Mitch sipped his coffee, enjoying the policeman's surprise. 'So,' he said finally. 'You can see how it was impossible for Sam to have used dope.'
Curtis remained unconvinced. 'Maybe he just went outside and took a leak on the piazza somewhere.'
'I doubt it,' said Mitch. 'The piazza is subject to security-camera surveillance, and the computer is programmed to be on the alert for that kind of thing. If the CCTV does see something then the computer is programmed to call the police. Sam knew that. I can't imagine he would have taken the risk.'
'No, I guess not.' Curtis grinned. 'Gee, I bet they love you down at central dispatch.'
'Take my word for it. He was clean.'
Curtis stood up and went back to the window. 'Maybe you're right,' he said. 'But someone killed him. Here. And in your client's building.'
'I'd like to help,' said Mitch. 'Anything I can do, just ask. My firm is as anxious to get this cleared up as you are, believe me. It creates a bad impression. As if maybe this is not such a smart building after all.'
'I had the same thought myself.'
'Do you mind me asking what you're going to tell the media?' Mitch asked.
'I hadn't given it much thought yet. Probably up to my lieutenant and the press office.'
'Could I ask you a small favour? When you do decide to brief the media, I wonder if I might ask you to be careful how you choose your words. It would be a great pity if they were to get hold of the idea that somehow what happened was the fault of the building itself, you know? I mean, from what you've already told me it sounds as if Sam Gleig admitted his own murderer to the building, for whatever reason. I'd be grateful if you could bear that in mind.'
Curtis nodded sourly. 'I'll do my best,' he said. 'In return, there's something you can do for me.'
'Name it.'
'I need to get hold of Sam Gleig's personnel records.'
-###-Next to the elevators on the fortieth floor was a glass case containing the gilt-bronze figure of a Luohan monk. Curtis admired it briefly before stepping into the car alongside Mitch.
'Mr Yu is a great collector,' explained Mitch. 'There's going to be an artefact like this on every floor.'
'What's that he's holding?' he said. 'A slide rule?'
'I think it's a folded fan.'
'Ancient air-conditioning, huh?'
'Something like that. The data centre please, Abraham,' said Mitch. The doors closed with a quiet hiss of air.
'You know,' said Mitch, 'I wouldn't want to tell you your job, but isn't there another possible explanation for what's happened? I mean, apart from Sam Gleig's past.'
'I'm all ears,' said Curtis.
'It's just that both Ray Richardson and the Yu Corporation have their respective enemies. In Ray's case it's a matter of a few personal grudges. People who hate the kind of buildings he designs. For instance, there's a time capsule underneath the foundations and one of the things it contains is some hate mail for him. And there are people who have worked for him who dislike him.'
'Does that include you?'
'Oh, I admire him very much.' Curtis grinned.
'I think that answers my question.'
Mitch shrugged apologetically. 'He's a difficult person.'
'Most very rich people are.'
Mitch didn't answer. The elevator came to a halt and they stepped into the corridor next to a newly arrived and identically positioned glass case containing a jade horse's head.
'And the Yu Corp?' prompted Curtis. 'You said that they have enemies too. Do you mean those kids out front?'
'I think they're just the tip of the iceberg,' said Mitch, ushering Curtis along the edge of the atrium. 'In parts of the Asian Pacific Rim, business can be quite rough. That's why all the glass in this building is bulletproof. Why the security systems are so tight.' He stopped and pointed down. 'Take this atrium. It's really just a con job. It gives the impression of a company that's accessible to the public and at the same time acts as a security barrier. The reason for the hologram on the front desk is to forestall a potential hostage situation.'
'Sam Gleig gets a major-sized headache because someone bears your boss or his client a grudge?' Curtis shook his head. 'I'm afraid I can't buy that.'
'Well, suppose it was just accidental? Suppose someone came in here intent on causing trouble and Sam just got in the way?'
'It's possible. But only just. Gleig's gun was in his holster. It didn't look like he was expecting trouble. On the other hand, if Sam knew his attacker then he would have been off his guard. When you mentioned your boss's enemies, did you have anyone specific in mind?'
Mitch thought about Allen Grabel.
'No,' he said.
'What about this guy Warren Aikman?'
'If he wanted to hurt Richardson there would be better ways of doing it within the normal course of his work.'
'Well, let me know if you think of anyone.'
'Sure.'
Curtis shook his head. 'Of course, I can't say I'm surprised that the architect of a place like this has enemies.'
'You don't like it?'
