelligence personality — an AI P. "
Sam blinked and shook her head.
"Okay, nice try, but if you want to dodge talking to the cops. I'd suggest coming up with another story. That dog won't hunt. "
"Vm serious," I said.
"Pull the other one," Sam said.
"Other what?" I asked.
"Here," Maude said. "Let's try this."
She started the DVD player, and began showing a short video the Universal Library sales force used to explain the AIPs in basic terms.
Of course, it was a little cheesy. The scene of a bespectacled child prodigy playing chess with KingFischer wasn't too awful. The part where Aunty Em counseled a troubled teenager would have been better if the suicidal teen hadn't overacted quite so badly. I cringed
when the two vapid-looking twenty-somethings with no discernible acting ability reacted to every remark I made with loud and patently fake laughter. Embarrassing. Of course, Vm biased — the scriptwriter who wrote my lines talked to me for all of five minutes, and then the director had them dubbed in by an actress with a silly, squeaky voice — not at all like what I produce when I use voice generation.
But cheesy or not, the fifteen-minute DVD explained, succinctly and in nontechnical terms, what (or who) the AIPs were, how and why we were created, and what role we now played in UL's operations.
But did Maude really expect it to convince Sam? Or was this only a ploy to give Sam enough time to absorb what we were saying?
Sam watched without apparent reaction. When the closing credits ended, she looked up at Maude.
"So it's not a real person at all — it's a program."
"She's a person," Maude said. "She was originally a program, but now she's sentient — a person, just like you and me, except that she occupies a different kind of body."
Sam glanced warily back and forth between my camera and Maude.
"And. . . she is capable of independent action and thought."
"Often a little too independent," Maude said.
"Great day in the morning," Sam muttered.
"Hey, look on the bright side," I said. "Now you can be absolutely sure I'm not a criminal. Before it could convict me, a court would have to believe that I exist. Legally, that is."
"True," she said. "But do you realize what a world of trouble we're in if anyone ever subpoenas you?"
"That's why we're telling you," I said. "We realize that by keeping you in the dark, we were handicapping you, and maybe setting you up for a contempt of court citation, not to mention putting ourselves in greater danger. You might do things differently, for example, if you know that it's not just a case of my preferring not to
