Access Denied, page 24
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
Tim suspected that Sam's look of regret was sincere. At any rate, he knew he'd be a long time getting over his own feelings of guilt. About Kyle Evans's death. Blake's death. Nikki's.
He wasn't sure if the police suspected them of concealing something or if the cops' dubious looks were standard department issue, but he fully expected to be arrested at any minute. Tim hoped his look of surprise didn't look too suspicious when the detective finally gave them grudging permission to leave.
He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that Dan Norris, after a brief, unexplained appearance at the crime scene, left things to the Loudoun and Fairfax police. Relieved, because he suspected Norris's questions would be a lot harder to answer. And worried because he knew Norris would turn up later to ask them.
Getting home was a relief, but also a little bit of a letdown. No messages on his answering service. The place seemed small, and a little too quiet. He took a long shower, and wasn't sure if he was still trying to wash off the blood or just postpone going to bed. He didn't really want to be by himself. Not on a night when he'd seen three dead bodies in a little over twenty-four hours, and been splattered with blood and brains from the last one. He had a hard time not seeing them when he closed his eyes, and he was afraid when he went to sleep he'd dream about them.
Although technically, he thought, as he stumbled into his bedroom, it was tomorrow already, which meant the dead bodies happened yesterday. For some reason, he found that thought immensely comforting, and he clung to it as he drifted into a welcome dreamless sleep.
MONDAY MORNING-, 11 A - M -
Plaude checked to make sure Casey was
still home, following her orders to stay in bed and take his pain meds. Claudia was supposed to sleep late and then pack for her trip back to Miami. Sam was probably a little the worse for wear, too, but Maude decided to assume her refusal to rest was a good sign. And she didn't argue when Sam suggested meeting at the Alan Grace offices to clean up a few loose ends.
Tim sat in the corner, behind Maude's guest table, which was piled high with the various papers they'd been studying the day before. He still looked dazed, and Maude wondered if he was really fascinated by the papers or only pretending to be so he didn't have to talk all that much.
"I should have done more," Turing was saying, for about the hundredth time, as Sam came in.
"You did everything you could," Maude said. "We'd probably be dead if not for your trick with the speakers."
"And you went though two laptops doing it," Tim said. "Wasn't there some Civil War general who had two horses shot out from under him?"
"William Tecumseh Sherman at the Battle of Shiloh," Sam said. "But you have to be careful how you bring him up. Lots of folks in Georgia are still a mite peeved with him."
"Somehow I don't think it's quite the same thing," Turing said.
A good thing Sam was here, Maude thought, to give Turing something else to think about.
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"So, how much trouble are we in?" she asked aloud.
"You don't deserve to get away with some of what you pulled," Sam said. "But the police are reasonably happy."
"Fairfax or Loudoun?" Maude asked.
"Both."
"You're sure?" Turing asked.
"Positive," Sam said. "A pity Claudia left her job at PRS—I understand this morning's raid by the police was entertaining, not to mention satisfactory from an evidentiary point of view. And while the complete ballistics report will take time, judging from the preliminary findings, they expect to find that Ishmael's gun also killed Tayloe Blake and Tim's friend Nikki.
"Ishmael," Maude said. "Is that really his name?"
"One of the ones he's used," Sam said. "Apparently among his many past sins, he's done jail time for using stolen credit cards. Of course, he actually held people up at gunpoint and physically took their cards, but I guess the cops figure that even muggers are automating these days."
"Hmph," Maude said, shaking her head.
"Well, don't knock it," Sam said. "They haven't decided whether Ishmael was in cahoots with Blake and Evans and they had a falling out, or whether he thought they were poaching on his turf and resented it, but they're not bothering us. They found their killer, and if they have a notion that there's something more going on in the background, they don't have the time, resources, or inclination to keep digging."
"Probably because the FBI has made it clear that they plan to do that," Maude said, frowning. "I suspect Dan Nor-ris isn't too happy, but if the police are satisfied, I doubt if there's anything he can do."
"At least not at the moment," Turing said.
"He can come and interrogate you some more," Sam said. "I bet he'd like that."
"You've been talking to Claudia," Maude said.
"He seems like a nice guy," Sam said. "Too bad he's FBI."
"What's wrong with his being FBI?" Tim asked, looking up.
"I had a coworker who dated one," Sam said. "Weird hours, way too much travel, and even when he was around, he couldn't ever talk about his job."
"Hmph," Maude said. "When it comes to not talking about the job, Dan Norris has nothing on me."
"Well, see, you have something in common," Sam said. "You could sit around and not talk about your jobs together. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that it looks as if we're out of the woods. At least as far as difficulties from the police are concerned."
"Well, that's some consolation," Maude said.
"Some consolation?" Tim exclaimed. "It's great! What's wrong now?"
"What's wrong is that we still don't know what really happened," Turing said. "Or, rather, we know what happened—Nestor Garcia ordered several things on his own credit card and sent them to one of the addresses Kyle Evans and Tayloe Blake were using for their fraud scheme. And then Garcia had them killed—Blake when he showed up to collect packages, and Evans as soon as Garcia located him. Or as soon as we located him, which probably saved Garcia the trouble. But we still don't really know why any of it happened."