'Every time I come here I like it less and less. Maybe it's the things you and your people tell me about it. I don't know.' He shook his head, trying to put his finger on it. 'I think maybe it lacks soul.'
'It's the future,' argued Mitch. 'Really it is. Some day all offices will be built this way.'
Curtis laughed and showed Mitch his wrist.
'See this watch? It's a Seiko. Lousy timekeeper. I still remember the advertising slogan they were using when I bought the thing. "Some day all watches will be made this way." God, I hope not.'
Mitch gazed around him. 'You know, I think of it as a kind of cathedral.'
'To what? Man's fear of his fellow man?'
'To the virtue of making things. To the creative power of technology. To man's ingenuity.'
'Being a cop, I guess I don't have much faith in human ingenuity. But if this is a cathedral then I'm an atheist.'
-###-Bob Beech was about to send the latest batch of stolen data across the satellite when he saw Mitch and Curtis coming through the doors of the computer room. He touched the wide flat screen and returned it to the standard desktop display: the telephone, Rolodex, calculator, diary, in-
and out-trays, clock, TV set, radio, answering machine were all computer icons. There was even a desk drawer, rubber stamp, filing cabinet and a picture window with a pleasant view of Griffith Park as seen from the Gridiron roof.
'Bob,' said Mitch advancing into the centre of the circle, 'you remember Detective Sergeant Curtis.'
'Sure.'
'You've heard what happened this morning?'
Beech shrugged and nodded.
Curtis took the man in: the fisherman's gilet stuffed with discs, tapes, keys, chewing gum and pens; the sensible brown Oxfords in need of a polish; the fingernails bitten to the quick; and, underneath the lugubrious-looking moustache, the polite smile flicking as he feigned interest in what had happened. Curtis was an old hand at spotting when he was being tolerated. It was obvious that Beech just wanted to get back to whatever it was that he had been doing before being disturbed.
'Poor old Sam,' said Beech. 'Do you have any idea who did it yet?'
'Not yet, sir. But I was hoping to see his personnel file. There might be something there that will help. Also, I wondered if there was a way the computer had of knowing exactly who was in the building after ten o'clock last night.' He knew there was. But he wanted to prolong his stay in the computer room.
'Of course.' Beech fingered the filing cabinet on his screen and then said, 'Abraham. Can you locate Sam Gleig's personnel file please?'
'On screen or on disc?'
Beech glanced at Curtis and decided that he wanted him out of the computer room as quickly as possible. Seeing him standing there reminded him of Hideki. 'Better make it hard copy,' he said. 'So you can examine it at your leisure, Sergeant.'
'There's not a lot of that in Homicide, sir,' said Curtis, smiling affably. Glancing down at Beech's desktop he watched as a disembodied hand appeared on screen and moved towards the filing cabinet.
'Belshazzar's feast,' he murmured.
The hand lifted a file out of the desk drawer and then disappeared with it screen left.
'What's that?' said Beech.
'I said, that's a hell of a personal organizer you have there.'
'It's kind of childish, but I'm a guy who needs friendly software to bring cyberspace down to earth. That's why I have a room with a view, so to speak. Without it I'd find it difficult working in here. Now then, what was the other thing? Who was still here after ten o'clock last night?'
Curtis nodded.
Beech touched the screen several times with his forefinger, like a man playing speed chess. Finally he found what was he looking for.
'Here we are. The electrical foreman left at seven-thirty. I left at sevenforty-three. Aidan Kenny left at seven-forty-four. Helen Hussey left at eight-fifteen. Warren Aikman left at eight-thirty-five. At which point Sam Gleig was the only person on site until Officers Cooney and Hernandez arrived this morning.'
'I see. Thank you.'
Beech pointed out of the door. 'We'll have to go along to the print room to fetch your copy,' he said and led the way across the bridge. They entered a room where an enormous laser printer was already spewing out the file. Beech collected the print-out.
'This is strange,' he said, surprised. 'Abraham's not supposed to be able to do this.'
'Do what?' asked Mitch.
Beech handed over the print-out. Attached to the personnel information was a colour photocopy of Sam Gleig greeting a Chinese man in the atrium.
'It's not part of Abraham's original program to take still photographs like this,' frowned Beech. 'At least, not until the CD-ROM recorder is installed.'
For the moment Curtis was more interested in the young Chinese man in the picture than the means by which it had been taken.
'Do you recognize him?'
'I think I do,' said Mitch. 'I think it might be one of our friends from outside the building.'
