by R. L. Akers
Gray's brow furrowed. "Katy — Miss Cogan," he corrected himself. "I don't mean to sound skeptical, but... if your service had that many users, I would have heard about it before now — especially if it was facilitating piracy, as you say. Everybody would have heard about it, and ATC would be getting sued from five different directions."
"That's just it," she said, leaning forward and dropping her voice even lower. "ATC itself doesn't have any registered users. It licenses the software to a bunch of other companies — like seventy or eighty of them — and those companies sell the service to the end user. On the back end, ATC's software still cross-references the files for all two million or so users... but on the front end, none of these companies have more than 50,000 subscriptions each, so they don't attract much notice."
"But if all that revenue is still coming into ATC—"
"It's not. ATC is paid basic consulting fees only. It brings in enough cash to pay off all its employees each month, with just enough left over to report modest profits."
"So who's getting rich through all of this?" Gray asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"DeLancy and Weiss for sure, but I'm guessing all the VPs and probably some other investors." She paused. "There's no paper trail for any of this, you understand? But I've heard them talking about it. I've been there long enough that I'm practically invisible. Each one of these guys owns stock in just a few of the companies, and that's how they make their money."
Slowly, Gray returned to his meal, trying to think it through. It seemed too easy, somehow.
Cogan could tell he wasn't convinced, so she pressed on. "Don't you see? The entire thing stays under the radar. None of these companies has a recognizable brand, and none of them advertise. They grow their business through word of mouth only. Every once in a while, a lawsuit gets filed against one of the companies, and they quietly shut that one company down while settling the suit out of court." She shook her head. "These guys are making a ton of money, but that money never comes together in one place, so it never triggers any attention from the watchdogs."
She paused, excited, waiting for Gray to say something, but he just took another bite of his meal. Sensing she was losing his interest again, she forged on.
"But these guys are greedy, Detective. As much money as they're already making, they want more, even though more money means more likelihood of getting caught." She shook her head, and several silken tresses tumbled free of her ponytail. "That's what last week was all about. While Blake was out of town, Weiss pitched something new to DeLancy and the others — a new feature that would automatically strip DRM and licensing restrictions out of any file uploaded."
Gray held a hand up over his mouth, so as not to show his half-chewed food when he spoke. "I don't know what that means."
"Digital rights management. It's... it's..." she struggled to explain. "It's how some publishers prevent their content from being pirated. There are ways around it, but... the way I understand it... defeating DRM can take a lot of manual work. What Weiss proposed was building a feature into ATC's service that removed the DRM automatically — from any kind of file."
"And Weiss didn't think anyone would notice them doing this? This definitely sounds like the kind of thing that would attract attention."
"They were going to introduce the feature quietly. Most people don't really understand how those kinds of restrictions work, after all. People like you." She shrugged. "Here's the point: Right now, users are downloading tons of files over ATC's file-sharing service, but half the time, they still can't use them after they're done downloading — not unless they know how to manually remove the DRM or licensing restrictions themselves, and most don't. It's a huge point of contention for our users." She paused for effect. "What Weiss is proposing would mean that every downloaded file works, every time. That means more happy customers, whether they understand what's happening in the background or not. Even if ATC's shell companies don't continue growing their subscription base as a result, users who are satisfied are much more likely to keep paying even if DeLancy and the others decide to raise the monthly subscription price."
Gray finished his pasta, and he used the last chunk of garlic bread to mop up the remaining alfredo sauce. He paused and looked her earnestly in the eye... or, well, as closely as he could, when faced with those massive sunglasses. "Miss Cogan, you recognize that this is not the kind of crime I investigate, right? In fact... I'm not sure any law enforcement agency investigates this kind of thing — it isn't a crime so much as a... I don't know, a legal gray area. Aren't these sorts of things usually resolved with civil lawsuits?"
The young woman seemed to deflate.
