Again Deforest turned to Janek. "You want to respond, Frank?"
"It's like this, Mr. Kane," Janek said. "I'm investigating a homicide.
You're looking for a chip. Maybe they're connected, maybe not. As for sharing, my suggestion is you tell me everything you know about Dietz and who he may have contacted here. Then go back to California. I'll keep you informed."
Kane's eyes turned mean. "Mr. Cavanaugh will hear about this. Your superiors, too."
"Hear about what?" Deforest asked. "That we won't co-investigate with a corporate security man? That's policy, Mr. Kane, so I don't see our superiors getting too upset about it. Anyway, they're not the investigator. Janek is, and he's one of the finest in the city. You're getting our best man. If Cavanaugh calls me, I'll be happy to explain that to him myself."
"Okay, all right." Kane looked resigned. "What do you want to know?"
"What's so important about this chip?"
"Proprietary information available to any knowledgeable person who examines it."
"They'd clone it, is that what you're worried about?"
"It's not that simple. There're other companies with a hundred twenty-eight megabit chips in development. It happens there're things about our Omega they'd all like to know."
"Such as?"
"What it's made of. It isn't silicon. Most important, if they got a good look at the prototype, they'd have a good idea how we plan to price it.
For a competitor that would be an enormous advantage."
"You've got patents?"
"Of course. And if there's infringement we'll probably win our case-after twenty years. By then we'll probably be out of business, too.
It's a rough game we're in. You have no idea."
"I still don't get it," Deforest said. "Once you manufacture the chip, anyone can look at it."
"Yeah, but then it's too late. We'd have two to three years' lead.
We'd make a hell of a killing before the rest of the industry caught up."
"How much of a killing'?"
Kane settled back. He turned smug. "If the Omega is as good as we think it is and Sonoron is first out with a one to twenty-eight-then figure … five billion dollars." Kane spoke slowly to make sure the magnitude of the sum sunk in. He turned to Janek. "I'd like to work with you, Lieutenant. I think there's a mutual interest here."
"How do you figure?"
"This redhead-she could have been a plant working for one of the Jap companies that would trade its left nut for a look at the Omega. They're all into industrial espionage. This is just the kind of operation they run."
"Tell me more."
"The way I figure it, Dietz came here and got in touch with one of them.
He says he's got a prototype Omega. What would they pay to have a look?
They're interested but they stall-they have to check with the home office in Tokyo. ' problem,' Dietz says, ''m here at the Savoy." So they sic their red-haired operative on him. She '' him in the bar, gets seductive and things start getting cozy. Then, when they go up to his room for a little hanky-panky, she shoots him in the head and steals the chip."
"Interesting."
"It works for me."
"I'd like a list of competitors you think would do a thing like that."
Kane grinned. "I can make you a list.'Then together we can run it down."
"Sorry," Deforest said, "we can't do that."
"That your final word?"
"It's policy."
Kane sat back. "I'm sorry, too." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a document and offered it to Deforest. When Deforest refused to take it, Kane laid it on the table. "This is a notarized consent from Dietz's widow authorizing me to inspect his effects." Janek smiled. "You won't find your Omega there." Kane smiled back. "I know you New York cops think you're hot shit, but you can screw up like everybody else."
Deforest shrugged. "You can go through his effects. There'll be a detective present."
"What about the hotel room?"
"You'll need a court order for that."
Deforest rose, started toward his desk, but Kane wouldn't let go.
"What about a picture of the girl?"
Deforest pivoted. "What about a list of your competitors?"
Kane grinned. "Talking a trade?"
"Slot your list to Janek and we'll see," Deforest said.
"I think that's him," Aaron said. They were sitting in the reception area at Smart Money.
Janek looked up. A tall, well-dressed man with thinning brown hair was conferring with the receptionist. The receptionist gestured toward them.
The man approached.
"Lieutenant Janek?" Janek nodded. "I'm Roger Carlson. Please come this way."
He led them through an opaque door marked EDitorial, then down a corridor lined with cubicles. Janek heard the sounds of a typical Manhattan office: air-conditioning, faintly ringing phones, muted click of fingers striking computer keyboards, occasional human utterances too hushed to comprehend. Every so often a man or woman would emerge from one cubicle and slip into another. There was an aroma of coffee in the air, but not of cigarettes.
"Please, in here," Carlson said, opening the door to a small conference room. There was a round table, a set of pedestal chairs, a bookcase filled with back issues of Smart Money and, after Carlson shut the door, silence.
"My cubbyhole's a little small," he said. "Anyway, I want this to be private." He paused. "May I see the picture?"
Janek nodded to Aaron, who pulled the sketch out of his briefcase and passed it to Carlson across the table.
"Yeah, this is definitely her," Carlson said, staring at the sketch.
"The hair's different, but not the eyes. I'll never forget those eyes."
He looked up at Janek. "I still find the whole episode pretty embarrassing."
"We're not here to embarrass you." He found himself liking Carlson and wanting to reassure him.
"I know that. But, see, I also find it painful. I was stupid and I paid the price." Carlson shook his head. "It's been months since it happened.
I still think about it every day. It still pains me and it still makes me mad. I went to a shrink for a while but he couldn't help me. I realize it's something I'm going to have to work out for myself. I also think if you caught her-I told this to the other detective, Stiegel, but he didn't seem particularly interested."
"We're interested," Aaron said.
"Frankly, you guys seem a lot smarter. I hope you don't mind my saying that."
"There're all kinds of detectives, Mr. Carlson," Aaron said. "What did you tell Detective Stiegel?" "I told him I thought that if you caught her, and I had the opportunity to face her in court and testify-I thought I might start to feel better about the incident. That is, if you can call it an incident. To me it felt more like a trauma."
Janek urged Carlson to tell his story from the beginning with as much detail as he could recall. Carlson nodded and began. As Janek listened he found himself drawn in. Carlson was articulate, not surprising for a professional writer, but there was a special quality to his narration that went beyond other recitals Janek had heard from other well educated, well-spoken complaining witnesses. There was an intensity that etched out the scenes, making them extremely vivid. It was as if Carlson were describing an encounter that was, in some way, a defining moment in his life.
"She said she worked in publishing, that she was in the publicity department at Simon amp; Schuster. I've thought about that ever since-why she chose that particularly phony story out of all the other stories she could have used. " "Why do you think?" Aaron asked.
"Because, like a talented, intuitive actress, she spotted me as someone who would buy that particular line. She was totally convincing. She seemed just like a publishing type. I've even thought maybe she was, and that's how she was able to bring the impersonation off. Of course I checked with S amp;S. They never heard of her. Not that the name she gave me, ',' was any less phony than her quote occupation unquote, or her very comforting description of herself as a history professor's daughter. The way I see it, everything she said was contrived to make me believe we shared the same background and values."