"Onward and upward, then,” he said. “It looks as though Bettina Harncort has flown the coop. It doesn't prove anything, but it certainly is suggestive."
"The question is, where did she go?” I asked.
"Forwarded mail,” he suggested. “The post office will have her new address."
"But—"
"I'm already on it. It'll take a bit for me to find a way into the computer system at the post office, though; they seem to have put up a nontrivial barrier."
"Surely she told at least one friend where she was going. The problem is that by the time we discover the identity of her two hundred closest and most personal friends and rummage through their address books, I'll be rivaling Methuselah for oldest man."
"And given the way the day is going, the address won't be entered into anything I can hack; it'll be scribbled on a scrap of paper pegged to someone's refrigerator door with a magnet,” he added helpfully.
"You're not helping matters,” I groused.
"Hey, look on the bright side: you found out that she's moved. We no longer have to hammer her phone trying to catch her at home."
"Found her cell phone number yet?"
He shook his head. “Not yet."
"It won't ... wait a minute ... what if she used it to call Amanda's house? You might be able to backtrack from there."
He nodded in approval. “So flesh and blood does sometimes manage to squeeze out a useful idea."
"I'll ask Amanda if she can give us any idea when a suspicious phone call might have come in. Otherwise, we're going to spend weeks tracking all sorts of innocuous calls coming from her agent, her thirty best friends, the florist—"
"The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker ... I get the idea. And as icing on the cake, you get to see Herself."
"The thought had crossed my mind,” I admitted modestly.
"You are incorrigible."
I sighed happily, leaning back and lacing my fingers behind my head. “Yeah, ain't it great?"
* * * *
As fate would have it, Amanda was able to make time for me that afternoon. Given the way the day had started, I wouldn't have bet on anything less than a month's delay. She had been scheduled for an interview from two o'clock until three, but had cancelled, pleading that she needed time alone after the death of her husband. The question was where to meet. The major news services had her house staked out, along with a horde of paparazzi, so my going there was out of the question. Let them get one hint of a detective and it would be splashed all over the news within thirty minutes. Setting aside questions of embarrassment, we couldn't afford the risk that Lan might see the news and realize that we were onto him.
Amanda and I could have talked on the phone, but she wanted to get out of the house and didn't trust someone not to be monitoring her phone calls anyway. Landlines can be tapped, and cell-phone calls can be picked up by specialized scanners. Supposedly impenetrable encryption schemes now last, on average, about six months before someone figures out a backdoor.
She had been speaking rather elliptically, but if I had read her intentions properly, she was going to figure out a way to escape, then either call me with instructions or meet me at the office. I didn't waste any time getting from the apartment to the office, although I did take a moment to change trousers.
* * * *
I was having trouble concentrating on Dinos in the Dark, but couldn't quite see myself pacing the floor when Amanda McBey arrived. Bad for my image. On the other hand, reading Dinos wasn't exactly going to earn me points, either. To add to the turmoil, I felt angry and stupid for caring how I appeared to her. I grunted, disgusted with myself, and settled behind the desk to read.
Just as the pterodactyl was swooping toward the heroine, my door closed quietly. I looked up just as Amanda McBey turned. “Hi,” she said with a smug grin.
I waggled the book at her. “You look good enough to eat."
"Is that a risqué suggestion or are you at one of the exciting parts?"
"Well, if you count blood-curdling screams and bodies being ripped limb from limb, then exciting things happen about three times per chapter. But for me, the best part was when you walked into the room."
And the most unlikely thing happened—she blushed. “Um, well, tell you what ... put that thought on the shelf. Don't throw it away, but don't leave it lying around on your desk where the cleaning lady might find it, either."
I'm not stupid. There was no possible way that meant what it sounded like it meant. It was just me reading too much into a perfectly innocent statement. Regardless, the beast within me reared on its hind legs and began to lick its chops.
She took a deep breath and let it out noisily. “Look, I'm in a bit of turmoil emotionally. Either my husband has taken off with this old flame of his, or he's dead. Either way, it's...” She broke off, wiping impatiently at her eyes. “Dammit, I swore to myself I wasn't going to get emotional while I was talking to you. I'll deal with this on my own time.” It took a moment for her to regain her composure. “Okay, I can do this. It's just acting, right? And acting is what I'm good at. I can act like I'm calm and collected for at least twenty minutes ... can't I?” She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “All right, where do we stand?"
The flash of pure, visceral emotion was beyond acting. “I understand, Amanda,” I said quietly. “It's only been twenty-four hours, but I do have some news. I've verified that Bettina Harncort has moved. Her furniture is gone and there's no sign that she intends to come back. Granted, that's not proof that she is involved in your husband's disappearance, but it's worth noting. In the meantime, I was wondering if you could give me even a guess as to when Bettina might have called your husband. We need to find out where she's gone if we're going to discover whether your husband is with her. There are several possible ways that we can do this, but this is an important one."
