We were interrupted by the next round of drinks, and she appeared to be glad of the break in the conversation. She lifted her glass and we silently toasted again, but this time her smile was a bit wry. She started talking again.
"It was about four months later that I found out that he'd become engaged. It wasn't generally known, and he didn't seem to want to talk about it. He brought it up just the once, in passing sort of, and never spoke of it again. Neither did I. I suppose that I've made myself out to be quite foolish. I'm not really, you know. I made a mistake with John, but it's hard to go through life without making mistakes. The trick is in learning from them, and not repeating them. That sounds like another cliché, doesn't it?"
She gave me a solid look. Solid enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I was seeing a side of Miss K. here that I had never suspected existed, and she would never look the same to me again. I knew her secret now. She was just like everyone else. She had a heart, she got lonely, and she made mistakes. Life is like that sometimes.
"Midori, I don't want you to think that I'm judging you. I've made bigger gaffes than yours in my time, believe me. Mind you I've had more time to gaffe in than you." There was what they call a pregnant pause. "That was an attempt at humor Midori." It didn't work. She was staring at the table again, with a soulful lost expression. At that point I figured that any man in the bar would be willing to pay for the table’s secret. "It was more than just the one night’s indiscretion, wasn't it Midori? You were in love with him before that?"
She looked over at me with eyes that a man could drown in. Deep, dark, and wet.
"I had loved John from the moment I met him, until the day after we made love for the first time. That doesn't make much sense, does it? I've been having a very hard time dealing with his death. I didn't mean to burden you with all of this personal baggage I've been carrying around, Jeffry. I want to help you get to the answers. What was really going on, all of that. You'll have to tell me what you need. I'm not sure of anything just now."
I took her at her word. It wouldn't be the first time I shouldn't have been so trusting of a woman, but it wouldn't be the last either. Of that I was sure.
"Alright then, let’s talk about his personal life. What did he do when he got home from work?"
"Do you mean his hobbies, or that sort of thing?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Well…, I don't really know him that well. It sounds strange even to my ears, after what I've just told you, but I don’t. I remember little things, if they're important or not …, I guess I'm not the one to say."
"Such as?"
"Every Thursday night at seven, he played chess at a club down on Danforth St., in the Greek section. He wouldn't miss it for anything. It was a time he set aside for himself with a vengeance. Other things…, I'm not sure. He worked out, but only once in a while. He kept tropical fish. I suppose in the end I didn't know as much as I wanted to. I was in love with him, for a while, but I didn't really know who he was. Isn't it funny how life does that to you?"
"Only when you look back on it from a distance. Do you happen to remember the name of the chess club he played at?"
"I'm not sure, but I think it was a Cafe something-or-other."
"That's it? Cafe something-or-other?"
She put on her thinking cap, and gave a little frown of concentration. "I'm sorry, but… oh… uh…Cafe Pagan, no… Poge… Pug… Passant! Yes, that's it, Cafe Au Passant." She sat up straight and beamed in my direction. Awaiting praise for her efforts no doubt. "Good, that's very good. Do you know which gym he worked out at?"
"Yes, that I can tell you. It was The Fitness Centre, a health club on Bathurst St., near the Highway 401. He liked it because he could get there in fifteen minutes, straight from work."
"Ok, what about his fish?"
That one caught her a little off center. "His fish?"
"Sorry, I'll be more specific. You mentioned that you knew very little about him, and yet if anyone at Citecorp were to know anything about him at all, it should probably be you. Some people are like that. One of the few things you did know about him was that he kept tropical fish. Now, I believe there are two kinds of tropical fish people. The ones who have them because they're pretty, and they get them at the local fish store, and the ones who collect rare fish from obscure places around the world. They pay a fortune for them, and lavish time and effort into their wellbeing. Which category did John fall into?"
She thought about that one for a minute or so and pursed her lips before she answered. I tried harder to concentrate on the task at hand.
"I would have to say that he was in category two. His tank alone must be worth an awful lot of money. The fish he had …, well I'm not that up on ichthyology but he did take the time to show me his favourites, and they were different from any fish I'd ever seen before, except for the Piranha."
"Piranha? You're serious? I thought they were slightly aggressive as fish go. Hard to keep in an aquarium."
"Yes, he had a separate section at one end of the tank, with a glass plate separating it from the others. It had to be glass, because a screen would have let in the smell, or whatever, of the other fish and the Piranha would have gone crazy and killed itself trying to get through. As it was the other fish kept away from that end of the tank."
"Do you know where he bought his fish?"
"No, not really. We never had a conversation where that came up."
It was time to take a different tack. "Why can't I get access to John's computer account?"
