Andy Moore appeared after that story, so he had no comments. And, since he was always late, nobody had a comment about that.
Matt waited until everyone was comfortably seated or sprawled in midair, then started talking. “Last night,” he finished. “I had a meeting with the people — the few who are left of them — from the mystery sim I told you about. I wanted to get them up to date on some stuff I had learned, to keep the flow of information going.”
“Better watch out with that line,” Andy warned. “It sounds like the old hackers’ motto: “Information must be free!”
Ignoring the comment, Matt went on, “I thought maybe we should do the same — you know, share information. If I run over stuff you’ve heard before, I apologize. I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
His friends listened quietly while he summarized the case, paying special attention to what Captain Winters had said about the arson investigation, and what the sim participants had said when they’d gotten together.
“I’ve also got a piece of new business.” Matt then recounted his meeting with Father Flannery, going on to cover the Widow Knox and her disconnected computer.
“If she just unplugged it, she probably screwed up the operating system,” Andy said. “Any flash memory would certainly be gone.”
“But the long-term memory files should survive.” As Matt hoped, David’s eyes had a techie’s gleam. The idea of reconstructing someone else’s computer appealed to him.
“The widow is hoping for financial statements and family records,” Matt said.
Andy snorted. “Which anybody with half a brain could get off the Net.”
Matt leaned forward. “Knox was thrown out of the house. He didn’t expect that. So there may be other stuff tucked away in the computer’s fixed memory.”
“You mean if he’s the hacker who started all the trouble,” Leif said.
“But the lawyers are still all over you and your simmates for hacking,” Megan pointed out. “To me, that sounds like the hacking is still ongoing. So how can he be the hacker?”
“What?” Andy asked. “You think there’s more than one?”
“I have no idea anymore,” Matt admitted. “But I’ve got a chance to look in this guy’s system legally—”
“Which is more than anybody else would give you,” Andy cracked.
“And I’ve got the communications code for the Widow Knox and could give her a call. I could use some help.” Matt turned to David. “That is, if you’re willing to lend your technical expertise.”
“We’ll have to get at the computer physically,” David said. “Maybe Saturday—”
“In the afternoon,” Megan broke in. “I have a judo class in the morning.”
Matt glanced at her.
“Oh, I’m going,” she said before he could say anything. “This is something I want to see.”
That was more help than Matt had counted on, but he saw he’d never win an argument with Megan. So he shrugged and said, “Okay. I’ll make the call and see what happens. Does anyone have anything to add? Is there anything we’re missing?”
Andy pointed to Matt’s desktop. “You’re missing a call right now.”
The tiny, sculptured ear that represented Matt’s virtmail account was flashing with an urgent intensity.
“Not a call,” Matt said. “A message.” He reached down and activated the program. The display that popped into view was framed in flames — a visual metaphor for hot news.
Megan, typically, craned her head so she could read over Matt’s shoulder. “Who’s Dave Lowen?” she asked, frowning. “The name sounds familiar—”
“He’s a character in the Lucullus Marten stories.” Matt’s frown was even deeper as he looked at the sender’s name. “Marten uses the guy if Monty Newman is busy, or if the job requires a special finesse.”
Megan gave a bark of laughter. “The message is addressed to Monty Newman. Whoever it is mustn’t know you’ve retired.”
“Oh, I think they know, all right,” Matt said as he read the rest of the message.
Even Lucullus Marten never tried to solve a forty-year-old mystery. Here are a few points you might want to consider:
Who was the first officer on the scene?
How long did it take for Walter G. to be questioned?
When was his car impounded?
What happened to the car?
“I can tell you the answer to number one,” Megan said. “So can Leif.”
Leif nodded. “The cop was Clyde Finch, who went on to become head of the Callivants’ personal security — and thanks to his seventeen-year-old daughter, also became Nikki Callivant’s great-grandfather.”
“Sounds like he could have done a better security job on his darling daughter,” Andy cackled.
“Looking past that…you really have to question the guy’s capacity for the job,” David said. “The world is full of Secret Service and FBI alumni who would kill for a gig like guarding the Callivants. How does it wind up going to a small-town—”
“Flatfoot?” Andy suggested, earning a dirty look from the cop’s son.
“I think we agree that Mr. Finch should be looked into,” Matt said hurriedly. He glanced at Leif, who shrugged.
“I’ll take a crack at it,” he promised. “And I think I know the answer to the second question. From what I’ve read, Walter G. Callivant wasn’t questioned until three days after the body was discovered. He’d suffered some sort of collapse and was in a sanitarium.”
“Convenient,” David snorted. “I bet the cops really took the gloves off — a rich kid surrounded by a phalanx of shrinks.”
“Not to mention lawyers,” Andy said.
“How about the next question?” Megan put in. “When did the cops get their hands on Walter G.’s car?”
“That I don’t know,” Leif admitted. “Although, according to what I’ve read, the police technicians gave it a clean bill of health when they finally saw it.”
“After how many trips through the car wash?” Andy asked.
“The found no blood or tissue residues, and that sort of stuff is harder to wash away than you’d think,” Leif said. “The medical examiners estimated that Priscilla Hadding had fallen — or was pushed — from a moving car. Her leg got hung up on something — probably the car door — and she was dragged for a bit.”
Megan shuddered. “Ugly.”
David nodded. “But it absolutely would have left traces of evidence on the car.”
“So why is the question being asked?” Megan demanded. “Our new virtmail pal seems to think it’s important.”
“‘Deep Throat,’” Leif muttered.
She whirled on him. “What?”
“Just a name from another old scandal — but political instead of social this time. Somebody was troubled by the way an old President had gotten himself reelected and passed on some information to a couple of journalists. It worked. The president had to resign. And the reporter’s nickname for the leak—‘Deep Throat’—became a part of history.”
“Well, our version of ‘Deep Throat’ would have to be pretty old to be troubled about something that happened forty years ago,” Megan said.
“Maybe his conscience finally started getting to him,” Andy suggested with a grin.
Leif shook his head. “More likely, this is the hacker, rubbing our noses in what he’s found.”
“Weren’t we just saying that we thought Knox was the hacker?” David asked.
“Virtmail from beyond the grave,” Andy said in a hollow voice.
“I don’t know who this is, but he or she is certainly playing with us,” Matt growled. “If two of those questions could be answered just by looking in books about the case—”