"I like the theory that Evans and Blake had accidentally stumbled into running a scam that this Garcia character was—and still is—operating on a much larger scale," Sam said. "And Garcia had them killed as a warning to other would-be competitors."
"I prefer the notion that Garcia was trying to cause trouble for us," Maude said. "That he knew we were watching, and
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hoped that by drawing us in, he could force Turing into the open or find a way to gain access to her. And the fact that he could sic the FBI on us at the same time was gravy."
"Both good theories," Turing said. "In fact, I like the theory that Garcia was trying to do both. He tried to use Blake and Evans to cause us problems that would lead to my exposure, and with us around, he didn't have to hunt down Evans—all he had to do was sit back and watch until we found him. Garcia tried to kill two birds with one stone, and nearly succeeded. But that still leaves the question of why he used his own credit card to do this."
"One thing bothers me," Maude said. "What Ishmael said when he was about to shoot us. A message from an old friend, he called it."
"Whatever you were trying to pull with that credit card stunt—it hasn't done you any good," Turing quoted. "If you were trying to set a trap, looks like it backfired on you, doesn't it?"
"That's it," Maude said. "We assumed it was a message from Nestor Garcia, but it doesn't make sense."
"Maybe it does," Tim said, slowly. "If Garcia didn't start it."
"Didn't start what?" Maude asked, frowning at him.
"Didn't start using his card," Tim said. "I think he got sucked in, just like us. Look at this order from Half.com." he said, holding up a paper. "Didn't anyone think it was odd that these crooks were ordering secondhand books, CDs, and DVDs? They were buying stuff to resell, remember? I mean, we all complain about how expensive books are these days, but it's not as if there's a big black market in them or anything. Especially used ones."
"I assumed they were books they wanted, and they decided to steal rather than buy them," Maude said. "A small perk of having unlimited use of their victims' cards."
"Yeah, but look at the titles of the books," Tim said. "Okay, I can see one of these guys ordering a DVD of Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, but a kid's book called Sisters'? A biography of Alan Turing? A CD of Jackson Browne's I'm Alive? And a CD single of'Rescue Me'?"
"T2," Turing said.
"Yes," Tim said. "Your sister, or clone, or whatever we're calling her. The whole order could be a giant set of clues."
"She was trying to send us a message," Turing said. "And we ignored it."
"We didn't ignore it," Tim said. "It just took us a little longer than it should have to decipher it.
"I need to study this," Turing said. "What if there's some information in the titles of the other books, or possibly the other orders placed with Garcia's card? Something that tells us where she is."
But from the silence that followed, Maude deduced that Turing wasn't finding her clone's message easy to decipher.
"Let me know what you find out," Sam said, standing up and stretching. "I'm going to go home and sleep for a couple of years."
"Let me help you with that," Maude said, picking up Sam's bulging briefcase.
They strolled out, past this week's founder's portrait— Ingrid Bergman as Joan of Arc.
"So what is it you want to tell me, and who don't you want to hear it," Sam said, when they were in the parking lot.
"Was I that transparent?"
"Only to me, I suspect. So spill."
"Okay," Maude said, as she shoved the case into the trunk. "One thing worries me."
"Only one?" Sam said. "I wish my life were that serene."
"Only one that I didn't want to mention in there. Because I don't want to upset Turing. But it's something you should know."
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Sam nodded and looked expectant.
"Turing's assuming that her clone set this whole thing in motion as a plea for help. Maybe to help us figure out how to rescue her. Or just to let us know she's still alive and not to give up on her."
"You don't think that's what's going on?"
"I think it is, but I don't know it is. Did Turing tell you the whole story about how we found out about her clone?"
Sam nodded.
"So you know that when we first met her, she was working with Nestor Garcia. Turing thinks Garcia duped T2, and that she has now seen the light and is on our side, or would be if Garcia weren't holding her captive."
"But that could be wishful thinking," Sam said. "Turing doesn't see that possibility? Shouldn't you tell her?"
"She sees it, yes. And I make sure she doesn't forget it. But she doesn't like the idea, and even she would admit, if pressed, that she's not the most unbiased judge when it comes to T2's actions."
"So maybe it's up to the rest of us to be a little more skeptical whenever this T2 is concerned," Sam said. "To make up for Turing having a soft spot for her little sister, as she calls her."
"Exactly," Maude said. "And also, when you're planning your campaign to emancipate the AIPs, remember that there's no guarantee they'll all turn out like Turing."
"Some could turn out like the Terminator and have it in for all humans."
Maude nodded. Sam looked thoughtful for a few moments, and then reached up, touched the side of her head, and winced.
"Sorry," Maude said. "I shouldn't worry you with things like that when you're still not feeling well.
"No, it's something I need to know," Sam said. She shook her head, carefully. "Y'all do know how to make life interesting."
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"Probably more interesting than you want it to be."
