Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

by Donna Andrews

  “Yeah,“ Luis said, shaking his head. “By now, I know exactly how his mind works – or doesn't work.“

  “Good thing whoever bumped him off didn't do it last week,“ Frankie said. “We'd really be hurting then. But now – gee, it sounds cold, but to be perfectly honest, we can do without Ted better than just about anyone, right now.“

  With the possible exception, I thought, of Rob. Who knows? Having Rob in jail for a day or two might actually speed up the project. And having Ted permanently absent wouldn't cause a problem – did that make it more likely that the killer was someone closely involved in the project, who would know when it was safe to strike Ted down? Drat.

  “Of course, that assumes we can get Ted's files sometime this century,“ Keisha said, tossing her braids in a characteristic gesture of impatience.

  “And assumes that some of us actually manage to get some programming done today,“ Jack shot back. The rest of them looked a little guilty, and the impromptu meeting broke up.

  “Sorry,“ I said. “I didn't mean to keep anyone from work.“

  “You're not,“ he said with a shrug. “No one can concentrate; I think for a lot of these kids, it's the first time they've ever known anyone who died. Anyone close to their own age, anyway. I'm just trying to give them enough time to talk it over among themselves, but not enough to sit around getting morbid.“

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help,“ I said.

  “If you could get the police to hurry up and give back Ted's files, that would be a lifesaver,“ Jack said.

  “The files are really that big a problem?“

  “Not yet, but they will be pretty soon.“

  “You don't have a backup?“

  He rolled his eyes. “If Ted had backed up regularly, or better yet, stored his stuff on the server, the way he was supposed to, we wouldn't have a problem at all,“ he said. “Unfortunately, this was Ted. Hell, half the time we needed something, it wouldn't even be on his desktop machine; it'd be on his laptop, and he'd have left that home for the day. If we get the police to give us a copy of his files within a day or so, Luis can clean them up in time. If not…“

  “I'll do what I can,“ I said. “Not that there's all that much I can do, but we have a whole lot of lawyer relatives who've been begging us to let them know if they can do anything. Maybe I'll call their bluff.“

  “Great,“ he said. “Well, this thing isn't going to program itself.“

  With that, he left the coffee room.

  I heard a noise in the hall – a familiar yet oddly chilling sound. The rhythmic beep of the mail cart making its rounds.

  I confess I was a little anxious when I stepped out into the hall to see the mail cart. It wasn't the same mail cart Ted had been killed on, of course; the police had that. I'd called the company that supplied and serviced the mail cart, explained the situation, and asked them to bring over another one, ASAP. And while their initial definition of ASAP wasn't at all what I had in mind, they quickly revised it, after I remarked that I hadn't yet had any reason to tell the media what brand of mail cart had been used in the murder. So I'd been expecting to see a mail cart.

  Still, it was more than a little odd to hear it for the first time, and to see it chugging down the hall again. I was strangely relieved to see nothing on it but mail. No still form – and for that matter, no attempts at decoration. Thank heaven for small favors.

  As I watched it chug by, I noticed that several other people had stepped out of their cubes or offices to do the same thing. It was almost as if we'd declared a minute of silence to coincide with the start of the cart's first run of the day. We all watched until it rounded the corner into the next corridor, and then we looked at each other, sheepishly.

  “Ironic, isn't it?“ Rico said, plucking at the hem of yet another RISD T-shirt. “Him getting killed on that thing.“

  “I think it's more ironic that he was killed with a mouse cord,“ another graphic artist said. “Just think, maybe if we'd spent the money for wireless mice, Ted might be alive today.“

  “No, but look at the irony of it being the mail cart,“ Rico insisted. “It was like he was obsessed with it. Always playing with it.“

  “And everyone else around here wasn't?“ I asked.

  They shrugged their shoulders, sheepishly. If they'd tried to argue, I would have pointed out how much time the art department had spent over the past week decorating the mail cart.

  “Yeah, we all played with it,“ a programmer said. “But Ted was obsessed, definitely. He was the only one trying to re-program it.“

  “Reprogram it?“ I echoed.

