Gridiron

Mitch thought about Allen Grabel.

'No,' he said.

'What about this guy Warren Aikman?'

'If he wanted to hurt Richardson there would be better ways of doing it within the normal course of his work.'

'Well, let me know if you think of anyone.'

'Sure.'

Curtis shook his head. 'Of course, I can't say I'm surprised that the architect of a place like this has enemies.'

'You don't like it?'

'Every time I come here I like it less and less. Maybe it's the things you and your people tell me about it. I don't know.' He shook his head, trying to put his finger on it. 'I think maybe it lacks soul.'

'It's the future,' argued Mitch. 'Really it is. Some day all offices will be built this way.'

Curtis laughed and showed Mitch his wrist.

'See this watch? It's a Seiko. Lousy timekeeper. I still remember the advertising slogan they were using when I bought the thing. "Some day all watches will be made this way." God, I hope not.'

Mitch gazed around him. 'You know, I think of it as a kind of cathedral.'

'To what? Man's fear of his fellow man?'

'To the virtue of making things. To the creative power of technology. To man's ingenuity.'

'Being a cop, I guess I don't have much faith in human ingenuity. But if this is a cathedral then I'm an atheist.'

-###-

Bob Beech was about to send the latest batch of stolen data across the satellite when he saw Mitch and Curtis coming through the doors of the computer room. He touched the wide flat screen and returned it to the standard desktop display: the telephone, Rolodex, calculator, diary, in-

and out-trays, clock, TV set, radio, answering machine were all computer icons. There was even a desk drawer, rubber stamp, filing cabinet and a picture window with a pleasant view of Griffith Park as seen from the Gridiron roof.

'Bob,' said Mitch advancing into the centre of the circle, 'you remember Detective Sergeant Curtis.'

'Sure.'

'You've heard what happened this morning?'

Beech shrugged and nodded.

Curtis took the man in: the fisherman's gilet stuffed with discs, tapes, keys, chewing gum and pens; the sensible brown Oxfords in need of a polish; the fingernails bitten to the quick; and, underneath the lugubrious-looking moustache, the polite smile flicking as he feigned interest in what had happened. Curtis was an old hand at spotting when he was being tolerated. It was obvious that Beech just wanted to get back to whatever it was that he had been doing before being disturbed.

'Poor old Sam,' said Beech. 'Do you have any idea who did it yet?'

'Not yet, sir. But I was hoping to see his personnel file. There might be something there that will help. Also, I wondered if there was a way the computer had of knowing exactly who was in the building after ten o'clock last night.' He knew there was. But he wanted to prolong his stay in the computer room.

'Of course.' Beech fingered the filing cabinet on his screen and then said, 'Abraham. Can you locate Sam Gleig's personnel file please?'

'On screen or on disc?'

Beech glanced at Curtis and decided that he wanted him out of the computer room as quickly as possible. Seeing him standing there reminded him of Hideki. 'Better make it hard copy,' he said. 'So you can examine it at your leisure, Sergeant.'

'There's not a lot of that in Homicide, sir,' said Curtis, smiling affably. Glancing down at Beech's desktop he watched as a disembodied hand appeared on screen and moved towards the filing cabinet.

'Belshazzar's feast,' he murmured.

The hand lifted a file out of the desk drawer and then disappeared with it screen left.

'What's that?' said Beech.

'I said, that's a hell of a personal organizer you have there.'

'It's kind of childish, but I'm a guy who needs friendly software to bring cyberspace down to earth. That's why I have a room with a view, so to speak. Without it I'd find it difficult working in here. Now then, what was the other thing? Who was still here after ten o'clock last night?'

Curtis nodded.

Beech touched the screen several times with his forefinger, like a man playing speed chess. Finally he found what was he looking for.

'Here we are. The electrical foreman left at seven-thirty. I left at sevenforty-three. Aidan Kenny left at seven-forty-four. Helen Hussey left at eight-fifteen. Warren Aikman left at eight-thirty-five. At which point Sam Gleig was the only person on site until Officers Cooney and Hernandez arrived this morning.'

'I see. Thank you.'

Beech pointed out of the door. 'We'll have to go along to the print room to fetch your copy,' he said and led the way across the bridge. They entered a room where an enormous laser printer was already spewing out the file. Beech collected the print-out.

'This is strange,' he said, surprised. 'Abraham's not supposed to be able to do this.'

'Do what?' asked Mitch.

Beech handed over the print-out. Attached to the personnel information was a colour photocopy of Sam Gleig greeting a Chinese man in the atrium.

'It's not part of Abraham's original program to take still photographs like this,' frowned Beech. 'At least, not until the CD-ROM recorder is installed.'

For the moment Curtis was more interested in the young Chinese man in the picture than the means by which it had been taken.

'Do you recognize him?'

'I think I do,' said Mitch. 'I think it might be one of our friends from outside the building.'

'Unless Abraham managed…' Beech was still considering the puzzle of how the picture had been taken. 'Of course…'

'You mean he's one of the demonstrators?'

Mitch looked at the picture again.

'I'm sure he is.'

'Of course,' repeated Beech. 'The link-up with Richardson's computer. Mitch, Abraham must have held the picture digitally and then used your Intergraph software to generate this. That's the only way he could have done it. It's Abraham's way of letting us know that Sam Gleig brought an unauthorized person into the building last night.'

Curtis pulled a face. 'Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the only witness to Sam Gleig's murder might be your computer?'

'It certainly looks that way. I can't imagine why he would have put this picture in Sam Gleig's file otherwise.' He shrugged. 'At the very least this picture gives you an unauthorized visitor to the Gridiron, doesn't it?

There's even a time on the picture: 1.05 a.m.'

'Is that a bottle of Scotch he's holding?' said Mitch. 'Looks like they were planning a party.'

'But why take this picture and not one of the actual murder as it happened?' said Curtis.

'Because there are no cameras inside the elevators,' said Mitch. Beech nodded in agreement. 'This picture connects the Chinese guy with the murder. No doubt about it.'

'Let me be the judge of that, please,' said Curtis.

'Maybe I should have mentioned it before,' said Mitch, 'but there have been a couple of incidents involving these kids.'

He told Curtis about the orange thrown at his car and the tyre wrench.

'Did you report either of these incidents?'

'No, I didn't,' admitted Mitch. He took out his wallet. 'But I've still got the paperwork for the replacement shield.'

Curtis flicked his eyes over the receipt.

'How did you know it was one of them who did it?'

'After the first time? I was in a Chinese restaurant, just a few blocks from here. One of them must have recognized me.'

'You still got the wrench?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact I have. It's in the trunk of my car. Want me to go get it?'

'No, I'd just as soon have one of the SID boys pick it. In case there are any prints on it.' Curtis folded the photograph and was about to put it inside his coat pocket when he had an idea. 'There are cameras mounted on the outside of this building, aren't there?'