Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon ml-4

by Donna Andrews

  Evening builds were supposed to be rare. In the time I'd been around, we'd had one every day, Saturday and Sunday included.

  So while I could understand the programmers' eagerness to keep on with their work, I realized that someone might have to break the news to them that this afternoon's build would probably be canceled, and if they didn't stop arguing with the increasingly red-faced young police officers, they'd probably miss tomorrow afternoon's build, too, unless the chief allowed them to telecommute from the county jail.

  Beneath the shrill protests of the enthusiastic youngsters, I could also hear the deceptively calm, reasonable voices of some of the older programmers. By older, I meant that they were in their thirties, like me, and had some vague recollection of what life was like before computers ruled the earth.

  I don't know whether this was true of more mature techies in general or just of the crew Mutant Wizards had attracted, but they were, almost without exception, stubborn, independent iconoclasts with a sneaking fondness for anarchy, entropy, and coloring way outside the lines. My kind of people, under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances. I could hear them calmly and rationally questioning the cops' authority to be there, disputing the necessity for clearing the premises, and generally causing trouble.

  Chief Burke could hear them, too. Every second he was looking less like somebody's kindly uncle and more like Moses, working up a head of steam to give some idolaters what for. And if he whacked the pink plush bear against his leg any harder, it was probably going to pipe up with another affirmation and really tick him off.

  I decided to intervene.

  “Hang on a second,“ I said to the chief. I stepped out into the middle of Cubeland and announced, in what Rob called my drill sergeant voice, “All hands meeting in the parking lot now! I'm not ordering the pizza or the beer until everyone is present and accounted for!“

  “That seemed to do the trick,“ the chief remarked five minutes later, surveying the nearly empty office.

  “I'm putting in the pizza order,“ I said, looking up from my cell phone. “How many officers do you have here, anyway?“

  “You don't need to order for us,“ he said.

  “You'll be sorry in an hour,“ I said. “Do you really want your officers watching everyone else pig out while their own stomachs are rumbling?“

  “Nine,“ he said. “Counting me; plus two, three others who might show up if the dispatcher ever gets hold of them.“

  “That's more like it,“ I said.

  Just then the forensic technician shrieked and jumped up on the reception desk.

  I was impressed with how quickly the four officers who'd been scattered throughout the premises made it back to the reception room with their guns drawn and ready. But I couldn't figure out which ones made me more nervous: the two whose hands were shaking so badly they could barely hold on to their guns or the two who looked way too excited at having a chance to shoot something.

  “What in creation's wrong?“ the chief asked.

  “I'm sorry,“ the technician said. “I can't stand rats.“

  “Rats?“ the chief echoed. “Where?“

  “Down there,“ the technician said, “Inside the desk. I'll chase it out.“

  With that, he began pounding his fist on the side of the desk.

  “Stop!“ I shouted. “It's not a rat, it's only – “

  “Meg,“ my brother said, ambling into the reception area. “Can you come down and – urk!“

  The pregnant cat leaped out of the desk when she heard the door opening, and made a break for freedom through Rob's legs. Rob, startled, tried to get out of her way and ended up lying on his back, looking up at the four armed officers. I saw the cat disappear into the open stairwell door.

  “Oh, for heaven's sake,“ I said. “Do you know how long it took Dad and me to catch the poor thing this morning?“

  “Sorry,“ the technician said, climbing down from the desk. “I really did think it was a rat.“

  “What are you people running up here, a pet store?“ the chief said as his officers holstered their weapons. “You can get up now, Mr. Langslow.“

  “Meg, could you come down and be ready to pay the pizza guy,“ Rob said, recovering from his paralysis once the guns had disappeared.

  “Put it on the corporate account,“ I said.

  “Oh, do you think this is a deductible expense?“ Rob said, looking cheerful. “Cool. Don't worry; I'll take care of it. And I'm sure someone down in the parking lot will see the cat and catch her.“

  The chief and I watched as Rob went back to the stairs, performing the Crouching Buzzard kata along the way.

  “Knows karate, does he?“ the chief remarked.

  “Well… ,“ I began.

  “Meg, what's going on?“ Liz said, appearing in the room. “The officer assigned to the back door ran away and left it unguarded. I've got your father watching it now.“

  “Sorry, Chief,“ one of the officers said, and hurried away.

  “Cheer up,“ I said to Liz, who looked a little frazzled. “At least with all the police on the premises, you don't have to worry about any of our auspicious characters hanging around.“

  “Suspicious characters?“ the chief said. “Is that another joke, or have you really had people hanging around?“

  “Yes, we've had people hanging around,“ Liz said. “One in particular worries me – an employee who was terminated three weeks ago.“

  “Terminated?“ the chief asked. “As in fired, right?“

  “If she meant terminated as in killed, we wouldn't be worrying about him,“ I said.

  “Dismissed from our employment, yes,“ Liz said, frowning at me. She obviously thought her official, corporate demeanor was called for under the circumstances, instead of the more down-to-earth person she could be off duty. “He had to be escorted from the premises when we released him, and he's called several times to make vague threats to pet even with us.“

  “You think he could be dangerous?“ the chief asked.

