Duplicate Effort Part 19

Because she didn't know exactly what was missing.

And neither did her a.n.a.lysts.

They had tried to dig through existing files, but they hadn't found anything out.

She was going to do an old-fas.h.i.+oned investigation.

She was going to see exactly what information had vanished-and she hoped that would tell her why.

27.

The problem with coming to the bas.e.m.e.nt cafeteria in the law school, Flint realized as he slid into his favorite booth, was that he couldn't let Talia watch him log in.

The research setup in the cafeteria presupposed that whoever used the law school's networked systems had a university charge account. Flint did: He had set it up years ago, and he paid it anonymously. But the setup had been illegal-he'd just hacked into the system and invented an account.

And he didn't use that account for anything except entry into the cafeteria and charging food while he was here. To access the research network, he used stolen identifications from existing law students. Since they didn't pay for the research time, just the food in the cafeteria, he wasn't really stealing from them. He was just hiding his research under their names.

He hadn't thought twice about the system until this afternoon, with his daughter beside him. "Check out the food displays," he said. "See what you want." "It all looks plastic," she said.

It did. The law school cafeteria took up the entire bas.e.m.e.nt of the law school not because the food was spectacular-it wasn't-but because the coffee and pastries were free. Law students could survive for months on coffee and pastries, and many did.

"Look at the menu, then," he said. "We have to order something every hour or so to keep the booth." "That's a stupid rule," she said, but obligingly looked down at the tabletop. He used that moment to log in to the database using one of the stolen identifications.

Her hair had fallen over her face, but he could still see her frown. "This all looks awful." "Oh well," he said. "Order something. We don't have to eat it." "I'm not ordering for you. You can order for you." "Fine," he said. "Get me coffee and some spaghetti."

He'd learned that the spaghetti was the least objectionable food in the cafeteria. Talia looked up, surprised at his choice, just as the log-in finished and the law school research network logo appeared on the beautifully backlit screen.

He had chosen this booth not just for its location near the serving trays (a location most students found to be loud and uncomfortable), but because the booth had large seat backs, making it almost impossible for anyone to spy on him while he worked.

Add to that the fact that the cafeteria used serving trays as their servers instead of humans or aliens, and this entire section of the cafeteria became one of the most private research spots in all of Armstrong.

"What're we looking for?" Talia asked.

"We're going to do a standard background run," Flint said. "But it's going to be a legal search." "Which means what?" she asked.

"It means that we're doing the same kind of search a practicing lawyer would do. A lawyer might be looking for background on a witness or on a client. But each item has to come from a valid database." Which hampered the search more often than not, but Flint wanted accurate information on Bowles, so he didn't trust some of the looser research nets. He could always go to those later.

"Why does that matter?" Talia asked.

"The lawyer needs to have a reference for each piece of information. The lawyer doesn't want to be accused of obtaining information in a sketchy or illegal manner."

Flint could tell her these things aloud because the cafeteria was mostly empty. Midterms were just winding up. Two study groups sat in opposite corners of the cafeteria, arguing over various points. They were mixed-one group had humans and Peyti. The other were Peyti and Sequev.

Dome University's Armstrong campus had the most diverse law school in the sector. It also had the best reputation of any law school in the solar system.

The Peyti, who were known for their legal ac.u.men, made it a point to study here. It had to be difficult for them. They had trouble with the oxygen atmosphere. Most wore complex breathing masks that they kept adjusting with their long fingers. Flint had seen more than one Peyti pa.s.sed out during stressful weeks like midterms just because it couldn't breathe properly.

The Sequev couldn't look more different than the Peyti. The Sequev were eight-legged aliens not much larger than a small dog. In fact, in the Sequev/Peyti study group, the Sequev sat on the tabletop just so that they could hear the Peyti without asking them to remove the masks every time they spoke.

"Everything okay, Dad?" Talia asked, her voice filled with tension.

"We're safe here," he said, sliding back into the booth. So far as he knew, no one had ever been attacked in the law school, not even during the tense last weeks of the semester. It was difficult for nonstudents to get in. They had to have a pa.s.s, university identification, or be accompanied by someone with university identification.

Flint had his university ID. He also still had identification with his badge number on it, although he used that less and less. The Armstrong Police Department rarely updated its badge registry, and that had worked to his advantage so far.

A serving tray floated toward their table, hovering just above it. The tray carried two coffees and two spaghettis. Apparently Talia had gone for the same thing he had.

A little metal hand came off the bottom of the tray and reached to the top, grabbing the edge of a spaghetti plate, and sliding it off the tray. The tray wobbled for a moment, and Talia reached up to steady it.

"Don't touch it," Flint said.

She pulled her hand back.

"The things are precarious enough," he said. "You touch it, and the entire contents of the tray could end up on your lap."

"Has that happened to you?" she asked as she watched the metal hand drop the spaghetti plate onto the table.

"More than once," he said.

The hand managed to set the other plate near-not on-the first, and then put down the cups of coffee. It floated off before Flint could punch some extra time in the automatic pickup clock. Midterms. He forgot. The cafeteria would be even more vigilante about people eating every hour or losing their seats.

"Okay," he said. "Ki Bowles. Why don't you see how much information this thing coughs up on her at the first request?"

"Me?" Talia squeaked. "You may as well learn how to do research," he said with a grin, "since you're clearly so bad at it." She stuck her tongue out at him, then leaned toward the screen. "I set it up for no vocal commands," he said. "So I what?" "Open the touch keyboard at the bottom." She did.

He took a bite of his spaghetti. It was too sweet and he doubted the cafeteria had used real tomatoes. The pasta was made from Moon flour, which made it stickier than pasta made with real flour. But he was hungry, and the food was adequate.