There was a moment of hesitation, then a quick recovery. Her shoulders squared themselves. "What? That account is supposed to be open to me. I'm to do the recovery of John’s work for the upcoming contract meeting with the Crassberg Group. I gave you my own access codes. You shouldn't have had any trouble at all." Her mood had changed in a flash, but I couldn't really tell what it had changed to. I was beginning to see the character of Midori Kuwabara emerge, and it only served to confuse me.
"When was the last time you logged on to the account Midori?"
She gave me a sincere look. "Two days ago, … OH!” Her voice turned quite flat and soft. “I see. Well I had no trouble then. It was routine, I had no problem at all. Are you sure that you used the proper passwords?"
"For the record, let me explain something. Just like everyone else, I can make a mistake, and I do. But it very rarely has to do with computers. It's one of the things I'm good at."
Her tension seemed to melt away and a slow smile spread across her face. It was like the sunshine I hadn't seen in three weeks.
She said quite distinctly and quite slowly, in a lower voice than she’d been using, "And what else are you good at Jeffry?" Then it was gone.
She laughed a little laugh, and finished off her drink. Her pony-tail bobbed as the rum went down. The waiter appeared with more before I could blink. I had been thinking of signaling for more drinks, but apparently, that wasn't necessary. I think the waiter had forsaken all others to watch for the slightest need on the part of our Miss K. I was beginning to think it was a rational decision. For a guy.
We picked up our fresh drinks, and did our toast. This was getting to be a routine.
I went back at it. "The computer room is always staffed, twenty-four hours a day, right?"
"Oh yes. We have on-line systems talking to us from around the world, and around the clock" She blinked as she looked at me.
"Alright, when we're done here, you can call the system operator and get the scoop on the status of John’s' account. I want in. In the meantime, where does Marsh fit into this picture?" I took a turn staring at the table, and let my ears do the work this time. Auditory nuances can occasionally override misdirected visual stimuli. I've negotiated a few contracts of my own over the years, and whether it's engineering projects or grilling your girlfriend about where she was at midnight last night, the tricks you learn at one table, are invariably valid at the next.
Midori’s voice came out strong and sensible. Sh
e was talking about her boss now, and the answers for this question were pat ones. Or should have been. "Mr. Marsh is the head of all the projects we take on in our section, but he doesn't always get involved personally. I've only been his PA for the past two years or so, but during that time he's treated most of the work in a rubber stamp manner. He can afford to, because he's got some of the best financial people in the country working for him. He oversees the general progress of all work to the point of completion, and then presents the finished product to the board. Lately though, it's been a little different. His attention has been… elsewhere. The only time he gets excited about anything is after he's had a meeting with John." Her face took on a faraway look. "But I guess that's changed now."
"Was that a recent phenomenon? His attention being elsewhere, his getting excited only after meetings with John? Was he previously excited after all his meetings?"
She looked about as uncomfortable as it was possible for her to look, under the circumstances, which wasn't much. The circumstances were starting to irritate me. She had showed up in an outfit that Vogue magazine would have been proud to put on its cover, looking more beautiful than the average model that Vogue would have put in said outfit, with a briefcase full of files that I was sure would hold no more content than the already massive amount of routine data George and I had already culled from the bank’s system this afternoon. The personal insight she had afforded me had been the only offsetting feature of a relatively uninformative interview. I began to wonder about even that.
The answer came, as pat as all the others, now that I was onto the flow of it.
"Actually, it was. A recent phenomenon, I mean. Mr. Marsh was always interested in what I would describe as the 'little things'. The glitches that came up on a day-to-day basis with doing the kind of international deals we handle at Citecorp. Except for recently."
"Would it be possible to narrow that down a little? As far as a time frame of weeks, for example?" I was afraid that my irritation might be showing a bit.
"It's hard to say, because I didn't take note of it for the first while, but it's probably been going on for several weeks now."
"By several do you mean five, or ten, or what?"
Her expression was starting to reflect my own emotional state, and I felt that this meeting might be about to come to an end.
She looked straight at me and said, "Yes, five or ten."
I figured it was time. "Ok Midori. I think that you've been very helpful. I'll take the files you've brought me and go through them tonight. In the meantime, if you’d care to make a call to the system operator at the bank, I'd really like to have the status on John’s' account. I want access to his files, and tomorrow won't do. Can you call him now?"
She shook her head yes, sending the pony-tail into a bobbing fury, and got up from the table. "Whatever you need Jeffry, that's what I'll do for you." She walked off in the direction of the telephones. I watched until she passed out of sight behind the bar across the room. Then I breathed again.
The waiter drifted by in an orbit close enough to my gravity well that I could order another drink, so I did. I got one for Miss K. while I was at it.
This whole affair was really getting to me, and it wasn't the job. That was good. It was a tough case, with a lot of credibility and however strange or complex it may become, I would follow it through until I got the answers. Jeffry the pit bull, that was me. What was getting to me was Midori Kuwabara.
She came walking back around the corner, smiled at the waiter and slid into the booth across from me.