  Liz thought for a moment. “I'm more inclined to think he intends some legal action,“ she said finally.

  “I thought you said he had absolutely no grounds whatsoever for any legal action,“ I put in.

  “No; he doesn't,“ she said. “But that doesn't mean he won't try to find an attorney to take his case. And it would be annoying to have him running up our legal expenses with a nuisance suit. But at least as long as he's thinking about legal remedies, he's not taking any other, more violent action. Although from what I've found out, I think the concern over his interest in guns is exaggerated.“

  “Interest in guns?“ the chief said, looking interested himself.

  “There was a rumor going around the office that he was a somewhat overzealous gun enthusiast,“ she said. “He has a gun permit, true; but he's also taken out a hunting license during deer season for the last several years, so I don't think his gun ownership is as ominous as some people think.“

  “Still, we'd like to check him out,“ the chief said. “Let us have his name and contact information.“

  Liz nodded.

  “We can get you a copy of his personnel file if you like,“ I said.

  “My desk sergeant mentioned that you reported a trespasser last week,“ the chief said. “Was he the one?“

  “No,“ I said. “It was one of the fans. The really obnoxious one,“ I added to Liz.

  “The one who tried to pass herself off as a copier repair person?“ Liz asked.

  “I hadn't heard about that one, but probably.“

  “Fan?“ the chief asked. “What do you mean by fan?“ * “A gaming fan,“ I explained. He still looked blank. Apparently I needed to start further back.

  “Mutant Wizards makes games,“ I said.

  “Interactive multimedia entertainment,“ liz corrected.

  “Computer games,“ I continued. “Three or four of them, though the only one anyone ever pays much attention to is our one phenomenally suc
cessful game called Lawyers from Hell.“

  “Lawyers from Hell,“ the chief said with a guffaw. “Damn! You sure got that – “

  Liz sighed. The chief started.

  “I mean that sure is a peculiar title for a game,“ he finished, rather awkwardly.

  “It's a peculiar game,“ I said. “My brother invented it. Anyway, the reason you had so much trouble clearing the staff out of here so you could investigate is that we're on a very tight deadline to release a new game.“

  “A new version,“ liz said.

  “Right, new version – the aptly though unoriginally titled Lawyers from Hell II. It's going to be bigger, better, more exciting, more complicated, more realistic, more imaginative, more everything than the original Lawyers from Hell. Mutant Wizards has been saying that for months now. But we haven't given out any specific details about how it's bigger, better, et cetera. And mat's driving the fans nuts.“

  “Our computer security staff has logged thousands of attempts to break into our system,“ liz said. “Fortunately they're highly qualified individuals.“

  “The main qualification seems to be that they have to be paranoid as rabid wolverines, to the point that they wouldn't trust their own mothers,“ I added. “And these guys are; they're very good. So the fans have resorted to good old-fashioned corporate espionage methods. They try to sneak in.“

  “To find out about this game?“ the chief asked.

  “Exactly,“ I said. “I guess they hope to get some advance information about the game or maybe even steal a prototype. That's also one of the reasons we have a stupid, old-fashioned switchboard,“ I added with a glance at that much-loathed object. “To try to screen out as many nuisance calls as possible.“

  “So you think one of these fans could have committed the murder?“

  “I have no idea,“ I said. “But you were asking about suspicious characters hanging around the office. You want suspicious characters, we've got 'em. Disgruntled ex-employees, demented game fans – oh, and don't forget the biker,“ I added, looking at Liz.

  “Biker?“ the chief said.

  “This guy we keep seeing hanging around the parking lot at night,“ I explained. “He's wearing what looks like a motorcycle gang outfit – you know, greasy jeans, heavy boots, ragged T-shirt, denim vest with some kind of lurid painting on the back.“

  “And tattoos,“ Liz said, shuddering.

  “Yes, he's covered with tattoos,“ I said. “And hair – long hair and a bushy beard. And he's about six and a half feet tall and built like a linebacker.“

  “We'll keep our eyes peeled,“ the chief said. “Has he accosted anyone? Caused any trouble?“

  “I've only seen him standing around at the edge of the parking lot,“ I said. “But that makes me nervous.“

  “I haven't heard of any problems,“ Liz said. “Yet.“

  “Okay,“ the chief said. “Now let me take you through this list of visitors – I want to see if any of them need to be investigated.“

  There were only a dozen visitors on the day's list, and except for the hardware repairman who'd come at eight to fix a rebellious printer, they were all patients who had appointments with one or another of the six therapists.

  “I'm afraid you've lost me there,“ the chief said. “I don't understand why you have these six therapists on staff.“

  “They're not on staff,“ I said.

  “Miserable squatters,“ Liz muttered through her teeth.

  “They were here when we came,“ I explained.

  “We tried to convince them that staying wasn't a viable option,“ Liz said. “That their very differing business requirements were going to make coexistence quite difficult: So far they have chosen to stay.“

  “Can you blame them?“ I asked. “I mean, where else are they supposed to go? You know how hard it was for Mutant Wizards to find this space.“

  “So other than the shared office space, there's no connection,“ the chief said. “No reason for them to interact with the deceased.“

  Liz and I looked at each other.

