Broken Genius

by Drew Murray

  “Were you here last night?” Dana asks gently.

  “Yeah, we were here. We came to play the new VR game, but we couldn’t find it. Just the goggles and gloves. We figured it hadn’t been loaded yet.”

  “Did you leave right away?”

  “No, we stayed and played some other games for a while.” She looks down at her hands, knotted in her lap.

  “That’s okay,” Dana says. “I would have too, if I were you.”

  “You play video games?”

  “Agent Parker does.”

  “What do you play?” says Ashley looking at me. “First person shooters?”

  “No, I’m lousy at those,” I answer wryly. “I prefer MMORPGs. And I have a pretty healthy Pokémon Go collection.”

  She smiles timidly. “That’s cool. What team are you on?”

  Do I tell her the truth, or do I guess her team and say that? She seems quiet, thoughtful, smart. Definitely team Instinct. She’ll know I’m not. If I say I am, I’ll lose credibility.

  “Valor,” I answer.

  “That makes sense,” she says, nodding. “I’m Instinct.”

  Called it.

  “What time did you get here last night?” Dana asks.

  “Around midnight. Gavin said that was the best time to come.”

  The kid in orange squeaks, an expression of stark terror splashes across his face.

  “You’re Gavin, I take it?” I walk over to stand in front of him.

  He nods, lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “Why come at midnight?”

  I’m a little concerned that when he opens his mouth, he’s going to barf. Conscious of the fact I didn’t bring a spare pair of shoes, I take a step back.

  “Gavin’s the one who knew how to get in,” Ashley explains. “His brother used to work here. He knew about the door and the cameras.”

  “What about the door and the cameras?” I ask, attempting to loom while staying out of vomit range.

  “There’s this special door,” Gavin says, eyes on the carpet. “In the alley, down from the loading dock. People here at night, including the security guards, use it to go outside and smoke. The guards leave it unlocked to make it easier. That’s where we came in.”

  “And the cameras? Tell me about the cameras,” I say.

  “You pass three of them to get into the vendor hall from the service hallways, but when they installed new directions signs, they ended up partially blocking the cameras.”

  “There’s a blind spot?” I ask.

  Gavin shrugs, tapped out. Ashley steps in, nodding.

  “If you stay right close to the wall, and then take a certain angle out to the pillar by the ladies room, and around the corner, hugging the wall, you can get into the vendor hall without being on camera.”

  “Slick,” I say. “You did that last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You did the same thing tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about in here?” I point to the little black globes on the ceiling above us.

  “Gavin’s brother said they don’t have enough TV screens to watch all the cameras at once. During the day, they rotate through all of them. But at night, they replace the main room with the outside cameras because they’re more … interesting.”

  She flushes, her cheeks turning red.

  “More interesting how?” I ask.

  After a moment of silence, Gavin blurts out, “They watch girls.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” asks Dana. But it’s too late, Gavin’s clammed up again. Ashley looks down at her hands, her face still flush.

  “They watch girls,” says the blond kid. The first time he’s spoken. He casts a worried glance in Ashley’s direction.

  “And you are?”

  “Trey,” he says quickly. “There’s a nightclub around the corner. Fancy place. People line up to get in. When the line gets long and wraps around the corner, one of the cameras looks down on it. The guards like to watch the girls in line.”

  “Charming,” says Dana, rolling her eyes. “Decker didn’t say anything about that.”

  “Decker wouldn’t have thought to ask,” I say. “He’s way too uptight for that.”

  “Can we go now?” asks Trey.

  “Not quite yet,” I say, frowning at him. “While you were here, did you see anyone else, or hear anything?”

  Trey’s silent, but his eyes dart to Ashley who meets his gaze. There’s a connection between these two. Trey likes her. He’s trying to make this easier for her, but he’s also letting her call the shots. She nods slightly.

  “Yeah, we heard something.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Are you sure we’re not in trouble?”

  “For hearing something? How could you be in trouble for that?” Dana asks.

