by Clea Simon
‘Dulcie! Sorry, did I startle you?’ It was Trista. With Jerry and Chris in tow, she looked a bit like a diminutive rock star, her nose stud and bleached blonde hair looking incongruous beside her gangly posse.
‘Tris. It’s good to see you. It’s great, actually.’ Dulcie put her phone away. ‘You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening.’
‘Tell us about it.’ The hostess was waiting with menus. ‘I left a message for you at home, to join us, but I guess you were already in the Square.’
‘I already ordered take-out.’ A wave of sadness flooded Dulcie.
‘That’s OK. We can change it, can’t we?’ Trista looked over at the hostess, who nodded. Pho House was used to students and their inconstant ways. Not long after the four were seated, Dulcie’s pho arrived and, with the urging of her tablemates, she began slurping up the long noodles.
‘Sorry, I’m starved.’ She paused to wipe her chin. ‘I missed lunch today.’
Jerry looked horrified at the thought and began toying with the hot sauce, anxious for his own meal to arrive. Chris, however, seemed concerned. ‘Are you still at that McJob? The temp thing?’
Dulcie, her mouth full, nodded.
‘How’s that going?’ He waited for her to swallow.
Dulcie slurped again, while the waitress placed three more large bowls in front of her colleagues along with a plate of spring rolls and another of condiments. As her friends reached for the basil leaves and bean sprouts, she started to explain. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’ With a little food in her, she could think more clearly. Not that anything about the Priority situation was clear. She sucked a piece of basil from between her teeth and continued. ‘I’m pretty sure they’re still trying to figure out who hacked the system, but at least I’m back at work. Although they’ve moved my workstation to this really loud, exposed part of the building.’
‘They trying to make you quit?’ Jerry looked up from his own bowl and Dulcie remembered: the lanky math genius was the son of auto workers, both long-timers on the assembly line. He’d gone through Harvard on a Teamsters scholarship.
‘Maybe.’ She saw him start to speak and held up her porcelain spoon. ‘But I’m not sure, and I don’t think there’s anything actionable yet. There is definitely something weird going on, though.’
Jerry continued slurping his soup, but his eyes were questioning.
‘I know, Jerry. I won’t let them get away with anything. But right now, I just have to wait and see.’
Nobody questioned that. But Chris did point a fresh spring roll at her. ‘Hey! Speaking of weird, are you following our own hacking scandal?’
Dulcie reached for another of the cold rolls just as the waitress brought over a plate of chicken sate. ‘Just a bit – I know they closed Widener early and that they’re supposedly checking staff laptops.’
‘Oh, it’s better than that.’ Chris’s dark eyes shone with excitement. Maybe geeky could be cute, thought Dulcie. ‘It’s completely amateur hour. Totally! I’d say it was a prank if it hadn’t gotten so far.’
Jerry held out a hand. ‘My room-mate here is getting carried away. The algorithms are not sophisticated, it’s true. But they are sufficient unto the day.’
Trista shot him a look.
‘Well, they are. This is nearly the same bug that was used at Duke and some of the West Coast schools. It’s set to keep trying different approaches until one works. It may not be pretty but it does the trick.’
‘And the trick is?’ Trista obviously hadn’t heard the details either.
‘It opens a back door. Once in, you do what you want.’
‘Or what you have the technical know-how to pull off,’ Chris interrupted. ‘At Duke, I believe they were checking admissions records. You know, seeing who was going to get in before the announcements? Pretty minor stuff. But at LA Poly they’d gotten as far as altering transcripts before they were caught.’
‘Wow.’ Dulcie dipped her roll in the pepper sauce and thought about this. ‘Do they know if the Harvard hackers did that? I mean, did they change anyone’s grades?’
‘Didn’t get that far.’ Chris shook his head, but Jerry corrected him.
‘That we know of. You can be sure that forensic techs will be going over everything in the system with a fine-tooth comb.’
Chris made a dismissive sound. ‘They won’t find anything. These guys might as well have rung the front doorbell to announce their intention. A subtler bug would have gone dormant, but this keeps trying – that’s making it pretty easy to trace. I mean, OK, it’s taking some time, but that’s just legwork. The word on all the boards is that the code is completely inelegant.’