"Ok, we've got the scoop." She smiled in that perky way of hers, obviously feeling smug that she had sorted out the issue of the inaccessible account. "Fred Haskins, he's the system operator, says that the account was locked after Mr. Marsh accessed it on the day after… well after John was killed.” The smile was gone now, but she forged on. "It appears that all the files in his account were deleted the day before. Fred had to restore them from the daily back-up files. After Mr. Marsh looked through them he told Fred to lock the account. That was before he spoke with you. I guess he forgot that it was locked when he instructed me to give you access. I've had Fred unlock the account for you, so you won't have any more trouble getting in." She picked up her glass, swirling the remnants of ice around a few times, and took a solid swallow.
"That's excellent Midori, so Fred's on duty now, at the bank?"
"Umm hmm." She nodded her head yes, and the pony tail went into another bobbing frenzy.
"Good, I want to go over there and talk to him. Do you have the time to take me there and make the introductions etc.?"
"Do you mean right now?" There was a trace of surprise in her voice as she asked.
I gave her my most solid investigator’s' look. "Yes, I do"
She put both hands on the table and said "Let's go", right back at me. With the same amount of mock sincerity. There was a lot to like about our Miss K.
I picked grabbed hold of the briefcase as I stood up from the table, gesturing in front of me with my free hand for her to lead the way. Off we went.
I stopped at the bar to pay the bill and get a receipt, while Midori sauntered on ahead. While I was paying, I pulled out my trusty NEC 401 pocket cell-phone and speed dialed George. The answering machine was on, so I left a message that J.D.’s account was now clear, time stamped it and cut the connection. I followed after Midori and we made our way out into the street, and flagged down a passing cab. It was only a few blocks to the bank tower, but it had started to drizzle down with rain again, and it wasn't worth getting wet. Again.
The lobby of the bank was busier than I’d have imagined for a Saturday, but Midori explained that the keepers of the cash never slept, not really. There was always a certain number of staff on the case, seven days a week. During the night, it shut down, but then the offices in other parts of the country took over. Other time zones, staying on the pulse of the world markets, and everyone linked by computer, for up to the minute market power. The bank didn't just put people’s money in a vault and leave it there, after all. It had to be invested, moved around. Sometimes around the world. All the staff in the international offices backed up the business acumen of the head office wheeler dealers, earning their keep in the process.
While I was getting the guest visitor lecture, we had signed in at the security station under Midori’s authority, and now were making our way to the fourth floor, which housed the computer complex for the entire head office.
Before the elevator would spit us out at the fourth, Midori had to produce a security card with a magnetic strip, and pass it across the reader next to the control panel. The doors opened onto a different decor than the thirtieth floor. It was almost Spartan in comparison. In fact, the elevator with its brass handrails and smoked mirror walls was more luxurious than this. The flooring was a type of tile that was most likely anti-static. With light green swirls for a pattern on an off-white background. Lovely. All down the right side of the hallway was a full-length window. Inside, the bank’s system lived and breathed. There was row upon row of disk drives and tape drives, line printers and desks of consoles. Against the back wall, the systems themselves were lined up, chest high, one next to the other. It turned out there were five of them. All Hewlett-Packard. HP 3000 Series, a mix of Classic and Precision Architecture systems. That was a lot of digital logic. Logic I was familiar with from the old days, running around the world engineering this and engineering that. It had gotten so tedious after a while. The room ran about a hundred feet in length, and about fifty feet deep. The place was like a ghost town. Or ghost computer room in this case. There was no-one in the hallways as we made our way to the main door, and there was no-one in sight in the room itself. I knew from experience that that could be deceiving. When you first looked at a room full of equipment like this, it was normal to assume that there should be a beehive of human activity going on in and amongst the digital slaves. Where were all the human masters of the machines? The truth was, all of
this equipment could be handled, from a system operators point of view, by as little as two people, and that was granting the luxury of always having one on hand when the other was off for a break, or whatever. A lot of places, would let action requests sit on the console for a few moments until the operator got back from the designated smoking room, etc., before hiring that second person. Most of a sysops' time was spent changing tapes, due to special file requests, or because they were running the daily or weekly backups, that sort of thing. The real masters of the machine were there, of course. The users. They were tied to the machine by direct hardwired connections, by fiber optic links running through the telephone system, and microwave relayed satellite communication nets. All of the electronic umbilicals of the modern age. Sitting comfortably in their own familiar surroundings yet linked. The users were the masters commanding the vast resources of the computer room laid out in front of us.
A short fellow in brown corduroy pants and jacket stuck his head up from behind a bank of consoles as we approached the main doors. He was wearing glasses, and his hair was thick and brown, but only in a fringe. the fluorescent lights in the room gleamed off of his bald pate, even from where we were in the hallway. He broke into a run for the door as soon as he spotted us. I figured this must be Fred.
The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel Page 8