  “We thought maybe we should tell someone,” says Ashley, “but then we’d get in trouble for messing with the games. So, we didn’t.”

  She unfolds her hands and braces them on her thighs.

  “Then, when we came in to the Con today,” she continues, “everything seemed normal. We thought whatever it was, it couldn’t have been a big deal. Were we wrong?”

  Dana comes around the chair to kneel beside her so they’re eye-to-eye. She reaches out to put a reassuring hand on Ashley’s knee.

  “Why don’t you tell us what happened,” she says.

  “She didn’t see anything,” says Trey quickly, drawing our attention back to him. “But I did. This short, hairy guy was sneaking around, going from booth to booth. We heard him coming, so we all hid. The others went under the RV, but I went inside. Nick said it was stupid because I’d be trapped. But I don’t like small spaces.”

  He hangs his head, clearly ashamed. Before he couldn’t take his eyes off Ashley, now he doesn’t look in her direction, likely afraid she’ll think less of him.

  “Everybody’s got something they don’t like,” Dana says. “That’s okay. It’s good, in fact, because it helps us. Did you look out the windows?”

  “Yeah. It was a little blurry, through the wrap, you know. But I saw him. He went from booth to booth, checking stuff out. He touched a bunch of stuff. Kept going. After a while, we heard a door clank and figured he left.”

  “But then we weren’t so sure,” says Ashley. “Because after a bit, we heard something else.”

  “What did you hear?” asks Dana. She’s leaning in now. Like a greyhound straining to be released. We’re getting close. These kids know something.

  “Yelling. Like people fighting.”

  “How do you know they were fighting?”

  “It sounded just like my parents,” says Nick suddenly. “Trust me, I know what fighting sounds like.”

  “You heard it too?” I ask, looking at him.

  “We all did,” says Trey.

  Even Gavin is nodding slowly.

  “Was it muffled? Clear? Could you make out what they were saying?” I ask rapidly.

  “No words,” says Trey, “but it sounded like they were at the end of a long hall, you know, that echoes.”

  The tile walls of the large bathroom would give it that “at the end of a hallway” sound. These kids heard the murder.

  “What happened next?” asks Dana, looking at Ashley. She’s been the most reliable.

  “We left,” she says.

  “We got the hell out of here,” adds Nick.

  “But before we could get out of the hall, we saw the guy again,” says Trey.

  “Which guy?” I ask.

  “The hairy guy who was checking out the tables,” Trey answers. “He came running back. I don’t think he’d left after all. Or maybe he came back in again. I dunno. We thought he must have got caught digging around in the booths.”

  “That fucker was hustling,” says Nick. “Looked like the devil himself was on his tail.”

  “Where did he go?” Dana asks.

  “Out the emergency exit,” says Trey.

  “And where did you go?” I ask. />
  “We went out the way we came in,” says Ashley, “through the blind spot.”

  Dana spends the next few minutes asking them to repeat their story. Nick eases up, becoming more involved this time. The story’s consistent the second time through. Looks like they’re telling the truth.

  While Dana’s talking to them, I do a series of web searches on my phone until I have what I want. I’ve pulled together a collage of photos. All similar-looking men. One of which is a face we know. I show it to the kids one at a time. Each time they point to the same face. Even Gavin, who is so terrified, I’m not sure he’d recognize his own mother.

  The same face. Every time.

  I show the phone to Dana. A grid of nine pictures. Her eyes go straight to the left side of the middle row.

  Farber.

  “One more thing before you go,” I say, standing up. “Does anyone here play Big Fish Pyramid?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  For such a late hour, the police station is a hive of activity. All the lights are on, making the place feel disconnected from time. Tense voices leak out of the conference room where Chief Wilmont is being briefed on the investigation and Farber’s role as, at best a witness, and at worst a suspect. Dana and Decker are in there, making the case to bring Farber in now, in the middle of the night. Given we’re on a countdown to the end of the Con, I agree with them that we have no time to waste.