  “No logical reason,“ I said. “But they did interact, thanks to Ted.“

  The chief sighed. “Why do I think you're going to tell me they had a reason to dislike him?“

  “You must be getting a good picture of Ted's character,“ I said. “I don't think his constant practical jokes endeared him to them, but I think it was his bugging their offices that really ticked them off.“

  “Bugging their offices?“

  “We don't know for certain that was him,“ Liz said.

  “Yeah, but do you have any doubt?“ I countered.

  “He could get in a lot of trouble, doing that,“ the chief said.

  “I'm well aware of that,“ Liz said. “I'm still dealing with the legal ramifications of that little escapade.“

  I couldn't help thinking, not for the first time, that Liz did rather seem to enjoy having legal crises to deal with. Was she, perhaps, a bit of an adrenaline junkie? She was certainly a cutthroat negotiator, and I suspected she'd be a pretty sharp litigator if the occasion arose.

  “Are the therapists suing you?“ the chief asked.

  “They threatened to,“ Liz said. “Fortunately, because of the danger of industrial espionage, we'd arranged for a weekly sweep by a security firm to detect electronic surveillance devices.“

  “So they found the bug?“ the chief asked.

  “No,“ I said. “We found the bug because Ted – “

  “Or whoever planted it,“ Liz corrected.

  “Or whoever planted it gave in to the temptation to broadcast from one of his microphones over the office announcement system,“ I said. “That shut things down pretty quickly.“

  “However, the weekly security inspection enables me to demonstrate that the firm took the appropriate action to prevent electronic surveillance and cannot be held responsible for the bugging incident,“ Liz said.

  “That's nice,“ the chief said. “But I guess the shrinks have to stay on my suspect list for now.“

  “Meg,“ came Dad's voice from the office door. “The medical examiner's here!“

  I should have known Dad would manage to attach himself to the medical examiner. He had stuck his bald head through the partially opened office and was looking steadily at us with a deceptively innocent look on his face. You'd think he had no interest whatsoever in the corpse that was still reposing on top of the mail cart – unless, like me, you knew what excellent peripheral vision he had.

  “Shall I bring him in?“

  The chief nodded and made a little shooing motton at Liz and me.

  “Let's move out in the hall, shall we, and let the medical gentlemen do their job.“

  “Fine,“ Liz said. “Better yet, unless you need me for something, I'd just as soon not hang around in the hall while they work.“

  “That's fine,“ the chief said, nodding. “But if you could stay down there in the parking lot…“

  “Understood,“ Liz said. I could see her pulling her cell phone out of her purse as she crossed the lobby to the stairs.

  Apparently Dad had managed to attach himself to the ME's entourage. At least he stayed behind in the reception area when the chief and I moved out into the hall. I made a mental note to avoid having dinner with Dad. Let him spoil someone else's appetite with all the grisly forensic details.

  The chief was still quizzing me about the therapists' patients when the young technician stepped out into the hall.

  “Chief,“ he said. “What do you make of this? We found it when we moved the body.“

  I recognized the lethal little circle of metal he was holding up on one latex-gloved hand. It was a shuriken.

  “A what?“ the chief asked.

  “A shuriken“ I repeated, and spelled it out this time.

  The technician was opening up a baggie in which to store his find. Okay, it was probably some kind of official evidence collection container, but it looked like a baggie to me.

  “S
huriken,“ the chief said, nodding. “That's those things martial arts people are always throwing around.“

  “Not throwing around very much, unless they're either quite advanced or morbidly fascinated with self-mutilation,“ I said. “You could slice your fingers off on that thing and hardly even notice till they're on the floor.“

  “If it's sharpened,“ the chief said.

  As if on cue, the technician slid the shuriken into the baggie. It sliced right through the bottom and thunked to a halt in the carpet, about three inches from the chief's left boot.

  “It's sharpened,“ I said.

  The chief looked at the technician, eyes narrowed. The technician avoided his boss's stare as he fished another baggie out of the pocket of his lab jacket, pried the shuriken out of the carpet, and placed it, more carefully, in the baggie.

  “Interesting,“ the chief said.

  “Very interesting,“ I said. “You don't usually see them that well made; most of the ones you could buy ready-made, at least around here, are cheap, flimsy pieces of junk that wouldn't hold an edge like that.“

  “You can buy those things?“ the technician asked.

  “At any martial arts supply store. They're illegal in a lot of states, but Virginia's not one of them. Still, since Ted appears to have been strangled, does it have anything to do with anything?“

  “You let us figure that out,“ the chief said. “So… all you folks do around here is make games?“

  Did this have something to do with the shuriken, or was he deliberately changing the subject?

  “That's right,“ I said.

  “The kind where you shoot a bunch of space aliens and all that?“

  “No, Lawyers from Hell isn't a live-action combat game; more of a combination role-playing and simulation game.“

  “You don't say,“ the chief said, looking over his glasses at me.

  “I should go into a little more detail?“

  “You should go into a lot more detail if you want me to understand it.“

  “Want us to explain it, Meg?“ I heard Frankie say with characteristic enthusiasm.