Access Denied, page 20
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
Or Tim's and Claudia's transgressions.
"Look, as I said, it's late," Maude said. "If you want our client list, just fire off some kind of formal request—an e-mail will do—and I can get it to you Monday. Tomorrow, even. I'll probably go in. I'm way behind, thanks to all these late-night adventures Tim and I keep having. And I'll talk to Turing to see if there's anything more we can tell you that would help."
Even if we only tell you through that anonymous phone call, she added silently.
Norris frowned and looked slightly uncomfortable.
"And if what you really want is for some vigilante hacker to target Garcia and turn the evidence over to the FBI ..." she said.
Norris shifted in his chair.
"But that's ridiculous," she said. "I know you wouldn't ask such a thing, any more than I'd know anyone who could or would do it."
Norris gave a short, almost inaudible snort—she couldn't tell if it was laughter or irritation. He looked at her sharply for a few seconds, then nodded, and gulped the last of his coffee, presumably in preparation for leaving.
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"One more thing," he said.
"What?"
Norris didn't continue. Maude noticed that he wasn't looking at her. He was looking past her, at where the light from the French doors illuminated part of her garden.
"What one more thing?" she asked.
"What? Oh, nothing," Norris said, shaking himself. "Sorry. Nice hydrangeas."
He pointed at the bushes that flanked the French doors. Maude had to admit that they were nice. One of Turing's early contributions to her backyard, they were now covered with huge, cobalt-blue balls of flower.
"I don't think I've ever seen one that deep a blue," Norris said. He stood up, mug in hand, and took a few steps toward the French doors. "Mind if I take a closer look?"
"Go ahead," Maude said, though she wondered if he was really that interested in the hydrangeas or if he wanted to snoop in her backyard for some reason. But why would he want to snoop tonight? He'd had the run of the place last night if he'd wanted it, after the intruder.
"Have you done anything to treat the soil?" Norris asked.
"No, should I?"
"You must have a lot of aluminum in your soil to get that color, then," Norris said.
"It's some special variety that gets intense-colored flowers," Maude said. She remembered that much of what Turing had told her when the plants arrived.
"What's the cultivar?" Norris asked. He opened the door and walked out into the garden, still focused on the hydrangea.
"I don't remember off-hand," Maude confessed. "Turing picked it out."
Cultivar, she assumed, was garden-speak for the name of a specific variety of plant.
"I'd really like to know, if you don't mind asking," Nor-ris said. "Or even get a cutting, when you get around to pruning them."
"No problem," Maude said. She made a mental note to ask Turing. Turing would remember the name, of course, and could probably tell her when and how it needed to be pruned. At least the watering was now out of Maudes hands. Though not the water bill, of course.
"Nice," Norris said. He'd turned his attention from inspecting the hydrangea to surveying the backyard in general. "You've done a lot to the place."
Maude laughed.
"How do you know I just didn't buy a place that already had a garden?" she asked. "Have you been spying on me?"
"No," Norris said, quickly. "But I can see a lot of what you've done doesn't look well-established. Nicely done, but it hasn't had time to mellow yet. Grow into the space and all. It's a great hobby, isn't it?"
"I suppose," Maude said. "I confess, I wouldn't have done nearly as much if it hadn't been for Turing."
"She helps you, then"'"
"No, not unless you consider sending plants as help. Plants and large amounts of advice. Less like help than creating more work, if you ask me."
"A horticultural kibitzer," he said, with a laugh. "That's novel."
"You like gardening?"
"I did when I had a yard," Norris said. "Not much use trying to garden on a balcony."
"Then why the cutting?" Maude asked.
"You can grow them as house plants, I've heard," Norris said. "For something that beautiful, it's worth trying."
Maude nodded. Not that she went in much for house plants. One good thing about the garden—at least most of the time she didn't have to water it. But she could see from
the look on Norris's face that he coveted the hydrangea bush.
He frowned suddenly, as if remembering the real reason he was there. Maude braced herself for more questions, but he only continued to stare at the hydrangea.
"Look," he said, not looking at her. "I blew it. I realize that."
Maude hesitated, struggling for a suitable answer. "Blew what?" would be dishonest, and "No kidding," would only invite a quarrel.
"If I'd known how long I was going to be out of touch, I'd have said something," he went on. "And then when I got back, I figured I'd blown it. I couldn't have told you why I was gone or where, and I still can't, but if I'd known it would be so long, I'd have warned you."
"Wouldn't that be against the rules?" she asked.
"Probably," he said, with a short, humorless laugh. "So while I'm tempted to suggest wiping the slate clean and starting over, I can't promise it would be any different."
"It already is," Maude said.
He turned and looked at her, frowning.
"I don't see how," he said.
"At least you see it as a problem," Maude said.
"And not one I can do anything about."
"I'm a grownup," Maude said. "I know what you do for a living. As long as I know you'll share what you can, when you can, I can deal with not knowing the secrets that aren't yours to share. But it goes both ways, you know."
"What do you mean?" Norris said, looking puzzled.