  Once again, I’m low on caffeine. It’s also going on twenty-four hours that I’ve been up, so even coffee is a stopgap. I need sleep. But I can’t do that until I know what’s happening with Farber. I need to be here when they bring him in. While I’m not convinced that he’s an actual bidder for the Unicorn, he was closer to the scene of Caplan’s demise than the video game kids. Based on how he fled the building, he may have witnessed the murder.

  I’ve found a little break area with mismatched plastic chairs and cheap laminate tables. All of which wobble. I checked. The air is filled with the sour stench of abandoned lunches. I hate the smell of cold leftovers. But it’s slowly being replaced by the aroma of fresh coffee coming from the well-worn little machine dripping behind me.

  No one else is here so I make myself at home, facing two chairs together and putting my feet up. I can see the conference on the far side of the large squad room, but can’t quite make out what anyone’s saying. Resting my head on the back of the chair, the voices blur and blend together into one.

  Decker thinks Farber could have Amanda Caplan, but I’m not convinced. Whoever has Amanda is a bidder on the Unicorn, with access to millions, and has been negotiating with Caplan for weeks.

  As a wealthy businessman, Farber could have the funds, but he’s not a technical guy, not connected to the industry in any way. It’s unlikely he has any use for it, or the resources to make it work, even if he did. Even less likely is the coincidence of Farber finding Caplan’s auction on the Dark Web when they just happen to both be connected to this Comic Con. No, whoever’s after the Unicorn isn’t local.

  Griffon and Nassar have arrived. They’re in the conference room listening in and getting up to speed. I’ve met Nassar before. Her appearance is always impeccable, no matter the time of day. Tonight, her watchful, intelligent eyes peer out from behind stylishly wide, black, glasses. I happen to know the tidy outward appearance hides a ribald sense of humor. Most unexpected for a daughter of Muslim immigrants from Lebanon.

  Peter Griffon isn’t what I expected, based on his reputation at the Bureau as a smooth operator in the field and in internal politics. On the phone, he had the easy confidence of someone used to things working out his way. I imagined tall. In person, Griffon is short. Really short. Despite the stature, he’s a handsome fellow with a trim goatee and an easy, disarming smile.

  Something struggles to fit together in my fatigue-addled mind. Unable to wait any longer for caffeine, I pull the coffeepot to pour a cup, the slowing stream of drips sizzling on the hot plate under the carafe.

  When the hot liquid crosses my lips, it’s like a magic potion of intelligence. The elements lurking around in my mind slide together and connect. The RV. I was so focused on who had broken in, and what they’d seen, I missed something else. Wasteout 3 is a big deal for Pyntel, but nothing compared to the Unicorn. If Pyntel sent Hicks here for the quantum computer, handing out t-shirts and showing the executive flag to the front lines is more than enough cover story. Actually getting involved in the launch risks an unnecessary distraction.

  What if Pyntel doesn’t know about the Unicorn, and Hicks is working the launch to justify why he’s here? Why wouldn’t he have told them?

  Looking up at the clock on the wall, an old-school analog job with a red second hand, and a metal cage on the front, I subtract three hours. Late in California too, but not too late. After a quick glance at the conference room, I pull out my phone.

  Me: Need info.

  Keira S: Shoot.

  Me: Martin Hicks. Buzz?

  Keira S: You wouldn’t think much but …

  Me: But …

  Keira S: What do you have for me?

  Keira Solomon is a journalist. Most agents don’t like journalists. They fear the almost inevitable hand-biting that follows working with one. Doesn’t bother me. Back in the Valley I learned how to handle them. Part of the job. Journalists live out their entire careers reporting on the business of Silicon Valley, interviewing CEOs, and getting the scoop on anticipated mergers and acquisitions.

  Keira’s different. She focuses on the people of Silicon Valley. She tells their stories. Some call her a gossip writer. I don’t mind that. In addition to selling ad space on her blog, gossip solves cases. As a result, I maintain a relationship with Keira the same way you have a relationship with a wolf you’ve raised from a pup. You have a good time, and lots of adventures together, but you never forget you’re one hunger pang away from having your arm ripped off.