  “Yeah. You know how the thing works, right?“

  “It follows a line of ultraviolet dye on the carpet.“

  “More like a series of dots, really. It reads the dots, like Morse code. There's patterns that mean turn left, turn right, stop. Ted got a black light, so he could see the dots, and he spent hours trying to make a dye that the machine could read and then something to wash out the dye. Didn't work, of course.“

  “Then how did he manage to reroute the machine?“ I asked. “I don't think we had a day last week when the damned thing didn't turn up someplace where it wasn't supposed to be. I was trapped in the women's room for half an hour, remember, when he managed to get the thing stalled outside the door.“

  “Just be glad he wasn't successful at opening the door,“ one of them said while the others snickered. “He had a couple of Web cams hooked up to the cart that day, you know.“

  “No, I didn't know,“ I said. “And it's a good thing I didn't, or he wouldn't have lived as long as he did. So if he didn't figure out how to make and erase dots, how did he manage to reroute the mail cart?“

  “He was moving carpet tiles around,“ Rico said. “You walk around this place and half the carpet tiles are loose. See!“

  He walked a few steps, scuffing each tile as he went. The fifth tile he touched moved a few inches out of position when he kicked it.

  “He was gluing them back down,“ a programmer said. “I saw him.“

  “Yeah, but whatever he was using didn't do the job like the commercial adhesive the carpet installers use,“ Rico said. “Another week and you wouldn't have been able to walk around here for loose tiles.“

  Was this useful? I didn't see offhand how Ted's high jinks with the mail cart got me any closer to finding his killer. Still, you never knew.

  Now that the cart had disappeared, everyone began drifting back to their cubes and offices. All except Roger the Stalker, who, as usual, had been lurking silently at the edge of the group. I forced a smile. He might be a creep, but who knows, I thought. Even Roger could have some useful information.

  “What's new, Roger?“ I said.

  He bunked and glanced back, as if he thought there might be some other Roger in the hallway.

  “We're having pizza,“ he said finally. “Luigi's. Seven-thirty.“

  “That's nice,“ I said.

  He nodded and drifted back into Cubeville.

  Apparently the guys were planning a little outing and had forgotten to tell me. Or maybe hadn't intended to invite me – perhaps they thought I'd force-feed them more vegetables. In any case, this could be useful. Gathering information would be much easier when no one expected them to hurry back to work. And when they were full of pizza and beer.

  See, I told myself. Even creepy Roger can serve a useful purpose, now and then.

  Two useful purposes, in fact; seeing him reminded me that I still needed to feed George.

  I was heading back to the lunchroom when I ran into Liz.

  “You look a little tired,“ I said. Actually, she looked as if she'd gotten even less sleep than I had. I decided it would not be a kindness to tell her about the giant run in her pantyhose. “How's it going?“

  She shook her head. “Slow,“ she said. “As if I needed yesterday's interruptions. Or all the media stuff.“

  “You do a good job with that,“ I said.

  S
he shrugged. “I suppose,“ she said. “I just try to do whatever needs to be done to take care of the problem.“

  “You're doing great.“

  “They don't like me a lot,“ she said. “I don't give them much.“

  “They probably like you a lot more today,“ I said. “I've been biting their heads off all morning.“

  “Good show,“ she said. “But we shouldn't have to be doing this, either of us. Why couldn't Ted have managed to get himself killed somewhere where it wouldn't be my problem? Our problem, really.“

  “What is it that's keeping you so busy, anyway?“ I asked.

  “Preparing a brief,“ she said. “And I'm not likely to get an extension just because we've had a murder here. If what your dad says is true, and you're trying to find Ted's murderer, maybe you should look at the guy who's suing us. If you ask me, he's got a great motive.“

  “Someone's suing Mutant Wizards?“

  “Someone's always suing Mutant Wizards,“ she said. “Anyone who's ever invented any kind of board game, role-playing game, or computer game that even mentions lawyers thinks we stole their idea.“

  “Or pretends to think it,“ I suggested.

