by Matt Doyle
“Yes, well, that’s because they’re very careful in how they present their postings. Simply proclaiming something a rumour and leaving a disclaimer that it may not be true is enough to avoid charges in most cases. In others, the postings are so over the top that the idea they could have a measurable impact on the target is itself quite ludicrous. In that situation, the cost of engaging in a legal battle over it would simply not be cost-effective, and I mean that in terms of both the actual monetary cost and the potential damage that you would do yourself by playing into it.”
“Because to openly confront them gives the impression that you’re trying to hide something,” Lori replies. “It’s the same in the general press. A lot of the time, challenging an article just adds fuel to the fire for whatever the original point was.”
“Exactly,” Hollister replies. “This, though, was a little more serious.”
“Serious in what way?” I ask.
“There was a posting where the various staff were given targets, all of which they described as ‘names of a high standing’. The targets were to be ‘pursued voraciously in the interest of uncovering the unsavoury truth of their dealings and to reveal the extent of the damage that they have wrought upon society’. SilverSingsLoudly was given my name.”
“And once you realised this, what did you do?”
“I confronted him with it, of course. I outright accused him of trying to gain employment in order to use his masking tool to dig for dirt and steal confidential information.”
“And he denied this?”
“Not at all, no. He openly admitted that this was what he was doing and that he fully intended to ‘reveal to the world, the evil that I do’.”
“Evil within Hollister and Holtz?”
“Within all my companies, but in particular Shift Source Limited. Hollister and Holtz was merely a way to get his foot in the door.”
I pause, suddenly aware that bringing Lori with me on this one may have been a mistake. I consider whether asking to take a break and sending Lori home would be a good idea at this point, but she speaks before I can.
“Why SSL in particular?” she asks.
Hollister looks at her, the concern on his face confirming my suspicions before he even begins to explain. “He viewed Tech Shifter technology and the popularity of it as an abomination in the eyes of God. I do not know what religion Mr. Redwood followed, but as far as he was concerned, Tech Shifting was simply a perversion of the human form, and all those who used it were weak-minded souls that had made the choice to fall into temptation. Temptation offered by a demon named Dean Hollister.”
“That…that can’t be right…” Lori whispers.
“You remember I said it surprised me that you are Mr. Redwood’s sister? That was not because you are a Tech Shifter. Knowing that of you, and knowing his views on the matter, adds some logic to what he attempted. What surprised me was that you were a Tech Shifter and yet you were pursuing his death because you seem to want some form of justice for him. Can I assume that he never spoke to you about any of this?”
Lori shakes her head. The movement is jerky, and her eyes are wide with shock.
For his part, Hollister looks genuinely remorseful and sympathetic when he says, “Then I am sorry to be the one to tell you this. Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?”
Lori shakes her head again and looks at Hollister with a strange sternness in her expression. “It doesn’t matter what he thought of my life choices, or what he chose to write about online. If he was murdered, I will find out who did it.”
Hollister smiles then, and his face lights up with admiration. “I quite agree, Miss Redwood. Murder is murder, regardless of the victim. That you can set yourself on this path despite today’s revelations is an admirable quality.”
“Mr. Hollister,” I say, trying to draw the attention away from Lori so that she can have a chance to take this all in. “When you confronted Mr. Redwood, was that the final time you met with him?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“And when you discovered that he wrote for the blog site, did you learn of any of the real names of the other contributors?”
“No, though I did mention some of the IP addresses to him. That was more of a way to show that we could delve further into it if he left us in a position where we had to.”
“And would the IP addresses be in the transcripts?”
“The ones that I mentioned, yes, though not all the ones that we traced.”
“Okay,” I say. I reach into my trouser pocket and pull out a small memory stick. I make a real effort to keep at least one with me at all times now, as there have been too many instances where I could have done with one and not had one with me. The Monitoring Office won’t allow me to supply my own, but that’s less because they make a profit on their physical media charges, and more protection against infiltrating software being saved on them. If you believe the conspiracy theorists, hacking that particular mess of systems would make you a Virtual World Deity. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to copy the transcripts now. May I ask, has this meeting been recorded too?”
He nods. “I am afraid so. This is a standard security procedure, however, and one employed in many different areas of business.”
“Oh, I have no problem with it,” I clarify. “I simply thought that it would be useful to have a copy of today’s transcript too if that would be okay?”
“Certainly,” he replies, and starts tapping away on his keyboard. “Is there somewhere in particular that I should send it?”
I pull a business card from my pocket and slide it across the table. “My details are on there.”
“Thank you,” he says, taking the card. He reaches into one of the outside pockets of the suit jacket and pulls out his wallet, places the card inside, and slips it back into the pocket again. “If you’d like to pass the memory stick, I’ll move the files across.”
“It’s locked by my fingerprint, I’m afraid,” I say, showing him the thumb slot at the top of the casing. “I’ll need to unlock it myself.”