"Maybe what I'm doing isn't some kind of top-secret, earth-shattering, classified, save-the-world mission," Maude said. "But it's my job, and I think I'm good at it, and part of the reason I'm good at it is that I know how to keep my mouth closed. I'm not going to reveal confidential corporate information or spill my friends' secrets. If I don't tell you something, it would be nice if you at least gave me the
benefit of the doubt that maybe I'm not doing something illegal or immoral or reckless. Just trying to do what I think I need to do."
"And what if I don't always agree with what you're doing?"
"Do you want chapter and verse on the stuff the FBI has done that I don't approve of?" Maude asked.
He shook his head and smiled slightly.
"So why don't we just see how it goes?" Maude suggested, putting her hand on his arm.
"I'd like that," he said.
Maude wasn't sure what would have happened next if she hadn't suddenly yawned convulsively. Norris laughed.
"Sorry," she said. "It's just that—"
"It's past two, and I'm as tired as you are," he said, turning back to the French doors. "I think I'll quit while I'm ahead."
At least he left in a better mood than he'd arrived, and without any final nagging, Maude thought, when she'd closed the door behind him and decided to leave the dirty mugs till morning. There must be something about gardens that she didn't get. First Sam, blissing out on memories of her dead grandmother's garden, and now Dan Norris opening up under the influence of hydrangeas and moonlight, and meeting her halfway. How much of it was real and how much the influence of the garden, she wondered. Too soon to tell.
She walked back to the French doors and looked out. Perhaps it was like being color-blind. Being impervious to the subtle, subliminal lure of the garden.
Though it did look nice in the moonlight. Not that it hadn't looked just as nice a few hundred plants ago.
But she'd make sure to tell Turing how much Norris liked the garden, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Maybe Turing would warm to Norris a little. Be more
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willing to share information with him. Help Maude keep the fragile truce they seemed to have forged.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON-, 1:3D P. M.
It's been a contentious day so far-
Maude and Claudia disagree completely over what we should do.
They can't even agree on terminology.
Claudia keeps talking about what we should do when we catch Kyle Evans.
"If, not when," Maude keeps saying. I don't know whether to applaud her realism or feel hurt that she doubts my abilities. "And we're not going catch him. That's for the police. Locate him — that's all we're trying to do."
I've tried to stay neutral by referring to what we should do upon finding Evans. Avoids the if/when issue, and they can interpret "finding" any way they like.
They haven't noticed. And I suppose staying neutral is useless.
I'm not neutral. I want Claudia to win. I need for her to win. I understand Maude's points, and I agree with them, but right now they don't matter. What matters is that we need to find out what Evans knows about Nestor Garcia. Once he's in police hands, we lose all chance of learning what he knows before the whole world does.
Maude knows this. Perhaps that's why she's being so stubborn. She understands what we have to do, and she just wants to make sure we realize the possible consequences before making our decision.
It's not as if we want to help Evans escape, or knock him off, or anything nefarious. We just need to talk to him. After we do that, I'm perfectly happy to turn him over to the police.
I like Maude's suggestion that we take Sam along. Offer Evans her help. We suspect that since she's representing one of his victims, she would find it a conflict of interest to represent him, but she could help him turn himself safely over to the police and find a top-notch defense attorney. Maybe she can even convince him to talk to us before surrendering.
/ also like Claudia !f suggestion that we get a supply of GPS tracking dei'tees and keep them handy. One for each of Evans's vehicles, in case we find either or both of them without him around. And some spares in case any of them malfunction, or in case he changes vehicles. Claudia says she knows where to get them. On a Sunday? I wonder if she has them already, back at her hotel room.
And I like Tim's suggestion of an anonymous tip. A suggestion he made yesterday — hes been very quiet today. But I did some research and found that Fairfax County has a Crime Solvers line —
"We could call it. report our suspicions of Evans, suggest that the police search his computers at home and at work." I said.
"And what if they identify the voice of whichever one of us calls?" Maude asked.
"It's supposed to be anonymous." Tim said.
"Supposed to be and is are quite different." Maude said.
"There are devices you can use to disguise your voice." Claudia said. I suspected she probably had one of those, too.
"Would it fool one of those computer voice-analysis things?"
"I don't know." Claudia said. "Wouldit matter that much-'"
"If we need to make the anonymous call. I'll provide the voice." I said.
"Are you saying you can make your voice unidentifiable?" Maude asked.
"Oh. the voice will be identifiable." I said. "Voices, actually. I'm assembling the message using words and phrases taken from ULs digital video library. So even if they identify the voices, odds are they won't suspect Humphrey Bogart. Gregory Peck. Jimmy Stewart."
Claudia burst into laughter.
"It's the audio equivalent of those pasted together ransom notes you always see in the movies." she exclaimed.
Even Maude smiled at that.
"Good idea." she said.
"I'll play it for you later." I said. "Maude, call Sam. or leave a message for her — explain what we're planning and see about her availability on short notice. Claudia, get the GPS equipment.
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Tim, I'm going to print out some more pictures of Evans and Blake so everyone can have copies on hand. Can you collate them, and then see if you can think of any other materials that would be useful?"
