by David Hosp
Killkenny stares at us, still angry. Eventually, though, his curiosity overcomes his annoyance. ‘So, who is it?’
‘The LifeScenes were created on a system laptop that is assigned to Dr Santar Gunta,’ Yvette says.
Killkenny smiles. ‘You see? I told you that guy was hiding something. I fuckin’ knew it.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Now we know it. So what do we do about it?’
Killkenny loses his smile. ‘I’ll tell you what we do about it; we take the asshole down.’
‘Quietly,’ I respond.
‘What?’
‘We take him down quietly. We had a deal; you’re not looking to embarrass the company, remember?’
‘Fuck that!’ Killkenny says. ‘I’m going in with a fuckin’ SWAT team if I can get authorization.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘You really want to protect this guy?’
‘If I wanted to protect this guy, I wouldn’t have brought this to you.’ I look at Yvette. ‘We wouldn’t have brought this to you. Neither of us has any interest in protecting Gunta. But I do have an interest in protecting the company. I also have an interest in knowing whether anyone else at the company had any idea this was going on.’
That suggestion stops Killkenny in his tracks. ‘You think that’s a possibility?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘All I know is that if you go in with automatic weapons and haul him out in handcuffs in front of everyone, anyone who might know something is gonna disappear. If you take him quietly and interrogate him, you may get more than you expect.’
He considers this. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘How do you want to do it?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We arrive at NextLife’s headquarters at a little after one o’clock. Killkenny brings two uniformed officers with him, and I install the three of them in a conference room on the third floor, near the Human Resources offices. I tell no one what is going on, and I leave Yvette with the police and head to the lab.
‘He runs, I’ll shoot him,’ Killkenny says to me as I head out the door. ‘Then I’ll shoot you.’
‘This will work,’ I assure him. ‘If I get any sense that he’s not cooperating, I’ll phone you immediately. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.’
I go up to the lab and step inside. Gunta’s there, at his raised desk, his nose nearly pressed against one of the gigantic computer screens, scrutinizing some line of code or obscure algorithm. His chief assistant programmer, Michael, is standing next to him. They seem to be discussing a programming problem. I walk over to him. ‘Hey, Doc,’ I say.
He looks up, but only for a split second before his attention returns to his computer screen. ‘Hello, Nick,’ he says. Michael continues to regard me with hostility. ‘Are you here for more mischief?’
‘Trying to prevent any more mischief, actually.’ He tears his eyes away from his work and looks at me again. ‘We need to talk again,’ I say. ‘Not here; someplace quieter.’
I get the feeling that he’s thinking about telling me to fuck off, but he sees the seriousness in my expression and I think he understands that I’m not going away. ‘My office?’
I shake my head. ‘Not here. I’ve got a conference room down on the third floor. We can talk there.’
‘Why not here?’ I can hear the tension in his voice.
‘You don’t want to do this in front of the people who work with you. It may be a long conversation.’
He’s looking at me the way a poker player evaluates an opponent who has just raised the pot, trying to figure out what I’ve got in my hand. It takes a moment, but eventually he folds. ‘Michael, why don’t you print this out and bring it down to the conference room? We can figure it out then.’
‘Very well, Doctor,’ Michael says. He’s never taken his eyes off me, and I get the distinct feeling that, if he had the resources, he would try to do me serious harm. It’s clear how loyal he is to the doctor.
Gunta gets out of his chair and steps down off the raised platform. He and I walk out of the lab and over to the elevators. As we stand there, waiting for the doors to open, he says, ‘What’s this about now?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Those girls?’
The elevator doors open.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Those girls.’ I feel like punching him as we get in the elevator.
‘Has there been another killing?’ The question strikes me as odd. After all, he should know whether there has been another killing. My blood goes cold as it occurs to me that he may have killed more, and he is just waiting for us to find the bodies.
‘Not that we are aware of,’ I say. I watch his reaction, and he seems genuinely relieved.