"Do you think this relates to my investigation in some way?" he asked hopefully. She didn't say anything immediately, so he pushed harder. "When we spoke earlier today, at your desk, you seemed to have a sudden realization. You got scared. What was it that occurred to you in that instant?" He finally popped the last sopping bite of bread into his mouth, chewing it slowly so as to give her time to speak.
It was another long moment of silence before she said, "It just scared me, you know? I..." She licked her lips. "I've always known these people are crooks. And greedy. They get rich operating on the edge of the law, while paying the rest of us as little as they can get away with. But after you told me about Mr. Weiss earlier..." She trailed off, searching for words. "It occurred to me that maybe someone at the company murdered him, maybe Mr. DeLancy or Mr. Blake..."
Gray gave her a moment, then said, "You have a specific reason to think one of them would murder Weiss?"
"No, nothing specific. It was just a vague thought, you know? With so much money floating around. I don't know exactly how they would cash in with him gone, but—" She waved a hand violently, obviously frustrated at her inability to express what she was thinking. "That's not the point. My point is that it scared me. If someone at ATC is a murderer... not just a crook, but a killer... aren't I in danger? These guys have made millions illegally—" She corrected herself. "Okay, semi-legally. But I could blow the whistle on them. Whatever reason they had for killing Weiss, the point is, that's not a line they're afraid to cross. So what's to keep them from killing me to keep me quiet?"
She finally ran out of words, and Gray thought it through. On the surface, it sounded like paranoia. But they were dealing with human motivations here, and humans were often illogical. Whether or not DeLancy and the others actually stood to lose money over a whistleblower, what mattered was whether they thought they did... And certainly, if there was already a murderer at ATC, that man or woman might not think anything of murdering again.
Still, Gray couldn't see how any of this helped with his investigation. "I can understand your concern," he said finally, and Cogan all but wilted with relief. "Until we figure out what happened yesterday, I recommend you don't go anywhere alone. Make sure to leave the office at a normal time, in the company of other people — I know, I know, you don't socialize with the other employees, but make an effort to do so, at least for a few days. Do you have a friend, maybe a roommate or boyfriend, who can meet you downstairs at closing time?" She nodded. "Keep that person with you everywhere you go, okay? If you live alone, maybe go stay with friends for a few days."
She swallowed. "Okay. I think I can do all of that."
"Good. Speaking of going places alone..." Finally, an opportunity to ask a question that actually pertained to the case — the question he most wanted to ask. "Have you thought any more about when you saw Weiss in the elevator? Was that yesterday, or..." Gray trailed off leadingly.
"Oh. That." Cogan sighed heavily, finally removing her massive sunglasses and rubbing her eyes. It was clear she'd been crying. "I did think about it more after you left, and... no, I don't think it was yesterday after all." She offered him a nervous smile, apologetic. "I did what you said, trying to remember what I was holding or wearing. And I remembered I was carrying a package Mr. DeLancy needed me to rush out and overnight. That woul
d've been Friday, I'm sure of it. He said my job depended on that package arriving by Saturday morning."
Gray nodded. It was just as well. That meant Charles Blake could very well have killed Weiss when he confronted him at noon. "Okay, so when you did come in yesterday, did you see anything strange then?"
The young woman frowned, giving it a considerable amount of thought before she slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. Honestly, I was in a rush and a little distracted."
Yes, Gray could see that. And at this point, he would've taken almost anything she said with a grain of salt anyway, after the confusion over when she last saw Ed Weiss. Perhaps an easier question... "You were aware of Mr. Weiss's promotion? That he was moving into Mr. Blake's office, and that Blake would now be working for Weiss instead?"
Miss Cogan nodded, striving to keep her face expressionless. "That was why I came in yesterday. I was the one who took notes in the meeting Friday when DeLancy and the others decided all this, but... I realized I'd forgotten to email the notes." She swallowed. "You've met Mr. DeLancy. You can imagine how he treats people who don't do their jobs."
Gray smiled in commiseration, but waved a hand. "What I really want to know is... Did you tell anyone about Weiss's promotion?"