She gave me a humorless smile and leaned back in the seat, staring at the ceiling. “There was a call about a week—no, wait, it was the day after I talked with Henry about the part in Sunflowers, so that would have been ... have you got a calendar?"
I handed her a small giveaway one from the bank, which I kept in a drawer.
"Let me see, that would have been on...” her finger traced across the dates, “the eighteenth. It was just before we ate, so that would have been around six thirty or seven."
I nodded. “Excellent. Are there any others you can remember?"
"There was another call that I was suspicious of this past Monday. That one would have been around one o'clock."
"Afternoon, I hope,” I said.
She smiled briefly. “Yes, afternoon. Even Bettina wouldn't be so crass as to call at one in the morning."
"Any others?"
"Probably half a dozen or so, but I didn't write them down, and the dates and times are long gone. Sorry."
I shook my head. “Don't be. You've done well giving me these two. This will give me an extra avenue to explore.” I made notes on a pad, then looked back up at her. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help? I know we went through several things yesterday, but has anything else occurred to you?"
"Lan always wanted to live at the beach. I remembered that last night. I don't know if he would pick now to act on it, but it's a possibility."
I made another note. “Good ... now, assuming that he's actually run off, the chances are that he's not going to react well to being found. He's gone to a lot of trouble to lay a false trail, and if it doesn't work, he may do something foolish."
"Are you saying that he might hurt someone if you confront him?” she asked.
I grimaced. “Actually, I'd rather not confront him at all. I'd rather let the police handle that part. If he's done what we suspect he's done, then he's guilty of reproductive cloning, and that's a serious crime. He'll be arrested and face trial."
"Not a good career move,” she observed wryly.
"I think he's pretty much decided to make a clean
break with his past life. Under the circumstances, I don't think he could go back to acting even if he wanted to."
We talked for a little while longer, but didn't arrive at any brilliant conclusions. When she stood to go, I asked, “Amanda, I need to ask this, even though you don't want to hear it."
She turned back to me. “What is it?"
"Will you be all right if it turns out that Lan didn't run off?"
"You mean if he's really dead?"
I nodded.
"I wouldn't have to be mad at him anymore, I guess, but the pain of losing him ... would be...” She shook her head and turned away, swallowing hard. “I'd look like a fool, wouldn't I?"
"Not to me."
She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “And me without a tissue. I must look like a hag."
That was good. Any man between the ages of nine and ninety would tell you that she was the most genetically perfect woman who had ever lived. A few tears and a little streaked mascara couldn't change that. I handed her a tissue. “If anyone calls you a hag, I'll set them straight."
"You're sweet,” she said, then stood on tiptoes and kissed me softly on the cheek.
I reached up and rubbed the spot where she'd kissed me. “I'll never wash that cheek again."
She gave an uneven giggle. “You'd get kind of grubby after a while, wouldn't you?"
"You're worth it,” I assured her.
She gave me a rueful look. “I've got to get out of here. You're making me think crazy thoughts."
"Will you be able to get back to your house safely?"
"No, but that's part of my plan. I'm going to mess up my hair and wear glasses and stuff, then go check into a Holiday Inn out on the Interstate. No one will believe that Amanda McBey would stay there, so I'll be safe as long as I pay cash."
"But—” I began.
She shook her head. “I can't stay at the house. You have no idea what it's like with the paparazzi staring in your windows with telephoto lenses. I hate them. It was a hoot to sneak away, and now that I'm out, I'm going to stay out. They don't even know I'm gone yet, so they'll stay camped out at my house. If they're there and I'm somewhere else, I can have the jitters and not have to worry about an ugly picture popping up on the front of some stupid tabloid."
"How did you get out, anyway?"
"Leanne—she's my secretary—snuck me out under some clothes in her car. They surrounded her and wouldn't let her leave until she said something. She rolled down the window and told them that she was taking clothes to the cleaners. They pestered her about how I was taking it, and she snapped, ‘Well, how do you think she's taking it?’ Just threw it back in their faces. I was under the clothes, and I could hear everything. It was wonderful."
"So how are you getting around?"
"I'm using her car for the time being. The next time she comes out, she'll bring me one of mine."
"Don't. They'll be looking for your license plates. Just keep driving hers, and let her drive yours all over town. It'll drive ‘em crazy."
She gave me another peck on the cheek and left. Personally, I've never quite figured out what Shakespeare meant about parting ... there's nothing sweet about it—it's all sorrow.
* * * *
"She kissed you?"
"Well ... yeah, I guess that's what they call it. You know, that thing where they pucker up their lips and—"
"I'm never going to speak to you again!"
I shrugged offhandedly. “Then I guess you don't want to hear what she said afterward.” With a great show of nonchalance, I walked over to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Lagavulin. I could almost hear his circuits fizzing and popping as the pressure built within his silicon innards.
"All right,” he ground out. “What did she say?"
"'Good-bye.’”
"What? You're going somewhere?” he demanded.
"No, that's what she said. ‘Good-bye.’ She was leaving. That's what people usually say when they're leaving."
