“I’ve talked to Wilhelm,” I told her. “He says there was a lot of horse trading happening on the upper level,” I said, being deliberately obscure about MacroWare. “What did they offer you to do what?”
Michael was instantly back in the hall to listen. “What upper level?”
Maggie just shook her head. “None of this has anything to do with what happened that night. This is a nice place and all, but I know it’s only temporary. I need the new place and don’t want to lose it.”
“Even if you have information that could expose a killer? Hilda Stark died today. Kita died to cover up what he knew. Isn’t it better to have the information out there so there is no point in killers stalking you?”
“We don’t know those are killers in that sedan,” she said angrily, gesturing at the window. “It could just be some drunk who fell asleep at the wheel.”
Still keeping an eye on the Rolls, Nick looked up. “Cops just busted the guy by the mailbox. The sedan is skedaddling.”
Michael rolled back to the window to savor the action—or verify it. “Cool. The cops are undercover! They’ve got dashboard lights. They’re chasing after the sedan! Did you do that?”
“Our little brother did that,” I said scornfully. “Kid stuff and temporary. They now know the street is protected and will back off to regroup. We’ve got to fry the big fish before they return.”
Maggie and I both knew that driving off one black sedan was meaningless, but maybe the cops convinced her that we were the good guys. She caved, anyway.
“The only thing I’ve done that involved that night was to keep my promise to Adolph not to mention Wilhelm to anyone—until you blew up the hotel ballroom. I accidentally learned that Wilhelm is an illegal a week before the conference. I understood them wanting to keep it secret. We do that all the time. It seemed simple enough at first. Adolph had me tell anyone who asked that Wilhelm was a new hire from our sister hotel in Germany. He gave me a bonus for my help that I really needed to pay the credit cards.”
She hesitated, then continued. “But then those VIPs died . . . and I knew Wilhelm had prepared their vegetable risotto. At first, we all figured it was the soup that made them sick, so I wasn’t too concerned. But the health department started asking more questions, and then the cops. I told Adolph I didn’t know if I could lie anymore. He said Wilhelm was related to one of the men who died, and he would have done nothing to hurt them. I wanted to believe him. I mean, Adolph is a pretty big deal. He actually knows execs at MacroWare. That’s one of the reasons the hotel got the conference.”
I bit my tongue and let her babble. Sometimes, that worked better than leading the conversation.
Maggie continued reluctantly, “Adolph said he’d talk to Wilhelm’s family about my concerns. The next I knew, he said the family understood and were grateful for my cooperation. They’d heard Mikey had been having problems at school, and they wanted me to have a new apartment. They made the deposit on one in a great neighborhood. What was I supposed to do, tell them they were full of shit?”
“But then you told an entire room full of people that Wilhelm had been there that night and Adolph hasn’t fired you. So what are you afraid of now?” I waited expectantly. So did Michael.
Maggie sighed. “If Wilhelm isn’t the problem and they really meant to help me, then...” She hesitated and stroked Michael’s hair. “I don’t want to say anything that might endanger Michael. Adolph has done nothing but help me. But Kita died. That must be related to the fish soup, not Wilhelm. What I saw... was nothing. I’m just afraid that if the cops start questioning me...” She glanced worriedly in the direction of the windows and sighed. “The cops won’t care if the killers think I know more than I do.”
Finally, we were getting somewhere. I held up my hands in innocence. “Yes, I’m on the side of the cops. No, I’m not one and don’t have to tell them anything. But even though you didn’t tell them about Wilhelm, we still knew about him. You have choices—tell the cops whatever you’re hiding is one choice. Or you can tell me and hope I’ll find the killer first, before the cops learn you’re withholding information. Or third, you can sit here like a duck in hunting season.”
She tugged her robe tighter and caved. “Maybe the police already know and this is nothing, but it’s the only other thing I can think of that’s of importance. I saw one of the men at the table produce a salt shaker from his pocket. When I served the soup, I overheard him say that it enhanced some chemical in the puffer fish. I got the impression it would make them high or . . .” She glanced at Michael, then shrugged. “Increase their potency.”