  “Precisely,“ she said. “Not surprising, I suppose, given how successful the game has been. Still, it's enough to destroy your faith in human nature, if you have any left.“

  “So you don't think this guy will win?“

  “I don't think any of them will win, ultimately; but that doesn't mean they can't keep us tied up in court for years, wasting my time and the firm's money. We really ought to hire outside counsel, sooner rather than later. A firm that specializes in intellectual property disputes. I may ask you to help me talk Rob into it.“

  “It's bad enough that we need outside help?“

  “I can barely handle the volume of paperwork as it is,“ she said. “When they start releasing some of the brand extensions – Doctors from Hell, Cops from Hell, things like that – there are a lot more games on those subjects than there ever were about lawyers. The number of vultures trying to get a piece of the action will increase geometrically. Yeah, we're going to need outside help.“

  “Let me know when you want help tackling Rob,“ I said. “So that's what's been keeping you so busy in the library?“

  “What else?“ she said.

  “I don't know,“ I said, smiling. “I figured maybe you just liked sitting up there where you could keep your eye on everyone, make sure no one got up to anything.“

  “Yeah, right,“ she said with a chuckle. “And some job I did yesterday. I wonder how many times Ted's body chugged around the office right under my nose, and I didn't even realize he was dead.“

  “Not just your nose, don't forget. I didn't notice either.“

  “Some watchdogs we are. Speaking of that, though – remember the guy I told you to watch for?“

  “Eugene something-or-other, the disgruntled ex-employee?“

  “Eugene Mason, yes.“

  “I haven't seen him,“ I said. “Not that things have been quiet enough to spend much time looking for him.“

  “Keep your eyes open, then. I can't imagine that he has anything to do with Ted's death, or that he'd do anything rash at all, but you never know.“

  “Especially if he had some kind of a thing about guns,“ I said. “Wasn't that what you were telling the chief?“

  “I told the chief that I thought concern over his interest in guns was exaggerated,“ she said. “Which I still think is true.“

  “But it's bound to interest the chief, knowing someone with a grudge has access to weapons.“

  “For heaven's sake, there's nothing wrong with knowing how to fire a gun and even owning one,“ she said. “I learned to fire a gun myself when I was at Stanford Law and the only place I could afford to live was a pretty bad part of East Palo Alto. Self-defense.“

  I nodded.

  “I didn't want the police to overreact,“ she went on. “Of course, I didn't want them to ignore him, either, which is what they seem to be doing. Perhaps it would have been wiser to exaggerate our anxiety, not downplay it.“

  “You did what you thought was best at the time,“ I said. “Don't beat yourself up. I'll nudge the police about the disgruntled Mr. Mason.“

  “Thanks,“ she said. “By the way – this detecting you're doing – are you sure that's wise? You don't want to risk a charge of interfering with an investigation, do you?“

  I sighed. “Dad likes to think of me as a real-life Nancy Drew,“

  I said. “I admit, I've been trying to find something I can give Chief Burke to convince him that Rob shouldn't be his prime suspect. But beyond that… I'll let the police do their job.“

  Maybe I was downplaying the amount of snooping I had been doing – or might end up doing. But it wasn't really that misleading. I had every intention of staying out of Chief Burke's way and letting the police do their job. As soon as they started doing it properly. Leaving Rob alone would be a good start.

  “Keep me posted on what you discover,“ she said. “Since anything you find out is bound to affect the firm, one way or another.“

  “Of course,“ I said.

  She nodded and headed for the nearest of the two doors to the library. A minute later, I saw her head pop up over the top of the shelves. She looked around, scanning the office, and then focused down, presumably on yet another law book.