She blinked, then shook her head confidently. "No. Who would I have told?"
"Mr. Blake, perhaps?"
"No, absolutely not. If I'd done that and Mr. DeLancy found out..."
Gray nodded, making note of this on his phone. Looking up, he searched for his next question... and realized he couldn't think of anything more to ask.
The young woman was using a napkin to blot her eyes, which were again streaming. She caught him looking and gave him a brave smile. "I should probably go."
Gray resisted the urge to take her hand and reassure her. "Want me to walk you back to the office?"
The idea clearly made her uncomfortable. "No offense, but I don't really want to be seen with you."
That was perfectly reasonable, all things considered... so why did it sting so badly? "I understand," he lied, as she replaced her glasses and pulled the hood back over her head. He handed her one of his cards. "Be careful, and please call if you think of anything — or if you're concerned for your safety."
Within a few minutes of Cogan's departure, Gray had paid for his meal and was himself ready to go. He exited through the back, past the bathrooms, and soon found himself in the alley he'd used earlier.
The door hadn't even closed behind him when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he found himself face-to-face with a young man who — like Gray himself — probably didn't belong in this alley. The man was dressed in a tailored suit of obvious quality, though he wore his shirt open-collared, sans tie. Gray observed all of this subconsciously, for his attention was focused on the man's face, which went through a quick sequence of emotions — surprise to shock to fear.
And then the man flipped open his suit jacket to reach for the handgun he was carrying in an underarm holster.
Underarm holsters are silly, as any real cop is quick to point out. In Gray's admittedly short time on the force, he'd never known a detective to carry a weapon in that manner. For one thing, that kind of holster leaves the gun's butt facing forward, making it almost easier for someone else to draw your gun than it is for you. For another thing, you're liable to shoot yourself or someone behind you in the process of pulling the weapon free. Plus they're uncomfortable. In short, they're terribly awkward affairs. About the only thing they're good for is concealing a gun beneath a suit jacket without any telltale bulges.
They most definitely don't allow for an easy quick-draw.
Gray had his own weapon out of its belt holster long before the other man had finished fumbling his draw. "Whoa there," Gray said, pretending calm despite the thundering of his heart.
The man froze, his handgun still pointed safely at the ground.
Gray very carefully took the weapon from him, then stepped back out of reach as the man raised his hands. "Do you always draw on police officers?"
For a very long moment, the look of shock and fear on the man's face didn't change. If anything, the guy seemed to be waiting for Gray to say something more. As the silence stretched on, the other's fear seemed to give way to amazement. "You..." he said haltingly, in a thick Brooklyn accent. "You're... a cop? He seemed confused, but for some reason, Gray didn't think it had to do with Gray being a cop or not.
"Detective, NYPD." Gray checked that the safety was engaged on the other man's gun, then slipped it awkwardly into his pants pocket; with the same hand, he pulled his shield and ID from a jacket pocket. Through all of this, he kept his own gun steady on the man.
The stranger was short, maybe five-seven or five-eight, slight of build, and probably no older than Gray. He bore a remarkable resemblance to a weasel. When Gray presented his credentials, the man inspected them very carefully, even glancing back and forth between Gray's face and his picture several times. Through it all, his amazement only seemed to grow. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Gaynes," he blurted. "I — I—Well, I saw the bulge in your jacket"—after all, belt holsters did show through a man's jacket—"and I didn't know you was a cop. You scared me, coming out of there so sudden like that, I thought maybe you was a mugger, and I just kinda reacted, ya know?" The explanation spilled out of him in half the time it would have taken most people to speak those same words.
"I assume you have a concealed carry permit?" Gray prompted. In point of fact, he rather doubted the man had a permit — they were notoriously hard to come by in New York City. It was therefore his turn to be surprised when the man spoke.
"Oh, absolutely, detective. Here in my jacket pocket."
"Slowly," Gray warned him, repocketing his shield and ID.
The man withdrew his wallet with painstaking deliberation, and Gray was soon holding both a driver's license and a concealed carry permit. And that presented a very real problem.