We get out of the elevator at the third floor and walk over to the conference room. I open the door and step back to let Gunta in first. He takes a step in before he sees Killkenny and the two other cops. Yvette is sitting on a chair at the far end of the room. Gunta stops, and I feel his momentum shift backwards, almost as though he’s going to duck out of the room and make a run for it. I’ve positioned myself behind him, though, and I give his back a soft push. There is little resistance; I think he knows running would be futile at this point anyway.
‘Detective,’ Gunta says quietly. ‘How good to see you again. And you’ve brought friends,’ he nods to the two men in uniform. ‘How nice.’
‘Dr Gunta,’ Killkenny says. ‘We need to talk to you again, I’m sorry for any inconvenience. We just have a few questions that have come up, which you may be able to help us with.’
‘No inconvenience at all.’ He sits down. ‘Fire away.’
The mock civility between the two of them is fascinating to watch – the homicide detective and the murderer, playing out a chess match, each trying to get into the other’s head; each waiting for the other to show his strategy, to make a mistake.
Killkenny takes out a sheet of paper. ‘This is a list of all the computers owned by NextLife and given to employees for their use,’ he begins. He puts it on the conference table before Gunta. ‘If you look midway down the page, you’ll see there was an HP notebook that was given to you a year and a half ago.’
Gunta glances at the list, but I don’t have the impression he’s examined it closely enough to have actually seen the entry. ‘That appears to be correct,’ Gunta says.
‘Do you know where that computer is?’
Gunta shakes his head. ‘I don’t.’
‘You don’t?’ Killkenny looks at me. He wasn’t expecting this answer.
‘It was lost shortly after I received it,’ Gunta says calmly.
Killkenny now glances back and forth between me and Yvette. Neither of us can give him any help. ‘Did you report it lost to anyone at the company?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Gunta says.
‘Why not?’
‘I was embarrassed at having been so irresponsible. I was planning on simply replacing the machine myself, but I must have forgotten.’ He looks at me. ‘Nick, what is this all about?’
I say nothing, and Killkenny pulls out the printouts Yvette has prepared for him. ‘The person who has been killing these girls has been practicing the murders on the NextLife platform before he actually does the murders,’ he says. ‘He goes by the name De Sade. Does that mean anything to you, Doc?’
Gunta is visibly shaken for the first time. His head drops and he says, ‘No’ so quietly I can barely hear it. It comes out less like an answer to the question and more like a lament.
‘What was that, Doc?’ Killkenny asks, pleased that he’s finally made a dent in the doctor’s facade.
Gunta picks his head up. ‘No,’ he says more clearly. ‘It means nothing to me.’
‘Really? Can you explain why the company’s server records show that the LifeScenes where this man, De Sade, practiced these murders were created on the computer that the company gave to you?’
His face drains of blood. ‘It’s not possible!’ he says indignantly.
‘Why?’ Killkenny asks, laughing. ‘Because you used a fragging program to destroy any traces?’ Gunta says nothing. ‘Fortunately, others at the company are even better with computers than you are.’ He nods at Yvette, and Gunta looks over at her. For a moment it seems like he’s almost giving her a grudging look of respect. ‘Well, Doc?’ Killkenny says. ‘Do you have anything to say to all of that?’
Gunta starts to open his mouth, then stops. ‘I think I would prefer to talk to a lawyer, Detective.’
Killkenny nods. ‘I expected that. We’ll take you down to the station house and get you booked. Then you can call all the lawyers you want. You’re going to need them.’
As agreed, we take Gunta out the back, where Killkenny and his boys have parked their cars. We walk out of the conference room, Gunta’s hands cuffed behind his back, a jacket thrown over them to make the scene less conspicuous – as though a man walking with his hands behind his back, flanked by two uniformed cops, could ever be inconspicuous. It’s the best Killkenny is willing to offer, though, and I can understand it. Gunta is, after all, a murder suspect.
