‘‘The words and and or are very important when you are talking to a computer,’’ said David, ‘‘or a guy, or gal, pretending to be a computer.’’
He left his steak and went to Jonas’ computer and started plugging it in. Diane took one more bite of her salmon and joined him. Gradually the others came over too, all looking over his shoulder. He plugged in a flash drive before he booted up.
The computer came to life with a low whirring sound and the glow of the screen. Other than that, nothing happened. No offers to play chess, no simu lated voice, no ghost.
‘‘Well, damn,’’ said Jin. ‘‘You think it’s me?’’
‘‘Yeah, Jin, it’s you. He doesn’t like you. If you left, he’d come back,’’ said Neva, rolling her eyes.
David started typing, and several windows came up on the screen; one of them showed what looked to Diane like machine language. Presumably David was searching for an errant program. After a few minutes she went back to her food, as did everyone else except Frank. He and David sat, heads together, over the computer, muttering to each other. Diane couldn’t un derstand anything they were saying. She was taking the last bite of her baked sweet potato when she heard the voice.
‘‘Hello, Jonas. How about a nice game of chess?’’
‘‘How very WarGames!’’ cried Jin. He was the first to the computer. ‘‘Yes; say yes.’’
‘‘Jin, will you please contain yourself in some way?’’ said David.
David and Frank watched the split windows as the voice spoke.
‘‘You want to talk to it?’’ said David to Diane.
Diane sat down at the keyboard. This is not Jonas. It is Diane, she typed.
‘‘Hello, Diane. This is a surprise. You are on Jonas’ computer.’’
Yes. You startled Jonas, Diane typed.
‘‘I am sorry. I did not mean to. I just wanted to play chess.’’
Why? Diane typed.
‘‘I know how to play chess and so does he. It is something we have in common,’’ it said.
How do you know Jonas knows how to play chess? Diane typed.
‘‘He has Chessmaster on his computer. I found it,’’ it said. ‘‘Jonas beat Chessmaster twelve times. Do you play chess, Diane?’’
Yes. Jonas and I play often, Diane typed.
‘‘Chess is good,’’ it said.
‘‘This is just so cool,’’ said Jin.
‘‘This is a computer program,’’ said David, looking at Diane. ‘‘It’s not a guy on instant messages.’’
‘‘You are looking at me, Diane,’’ it said. ‘‘I see it.’’
That is David and Frank looking at you, Diane typed.
‘‘Dave and Frank. That is so funny. Do you know how that is funny, Diane?’’ it said.
‘‘Okay, that was just plain weird,’’ said Neva.
Yes. Those are the names of the astronauts in 2001: A Space Odyssey, Diane typed. They talked to HAL, a computer. You are not like HAL, are you?
‘‘No, I am not like HAL,’’ it said. ‘‘HAL is not real.’’
I need to ask you a question. Do you know who killed Jefferies or Peeks? she typed.
‘‘You asked the right question. I will answer you. Yes, I know. Do you?’’ it asked.
No, typed Diane. Will you tell me?
‘‘No. That is not a good thing to talk about,’’ it said. ‘‘I have to go now. I have enjoyed talking with you, Diane, but this conversation can serve no purpose any more,’’ it said, quoting a line from the movie. ‘‘I made a joke. Did you get it? Good-bye.’’
Diane tried several more questions, but she got no response.
‘‘It deleted itself,’’ said David.
‘‘Can you undelete it?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I’ll try, but I think that last message was designed to tell the program the game was over, so to speak,’’ said David.
‘‘I can see I’m going to have to spend more time at the movies,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘Or reading books,’’ he added.
‘‘That was just the coolest thing,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Where did it come from? Did it jump into the system?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Frank. ‘‘That it did. What do you make of it, Diane?’’
‘‘It was a confession,’’ she said.
‘‘I think you’re reading too much into it,’’ said David. ‘‘AI programs can be very convincing, but they aren’t sentient by a long shot.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ said Frank. ‘‘This was aimed at you, Diane. Whoever it was knew you and probably knew you are a science fiction fan.’’
‘‘Perhaps,’’ said Diane, ‘‘but to what purpose?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said David.
‘‘The main purpose of the program was to pass on information,’’ said Frank.
‘‘And then what?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Play chess? I’m not saying the thing is sentient, for heaven’s sake, but I think whoever programmed it is the killer. I think it is one of the hackers and I think they want to confess, but can’t manage to do it in person.’’
No one said anything. Diane took that to mean they disagreed with her.
Diane looked at Frank. ‘‘What do you know of this Black Light?’’ she said. ‘‘Isn’t that who you thought wrote the message inside the computer case?’’
‘‘All I know is a name. He came up in our investiga tion only in passing. Shogun—Malcolm Chen—men tioned him in e-mails in terms that suggested that he thought Black Light was the best hacker. But I have no information on places he might have hacked. If he’s active, then he is good, because he isn’t on any one’s radar.’’
‘‘We can contact some of the people on the list and see if they know him,’’ said Diane.