  Me: A favor.

  Keira S: Really? A Will Parker IOU?

  Me: Personal.

  Keira S: A personal favor as in you’ll walk my dogs when I’m away?

  Me: Reason I’m asking is personal.

  Keira S: Is there a story here?

  Me: Not yet.

  Keira S: But might be?

  Me: Maybe.

  Keira S: I keep my message histories you know. One Will Parker favor?

  Me: That’s the deal.

  Keira S: Hicks in trouble. Diddling staffer. Consensual.

  Keira S: Gave her promotion. Word got out. Sharks circling.

  Me: Got it. Thx.

  Keira S: I’ll be in touch about that favor. :-)

  The phone clatters on the table when I set it down. My eyes are dry, and the world is a little blurry around the edges. Blinking them a bunch of times, I take a long drink of the stuff that came out of the coffee machine.

  Hicks was sleeping with a staffer? Hardly the first to do that in corporate America, let alone Silicon Valley. But he promoted her? Stupid. When word of the relationship gets out, which it always does, everyone else who thinks they were entitled to that job files a complaint. Maybe even sues.

  Hicks isn’t gifted with the vision of an entrepreneur. He’s the kind of corporate drone that ends up at the top of the hive through sheer staying power. Rewarded for tenure, not ability. That’s a fine strategy as long as you keep your nose clean like a good little worker bee.

  Hicks didn’t. He dipped into the corporate honey pot.

  “Sharks circling” means they’re looking for ways to axe him. He made it high enough to expect a golden handshake. Maybe not the kind of payout package that causes Wall Street to scream about the poor shareholders, but enough that he’d be comfortable.

  The thing with a guy like Hicks though, is that the pain of separation would outweigh any amount of money. Those long-tenure guys have drunk the Kool-Aid. They define themselves by the narrow confines of their job description and the name of the company they work for. Take that away and you’re not just taking a job, you
’re taking an identity.

  Which makes for a pretty powerful motive.

  They’re wrapping up in the conference room now. Through the glass wall, I can see people standing up. Tonight or tomorrow, we’re going to have Farber in an interview room. I’m going to need information.

  Checking the time again, I pick up my phone.

  Me: Got a lead. Need research.

  Me: You there?

  Bradley W: At Chronos.

  Me: The Klingon home world?

  Bradley W: New night club. In the Hills.

  Me: Guest list?

  Bradley W: Possible Kardashian. Hoping Kim.

  Me: Time to work. Anything on photo?

  Bradley W: No. Waiting. They text me; I text you. ASAP.

  Me: Bringing in a suspect. Need background on a local named Farber.

  Bradley W: Wait, something happening. Entourage at the door.

  Me: Bradley!

  Bradley W: Never mind. Just Kanye. At desk in 15. Send me details.

  They’re coming out now, and Decker looks pissed. Chief Wilmont and some of his top brass vanish deeper into the station. Griffon and Nassar, roller bags in tow, follow Decker and Dana to my wobbly table. Handshakes all around as Decker introduces the new agents.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” says Griffon.

  “All of it good, I know,” I reply, pumping his hand with as much energy as I can muster.

  “Yeah, sure,” says Griffon with a broad smile.

  “Will, good to see you again,” says Nassar, wrapping her arms around me in a friendly embrace. “How’s Bradley?”

  “Working late, like the rest of us,” I answer, before turning to Decker. “What’s the status?”

  Decker raps his knuckles on the laminate and leans over, looking ready to launch an invasion.

  “No go,” he says through clenched teeth. “We wait until morning.”

  “Wilmont’s going to put surveillance on Farber’s house to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” Dana adds hastily.

  “Fat lot of good that does if he has the girl,” says Decker with a snort.

  Dana sinks into the chair next to me, yawning. She scrunches her eyes closed, holding her fist in front of her mouth. Her nose wiggles at the end.