Puffer fish toxins were claimed to produce an artificial high and enhance sexual potency.
They’d poisoned themselves?
Twenty
Nick and I exchanged glances. Given what I’d read about voodoo rituals and blowfish, I was pretty certain the fish toxin could be powdered and added to a salt shaker. That would explain the presence of tetrodotoxin, and exonerate Kita’s soup.
The real poison had been botulism. Could that be powdered?
Nick shrugged. He didn’t know either.
I pressed Maggie harder. “Which man? And did anyone else know this?”
“One man in a suit is just like another,” she said angrily. “I thought they were being juvenile. Here they were, filthy rich men with the world at their feet, and they needed drugs to get through a gourmet meal. The cost of their dinners alone would have bought a chair for Michael.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I retorted. “But Stiles was known for feeding the poor in Africa and looking for cures for cancer. For all I know, the others contributed to those funds, too. None of them deserved to be poisoned. If one of those rich men killed the others, we need to stop him from killing again. Think! What did he look like?”
Maggie rubbed her forehead. “He was the one wearing nerdy glasses, I think. When the health department arrived after the food poisoning report, I warned Adolph about the shaker. He said he’d handle it, and I shouldn’t tell anyone else or the cops might start questioning our illegals. That was before anyone knew about Kita and Wilhelm. He thanked me for my help. Since the salt shaker should prove they’d poisoned themselves, I figured it would get his kitchen off the hook. I assumed he would pass on the information. I was hoping that would mean another bonus next year, or at least a raise.” She glared at her son. “I do not deal drugs. I just don’t tell secrets out of school—until now, and I expect you to keep them too. I want to keep my job.”
The kid looked embarrassed enough to retaliate by saying something he shouldn’t. I stepped in before he could. “As far as I’m aware, that information has not been given to the police. Do you have any idea what happened to the salt shaker?”
Maggie grimaced. “It was still on the table when I carried off their soup bowls and entrée dishes. I didn’t do the final clean-up.”
Which meant someone had confiscated the shaker before the men went to the hospital, or it would have still been in their pockets or in their rooms for the cops to find. Adolph might be playing nicey-nice, but he was hip deep in shit. Just knowing about that shaker—even if all it had done was get them high or numb their taste buds—put Maggie’s job and her life in jeopardy. She was smart enough to figure that out on her own.
Now I really had to worry about the men we’d seen lurking outside. They could be reporting to whom Maggie talked. Still, so far, all Adolph and company had done was pay Maggie for her cooperation. And maybe watch to see that she didn’t talk to cops.
If Kita had called the cops—that had probably been the trigger that got him killed. It was beginning to look like that in MacroWare World, one got rewarded for loyalty, and eliminated for being a snitch.
“We appreciate your help,” I said, as if I wasn’t jittery over Adolph’s role. “Detective Azzini says you’ve chosen a chair, and I’ve ordered it. It should be here by next week. I think you ought to tell the detective about the salt shaker, but that’s your decision
. I won’t tell him.”
I gestured at the house alarm. “Nick, show them how to set the system, so we can all get some sleep tonight.”
Nick showed both of them how to use his guest codes. I assured Maggie that Adolph couldn’t take back her bonus or take away the apartment if she told the cops what she’d told me. Then we left mother and son to have a good long discussion about ethics and morals—a discussion Nick and I honestly couldn’t participate in.
At least we hadn’t done anything illegal in front of an impressionable kid, other than steal a Phaeton that probably belonged to us.
Nick steered the ancient limo down empty streets, but quiet was not his natural state, no matter how much I longed for it.
“Why would Henry Bates poison himself?” he asked.
So, he’d figured out who the nerd with glasses was. “He wouldn’t,” I concluded. “Bates was an unmarried, aging, techie geek who probably liked getting high or had hopes for the end of the evening. Someone he trusted gave him that shaker.”