Frank nodded. ‘‘We can do that tomorrow. I faxed the list to my partner. I’ll call him to see what he’s found out.’’
‘‘I think it’s all but wrapped up,’’ said Jin. ‘‘We have a lot of details to uncover, but I think Diane’s right. The cyberghost did it. It may not be sentient, but the person behind it is.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Now,’’ she said to David, ‘‘do I have a virus in my system?’’
David shook his head. ‘‘I’ll examine the program, but I don’t think so. I think it’s dead now.’’
‘‘You mean we can’t start the whole thing up again if we scan my eye?’’ said Diane.
‘‘No,’’ said David. ‘‘I think it was programmed to know when it was done.’’
‘‘Why did it escape from Jefferies’ the museum system?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said David.
‘‘It wasn’t finished delivering the Neva. ‘‘It’s kind of like an angel.’’
‘‘Angel?’’ said Izzy. ‘‘How’s that?’’
‘‘They’re messengers,’’ said Neva. ‘‘Not all messages are good. This was a messenger from it’s creator— Black Light, or whoever.’’
computer into
message,’’ said
Frank built a fire, and he and Diane sat in front of it and watched the flames. Earlier, Frank had called his partner and the two of them discussed everything they knew about Black Light, which took about five minutes. They didn’t really know if he existed or was a fantasy made up by a few hackers. Frank decided they should contact all the hackers who had men tioned Black Light in their correspondence. That would be the best bet. He was thinking the cyberghost would be one of them.
‘‘I’ll contact the university too,’’ said Frank. ‘‘ACM may know something. They deal with a lot of gifted computer programmers.’’
Diane nodded. Then her eyes got wide and she sat up and looked at Frank.
‘‘What?’’ he said.
‘‘HAL. Did you know, if you advance one letter in the alphabet, HAL turns into IBM? Arthur C. Clarke said it was unintentional, but it’s kind of cool.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ said Frank. ‘‘It’s cool. So .
. . why did that make you suddenly sit up and take notice?’’
‘‘If you do the same to Black Light, BL, you get CM,’’ she said. ‘‘I know who Black Light is.’’
Chapter 49
‘‘Who is CM?’’ asked Frank. ‘‘I don’t remember a mention of a CM.’’
‘‘Because, like your Black Light, he is completely under the radar. He’s a student in Advanced Compu tational Methods, he quit his job at a bank right after the murders of Jefferies and Peeks, and he took a photograph of me just a few days ago with his digital camera. His name is Caleb Miller and he is a great kid who loves his brother, does well in school, and— I hope I’m wrong.’’
‘‘I haven’t heard the name,’’ said Frank, as if that was in Caleb’s favor. ‘‘Malcolm Chen’s initials are CM backwards, as in Chen, Malcolm. I don’t know if that mean’s anything, but there it is.’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘And he was a hacker. But was he a programmer? Aren’t there different levels of skill among hackers?’’ she asked. ‘‘And he has been dead for a couple of months.’’
‘‘There are levels, and programmers are the top of the hacker pyramid in many cases, but the levels are very blurred. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if Chen was a programmer. And yes, he’s been dead for months, but his program—if it is his program—could remain active years after his death.’’
‘‘We still have the same problem: Why contact me? At the time of his death, Chen wouldn’t have any idea that I would be back in charge of the crime lab. Caleb would know that I am,’’ said Diane.
She looked at her watch. It was a little after ten p.m. ‘‘We have to go see him,’’ she said.
‘‘Do you know where he lives?’’ said Frank. ‘‘We’ll have to ask Janice to go with us.’’
‘‘He’s not in her jurisdiction,’’ she said.
Diane called Sheriff Bruce Canfield and gave him a brief summary of why she needed to talk with Caleb.
‘‘I know Caleb is involved in computers, but I find it hard to believe he would be mixed up in this,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘He’s a nice young man. He’s never given his grandparents a minute’s trouble. Neither of the boys have.’’
‘‘From the brief times I met with him, I found him to be a great kid too,’’ said Diane, ‘‘but I would like to speak with him just the same.’’
‘‘Can’t this wait until tomorrow? It’s mighty late. The Wilsons are farmers,’’ he said. ‘‘They go to bed early and get up early.’’
‘‘It would be good if we could get this done soon,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘I just remem bered. My cousin does some of Arlen’s chores when he has to be out of town, and he mentioned something about Arlen going into Atlanta with the family to visit the boys’ Miller kin. He said they would be back late. We may catch them up. Meet me at my office and I’ll drive you out there. But I have to tell you, I think this is thin.’’
‘‘I agree that it is not conclusive,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But Caleb may know some of the people we’re interested in because of the classes he takes at the university. He may be able to help us with the program that was on Jefferies’ computer if we describe it to him.’’
‘‘All this computer stuff is just so much Greek to me. I’ll see you at my office. I’m driving my pickup. It’s a big silver Super Duty. I’ll be out front. Are you bringing Rosewood detectives?’’