It took Talia a moment to figure out how to work the touch keyboard, but once she did, she had no trouble. The screen went dark for a moment, then came back with a list of legal citations. "Wow," she said. Flint leaned in. Wow was right. He'd expected date of birth, some kind of journalistic license, a few infractions like traffic tickets, but nothing like this.

"What is all that?" Talia asked. "I'm not sure," he said. "Let's get this thing to organize the material by subject matter. Don't lose the original search, though. We might want to organize other ways, by date or something."

"Okay." Talia took a sip of her coffee, then touched her search parameters into the screen. Flint's internal links beeped. Then Nyquist appeared in Flint's left eye. "You alone?" Nyquist asked. No No, Flint sent back, using the nonverbal mode. "Get somewhere where you can talk." Nyquist disappeared.

"I just got a message," Flint said. "I have to answer it. You'll be okay here. Make sure none of this material gets deleted, all right?"

"Can't I come with you?" Talia asked.

"You'll be able to see me," Flint said. "I'm going to the one corner of the cafeteria without a study group."

"I don't want you to leave me." Talia was clutching her coffee cup so hard that Flint thought she might break it.

"I'm going to be in the same room," he said. "Just a more private corner of it."

He got up before Talia could object again and walked across the cafeteria to the pastry counter. Talia was right. The food inside did look plastic. He wondered how she'd been able to see that from so far away. He slid into another booth and touched the screen. He knew how to hack into the university's secure system from here. He did so, then contacted Nyquist.

Flint used the privacy filter so that no one who happened past could see the screen. He kept the audio on low, so it would be impossible to hear outside the booth.

"This secure?" Nyquist asked as he appeared on the screen. He looked tired. There were deep shadows under his eyes.

There seemed to be trees behind him, but they weren't evenly s.p.a.ced like the trees at the Hunting Club. Flint couldn't quite figure out where Nyquist was.

"As secure as I can be in a public place," Flint said.

"How'd you know about Bowles?" No preamble, no niceties. Just the cop question. "One of her security guards told me."

"What?" Nyquist looked startled. "Why you?"

"Because I was the one paying for her protection," Flint said.

"I thought you didn't like Ki Bowles."

"I didn't," Flint said.

"Then why would you pay for her security detail?"

"To keep her safe," Flint said. "And that's all you're going to get out of me until you give me something in return."

"One of her bodyguards was killed with her," Nyquist said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Along with Roshdi Whitford himself."

Flint leaned back in the booth. He wasn't sure how to play that. He knew that information, but it implicated the other guard.

But the guard was in police custody, so Nyquist would eventually realize that Flint had known that bit of information before Nyquist revealed it.

"The bodyguard told me that as well," Flint said.

"Well, then you're ahead of me," Nyquist said. "This bodyguard have a name?"

"Pelham Monteith."

Nyquist nodded, as if he were making a mental note of the name. "So, do you have some other information for me?"

"In trade," Flint said.

"You know the department doesn't do that," Nyquist said.

"Of course you do." Flint leaned back in the booth. One of the serving trays came by and b.u.mped him. He had to order to be here as well. "That's what informants are for."

"I can't give you anything," Nyquist said.

Flint pressed the top item on the menu in front of him, then punched in his number, not caring what he had just ordered. "Then we can't work together."

He moved broadly, as if he were going to sign off, when Nyquist asked, "Okay. What is it you want?" "Leads when you have them in the Bowles case. I need to know if she's a random victim or if she was the target. I also need to know who targeted her."

"Why?" Nyquist asked.

"For the same reason I hired her protection," Flint said.

Nyquist frowned. "You in trouble?"

"I don't know," Flint said. "If you give me some information, I might be able to answer that question." "What the h.e.l.l did you involve her in? And why?"

"She's a good reporter," Flint said.

Nyquist's frown grew deeper. "You hired her for her skills?"

"Sometimes you take the best, even if you don't like their methods."

"For what?"

Flint grinned at him. "Think about it, Bartholomew. Then get back to me."

He was about to sign off when Nyquist held up a hand.

"You're her source?"

"Of course not," Flint said. "How could I know anything about Wagner, Stuart, and Xendor?"

"Your closeness to . . ." Nyquist stopped speaking before he finished the thought. He finally put the information together. He knew that Flint had gotten some files from Paloma the day that she died. He also knew that Flint had never looked at those files.

Nyquist also knew that Flint hated Justinian Wagner, and was furious that no one would be punished for Paloma's death and the attack on Nyquist. They'd talked about it while Nyquist was still hospitalized. Flint said someday Justinian Wagner had to pay for letting the a.s.sa.s.sins know where to find Paloma and her ex-husband, Claudius Wagner.

"You don't strike me as a revenge kinda guy," Nyquist said.

"You're right," Flint said. "I'm more a believer in justice."

Nyquist made a small dismissive sound. "Your justice might've just gotten a woman killed." "Believe me," Flint said, "I am aware of that."

The serving tray appeared, covered with something that looked like a cross between vomit and peanuts. It smelled like green tea.

Flint made a face-he couldn't help himself-but let the serving tray place the food on the table. At least the stuff didn't smell all that bad. He just couldn't look at it.

"This stuff that you gave Bowles," Nyquist said, "is it-"

"I'm not saying I gave anything to Bowles," Flint said.

"You just said-"

"I just implied," Flint said.

"Oooo-kay." Nyquist spoke slowly, as if Flint were a crazy man. "This stuff you implied you had . . ." "Didn't say I had it, either," Flint said.