There were half a dozen strong contenders for who had given him the poison, if poison it was. I only had motive and opportunity to work with. Unfortunately, real evidence was elusive. Without the shaker, I couldn’t even prove that was the way either of the poisons was administered, much less which one.
“I was thinking it was the salsa that was poisoned,” Nick continued. “Didn’t the one guy scrape it off and come out alive?”
“Yeah, but he may have just not liked salsa. I’m still thinking the canned tomatoes in the risotto or salsa were where the botulism was, but Wilhelm says Adolph prepared the salsa and swears he knows bad tomatoes when he sees them. Unless Adolph provided the salt shaker, too, that would have to mean two killers and no motive for Adolph that I can see. That’s just not adding up.”
If I could draw a circle of evidence around Adolph, I could go in with all guns blazing and maybe pry the answers I needed out of him. But he was a man with a lot of powerful contacts on his side. He couldn’t be intimidated like illegal Wilhelm. I needed proof and officialdom on my side so he couldn’t swat me like a fly.
Crimes worked out so much easier in one of Tudor’s computer video games.
“Are you checking on who the cops arrested in my bushes?” Nick asked, moving on. “Maybe that will tell you who is interested in Maggie.”
“Half the world is interested,” I said in disgruntlement, texting Graham to look into it. As expected, his reply was nasty. Get Your Ass Back to Bed didn’t sound romantic anyway. “For all I know, that was Patra in the bushes. Or Sean. I’m pretty sure Adolph doesn’t command goons in sedans.”
I rummaged in the Phaeton’s stainless steel dash for the garage door opener as we cruised down the street behind the house. We circled the block, just to be certain all our own thugs had gone home. That they were gone proved they were underpaid, overworked cops and not the bad guys.
“They’re after me, Graham, and Tudor,” I reminded Nick. “They think you’re harmless, and they can’t connect a limo with any of us.”
“They being half the world again, right?” He slid the massive car through the carriage doors and into the darkness of our private Bat-garage.
“FBI, cops, and the mafia for all I know. Nothing like having both sides gunning for us.” I pointed at the stout figure stepping out of the shadows at the back of the garage. “And Mallard. I’ll hide in here. You go talk him down.”
I curled up on the lovely leather bench seat and conked out.
***
Ana’s Tuesday Musings
The phone ringing jarred me awake. I bounced my head off the steering wheel, groaned at a crick in my neck, and fumbled about for whatever in heck I’d been hauling around last night that might contain my phone. I found it in the pocket of my army jacket and tried to read the caller information, but my eyes were too blurry, and the car was too dark.
But it was warm. Miraculously, the car was still warm. The garage had heat.
I finally swiped on the phone and grumpily answered, “Yeah.”
“Cops at the door with a search warrant,” Tudor whispered. “They have Graham’s name and know he saw Stiles last. I’m in the stairwell. What now?”
“Join me in the garage, I guess. It’s cozy. Don’t suppose you have any breakfast bars you can bring me?” I rubbed my eyes but I was accustomed to coming alert at a moment’s notice. Cops at the front door meant lots of bad news. I wanted to be fortified before I heard it.
“I should have time to snag something from the kitchen on the way to the cellar,” he whispered. “Mallard is stalling. He had to find his reading glasses to read the warrant, and he left them on the porch.”
I could hear his breath as he hurried down the narrow circular stairs. The kid needed more gym time. “Where’s Nick?” I asked.
“Performing his best barmy drag queen and embarrassing Mallard.”
Nick dresses well, not flashy. He’s not a drag queen by any stretch of the imagination. But like me, he knows how to put on a good act.
“What about EG?” I asked.
“I think she’s already at school.”
I uncrossed my eyes and glanced at my lighted phone screen. It was after eight. EG was good.
“I hope Nick borrowed the robe Patra left behind. That should have their eyes glowing in the dark.” The robe was pink and sheer and floated on feathers. I don’t know where she got it or why but I was relieved she’d left it behind.