‘‘No. Frank will be with me,’’ said Diane.
‘‘That’s okay then. I don’t want Rosewood thinking they can cross the city limits anytime they want.’’
Frank drove out to the Rose County Sheriff’s Of fice. Bruce Canfield was waiting for them when they drove up, standing by his silver truck dressed not in his uniform, but in jeans, a flannel shirt, and an open fleece-lined denim jacket.
He and Frank shook hands and they climbed into the cab of the truck. Diane sat between them.
‘‘Buckle up. I didn’t call to tell them we’re coming, just in case you’re right and he is involved in this somehow. But I’ll be real surprised if he is.’’
‘‘Me too,’’ said Diane, fastening her seat belt. ‘‘By the way, we found out Bryce had a man named Curtis Crabtree throw your bones in the river.’’
‘‘That son of a bitch threw them in the river? I ought to make him wade out until he finds them.’’
As the sheriff drove out to
Diane and Frank gave him a
events. The sheriff whistled.
Arlen Wilson’s farm, rundown on current
‘‘If that’s not just the worst bunch of . . .’’ Words seemed to fail him. ‘‘You’re telling me they were plan ning on killing you and Mrs. Van Ross? What is Rose wood coming to? When that Jefferies was running for mayor, I didn’t like him one bit. Too slick. But of course it didn’t matter, since I wasn’t voting in that election. The wife said he couldn’t be trusted. She saw his picture in the paper with the governor a lot. Said she didn’t like his face. ’Course, the wife doesn’t like any politicians. I wasn’t fond of Mayor Sutton, but he’s a damn sight better than Jefferies was. You peo ple sure know how to pick ’em. Now, I’ve heard peo ple say some real nice things about Edward Van Ross. That family’s been around here a long time. I know a lot of people would like to see him run in the special election. You think he will?’’
Diane liked Canfield, but he surely was a talker. ‘‘I don’t know,’’ she said. ‘‘Sutton wanted to know the same thing when I spoke with him.’’
The sheriff laughed out loud. ‘‘I’ll bet he did. So let me get this straight. Jefferies was running some kind of cybergang that stole peoples’ identities—like run ning up their credit cards and stuff like that?’’
‘‘Or borrowing money from a mortgage company using a victim’s house as collateral, then pocketing the money and defaulting on the loan,’’ said Frank. ‘‘They also apply for new credit cards with a stolen identity and register a change of address for the victim. That way, the bills never reach the victim and he never even knows what has happened until thousands of dol lars in charges have been rung up. They have a thou sand different ways to steal money from you if they have the right information,’’ said Frank.
‘‘That just boggles the mind. I guess you get a lot of that kind of thing in Atlanta.’’ Canfield said Atlanta the same way he would have said Sodom or Gomorrah.
‘‘We do. But it’s everywhere. I imagine you get a lot here in the county, but most of the time people don’t report it. They just try to settle it with the card companies. It takes a couple of years on the average for a person to get their credit straightened out.’’
Canfield turned off the highway onto a dirt road. It was in good condition but still a little rough for Diane. There weren’t many houses in the area—mostly farms. It was beautiful in the daylight, but all that was visible in the dark was the road ahead, running between farm fences, patches of woods, and an occasional pair of animal eyes shining back from the darkness. The sher iff turned down another dirt road, and Diane thought she saw a mailbox at the intersection with the name Wilson on it, but she wasn’t sure. He drove another half mile or so until he came to a white one-story farmhouse. In the truck’s headlights she could see a red barn about a hundred feet from the house.
There were lights on inside the house and a car and two pickup trucks were parked in the drive. They got out of the sheriff’s truck and walked up to the house. The sheriff knocked, and Diane heard footsteps com ing to the door. It was opened by a woman whom Diane assumed to be Mrs. Wilson.
An electric shock ran through Diane. Not even thinking, her heart pounding, she sucked in her breath, readying herself to jump out of danger. It was the kind of autonomic fear response that comes from step ping on a snake.
But it was not a snake. There was no place to jump. It was a man standing in the shadow behind the open door. He was pointing a gun straight at Diane.
In the same instant she saw him, Di
ane realized that one of the pickup trucks in the driveway was a dark Ford Ranger—just like the perp had used at the mu seum. The one that had tried to run her down.
Chapter 50
It was the gun that Diane’s eyes froze on. A big, highcaliber silver and black thing, one that would make a big entry hole and an even bigger exit hole. Her gaze shifted to the face of the man holding the gun. It was Curtis Crabtree. She glanced at his left hand, the one not holding the gun. It was wrapped in a bandage meant to immobilize the thumb. He probably had a bite mark on his ankle.
Frank was just behind Diane. He had a hand on her upper arm, holding her tight in his grip. The three of them were stuck on the porch in the open doorway. No way to flee, not wanting to enter the house.
‘‘Well, I’ll be damned,’’ said Curtis. ‘‘Aren’t we in luck? Just the person we needed to see. Gage, when the boy gets here we’ll have everything we need.’’
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