He couldn't read a word on either card.
Gray cursed inwardly. It was the day-blindness. Here in this back alley, out of direct sunlight, his sunglasses made it possible for him to see objects and people, to move around safely. But reading... it was impossible. He simply couldn't distinguish the text. And he certainly couldn't see well enough to determine if these documents were fakes, as he rather suspected they were.
On the other hand, despite what Gray's instincts were screaming, it was entirely possible this man was exactly what he claimed to be: a law-abiding citizen, holder of a rare concealed carry permit, someone who really had acted out of surprise when Gray materialized before him in this alley.
"You really have no idea who I am, do you?" the man said in wonder.
Gray went still. He was already thinking he needed to be very careful how he handled this. If he decided to run this guy in and it turned out the permit was legit, Gray would be inviting scrutiny from his superiors, which might quickly bring his new disabilities to light. And now this? Clearly this was someone he should have recognized, by name if not by face — but that was rather impossible at the moment. Gray's imagination ran wild as he considered the sort of conversation he might soon be having with one of the sergeants:
Hannah Goretti, looking as angry as he'd ever seen her: This permit looks genuine to me. What exactly made you doubt its authenticity?
Gray Gaynes, wide-eyed: It wasn't the permit, it was the guy. He was, uh, suspicious-looking.
Hannah: You realize who you arrested, right?
Gray: Well, no. Did I mention he pulled that gun on me?
Hannah: You arrested [insert name of well-known politician / athlete / celebrity here]. He has that permit because he's always being harassed by quacks. And now we're getting calls from the press, asking what he did to get arrested...
Gray cursed inwardly one more time, for good measure. The hair was standing up on the back of his neck, his instincts still shouting that this man, this weasel, was important for some reason, and not because he was famo
us. But Gray couldn't see a way of handling this that didn't potentially expose him to the sort of attention he was trying to avoid. Very slowly, he lowered his gun and returned the man's documents to him. When the smaller man didn't make any sudden moves, Gray returned the confiscated weapon as well, feeling a fool the whole time. When the man holstered the gun, Gray holstered his own.
"Sorry for the confusion, sir," Gray said carefully.
"No, it was my fault," the weasel said with a broad smile. "I'll try to be less jumpy in the future." There was an awkward moment in which nobody said anything, and then he asked, "I'm free to go?"
"Yes, please. Have a nice day," Gray concluded lamely.
The man nodded and began walking away, careful to keep both hands visible, held out from his sides.
Gray sighed, wrestling with his emotions, keeping his hand on his gun as he watched the man retreat down the alley. He was already second-guessing himself. It was fear that had motivated him to let the man go, and that was a terrible reason to do anything. He sincerely doubted the weasel was a celebrity, so why else should Gray know who he was? From the guy's reaction, it was obvious he wasn't a personal friend... and that meant Gray should probably know him from a case he'd worked at some point. He briefly wondered if the man might be Charles Blake or Ed Weiss, but that was absurd; neither of those men knew Gray by face or name, so they wouldn't have reacted as they did, and besides — both of them were bigger men, at least six feet tall. Much as it stuck in Gray's craw to consider it, the weasel was probably somebody Gray had arrested in the past, which meant that concealed carry permit was definitely a forgery. Unless—
Unless that was the man who murdered Rose.
Eyes shooting wide, Gray darted after the stranger, who was just now turning down a side alley almost two blocks away. Gray reached the corner in record time, only to see the man turn another corner at the end of this new alley — stepping out onto a brilliantly lit sidewalk heavily populated by lunch hour pedestrians. With a curse, Gray pulled up short of the direct sunlight, drawing more than one strange look. There was no point in continuing the pursuit. He didn't need to step into the light — even looking at all those so-brightly-illuminated people hurt his eyes, even through the sunglasses. There was no way in hell he'd be able to identify the strange man now anyway, not after he'd merged with the crowd, and that would have been true even without his day-blindness.