  Although I wasn't sure I shared Liz's suspicion of the disgruntled Mr. Mason, since I couldn't see any indication that he'd been hanging around the office on the day of the murder, I decided to drop by Personnel and see if I could talk my way into getting a look at his file. As it happened, I didn't even need to talk. Darlene, our one-person Personnel department, was out, and the file she'd hunted down for the chief yesterday was still in her in-basket. Later, I'd complain about her carelessness. For now, I snagged the file, grabbed a couple of health insurance forms to put on top so no one would see what I was carrying, and made my escape with it. I'd leave it in Rob's out-basket later. Darlene wouldn't find that suspicious, and Rob would never notice.

  Walking back up the hall, I glanced up and waved at Liz, and then I ran into Jack again.

  “Saw you talking to Liz,“ he said. “She celebrating Ted's demise yet?“

  “Of course not,“ I snapped.

  “Wouldn't blame her if she did,“ he said, falling into step beside me. “The guy made her life miserable, every way he could.“

  “Such as?“

  “Looking for alternate suspects to get Rob off the hook?“ he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Well, we're all suspects, if you like, Liz as much as anyone,“ he said. “There's this guy who's filed suit against Mutant Wizards, claiming we stole his game idea.“

  “She mentioned him,“ I said. “You think he has any kind of a case?“

  “You mean you don't believe Rob really invented it?“

  “Of course I know Rob invented it,“ I said. “I had to play it often enough while he was doing it. But it's not such an outlandish idea that someone else couldn't have come up with a similar one – and that could be trouble.“

  “Yeah,“ Jack said. “Well I don't know how similar the ideas are – not very, if you ask me. But it's been keeping Liz pretty busy.“

  “How does Ted come into this?“

  “You know how Ted was,“ Jack said. “Liked to yank everyone's chain.“

  “And just how did he yank Liz's chain?“

  “He went out and bought a copy of the other guy's software and started playing this whole mind game on her,“ Jack said. “For weeks, every time you went in his office, he was playing it; every time they were both in a meeting, he'd drag the conversation around to the other game. What a great game it was, how worried he was that maybe Rob had been subconsciously influenced by it.“

  “Not likely,“ I said. “Would you be surprised if I said that Rob's not exactly a rabid computer game player?“

  “Actually, I'd be surpr
ised to hear he'd ever played a computer game before he started inventing Lawyers from Hell,“ Jack said with a grin.

  “And that doesn't bother you?“ I asked. “Knowing that he's not exactly the expert all the computer magazines make him out to be?“

  “I'll never be a convert to the cult of Rob, like most of the young kids who come to work here,“ Jack said. “But no, it doesn't bother me. In some ways, it's an advantage, knowing more than the boss does. And to tell you the truth, he does come up with some brilliant ideas, occasionally.“

  “Probably by accident,“ I said.

  “Usually by accident, yes,“ Jack agreed.

  “Everyone always talks about how great Rob is at thinking outside the box,“ I said, shaking my head. “I don't suppose they realize that he hasn't the foggiest idea where the box is.“

  “And I hope he never learns,“ Jack said.

  “So anyway, what does this have to do with how Ted was getting on Liz's nerves?“ I asked.

  “He started pretending that he agreed with the guy who was threatening to sue us,“ Jack said. “Walked around shaking his head, saying that he was afraid he'd have to testify for the other side. Stuff like that. Drove her crazy.“

  “Crazy enough that she'd want to kill him?“

  “Liz?“ He glanced up at where Liz was sitting in her crow's nest. “Not really. No more than any of the rest of us. I mean, who around here didn't say, 'I could loll him!' sometime or other, but I can't imagine anyone ever really would. Then again, what do I know? Ask some of the shrinks. They're supposed to know that kind of stuff.“

  “Maybe I will,“ I said.

  “I'd better get back to work,“ he said.

  “Me, too,“ I said, and turned to head back to the reception room. “See you at the pizza thing.“

  “Pizza thing?“

  I started to turn to give him the scoop on the pizza outing, but just then my pager went off.

  “Microwave broken,“ I read. “Like hell it is.“

  “Frankie always unplugs it to plug in his popcorn popper,“ Jack said. “Want me to plug it in again?“

  “Thanks, but I need to feed George anyway before I take the switchboard back from Dad.“