Maybe it was the food finally kicking in, maybe it was the hot sauce, but Dulcie started to pull things together. ‘Chris, the other day you said that I had an open door on my computer from the university, that maybe that’s how something got into my computer. Is there any chance that the bug in the university system is what’s been messing up my little laptop?’
Rather to her surprise, Chris paused to consider it. He and Jerry exchanged glances, and Jerry raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s unlikely, but possible. You said a file disappeared?’
‘Well, it was altered, actually.’ It must be the hot sauce; Dulcie felt a flush of blood in her cheeks. ‘Wait a minute! That doorway works both ways, right?’ Three equally flushed faces nodded back. ‘Is it possible that my computer is the source? I mean, that Tim planted the bug? Before he – you know . . . That he was using my computer to hack into the system?’ It would be a perfect scam: a lot less dangerous and potentially more profitable than selling drugs. It might explain why neither she nor Luke had found any stash. Plus, he’d never be blamed. She would.
The noodles turned to lead in her stomach and she closed her eyes. This time it would be Harvard, the center of her life, that would be turned against her, rather than some shoddy summer job. Her thesis, her grants, her entire academic career were all at risk. But when she opened her eyes, her friends were smiling.
‘Dulcie, when I said the programming was easy, I meant for one of us; someone in computer science or “apple” math.’ Chris must have seen the fear that had passed through her. ‘From what you’ve told me, your room-mate knew as little about applied math or programming as he did about – well, early British novels.’
Reality came back, and with it, Dulcie’s appetite. ‘You’re right.’ It was flattering that he remembered her area of expertise. She swirled some bean sprouts around in what was left of the soup. ‘I was just thinking that if anyone had a motive for changing grades, Tim did. But, well, he never did get his grades up, did he? And besides, it’s been more than two weeks since . . . since he . . .’ The bean sprouts lay there, pale as dead things.
Trista pushed the skewered chicken sate toward her friend. ‘Enough of that, Dulcie. Eat.’
She did and for a few minutes the only sounds were the munching and slurping of hungry grad students. When the conversation came back, it was of a more mundane variety. Trista had heard that the University of Oregon was going to be expanding its Renaissance program, maybe creating entirely new tenure track positions. From there, the talk moved on to outdoor sports. Jerry expounded on the Sox for a while, and then Chris, much to her surprise, started talking about skiing. He and Suze really would be a good match, Dulcie realized. He was obviously considerate, too.
‘Hey, Chris,’ she broke in. The bus boy was clearing the table of empty bowls and the few remaining bean sprouts. ‘Even if it’s not anything earth shattering, or even mildly felonious, would you take a look at my laptop?’
‘Sure. After we stop at Herrell’s?’
Dulcie wasn’t sure she could eat ice cream after all that spicy food, but she was enjoying the company too much to want to go home. ‘Yeah, that would be great.’
The four exited the restaurant and waddled – that was the only word Dulcie felt was accurate – over to the ice cream shop. No surprise, considering the weather, there was a line stretching
out the door. Chris sidled up to her.
‘Hey, Dulcie, I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .’ He paused. No, please. Dulcie made sure her prayer was silent. You’re for Suze. ‘It’s just that, what with the cops floating around and all, have you talked to Suze lately?’
She could have laughed with relief. ‘I just left a message for her this evening.’ A party of six left and Trista and Jerry slid inside the air-conditioned shop. ‘I was actually trying to call her again before the whole thing happened at Widener.’ It felt like days ago, now.
‘You mean, the early closing?’
Had she not told them? ‘Yeah, that, and – well, this is really weird. I was trying to borrow my old room-mate’s laptop – Tim’s, not Suze’s. Anyway, Tim’s brother had lent it to Tim’s old tutor, who I think Tim was fooling around with, too.’ Chris raised his eyebrows. Dulcie explained, ‘No, really, I think it may be relevant. But the point is that she was going to meet us at Widener and hand over the laptop. But when we got there, well, it’s hard to say exactly what had happened. At first everyone was just assuming that she had slipped on those damned stairs. But from what she was able to tell me, it seems that someone grabbed the laptop and pushed her down the stairs.’
