Gridiron

'I often work late and we sometimes had a word or two, he and I. Mostly about sports: the Dodgers. And he went to the track once in a while, Santa Anita, I think. Gave me a tip once. But he wasn't a big gambler. Ten bucks here and there.' Mitch shook his head. 'It's too bad this had to happen.'

Curtis said nothing. Sometimes it was better that way. You just let someone fill the silence and hope that maybe they said something interesting or usefuclass="underline" something you wouldn't ever have thought of asking about.

'But you know, even if he was dealing, like you suggested, he couldn't have been using. I'm 100 per cent certain of that much, anyway.'

'Oh? What makes you so sure, Mr Bryan?'

'This building, that's what.' Mitch frowned. 'This is confidential, OK?'

Curtis nodded patiently.

'Well, when we planned this building we brought in washroom modules that were designed to our client's specifications.'

'I've been hearing something about those. Hot desking is one thing. But hot seating is quite another.' He chuckled. 'My colleague almost got his ass steam-cleaned.'

Mitch laughed. 'Some of the units have yet to be properly adjusted,' he said. 'They can give you quite a surprise. Even so, they're pretty well state of the art. And it goes much further than a warm-water douche, I can assure you. The toilet seats give you a readout on your blood pressure and your body temperature, and the actual toilet bowl contains a urinalysis facility. Effectively the computer checks you for… Here, I'll show you.' Mitch leaned towards his computer and clicked the mouse through a number of choices. 'Yes, here we are. Sugars, acetone bodies, creatine, nitrogenous compounds, haemoglobin, myoglobin, amino acids and metabolites, uric acid, urea, urobilinogen and coproporphyrins, bile pigments, minerals, fats, and of course a great variety of psychotropic drugs: certainly all of the ones proscribed by the US Federal Bureau of Narcotics.'

'This happens every time you go to the can?'

'Every time.'

'Jesus.'

'For instance, acetone bodies might be high in the urine of an individual who was developing diabetes, and that might have a bearing on his or her work performance, not to mention the company's medical insurance.'

'With drug use, what happens if the test proves positive?'

'First the computer closes down your work-station and denies you access to the elevators and to a telephone. That's just damage limitation, to protect the Corporation against potential negligence. Then it reports the violation to your senior. It's up to him what happens to you. But it's a very accurate test. Shows up anything you've used in the last seventy-two hours. The manufacturers insist that it's as good as the nalline test, maybe even better."

Curtis was still opening and closing his mouth like a surprised fish. The wonder of it was that none of those cops working in the basement had proved positive. Curtis knew that Coleman smoked a little dope now and again. Quite likely some of the others too. He could just see the look on the police commissioner's face if any of the newspapers found out that officers investigating a murder had been picked up for drug abuse by a smart building that had been the scene of a crime.

Mitch sipped his coffee, enjoying the policeman's surprise. 'So,' he said finally. 'You can see how it was impossible for Sam to have used dope.'

Curtis remained unconvinced. 'Maybe he just went outside and took a leak on the piazza somewhere.'

'I doubt it,' said Mitch. 'The piazza is subject to security-camera surveillance, and the computer is programmed to be on the alert for that kind of thing. If the CCTV does see something then the computer is programmed to call the police. Sam knew that. I can't imagine he would have taken the risk.'

'No, I guess not.' Curtis grinned. 'Gee, I bet they love you down at central dispatch.'

'Take my word for it. He was clean.'

Curtis stood up and went back to the window. 'Maybe you're right,' he said. 'But someone killed him. Here. And in your client's building.'

'I'd like to help,' said Mitch. 'Anything I can do, just ask. My firm is as anxious to get this cleared up as you are, believe me. It creates a bad impression. As if maybe this is not such a smart building after all.'

'I had the same thought myself.'

'Do you mind me asking what you're going to tell the media?' Mitch asked.

'I hadn't given it much thought yet. Probably up to my lieutenant and the press office.'

'Could I ask you a small favour? When you do decide to brief the media, I wonder if I might ask you to be careful how you choose your words. It would be a great pity if they were to get hold of the idea that somehow what happened was the fault of the building itself, you know? I mean, from what you've already told me it sounds as if Sam Gleig admitted his own murderer to the building, for whatever reason. I'd be grateful if you could bear that in mind.'

Curtis nodded sourly. 'I'll do my best,' he said. 'In return, there's something you can do for me.'

'Name it.'

'I need to get hold of Sam Gleig's personnel records.'

-###-

Next to the elevators on the fortieth floor was a glass case containing the gilt-bronze figure of a Luohan monk. Curtis admired it briefly before stepping into the car alongside Mitch.

'Mr Yu is a great collector,' explained Mitch. 'There's going to be an artefact like this on every floor.'

'What's that he's holding?' he said. 'A slide rule?'

'I think it's a folded fan.'

'Ancient air-conditioning, huh?'

'Something like that. The data centre please, Abraham,' said Mitch. The doors closed with a quiet hiss of air.

'You know,' said Mitch, 'I wouldn't want to tell you your job, but isn't there another possible explanation for what's happened? I mean, apart from Sam Gleig's past.'

'I'm all ears,' said Curtis.

'It's just that both Ray Richardson and the Yu Corporation have their respective enemies. In Ray's case it's a matter of a few personal grudges. People who hate the kind of buildings he designs. For instance, there's a time capsule underneath the foundations and one of the things it contains is some hate mail for him. And there are people who have worked for him who dislike him.'

'Does that include you?'

'Oh, I admire him very much.' Curtis grinned.

'I think that answers my question.'

Mitch shrugged apologetically. 'He's a difficult person.'

'Most very rich people are.'

Mitch didn't answer. The elevator came to a halt and they stepped into the corridor next to a newly arrived and identically positioned glass case containing a jade horse's head.

'And the Yu Corp?' prompted Curtis. 'You said that they have enemies too. Do you mean those kids out front?'

'I think they're just the tip of the iceberg,' said Mitch, ushering Curtis along the edge of the atrium. 'In parts of the Asian Pacific Rim, business can be quite rough. That's why all the glass in this building is bulletproof. Why the security systems are so tight.' He stopped and pointed down. 'Take this atrium. It's really just a con job. It gives the impression of a company that's accessible to the public and at the same time acts as a security barrier. The reason for the hologram on the front desk is to forestall a potential hostage situation.'

'Sam Gleig gets a major-sized headache because someone bears your boss or his client a grudge?' Curtis shook his head. 'I'm afraid I can't buy that.'

'Well, suppose it was just accidental? Suppose someone came in here intent on causing trouble and Sam just got in the way?'

'It's possible. But only just. Gleig's gun was in his holster. It didn't look like he was expecting trouble. On the other hand, if Sam knew his attacker then he would have been off his guard. When you mentioned your boss's enemies, did you have anyone specific in mind?'