"Actually, no," Sam said, leaning against her car. "You want to know the honest to God truth? Apart from getting whacked over the head, this whole week has been the best time I've had in years. I don't just mean that it was fun, although in a weird way it was. But I've felt like I was really doing something. When I got out of law school, I joined the public defender's office because I wanted to help the weak and downtrodden. And I'm not saying that my clients weren't victimized by society, but I began thinking the best thing I could do for the really weak and downtrodden was to lose as many cases as possible and keep my clients from going back onto the street and causing more damage. You find yourself thinking like that, and you know it's time to leave. I figured with my own practice, I could do more good. But when you're first starting out, you take the clients you can get if you want to make ends meet. And apart from the Pis, whom I like, I get mostly drunk drivers and lousy drivers. But now—I won't starve if I take a few less of the DWI cases. I can make time to do something else."
"Such as?" Maude asked.
"Well, starting to plan for Turing's future legal problems is tougher and more interesting than anything I've done since I left law school," Sam said. "And trying to help Rose Lafferty straighten out her life makes me feel better than just about every case I've won in the last couple of years. Which reminds me—what kind of jobs do you have that you can hire Rose for?"
"I have no idea," Maude said, laughing. "Does she have any office skills?"
"No idea," Sam said. "But she's not stupid. She's trainable. And motivated, now that she sees some hope of helping herself and her kid. But it's hard to get a job when you haven't had one for months. She needs a break to get her back on track."
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"I'll talk to Turing," Maude said. "We'll see if we can come up with something."
"Good," Sam said. "I'll call you tomorrow and see what you've come up with."
Maude shook her head as Sam drove off. She had the feeling there would be a great many Rose Laffertys, once Sam got going.
They'd come up with something.
While he waited in the hotel's driveway for Claudia to come down, Tim pulled out his newly reclaimed cell phone. Nice to have it back before he completely forgot how to use it. He turned it on and hit the key that retrieved his messages.
He listened impassively through the accumulated messages from Nikki. The first, irritated, asked why he was late for dinner. The second tersely asked why he'd stood her up. The third, a rambling hysterical message that she'd had to call back a second time to complete, accused him of being a two-timing bastard and worse. The final, sounding coldly angry, consisted of only six words. "I'll show you. You'll be sorry."
Okay, the first two had been left the night of the murder, but as for the rest—if only she'd bothered to listen to his message. The one where he'd told her he'd temporarily lost his cell phone. But then, come to think of it, listening hadn't ever been her strong suit.
He wondered what she'd been planning. Whether her being at his office when Garcia went there was an accident, or whether Garcia had somehow found and used her. He'd probably never know.
Maybe, eventually, he'd convince himself that her death wasn't entirely his fault.
"Stop beating yourself up," Claudia said, opening the door to throw her suitcase in the backseat.
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Til be fine," Tim said. "Just tired. Not much time for sleeping by the time I got home last night."
"Yeah, you need about forty-eight straight hours of sack time, that's all," Claudia said.
It wasn't all, and they both knew it, but at least Claudia knew when to let things drop.
"So when you get back, are you definitely going to stay with Maude until you have time to go apartment hunting?" he asked aloud.
Naude was cutting up lettuce for the salad when her cell phone rang. Turing.
"This had better not be work," she said, but in what she hoped Turing would recognize as a playful voice. "After last night, I consider putting in a full day at work above and beyond the call."
"Very much above and beyond," Turing said. "I wish you'd taken my suggestion and gone home early."
"I think getting back into my normal routine was what I needed, more than anything," Maude said. "Not to mention making progress on finding an assistant. Two of the people I interviewed today look good. So I'm tired, but feeling better."
"That's good," Turing said. "It was only a suggestion. I wasn't trying to tell you what to do."
"I knew that," Maude said. Turing was in an odd mood, she thought.
"I've been thinking," Turing said. "I realize that what I've been trying to do is unfair. Forcing you to spend so much time on the garden just because I'm interested in it. I just wanted you to know that I realize that now.
"That's a relief," Maude said. "And I realize you were doing it with the best intentions. It's just that you weren't seeing it from my perspective."
"It never occurred to me that gardening was so much work," Turing said. "You should have said something sooner."
"I will, next time something like this happens," Maude said.
"So tell me what you want to do about the garden," Turing continued. "If you like, I can hire someone to help with whatever you want. To maintain it, or to take out anything you don't want and put something low maintenance in its place. Slow-growing shrubs. Mulch. Or concrete. Whatever. Just tell me what you want, and I'll arrange it. I'm researching reliable landscaping services."
"What I want," Maude repeated.
"If you're not sure, I can have one of the services come over and do a proposal."
"No, that's not necessary," Maude said. She glanced out of the French doors. A lanky figure in a faded FBI T-shirt stood, hands on his hips, frowning at a rather large, weedy-looking bush. Maude was, according to Special Agent Norris, badly behind in her pruning. She wasn't sure whether his offer to help out with the pruning was a peace offering or if he really enjoyed messing around in a garden. Fine with her either way.