His eyes were wider now. ‘What do the cops say?’
‘I didn’t – I don’t know.’ She’d been so intent on Luisa that she hadn’t thought of talking to any authorities. ‘An ambulance took her to UHS, and I followed. I wasn’t sure what had happened until I talked to her, but then she passed out and they kicked me out of her room. And then I ran into you guys.’ It sounded completely lame.
‘Well, do you want to go talk to the police now?’ He looked down at her intently, his dark eyes serious under his heavy bangs. Inside Herrell’s, the line had moved up, but he stood there, waiting for her answer.
‘I should. I know I should. It’s just . . .’ How could she explain? The previous times she’d tried to give the cops leads, she’d been brushed off. In retrospect, her urge to help probably contributed to her being considered a suspect. Now, if she were to report an attack on Luisa, wouldn’t she get the same reaction? At best, the cops thought she was a kook; at worst, a killer. And mightn’t this just seem like a cover-up; like she’d botched her payback to a rival? Chris was waiting.
‘It’s just that I guess I’m not their favorite person right now. I think they may even suspect me of Tim’s murder. And, well, if I’m going to talk with them, I’d rather have something concrete.’ It still sounded lame. ‘Besides, when Luisa comes to, she’ll probably tell them.’ When, she told herself. Don’t even think about if.
Chris said nothing. Peering inside the shop, she could see that Jerry and Trista were at the counter. Trista was getting a taste of ice cream on a small wooden spoon. The scene looked so friendly and normal.
‘You’re right, Chris. I should go talk to the cops.’ He nodded, a smile returning to his lean face. ‘At least it’s only the university cops, so maybe they’ll actually listen to me.’
‘Good girl. You want a cone for courage?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks anyway.’ She stepped back from the door. ‘If I’m going to do this, I need to do it now before I lose my nerve. Hey, can you come by tomorrow, maybe around sixish, instead?’
‘Sure thing, Dulcie. I’ll bring over some good virus protection programs, too.’
‘Thanks, Chris.’ She walked back down the stairs, passing the end of a line that hadn’t grown any shorter, and headed back toward the health services. First, she’d check on Luisa. Maybe she had already reported the shove – and the theft. If Luisa hadn’t told her story to the police, Dulcie would do it, and they could talk to the pretty tutor when she was back on her feet. When, Dulcie repeated like a mantra. Not if.
Twenty-Two
Half an hour later, Dulcie was home again – without having spoken to the cops, and without any ice cream. She’d meant to do the right thing, and had pushed open the big glass doors to the health services full of determination. But as soon as she’d asked for Luisa at the front desk, things had started to get weird.
‘And you are?’ the woman at the information desk had asked.
‘I’m a friend.’ Dulcie didn’t mean to be evasive, but something about the woman’s stare unnerved her.
‘A friend? Want to show me some ID for that?’ This was sounding way too much like the police.
‘I would, but, um, I left my wallet in my dorm room.’ Dulcie realized she was standing on one foot, the other raised nervously behind her, as she always did when she lied. She forced herself to stand straight while the attendant checked her out.
‘Yah. You left your ID at home.’ Even without the tight-mouthed smirk, not quite a grimace, Dulcie could tell the woman sitting in front of her was being sarcastic. ‘Wait right there.’ The desk jockey picked up a phone and pressed one button. ‘Please,’ she tacked on. But it was too late, Dulcie was already backing away. Why hadn’t she noticed, when she’d burst through those doors, that two uniformed police were standing on either side? And was that security guard always by the elevator?
‘Never mind.’ Dulcie salvaged a smile, knowing it looked fake. ‘I’ll catch up with her later.’ The woman was talking on the phone but raised a hand as if to make Dulcie pause. Dulcie ignored her, though, and after taking two more swift steps backward, she turned on her heel and walked quickly back outside, her flip-flops slapping the hard tiled floor in retreat.