“That’s fine,” he replies, standing up. “The connectors are just under the desk, directly below the keyboard. SnapDragon monitors our systems anyway, so I’ll be able to see if you copy anything other than the files from the folder on screen.”
“I’d expect no less,” I reply, walking carefully around the desk. “Out of interest, Mr. Ghoul downstairs said that the plugs my client uses were new three years ago. Is there anything that she should look out for in terms of wear and tear?” Lori glances at me in confusion, and I give her a quick raising of the eyebrows. I just hope she understands that I want her to play along.
Lori blinks and seems to catch my drift, as she says, “Actually, yeah. I try to take care of them with the recommended cleaning and oiling products, but you can never be sure if you’re doing enough.”
“Hmm,” Hollister replies, stroking his chin. “Is your suit animal or hybrid?”
“Animal,” she says. “My worry was that it takes three or four attempts to unlock the front legs these days. I just wasn’t sure if the problem was with the locks or the plug interface.”
“Well, I can certainly check that easily enough,” he says, striding around the desk. “Do you mind if I take a look? If this is a plug problem, it will be the first one on the back of the neck.”
“Sure,” Lori replies, and turns the chair, making sure that Hollister’s back will be to me. Well played, Miss Redwood.
While Hollister occupies himself with Lori, I start the files copying and slide my hand carefully into his jacket pocket. When I take it back out again, his wallet comes with it. Thankfully, it’s a button front, not Velcro, so I manage to open it up and flick to the card section without any noticeable noise. I slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a quick shot of the bank card at the top, then flick through to make sure that there are no others. Luckily, he seems to be the sort who has obeyed the tax office recommendations of holding one account rather than twenty.
Their thinking was publicised as being a way to simplify your tax affairs, but most people took it as them saying ‘please don’t make it more complicated for us to check your figures’. Whatever the reason, his only holding one card here is a good sign. I get the wallet shut and back in the pocket just as he finishes his check of Lori’s plugs.
“There aren’t any obvious physical faults here,” he says. “And usually, an internal fault results in the physical plug getting burnt too. How long have you had the issue?”
“A few months,” Lori replies.
“In that case, I would think that the issue is with the locking mechanism on the suit. What sort of animal is it?”
“A panther. I went for the black colouring, if that helps?”
“Ah, she sounds beautiful. I always did like the big cat designs. Unfortunately, the locking issue is quite common in them. I tell you what. I do feel bad for the pain you’ve gone through, especially that which I have added. As a one-off, I would be happy to provide a full maintenance check for you and your suit, free of charge, with our head tech team.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I will have to decline for now, though, at least until I know whether you did have anything to do with Eddie’s death.”
Hollister smiles kindly and replies, “I understand. The offer will remain open indefinitely.”
Lori nods and looks to me. I pull the memory stick from the connection point, and stand up. “Well, that’s it. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hollister. It’s been a useful experience.”
“No, no,” he replies, his voice the definition of affability. “Thank you for taking the time to listen to my side of things. It is a weight off my shoulders to know that things are in hand and that I don’t have to feel like I’m hiding anything anymore. For what it’s worth, I was genuinely impressed with Mr. Redwood’s skill, and was sad to see things end the way they did. Even if he hadn’t died, it was such a waste of a brilliant mind. If he was murdered, I truly hope that you catch the person responsible.”
“As do we,” I reply. “If you remember anything that may be of use, please do get in touch. And in the meantime, if we have any more questions, will you be fine for us to contact you again?”
“I will, and of course.”
“Oh, one more thing,” I add. “Mr. Ghoul pointed out that you have some e-fax machines. It’s cheeky to ask, but would you object if I used one quickly? An associate of mine has been out of town questioning another person of interest for the case, and said that he had a summary of his interview for me. Rather than wait to meet up, would you possibly consent to allowing him to send it here for me?”
“Of course,” he replies. “I shall let Mr. Ghoul know to let you have access to the comms rooms.”
We all repeat our thank-yous and shake hands like we’ve just closed a business deal, and both Lori and I make our way back to the elevator. Once we’re safely inside, I pull out my phone and type out a quick message: The elevator is probably full of recording devices too, so don’t speak. What I’m about to do is slightly illegal. I need you to head down to the car and leave this one to me.
I hold the phone out to Lori. She reads the message and nods.
Once we come out on the next floor down, Mr. Ghoul is already waiting for us. He shows me to the comms area and, at my request, the toilets, then escorts Lori back towards the elevator at the other end of the room, temporarily leaving a colleague, Mr. Mackintosh, to wait with me.