We’re coming out of the conference room when we run into Michael, carrying a set of printouts. He looks at the two police officers holding Gunta by the elbows. ‘What is going on here?’ he demands.
‘Don’t worry, Michael,’ Gunta says before anyone else can speak. ‘It’s all a misunderstanding.’
‘You can’t take him!’ Michael protests. He drops his papers and gets in front of the group. ‘You can’t!’
‘Get out of the way,’ Killkenny says sharply. ‘Or we’ll make room in the cells for you.’
‘Please, Michael,’ Gunta says. ‘Don’t get involved. I will be fine.’
The younger man nods and backs off. As we pass by, he gives me a venomous look. ‘You have no right,’ he says quietly. ‘You have no right.’
I ignore him and continue on with the group.
The parking lot out back is empty, and we hurry Gunta across the tarmac toward the awaiting squad car. For just a moment I think that we’ve gotten through the ordeal without any additional drama, but just as one of the cops pushes Gunta’s head down to avoid him hitting it as he slides him into the back seat, the back door to the building opens and Josh Pinkerton hurries out, with Tom Jackson chasing after him.
‘Nick!’ Pinkerton shouts. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Josh, come back,’ Tom is pleading.
Killkenny steps up and holds his badge up. ‘We’re the police,’ he says.
‘No shit,’ Pinkerton says. He’s in a rage. ‘I can fuckin’ read!’ he shouts, pointing at the lettering on the squad car. ‘What the fuck are you doing to Dr Gunta?’
‘We’re arresting him,’ Killkenny says.
‘What for?’
‘That’s police business.’
‘Nick!’ Pinkerton shouts at me. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
Killkenny shoots a look at me. ‘Keep your mouth shut, Nick!’ He turns back to Pinkerton. ‘This is a murder investigation, sir. I can’t share any additional information with you at this time, is that clear?’
‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’ Pinkerton shouts at Killkenny. I know that’s a bad move by Josh. Killkenny isn’t the type to back down when challenged. If anything, questioning his authority only hardens his resolve.
‘Josh,’ I say, ‘You need to go back inside. I’ll explain this all to you later.’
‘The hell you will,’ Killkenny says.
‘Tell me what’s going on, Nick,’ Pinkerton demands again. ‘Don’t worry about this asshole. I own people like him.’
Tom Jackson looks like he’s going to have a stroke. ‘Josh! We need to go inside!’
Killkenny takes a step toward Pinkerton. ‘Let me tell you exactly who I think I’m talking to,’ he says. ‘I think I’m talking to an asshole who doesn’t understand that money doesn’t always buy you out of a jam. I think I’m talking to a guy who doesn’t know what is good for him. And I think I’m talking to a guy who’s about three seconds from landing in jail for the night, on a charge of obstruction of justice.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Try me.’
Tom Jackson is pulling at Pinkerton’s arm, trying to get him back into the building. Josh allows himself to be pulled for a few steps, and Killkenny starts heading back to his car. Suddenly, though, Pinkerton pulls out of Tom’s grip and squares himself at a distance from Killkenny. ‘You have no idea what real power is!’ he screams. ‘You can’t even conceive of the kind of power that someone like me has. You’ll never understand the kind of power I have over others. Never!’
It comes out as a bit of an irrational screed, and Killkenny looks over to me with an expression of disbelief.
‘It’s not worth it,’ I say to him. ‘You clear out, we’ll catch up with you.’
Killkenny pulls out in his SS, the squad car following him. I’m left in the parking lot standing next to Yvette. Josh and Tom are standing about ten yards away. Pinkerton postures defiantly as he watches the cars pull away. Once they’ve gone, he looks at me and points his finger in my direction. ‘This is your fault!’ he yells. ‘I trusted you, and you do this to the company?’ He lets his hand drop. ‘You’ve made a bad mistake, Nick.’ He stares at me for another moment, and then turns and heads back into the building.
