Matt, however, wasn’t really listening. He was still wrestling with the problem of another address. “Could this T. Flannery be homeless?” he suggested. “I know the problem’s a lot better than it used to be, but it’s not completely fixed. I know that churches sometimes offer the homeless a place to stay.”
“And, of course, access to their computer systems, so the homeless folk can play detective games,” Leif added, shaking his head. “It doesn’t add up, Matt.”
He turned back to his computer. “Well, there’s one way we can find out.” He asked for the communications code for St. Adelbert’s Roman Catholic Church, then told his system to connect with that number.
A second later the image of a young man in a sport shirt appeared beside Matt. The guy was sitting behind a office desk, holding some papers. “St. Adelbert’s Church,” he said pleasantly.
“I’m trying to get hold of a T. Flannery, and this was the number I was given,” Leif responded.
The young man on the other end of the connection smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid Father Tim is at the hospital right now. All those accidents this evening. Is it something about the youth ministry? I could help you with that. Or would you like to leave a message?”
“A message for Father Tim. Yes, maybe that’s the best way.” Leif fought to control the grin tugging at his lips. He gave his name and communications code. “Tell him it’s about a mystery — a sorrowful mystery.”
7
Matt was actually sitting in Leif’s room — as he said to Leif, getting in a little face time despite the risk of infection — when Father Flannery called back. At the first sound of his voice Matt knew immediately who he played in the sim.
The priest was younger than his counterpart. He had the same pinkish coloring as Spike Spanner, but was much slimmer, with a head of wavy reddish-brown hair. His eyes were much milder than the two-fisted P.I. he portrayed. But they sharpened when they focused on Matt. “Mr. Anderson, I presume?”
“A reasonable assumption,” Leif said, “considering that you saw him unmasked at Mr. Saunders’s virtual office. But I’m Leif Anderson, and I’m just an interested bystander in the situation. My friend is Matt Hunter.”
“Young man, are you sure you aren’t a party to our sim? You don’t look like Lucullus Marten, but you certainly managed to sound like him right then,” the priest said suspiciously. “You also sound like this note I just got via virtmail.”
He held up a printout of the same message that had sent Matt out into the cold to confer with his friend. It was simple enough:
Should you appear at the address below at seven P.M. this evening, you will learn something to your advantage.
Beneath that were the coordinates for a Net site. No letterhead, no return address, and as far as the boys had been able to trace it back, the message had apparently bounced at random through the international webwork of computers for hours without ever initiating from anywhere.
“I got one of those, too,” Matt said.
“The wording sounds like something a golden age detective would use in a newspaper ad looking for a witness.” Father Flannery still regarded them suspiciously. “I could see it coming from Lucullus Marten.”
“Or from Milo Krantz,” Matt replied.
“Let’s face it. Notes like that go back to Sherlock Holmes. We have to expect that whoever is playing the characters in this sim would know about that tradition.” Leif nodded politely. “Including you, Father.”
“I can assure you I had nothing to do with the illegal computer entries which started this trouble,” Father Flannery said stiffly. “I’m willing to open my computer for an audit to prove my statements.”
Matt looked at Leif, who looked away. Not many people would allow their private files to be pawed open by strangers.
“I’m inclined to accept Father Flannery’s word,” Matt said.
“Then we know the true identities of two of the six players in Ed Saunders’s sim,” Leif said. “Matt, I know you’re too much of a straight arrow to go hacking in government files, or even in Mr. Saunders’s computer. Somebody, most likely the original hacker, must have raided Saunders’s files. That would be child’s play, if what Sauders told us is correct, compared to some of the official record storehouses that were cracked before the sim was shut down and this whole mess started. Saunders’s computer is the most likely source of the address list for your virtmail messages. And I’d bet that most, if not all, of the participants in the sim got the same message.”
Father Tim nodded, obviously following Leif’s logic. “But I would guess you’re innocent of sending the message, because you called me and left your number before I received the message. Why go through such an elaborate rigamarole when you’d already contacted me directly?” He still didn’t look friendly or happy. “That only leaves the question of how you got my real identity and address when you’ve only seen me in proxy form in the sim.”
“Father Tim, I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but Ed Saunders is dead. My father and I were the ones who discovered the body,” Matt said. “I had discussed the problem of the potential lawsuit with my parents, and when the deadline passed with no word, we went out into some nasty weather for a little face-to-face.” He shuddered. “But we were too late to talk with him.”
“A horrible accident,” Father Tim said gently. “I read about it in The Washington Post.”
“While they were questioning me, the police showed me the hard copy of a letter Ed had been drafting to answer the lawyers,” Matt went on. “I managed to see two names and one address. Yours.”
“Lucky me,” the priest said. Then he laughed and shrugged. “Two out of six. Monty Newman would say that was good baseball, but poor detecting.”
Leif chuckled. “Spike Spanner might get away with a crack like that, too.” He paused. “How did you wind up choosing a rough diamond like the Spikester, Father Flannery?”
“I discovered the Spikester, as you call him, in an old flatfilm television series in the last century.” The priest shrugged. “I became a fan. Over the years I tracked down all the episodes and the various films and books.”
“Wasn’t there also a Spike Spanner holo series a little while back?” Matt asked.
Father Flannery made a disgusted noise. “It had a former male model prancing around in it, trying to convince people that he was tough. The old versions were much better.” Then he shrugged and grinned. “Still, I decided that if a silly male model could do it, why couldn’t I?”
Leif chuckled. “Spanner isn’t exactly a ‘turn the other cheek’ kind of guy.”
“More like a ‘kick rump before somebody tries to kick thine,’” the priest said with a laugh. “Playing the character helped me vent off some of the frustration of my job, I admit. Some of my friends from the seminary play sports to do the same thing.”
“So your superiors would have no problem with what you were doing?” Leif pressed.
“About what I do for entertainment, no,” Father Flannery’s face darkened. “About being accused of illegally hacking into secure government databases to win a sim mystery — now that would bring up lots of problems.”
Matt pointed to the printout still in Flannery’s hand. “Will I see you — or rather, Spike — at seven o’clock?”
Father Flannery nodded unhappily. “I’m curious enough, or desperate enough, to go. Although I’d prefer to know who my host was.”
“If I were you, I’d like to know who the whole cast of characters was, while I was at it.” Leif’s eyes got a faraway look. “Maybe I’ll take a whack at that myself.”
For someone actually traveling its electronic pathways, the Net could be a neon kaleidoscope, an ever-shifting cityscape whose vibrant colors glared against a blacker-than-black backdrop.