Twenty-One
THE E-FAX MACHINE is across the hall and around the corner from the toilets, and is not only so bulky that you can’t miss it, it also has a convenient laminated sheet of paper stuck to the wall above it, confirming the number for incoming messages. I take note of that by setting it as the filename for the photo of Hollister’s bank card, and explain to the almost annoyingly cheery Mr. Mackintosh that I’ll give my colleague a call while I freshen up and have him send the files over. I ask if, just in case they come while I’m still finishing up, Mr. Mackintosh would be willing to wait by the machine for me, and he’s more than happy to oblige. I’d say that security here was lax, but in all honesty, there’s very little obvious damage that I could do where I’m going. The company won’t have done anything stupid like put the main servers in the ladies’ washrooms, and to get back to the main office, I would have to pass by the comms rooms anyway.
With my office shadow happily seconded to the role of what is essentially “mail duty for a visitor”, I push open the washroom door and walk inside. Dean Hollister giving every impression of being the law-abiding sort, I’m not surprised to find the “cleaning in progress” stands tucked neatly in the corner of the spacious room. Is he really as clean as he puts across? We’ll soon find out.
A quick check of the three stalls shows that this particular washroom is empty. Satisfied that this will suit my needs, I pick up the safety stand and carefully prop it up outside the main door. With two other ladies’ washrooms just a little further down the hall, both no doubt identical to this one, no one is likely to drop in if it looks like the cleaner has arrived.
Certain that my privacy is now guaranteed, I flip open my phone and check the name of the bank on Hollister’s bank card. New Hopeland First National. A quick internet search brings up their customer services number and lets me dial straight through. There was a time that dialling a general number like this would result in a lengthy wait on hold, but modern advances in thinking have allowed managers to see what should have been obvious in the first place. If both your staff and the general public say that long hold times are symptomatic of understaffing in call centres, then that probably is the problem. As a result, most companies now have three times as many call handlers as they used to. While this obviously helps with keeping the time people spend on hold pretty low, it doesn’t address the issue of poor training for staff. For that, however, I am grateful. If I thought for one minute that I was about to get a competent, well-trained person to deal with, then this would be a stupid idea. After less than thirty seconds, the cheesy royalty-free music cuts and the bustle of a busy call centre crackles in over the line.
“Good afternoon, caller, this is NHFN, and you’re speaking to Steve. Can I take your name and account number please?”
“Hi, Steve,” I reply, moving myself into a stall and placing the phone on speaker. I continue talking while I scroll the screen back to the photo of Hollister’s bank card, doing the best I can to mask my accent with a poor man’s imitation of a New York edge. “I’m afraid it’s not my account that I’m calling about.”
“I see. Ordinarily, we would be required to speak to the account holder, but if they’re there at all, I would be willing to accept their verbal consent to speak to you on a one-off basis.”
“Now, Steve, if my boss were available to talk, don’t you think that he’d be calling himself?”
“In that case, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to help at all. May I ask what the query is in relation to?”
“Basically, my boss was concerned that the security of his account may have been compromised. The problem is, there’s a bit less in there than he was expecting, but ’cause he uses the account for both business and personal stuff, he thought it may just be that he bought something and forgot about it. He did try the online account, but he’s having some connection issues at the moment. Something about his virus software and a false positive?”
“I see. Well, we certainly don’t like to think that our customers are suffering hardship through any potential faults in our security systems. Unfortunately, though, without the account holder’s permission, I won’t really be able to confirm anything to you.”
“I understand that, but he is going to be so mad at me if I come back to him with nothing. Isn’t there anything that you can do? I’m already on a warning for screwing up the drinks at the last board meeting, and I really don’t want to lose another job,” I plead, then allow myself a smile at the uncomfortable silence at the other end of the line.
“Uhm…I�
��m sorry, but did you confirm your name?”
“No, sorry, that’s my fault. It’s Miss Gow-ool, spelt G-H-O-U-L.”
“Like the ghost thing?”
“Demon, but yes.”
“Okay, Miss Ghoul. We really do take security seriously here, and protocol simply won’t allow me to just give you details for another person over the phone without their express consent. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what I can do for you here.”
“Okay,” I reply, keeping my tone downtrodden. I throw in a few sobs and sniffles for added emphasis, and Steve inhales sharply at the other end of the line.
“Miss Ghoul? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I squeak. “It’s just…if you could…” I pause, gasp, and exclaim, “That’s it! With business accounts, do you keep a list of office contact details on record, or could you check the location of a machine if I were to give you…maybe an e-fax number?”
“We do keep numbers on file, yes, but that doesn’t change that I would be unable to respond to you, only the account holder.”
“That’s what I mean, though. I’m in a different office to my boss right now, but I could give you the e-fax number for the building that he’s in and you could mark the correspondence for his attention. It would be passed straight to him via our internal system.”
“That…would work,” he says, his voice uncertain. “But in that case, wouldn’t an e-mail be more secure?”
“That was part of his worry. He thought that the security breach, if there was one, may have come from someone hacking into his account and copying his details from the last statement that you sent. With the e-fax, it’s a physical copy so he can just grab it and not have to worry.”
“That makes sense, I guess. I mean, what sort of information did he want?”
“Nothing too major, just a statement covering the last two months. The only extra he wanted on it was a list of payment origins for money going out.”