None of her neighbors were out, which was a mixed blessing. While a sultry night would have had everyone chatting – and swatting mosquitoes – back at the commune, here in Cambridge, the city retreated behind air-conditioning. But at least she wasn’t being interrogated, and no explanations were necessary. Only the whir and drip of window units greeted Dulcie as she climbed the steps to her apartment – and the sound of a phone ringing.
‘Hold on!’ As if the phone would understand. ‘I’m coming!’ She dropped her bag and tore up the stairs, just in time to pick up to dead air. Was she still getting those calls, or had she just missed someone? She looked hopefully over to her blinking message light.
‘Hey, Suze, where you been?’ Two of the calls had been from Suze, one from Lucy, none from Luke. Dulcie had called her room-mate back first, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’ She heard the peevishness in her voice, but couldn’t do much to stop it.
‘Things have been, well, interesting,’ her old friend had replied. ‘There’s a lot going on.’ That was uncharacteristically vague for Suze. Dulcie waited, not wanting to interrupt. She and Suze had been friends for long enough for them to know each other’s rhythms. But instead of continuing, Suze countered with her own question. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘The drama never stops here in the People’s Republic of Cambridge.’ Dulcie tried to make her voice light. She didn’t want to start distrusting her best friend. Not now. ‘And Lucy’s left a message, too. So I’m sure the spirit world is somehow involved.’
‘No doubt.’ Suze had been blessed by one of Lucy’s readings. ‘But what’s the new drama?’
Dulcie paused. She hated wondering, even for a moment, if something was going on with Suze. It was at times like this when Dulcie really missed Mr Grey. He couldn’t contribute much in the way of advice, but just his being there – the solid, warm bulk of him – had been a comfort. Without him, Dulcie feared she was turning into a weepy, whiney mess.
‘Dulce? It’s not more computer problems, is it?’
‘No, not really.’ Her fears were groundless. Suze wouldn’t get involved in something underhanded.
‘I do have your thesis files, now. I’ve put them on a disk, too, for backup.’
‘Thanks, Suze.’ Her friend was a rock. Dulcie had to believe that. ‘Each time I power up, I’m sort of nervous to see what’s going on. But did you hear—’
‘That the university has been hacked? Yeah. And I called it, didn’t I?’
‘You did?’ How did
Suze know what was happening so fast? ‘I remember you talking about the Duke case.’
‘Oh, maybe I was talking to someone else. We were talking about systems security and I said, “You watch: Harvard is next”.’
Systems security? Suze? ‘I didn’t know you spoke computer.’
‘Well, I’ve been chatting with some of the systems guys here. I mean, I’m spending so much time in the computer lab anyway . . .’
‘You are?’ Something was off. ‘Well, maybe Chris stands a chance with you, then.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far!’ Suze sounded like herself again, and true to form, she followed up. ‘So come on, kiddo, what’s going on? I hear something in your voice.’
At times, a friend was as good as a cat. Dulcie lay back on the sofa and brought Suze up to date. From her new workstation at Priority to Luisa’s tumble down the Widener steps and the missing laptop, it all sounded so melodramatic.
‘This is just so crazy, Suze.’ She wound up with the face-off at the University Health Services, and her own rapid retreat. ‘I mean, what if she’s dead? What if someone pushed her? What if someone pushed her because she was going to meet me?’ Dulcie heard her voice start to rise. ‘What if—’
‘Dulcie! Take a breath. Think about it. She fell. She hit her head. When you talked to her she was woozy. Confused. And now they have her upstairs, where maybe she’s still vulnerable. And you go over late, after ten p.m., and you want to go right up. Of course they asked for ID! You could be anyone. You could be going around stealing patients’ wallets or something. I think, well, to be honest, I think you’re overreacting.’
She was about to protest, but something stopped the words. She’d known Suze for years and always looked to her as the voice of reason. ‘Suze?’ Her voice was softer now. ‘Do you think I’m paranoid?’
‘I think you’ve been under a lot of stress.’ Her old friend’s voice was measured. ‘You have a crappy job. You had a crappy room-mate. And then he was murdered and the police called you in for questioning. People are acting all freaked out around you. Someone you know had an accident – an accident, mind you – and now you might lose your job, too. I think it’s enough to unbalance anyone.’