My software double has a better vocabulary than I do. In addition, he has access to every online dictionary in the world, in every language, and can get to them instantly. For the next ten minutes or so, he treated me to an extraordinary round the world tour of scatological terms that would have curled our mother's hair, and as far as I could tell he did not repeat himself once. To say he was a trifle put out with me would have been an understatement.
On the other hand, I couldn't say that I blamed him. In fact, he was taking it better than I would have. After he had expressed himself properly, we got down to business.
"I want you to know that I haven't forgiven you,” he muttered. “But I'm trapped in here, so I can't punch you in the nose—something you oh-so-richly deserve at this particular instant."
"As soon as I get you a new backup, we'll be even—both of us will be dealing with memories—which is all I've got at the moment."
He uttered an unprintable oath. “And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Feeling good, my digital brother, has absolutely nothing to do with this. If there were any logic to this at all, I wouldn't even have been kissed. As it is, we'll have to be satisfied with being among the few people who know where she's hiding. Besides ... it was only a puny little chaste sort of kiss, not the face-swallowing sort where you have to get married afterward."
I followed that with the details she had given me when she called back later in the afternoon to tell me where she was staying. I also gave him the information about the suspicious calls she had received.
"Good, I'll get to work on that right away. Now, are you ready for my report?"
"Go for it."
"I thought about it and it seemed logical to me that Lan would need a car. After all, he sacrificed his to the boulder gods and will need some new method of transportation."
"Right. That still leaves begging the question of how he got away from the accident scene, but for the time being, we'll just assume that Bettina was there to give him a lift. So what did you find?"
He looked grim. “Nothing yet. I've been cracking into new car registrations on the state level and even wormed into a few of the nearby car dealerships. I'm working outward in concentric circles, but as the circle gets larger it's taking more and more time to check."
"And you still won't find him if he's got a new identity."
"True, buuut...” He drew out the word, begging me to ask.
"Okay, I'll bite. What did you find?"
"It's not a purchase, nor is it a registration, but I did find a note in a salesman's computer at a dealership east of town that Lan Hielsby had been looking at a new sports car there just five weeks ago. That's prior to the crash, mind you. He just might have been anticipating the need for a new vehicle."
"The salesman keeps a log of people who look at new cars?"
His image shrugged. “It's one of these things where the dealership has a policy of calling back to see if you're still interested, had any questions, that sort of thing."
I refused to let myself get hopeful, but I had to ask. “And this entry ... did it happen to have an address or phone number where Lan could be located?"
He nodded. “It did, but at that time he was giving his home address—the one where Amanda lives."
"I guess that would have been too easy. Still, it's interesting, to say the very least, to think that he was considering a new car recently."
"I'd file it under Circumstantial Evidence, but as you say, it's interesting. And, yes, before you ask, I've put priority on that make and model and others in its class in my search."
"Pardon me while I put on my devil's advocate hat, but any lawyer worth his salt would say that Lan simply had money burning a hole in his pocket and wanted to buy a sixth or seventh car or whatever. After all, people like him aren't limited to a single vehicle like us mere mortals."
"I agree,” he said. “It's just an idea. It may pan out. It may not. As you pointed out, if he's adopted a new identity, then I'll m
iss the new registration, but it's worth looking into."
A thought occurred to me. “While you're chasing electrons out there in cyber land, let me toss another possibility out for consideration."
"And that is?"
"All that furniture from Bettina's place didn't levitate. It was moved by human muscle. See if you can find a moving company or a truck rental in the last couple of weeks related to the move."
His eyes widened. “Oooh! I like it. Score another one for flesh and blood. I'll spawn off a process to sniff that one out."
"No luck on house purchases, rentals, hotels—"
He was shaking his head before I'd even finished the list. “Do you have any idea what you're asking? Let's say that they lit out of town the night of the accident. Assume that they drove until dawn so as to put as much distance between them and the local investigation as possible. Just in round terms, let's say that's about eight hours. Then assume that they stuck to the speed limit and didn't stop for anything other than filling up the car. That still gives them a driving range of roughly five hundred miles. Do you have any idea how much area that covers? And that's assuming that they didn't keep going when they got up later that next day. Like the car search, it's going to take some time. I've checked all the easy things nearby, but it's getting slower as I move further away, simply as a matter of pure numbers of possibilities that have to be checked. To simplify things, I'm focused on the major routes out of town. I'll go back and check secondary routes later."
"Forwarded mail?"
He shook his head again. “I still haven't gotten into the mail computer system. I'm not omnipotent, you know."
I shrugged. “You can't have everything. Besides, even then it may just turn out that they're holding her mail as though she's on vacation or something. And she just might have decided to change her identity, too."
"And if Lan is changing his identity, he's not going to care what happens to old-identity bills and such. He'll let Amanda deal with that little headache."
"Hmmm. Good point. Remind me to ask Amanda to go over any mail that comes in. There might be a credit card bill that shows a recent purchase that might be worthwhile,” I said.
Analog SFF, December 2006 Page 10