Tom is standing there, a look of disbelief on his face. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he says to me. ‘He’ll calm down. He’ll realize it’s not your fault, eventually,’ he assures me. ‘He’ll forgive you. It’ll just take time.’
He walks back toward the door.
‘You think Pinkerton will understand in time?’ I ask Yvette.
She tilts her head to the side to look up at me. ‘I don’t think there’s enough time left in the universe for Pinkerton to forgive you,’ she says.
‘Thanks, that’s helpful.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think anyone can help you at this point.’
I drive Yvette back to the bunker in Cambridge. I’m half expecting to be met by security guards at the door, carrying a cardboard box full of my personal possessions. I wonder whether they will pick me up and physically throw me out of the building, just for effect.
Everything is quiet when we arrive, though. The floor is busy, with more than seventy GhostWalkers filling up their time cards, oblivious to the controversy that’s swirling around the company. Yvette and I make our way around the workstations, back to my office.
‘What now?’ she asks.
‘Now, we let the police do their job. We go back to doing our job.’
‘I’m not sure I can just go back to what I was doing. It feels . . . ’ She’s searching for the words. ‘It feels wrong.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in traditional notions of morality.’
‘I don’t,’ she says. ‘I believe in personal morality.’
‘For all we know, so does Dr Gunta.’
‘Yeah, well, his morality is fucked-up. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do about people like that. And they exist in all religions and all moral traditions.’ She sighs heavily. ‘I don’t feel like doing any work at the moment. You want to go grab a bite at the Diner?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Just give me a minute. I need to make a call.’
‘Who are you gonna call?’
‘I’ve just gotta . . . ’
‘Her. You’re gonna call her.’
I’m sitting at my desk, and I pick up a pen and drag it along a piece of paper, trying to decide whether to lie. I know it’s pointless, though. ‘I just want to tell her that they’ve made an arrest.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she knows she was a potential victim. Wouldn’t you want to know?’
‘Yeah,’ Yvette concedes. ‘Okay, I’ll go over and get us a table.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll just be a minute.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, I’m sure.’
The phone rings four times before she picks up. ‘Hello?’
‘Is this Kendra?’
‘Yes. Who’s this?’
‘It’s Nick.’ It’s quiet on the line. ‘Nick Caldwell.’
‘I know which Nick it is,’ she says. I can’t tell whether there’s anger in the tone or just disappointment.
‘Did you make it home okay last night?’
‘You mean did I make it home alone last night?’
‘I didn’t ask that. It’s not any of my business.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Now I can hear the anger. But there’s something else there, too. Desire, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the need to take on the challenge of rejection. ‘I got home just fine. How about you?’
My heart is beating hard, and my ribs are giving me a constant reminder of my experience the night before. It occurs to me that I’m potentially risking my life just by having this conversation. Somehow that doesn’t bother me. ‘I made it home fine, too,’ I say.
‘Good.’ She pauses, and then changes her tone. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I just felt lonely.’
‘It happens to all of us,’ I say. I want to tell her how much I want her – how much I need her – but I can’t. The desire is so strong it feels pathological.
‘I shouldn’t have put all that on you.’ My mouth is moving, trying to respond, but no sound is coming out. ‘Why did you call?’
‘I just wanted to let you know that they made an arrest this morning in the murders we spoke about. I thought you’d feel better knowing.’
‘They arrested Josh?’ She sounds almost ecstatic.
‘No,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t look like it was Josh after all.’
‘Who did they arrest then?’ The ecstasy has turned to doubt.
‘They haven’t made an announcement, but it was Santar Gunta.’ She says nothing. ‘Are you still there? Did you hear what I sai—’
‘They’re wrong,’ she says emphatically.
‘What?’
‘They’re wrong,’ she says again. ‘It’s not Gunta. I’m sure of it. I spent enough time around him to know what he’s capable of, and what he’s not. He’s not capable of this. He’s too much of a coward.’