'Unless Abraham managed…' Beech was still considering the puzzle of how the picture had been taken. 'Of course…'
'You mean he's one of the demonstrators?'
Mitch looked at the picture again.
'I'm sure he is.'
'Of course,' repeated Beech. 'The link-up with Richardson's computer. Mitch, Abraham must have held the picture digitally and then used your Intergraph software to generate this. That's the only way he could have done it. It's Abraham's way of letting us know that Sam Gleig brought an unauthorized person into the building last night.'
Curtis pulled a face. 'Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the only witness to Sam Gleig's murder might be your computer?'
'It certainly looks that way. I can't imagine why he would have put this picture in Sam Gleig's file otherwise.' He shrugged. 'At the very least this picture gives you an unauthorized visitor to the Gridiron, doesn't it?
There's even a time on the picture: 1.05 a.m.'
'Is that a bottle of Scotch he's holding?' said Mitch. 'Looks like they were planning a party.'
'But why take this picture and not one of the actual murder as it happened?' said Curtis.
'Because there are no cameras inside the elevators,' said Mitch. Beech nodded in agreement. 'This picture connects the Chinese guy with the murder. No doubt about it.'
'Let me be the judge of that, please,' said Curtis.
'Maybe I should have mentioned it before,' said Mitch, 'but there have been a couple of incidents involving these kids.'
He told Curtis about the orange thrown at his car and the tyre wrench.
'Did you report either of these incidents?'
'No, I didn't,' admitted Mitch. He took out his wallet. 'But I've still got the paperwork for the replacement shield.'
Curtis flicked his eyes over the receipt.
'How did you know it was one of them who did it?'
'After the first time? I was in a Chinese restaurant, just a few blocks from here. One of them must have recognized me.'
'You still got the wrench?'
'Yes, as a matter of fact I have. It's in the trunk of my car. Want me to go get it?'
'No, I'd just as soon have one of the SID boys pick it. In case there are any prints on it.' Curtis folded the photograph and was about to put it inside his coat pocket when he had an idea. 'There are cameras mounted on the outside of this building, aren't there?'
'Several,' said Mitch.
'Can you have one close in on those kids outside right now?'
'Nothing easier,' said Beech.
They trooped back into the computer room. Beech sat down and touched a picture of a video camera at the bottom of his screen. The camera was soon scanning the faces of no more than a dozen Chinese men and women.
'Beats me why they bother,' said Beech.
'It's a free country,' said Curtis, 'although you'd hardly know it inside this place.'
Beech shot Curtis a quizzical look, as if wondering why someone as liberal as him should be working for the LAPD.
'That guy there,' said Mitch. 'The one will the bullhorn. That's the guy in the picture, isn't it?'
Curtis compared the hard copy with the young Chinese on the screen.
'Yeah. That's him all right.'
'Kind of weird him coming back, isn't it?' said Mitch. 'Assuming he did have something to do with it.'
'Not as weird as you might suppose,' said Curtis. 'Besides, that's still a hell of an assumption.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Talk to the guy. See what he's got to say. Who knows? Maybe he'll put up his hands.'
-###-The cop patrolling the demo already looked tired, although it was only just eleven o'clock. Curtis showed him his badge and then, taking him by the elbow, led him a few yards away.
'You heard about what happened inside?'
'Guy with his head stove in? I heard.'
'How long have you had this duty?'
'On and off, a couple of weeks. 'Bout a four-hour shift.' He shrugged.
'It's not so bad. They don't give me any trouble. I've spoken to a few of them. Most are pretty OK.'
'Would you say they were the types to get involved in a homicide?'
The cop grinned and shook his head. 'Naw. They're students with rich daddies back home in Hong Kong and places like that. I think they'd run a mile from any real trouble.'
Curtis walked back towards them.
'Who's in charge here?'
Behind the barrier, the little band of Chinese protesters stayed quiet, but Curtis noticed that their eyes moved from his badge to the man with the bullhorn. His own eyes took in the slogans on their placards: REMEMBER TIANANMEN SQUARE; and, Yu CORP SANCTIONS
STATE MURDER; and, Yu CORP PROFITS FROM SLAVERY; and, YUMAN RIGHTS ABUSE.
'Come on,' he urged. 'There must be someone.'
'Well,' said the man with the bullhorn, 'I guess you could say I am, kind of.'
'I'm Detective Sergeant Curtis, LAPD Homicide Bureau. Could I talk to you a minute? Let's step out of the sun.' He pointed across the piazza to the edge of Hope Street.