Tudor snickered. I could hear him open a cabinet door, presumably in the kitchen. I was trying to stay calm but I was about to crush my phone into toy parts. I needed Graham’s monitors to know if the garage was surrounded.
I bet he had some means of checking. I dragged my weary body out of the Phaeton, found my LED light in another pocket, and began exploring while Tudor whispered his progress. That’s our training—keep everyone aware of where you are at all times if there’s trouble. At least then we know where to find the bodies in the ashes.
By the time Tudor stepped through the tunnel exit into the garage, I’d located the security panel in the back wall. It looked a bit like a basic electric panel with small screens above the switches. I studied the controls and decided they wouldn’t blow up anything before I started flipping them on.
As expected, Graham had hidden cameras focused on every angle of the broken pavement surrounding the garage and a few more on the street. No wonder my grandfather had loved him. They were a paranoid match made in heaven.
“They’re making cops smarter these days,” I muttered, zooming up a monitor to reveal a nondescript sedan on the corner and men crouching in the weeds.
Tudor slumped in despair. “I was getting so close to finding a patch for that spyhole! How can I finish without a computer?” He indicated a leather bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got my hard drive if I can find someplace else to work. What about you?”
Good question. I really hated giving up our protective fortress. This introvert preferred doing her work from an isolated basement, and my grandfather’s mansion was the safe nest I’d never had.
I was getting soft.
With a sigh, I checked the attaché I’d grabbed last night on my way out of the office. Good habits paid off, I noted, discovering the external drive in my cache. “I’m good, but I’d rather not hook these up in public. And we can’t hook them up anywhere until we get past those clowns out there.”
I took the apple and breakfast bar he handed me and munched while I read through the news on my phone. “Any notion what brought them back?”
“They’re running out of suspects, and the FBI really wants to know more about us?” Tudor suggested. “Or they figured out we’re not at MIT.”
“If I could drive, we could take the Phaeton to MIT,” I muttered, wishing the phone worked as fast as my computer. “Or we could send Patra with Michael O’Ryan in our place. Wouldn’t MIT love that?”
I glowered at the phone screen.
“Ugh, no!” he protested, befo
re he realized the real direction of my sarcasm. “What did Patra do?” he asked in resignation, noting the direction of my glare. He’s smart like that. “Let the cat out of the bag, did she?”
“She or Sean got several competent nerds to verify there was a spyhole in the software. Both their names are on the article. Never tell a journalist actual facts,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t think they’d find anyone to corroborate the story. So much for national security. The glory hallelujah politicians are screaming their heads off already. No wonder the cops are at the door. They have to blame someone soon or Congress will have to actually work over the holidays. IT departments around the world are now officially on overtime. I kinda want to be in the White House while they panic and check their computers.”
Tudor snorted and watched the non-action on the street monitors. “If they’d just leave me alone, I could fix it, daft twits.”
“Wouldn’t solve the murder and get Graham off the hook, though. I’m betting we’ve got one day before the Russians and Chinese happily burrow their way into whatever’s left of NSA files and the world market crashes. Your cookie monster problem will be irrelevant. Can you tell if anyone at MacroWare is working on a patch?”
“Mostly, I’m seeing a lot of hash from the top about PR nightmares. Not a lot of action on the program front. I haven’t looked this morning now that the news is out.”
This was Tuesday. We were running out of time and options.
Swallowing hard at the thought of our hard-earned mutual funds reduced to rubble as the internet and the world economy collapsed, I thumbed through my email and found an urgent message from Patra.
Goldrich finances houses for all MW execs, plus Tray, Adolph, and relations. stark’s loan company owns controlling shares
Ding, ding ding—bells and whistles rang, light bulbs flashed, and connections started popping together in my devious brain. I wasn’t exactly sure what I had, but now that I had some evidence of financial shenanigans, I had direction. Maybe I wouldn’t kill my sister after all. She and Sean were proving amazingly resourceful. Since I was spending so much time away from my desk, it was handy to have research back-up.
Cyber Genius Page 18