All three jumped willingly to their tasks. I wished I had more jobs to occupy them. To distract them from what could be a long and ultimately fruitless wait.
And to distract Tim from his black mood. I can understand that he feels grief over Nikki's death, but Claudia says he's feeling a lot of guilt, as well.
"I tried to get him drunk last night so he'd talk it out," she said. "He's not talking, and with Tim, that's a bad sign."
11 A very bad sign," Maude agreed.
Strange that they can agree so completely on some things, disagree so sharply on others, and still remain friends despite it all. I wondered if it would be ethical to replay an example of their ability to disagree without quarreling for KingFischer. He could learn from it.
By noon, Sam had been brought up to speed and Claudia had returned with her equipment. They'd loaded all three cars with GPS devices, stacks of documents, and a growing collection of other items. Every few minutes, one of them would think of something else they ought to include, and a small flurry of activity would follow before they returned to waiting.
I wanted to tell them to go home. Enjoy what was left of the weekend. That something could happen any minute, or not for days, or maybe never. But I didn't want to sound ungrateful, so I didn't say anything. I figured they would all get tired and go home long before anything happened.
Luckily, I was wrong.
Another day of thisn Haude thoughts and she'd reach the bottom of her in box and have to go looking for something to do. She picked up another long-neglected sheaf of papers, grimaced with distaste, and began reading.
EDE Donna Andrews
"I've got it!" Turing exclaimed.
"Got what?" Maude asked.
"Kyle Evans. He's accessing his e-mail right now."
"Where?"
"The hit came from lcpl.lib.va.us—that's the Loudoun County public library system."
"He could be at any branch, though," Maude said.
"They only have seven," Turing said.
"We can't be in seven places at once," Tim said. He and Claudia now hovered over Maude's left and right shoulders, staring at the screen.
"Only four of them are open today, according to their website," Turing said. "Sterling, Purcellville, Leesburg, and Ashburn. You could hit three of those."
A map popped up onto the screen, with a "you are here" tag and four red dots indicating the four libraries. The printer on Maude's desk began spitting out papers.
"Purcellville's farthest away," Maude said. "Not only from us, but from PRS, his apartment, everything connected with the case so far."
"I'm printing out directions from here to all four libraries," Turing said. Maude began sorting the pages as they emerged.
"We may not get there before he leaves," Claudia said.
"Then you can show his picture to the librarians and see if he's been there," Turing said. "You've got plenty of copies."
"Here, Tim," Maude said, handing him a small sheaf of printouts. "You take the Ashburn branch."
"I'm on it," Tim said, dashing out.
"Leesburg," Maude said, handing Claudia another set of papers.
"Cool," Claudia said, and ran out.
"I'll take Sterling," Maude said, grabbing the final set
of papers. "Call if he leaves, so we can stop driving like banshees."
"Will do," Turing said. "Or if he answers my e-mails, or if I find any way to pin his location down more closely."
"Good," Maude said.
Tim and Claudia had already disappeared by the time she reached her car.
They're on their way- I called Sam to
let her know something might be happening. She didn't answer, so I left a message.
Perhaps just as well. If she'd answered, I'd have been tempted to try to talk her into going out to Purcellville, so we'd have all four library branches covered. And we may be wasting our time anyway — if I were Evans, I'd make my appearances in public as brief and unobtrusive as possible right now. He could be long gone by the time the first of our team reaches one of the libraries.
If he's even there. It could be anyone accessing his e-mail.
Anyone except KingFischer who just asked if it was okay for him to restart his quest to hack into Hotmail.
"Hold off a bit, KF," I said. "He was using it himself a few minutes ago."
I explained about the library, and KingFischer agreed to hold off until at least six, an hour after the official library closing time. His study of psychology had inspired the notion that he could guess Evans's password, given enough biographical information about his subject. I fed him all the data I had on Evans, wished him luck, and resumed fretting over an odd new inconsistency in my perception of the passage of time. When I think about my human allies, each racing toward a library, I feel as if time is moving very slowly, but when I wonder whether Evans is still reading his mail or whether he has already moved on, I am astonished at how many minutes have raced by since Maude, Tim, and Claudia set out.
/ wondered if we had guessed right about which libraries to check. Should we have checked Purcellville instead of one of the others? It's the farthest away — only five miles from the West Virginia border. But would its remoteness make it more attractive to someone who's trying to hide out?
I thought of sending Casey to Purcellville, then decided that probably wasn't a good idea. Partly because I don't yet know him that well —/ don't really know how much to trust him. And partly because he has been up all night staring at his monitors, watching Kyle Evans's apartment building and the PRS entrance. He'd probably fall asleep behind the wheel if we sent him on a long drive. I don't want to put him in danger.
Besides, however improbable it would seem to people who dont know them, Tim, Maude, and Claudia are battle-tested. They've proved themselves in dangerous situations. Had guns pointed at them — even fired at them. Casey would probably envy them if he knew. Tor that matter, I envy them myself. But if things get bad — and if Nestor Garcia is really involved, they could become very bad indeed — at least Tim, Maude, and Claudia have some idea what they're getting into.
